“Calling these works of art by the same name as a Timex or Omega is like calling Chateau Lafite Rothschild just another red table wine.”
Overstating, but evidence of his passion. “Although rarity drives the demand in the timepiece world. Which one do you like the best?”
He weighed my sincerity for a moment. “The centerpiece, of course. Why have anything less than the best?”
“Indeed.” I followed his gaze down to the watch between us. The Patek Philippe Supercompilation. A fancy, if overlarge, pocket watch by my way of thinking. “Why is it worth so much?”
“Why is anything worth what it is worth? Supply and demand. One watch, highly complicated and exquisitely engineered.” His voice warmed as he spoke, almost like a lover speaking of a beloved. Greed, love’s second cousin once removed. “A chance to own a piece of history, something rare and unique that no one else can have.”
“What would all of them together be worth?”
He pursed his lips for a moment. “Approaching one hundred million, I would think. With the premium you could add for cornering the market, as it were. But value is not why one would own one of these.”
“Prestige.”
“To have what others cannot elevates one, doesn’t it?” When he looked at me, I saw the darkness inside and I almost felt sorry for him…almost. He was like a human black hole sucking everything into his ego feeding frenzy. Mixed metaphor or not, my assessment was accurate, and terrifying.
I lowered my voice. “How would you like to own them?” I could tell he didn’t trust me. Why would he? “I could…facilitate that.”
His gaze shifted to the watch. I thought he might drool. His inner struggle was easy to see as greed fought with self-preservation.
Greed won. He glanced around, looking at the ceiling.
I knew what he was thinking. “No listening devices in here. Just cameras. I wouldn’t compromise myself.”
He raised his hand to cover his mouth. “Why would offer me the watches? That is a great risk for you.”
I answered with a callous little gesture. “Insurance will pay, so I’m out nothing.”
“It is risky.”
“So is life.” I met him stare for stare, even though my insides had turned to jelly. “I get you something you want. You’ll have to pay for it, of course. Thievery doesn’t come cheap.” I tilted my head a bit and fought to keep up the appearance of courage. “But you already know that.”
A flicker of surprise. “You are your father’s daughter.”
I took that as a compliment. “You clean some money, you get incredible treasures…” I trailed off to keep his attention.
“And you? What do you get?” He acted like he knew the answer.
“An agreement that you scale back your laundering here. Keep us out of trouble with the gaming authorities.”
He let his gaze drift around the room, taking in all the gleaming gold. “You can deliver these?” His hand still covered his mouth when he spoke.
I had him. I kept my face passive, despite the flood of emotion, the thrill of the chase. We were in the game and on the scent. “Yes.”
Still, he wavered.
I waited, working on the whole nonchalant thing. Damn near impossible, given my woeful lack of restraint.
Finally, he nodded. “What are the details?”
I pulled out my phone and called up Sinjin’s text message. “Here’s the account number and routing instructions.” I read the numbers to him, then double-checked his accuracy when he read them back. “Right, then. Eighty million certified funds by tomorrow night.”
He didn’t even swallow hard. Extracting a pad from his inner pocket, he jotted down the information. “The funds will come from multiple accounts.”
He didn’t have to explain why. Banking being what it was, I wouldn’t keep large sums in any one account either.
Folding his notebook and putting it away, he gave me a tight smile. “The watches are worth one hundred million.”
“The twenty percent discount is your payment for honoring your side of the deal.”
Mr. Cho gave me a half-smile and a shallow bow, then, with one last look at the Patek Phillipe, he disappeared into the darkness. The light of the door opening behind me, then the returning darkness when it closed, told me he’d left.
And I was alone.
Ryan Whitmore waited with the guard when I let myself out of the exhibit. Apparently, the guard feared for his corporate life and had called in reinforcements.
“Mr. Cho is very powerful,” Ryan said as he fell into step with me.
I’d deal with the guard later, or not. It sorta depended on the next twenty-four hours.
“I can see that.”
“The government here, you do not understand.”
I stopped and, with a hand on his elbow, I forced him to face me. Even though I knew full well how the game was played in Macau, I thought maybe it might be interesting to hear Ryan’s take on it. “Enlighten me.”
“Businessmen like Cho and the casino bosses, they are the government. They make rules to suit themselves and to line their own pockets. They might enforce those rules against one property but not the others. But without them, we cannot stay in business. They can shut us down, pull our concession.”
“So you’re worried about your job?”
He feigned indignation. The blush under the bluster told me I’d hit home.
“Of course not. Your family has been very supportive of me.” He ruffled up a bit. “Although your father shot down my idea for a larger property on the Cotai. I drive through it every day on the way home, and I can’t believe we made the mistake not having a presence there.”
“You live out that way?” I asked, keeping the casual in my question.
“Have a nice house on the water.”
Expensive. Very expensive. We paid him well, but not very-expensive well. Where was his other source of income? The big question with him was this: was he getting it on the take or just on the side as Pei had said?
“The Big Boss didn’t shoot your idea down; I did. We’re a small player in an increasingly oversold market here in Macau. And to build on the Cotai, we would’ve had to leverage everything and ruin our balance sheet. A huge price to buy into a game where the other players could change the rules on a whim.
An angry red flush colored his pasty cheeks. “You?”
I shrugged as if brushing off a fly. “My call. I made it.”
Settling back, he gave me a wry little grin. “Someday that arrogance of yours will get you in trouble.”
My hackles rose. I wanted to argue, even though I wasn’t sure I would disagree. I wanted to tell him I knew about the apartment he kept next door—the one I’m sure the hotel paid for—where he provided young women to be used so he could gain. Come to think of it, I wanted to break his nose, for starters. But I didn’t have the time to waste tilting at fictive windmills. And some secrets are best kept for future gain.
As to whether my arrogance, as he put it, would get me into trouble…
Pretty soon, we’d know if he was right.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
STILL on boil, I rode the escalator down and was just parking one cheek on a stool at the empty casino bar when my phone rang. An odd number I recognized: my thief masquerading as a pirate, hiding as a hedge-fund manager—he’d be a therapist’s wet dream, or a cop’s nightmare.
“O’Toole here.”
“Where are you?” a strong male voice with cool notes of the UK and a warm undercurrent of complicity.
Sinjin Smythe-Gordon, I was right. “Lobby. Manhandling the staff.”
“Do you need rescuing?” he asked with a chuckle.
“No, but the staff might.” Although that sounded like a joke, my eroding self-control didn’t inspire confidence.
“Meet me in twenty, north side of the hotel.” The line went dead.
Fearing the phone holder clippy thing at my waist was the modern version of the pocket prot
ector and would ruin my street cred—assuming I had any—I yanked the thing loose and tossed it in the nearest waste can. I dropped my phone in my pocket. If I sat on it, well, I’m sure they could stitch me up. To be honest, I was also chafing at the tether of constant contact. If I was going to shatter a few felony statutes, I sure didn’t want to be findable.
After a moment, I pulled out my phone and activated an app called Map Me, then repocketed the thing.
Normally my happy place, tonight the casino didn’t buoy my mojo. While the dedication to serious gaming improved my bottom line, it didn’t make me happy. I never thought I would say it, but I missed the packs of the slightly inebriated wandering through the hotel intent on finding fun.
The Chinese were so darn serious. And the bad guys were so smug. One thing I hated was being played for a chump, as if there was nothing I could…or would…do.
With a few moments to kill I wandered into one of the pawnshops dotting the periphery. Drawn by the gleaming cases filled with watches, I stepped around a couple of men bartering with the proprietor. So many watches. All different kinds from the mundane to the magnificent.
“Is there something you want?”?” A young woman, tiny and exquisite, appeared in front of me. The requisite silk dress and unctuous attitude, she smiled in a familiar way.
Dragon tattoo on the inside of her forearm.
One of my army. Or, more rightly, I was one of hers. And they all counted on me.
“With one arm, she gestured in a sweeping motion, taking in the whole shop. “Or perhaps you have something to sell?”
“You have so many beautiful things. Are they all original?”
“All but those.” She pointed to a small display in the middle of the showroom, which was piled high with knockoffs of the watches in the exhibition. “Everyone likes to own a piece of history.”
“Like the little leaning towers at all the trinket stalls in Pisa.”
She looked like she understood. Her eyes flicked to a man who stepped in behind me. He clutched a carpetbag, black with a red dragon motif.
He saw me standing there, and I froze. He gave me a casual bow, one a man would give any woman he didn’t know, and I smiled in return.
A casual meeting. A moment of panic allayed.
“Excuse me.” The girl bowed slightly, then moved to escort the man into the back.
Curious, I stepped to the display of the fake watches and hefted one. Pot metal, just as I thought. And I smiled.
With a glance at my phone, I realized Sinjin would be here in ten minutes. No more tarrying—I didn’t want to be forced to walk the plank for keeping a pirate waiting.
In the lobby, the same library quiet greeted me. I felt like shouting just to shake things up. Couples strolled, not touching. The ducks paddled in the languid stream. Nothing out of place, no strident voice.
Talk about feeling useless—one problem-solver rendered irrelevant.
It’s not that I was lacking problems. I was just lacking problems I could solve.
Cindy Liu chatted with a young couple at the end of the reception desk. She noticed me standing there shifting from foot to foot while she finished up. When she’d broken free, I eased her aside so we could speak privately.
“Looking for trouble?” she asked with a perfectly flat affect.
Perhaps she meant that as a joke, but I didn’t hear it.
Remembering Kim Cho’s warning, I eyed Cindy Liu. Was she who she said she was? Was I? “I never have to look—trouble finds me.”
Her all-business manner softened to something approaching collegiality. She leaned in, which meant she was sort of talking to my boob. I leaned down to make it a little less awkward, although she didn’t seem fazed.
“How can I be of help?”
“My assistant is here. Would you mind letting her shadow you? I’d love her to get up to speed on how you handle things here.” I reached for sincerity.
“Your assistant?” Cindy bowed slightly, keeping upturned eyes on me. “Let me take care of a few things, then I’d be honored.”
Either I lied better than I thought, or we both were playing the same game. “Thank you.” I pretended to pause, as if sidetracked by a random thought. “Oh, I could use your help on one other thing.”
“Anything.”
“I want to know what the hell is going on with Mr. Whitmore. If he has any strange friends, I want photos, okay? Take what you can with your phone, but don’t let anyone see you. These are dangerous men.”
“I am am better prepared to handle them than you are,” she said with an air of superiority.
“No doubt.” My phone chirped. A text. Walk around the corner. Waiting on north side of building. My chariot, with its sexy but dangerous and now vigilant owner, was here. I got it. We didn’t need to be seen as buddies any more than Teddie and I did.
“So when would be convenient for my assistant to meet you?” I asked Cindy Liu, as I dropped my phone back into my pocket. “Tomorrow morning?”
“That would be perfect.”
I returned her small bow and went to meet Sinjin. Once out of the hotel, I reached for my phone.
Miss P answered on the second ring, her voice surprisingly fresh. I wondered if it was possible to exist on sex alone. If she was any proof, then the answer was yes. “How soon can you be presentable?”
“Ten minutes, maybe less.”
“Make it less. I just put a burr under our Miss Liu’s saddle. I want to see who she talks to, what she does, how she prepares for you shadowing her starting tomorrow morning.”
“You got it.”
“And Jeremy?”
“Still sleeping, but he’s arranged to meet Agent Stokes tomorrow for male bonding over some Australian microbrews.”
“Perfect. Keep me posted.”
I terminated the call as I approached the black SUV idling where Sinjin had told me he would be. The passenger door opened on silent hinges. Wary, I stopped and stepped back until I saw his face illuminated when the interior light went on.
“Quickly,” he said, his voice taut.
I settled myself in the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. I think we both felt better hiding in the night. “The dark tint. Great camouflage.”
“For predator and prey.” He maneuvered the car away from the curb.
“And which one are you?”
“Depends on the viewpoint.”
“I would guess yours to be the one that matters.” He didn’t answer. “No driver tonight?” No witness, I thought, and didn’t know what to make of it or what to do. Onward into battle not knowing who wore my colors and who didn’t—and no one to watch my back.
“You up for a trip?” He’d changed into something a little less flashy—dark slacks, a white button-down, and a leather jacket that looked so soft I wanted to pet it.
I resisted. “No more playing pirate?”
He didn’t reward me with a smile. “Not tonight.”
“Are we going back to China illegally?” My phone felt warm in my pocket—the app I’d started must be working.
“I want to show you something.” He darted a look my way. “We need to start making plans.”
I settled back for the ride. “Sounds like fun.” I said it, but I didn’t feel it. Although I was ready to get this show on the road, figuratively speaking, since Sinjin was already taking me for a ride and being rather circumspect about it.
Turns out the ride wasn’t far, just cross the bridge. But that wasn’t the trip he’d mentioned, merely the beginning of it. He had a helicopter waiting atop one of the mega-casinos still under construction. One punch of a pre-programmed button and the gate in the perimeter fence glided open. The steel superstructure loomed like the skeleton of a dream. Lone light bulbs dotted the beams, giving enough illumination to only add to the creepy factor. As a Vegas kid, I knew all about ditching bodies in the foundations of casinos, and I shivered, despite convincing myself I was in the company of a compatriot. He wouldn’t kill me—not
yet. He needed me. At least that’s what I told myself.
But, instead of following me down the Yellow Brick road, at any point, Sinjin could decide I was a bad witch and drop a house on me. “You could bury a body here and no one would know it.” Fear was easier to handle once it was in the open. Still, I tugged my sweater tighter around myself and calculated how long it would take me to get the gun out of my purse should I need it.
Too long. Not a comforting realization.
Sinjin pulled out of sight behind a dumpster and killed the engine. “This isn’t Vegas.” He met me in front of the car, then escorted me to a small platform. “The sharks do a better job. Cleaner, you know. Nothing left.”
I kept my nervousness to myself. “Cute.”
He stepped back and motioned me onto the platform.
I looked up, way up, then back at my small little square of wood with no sides, no safety features, nothing to prevent a swan dive, or a push and a tumble. Pulling in a deep breath, I figured this was where the boys become men. I stepped onto the platform, then turned and raised an eyebrow and my escort. “Coming?”
He shook his head and smiled at a joke he didn’t share, then stepped in next to me and pushed the up button. He had to keep pressing or the lift would stop—sort of like having one hand tied behind his back, evening the odds.
The familiar comfort of a false sense of security settled over me. “You do know how to show a woman a good time.”
“One of my investors owns this place. He lets me use the helipad when I need to. I like the privacy.”
“Understandable. Is he one of your buyers as well?”
“No, I always keep business and pleasure separate.” He seemed to be making a point —I wasn’t sure what it was, but I took note.
“Probably a good plan.” Not one I adhered to, but I didn’t admit to that. Not sure what that meant, but I didn’t waste time worrying about that particular character defect—not when I had so many more important ones.
Lucky the Hard Way Page 25
