Violent Spring by Gary Phillips Read Free Book Online Page B

We hope you’ll be fair and impartial in your investigation.”
    â€œHow do you mean their game?”
    â€œAt the press conference, Li answered reporters’ questions. He said it was his opinion that Conrad James, if he could be found, might shed some light on this case. It seems to me that the Koreans want to put the noose around the young brother’s neck a little too soon.”
    â€œJames hasn’t been around much. It is logical to want to talk to him. And I intend to. But I’m not naive or a handkerchief head, Mr. Perry. I know what time it is. I realize the Merchants Group hired me for PR value and as a wedge to pressure the cops into action.”
    Perry assessed Monk with new eyes. “It might interest you to know that James was let go by Suh that week. James locked up that Friday, came back on Saturday and there was a note left on the door for him by, allegedly, Suh.”
    â€œHow do you know this?”
    â€œI keep an ear to the street, Mr. Monk.” Perry bowed his head to silent applause. “My understanding is the note instructed James, who was the manager by the way, where he could find the pay coming to him plus another two weeks.”
    â€œDid this note say why Suh closed up?”
    â€œAs far as I know, it did not.”
    â€œAnd do you have an address for James?” The file given to him by the Merchants Group lacked that as well.
    Perry stirred in his seat. “I didn’t come here to do your work for you. I came here to make sure you aren’t going to be the goat for the Koreans.”
    It was meant to bristle him and it did. Monk fought down a response and remained quiet.
    â€œBigger things than the death of a Korean shop owner are at stake in this.”
    â€œLike SOMA?”
    â€œMy being on the board of SOMA is just one means to an end.”
    â€œAnd what are your ends, Mr. Perry?”
    â€œEconomic justice for the black man, Mr. Monk.”
    â€œAnd your way of achieving that is getting your name in the newspapers often?”
    Perry rose, brushing imaginary lint from his trousers. “It was a pleasure having this little talk. We’ll have another one soon.” He smiled warmly and departed.
    Nighttime came and Monk prepared dinner at Jill’s house. It was a two-story angular model a la Richard Neutra located on a hill in Silverlake. The view from the window in her study overlooked the Silverlake reservoir. And on Sunday mornings one could find various people, including the judge and a city councilman who lived nearby, jogging around its concrete skirt. Rarely Monk.
    He did his best to cut down on red meat—the judge was a virtual vegetarian—and work out regularly, but he’d rather be dragged behind an IROC Trans Am butt naked than endure the ennui of jogging.
    Monk brought the plates of steaming yellow rice and shrimp, black beans on the side, to the dining room table. Kodama tossed a salad and poured equal amounts of an especially dry sauterne for both of them. She’d changed from her downtown business suit into form fitting cords and a loose flannel shirt. She was a Japanese-American woman of above average height with an intelligent face framed by walnut dark hair of medium length.
    They sat, clinked glasses and ate their food, making small talk. Later, they nestled on the couch in the judge’s study. The room was done in somber paneling with a large floor-to-ceiling Cherrywood bookcase filled with tomes of all sorts. Wing chairs occupied two corners like silent sentinels, and the judge’s desk was a twin of the one in Monk’s office. The floor was covered with a rug in bold Assyrian patterns. On the wall were various framed photos including one of Kodama being congratulated at an ACLU dinner. There was also a black lacquer frame around a photostat. It was Executive Order 9066, the law that FDR signed sending Japanese-Americans to concentration camps during World War II. Including