Read Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Rick Santini
I’ve got to be smart about it. I can’t lose my PI license. If I do, the sheriff would never take me back. Neither would any other law enforcement agency in the country.
Rik did not have to be told the ramifications of getting caught ratting on his former boss, but damn it, his ego had been bruised. No, it had been crushed. No broad, former ADA or not, was going to get away with dumping him, especially for an old man. Rik thought of himself as God’s gift to women.
So far, he really knew nothing. Sure Gibson and Clarke were representing drug dealers. Better make that alleged drug dealers. Nothing wrong with that. That’s the way the system worked. He had a feeling Marta’s relationship with Mr. Yeung was more than platonic, but again he could not prove it, and even if he could, so what? No law against sleeping your way to the top. Almost every successful politician in the country probably had. So what was his leverage?
Today nothing. Tomorrow could be a different story.
***
Rik had not been with the sheriff’s office long enough to be vested or entitled to pension funds. Sure, he had close to twenty thousand in the bank, but how long would that last him? He needed a job. A good paying job, and he couldn’t afford to wait for word to get out on the street he had been fired. Everyone would assume the worst, from getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar to fucking up on the job.
Technically, neither was true.
***
“My turn.”
“I am afraid I don’t quite understand.”
“It’s my turn to ask you out. Or more precisely, to have dinner with you at my place. There will be no servants, and I can’t promise you the meal will be up to your standards, but it will be homemade. That I can promise you.”
Xiang did not know what to say. Obviously, he was pleased to hear from Ms. Clarke, uh Marta, but being invited to her home was totally unexpected. He had hoped the next time they met he could discuss his next move with Mei Ling.
“I would be honored.”
“Give me a day or two to prepare. Let’s say Friday, seven p.m. for drinks.” Marta hesitated for a moment and then blurted it out, “You may bring your pipe if you wish.”
There was a silence on the phone as both contemplated what she just said. Was she giving him permission to get high with her again? Did she want to see the transformation again, or was she thinking it might be about time for her to experiment?
Finally.
“Thank you. I will see you Friday. What may I bring?”
“Just you and your pipe. And whatever you put in it.”
Marta hung up before she said something she could have regretted.
***
Rik knew better than to stalk, but there was nothing illegal about driving by once an evening to see if Marta’s car was on the street, if her lights were on, and maybe, just maybe if she were home—alone. No laws against driving slowly on a public street.
The very last thing he expected was to see the silhouette of Old Man China himself walking past the window. Rik pulled over, parked a few doors down, and crouched down in the left front seat. The moon was playing games with a few low hanging clouds, and the drapes were drawn, yet he was sure he saw Xiang Yeung.
He checked to see if there was a parked limo or chauffeured sedan parked nearby. None. He knew Marta still had connections with the Newark PD and could not afford to be caught parking almost directly across from her place. He waited a few minutes, saw no movement, and most reluctantly left.
Xiang was more than surprised when Marta poured the tea. He tasted and asked where she had gotten it. He was positive it was his special blend.
“From your housekeeper. I promised I would not tell you the source. I do not want to get her in trouble.”
“And you won’t. Thank you for the consideration. It was most kind of you.”
“You deserve it. You are a very sweet man, and I enjoy making you happy.”
“Maybe I can make both of us happy if you are willing to trust me. It is a request, not a condition. I want you to open your mind and explore what you are truly capable of doing.”
Marta was not sure what he was asking her to do. Could he possibly mean sex?
“I am always open to suggestions. I cannot promise anything, but I will listen with an open mind to anything you propose.”
“I smoke a very mild form of a cocaine derivative. It is against the law but frees up my mind and soul so I am able to think outside my body without restraints. I think you would find the experience, uh, exciting. Perhaps welcoming. I would recommend a very small amount the first time. There is nothing to be frightened about, and of course, I will be sitting right next to you, in your own home.”
He’s asking me to do drugs. Mind-altering, totally illegal drugs. This is not some joint the high school kids smoke in the lavatories. This is the big time. The stuff that lands you in jail for God knows how long. This is uncut and probably very high quality cocaine.
“Maybe just one hit, that’s all.”
“You will not be sorry. First we should have something to eat. There is no rush, my dear.”
How the hell can I eat food when I just agreed to do coke? What am I doing? What the hell is wrong with me? What will happen to me afterwards? Why is he doing this, and why do I trust him so much?
“If you think it is best.”
“I do.”
“Let me get you something to eat.”
She was stalling and damn well knew it.
“Thank you.” Xiang smiled as he contemplated dessert.
Black Jack and Sonny were now planning strategy.
Jack knew exactly what he was doing. Sonny did not.
“Trust me.”
“I do, but if you’re wrong, you feel bad the next day and I end up doing twenty to life. It’s my ass in the frying pan, not yours.
“I totally understand. You know, you can always fire me. I will completely understand.”
Sonny looked deep in Jack’s eyes to determine if he was bluffing. He knew Jack was the best there was at what he did and would never knowingly give him bad advice. Still, it was his skin, not the lawyer’s.
“We’ll give it a try. I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, but if at any point I am uncomfortable, all bets are off.”
“Agreed. Now can I call the US Attorney and set up an appointment for the three of us to meet. Completely off the record. No one will know, and there will be no record kept.”
Sonny nodded. It was not the most encouraging nod Jack had ever seen.
It was agreed the meeting would be on neutral territory. Well, sorta neutral. They would meet on the third floor of the law library in the Federal Courthouse in Foley Square in New York City. No one would be surprised to see the US Attorney in the building, and few people knew Jack Renaldo by sight. As for Sonny Bananas, he would be wearing sunglasses and a hat. It was not perfect but better than Jack and Sonny parading into the offices of a federal prosecutor.
There would be no court stenographer and no written notes. If all went well, they would meet again. If not, they would also probably meet again, this time under far different circumstances.
***
Billy felt comfortable in his new surroundings, both in his condo and office. He had learned a long time ago people love to associate with successful people, especially if they were not terribly successful themselves.
My dad is bigger than your dad; my brother can beat up your brother; my lawyer gets more acquittals/is a bigger shyster than yours.
Something like that.
Billy knew very few of his clients would ever see the inside of his home, but everyone knows someone who swears they have seen the inside of it. Be it the cleaning lady, the caterer of his last party, or the landlord. Few people could tell fake art from the real thing. They believed what they wanted to believe. If Billy had a Picasso or a Jackson Pollock hanging on his wall, who was there to say it was a copy, not the original?
If the ultra-modern furniture was a knockoff, rather than the original, there was really no one to dispute it. Billy was big on copies or replicas. Or fakes. If he could have purchased a Bentley with a Chevy engine and chassis, he would have bought it in a heartbeat. He did not need the real thing; all he needed was people to think it was the real thing.
Perception is reality.
That was his motto. In most cases, it worked.
Billy’s new condo was furnished with knockoffs from the art work to the furniture, to the heavy silver-looking eating utensils on the fake teak-like dining room table. It could have been named Phony Baloney and not have been more accurate.
He would be the first to admit, his life was a knockoff. He wanted to be a Clarence Darrow, Stephan Douglas, maybe Abe Lincoln himself, type lawyer. He wasn’t, he couldn’t, and he damn well knew it. The fact he was a highly successful lawyer in his own right was not enough. He constantly strived to be someone he could never be—someone other than Billy Jo Gibson, who grew up dirt poor, the only son of a miner in Wheeling, West Virginia. The only thing that covered the spoon in his mouth was coal dust.
Billy Jo would achieve his goal or die trying. Probably the latter.
For now, his new office was his number one priority. He didn’t care what it cost as long as it impressed. In the long run, actually not so long at all, the clients would be only too pleased to pay for it. They were buying success; they were buying an image, and that does not come cheap.
His new office had two very valuable paintings, or so he would have you believe. The massive table had been expertly stained to resemble a Brazilian maple. It was merely a veneer knockoff and ten percent the cost of an original.
The chairs were all leather. You had to give him that. Even his clients could tell real leather from vinyl.
Billy Jo was happy, and that was all that mattered. At least for the moment.
***
Billy made an executive decision. The firm would take no more misdemeanor cases. They would accept no more minor felony cases. If it was small potatoes, find a young attorney who needed the experience and fee. From now on, the minimum retainer for any case would be fifty thousand. If the client could not afford it, there was always the public defender or some hungry sleazebag who would sell his soul for a buck.
We will sell our soul, but only for fifty K or more. Hopefully a lot more.
If “perception is reality” was his motto, and it was, the second part would have been
greed is good
.
Very good.
No one in the mini firm was complaining. Soon they would be taking on one or two more associates. The associates could do the grunt work and be paid one hundred and twenty-five thousand a year. Based on a fifty-week year and fifty hours a week, that came to fifty dollars an hour. The partners would bill out their time at one fifty an hour. The math spoke for itself. Two young associates would net the firm an additional half million a year.
Maybe a bit more.
Billy Jo had a grin from one ear to the other.
What could be sweeter?
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. I trust you. If something happens, something bad, something unforeseeable, I could not be in better hands.”
Marta had taken her sweet time eating her dinner. The last thing on her mind was the food in front of her. All she could think about was the pipe, what was in it, and how it would affect her.
“May I suggest you make some tea and we can relax in the other room?”
Marta had a sudden fear the “other room” was the bedroom. In fact, Xiang was pointing to the love seat and couch in the living room. They were separated by a good three and a half feet.
Marta threw all the dishes in the sink. She would put them in the dishwasher later if she could. She took a deep breath, smiled, took Xiang’s hand, and walked the few short steps into the next room. She sat on the couch, Xiang on the love seat.
If there is ever a time to say no, this is it.
“I’m ready. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You don’t have to do this to please me. I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”
“I’m not a baby. Please light the pipe, Xiang.”
Slow and methodical. That could be the only description of how Xiang filled his pipe, tamped it down, and lit it. He waited a few seconds for the embers to cool and took a long, relaxed hit. He held the smoke in his lungs for a good ten seconds before he exhaled. He then handed the clay pipe to Marta, who had been watching every move, every nuance.
“Do not try to breathe too deeply. Do not force yourself to hold your breath. There is plenty of time and more than enough filler. Take a shallow breath, hold it only for a second or two, and let it release naturally. If you begin to cough, which I expect, slowly sip some tea.”
With that, he sat back and waited.
Marta did exactly what she had been told, including a minor coughing fit. She was not a smoker. Never had been. She was sure she was going to gag. She began to panic. She fought for clean air, finished her coughing jag, and sipped some tea. It felt relaxing. She also felt a slight change in her body. She took another toke, this time letting it fill her lungs for a good three or four seconds before the coughing began. It did not last as long, the tea felt good, and her body began to lose weight and structure.
She was not sure if she felt light headed or her body began to collapse. In either case, it felt good. Xiang motioned for the pipe. He needed to slow her down and allow her to absorb what was happening to her.
Marta watched the transformation in his features and body language. It was the same as the last time. She was determined to try it again, this time without coughing or panic.
She reached out her arm. Xiang handed her the pipe. This time, she drew longer on it and let the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds longer. She could feel the change in her body. She wanted to put it in words, but there were none.
“I think you have had enough for the evening. Have another sip of tea, and tell me how you feel.”
Marta seemed to melt into the couch as if she were a part of it. Her hand touched the fabric as if for the first time. It felt smooth and silky. It almost felt alive. She began to stroke the fabric as if it were somehow human and would respond. Xiang observed and said nothing. He was not surprised.
Somehow Marta expected to feel high, excited, outlandish. Instead she was mellow, laid back, even serene. She was aware of her own heart beating. She was positive she could feel the blood being pumped through her veins. She could hear individual notes of a song, not just the melody. She felt alive—and aware. She was not frightened. She was calm. She was at peace with herself.
It felt good. Real good.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. There was little to say. They were both enjoying the euphoria. Marta’s fear had been alleviated. She was savoring the moment. Probably more than she should have.
So this is what it’s all about. I like it; I really like it.
It was close to ten-thirty before either of them moved. They had been quietly contemplating their own personal sense of freedom. Freedom of body, soul, and mind. For Xiang, it was nothing new; it was one of the few things that brought him ultimate peace and tranquility. Not so for Marta. She had no preconceived ideas of what would happen. She also had a million preconceived notions of what would happen to her. She was shocked—and thrilled, at the results.
Xiang again thanked her for a delightful evening, for the well-prepared dinner that she served and said he would be pleased to see her again in a few days. He picked up his cell phone, whispered a short command, and kissed her on the back of her hand.
Then he was gone.
The dark blue sedan that had been parked a few doors down left five minutes after Mr. Yeung’s chauffeur picked him up. As he was about to drive away, he saw the lights of Marta’s apartment go off. She was retiring for the evening.
Rik did not get it. Not for a single minute.
***
Marta lay in bed trying to recall exactly what sensations she had felt. They were warm and wonderful and vague at best. She felt a warm glow that enveloped her entire body. Then she did something she had not done in years.
She masturbated.
She masturbated like it was the most magnificent thing she had ever experienced.
And it was.