Harry Nakagawa's car was making a noise he didn't like. Maybe a wheel bearing. Shit.
It was a pity he couldn't buy a new car. But one of the problems with being a divorced cop was that sudden signs of affluence would be viewed with suspicion and next thing you knew, it was Prince of the City time and a prison term. So despite the money in the offshore account, Harry drove the same Saturn he'd been driving for six years and sweated repairs like everyone else.
Two more years and he'd have twenty years in. He could retire in Cabo San Lucas, down in Mexico. He planned to eat fish tacos, do some whale watching and never wear shoes again. Find some pretty little Mexican girl with dreams of U.S. citizenship and move her into his bed.
Right now, though, he was going to have to do something about Tony Viet and his group. They'd gone from being a nickel and dime offshoot of the Temple Street gang to being a real pain in the ass. They had someone smart with a computer who was doing all these high-profile stunts like the business with the porn tape. There'd been a memo about squad car security and then the rumor mill had started churning, then it was on the streets and two bit hoods were repeating it to Chinese gang kids with orange hair.
Rep was everything to these kids.
Something was going to have to be done about ESC.