Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2) (10 page)

CHAPTER 20

“Well, what happened? How did he take it?”

“As expected. The real question is, what does he do next?”

Billy had been waiting for the phone to ring. He put Jack on a conference call so the conversation would not have to be repeated. Marta attempted to relay not only the words but the tone of voice and facial expressions. She was keeping her fingers crossed. It could go either way.

“Do you think we should alert Ms. Ling her brother knows where she is?” Marta asked.

“Are you crazy? Not if you want to keep a client, let alone live for another day. Why in the world would you make a stupid suggestion like that?”

Marta wasn’t sure she had an answer. At least none any man would understand.

***

Rik submitted a supplemental report two days later. Information from friends, colleagues, and neighbors that gave a much broader picture. One that could affect everything. Marta was almost afraid to share it—with anyone. The ladies in her clinic were her family. The only family she had known in the past thirty years. She was not one to forgive or forget. After her uncontested divorce, there were no assets. She made it her personal vendetta to make sure her ex-husband would never treat any woman like he treated her. It was rumored, but never proven, that someone had thrown acid in his face, thereby creating ugly scars and deformed features no woman could ever look at.

Although he was never charged with promotion of prostitution, a victim’s report was filed with the sex crimes unit of the NYPD. Mei Ling was sure at least one maggot would no longer threaten other women. As for drugs, this was an ongoing battle. The street venders, the dealers, the distributors, had no idea how many lives they had ruined. Not only the users, but their unborn babies and the unspeakable things some women did to supply their insatiable habit. They lost all ties and responsibilities with their children and families. They lived day-to-day for their next fix.

All the dealers saw was profit. Money. To buy fancy cars and toys and bling. Loss of human life was an unfortunate byproduct. Mei Ling devoted her entire being to eradicating these vultures. Now she had learned her own brother, her only living relative, was the king pin.

Not for long, not for long
, Mei Ling silently vowed.

The more the realization grew, the greater the hate for the one man responsible.

After reading Rik’s report for the second time, Marta realized her allegiances were torn. Not a good thing for a lawyer. There was no question that legally and ethically speaking her allegiance, her only allegiance, had to be to her client, Xiang Yeung. She also had great sympathy for a woman she had never met, never looked deep in her eyes or felt her hurt, the one person in the world she should avoid feelings for, her client’s sister, Mei Ling.

For the hundredth time in the past week, Marta had the same conversation with herself. It was becoming not only repetitious but served no useful purpose.

Why the fuck did I ever get involved in this mess? How did it happen, and how do I resolve my internal conflict?

Marta knew there was no answer, at least not in the foreseeable future.

***

Everyone was becoming aware that Sonny Bananas and Mr. Yeung were taking up ninety-nine percent of their time and effort. For all practical purposes, the two gentlemen were their only paying clients. No one was objecting to the initial retainer by Yeung. It would carry them for the next year at least. Billy thought now would be a good time to approach Salvatore about financial arrangements. He called Black Jack and asked if he wanted to be present.

“Are you kidding me, partner? I wouldn’t miss it for the world. When we get finished with Mr. Bananas, he won’t feel so ripe anymore. In fact, his insides may turn to mush.”

Jack was proud of himself for slipping in the obvious metaphors. Billy groaned silently. An appointment was set for the end of the week in the Newark law office. Psychologically speaking, it was the right move.

***

In the middle of everything else, ADA Ronnie Rosenthal called. He wanted to set up a pre-trial conference on the Tao Fung matter. He mentioned he was preparing for a murder one trial and didn’t want to clutter his desk with a simple “possession, with intent to sell” case. Marta knew damn well the DA would never assign a capital case to Ronnie.

He was getting nervous and wanted out.

“I appreciate the offer, but my client has a winning case. You might want to check with the arresting officer and find out what he did with all the evidence. Probably not a bad idea to check the officer’s personal savings account. Any big deposits since the bust? You might also want to check the evidence room to verify what you actually have. No, there will be no plea bargaining. In fact, we want to go to trial. That way we can later sue the city, the police department, the arresting officer, maybe even you, for a few hundred thousand. Have a great day, Ronnie.”

Marta could only imagine the look on his face when she hung up on him. She knew damn well the office of the district attorney could never be sued, but it put another thought in his mind.

Let the little prick sweat for a while.

She had other things to do, like getting ready for the meeting with Sonny.

***

“Thanks for meeting us on such short notice, Sonny.”

“My pleasure, I’m sure.”

Black Jack decided to take the lead. So far, he had the most rapport with Mr. Bonnonnos.

“Sonny, as you know, we are very proud you selected us to represent you and your family. In fact, that is the only reason I decided to come out of retirement is to represent you. Now…”

Sonny interrupted, as usual. “Youse don’t have to hit me over the head with a crowbar. This little get together is to see how much you can squeeze outa me. Am I right?”

“I’m not sure I would put it that way, but nuthin’ for nuthin’.”

“I gots you covered. I knows youse guys don’t come cheap. I gots what you want right here.”

Sonny reached down and pulled out a fair-sized suitcase.

“Inside is a check for two hundred thousand made payable to the firm and another two fifty in cash. A half a mill should cover the freight for a while. I promise I’ll try and be a good boy. Now what else youse want to talk about? The weather, the stock market, the fucking Mets?”

Jack looked at Billy. Billy nodded to Marta.

“I think that about covers it. By the way, the firm thanks you for your understanding and again allowing us to represent you.”

“Youse guys do a good job and we have no problems. If not, it’s the East River in cement boots for all three of you.”

Sonny looked at the fright on their faces.

“It was only a joke. Only a joke. We don’t do that sorta thing—not anymore. “

“Have a nice trip home, Sonny. Don’t get any speeding tickets. The retainer only goes so far.”

Sonny stared at the three of them.

“It was only a joke, Sonny. Only a joke.”

After Sonny left, the conference room door was locked and the cash was dumped on the table. It took close to an hour for all three to count it. It came to exactly two hundred fifty thousand dollars in cold, hard cash.

This time, it was Jack who asked the naïve question. “What do we do with the cash?” He had not been made aware of the last cash transaction. It was before he had become a partner, and the money was resting comfortably in a Gibson and Clarke client escrow account.

Marta was beginning to feel her old self.

“Either we can go out and have one hell of a party, buy a few keys of heroin, or call the police and have them escort us over to our bank for deposit in a new Gibson, Clarke, and Renaldo escrow account. You tell me?”

Billy decided to join in the fun.

“I vote we buy as many keys of H as we can, step on it at least twice, and triple our money. Just don’t mention it to Sonny.”

Jack froze. Marta picked up the phone, called the local precinct, and stuffed the cash back in the suitcase Sonny had purposely left behind.

“I vote we each give ourselves a twenty-five-thousand-dollar cash bonus. There are some things I need and don’t want to charge. Any objections?”

She looked at her two partners, who were both wondering what she was going to buy.

“Thanks,’” Marta politely replied.

CHAPTER 21

Xiang sat in the garden till late into the night. As instructed, no one bothered him. Finally at 10:45, far past his normal bedtime, his housekeeper came out with some sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea.

“It is very late, sir. I thought you might be hungry. May I bring these up to your room, or should I leave them here?”

The housekeeper also brought a warm blanket that she gently laid around his shoulders. He looked older than she had ever seen him before. He looked frail. He looked like if she touched him, he would break like a fine piece of China.

Xiang flicked the back of his hand as if to say, “Leave me alone.” The photos and preliminary report were still where Ms. Clarke had left them. He was afraid if he touched them, something terrible would happen to him. Or to Mei Ling.

How did this happen? What deity did I offend? What do I do now?

Xiang took a few sips of the hot tea, closed his eyes, and decided he could not deal with it now. He fell asleep in his chair.

The housekeeper who had been watching him from a kitchen window signaled a few men to go out, gently lift the chair, and carry Mr. Yeung to his own bed after removing his shoes only and covering him with his own blanket.

It was sometime in the middle of the night when Xiang woke in a sweat from a horrible nightmare. He did not recall everything, but he remembered his parents forcing him to leave the house and telling Mei Ling to never look at him again. He had done something to disgrace the family and was forbidden to ever return to his home again.

Xiang began to plead and cry. He was sorry and would never do whatever it was again.

The voice told him it was too late.

Xiang knew exactly what it was. Now he had to make up for it. He would contact Mei Ling in the morning. Whatever she said, he would do. Gladly.

For the balance of the night, Xiang laid in bed and thought of what he had done for the last forty years. Sleep never came.

***

“What kind of shit did you pull? I’ll have you arrested for tampering with evidence. I will take you to the bar association. I will have your ticket. You won’t get away with this—I promise you that.”

Marta sat at her desk and listened. She had no idea what Ronnie Rosenthal was talking about. He had to be foaming at the mouth. He couldn’t get his words out fast enough.

“Ronnie, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. Call me when you’re not drinking and are able to communicate in English.”

She slammed the phone down.

It rang three minutes later. It was ADA Rosenthal.

“The fucking evidence is gone. All we have is three large bags of talcum powder. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m coming after you personally.”

Now Marta was ready to have him for lunch. No one accused her of evidence tampering or misconduct.

“Let me ask you this, asshole. Where were the bags of talcum powder kept?”

“In the damn evidence room. You know that.”

“And who controls the evidence room? Me or the sheriff? Maybe the arresting officer switched it, assuming it was the real stuff to begin with. You better be careful who you’re threatening, or your next job will be cleaning the urinals in the DA’s office. Have a nice day, lackey.”

Marta was about to hang up when she added, “See you at trial, Ronnie. Oh, you might want to think about who assigned the case to you and who set you up to fall on your face. It certainly wasn’t me.”

You just made my day, asshole.
Her next thought was
, I wonder who actually made the switch?

Ronnie sat at his desk wondering,
Did someone really set me up?

***

“Mei Ling, it’s me, your brother. Please don’t hang up. I want to talk to you. I want to see you.”

All Xiang heard was silence, followed by a click. Mei Ling obviously hung up.

He called back a second time. The phone rang and rang. No answer. Reluctantly, he hung up.

The third call was to his lawyer.

“Ms. Clarke, it’s Mr. Yeung. I need your help.”

“Yes, Mr. Yeung. When and where?”

***

Marta was shocked by his candor. Mr. Yeung—she felt uncomfortable calling him by his given name—laid it all out. The size and scope of his operation, really an empire, his approximate net worth, just a shade under one billion, the fact he was tired, wanted to retire, and do some good for all those he had hurt. Most of all, he wanted to reunite with Mei Ling.

Although attorney/client privilege clearly attached, Marta was not comfortable knowing confidential inside information—suppliers, dealers, locations—that could potentially shut down a billion-dollar drug operation. She could hardly tell Mr. Yeung to stop telling her all the ins and outs. He was unloading, baring his soul, and in effect, asking for forgiveness.

I’m not your confessor; I cannot grant you absolution. I’m your lawyer, not savior. Stop telling me everything. I don’t want to know. Now or ever.

“This has all been most informative. Now what do you want me to do with it?”

Xiang thought it was obvious. He was not talking for the sake of talking.

“Go to Mei Ling and tell her. Tell her I have repented. I will give up the business tomorrow morning. I will use all my wealth to do good for all she has fought so hard for. Talk to her. You are a lawyer; convince her I mean it.”

I may be a lawyer, but I am not a miracle worker.

“I will do what I can. There are no promises, no guarantees.”

Xiang Yeung stood up to his full five foot three, looked up slightly, clasped Marta’s hands in his own, and thanked her profusely.

We shall see what we shall see.