8. The Sins of the Father
Chapter eight
The Sins of the Father
Lei
Chen spoke to Glory’s police commissioner next. He finished the phone call right as we made it to the hotel.
Glory Police blocked the entrance, not letting other cars enter the parking lot or exit. When they spotted my Escalade and vans, they moved the barrier. More Glory Police swarmed the property. They all held pictures. I caught sight of the photo. My father’s smiling face greeted my eyes.
Thank you, Dima.
My longtime friend had a distinct way with dealing with things, and with that came an unrelentless attention-to-detail and tons of notebooks. Had this hunt not dealt with my father, Dima would have stood by my side.
He was the perfect partner-in-crime.
But this was too sticky of a situation. I had to be the only person to spill my father’s blood.
We left the Escalade and marched forward. Chen and Hu flanked my sides. Behind us, Duck walked next to Monique.
We headed by the Glory Sheriff as he tried to calm down a tall, skinny man. “I’m sorry, Bill, but this couldn’t be helped.”
“This is a great disrespect to Mr. Dean and his sons!” The tall man, Bill pointed at us. “And what are all these Japanese people doing around here? I should have my men gun them down!”
“Bill, stay calm. I don’t want to have to arrest you.” The Sheriff looked nervous and took out his handcuffs. “This situation is above your head and mine so—”
“Above our heads? I am the manager of this casino—”
“Not for today, Bill.” The Sheriff eyed me quickly and then turned away. “Best thing to do is to step aside and let these Japanese do what they’re doing.”
We’re Chinese.
I didn’t waste my time explaining that to them. There were more important things than that. We passed those idiots and entered the hotel lobby.
I took in the space.
The place was surprisingly opulent. The interior imitated the style of Ancient Rome, copying the themes that Vegas casinos had for years. The lobby contained towering Roman statues, a host of marble-white columns, and an exorbitant amount of gold leaf.
Before passing the front desk, a huge indoor fountain rested. It featured three nude, marble women, feeding berries and grapes into the waiting mouth of a lounging, nude man. One of the women straddled his waist, suggesting that she was riding him.
Definitely not a family hotel.
I looked over my shoulder to check on my new guest.
Duck continued to guide Monique forward.
I appreciated her obedience. If she’d tried to run, Duck would have caught her with his blade. If she had tried to seek help from the police, she would have discovered they were under my control.
She’s smart.
With each step, Monique kept that briefcase close to her. Her eyes were alert. Her posture upright as if ready to execute an attack.
I wonder if she can fight.
Surely, a battle lay within those pretty brown eyes.
Chen grabbed my attention. “I wasn’t expecting such a big hotel in such a small town.”
I turned back around. “What did you learn about these two guys?”
“They are Deans.”
“I know that name. Are they related to Kenny Dean?”
“That’s their father.”
“And Dutch and Snow are nicknames?”
“Definitely, one is named Dennis. The other is Sigmond.”
“No wonder they stuck to their nicknames.”
“The commissioner said that the hotel has over a hundred rooms. Dutch and Snow permanently live in the penthouse suite. Apparently, they grew up in the hotel.” Chen pointed to the right. “That’s the casino.”
I glanced that way.
A huge arching entrance showed parts of a massive room.
“It has a hundred slot machines and fifty gaming tables—blackjack, craps, and roulette.” Chen pointed to several black doors on the other side. “Then, there are the twenty-four poker rooms.”
“That’s where Monique’s father took the money?”
Chen nodded. “Dutch called the Sheriff in the middle of the night to start a manhunt for Monique’s father. Due to Dima taking over the entire force, the Sheriff had to respectfully decline.”
“Then, maybe this wasn’t a set up.”
“Or Dutch did it for show.” Chen nodded his head at the tons of armed men draped in black and staring at us.
I took in the guns in their holsters. “Classic revolvers. Most have Smith & Wesson L-Frames. Six and seven shot cylinders.”
“Retired police use them.”
“But, mainly it’s the mob.” I placed my hands in my pocket. “The Italians like to buy revolvers from us because they think they’re cowboys.”
Chen grinned. “Lots of running and shooting.”
I nodded. “They need the guns to be lightweight, accurate, and powerful.”
“And these are easier to hide in a belt or large pocket.”
“The casino is definitely mob-controlled.”
We stopped at one of the gold elevators.
Grabbing Monique’s arm, Duck spoke in Chinese, ordering half my men to take the stairs and guard the bottom and top floors. My father could have no means to escape.
The doors opened.
We stepped on the elevator.
Duck and Monique followed and got behind us.
Hu took out his gun and pressed the button for the twentieth floor.
I leaned Chen’s way. “I know who their father Kenny Dean is. That’s not a problem. However, find out what mafia family is backing Kenny Dean these days.”
The doors closed.
Chen shifted uncomfortably. “You think the Dean family could be a problem?”
“We’ll see.”
The elevator rose.
My father built his empire off guns.
As a poor immigrant, he worked tons of factory jobs. One of the most important ones was at the Dean Firearms Warehouse on the edge of town. It produced small arms, ammunition, AR-15/M-16 rifles, and sporting shotguns.
The supervisor, Kenny Dean only hired non-English speaking immigrants so he could pay them lower than Americans. Assuming they weren’t Christian, he also made them work double shifts through religious holidays.
For barely $2 an hour, my father, uncles, and other immigrants washed and dried gun parts. They tumbled and polished. They sanded and assembled. They inspected and packaged. They drove forklifts and operated production equipment for projectiles and ammunition with not much training and no health standards in place.
And they did so with no health insurance or paid lunch. There were no sick days. If a person didn’t show up, then they lost their seat on the assembly line to another poor immigrant patiently waiting and desperate to provide food for their family.
The immigrants despised Kenny Dean.
However, my father saw the factory as an untapped gold mine. He’d witnessed the power of criminal organizations, from watching the Triads back in Shanghai, China. He figured out how the Triads seized control by possessing most of the guns.
So, Father worked hard for Mr. Dean. He arrived hours before his shift, just to be helpful to Kenny. My father was also the last to leave, regardless of when his shift ended. He worked the lines and always received hearty pats from Kenny who began calling him, His Favorite China Man .
During Dad’s off hours, Father spent time learning English. His proficiency made him the middleman between Kenny and the other immigrant workers.
Trusting my father so much, Kenny promoted Dad to Inventory Management.
That was when my father’s true plans began. Secretly, Dad united the exhausted and impoverished workers. He convinced them to take a few guns and ammunition here and there, nothing to make Kenny notice. He promised them that for whatever they stole, one day he would sell the items and bring them back money.
They did as he asked.
And when he got enough guns to fill a suitcase, Dad took a bus to Paradise. He knew the huge city gangs of that time wouldn’t take him seriously. Gangs like the Coffin Cheaters would have looked at his ripped clothes, hear his stuttered English, and laughed him out of their places.
After the bus ticket, my father didn’t have much money in his pocket. So, he found a small park in the West overlooking Dream Lake. To his shock, no one strolled around the water or even biked. So that evening, he camped out on a bench right next to the lake. He took off his shoes, rolled out his blanket, and got on his knees to pray.
A moment later, a Black man appeared and told him that he was either dumb or crazy to sleep by Dream Lake. The man further explained that the area was haunted and not safe.
Having nowhere else to go, my father shrugged and accepted the danger of his fate.
And the Black man shook his head and offered my father a bed in his home.
That man was Kenneth Jones—Romeo and Chanel’s father.
And that bed my father slept in was fit for royalty and in one of the Jones Mansion’s many master bedrooms. Mr. Jones later learned that my father had brought guns to Paradise.
By the next day, Father sold that whole suitcase to the Killer Crows for $50,000 in cash which was a fortune for him.
He returned to Glory and gave money to everyone, even the immigrant employees that were too scared to steal. But for those that did take the guns, they received the biggest percentage.
The next month, my father and Uncle Song took the bus to Paradise. That time, they had ten suitcases full. The Killer Crows bought half and then introduced Father to a new Russian woman who’d recently appeared on the scene—Dima’s mother.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
Hu and my men left first.
Taking out our guns, Chen and I exited after. While it wouldn’t be right for my father to die by a bullet, we couldn’t take chances.
My men rushed forward to Dutch and Snow’s penthouse.
I gripped both Glocks hard.
I was ready to shoot my father if he appeared and attacked. I hoped that wouldn’t be the situation. I wanted to take my time. I needed to understand why he would kill Romeo and Chanel.
I needed to understand it all. And I wanted him to see the pain in my heart and the sadness on my face the moment I killed him.
With one swift axe-kick, Hu split and shattered the door.
Monique shrieked behind us.
The cracked bits of wood fell to the ground.
My men pushed off the remaining parts of the door and hurried in.
Chen and I rushed through with our guns out.
But there was no need.
Fuck.
While the penthouse might have oozed elegance that morning, my father had redecorated.
He got here first.
Three dead men hung from the chandeliers. Two were white. One was black. Their faces were frozen in shock. Pink chopsticks were stuck in their pupils. Blood dripped from the corner of their eyelids and resembled Christ’s tears. Those red lines streaked down their faces.
I scanned the rest of the room.
The scene represented the cold-blooded brutality of my father.
Pools of blood puddled the marble floors.
And there were dead bodies everywhere, representing every race, age, and shape. Bodies with sliced necks. Bodies with bullet holes. Bodies cut in half. Bodies misshapen, broken, and twisted. Faces were beaten to a pulp with a blunt object. One man was strangled with his own tie and had his arm muscles carved up.
Where there wasn’t blood or death, there was money. Bloodied bills stuck to the walls, covered some of the dead bodies, and even floated in the blood.
Duck and Monique entered.
As soon as she saw the sight, she screamed, dropped the briefcase, and hid her face. “No. No.”
Duck looked at me.
“Holy fucking shit!” She screamed behind her hands. “Are they all dead?!”
“Yes,” I said.
“No. No.”
Chen frowned. “We need her to make sure those guys on the chandelier are Dutch and Snow.”
Hu stepped over a cut-off leg. “If it’s not Dutch and Snow, then we still have a lead.”
“No. No.” Monique shivered and backed up. “I can’t be in here.”
I began to walk over.
Chen touched my arm.
I stopped and looked at him.
Chen whispered, “You’ll get more bees with honey. Be nice, cousin.”
Sighing, I walked over to Monique. “We need your help.”
“I. . .can’t. . .” Her shaking hands remained over her face. She began whispering something to herself. I think it might have been a prayer.
She’s smart, but she’s not made for this life.
I gently touched her arm. “Monique, we need you.”
Trembling, she moved her hands from her face, but her eyes remained closed. “O-okay? Just. . .give me a minute.”
“We need to make sure that those are the bodies of Dutch and Snow. Did you see the three dead men hanging from the chandeliers?”
“There’s dead guys hanging from the chandeliers!?” Eyes still closed she held her hands up in the air. “Oh no. I can’t. . .do that. . .I have to go. . .umm. . .maybe you can google their pictures or something—”
Fast, I grabbed both of her arms and put her hands down.
She tensed with those eyes still closed. “Please. . .don’t make me do this.”
I gripped her arms tighter. “Open your eyes.”
“I-I can’t. I’m so sorry.” She let out a long breath. “I can. . .umm. . .maybe get their pictures off Facebook or something. . .just let me get my phone. . .and—”
“Monique,” I growled.
She shivered. “I-I’m scared.”
Of course you are. This is all new.
I didn’t know why, but I pulled her close to me. A whimper left her. To my surprise, she leaned her head against my chest and wrapped her arms around me.
Chen and Duck exchanged looks.
I wasn’t sure what else to do. Remembering how my mother soothed me, I held Monique’s small waist with one arm.
With my free hand, I tenderly rubbed her back. “One quick look at a time. It’ll be easy.”
“Some of these bodies are warm.” Hu left a chopped corpse and stomped through a puddle of blood. “Lei, we need to get the ID’s from her fast—”
“Give her a minute,” I growled.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my chest. “It’s been a. . .crazy day. I can do it. I just need. . .my stomach. . .my head. . .”
I looked down at her. “Is this your first time seeing a dead body?”
“No.” She trembled against me. “But this is definitely my first blood bath.”
More of my men entered, stalking through the massacre and checking the other penthouse rooms.
Hu pointed to three guys. “Cut those three bodies down from the chandelier so we can get a better look.”
Duck lowered and touched one of the corpses near the door. “We probably just missed Leo. This guy’s body is still warm too.”
“Oh, God.” Monique moved away from my hold, opened her eyes, and doubled over. Vomit left her mouth, spilled to the floor, and mixed with the blood.
Duck watched with fascination. “She really did have dumplings with Leo.”
“Shut up.” Chen undid his tie.
Monique let more liquid go.
My men had the three bodies off the chandeliers and lying on the floor.
Duck walked over and assessed them. “There’s another man that’s cut-up too. Lots of special attention like these two white guys.”
“You’re right, Duck. They all have the chopsticks in their eyes, but this guy was truly tortured.” Hu pointed to the body that was under the chandeliers. My father had not only sliced up his face but stuffed his mouth with stacks of money. “Maybe, this one was a bodyguard that got too mouthy with Leo, so he used him as an example.”
“Whoever he was, Leo gave him extra time.” Duck whistled.
“But why?” Hu asked.
I stayed silent. All my focus remained on Monique, hoping she would be alright. When she finished throwing up, she coughed and tried to get her bearings. Once she did, she stood straight.
Chen handed her his tie. “You can use this to clean your mouth.”
“Thank you.” She took the tie and did her best to avoid looking up or down. Wiping her mouth, she turned my way. “Okay. . .I’m. . .better.”
“That’s good, Monique.” I tenderly took her chin, keeping her focus on me and not the bodies. “But are you sure you’re ready?”
Her bottom lip quivered. “Yes.”
“You won’t need to look at all of them. Just the three guys. They were my father’s focal points.”
She let out a long breath. “Okay.”
I moved my hand from her chin. “Only three faces.”
“Well,” Duck kicked another body over and checked the face. “If those aren’t Dutch or Snow, then she will need to look at the others.”
Fear filled Monique’s eyes.
Chen frowned. “Silence, Duck.”
Monique closed her eyes. “I can’t. . .look at all of them.”
“Focus on me, Monique.” I took her hand and squeezed. It was so damn soft and smooth. Her fingers shivered within my grip. It had been a long time since I’d been in the presence of a vulnerable woman in need of my help.
In some ways, the act of calming her, soothed the darkness in my heart.
“Open your eyes and keep your gaze on my face until I tell you differently.” I gently squeezed her hand. “Pretend it’s just you and me here.”
“Okay.” She touched her stomach with her other hand and opened her eyes.
“What do you see?”
“You.”
“Excellent.” Slowly, I guided her to the three bodies that had been hanging from the chandeliers and then turned to her. “It may be hard to identify them because there are chopsticks in their eyes.”
“Dear, God. W-what color are the chopsticks?”
“Pink and gold.”
“T-hey’re from the restaurant.”
“Probably.”
“Well. . .” She shook her head. “I certainly won’t be eating there again.”
“Thankfully, there’s other good places that serve dumplings.” I held one finger up to her face. “Here we go. Only follow the tip of my finger. Once you see the face, then close your eyes and tell me who that is.”
She gulped. “Okay.”
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Inch by inch, I moved my finger down to the first man.
Her gaze followed. She spotted the guy and then squeezed her eyes shut. “That’s Snow for sure. Holy fucking shit!”
Damn it.
Part of me hoped that my father hadn’t gotten to them. Then, we would have an easy path to finding him.
Perhaps, the next guy isn’t Dutch.
“Alright, Monique. That was good.” I held the finger up again. “Let’s check the next face.”
She shook more now.
I pulled her closer to me.
She trembled less and opened her eyes. “I’m. . .ready.”
Slowly, I moved my finger to the second body. Less scared, she followed and landed her gaze on the swollen, beaten face. Her eyes watered. A long breath escaped her parted lips. This time she didn’t look away.
I tilted my head to the side. “Is that Dutch?”
Nodding, Monique gripped my hand harder.
Chen gestured at the other guy. “Get the third body with the money in his mouth. Maybe, this man could give us a clue to where Uncle Leo is going next.”
My people carried over that body.
Monique put her focus back on my face. “I didn’t personally know all their people, but I can tell you if they look familiar.”
I frowned. “Did you have to deal with Dutch and Snow a lot?”
“Their men always came by searching for my dad about whatever money he owed at the time.”
My people dropped the body by my feet.
I raised my finger. “Last one, Monique.”
“Thank God.”
“After this, you can go home.”
“Alright.” She inhaled and then exhaled. “Let’s go.”
I moved the finger and pointed.
As soon as Monique spotted his face, she screamed in horror, “No! God, it can’t be!”
What’s wrong?
“Please, no! No!” She let go of my hand and crashed to her knees. “Daddy! Daddy!”
Shit.
“Daddy, please!” Monique crawled over to him. Her knees and hands smeared with blood. She grabbed at the body. One of the chopsticks fell from the dead man’s eyes.
“Daddy!”
Chen stepped forward as if he were going to grab her.
I put my hand out and stopped him.
“Daddy, no!”
Duck and Hu backed up and watched her.
The rest went silent.
“No!” She hugged her father’s armless body, getting blood over her pajama shirt. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I know it.”
With both hands, Chen ran his fingers through his hair.
What do I do? How do I help her?
“You’re just fine, Daddy.” She rocked the dead body in her arms. More of his blood dripped on her jeans. She closed her eyes as tears left them. “God wouldn’t take you both from me. He wouldn’t.”
Damn it.
So devastated, I didn’t know how long we stood there. This wasn’t our first time in the middle of a bloody massacre. Most days in Paradise City, we saw blood and death. Many nights, I’d seen worse. A cut-up body was nothing. A dismembered head rolling along the floor barely triggered a response.
Not much could stun us. However, the sad vision of Monique—crying in pain and rocking her father’s cut-up body—paralyzed all of us.
With shaking fingers, she pulled out the stack of bills from his mouth. Her voice was a low whisper. “You brought the bag of money back. Didn’t you? You. . .tried. . .”
She took the last set of chopsticks out of his eyes. “You weren’t so bad after all. Were you?”
Damn you, father.
“You brought the money back.” She hugged his dead body close to her. Tears left her eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry.”
My heart broke.
“I should have trusted you, Daddy.” Monique sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”