The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1) (9 page)

Raja wished it would be that simple. He couldn’t
help smiling as he watched her gather up her things. Raja’s cup
was usually half full, but Vinny’s was always overflowing.

“I already locked up,” said Vinny. “I
packed you the usual and everything I need,” she said while
tossing two bags into the back seat.

“You sure we have everything?”

“G-T-G, boss. Let’s boogie,” said
Vinny, as she climbed in beside Raja.

“I take it that’s a yes.”

“No doubt about it.”

Chapter Twelve: Road Trip to Hell

Raja drove the scenic route to San Francisco along
the Pacific Coast Highway. Vinny kept to herself, running algorithms
through her iPad to track the judge’s movements, and all the
while continuing her investigations of the various names she had
accumulated. First, she collected all the data on Judge Griggsby’s
locations in the city over the past two years. She could access
financial transactions and video feeds from surveillance cameras
throughout the city. Then she ran the data through an iCloud program
she had installed from the computer back at the loft. Simultaneously
she was searching all the SEC filings on investments he had made
during his tenure as a federal judge.

Meanwhile, Raja breathed in the fresh sea air and
tried to forget about the case as much as he could. He took every
case personally, which made him a force to reckon with during an
investigation, but the closeness also took its toll emotionally.
Cruising along the PCH was the perfect antidote. The twilight
stretched out over a long time along the coastline and the lights
played over the horizon in subtly shifting hues that soothed his
mind.

When darkness finally closed over the coast, Raja
had begun to relax. First he rolled up the windows to deflect the
wind. His razor-sharp memory allowed him to play a favorite Mozart
piano concerto in his head, including the ambiance of the Vienna
theater where he had originally watched the performance. He could
even feel the bristle of the theater seat upholstery on his arms.

“Woo Fong,” said Vinny, bringing a
sudden end to the concerto.

“What?” asked Raja, thinking it must be
another one of Vinny’s hipster expressions.

“Woo Fong Mandarin. It’s a restaurant in
Chinatown. That should be our first stop in San Francisco. My
modality program says we have a sixty-seven percent probability of
finding the judge from there.”

“Chinatown it is.”

When Raja exited Highway One and headed into San
Francisco, it was quarter to nine. The restaurant was closed so they
headed to the tenderloin district. The judge’s sexual tastes
made the S&M clubs a good place to start.

There were plenty of choices in the Castro District.

“Where to first?” asked Raja, as they
tooled along Market Street.

“I’ve got blogs on two man-boy clubs in
the underground scene,” said Vinny. “Nothing here. We are
looking for Baker Street—somewhere off Market—I’ll
have it GPS’d in a moment.”

There were private clubs along Market Street with
small signs meant only for clientele who knew where they were going.
Raja pulled over and watched a group of men coming out of one of the
leather clubs. Two of them looked like conservative businessmen. The
third was considerably younger, probably in his early twenties,
wearing a spiked leather collar around his neck. As he bent down to
climb into a Black Lexus, Raja read the tattoo on his lower back. It
was mocked up like a green rectangular street sign that read OPEN FOR
BUSINESS.

Vinny noticed Raja staring and couldn’t
resist. “This place is much too mainstream for the judge.”

“Mainstream?” asked Raja, finding that
hard to swallow.

“Yeah, this is squaresville for San Francisco.
We’re looking for the darker corners of the city.” Vinny
fiddled with the GPS. “Here we go. 447 Baker Street—should
be just south of 15th Street. Turn left at the next corner.”

Raja made the turn and cruised slowly. Only a few
blocks away from the tourist section was another planet altogether.
The street lights were all tinted pink and the windows were blacked
out in all the buildings.

“This is it. Welcome to the man-boy district.”

After parking, they walked to the address Vinny had
found. The outside was dark and uninviting, with only a Gothic door
with the number 447 above. Inside it looked like a father and son
convention, with one major twist. Most of the pairs were either
dancing or pawing each other. Raja remembered his own father and felt
uncomfortable.

“You want a drink?” asked Vinny. “You
look like you could use one.”

“Better make it a double.”

Vinny ordered a scotch for Raja and a wine cooler
for herself. She dropped a hundred dollar bill on the bar and said,
“Keep the change.” She handed Raja the scotch which he
downed in one uncharacteristic swig.

“Are these really underage boys in here?”
asked Raja.

“It looks that way, but that’s all role
playing. It’s eighteen or older to get in, and believe me, they
do card.” Vinny leaned over the bar toward the bartender. “My
friend is looking for a lover. But he wants someone younger than
anybody I see in here. Any chance you can point us in the right
direction?”

“You a cop?”

“Absolutely not.” Vinny put another one
hundred dollar bill on the bar and smiled at the bartender.

“You want to talk to Raphael.” The
bartender wrote a number on a napkin. “Tell him Rocky told you
to call. Otherwise, he’ll hang up.”

“Thanks, Rocky.”

“My name’s Ted,” said the
bartender without smiling.

“Right.” Vinny folded up the napkin and
found Raja. He was standing next to a large fountain of a cherub
peeing, attempting to be invisible. A number of men in the club were
trying to make eye contact with him.

“I can see you aren’t enjoying this part
of the investigation,” said Vinny. “You know, Raj, we are
just following the leads we get. You don’t actually have to
join the man-boy club.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re a girl. I
feel dirty.”

“Welcome to my world. Maybe you’ll
remember this the next time you feel compelled to gawk at some hot
babe.”

“Point taken. In any case, if you got what we
came for, let’s get out of here.”

“Lead the way.”

They left the club and stepped out onto the
pavement. Raja was clearly relieved to be outside.

“Feeling a little homophobic, are we?”
asked Vinny.

“Not at all. What adults do for fun is their
business. However, that doesn’t mean I have to embrace or like
it.”

“True dat.” Vinny fiddled with her iPad.
“I’ve got our next stop located using reverse number look
up. The bartender said we should call first. Or, would you prefer to
go all storm trooper?”

Raja extrapolated on several possible scenarios in
his head. “Let’s follow the bartender’s
instructions. We are heading into an illicit world. I’d rather
not surprise anyone and prompt a violent reaction.”

“Then you should make the call, me being a
girl and all.” Vinny loved to push Raja’s buttons.

Raja made a face and pulled out his phone.

Vinny handed him the number. “You should say
Rocky sent you.”

“You’re just messing with me now.”

“No, the bartender said so. For real.”

Raja punched in the number and waited.

The phone rang three times before a tentative voice
said, “Yeah?”

“Rocky said to call.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m looking for a companion.”

“Age?”

“Maybe ten to twelve.”

“Race?”

The voice sounded like a bored clerk at Baskin
Robbins taking an order for an ice cream cone. It turned Raja’s
stomach, but he managed to keep his cool. “Surprise me,”
he said.

“One thousand dollars. I need a major credit
card.”

Raja looked at Vinny who was tracking the phone call
on her iPad. Both sides of the conversation were typing across her
screen. She opened a window on the screen and handed it to Raja. It
was a legitimate credit card she had created, complete with a
separate persona and background for just such an occasion as this.

Raja looked at the iPad screen. The name under the
credit card number was Lester Brass. The phrase “Lester the
molester” ran through his head as he prepared himself to assume
the part. He decided right then he would never use that name again.

“You there, buddy?” asked the impatient
voice on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, just getting out my credit card.
Here you go.” Raja read the number, name and expiration date to
the faceless voice on the other end.

After a fifteen second lag, the voice said, “Go
to the Avalon Motel on Third Avenue, between Baker and Washington,
and book room 214. Go to the room and wait inside. Got it?”

“Got it. How long do I wait?”

“Patience, my friend.” Then the line
went dead.

“There goes a thousand bucks I’ll never
see,” said Raja. Sketchy didn’t begin to describe what he
thought of this operation.

“Money is just an attitude, remember,”
said Vinny.

“Yeah, and right now my attitude is pretty
poor, no pun intended. I just hope we get something out of this.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Third Avenue was less than a mile away. The Avalon
Motel was no better or worse than most cheap city motels. Raja pulled
in and parked toward the rear.

“I’ll go in,” said Raja. “You
stay in the car until I get into the room.”

“As you wish, boss.”

Raja walked into the office. The man at the front
desk was what you might expect at a low-rent motel. A couple of old
faded tattoos, bad teeth and the red, rheumy eyes that spoke of
someone who had exceeded capacity on alcohol far too often.

“Room 214,” said Raja.

The clerk smiled knowingly and tossed a key onto the
counter. “A hundred even.” He knew a sucker when he saw
one.

Raja glared.

“It’s our most popular room,” said
the clerk. His grin revealed two missing molars.

Raja put a hundred dollar bill on the counter, which
the clerk scooped up like a frog snatching a fly.

“Top rear, last door. Stairs are through
there.” The clerk jerked a thumb to his left, and turned from
the window, no longer interested.

As Raja climbed, the stairs echoed with an empty,
hollow sound that seemed appropriate to the unholy activities that
went on at the Avalon Motel. It pained Raja to imagine the tortured
souls who had come before him—not to mention their innocent
victims. Reaching the last door, he turned the key in the knob, and
after a pause to glance at the red Ferrari below, slipped into room
214.

While waiting in the car, Vinny had already run a
trace on the merchant account that had run Raja’s credit card.
It was the Woo Fong Mandarin restaurant in Chinatown, the same one
that she had already connected to Judge Griggsby. It looked like
Ramona Griggsby had been telling the truth about the judge and his
preferences. They were right on track. Vinny also knew, when this was
over, Raja would turn over everything to the local police so they
could bust up the operation. She dropped the info into a document
folder on her iPad, and headed up the rear stairs to the room. After
a soft knock, the door opened and she disappeared inside.

“What do you think?” asked Vinny.

“I think this world needs help,” said
Raja, rubbing his temples. Degradation hung in the room like a thick
cloud. Sometimes empathy could be a bitch. “For now, we wait,”
he said.

Vinny looked at the bed. “No chance I sit on
that,” she said, and grabbed a wooden chair near the door.

Raja stood in the corner watching through a narrow
gap in the window curtain. After an hour, there was a loud triple
knock on the door. Raja opened the door, keeping Vinny concealed
behind it. A small Chinese boy, at most ten, stood alone in the
doorway looking scared and desperate. Raja waved the boy inside. He
stuck his head out and looked in both directions. Whoever brought the
boy had already disappeared. This was going to be tougher than he had
hoped.

When the boy saw Vinny in the room, he looked
confused.

“Do you speak English?” she asked
slowly.

“Yes.”

“No one is going to hurt you. You are safe
now.”

Instead of the relief Vinny expected, the boy’s
eyes got wide and he looked alarmed. He thought they were the police.

An avalanche of Chinese spilled from his lips, none
of which Vinny could interpret beyond the fact the boy was upset.
Before Vinny could say anything the boy bolted for the door.

“Whoa there, fellow,” said Raja, as he
scooped him up before he could get out. Raja put the boy down inside
the room and closed the door. “English, please. Slowly.”

“You must not make any trouble,” said
the boy. “They will hurt my family.”

“Who will?” asked Vinny.

“The boss man.” He added a word in
Chinese that didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Where is your family?” asked Vinny.

“Chinatown. They work in the factory for the
boss man. That’s all I know. Please, I don’t want no
trouble. You must let me go.”

Vinny looked at Raja then back at the boy.

“Do you know where the factory is?”
asked Vinny.

The boy shook his head.

“We will fix this,” she said. “What
is your name?”

“Li.”

“We will fix this, Li.” Vinny’s
cup was overflowing, as usual.

Raja wasn’t so sure. He and Vinny listened
while the boy told them the horrors of what had happened. Finally, he
said, “So you see. You must let me go.”

“No way, Jose,” insisted Vinny.

“The boy is right,” said Raja. “Let
him go.” Raja opened the door.

“Are you crazy?” said Vinny.

“Let him go,” repeated Raja.

Vinny couldn’t believe her ears.

In the shock of the moment, the boy pulled free of
Vinny and scampered out the door.