Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2)

by Rick Santini

  They toasted each other and proceeded to unwind. It didn’t take long.

  “That was easy.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  She was not quite sure what time Rik left. Marta had been sound asleep. She guessed it was close to three in the morning. She was beat and thrilled. Her body was all tingly. There was nothing like great sex to end the day. With Rik, it was definitely great sex. All she had to do was follow his lead. And she did. With reckless abandonment.

  This could get to be a weekly ritual. Maybe write it off as a medical expense. It was certainly needed, both physically and psychologically. All I need is an MD to write me a prescription.

  Rx—Rik-stick-in-the-sack. Take at least once a week—more often if necessary—preferable at bed time. Digest all night.

  Hmmm, I may be on to something. Now how do I get it by the FDA?

  CHAPTER 14

  Billy Jo did not gain his success on his brains alone. He was prepared for almost every contingency. That way, he was always one step ahead of his adversary. When he heard the name Sonny Bananas, he knew this was sink or swim time. He wondered how much Marta really knew about Sonny and what would happen if she, really they, did not produce.

  With clients like that, failure was never an option.

  Five or ten years’ experience would not come close to what they needed. If Sonny and Mr. Yeung were to be satisfied, Billy would need to bring in some big guns—and he already had someone in mind. “Black Jack” Renaldo was one mean son-of-a-bitch. Billy was not sure Jack’s own wife and children really liked him. After more than twenty years as the United States Attorney for the Great State of West Virginia, he abruptly resigned. There were rumors of corruption in the US Attorney’s Office. Possible payoffs. Jack personally tried the high profile cases. He liked bringing someone to their knees then crushing them.

  He also understood the meaning of quid pro quo.

  You rub my back; I’ll rub yours.

  Retirement did not sit well with Jack. His days of card counting at the casinos were far behind him. He claimed it was never true and there had been no proof. To this day, he was not allowed to play in Atlantic City or Vegas, and he was one of the highest ranking law enforcement officers in the country. After the payoff allegations surfaced, he decided to take his well-deserved pension and tell Uncle Sam to go screw himself.

  Being at home was killing him. He needed action, and it appeared representing the “bad guys” was now his only option. The mere thought of sticking it up the government’s ass and breaking it off gave him a giant hard-on.

  Billy Jo had had the unfortunate distinction of trying more than a few cases where Black Jack had been the prosecuting attorney. Over more than a few late night drinks, they developed a friendship. If not exactly best buddies, there was a mutual respect for the other’s ability. On a hunch, Billy called Black Jack on his private cell number. He could count on one hand the number of times he had used that number in the past dozen years.

  Favors always begot favors.

  “Jack, it’s me, Billy Jo Gibson.”

  After a few minutes of polite talk, Billy asked the sixty-four, or was it sixty-four thousand, dollar question.

  “How would you like to represent Sonny Bananas and make more money than the government ever paid you in a single year?”

  The whoop and holler could be heard without the damn phone, and he had to be three hundred miles away.

  “You got to be shitting me.”

  “No, sir, this is the gospel. When can we meet?”

  “You name the time and the place, and you can bet your skinny ass I’ll be there. Now I got to go and beat up Juli again. She’s late putting dinner on the table. Got to keep ’em in line, or who knows what they’ll do next?”

  Billy Jo smiled to himself.

  Nothing has ever really changed, has it?

  Billy Jo had their man. Now all he had to do was tell Marta.

  ***

  Marta had been racking her brains to come up with a name or two. Sure there were a dozen assistant district attorneys in her old office that would jump at the chance, but they were average or just slightly above average. Nobody really stood out. A young kid out of law school was out of the question. As to an old timer, they were few and far between. What Marta needed was just not available. She dreaded letting Billy know she could not come up with one good name.

  ***

  “Does the name Black Jack Renaldo mean anything to you?

  “You mean that bastard from West Virginia who was the US Attorney? Everyone knows him, and no one likes him. Why do you ask?”

  “’Cause I like him. More important, he likes us.”

  “Billy Jo, stop talking in riddles. What the hell is going on?”

  Marta was now wondering if sleeping with the hired help was such a good idea after all. What would happen if Rik screwed up and she had to ream him out, figuratively speaking, of course?

  She had no right to take out her frustration on Billy Jo.

  “Problems I don’t know about, Marta?”

  “Sorry, it’s been a long morning. Didn’t mean to snap at you. Now, what’s this about Black Jack Renaldo?”

  Billy Jo relayed last night’s conversation. He left out the part that Black Jack had already said yes.

  “I like him. He brings a ton of experience and firepower. Everyone knows who he is, and most are afraid of him. It will immediately put us up with the big boys. You’re my partner—what do you say?”

  Marta knew it was a no brainer. She couldn’t come up with a name like that in a million years. She was excited and cautious, all at the same time. She wondered if he would insist upon being a named partner.

  “Are you afraid he will be a loose cannon?”

  “Maybe. But maybe that’s exactly what we need. Someone no one can figure out. It would be like having Johnnie Cochran, F. Lee Bailey, and Dershowitz at the same table all over again. It would scare the living shit out of any sane prosecutor.”

  Marta could hear the excitement in Billy’s voice. Even if she thought it was a bad idea, which she didn’t, there was no way to say no.

  “Negotiate the best deal you can. And congratulations.”

  “Thanks, I will.” I already have.

  ***

  “Marta, I would like you to meet the famous, or should I say infamous, Black Jack Renaldo. Jack, this is my partner, Marta Clarke. Please, let’s all sit down.”

  “Please, call me Jack. I hate Black Jack. It sounds like it’s coming from an old Western.”

  Marta was the first to break the ice.

  “May I suggest we give this a ninety-day trial period? If the clients love you, if we feel it is a good match for all of us, we can negotiate a long-term agreement. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds like you’re unwilling to gamble on a sure thing, Ms. Clarke. I am disappointed in you. I thought you had more guts. I have a counteroffer. I want one third of the net profits as of the date I sign on. As to being a named partner, that can be discussed in six months. As to taking time for you to decide, I have to use the men’s room. When I come out, I would like your answer. If it’s yes, you can call Sonny and tell him all his future legal problems are in good hands. If it’s no, I would ask you call me a cab so I can get the next flight home. You’re not the only game in town, and I can think of a dozen firms that would kiss my ass to have me sign on. That’s not arrogance; that’s knowing what I have is highly marketable. Now if you’ll excuse me, nature calls.”

  Jack got up and was shown where the men’s room was.

  Marta was steaming.

  “Who the hell does that pompous bastard think he is?”

  Billy replied, “He knows who he is. The only question is, do we? For the record, I vote yes.”

  Marta said nothing. She knew Billy was right. She also knew he would cause chaos, especially for her. She could hear Jack coming back. She had about ten seconds to make a decision.

  “Welcome to the mad house, partner.” />
  It may have killed Marta to say it, but it was the right thing to do. In fact, it was the only thing to do.

  “You won’t be sorry. I can promise you that. I may be a huge pain in the ass, but the clients will love the results. I think it’s time we all celebrated.”

  “It’s only ten thirty in the morning, Jack.”

  “Maybe here it is, but in Moscow, it’s closer to midnight.”

  Billy and Marta just shook their heads. The trip had begun.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dinner was held in “The Warehouse.”

  No outside guests were there. For all practical purposes, the place was closed. The few waiters had been properly selected. The private dining room was set up for five.

  Introductions had been made. On one side of the table sat Sonny Bananas and Mr. Yeung. On the other were Black Jack, Billy Jo, and Marta. It was Jack who stood up and thrust his meaty hand at Sonny.

  “Looks like we’ll be breaking bread often, but hopefully not too often. Now if someone can get me a bottle of Jim Beam, I would like to propose a toast.”

  The waitstaff had been trained to hear what they were supposed to hear and erase from their memories all else. The bottle of the Kentucky whiskey and five heavy drinking glasses were brought to the table sixty seconds later.

  Jack poured. He had a heavy hand. Sonny liked that. Marta stared at a three-quarters-full glass of deep amber liquid and wondered how she would get it all down.

  “To a long and prosperous relationship, and fuck the Feds.”

  Mr. Yeung did not smile. He felt Black Jack was a self-centered asshole. He also felt Mr. Renaldo would win far more cases than he would lose. He knew Jack loved to talk, would get along famously with Sonny, and in the end, all roads led back to him. It was a win/win/win situation. He was concerned if Ms. Clarke could handle the pressure. Her face gave her away.

  Sonny decided to outdo even himself with the no-menu dinner. There were five waiters for the five diners. Each stood respectfully behind the chair, waiting and watching. When a glass was half empty, it was immediately refilled. When rolls or butter was needed, it was replaced. As for the antipasto, there was no end to the cheeses, spicy sausages, and imported meats.

  The main course, not surprisingly, was veal and pasta and cherry tomatoes. There was no hurry; they were going nowhere, at least not until Sonny had finished what could have properly fed a half dozen grown men.

  As they all were leaving, Sonny called Jack aside. Billy and Marta stood by the front door as Jack threw his arm around Sonny as if they were old friends. The conversation was animated and took at least four to five minutes. To say it was strange and completely out of place would have been a gross understatement.

  Finally, they embraced and parted.

  Once back in the limo that had picked them up, Marta could not restrain herself. She didn’t care who heard it or reported back to Sonny.

  “What the hell was that all about? What did he tell you, and what did you reply?”

  Jack looked at Marta and mentioned something about how pleased Sonny was that Jack was on the team and was sure they could all work well together.

  “That’s it? That’s what took five minutes, an embrace like you are long lost brothers. Bullshit. There was more going on than a simple thank you.”

  Billy Jo tried to interrupt. It did no good.

  Black Jack smiled. “You’re both my partners—you’re entitled to know everything. Sonny asked me if I was Sicilian, where my parents were born, and if I still had family back in the old country.”

  “And?”

  “And I told him yes. By the way, the veal was excellent. Sonny said he would send me a few pounds so I can make some saltimbocca.”

  Billy shook his head at Marta. The conversation was over. Change the subject or shut up.

  The balance of the ride back home was in dead silence, each trying to remember exactly what had been said.

  Marta was having little luck. I don’t like it, not one damn bit. Something is going on, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and be quiet.

  Marta was the first to be dropped off, and she wasn’t sure how long Billy Jo would be with Jack in the limo. A phone call or text was out of the question. She knew she wouldn’t get a hell of a lot of sleep that night. She thought about calling Rik. The thought lasted at least ten seconds. She had enough problems for one evening.

  She did not need another.

  ***

  The limo driver did not have a great memory, nor did he need one. There was a voice-activated microphone installed in the lining of the roof of the back seat. Every word was recorded and played back to Sonny. He may have looked big and dumb, but not a thing got by him. He knew his little conversation would disturb Marta. He was counting on it. She was obviously the weakest link in the chain. Or so he thought.

  ***

  The only person not surprised at how the evening ended was Xiang. He could have almost predicted it. Black Jack and Sonny were cut from the same cloth. They came from the same place. He was sure they would bond. He was sure at some point Jack would confide in Billy Jo, and he was sure everything would come back to him. He was betting on it. No one would have ever guessed how much.

  ***

  “You pissed her off; you know that, don’t you?”

  “That was not my intention. My intention was to get as close to our clients—I did say our clients, didn’t I—so they will rely on us for every little thing. I know damn well the limo was bugged. That’s Sonny’s style. That’s why I couldn’t say anything to Marta back then. I told Sonny not to take a phone call from anyone he doesn’t know without calling one of us first. We’ll bill him for every call, for every suggestion. It will come to the point where he’ll be afraid to take a piss without calling us.”

  Billy and Jack were sitting in an all-night diner, having coffee. They were pretty much alone. The limo dropped them off at Billy’s hotel, and they had walked a few short blocks before they said a word to each other. Jack was a wealth of information, and he was sharing every last bit of it with Billy. If Marta was there, he would have told her the same thing.

  “Please, let Marta know I like and respect her, but she’s got a lot to learn, including keeping her emotions in check. Never let the other guy suspect what you’re thinking or plan on doing. Marta has my private cell phone. Tell her to call me tomorrow. We’ve all had a busy and most productive day. Time to call it a night. And again, thanks for putting up with all my shit. It’s an act, and you damn well know it.”

  “Right. Good night, Jack.”

  “Night, Billy.”

  CHAPTER 16.

  The tidal wave hit like a tsunami. It seemed like there was crack cocaine and heroin everywhere, especially in New York and northern New Jersey. There was no question where it was coming from. A new task force was formed, and the targets were Sonny Bananas and Xiang Yeung.

  A quiet tip from someone on the task force to Rik was all it took. Rik told Marta, Marta made a phone call on a secure line to Mr. Yeung, and as a courtesy, Black Jack contacted Sonny through a mutual acquaintance.

  ***

  Jack earned the accommodation. Marta called him, as Billy suggested, and the two of them had a long, productive, and interesting conversation. She was beginning to understand. Few things were as they appeared to be. It was really all smoke and mirrors—it was one big illusion. It was also a wakeup call. Maybe law wasn’t the honorable profession it was made out to be. Maybe they were all just charlatans. Maybe it was really all about the money.

  I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe ours is not a profession of the highest calling. Why, most of the great leaders of our country were lawyers. They were out for the good of their country, not to line their own pockets.

  Marta would not have been pleased if she could read the minds of her two new partners. She knew damn well why people became lawyers. To make money. To make lots of money. And most lawyers didn’t give a damn how they did it.

 
***

  At a small meth clinic in Manhattan, it was chaotic. The new director, a Ms. Mei Ling, had her hands full. The number of Asian women that had been affected by the flood of heroin had not been anticipated nor planned for. Husbands, boyfriends, and pimps were pushing their women to make more money so they could buy more dope. When the women refused, they suffered. They suffered physically and psychologically. Mei Ling would attest to that.

  She vowed that someday she would find the villain who caused all this suffering and kill him. He deserved to die. He deserved to die a slow, painful, soul-searching death. She had no idea who was behind it, but she too had her resources. It would be only a matter of time. When people were high, when they were messed up, they talked. They said things that should be kept secret. They mentioned a name. One name led to another, and eventually, it worked its way up the ladder.

  Mei Ling was now looking for that first important name.

  It did not take long. Toni Lee managed to run from her home when her live-in was too wasted to chase her. He had beaten her. He had beaten her bad. All because she refused to sleep with a few of his friends for a lousy one hundred dollars. When she arrived at the clinic, she was severely traumatized. Several days later, she recalled the name Tommy Tomatoes. He was the one who worked the neighborhood. She wasn’t sure who Tommy worked for, but it was a start.

  Mei Ling made an appointment with a member of the Manhattan Task Force. The snowball was slowly picking up speed. And names. Mei Ling pressed for more names, more descriptions, more car descriptions, and more license plate numbers. She was not doing this for herself. She was doing it for those that were too weak and too afraid to do it for themselves.

  Whoever is at the top better begin to worry. I will not stop; I will not rest until he suffers like my girls have suffered.