“We had nothing to do with Matsuda,” George said hastily.
“That’s right,” Rita confirmed. “In fact, we didn’t even go over there to pick up our payment. This is the guy who went over to pick up the payment.”
I noted with amusement that Rita’s thigh was no longer touching mine. I half expected her to leap up pointing an accusing finger at me.
“Good try,” the small man said. “But Matsuda phoned us after he delivered the package, so we know this guy wasn’t involved with his murder. We thought you might have killed him after this guy picked up the package.”
“So you guys didn’t kill Matsuda?” Rita asked.
“Of course not. Why would we want to do that? Like I said, he was valuable to us. I’ve been sort of working on the theory that you did it, although I have to admit that I can’t imagine you using those delicate white hands to hack up his body with a sword.”
“We didn’t do it. You have to believe us,” George said.
“Oh, I believe you,” the small man said. “What my father is angry about is the load of defective guns you sent to us. It made him lose a great deal of face, especially since it was done by a woman. You know how much face is worth in the Orient.”
The late afternoon sun caught the gold on his teeth as he smiled again. “It might even be a life and death matter,” he said. “Now, come on. We want to drive you out to some place so we can talk about this with a little bit more privacy. Maybe you can convince me that you didn’t kill Matsuda. Hell, maybe you can even convince me that we should still do business on guns together. Too bad for you if you can’t.” He smiled and motioned with his gun. “Come on. We have a car waiting in the parking lot, and we’re all going to walk there nicely without any heroics or any attempts to escape.
George and Rita reluctantly got to their feet.
“You, too,” the Yakuza said to me. I stood up slowly. “Now, you three walk in front of us, and my companion and I will be right behind you. Like I said, don’t try anything funny.”
Rita, George, and I moved as a group across the entrapping circle of the seating area. At the entrance, we brushed past the two Yakuza and walked out onto the grass. The two Yakuza were right behind us.
As the two gangsters cleared the concrete of the seating area, a voice shouted, “Freeze! Police!”
I turned around in time to see a look of surprise cross the face of the small Yakuza.
“Put your hands in the air.”
The small Yakuza shrugged and said, “Shigata ga nai,” Japanese for “what the hell,” or “it can’t be helped.” He took his hand out of his pocket and slowly raised both hands in the air, saying something in Japanese to his companion, who also raised his hands.
Three uniformed LAPD officers, a lieutenant, and Detective Hansen stood from where they had been crouching near the entrance to the concrete seating area. One of the LAPD officers was a woman.
“Thank you, officers,” Rita Newly began.
“That means you, ma’am. Put your hands up, too.”
Looking indignant, Rita Newly raised her hands. In one hand she clutched her purse. In the other was the envelope with the phony warranty claims. George started putting his hands in the air, but suddenly bolted past me in a stupid effort to escape. Before the police officers could react, I stuck out my foot and tripped him. He took a beautiful skidding dive right onto the concrete walkway. I gave it about an 8.7, with extra points for landing chin-first on the concrete. In a second the officer had pounced on him and had him handcuffed.
I know it wasn’t much but it actually felt good to give a little physical punishment back after suffering it myself.
“He’s got a gun in his pocket,” I said, pointing to the Yakuza. The officers immediately handcuffed and started patting down the Yakuza and the still-prone George. Rita got handcuffed and the policewoman patted her down, too, to a storm of invective. Rita had a small, rather dainty chrome automatic with a pearl handle in her purse. An eye for fashion, even in killing instruments.
After Rita, George, and the Yakuza were removed, I unbuttoned my shirt and one of the officers started gingerly removing the tape holding the transmitting device and microphone to my chest.
“Did you get everything? Including what they said before they came into the seating area?” I asked Lieutenant Jarvis Johnson.
“Every golden word,” Johnson answered. “Although I wish somebody would have confessed to Matsuda’s murder, instead of all of them standing around denying it.”
I snorted in disgust. “There should still be a tasty assortment of charges that you can nail them with.”
“Yeah, but I think most of them are federal raps,” Lieutenant Johnson said.
“I’ll try to remember that the next time I play human microphone. You know, make sure they only cover state and local offenses.”
“All right,” Johnson said. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It just would have been nice to wrap up Matsuda’s murder along with everything else. They could all be lying, of course, but it would have just been nice.”
I nodded as I handed over the transmitting device and microphone. That I could agree with.
Michael Kosaka had arranged for me to meet with Lieutenant Johnson that morning to explain the situation and turn over the package. Michael had said that it might be better dealing with Lieutenant Johnson, who happens to be African-American. Michael said cryptically that Detective Hansen had some past problems dealing with minorities, but he wouldn’t elaborate. I looked over at Hansen, who had stood like a mute during the entire bust. He was looking at me with a look of pure hate. I realized I had made an enemy, one I might be sorry about if I kept poking around in police matters.
20
You’re a hero.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Oh, come on,” Mariko cajoled. “None of this phony modesty. You helped the police round up two gunrunners and the two Yakuza who beat you up. I’m sure when they start checking into them, they’ll find other things that they can nail them for. I just think it’s great, and I’m really proud of you.”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t too bad,” I said, giving her what I thought was a suitably modest smile. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. A big, wet kiss. “Ouch!” I said. “Take it easy. This face of mine still feels like a piece of raw hamburger. Even your kisses can’t change that.”
We were both sitting on my couch. After making the necessary statements to the police I drove home after my encounter with Rita, her lover, and the two Yakuza at UCLA. Mariko was waiting for me, a nervous wreck. She insisted that I go through the encounter in detail, something I was not particularly adverse to doing.
“Oh, I almost forgot the best part,” I said.
“What’s that?”
I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “Here’s the three hundred and fifty for Mrs. Kawashiri. I figure I came out short a couple of hundred, but Mrs. Kawashiri should get what’s due her. Rita said she’d pay me five hundred dollars to pick up the package and deliver it, and I only got three hundred. Well, I picked up the package and delivered it. I told her as long as she wasn’t involving me with something that was illegal, I’d keep her confidentiality, and that’s exactly what I did. As soon as I found out what the scam was, I didn’t have second thoughts about calling the cops in. When the two Yakuza guys showed up it was lucky I did. I didn’t get the full five hundred dollars, but I figure the initial three hundred dollars she gave me is mine. Not bad for just a few days’ work.”
“A few days’ work and getting your face rearranged.”
“Oh, yeah. That, too. You know, I just realized I owe your cousin Michael two hundred fifty dollars. That means I cleared a whopping fifty bucks. In fact, when you deduct my medical expenses, I’m going to end up with a net loss on my first foray into big-time detective work.”