“Thanks for seeing me,” said Cape.
“Always glad to be of service,” replied Yan. “But before we begin, which precinct are you with? I didn’t recognize your name.”
Cape had expected this. “I’m not with the police,” he said. “I’m a private investigator. Sorry if that wasn’t clear when I called.” People naturally made assumptions when they heard “detective,” and Cape saw no advantage in clearing things up until he was through the front door. He took his license from his jacket pocket and slid it across the desk.
Yan’s eyes flashed for an instant, but he didn’t miss a beat. “How interesting,” he said pleasantly. “And what are you investigating?”
“The refugee ship,” said Cape.
Yan leaned back in his chair, studying Cape for a minute before saying anything. “Could you be more specific?”
“I’m looking for someone,” Cape began, choosing his words carefully. “Someone who may have been onboard the ship.”
“And you think I might know them?” asked Yan, frowning.
“That hadn’t occurred to me,” replied Cape truthfully.
Yan raised his right eyebrow quizzically. “You have me at a disadvantage,” said Yan. “Do I know your client?”
Cape hesitated before responding. “That hadn’t occurred to me, either,” he said. “I’m here looking for advice, if you want to know the truth.”
Both eyebrows went up. “Advice?”
Cape leaned forward. “I’m looking for someone in a place that I can’t navigate on my own.”
“Chinatown,” said Yan knowingly.
Cape nodded.
“And you’re not Chinese.”
“You noticed.”
“A lucky guess,” replied Yan, smiling. The lines around his eyes revealed his age-Cape guessed Yan had ten years on him-but the rest of his face was smooth and unlined. His voice was resonant, with just the slightest edge to the consonants. He was better in person than in the newspaper, and he already came across pretty good in print. If I was the current mayor, thought Cape, I’d be nervous.
“Are you from the Bay Area?” asked Yan, seeming genuinely curious.
Cape shook his head. “East Coast, originally, but it’s been almost twenty years since I moved out here.”
Yan nodded. “Practically a native, as far as San Francisco goes.”
“Long enough to call it home, anyway,” said Cape, shrugging. “You?”
“Ten,” replied Yan, a note of pride entering his voice. “I came over from Hong Kong, after fleeing mainland China with my brother.”
Cape had read the story about Yan in the local papers, how he spent his first few years in San Francisco working for less than minimum wage, taking classes at night to learn about his new home. Four years later, he passed the California State Bar and opened a small legal practice. The next year he ran for District Supervisor and got elected and had been in the office ever since. It was the great American success story, still pursued in earnest by almost every man, woman, and child living in Chinatown.
“You’ve done well,” said Cape, stating the obvious but sensing Yan wanted the acknowledgment.
Yan nodded. “I’ve been lucky,” he said. “But I’m the exception, not the rule.”
Cape stayed quiet, sensing a soapbox was being added to the conversation.
“Do you know how many people in Chinatown speak little or no English, Mister Weathers?” asked Yan.
Before Cape could answer, Yan added, “Fifty percent.” He leaned forward in his chair, putting both palms on the desk. “And do you know how many Chinese work for less than the minimum living wage in this city?”
Cape shook his head.
“Almost thirty percent,” said Yan, a look of disgust crossing his face. “Some have good jobs, and they’re treated fairly. But many others are taken advantage of; these are not illegals, you understand. They’re simply isolated because they don’t know the language. They are totally dependent on the community in which they live. A community that exploits them.”
“The Chinese community,” said Cape simply.
“Sad, isn’t it?” said Yan. “But it’s worse in China,” he added. “Much worse.”
“That’s why people try to leave,” said Cape, trying to steer the conversation off the campaign trail.
“Yes,” said Yan, nodding absently.
“That’s why a ship full of refugees ran aground on Alcatraz.”
Yan took the hint. “Yes…yes. You wanted to talk about the ship.”
“If you don’t mind.”
Yan nodded.
“The people onboard,” began Cape. “Where would they have gone if the ship had docked the way it was supposed to?”
“You mean if they hadn’t been caught?”
“Yes.”
Yan hesitated, so Cape forged ahead. “I know they would have been taken to some sort of safe house,” he said, watching Yan for a reaction. “Maybe several houses in Chinatown. And they would have stayed there until they worked off their debt.”
Yan raised his eyebrows again. “You’ve done some homework.”
Cape shrugged. “That’s my job.”
“And who did you say your client was?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might,” said Yan, his eyes cautious.
“Didn’t you say the refugee ship was ‘a crisis affecting not only Chinese, but every taxpaying resident of San Francisco’?”
Yan’s mouth twitched, as if he had started to frown, before managing another smile. “Was that in the Chronicle?”
Cape nodded. “Right on the front page.”
Yan pursed his lips. Cape knew what was going through his mind. He looked directly at Yan, making sure he had full eye contact before he spoke.
“Look,” he said, “I’m not a reporter-I used to be-but I’m not here to burn you. You’re in the midst of a political campaign-I understand that.”
Yan smiled briefly, his body language more relaxed. “Are you saying this is off the record?”
“There is no record,” replied Cape. “You didn’t have to see me in the first place, and I appreciate that. You want me to leave, just say the word.”
Yan looked out his window before turning back to face Cape.
“Ask your questions,” he said.
“You’re putting a lot of heat on the mayor,” said Cape.
“He deserves it,” said Yan matter-of-factly.
“There’s a rumor he’ll step down,” said Cape. “Maybe not run against you, but nominate someone in his place.”
Yan shrugged. “There are a lot of rumors in this town,” he said, noncommittal. “Like charges of police corruption.”
“You saying the charges are bogus?” asked Cape.
“I’m saying it’s quite a coincidence,” said Yan. “I’ve suggested the current administration is corrupt, and yet the only scandal making the headlines has to do with Chinese police officers.”
“Which reflects on the entire Chinese community,” said Cape, finishing the thought. “So the politics are about race.”
Yan shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “The current mayor is black, so it’s not as simple as racial innuendoes or exploiting hidden bias in the voters. That only works when one of the candidates is white, at least in this city.”
“So?”
“It’s about reinforcing a perception that the Chinese in this city are somehow them, while everyone else is us. You set up a strong enough us-versus-them dynamic, and that could carry the election. The Chinese are isolated, different…many don’t even speak English….you get the idea.”
“So even when there’s a scandal in the current administration,” said Cape, “it somehow hurts your campaign, not the mayor’s.”
“The mayor is a smart man,” said Yan admiringly, his eyes bright with either envy or ambition. Cape couldn’t tell.
“With the Chinese cops sidelined during the investigation,” said Cape, “it makes it kind of tough to get a handle on the refugees and the ship.”
“I was going to ask if you already talked to the police,” said Yan.