“My lawyers say it’s a go. Your people would be proud of you, General. They thought they were buying back fucking Vietnam, but what they’re really getting is the Laguna Paradiso.”
“What I’m getting is the Paradiso, Mr. Parsons.”
“We’re both getting it. There’s plenty to go around.”
“Mr. Thieu will accompany you to your car, Mr. Parsons. So much petty theft in Little Saigon these days.”
They laughed. They shook hands. Parsons closed the briefcase and followed Dien out.
Frye sat back on Julie’s bed. She came in a few moments later, stopped the tape, and gave it to Frye. “I hope you found what you wanted.”
“Not exactly. They say anything on the way out?”
“I heard one phrase Mr. Dun said to Willie. ‘Dịp may hiếm có. Mày nghĩ sao?’ Roughly translated it means ‘A really big chance, what do you think?’”
They sat in the bedroom. Bennett shut the door and climbed onto the bed. It was dark and musty, a diluted wash of sunlight coming through the drawn curtains. His face receded into the shadows as Frye told him about “Rollie Dean Mack,” and the meeting between Burke, Dien, and the investors. “I’ve got it on tape. And don’t worry, I’m not going to lose it this time.”
Bennett’s face was locked, grim. “I always tried to keep Burke close, because I never really trusted him. I guess I didn’t keep him close enough.”
“What do we do?”
“We cut off Republic Investments as of right now, that’s what we do. I’ll tell Flaherty and the other attorneys not to tender any more shares of the Paradiso for the next week. Then I’ll take care of Burke. There’s no way I’m going to finance the Paradiso with the blood and sweat of the refugees.”
“What about Dien?”
“Burke can throw the money back in his face if it’s not good with me.”
“Willie and Dun?”
“If Burke takes their cash and can’t spend it, then they all get what they fucking deserve. See how Parsons likes having the Vietnamese mob after him.”
“I got to thinking when I watched Burke and Dien. Remember the man that Loc said approached him about stealing the tape of DeCord and Nguyen? The description fits Parsons, except for a mustache he could have faked. And the tape was delivered to the general. I think Parsons was Lawrence, and I’ll bet he delivered that tape to DeCord.”
Bennett just looked at him.
“Will DeCord try to take you down for gunrunning? Parsons would love it — it would get you out of the way while he tries to sell the Paradiso out from under you. Lucia would love it — it would satisfy Hanoi.”
“If I get Thach tonight, and he’ll release Li, DeCord won’t have to take me. I’ll quit. I’ll be done, Chuck.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll have my wife back, and Thach will be greased. That’s all I want out of life right now. Michel sen and Toibin were ordered back to Los Angeles this morning.”
“Why?”
“No explanation.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Especially when they knew I was instructed to get this.” Bennett climbed off the bed, reached under it, and pulled out a suitcase. He flicked up the latches and opened it, The money was neatly stacked, bound by rubber bands. “Two million, total. The other half is in another suitcase under here.”
A strange smile crossed Bennett’s face. He checked his watch. “The timing is perfect. Thach’s just where he’s supposed to be. We’ll have him in seven hours. In nine or ten, we’ll have Li. I’ll never even have to touch this money.”
Chapter 26
Cristobel was sitting on his porch. She had a little package on her lap, gift-wrapped in lavender paper, a deep purple bow. “Hi, cutie,” she said.
Frye felt his ears getting hot, a jolt of bad energy shooting up his spine. He stared at her, cracked a skullish smile. “Hi.”
She followed him in. “What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing.”
“For you.”
He opened the package. It was a daily planner for the year, with a good pen attached. “Nice,” he said.
“I figured you could use it, Chuck. Interviews for jobs and stuff. I mean... what’s wrong with you? Is that supposed to be a smile or—”
Frye took her face in his hand, hard. The planner fell to the floor. He grabbed an arm, dragged her to the couch, and pushed her down. “Then you’d know exactly where I’d be, wouldn’t you? Was that the deal, Cris? Keep an eye on Chuck? Make sure he doesn’t get too close to Rollie Dean Mack because there isn’t any fucking Rollie Dean Mack?”
Her color drained, her eyes went hard.
Frye slammed the door and locked it. He kicked the planner across the floor. He pulled the purse from her hands and spilled it out. A .22 automatic bounced onto the couch cushion. He waved the little pistol at her. “What are you doing for Burke?”
She looked at him with absolute disbelief now, a dignity so deeply shocked it was all she could do just to behold him. “You’re really crazy, you know that?”
“I saw you with Parsons last night, on your patio.”
She breathed deeply, nodded, looked straight at him. “You better listen to me, Chuck, and listen really well. I met Burke Parsons at the fights with you. And I happened to goddamn like him at first. Last night, I finally told him to cool off. That’s between us, not you. But Burke doesn’t care what you do or when you do it, and I don’t either. You’re the last topic of conversation when we’re together — I can guarantee you that. Don’t flatter yourself. I attract men, and I can get rid of them when I need to. We were talking. Don’t try to chain me up. And don’t even dare try to tell me which men to see and which not to. I’m sick to death of you and your plots, Chuck. You don’t own me. Fuck somebody else if you can’t hack it. Fuck yourself.”
“Did he send you to Rockpile that first morning? Was that your idea, or his?”
Cristobel looked at him, eyes clear and dark, jaw set. “You don’t listen, do you? Getting to know you was my stupid idea, and it gets stupider by the second. I saw you out there in those waves, and I had to find out if what I thought was true. What a silly, dangerous, romantic, stupid bitch I am. After what happened to me in Long Beach, it made sense to admire from a distance. I should have kept it that way.”
Frye could feel the rage bubbling far down inside himself, a sour potion coming quickly to boil. “Nothing happened in Long Beach, or any other beach. You made it up. You weren’t raped. You weren’t touched. I had a cop friend of mine check it out. Like it or not, Cristobel, you came back clean.”
“He’s lying. It happened on August sixteenth of last year, just before one in the morning. I was drunk. I had a fight with—”
“You told me that already.”
“I sat in the station while that lady took samples out of me, I found the men who did it in the line-up, I sat through sixty days of court while they put that guy away, I dream about that night every goddamned time I close my eyes.”
“They never touched you. There weren’t any men. You made it up.”
She took a deep breath, stepped toward Frye, and slapped him hard across the face. “Don’t you ever say that, Chuck.”
Frye reached out to her blouse, took it firmly in his fist, and yanked it down. Buttons popped, the material flapped open.