“For democracy, not from democracy,” she said, shaking her head.
“Whatever. Have you decided what you want?”
“I’ll take a cup of clam chowder…”
“I can afford soup, good choice…”
“And the Niçoise blue crab salad.”
Jake gave her a look.
“Pierre, I’m eating for two.”
Just then the surfer dude brought the iced tea and water with lemon. Jake ordered… the crab salad and soup for her, just the soup for him. He didn’t have a coupon!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The sun was beginning to set but the day’s warmth refused to wane as the shadows lengthened. As promised, Tommy arranged for a “meet and greet” with Park Soon Yong.
Jake followed Tommy’s black Lexus LS F Sport through the tree-lined streets of San Marino, an exclusive community near Pasadena, part of “greater” Los Angeles. Occupying an area less than four square miles, some thirteen thousand people called the city home. Over half those residents were of Asian descent. Even in a residential market downturn, the typical San Marino home carried a $2-million-plus price tag. Large lots and massive structures were the norm; upscale and expansive, just the type government employees like Jake could never afford.
Yet he was savoring the moment. Here was a lawman, listening to a CD of Peyton Tochterman singing “God and Country”—a song about Red Roundtree, America’s oldest bank robber — while trailing a Korean mobster driving a luxury car built in a country that once enslaved his own ancestors, on the way to a mansion occupied by an agent of a government committed to bringing down all these trappings of “bourgeois capitalism.”
It just doesn’t get any more surreal than this! Jake said to himself. But then it did.
As the two cars approached the destination address, a dark 2013 BMW 640i Gran Coupe was leaving the residence. Through the lightly tinted windows, Jake thought the driver appeared to be Middle Eastern, perhaps Mexican or Latin American — but certainly not Asian. Jake did a quick head turn as the car passed, catching the license plate. Grabbing a pen from the glove compartment, he scribbled the numbers on a piece of scrap paper.
Jake followed Tommy to the driveway, where they were greeted by ten-foot beige stucco walls, a large black steel gate, and enough surveillance cameras to give Fort Knox a sense of inadequacy. At the entrance a security device was mounted on an arm extending over the yellow brick paving stones. Tommy punched some numbers into the keypad and Jake, his window down, could hear the device calling a phone. Like a drive-thru call box at a fast-food restaurant, a voice came over the speaker.
“Good afternoon,” answered a female voice.
“It’s Tommy Hwan. My friend in the car behind me and I are here to see Mr. Park. He’s expecting us.”
Within seconds the giant gate opened and the cars slowly entered. Jake wasn’t sure what to expect and wondered if he was about to be ambushed by a North Korean hit squad.
The long, winding driveway bisected a well-kept botanical garden and perfectly manicured lawn. The U-shaped home had a five-car garage on the north end of the drive. The garage was connected to the house by an enclosed walkway. Pyongyang’s answer to Al Capone lived in opulence.
“Sin pays,” said Jake as he exited his car.
“I’d downplay your cute little witticisms if I were you. Show some respect. Mr. Park is an important man and not one who will take pleasure in your Western comedy.”
“Witticisms? Now who’s using big words? I’ll try to contain my comic alter ego.”
He watched Tommy punch the doorbell and a melodious tune could be heard through the large oak door. Patience was not one of Jake’s virtues and the wait seemed longer than normal. He was hoping the crime boss wasn’t racking a round in the chamber of a high-powered automatic. He wanted to pound on the door, but knowing the importance of the man on the other side, he stepped away from the portal and “bladed” himself, trying to become a thinner target should bullets start flying.
Tommy gave Jake a questioning look as if to say, “Should I ring the bell again?” But before he could open his mouth a twenty-something female opened the massive door. Though she wasn’t stunning, her almond eyes were accentuated by shoulder-length black hair and a perfect porcelain complexion.
“Hi, Tommy,” said the female with a beautiful smile.
Tommy gave her an extended hug and she returned the embrace, looking over his shoulder, and with that same smile eyed Jake. Then Tommy introduced the undercover agent to Jenny, H. Daniel Reid’s former love interest and the target of Jake’s fictional assassination attempt. There’s no accounting for bad taste. Why would a girl living in such luxury be attracted to some aging barrister just because he belches big bucks?
Jake and Tommy stood in the entryway and watched Jenny as she casually walked down a long hallway to an open door.
“Father, Tommy and his guest have arrived.”
Jake heard a voice say, “Show them in.”
Jenny returned and ushered the men toward the hallway. An older female and young girl walked out from the kitchen as the men passed. Tommy stopped and in Korean greeted the woman. She smiled and bowed. Tommy turned to Jake. “This is Soo Min, Mr. Park’s wife. And this is Gracie, their granddaughter.”
“I’m Jake. How do you do?”
Soo Min smiled and bowed without speaking. Gracie bowed and held up four fingers. “I’m four. How old are you?”
Jake smiled. “A little older than that.”
Jenny continued to lead the men down the hallway to the study.
Jake was hardly surprised when he entered Park’s office. Everything this man did was beyond excess. The marble floor and oak-paneled walls shouted wealth. His large antique desk was situated to overlook the Olympic-size swimming pool in the backyard, the water cascading down a man-made falls.
The criminal kingpin was sitting in a high-back brown leather chair and Jake quickly spotted two Asian males posted in opposite corners at the far end of the room, quietly standing guard. He saw the bulges beneath their matching dark green Tommy Bahama shirts and assumed the two were well armed. There was a strange familiarity with the smaller of the two men; his manner, his eyes. Jake couldn’t quite place it but it was unsettling. He needed to focus but the nagging question persisted.
Tommy strode to Park and bowed. “Mr. Park, thank you for seeing us. Allow me to introduce my friend, Jake. He is the one who has been assisting us in our business.”
Park nodded toward the security guards, then said to Jake, “You will understand if my men perform a cursory search.”
Jake smiled, lifted his shirt, and turned around slowly, displaying the Glock 19 resting in the small of his back. “With your permission I’ll remove it. I have no intention of using it but understand your reluctance to discuss business with an armed man.” Using two fingers, Jake carefully withdrew the semi-automatic and laid it on a nearby dark walnut antique Korean medicine chest.
Anger and embarrassment flashed across Tommy’s face; he had been unaware Jake was armed. “Sir, I can assure you I had no idea this man brought a weapon into your home.”
Park waved him off. “He is a careful man. It is okay. Should he have chosen to use the weapon he would not have left alive.” Smiling, Park spoke in Korean to the larger of the guards. The man stepped forward, picked up the firearm, deftly dropped the magazine into his palm, set it on the chest, cleared the 9mm round out of the chamber, and placed the empty weapon beside it. As the big man returned to his post along the wall, he slid the round into his pocket.