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Hardcore.”
    The clerk glanced at the complaint. “Poor girl had
some bad love.”
    “That’s one way to look at it.”
    Ray thanked the clerk and left the courthouse.

Chapter
7
     
    Four muscular Asian men strutted along the
Embarcadero, radiating that odd mix of intimidation and restraint peculiar to
Asian gangs. The men had spent a lot of hours building muscle; being young and
violent, they showed off the results of their work with the iron. Thick traps
danced beneath the muscle tees, hard chests thrust out, triceps rippling. But
the men gave way to tourists, didn’t try to overdo the turf walk. They were on
business, simple and direct: hunt down Tania Kong.
    They walked past an outside cafe, scanning the
people. Fit men in black spandex and funny-looking helmets straddled titanium
bikes, or lounged on the grass. Kids walked by with their parents, munching on
junk food.
    They had been looking for Tania for six days. No
sign of her anywhere. Everyone had been sure it would be over in forty-eight
hours. But they were wrong. Excitement leaked away; frustration set in.
    Ricky flicked a cigarette to the sidewalk as he
reconnoitered the perimeter of the cafe. “I once seen this show about missing
persons—you don’t find them in twenty-four hours, you be fucked.”
    Dan looked at him. “Ahh shut ya’ cake hole.” The
other guys glared at Ricky, resenting the implication. The fuck-up was reaching
major proportions. Word filtered down from the bosses—they were pissed. Tamo
was riding them hard. A subliminal pressure was building; the guys could feel
it, like the tipping point in football when a linebacker crunches into a
quarterback to jar the ball loose. A spirit of collision. Someone had to make
something happen soon.
    Last night at Buddha Bar, Xio “Kenny” Chu came up
with an idea. Lean, well-dressed, a smooth talker, Kenny was dating a girl who
worked at a hospital and drove a van for elderly people. He told the crew that
the van had “Elderly Services” printed in blue block letters on the side and
was outfitted with stuff for the oldsters—the van actually tilted down and had
a little conveyor belt that lifted the old people out the door.
    “Well, the great thing is, my girl takes the van
home each night, she got the keys.” He smiled broadly over his beer as he told
everyone. “We can do missions from the handicap van. Roomy and they don’t
attract a lot of suspicion.”
    He met her at a club, and they did the club
hookup, sleeping together after one night out and then trying to salvage the
thing and get to know each other afterward. He was still banging her on
occasion.
    “She told me that if I needed wheels, I could take
the van anytime I need it.”
    So now the crew had the handicap wheels for the
day, cruising around and hunting Tania from the van. They could park in
handicap spots — anywhere really — because elderly people voted, they had all
kinds of rights, and who was going to ask a van used to help elderly people to
move anyway?
    So they piled inside and roamed the city. It was
funny shit, the van cruising heavily, the way the door opened and the van
tilted down like a decrepit elephant so the oldsters could step on.
    The guys carried six guns on board, four pistols
and two sawed off shotguns. Kenny and Dan placed one shotgun in each corner of
the van so they could cover all angles, a rolling fortress. The guns had
homemade silencers on them, thick as cans and stuffed with sound deadening
fiberglass.
    After a dull morning, they parked at the water
looking over the East Bay. Kenny and Sammy got off to pick up some lunch when
they saw her sitting in the cafe. Asian girl, petite, eyes with a certain
Western look to them. Right height, right profile. They ran back to the van to
check the picture.
    “Yep, it’s Tania,” said Kenny. They passed the
picture back and forth, and voted. Sammy shook his head no. They argued. “I’m
just saying, the girl in the cafe looks different. I don’t