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"But you don't think Dragon killed him."
She sighed in exasperation. "I don't know what I think. It's just that I always supposed that when Reg got it it would be for something more personal than driving his car into a stupid shrine in a parking space. You know what I mean? But what does it matter who killed him, anyway?"
"It matters to Tommy Dragon, for one."
She dismissed the accused man's life with a flick of her hand. "Like I said, the Dragon's a killer. He might as well die for Reg's murder as for any of the others. In a way it'd be the one good thing Reg did for the world."
Perhaps in a certain primitive sense she was right, but her offhandedness made me uncomfortable. I changed the subject. "About the threats to Mrs. Angeles-which of the «Kabalyeros» would be behind them?"
"All of them. The guys in the gangs, they work together."
But I knew enough about the structure of street gangs-my degree in sociology from UC Berkeley hadn't been totally worthless-to be reasonably sure that wasn't so. There is usually one dominant personality, supported by two or three lieutenants; take away these leaders, and the followers become ineffectual, purposeless. If I could turn up enough evidence against the leaders of the Kabalyeros to have them arrested, the harassment would stop.
I asked, "Who took over the «Kabalyeros «after Dragon went to jail?"
"Hector Bulis."
It was a name that didn't appear on my list; Amor had claimed not to know who was the current head of the Filipino gang. "Where can I find him?"
"There's a fast-food joint over on Geneva, near the Cow Palace. Fat Robbie's. That's where the «Kabalyeros» hang out."
The second person I'd intended to talk with was the young man who had reportedly taken over the leadership of the Victors after Dawson 's death, Jimmy Willis. Willis could generally be found at a bowling alley, also on Geneva Avenue near the Cow Palace. I thanked Madeline for taking the time to talk with me and headed for the Daly City line.
The first of the two establishments that I spotted was Fat Robbie's, a cinderblock-and-glass relic of the early sixties whose specialties appeared to be burgers and chicken-in-a-basket. I turned into a parking lot that was half-full of mostly shabby cars and left my MG beside one of the defunct drive-in speaker poles.
The interior of the restaurant took me back to my high school days: orange leatherette booths beside the plate glass windows; a long Formica counter with stools; laminated colour pictures of disgusting-looking food on the wall above the pass-through counter from the kitchen. Instead of a jukebox there was a bank of video games along one wall. Three Filipino youths in jeans and denim jackets gathered around one called 'Invader!' The «Kabalyeros,» I assumed.
I crossed to the counter with only a cursory glance at the trio, sat, and ordered coffee from a young waitress who looked to be Eurasian. The «Kabalyeros «didn't conceal their interest in me; they stared openly, and after a moment one of them said something that sounded like 'tick-tick,' and they all laughed nastily. Some sort of Tagalog obscenity, I supposed. I ignored them, sipping the dishwater-weak coffee, and after a bit they went back to their game.
I took out the paperback that I keep in my bag for protective coloration and pretended to read, listening to the few snatches of conversation that drifted over from the three. I caught the names of two: Sal and Hector-the latter presumably Bulis, the gang's leader. When I glanced covertly at him, I saw he was tallish and thin, with long hair caught back in a ponytail; his features were razor-sharp and slightly skewed, creating the impression of a perpetual sneer. The trio kept their voices low, and although I strained to hear, I could make out nothing of what they were saying. After about five minutes Hector turned away from the video machine. With a final glance at me he motioned to his companions, and they all left the restaurant.
I waited until they'd driven away in an old green Pontiac before I called the waitress over and showed her my identification. "The three men who just left," I said. "Is the tall one Hector Bulis?"
Her lips formed a little "O" as she stared at the ID. Finally she nodded.
"May I talk with you about them?"
She glanced toward the pass-through to the kitchen. "My boss, he don't like me talking with the customers when I'm supposed to be working."
"Take a break. Just five minutes."
Now she looked nervously around the restaurant. "I shouldn't-"
I slipped a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and showed it to her. "Just five minutes."
She still seemed edgy, but fear lost out to greed. "Okay, but I don't want anybody to see me talking to you. Go back to the restroom-it's through that door by the video games. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."
I got up and found the ladies room. It was tiny, dimly lit, with a badly cracked mirror. The walls were covered with a mass of graffiti; some of it looked as if it had been painted over and had later worked its way back into view through the fading layers of enamel. The air in there was redolent of grease, cheap perfume, and stale cigarette and marijuana smoke. I leaned against the sink as I waited.
The young Eurasian woman appeared a few minutes later. "Bastard gave me a hard time," she said. "Tried to tell me I'd already taken my break."
"What's your name?"
"A
"A
"Uh-huh."
"Keep pretty much to themselves, don't they?"
"It's more like other people stay away from them." She hesitated. "They're from one of the gangs; you don't mess with them. That's why I wanted to talk with you back here."
"Have you ever heard them say anything about Tommy Dragon?"
"The Dragon? Sure. He's in jail; they say he was framed."
Of course they would claim that. "What about a Mrs. Angeles-Amorfina Angeles?"
"… Not that one, no."
"What about trying to intimidate someone? Setting fires, going after someone with a gun?"
"Uh-uh. That's gang business; they keep it pretty close. But it wouldn't surprise me. Filipinos-I'm part Filipina myself, my mom met my dad when he was stationed at Subic Bay -they've got this saying, «kumukulo ang dugo.» It means 'the blood is boiling.' They can get pretty damn mad, 'specially the men. So stuff like what you said-sure they do it."
"Do you work on Fridays?"
"Yeah, two to ten."
"Did you see any of the «Kabalyeros» in here last Friday around six?" That was the time when Isabel had been accosted.
A
"All of them?"
"Uh-huh. Started around five thirty, went on a couple of hours. My boss, he was worried something heavy was go
"What was this meeting about?"
"Had to do with the Dragon, who was go
The image of the three I'd seen earlier-or any of their ilk-as character witnesses was somewhat ludicrous, but I supposed in Tommy Dragon's position you took what you could get. "Are you sure they were all there?"
"Uh-huh."
"And no one at the meeting said anything about trying to keep Mrs. Angeles from testifying?"
"No. That lawyer the Dragon's got, he was there too."
Now that was odd. Why had Dragon's public defender chosen to meet with his witnesses in a public place? I could think of one good reason: he was afraid of them, didn't want them in his office. But what if the «Kabalyeros» had set the time and place-as an alibi for when Isabel was to be assaulted?
"I better get back to work," A