you’ve been lying for years, never telling anybody you were really a fag. What about all those girls you took home. You tell them the truth?”
There was a sour taste in my mouth. I said, “No.”
“So why start now, when the truth can ruin you?”
“Because I owe it to Tommy Pang,” I said, before I could think about what I was saying. The conviction built inside me. “That poor jerk is dead and I did wrong by him. In the past, when we’ve adjusted the truth, it was because we were trying to be faithful to the dead, to do right by them. This is the opposite.”
“Tommy Pang was a two-bit crook who never did anything nice for anybody,” Akoni said. “Nothing would probably give him more pleasure than to feel like his death caused a cop to lose his job. You come out with this, they’ll reassign you to a desk downtown, or put you on leave. You won’t be able to do a thing for Tommy Pang, or for any other vic we ever find.” He paused. “You won’t be able to do a thing to feel better.”
He was right. It would be the end of my career. Not right away. I’d ride a desk for a while, and then there’d be a hearing, and eventually I’d turn in my badge. Maybe they’d ask for it; maybe I’d just do it in the end out of frustration. “So I write up what you said. What then?”
“We keep it between ourselves for now. If we never find the bad guys, it goes into the cold case file. If we do, and we take the case to the DA, we see what he has to say.”
“You could get fried over this yourself, you know. You don’t have to be a part of my troubles.”
“You’re my partner.” He started walking. “Come on, let’s get back to work.”
When we got back to the station, there was an elderly Chinese lady at the front desk complaining about kids making noise in her building, and a couple of tourists in processing reporting a purse snatching. I called the number Genevieve Pang had given us for her son and left a message, that it was important he call me at the station. Then I called the locksmith, who arranged to meet us at the alley behind the Rod & Reel Club, and Akoni and I walked over there together.
Arleen met us at the door. She was so tiny, barely five feet, and next to me and Akoni she looked like an elf, or maybe some kind of Japanese pixie. She even bounced on the balls of her feet when she walked. As the locksmith got to work on the door, I said to her, “You’re sure this is okay, giving us this permission?”
“Well, when I was little, my mom always told me if I was lost, to go ask a policeman. So if you can’t trust the cops, who can you trust?” She smiled goofily.
The locksmith popped the door to Tommy’s office easily, and we walked in. The room was as sparse as the rest of the office, just a big leather chair and a desk, and two chairs across from them. A big computer sat on the desktop, but unfortunately it was password-protected and Arleen didn’t know the password.
“What’s that?” Akoni asked, pointing to a little contraption on the desk next to the computer.
“The docking station for his Palm,” Arleen said. “You want to find out everything about Mr. Pang, you find the Palm.” She bit her lip, thought for a second. “But I think he backed everything up onto the computer, too. If you can find somebody to break into that file, you’ll know where he went, who he saw, all that stuff.”
We looked through the desk but there was nothing to find. Tommy Pang had held his cards close to his vest.
Before we left, we looked carefully at the door, to make sure no one could have broken in. There was a police lock on it, a rounded metal bar about three f ee t long, maybe two inches in diameter. It slipped into a catch on the door and then slid in a semi-circular track set into the floor. It was designed so that you could open the door just enough to pass something through, but wouldn’t open wide enough to let a person in.
“So nobody broke in,” I said. “Hey, Arleen,
There was a sour taste in my mouth. I said, “No.”
“So why start now, when the truth can ruin you?”
“Because I owe it to Tommy Pang,” I said, before I could think about what I was saying. The conviction built inside me. “That poor jerk is dead and I did wrong by him. In the past, when we’ve adjusted the truth, it was because we were trying to be faithful to the dead, to do right by them. This is the opposite.”
“Tommy Pang was a two-bit crook who never did anything nice for anybody,” Akoni said. “Nothing would probably give him more pleasure than to feel like his death caused a cop to lose his job. You come out with this, they’ll reassign you to a desk downtown, or put you on leave. You won’t be able to do a thing for Tommy Pang, or for any other vic we ever find.” He paused. “You won’t be able to do a thing to feel better.”
He was right. It would be the end of my career. Not right away. I’d ride a desk for a while, and then there’d be a hearing, and eventually I’d turn in my badge. Maybe they’d ask for it; maybe I’d just do it in the end out of frustration. “So I write up what you said. What then?”
“We keep it between ourselves for now. If we never find the bad guys, it goes into the cold case file. If we do, and we take the case to the DA, we see what he has to say.”
“You could get fried over this yourself, you know. You don’t have to be a part of my troubles.”
“You’re my partner.” He started walking. “Come on, let’s get back to work.”
When we got back to the station, there was an elderly Chinese lady at the front desk complaining about kids making noise in her building, and a couple of tourists in processing reporting a purse snatching. I called the number Genevieve Pang had given us for her son and left a message, that it was important he call me at the station. Then I called the locksmith, who arranged to meet us at the alley behind the Rod & Reel Club, and Akoni and I walked over there together.
Arleen met us at the door. She was so tiny, barely five feet, and next to me and Akoni she looked like an elf, or maybe some kind of Japanese pixie. She even bounced on the balls of her feet when she walked. As the locksmith got to work on the door, I said to her, “You’re sure this is okay, giving us this permission?”
“Well, when I was little, my mom always told me if I was lost, to go ask a policeman. So if you can’t trust the cops, who can you trust?” She smiled goofily.
The locksmith popped the door to Tommy’s office easily, and we walked in. The room was as sparse as the rest of the office, just a big leather chair and a desk, and two chairs across from them. A big computer sat on the desktop, but unfortunately it was password-protected and Arleen didn’t know the password.
“What’s that?” Akoni asked, pointing to a little contraption on the desk next to the computer.
“The docking station for his Palm,” Arleen said. “You want to find out everything about Mr. Pang, you find the Palm.” She bit her lip, thought for a second. “But I think he backed everything up onto the computer, too. If you can find somebody to break into that file, you’ll know where he went, who he saw, all that stuff.”
We looked through the desk but there was nothing to find. Tommy Pang had held his cards close to his vest.
Before we left, we looked carefully at the door, to make sure no one could have broken in. There was a police lock on it, a rounded metal bar about three f ee t long, maybe two inches in diameter. It slipped into a catch on the door and then slid in a semi-circular track set into the floor. It was designed so that you could open the door just enough to pass something through, but wouldn’t open wide enough to let a person in.
“So nobody broke in,” I said. “Hey, Arleen,
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