Read Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Rick Santini
“Hi, I’ve been waiting for your call.”
Marta was spread out on the bed, wearing a pair of ten-year-old Seton Hall sweats. Her hair was not brushed, and she had taken off her makeup an hour ago. She had propped the pillow against the headboard, thinking how great it would be not to have to get dressed up and wear makeup for a full week, maybe longer.
She did not dwell on the subject, but she was a natural beauty. Sure, the lipstick and the makeup helped, but it was like the lacquer applied to the finished paint job. It was unnecessary but added a bit more luster.
Rod mentioned he had been very busy with three high-end charters from wealthy customers from Boston. They wanted to bring back a prized sailfish and didn’t care what it cost them.
“If they drank a little less and concentrated a bit more, they could have caught their prize in the first or second hour. As it was, we stayed out for seven straight hours until they got their fish. I also got a thousand-dollar tip. I’ll have the fish mounted and shipped up to them in a few weeks.”
Marta closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene. She had a strong feeling Rod did most of the work. She was one hundred percent correct.
“What’re you doing now?”
“Having a cold beer, listening to some smooth jazz on FM, and just relaxing. I’ve got to think about provisioning the boat in the next few days. Will I be sailing solo, or will I have a first mate on board to keep me company?”
Marta was dying to say yes, but she needed a reason, an acceptable reason, for taking off. One Billy Jo would buy.
“Give me a day or two. Please.”
Rod realized she was in a high-pressure job; one where you could not call in sick for four or five days in a row. A job that required not only attention to details but being available to your clients. One that also robbed that person of the freedom to do what they wanted when they wanted.
Is money that important? Sure I know we all have to make a living, but when is enough enough?
“I understand. The job comes first. You know when I am leaving. Just give me enough time to buy a few more six packs and a few dozen more eggs.”
Marta smiled. She knew Rod had eggs every single morning. The only question was how he would prepare them. She was also thankful he was more than understanding of her situation.
“Thanks, Rod.”
What kind of excuse can I tell Billy? He sees right through me. I hate to lie, especially to him.
The conversation, mostly about nothing, ended forty-five minutes later. Neither wanted to hang up. Each wanted to say something, something important, but it was far too early in the relationship.
Am I really in a relationship?
she wondered.
She closed her eyes with that thought in mind. Marta did not bother to get up to wash her face and brush her teeth. She slept comfortably in her sweats. She had set the alarm for six a.m. She wanted to be in the office no later than eight thirty. Xiang had a nine o’clock appointment. That meant his black sedan with Jabor driving would be parked outside her office by eight forty-five.
At the very latest.
Marta had no idea of the newest bombshell to fall.
***
Mei Ling could see it, sense it, almost feel it in her bones. She was afraid to tell anyone. Marta was her only hope. Saturday could not come quickly enough. The phone call her brother received merely confirmed her suspicions something was very wrong. She could not make out the words, but even six feet away, it was obvious the person on the other end of the line was screaming. Xiang excused himself from the table and walked quickly to the garden. He returned clearly agitated and mumbled something about a misunderstanding, not really important.
After dinner, instead of their habit of having tea together, Xiang excused himself, saying he was not feeling well, and went directly to his private study. He informed staff he wanted no tea, a most unusual command, and was not to be disturbed for any reason. He had several important phone calls to make.
Mei Ling was not in the habit of spying, least of all on her own brother, but she walked by the closed doors of the study several times. She could clearly hear Xiang raising his voice.
Since we have been reunited, he has been the model of self-control. Regardless of the circumstances, he has never once yelled or appeared angry. This must be something very serious. It must be about that trip he just took to Switzerland.
***
“I must ask you a most important question and I need an honest answer.”
Marta was shocked. Xiang was disturbed, edgy, and grossly impolite. There had been no exchange of greetings, no small talk, nothing. He closed the door, sat down, and demanded an answer.
“Have I ever lied to you? Have I ever misled you? Have I ever given you an occasion to be insulted like this? I have no idea why you are so upset, but if you feel you cannot trust me, and I have never given you cause, perhaps you should leave my office now and find a new attorney.”
Marta was now livid. She was no one’s scapegoat.
They were now at an impasse. He was demanding an answer, and she refused to be treated like a common thief. Each sat, staring at the other. Marta refused to blink. She was ready to get up and ask her client, maybe her soon to be former client, to leave when Xiang stood up, bowed deeply, and asked her to forgive him.
“I am truly sorry. Please forgive a stupid old man for taking his frustrations out on one who has been so loyal and respectful. I do not blame you if you want me to leave.”
“The thought had crossed my mind. Tell me what the problem is, and maybe I can help.”
Xiang now looked like an old man. His shoulders dropped, his jaw line sagged, his eyelids were heavy, and he appeared to have no energy at all. It seemed like an effort to sit upright in the leather chair.
“Did you tell anyone of my trip to Zurich? Anyone at all.”
“No, of course not. Why? What’s this all about?”
“Who in your office knows where I was and who I met?”
“Jack’s secretary knew he was going out of town for two or three days. Jack told her he was going back home to West Virginia to visit some old college buddies and would be in no condition to answer his cell phone. I read the file you gave me but told no one—I mean absolutely no one. Billy knows you are thinking of getting out of the business and knows you wanted me to join you, but that’s about it. Again, why are you asking?”
Xiang then went on to relay the phone call he had received the night before from Simon Winthrop, the Wall Street attorney who accompanied him on the trip. He went on to mention someone from the US Attorney’s office had been tailing him and knew all the parties that were there, including where they were staying. Now Winthrop was nervous he had done something wrong.
“That’s impossible. First of all, Winthrop did nothing wrong. The nature of the business was never spelled out. Even if it was, the attorney cannot be responsible for the acts of his client. How does he know the individual was actually a Fed? Anyone can print up a fake ID, and the government does not contact targets of an investigation by hanging out in front of a Greek restaurant. It makes no sense. Someone who knows where Winthrop was is pulling his chain.”
Xiang appeared to relax, just a bit.
“Even if the Feds know, there was no crime committed. Both the buyer and seller were off-shore corporations. You have no legal obligation to report the profit to the IRS. What did you tell Winthrop?”
“I told him I did not know what he was talking about. I told him I have been discreet for the past thirty years and I was not going to change now. The words became somewhat heated. Finally, I hung up; I have never done that before. Again, please excuse my insulting attitude. Of course I trust you with my life. Now what is the good news you have for me?”
Marta felt herself begin to unwind.
“Do you remember the non-compete agreement you signed?”
“Of course I do. There is no way Scalesci would have bought my business if I could become his competitor the very next day. Not that I have any intention to.”
Marta had a thin smile on her face.
“I understand, but let me point out something I believe everyone appeared to have missed.”
As Marta explained, Xiang’s mind became engaged. He too had a thin smile on his face.
“You have been most helpful. You are a very good lawyer. I think I can go home and rest easier today. Also, there will be a bonus for you personally, for making this old man feel better.”
With that, Xiang stood, gave Marta a kiss on the cheek, and departed the room.
Who the hell is posing as an Assistant United States Attorney?
Marta had a damn good idea.
It takes a great deal of energy and effort to get a hundred-car freight train to begin moving. It takes even more energy and effort to get it to stop—quickly. That’s why there are so many train wrecks.
Jack Renaldo realized there was no way to stop the train wreck he had started. His purpose, his sole purpose, was to get the US Attorney from going further in their investigation of Salvatore Bonnonnos. He needed a quid pro quo. As to collateral damage, namely Anthony Scalesci, it was none of his business.
In fact, it was most definitely his business. He was an equal if not named partner in the firm that represented Xiang Yeung, the other half of the transaction. By ratting—what other word was there—on Scalesci, he put his own client in jeopardy.
Even very smart people do very stupid things. Now it appeared Jack had put Xiang, his own client, in a difficult situation. What was now more important, his loyalty to his client or his obligation to the firm? He knew he couldn’t have it both ways.
At some point, it will come out—it always does—who spoke to the Feds. Then where the hell am I?
Jack Renaldo rarely sweated. He rarely looked disheveled or without a presence of strength and confidence. This was not one of those times. He knew in his haste, he had screwed up, big time.
“Miranda, it’s me, Jack. I seem to have caught the bug. I don’t feel great. Think I’ll head home and take a few pills. If anyone wants me, I should be in the office by noon tomorrow. Thanks.”
Maybe a few shots of my old buddy, Jack Daniels, will help.
***
“Mommy, Mommy, a strange man gave me some money. He told me to give it to Daddy and tell him to buy me a present with it. Will Daddy buy me a present, Mommy?”
With that, seven-year-old Jeremy Winthrop handed a one hundred Swiss franc note to a very startled Mommy.
Dorothy Winthrop did not understand. Yes, her husband Simon had just come back from Zurich, but why would some man give her son Swiss money? She called Simon at work. Surely he would understand.
Ten minutes later, Simon was talking to his son. He tried hard not to sound disturbed.
“Where was the man? What did he look like? What was he wearing? Did he say anything else?”
The questions and tone were scaring little Jeremy. Unintentionally, he urinated on himself. Then, he started to cry. Simon waited patiently on the phone while Dorothy consoled her little boy and explained his father needed to know how this all happened.
Finally, Jeremy, with a promise of chocolate milk and cookies, began.
“The man was standing near the bus stop when I got off. He was tall and old—I think about your age. He had on my favorite team’s cap, the Yankees. He said to make sure for you to buy me something nice and expensive from your fee. He said you could afford it. What’s a fee, Daddy? I didn’t understand and did not know if it was real money or not. I thanked the nice man and left. Will you buy me something nice and expensive, Daddy?”
Simon did not answer. He was livid.
How does that bastard know I have a son, what school he goes to, what time he gets off the bus, and where? I have to talk to someone, but whom?
Simon Winthrop was now scared. More scared than he had been in a long, long time. Not only for himself but for his little boy—and his wife.
Crap, I should have known not to get mixed up with those kind of people.
***
Josh Beckman was very proud of himself. He was not sure why. Maybe because one of the bad guys was getting away with something and he wanted to stop it. Maybe because he needed a good excuse to call Marta again. Maybe just because he could. That was always the best reason.
Because I can.
***
Jabor had his instructions.
“Drive Mei Ling wherever she wants to go. Stay close by. If you happen to overhear any part of any conversation, say nothing, and report it only to me. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Yeung. Perfectly.”
It was not the first time Jabor had been asked to spy, but never on Mr. Yeung’s own sister. Jabor had been in the employ of Yeung for more than twenty years. In that time, he saw him change from a ruthless, overambitious minor player in the drug distribution game to one of the most powerful lords in the United States.
Jabor was told his father was an American soldier and his mother worked as a hostess in a bar in Shanghai. He had been abandoned, left on the streets, when he was nine years old. He made enough money as a runner of low-quality drugs to live on. When he was nineteen, he managed to scrounge enough to buy a one-way ticket to New York City. Although he never made the fortune he had heard and read about, he learned all about cars. How to drive them, how to fix them, how to keep them clean and polished.
By coincidence, Mr. Yeung was in need of a driver and trusted few Americans. When he learned Jabor understood Cantonese, he hired him on a thirty-day trial period. That was close to twenty-some years ago. Jabor was very good at listening and claimed not to understand English when asked the simplest of questions.
Xiang knew better.
***
Marta was waiting at a 14
th
Street bistro in the East Village. Jabor dropped Mei Ling off and stated he would park the car and join her in a few minutes.
“That is not necessary. Today is for shopping and women talk. I have your cell number. I will call you in three or four hours. You may go and do whatever you want until then.”
“Mr. Yeung has entrusted me with your welfare. He has asked me to accompany you should you wish me to carry any packages or anything else.”
“I am a big girl, Jabor. I have lived in this city for many years and have been able to take care of myself. You may report to my brother I will accept all responsibility for myself. I will call you later if I need you. Have a good afternoon. Why don’t you go for a walk or have a beer and a salted pretzel in Columbus Circle? You may like it.”
“As you wish, Madam.”
Marta had observed the confrontation from a distance. She could not hear the actual words, but got the drift of what was going on. Mei Ling did not want Jabor hanging around and listening. She had something to say, and it was for Marta’s ears only.
***
“May I talk to you? In confidence.”
“If you give me a dollar, you will be my client. Whatever you tell me will be considered attorney/client communication. I cannot tell anyone, ever.”
Mei Ling was an attorney herself. She knew Marta was not joking. She reached into her purse, handed Marta a ten-dollar bill, and smiled.
“That should buy me at least two or three minutes.”
“For special clients, I don’t keep the clock running. Now, what’s going on?”
Mei Ling looked around, as she half expected Jabor to be hiding at another table. She lowered her voice though no one was looking their way.
“Something is very wrong with Xiang. You would have thought selling his business would relieve him of so much stress, so big a burden. Instead, it appears just the opposite. When the phone rings, he jumps like it is someone who wants to kill him or at least not have him around.”
Mei Ling then went on to describe several other incidents that occurred since her brother’s return from Switzerland.
Marta agreed; it did not make sense. Then again, Mei Ling did not know everything she knew. Xiang had also confided in her; she was his attorney, and he paid far more than ten dollars to assure her confidentiality.
“I’m aware making a transition after doing the same thing for most of your adult life is not easy, but at times it turns out to be the best move ever. Let’s see what happens. Now as soon as we get the check, we can do some serious shopping.”
Marta wondered if she was talking about Xiang or herself. She had been practicing law for more than twenty-some years.
Can I get used to living in a nine-hundred-foot home on the Gulf of Mexico or a shrimp boat?
Marta knew she had not been asked to move in—a ten-day vacation was a get-to-know-you-better experiment at best, and she knew Rod did not have a shrimp boat. Not even close.
As they walked into the first boutique, she was sure she spotted Jabor across the street. Watching.
Let him look—let him listen. There’s nothing to hide. For now, we’re going to buy some clothes.