Death Benefits (A Martin Billings Story Book 2)

by Ed Teja

  I shrugged. "Officials, corrupt...why do we need two words for the same thing?"

  James ignored me. "These particular associations make it problematic if I just pulled out unilaterally. I don't know what Walker might have promised them or how corrupt they are. And even without an office there, I still do business in the country. It would hurt to have black marks against me in the official books."

  A thought occurred to me. It wasn't a pleasant one. "Seeing as he liked doing transactions off the books, is it possible Walker was involved in the import and export of drugs?"

  James shrugged. "Possibly. I don't think so. I saw no signs of it, but then I have no way of knowing what he was doing. The only reason to consider that possibility is that some of the officials he was courting turn out to be on the US government's list of people suspected of involvement in trafficking."

  That wasn't good. I didn't ask how James managed to get a copy of that list. Apparently, he still had some of his connections from the old days. That sort of information was well out of reach of an ex-Seal boat captain. James somehow managed to circumvent having a need to know. At least an official one.

  "It could mean that he is involved in the drug trade, but it could also mean many other things—things that might be less dramatic but just as bad for my business reputation. When I called him and asked him about it, he denied there was anything underhanded going on beyond the normal bribery I would expect. He was quite vehement, and he defended his associates, saying that it was just political posturing that portrayed them as crooked."

  "That does happen."

  He nodded, tiredly. "It does. Unfortunately, it happens that men lie to their partners too. One of the men that Walker was apparently very close to was recently arrested for taking bribes for avoiding customs duties. While we do bribe officials, it is usually just to keep them from putting our shipments into customs limbo for indefinite periods. But avoiding duties is an area that strikes particularly close to the heart of my main business. My business associates expect that I will provide good service at competitive prices, but they will not do business with someone caught going outside those particular legal channels. There is too much legitimate work at stake."

  I knew that James was born in Shanghai. Although he hadn't been back to China for a lot of years and for a lot of reasons, and he was as American as anyone I knew, the concept of face remained near and dear to his heart.

  His reputation had made him a substantial fortune. He was proud of what he had accomplished. With no children, and no official family, his reputation was all that mattered to him.

  "I decided to terminate the relationship," he said.

  "What about Walker's connections?"

  "At some point, you need to cut your losses," he said. "I wrote the original agreement myself," he said. "I will confess that doing business down there made me nervous. Hell, doing business in Grenada is tough enough, but usually fairly straight forward. I made Walker agree to a clause that if either of us triggered it, the office would be closed and the business dissolved. Any contractual matters I will have to take care of but any verbal agreements he made are his own lookout. It isn't foolproof, but it should give me a way of dodging any ramifications of things I don't know about."

  "Why did he agree to that?"

  "Because he wanted the deal and because whichever party executes it has to buy out the other one based on a formula in the contract. It will cost me a bundle."

  "I see your problem. What I don't see is what you want me for?"

  "Technically the favor is incredibly simple. I need to get some documents signed."

  "And that's why God, in her infinite wisdom, invented courier services."

  "I talked to Walker. I told him I was executing the clause. He hung up on me. I sent him the papers, but he hasn't returned them."

  "Maybe he thinks he can get you to raise the ante."

  "Whatever he thinks, whether it is a ploy or a simple stall for some other purpose, he isn't telling me. I've called and emailed to find out when he will return the documents. He isn't responding at all. The office manager said he hasn't been in the office since Monday."

  "Probably considering his options."

  James grew impatient with me. "At this point, why he isn't responding doesn't matter to me at all. Time is essential in this matter. Because of his games, I am already losing business elsewhere. The situation is becoming impossible, and the longer it goes on, the worse things will be. If he signs some more contracts before we close this, it would complicate things even more."

  "Can't you do something without his signature?"

  He shook his head. "I have to prove that he was served with the papers. The office manager says she gave them to him, but that isn't enough."

  "How can I help?"

  "Go down there. Get in his face and tell him that he either accepts the offer right then and there or I will contact a lawyer and have him file for bankruptcy on behalf of the partnership in the Venezuelan courts. Explain to him that if I do that, he will have no protection and no money—he will get nothing at all from me."

  "Can you do that?"

  For the first time, James laughed. "I have no idea. Probably. I have come to the conclusion that Walker knows a lot less about business than I thought. If he doesn't sign, then I will have to explore that option."

  "So you want me in and out. I fly down there, grab his ass and explain the alternatives and consequences of each to him in detail."

  "Right. Whether or not he understands or agrees, I need you to come back with his signature on the documents."

  "What about hiring someone down there? That should be even faster."

  He shook his head. "Martin, there are any number of ways this can go wrong. As I said, Walker is well connected in Venezuela, which will make people in the legal industry a bit loath to do what I want. I don't have any contacts down there. If he is cheating me, if he is playing some kind of negotiating trick, then I need to know it. Anyone I might hire at long distance could be working for him or his friends. Or, knowing I'm doing this at arm's length, they might decide to deal themselves into the buyout and complicate things. This isn't a good time to bring in unknown players."

  I let out a long breath. "I suppose that is true."

  "If I had good contacts there, the kind of people who could do that for me, I wouldn't have gone into business with him in the first place. I wouldn't have needed him. I should have just stayed out of the country, as it turns out. Now that mistake could pull down everything I have built. Not rapidly. I'm not in danger yet. But inevitably, unless I get untangled from this mess, one partially of my own making, it will. I need this business terminated so I can begin rebuilding trust with other partners. He might have already done deals in my name. If they involve government officials and they have gone bad...I don't have a clue what my liability might be. I can't begin to sort things out until I cut loose of him."

  "I can see that."

  "So I need you to down there. You, I can trust. Find Walker. Do whatever you have to to get him to sign the papers that move me and my companies as far away from him and his stink as possible."

  "Can I hit him?"

  James laughed. "No. That wouldn't be a good idea."

  "It would be fun though."

  A wistful look crossed his face, then he caught himself. "No violence, please."

  I drank down the last of my Scotch. "You know lots of people in low places; why pick me as your representative, Chinaman?"

  "You know the country. Your bad Spanish is pretty good. As an ex-Seal you know how to take care of yourself. I would go myself. You know I am no coward and I am not without resources. But I have a business to run here. More to the point, my ignorance of the country and its language would be crippling." He took a breath. "The biggest reason is that there are damn few people I trust with my life." He smiled. "You haven't let me down before."

  I laughed. "That was mostly dealing with the relat
ively benign danger of bullets. Now you are asking me to face contracts and government officials."

  James looked at me. "That's why this conversation required good scotch. So, buck up, laddie."

  "That's Confucius, right?"

  "Bill tells me it's from another of my countrymen, Lao Tzu."

  I looked at him. "Well, old friend, putting it the way you have, you are right that I might be better at taking care of this than you."

  I stood and walked to James's chair. I looked down at him for a long time, trying to see him clearly. He turned his face up at me and I saw that the young James I knew was starting to show some wear.

  "Okay, Chinaman, you've got me. I'll go down there and drag this Walker out of hiding as fast as is humanly possible and get his signature on your documents."

  James nodded agreement.

  I let out a long sigh. "I don't suppose you would consider letting me just contact a really good forger I know in Trinidad? We could have Walker's signature on the thing by tomorrow night."

  He shook his head, but he gave me a smile. He was a good winner.

  "I didn't think so. Okay. You send Ugly Bill the money we talked about, plus five hundred he can use to hire some help. Write out the address and phone number of the office in Puerto La Cruz so I don't have to remember them and get me a plane ticket for Venezuela."

  James sighed his relief. "I'll wire Bill the money as soon as the bank opens in the morning," James said. "There is a flight for Margarita, and you can connect to Barcelona without a stopover. I'm not sure of the time, but we are down to a couple of flights a week."

  "Are they making it hard for the airlines to get slots?"

  "Only in the sense that fewer people seem to want to go there these days except for German tourists going for the windsurfing. Not many people find it useful to fly there from here and the airlines aren't big on flying empty planes around."

  I grabbed his untouched glass from the table and took a big swallow. "Do your best to make the flights first class and not too early. I expect to be hungover in the morning and I have to allow time for Matilda to make me eat a huge meal and chew my ass out about getting drunk and leaving before she can marry me off. Then I have to call Ugly Bill and get another earful from him about leaving him to do the dirty work while I trot off to hang out with the beautiful ladies of Venezuela. It's all very arduous and time consuming."

  James smiled a real smile for the first time since I had arrived.

  "Good points. I can't help make things right with Matilda. No one can. I will volunteer to call Ugly Bill myself and explain things. I want to talk to him so I can let him know where to pick up the money. He and I are overdue for a chat anyway."

  I nodded. James was good at smoothing out the rougher spots and Bill could definitely be one of those. Bill liked James a lot and would be a lot nicer to him than me. He would still be caustic, unless he waxed poetic, but that was Bill and James actually got a kick out of him. They enjoyed each other's company.

  "When you get down there Consuela will help you any way she can."

  "Who?"

  "Consuela is our office manager in Puerto La Cruz. If Walker is not paying attention to business, staying out of the office, she will be unsure what to do."

  "Aren't we all?" I asked. "I know I am."

  He grinned. I think he looked a lot happier, or at least relieved. "Let her handle any paperwork. I'll have her arrange a hotel room for you."

  "Don't bother," I said. "I'd rather keep a low profile and just check into a place I know."

  He shrugged. "Your call. As for the resources needed to solve the rest of the problems of the world and civilization as we know it," he said, "the bottle is full."

  "I'll need one to go," I said.

  "Matilda will grumble, but she'll pack it for you."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Beautiful Venezuela

  Two uneventful and uncomfortable flights later (there are no first-class seats on the short-haul flights) I arrived at Barcelona airport. I ignored the touts and caught a private taxi out front and had him take me to a hotel in downtown Puerto La Cruz.

  It is a shabby place, with no room service, but I knew it to be clean. If you ignored the bare electrical wires that connected the hot water heater in the shower, it seemed almost nice.

  James would have put me up in a nicer place, but I was certain I would want to be somewhere that made it easier to talk to people.

  A gringo in a fancy hotel is suspicious. One in a hotel like this one was just sad. I could use the leverage of sympathy.

  I checked in, unpacked and then went for a walk. I grabbed a gyro from a street vendor and ate it standing in the shade of a rather tacky mini-mall and then headed for the office and, I hoped, Clyde Walker.

  I got to the office building a bit before five. It sat on the ground level of a two-story building that overlooked the beautiful, but rather contaminated beach fronting the city of Puerto La Cruz.

  The sign in the window said, "Walker and Wong" and I guess that since Walker had the sign made, he got to pick the order of the names. Otherwise, seeing as he needed the influence and name recognition James provided, it didn't make much sense.

  I knocked and a young woman, probably in her late twenties, answered the door. She was slender, with a lovely dark complexion that told you that some of her ancestors, at least, had been more Indio than Spanish.

  It's a common mix here and, in my opinion, an incredibly attractive one. Toss in the large brown eyes, long, slender neck, firm breasts and this was one to make a young, or even medium young, man's fancy get pretty fancy. I assumed this was Consuela.

  I saw Consuela as a classic Venezolana. Like most Venezuelan women who work in the cities, she dressed more like she was going to a party than an office, unless the office was in a casino.

  Her dress was made of cheap polyester but it was a copy of the kind of high-fashion clothing you'd expect to see in any city populated with Madonna clones. The dress made looking at her figure almost imperative. Her smooth skin was tinged with just a hint of brown; carefully applied makeup emphasized her large dark eyes.

  Spanish eyes, I've heard them called, although I don't think Spain has much of a monopoly on big beautiful dark eyes.

  Some of the gorgeous girls in Trinidad whose blood mixes East and West Indian with African in various proportions might reasonably object to the term. In Venezuela though, it would do.

  She wore her lustrous black hair long and pulled back in a red plastic clip. Although she couldn't have been over five feet tall, she had a slender and svelte look. A pair of incredibly high heels augmented and completed the image.

  It was a sure bet that she worked hard on her look.

  She looked tired, so I showed her the happy face I'd grown on my walk over and gave her a cheerful, "Buenos tardes."

  While I can accept the fact that almost anyone can tell I am a gringo at a range of 100 yards or so, that doesn't keep me from being disappointed when I am greeted in English after I start things off in Spanish.

  I suppose it is nothing more than my pride, but after spending years, on and off, in Spanish-speaking countries, I long to be treated like someone who could, and perhaps would, learn the local language.

  I know that most gringos are just as happy to be addressed in English and probably even let out a sigh of relief when they hear its familiar sounds. I admit that I am the oddball—the duck out of water.

  Still, it irks me; often my Spanish turns out to be at least as good as the English of the person I am talking to. But, as more people find it advantageous to learn at least some English, it seemed that the only people who spoke to me in Spanish spoke no English and didn't have the option.

  That should go some way to explaining why I found it disappointing, but not at all surprising, that the young woman, who was indeed the office manager named Consuela, introduced herself in excellent English.

  I told her who I was, mentioned tha
t I was delighted to meet her and then said that I needed to see Clyde Walker.

  "Señor Walker isn't here," she said.

  That was not what I wanted to hear. "I'm supposed to have him sign some papers," I said as if my explanation would make him appear. "It's very important," I added, piling on more futile gestures.

  She shrugged, giving me a pure Latina shrug. "He went sailing," she said.

  "Sailing?"

  "On his boat. He has a sailboat."

  The clarification was amusing if unhelpful. "Where did he go?"

  "Where?"

  "What port was he headed for?"

  She frowned. "Sailing is all I know. He doesn't tell me where he goes. As usual, he simply said he would see me on Monday."

  Given it was now Wednesday, it seemed that the business James had sent me on had abruptly hit a shoal. Resolving the issues between them hadn't struck Walker as having the same urgency that it had for his partner. Of course, Venezuela is a land of mañana and some folks, even transplants, take that attitude seriously. Still, this was taking it to extremes.

  "I understand that the last time you saw him was this Monday? Two days ago?"

  She nodded. Clearly, Walker going sailing for most of the workweek didn't strike her as strange or particularly interesting. There wasn't much I could do about it at the moment. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Walker going sailing took the wind out of my sails.

  I grasped at one forlorn hope.

  "He didn't happen to leave some papers for James, did he? Some documents that needed signing?"

  She shook her head. "He did no paperwork before he left. He spent much time on the telephone on Monday. I gave him the papers that Senor Wong sent for him to sign and that upset him." She thought for a moment. "You need him to sign the papers that Señor Wong had sent by courier?"

  "Those are the ones. Or the copy I brought with me."

  She tipped her head toward the back office. "They are on his desk. He won't even touch them and when I asked what I should tell Señor Wong he gave me a very rude response."

  "I better call James and let him know."