Little Mountain by Bob Sanchez Read Free Book Online

“I don’t know how digging up garbage on a dead man will help anyone. A dozen people may tell you the same thing about Bin Chea, but I think the stories all came from the same man. As far as I can tell, the story is that Bin Chea was a monster who cut people’s bellies out and roasted them for supper. That he grew flowers in the eye sockets of a human skull. That is what I heard. Now let me tell you what I know.
             “Last summer, my husband disappeared. We had just moved into this apartment, and--” Her voice caught for a moment, but she recovered. “Mrs. Chea brought us food and kept us company for days while I waited for my brother and his wife to come from Providence to live with Pheary and me. My brother Someth gave me money for the next month’s rent, and Bin Chea refused to take it. ‘Skip this month,’ he told me. He got me a job at his restaurant. For as long as I have known him, he has shown me nothing but respect. And he’s never asked for anything in return.”
             “Did you call the police for help?”
             “To find my husband? He’s not a criminal.”
             “You could have filed a missing person report. We can still try to find him.”
             “I think he’s just tired of me.”
             “You think he left you?”
             “For another woman, a better one, I suppose.”
             “Why do you say that?”
             She looked away. “Because I didn’t make him happy.” Li Chang seemed like a woman who’d have no trouble pleasing her husband, but that depended on the husband as well, didn’t it? Short of the obvious distress signs such as bruises or black eyes or restraining orders, how did you judge what went on in a marriage?
             Sam thanked her, and she walked him to the door. “By the way,” he said, “have you ever heard of Paradise? Maybe it’s a business of Mister Chea’s or someone he knew?”
             She said she hadn’t.
             “Oh, just one more thing,” he said. “Your daughter is a good girl, but she’s a little too friendly with strangers.”
     
             Sam stepped back outdoors and into the oven, glad to have a possible motive for the killing. The note that said “we know” must have referred to Bin Chea’s Khmer Rouge past. Li Chang’s story--no, the story she repeated--troubled him. She considered the accusations utterly worthless, and maybe she was right. Then what about the note, what else could it mean? Of course, Li Chang might also know more about Bin Chea than she let on.
             Meanwhile, Sam wanted to question Khem Chhap, and he still hadn’t spoken to Mrs. Chea in the hospital. Across the street, his car now had plenty of room on both sides. They sat alone, just the Ford and the fire hydrant.
             On the sidewalk next to his car lay a rock about the size that must have hit his car. Sam ran his finger over the ding, where a flake of paint had chipped off and exposed the bare steel. It felt rough and blistering hot, like a battered skillet. It also felt like a hundred-dollar repair bill.
             He lifted the windshield wiper and removed the ticket, which had an illegible signature. He jammed the ticket in his shirt pocket and drove back to the station. Damn, it was about the last thing he needed.

CHAPTER SIX
    Back at the station, Sam filled out a report and pretended not to listen as Wilkins complained to Superintendent Corcoran. “This is the worst hot spell in twenty years, Chief. So how come we work with the frigging a/c off?”
             “Sorry,” the Chief said, “but the city’s got us by the short and curlies.” Sam wasn’t sure exactly what the Chief meant, but he got the point: real men didn’t need a/c to stay cool, and the department’s performance was expected not to suffer.
             “Damn voters want protection,” Wilkins said.