After purchasing coffee from a beachfront vendor, the two men grabbed a seat at a concrete table near the entrance to the pier. The noise from the traffic on Ocean Boulevard to their east and the waves splashing ashore to the west provided all the “noise cover” they needed to openly discuss their business.
“Mr. Park was right. He is a problem,” said the homeless man.
The other man nodded, his expression displaying frustration. “I knew that long before you got here and told Mr. Park even before this latest wrinkle surfaced.” He paused to take a sip of coffee. “It’s clear Reid is weak and brings little to the table. Mr. Park was wrong to go outside the community. He could have laundered the funds hundreds of ways through our people but he chose to wash the money through Reid.”
The homeless man nodded, then added, “As you know, I have only been in this country a few months, but it is already apparent Mr. Park is caught up in the Hollywood glitz; too many free tickets and too many red-carpet front-row seats.”
With a wry smile the neatly dressed North Korean operative shook his head. “I wouldn’t want Mr. Park to hear you talking like that. He doesn’t take criticism well.”
Both knew Park had a well-deserved reputation for disposing of those who committed mistakes, expeditiously and with considerable violence. If necessary, they all were willing to show H. Daniel Reid how North Korea’s Office 39 handled people who created problems. “We need to resolve the matter quickly but not be foolish in our efforts.”
“Could you overhear their conversation?” asked the man.
“He was hiring the big American to kill the girl.”
“Jenny?” asked the boss.
“I think so. He didn’t say a name but as Mr. Park suspected it makes sense it would be her. The American was charging fifty thousand dollars and Reid quibbled over the price,” said the homeless man, taking another sip of coffee.
“He is cheap for a rich American lawyer.”
The homeless man spit out the coffee as they both laughed out loud, knowing Park often complained about Reid never picking up a check when they went to dinner.
The homeless man continued, “Reid said the girl was pregnant. Do you think she is?”
The man shrugged.
“Reid believes he is the father. Why else would he want her killed?” said the homeless man.
“From what I’ve seen of her in the clubs, he might want to wait until the baby is born to determine paternity. I’m not sure Reid is the only man she’s been with.”
“I heard you danced with her a time or two; any chance it’s yours?” asked the homeless man with a grin.
“I never went there.”
“Don’t tell me your kindness toward her was out of guilt,” said the homeless man.
“I did what I was ordered to do. Park wanted her husband killed in a manner no one suspected was murder. The others were collateral damage.”
“I think collateral damage includes Jenny and her current lifestyle,” said the homeless man.
The other man raised an eyebrow. “It may play a part.”
“Do we talk to her?”
“I’m not making that decision. We don’t speak to her unless ordered to do so. She would immediately run to her father and we don’t need the headache.”
The homeless man nodded. “We have a headache now. Maybe we should let this cowboy handle the matter. The lawyer and his hired gunman are meeting again tomorrow afternoon at three.”
“Where?”
“Here at the pier.”
“Good, I will tell Mr. Park. If he orders it, you and I may have to put in more blood work and eliminate this attorney and his contract killer.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mohammed entered the Koreatown restaurant through the alley entrance and spotted Kareem, who had his back turned, busy stocking the bar. Though several people were seated at tables in the dining area, the bar was empty as the lunchtime crowd was still a half hour away. Mohammed stayed near the back in the darkened hallway, waiting to be acknowledged.
Candy was at the hostess stand and saw the Lebanese man she knew Kareem so admired. She gave him a huge smile and bowed slightly before walking over to Kareem and saying quietly, “Mohammed is here.”
Kareem turned and nodded for Mohammed to come to the bar.
“I’m just about done. He’s upstairs,” said Kareem.
“Do you want me to take him up?” asked Candy.
“No, I’ll do it. Just give me a minute.”
Mohammed appeared uncomfortable in the bar but took a seat waiting for the prison convert.
“Can I get you a drink?” said Candy.
Kareem snapped his head at the offer.
Mohammed feigned surprise. “I’m shocked you would offer me alcohol.”
“I mean Coke or club soda. I know he not drink,” said Candy awkwardly, knowing the importance of the man to Kareem.
Mohammed patted her hand as if offering forgiveness, and Candy rewarded him with a smile. With that Kareem escorted Mohammed upstairs to meet with Henry Yeong.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In Los Angeles’s Korean community, it is known as “Sa E Gu,” or “four two nine,” the first day of the L.A. riots.
On April 29, 1992, after seven days of deliberations, a jury sitting in suburban Simi Valley acquitted five white police officers of assault in the videotaped beating of Rodney King, an African-American. King was on parole for armed robbery when he fled a routine California Highway Patrol traffic stop in March 1991. In the lengthy police pursuit to effect his arrest, vehicles reached speeds in excess of 110 miles per hour. King’s subsequent apprehension at the intersection of Foothill Boulevard and Osborne Street in the San Fernando Valley was caught on tape by George Holliday, who lived in a nearby apartment complex. With his camcorder, Holliday recorded King being hit with batons and kicked by the arresting officers.
Within hours, video clips of the beating headlined every news broadcast and the ensuing trial of the five Los Angeles policemen captured international attention.
Immediately following the April acquittals, the Los Angeles riots erupted, lasting six days and nights. Murder and arson accompanied massive looting. Fifty-three people died and thousands were injured. More than four thousand National Guard troops and active-duty U.S. Army soldiers and Marines were called in to quell the anarchy, arson, and murder.
One of the hardest-hit communities was Koreatown, along the Wilshire Boulevard corridor, where hundreds of locally owned businesses were damaged or destroyed. When the police and fire departments withdrew from the violent street confrontations with rioters, Korean-Americans living in the community armed themselves and rallied to protect the Korean-owned businesses. Television news crews captured gun battles between the businessmen and looters, with some in the media labeling it a race war.
Following the riots, Koreatown fell into disrepair as many residents fled the area for safer suburban communities. But by 2005, a stagnant overseas economy brought new Korean investors to the United States and there was a rebirth in the Mid-Wilshire community, now an urban success story.
For Jake Kruse, however, Koreatown was just one more criminal community playground.
It was late in the afternoon as the undercover agent threaded his way through traffic and pulled down a side street just off Wilshire Boulevard. “Where is this place?”
Before Tommy Hwan answered, Jake slammed on his brakes and pounded the horn. A female driver pulled out from an alley without looking and almost clipped the front of the undercover vehicle.