Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2)

by Rick Santini

  Marta sat at her desk and listened. She had no idea what Ronnie Rosenthal was talking about. He had to be foaming at the mouth. He couldn’t get his words out fast enough.

  “Ronnie, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying. Call me when you’re not drinking and are able to communicate in English.”

  She slammed the phone down.

  It rang three minutes later. It was ADA Rosenthal.

  “The fucking evidence is gone. All we have is three large bags of talcum powder. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m coming after you personally.”

  Now Marta was ready to have him for lunch. No one accused her of evidence tampering or misconduct.

  “Let me ask you this, asshole. Where were the bags of talcum powder kept?”

  “In the damn evidence room. You know that.”

  “And who controls the evidence room? Me or the sheriff? Maybe the arresting officer switched it, assuming it was the real stuff to begin with. You better be careful who you’re threatening, or your next job will be cleaning the urinals in the DA’s office. Have a nice day, lackey.”

  Marta was about to hang up when she added, “See you at trial, Ronnie. Oh, you might want to think about who assigned the case to you and who set you up to fall on your face. It certainly wasn’t me.”

  You just made my day, asshole. Her next thought was, I wonder who actually made the switch?

  Ronnie sat at his desk wondering, Did someone really set me up?

  ***

  “Mei Ling, it’s me, your brother. Please don’t hang up. I want to talk to you. I want to see you.”

  All Xiang heard was silence, followed by a click. Mei Ling obviously hung up.

  He called back a second time. The phone rang and rang. No answer. Reluctantly, he hung up.

  The third call was to his lawyer.

  “Ms. Clarke, it’s Mr. Yeung. I need your help.”

  “Yes, Mr. Yeung. When and where?”

  ***

  Marta was shocked by his candor. Mr. Yeung—she felt uncomfortable calling him by his given name—laid it all out. The size and scope of his operation, really an empire, his approximate net worth, just a shade under one billion, the fact he was tired, wanted to retire, and do some good for all those he had hurt. Most of all, he wanted to reunite with Mei Ling.

  Although attorney/client privilege clearly attached, Marta was not comfortable knowing confidential inside information—suppliers, dealers, locations—that could potentially shut down a billion-dollar drug operation. She could hardly tell Mr. Yeung to stop telling her all the ins and outs. He was unloading, baring his soul, and in effect, asking for forgiveness.

  I’m not your confessor; I cannot grant you absolution. I’m your lawyer, not savior. Stop telling me everything. I don’t want to know. Now or ever.

  “This has all been most informative. Now what do you want me to do with it?”

  Xiang thought it was obvious. He was not talking for the sake of talking.

  “Go to Mei Ling and tell her. Tell her I have repented. I will give up the business tomorrow morning. I will use all my wealth to do good for all she has fought so hard for. Talk to her. You are a lawyer; convince her I mean it.”

  I may be a lawyer, but I am not a miracle worker.

  “I will do what I can. There are no promises, no guarantees.”

  Xiang Yeung stood up to his full five foot three, looked up slightly, clasped Marta’s hands in his own, and thanked her profusely.

  We shall see what we shall see.

  CHAPTER 22

  Stalling would do no good. Marta knew a phone call would be useless. She already had Mei Ling’s home and business address, and Rik had supplied a schedule of where she was most of the day. It was now time for a short trip to Manhattan.

  She decided to tell no one. At this point, there was nothing to tell. She decided to dress down, no use looking like a lawyer. No one trusts lawyers, especially other lawyers.

  Mei Ling wasn’t difficult to recognize. She was about to enter the clinic, having walked the short distance from SoHo to Mott St. It was warm out, and Mei Ling was wearing wide black trousers and a white blouse. Her long black hair was in a French braid. Marta decided the direct approach was best.

  “Ms. Ling, may I talk to you for a minute?”

  Mei Ling was immediately suspicious. She had never seen the tall black woman before, and yet she had called her by name. For a split second, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

  “Who are you? How do you know my name, and what do you want? If you touch me, I will scream for the police.”

  Marta raised her hands palms out and backed up a step. She stood quickly and waited a second before talking.

  “I have no reason to hurt you. I just want to talk. I am an attorney, like yourself, and represent an individual who would like to contribute a large sum of money to you and your clinic. Can we get a cup of coffee somewhere?”

  Mei Ling relaxed for a minute. “Who is this benefactor? Why me, and how much?”

  “For now, I’m unable to say, but my client has been following your work, understands you can always use a large transfusion of funds, and the dollar amount would be substantial.”

  Marta was about to say several million, but that was unrealistic and would have immediately scared Mei Ling off. “I am guessing fifty thousand to start with and more later if needed and he can spare it.”

  Mei Ling could think of a dozen places to spend fifty thousand dollars. Maybe two dozen. The black lady was dressed well and did not appear threatening. She had a relaxed smile on her face.

  “There’s a coffee shop two doors down. I just have to call my office and let them know I’ll be a few minutes late.”

  Forty minutes and two cups of coffee later they shook hands and promised to meet again in a few days. Marta was forced to tell a few white lies, but let Mei Ling know money was not a problem—as long as it went to a worthy cause. Mei Ling swore to it.

  They shook hands like old friends and parted company.

  ***

  The message was short if not so sweet.

  “We have decided to drop all charges immediately.”

  The voice was clearly that of Ronnie Rosenthal. No reason was given. Marta was sure she had not heard the last from the frustrated ADA. She desperately wanted to know who made the switch but was afraid of the answer. She was still an officer of the court.

  “Mr. Fung. Marta Clarke. I just heard from the district attorney’s office. Apparently they lost the evidence or it magically transformed itself into several bags of talcum powder. In any case, all charges have been dropped. I am moving to expunge your record and seal the file.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Clarke. I’m sure you will be hearing from me again. Goodbye.”

  Marta felt it odd that Tao did not express shock or surprise. It was as if she had called to let him know the morning newspaper would be delivered a half hour late.

  It was now time to report to Tao’s boss. She knew “little white lies” would not cut it.

  ***

  Black Jack was earning his keep. Sonny was becoming his best friend, calling him almost every day. Should he do this, was it a bad idea to do that, how far could he push on certain sales. It was as if Sonny wanted Jack to write a primer on the sale and distribution of cocaine in the Big Apple.

  Sonny was doing exactly what Jack had hoped for—to rely upon him for everything. The only difference was their relationship was attorney/client, not best friends forever. If and when the money ran out, a highly unlikely scenario, the friendship would dissolve the very next day.

  Or later the same day.

  Billy Jo was now devoting more and more time to the practice in Newark. That was where the real money was. He had applied for admission to the New Jersey bar on waivers. He had practiced in a sister state for more than twenty-five years.

  Permission was granted.

  Either there is more crime in New Jersey than West Virginia or the crooks in West Virginia are just pl
ain smarter. Whatever the reason, my future, in the law business at least, is in the Newark area.

  Billy decided to find a new junior partner for the West Virginia office, and he would act “Of counsel.” It would be a win/win situation for everyone. Especially Billy Jo.

  ***

  “I met with Mei Ling. Yesterday.”

  Xiang was practically beside himself with anxiety. He had a million questions to ask, but through experience, culture, and training, attempted to remain calm and wait for Marta to continue.

  “She is well. She does not know I represent you. It was my decision not to bring up your name at this time. I told her she has a benefactor who is willing to fund some of her work. I mentioned the sum of fifty thousand so as not to scare her or think it was you. We are going to meet again in a few days. Once I have her confidence, perhaps her relationship with you will come up. You must trust me and be patient, Mr. Yeung.”

  By his very nature, Xiang was a patient man, but he could not help feeling a need to move more quickly.

  “Yes, Ms. Clarke, I will do as you request. How do you want me to pay the fifty thousand dollars? So Mei Ling will not know it is coming from me?”

  “Give me a day or two to think about that one.”

  “As you say. I will await your next report. Thank you, Ms. Clarke.”

  Xiang Yeung bowed deeply, a show of great respect.

  Marta muttered a half assed embarrassed thank you and left.

  CHAPTER 23

  One does not receive a full scholarship to City College of New York and New York Law School by being stupid. It was brains, not looks—though Mei Ling was not hard to look at—that got her where she was today. She had an intellectual curiosity that went well beyond normal. Strangers did not randomly approach her on the street and mention they represented an undisclosed principal who was willing to shell out fifty thousand dollars on a project no one outside the local community gave a hoot about.

  I smell a fish. A rotten fish. Most probably an Asian-type fish.

  The business card from Marta had a Newark phone number. Her brother, she was told, lived in Newark. And there was the dark-colored sedan with the tall black man behind the wheel she had spotted across the street from her apartment and again near her office.

  Coincidence…not a chance.

  Mei Ling decided to push the envelope. She made the phone call.

  “Ms. Clarke, it is Mei Ling. Thank you. Yes, I too enjoyed our little time together. I have been going over my budget, and I am afraid I cannot in all good conscience, accept your donor’s fifty thousand-dollar offer. I am embarrassed to admit it, but in the next month or so, I must close our clinic. I have no idea what I’m going to tell the poor ladies who rely upon me, but I am behind in the rent, I have not paid staff the past two weeks, and fifty thousand will not come close to what I need. Thank your client, but it would be dishonest to take money for a charity that will not survive. Goodbye and bless you.”

  Mei Ling purposely did not hang up. She knew the question Marta already had on her tongue.

  “How much do you need?”

  “More than any prudent investor would be willing to gamble. I am so sorry you wasted your time.”

  This time, Mei Ling did hang up. She would have bet her last fortune cookie she would hear from Ms. Clarke within twenty-four hours and the amount would then be ten-fold.

  ***

  Twenty-four hours later, Mei Ling received the anticipated call. Once she saw the caller, ID she knew she had not lost the cookie.

  “Yes.”

  “Mei Ling. I have some wonderful news for you.”

  For the next ten minutes, Marta explained how the still secret benefactor had done more research and felt the clinic should remain open at any cost. It was a much-needed facility, and whatever it took to keep it open, he would underwrite.

  Mei Ling was now certain the unknown benefactor had to be her older brother. No one else would dare risk putting fifty or even one thousand dollars into the clinic without first reviewing all the books and records. The only question was how much would he pay to buy his salvation? Or what he hoped was his salvation.

  “Are you sure? I have always wanted to expand the clinic and put in twenty more needed beds, but I never had the money, and the banks all felt I was not a good financial risk. I don’t want anyone to risk the kind of money I need on the whims of an overly optimistic doer.”

  “How much do you need? To do everything. Build-out, the beds, the additional staff…the works.”

  “Let me talk to my accountant, and we can meet later this week if you are available. By then, I will have my manager’s projections, spread sheets, all that any qualified investor would insist upon.”

  The bait is set. If it is Xiang, and I know it must be, he will not think twice. Then I will know for sure. The question is, what do I do next?

  While Mei Ling was contemplating, Marta was making the much needed phone call. The answer, as anticipated, was yes. “Whatever she needs, as much as she needs.”

  There was no dollar limit. True love does not come cheap.

  Marta decided to wait twenty-four hours before calling Mei Ling back. She did not want to appear as Santa Clause.

  One hundred thousand, five hundred thousand, a million, five million. How far can I push? He can afford any amount I ask for. But how do I justify it?

  Mei Ling sat in her office knowing she was now dealing with the devil himself.

  Is it really worth it, or should I just walk away?

  In the back of her head, she could not forget she was the only living relative of a multimillionaire. She had no idea he was inches away from being a certified billionaire.

  Her intellectual side told her to walk away. No, to actually run as fast as she could. Her human side wanted to see the man that was once her teenage older brother and to ask him how he lived with himself for ruining so many good lives. Lastly, and this was the most difficult one, to acknowledge, how she could benefit from the hundreds of millions of dollars Xiang had accumulated over all those years.

  Mei Ling made herself a special pot of tea. She used leaves she had grown accustomed to many years ago back home. They were not the same and much more expensive, but it was one of the very few luxuries she afforded herself.

  ***

  “Good morning, Ms. Clarke. Yes, I have the figure, but I am afraid your donor will balk when I tell him what the entire project will cost. For fifty thousand dollars, we can remain open for another two or three months, and I will be applying for an SBA and minority ownership loan. My accountant believes this is the best way to go and the only way I can afford to repay the amount within a few years. What? No, to do the project the correct way is far beyond the financial ability of anyone I know.” She paused. This would be the moment of truth.

  “You can tell the benefactor the total cost, according to the project manager, would be two point seven million, but there is no way I could ever repay him. Not in my lifetime, I’m sure. Yes. Thank you. Bye.”

  Mei Ling wanted to jump for joy. She was sure she had played it right. The more she protested, the more believable she sounded.

  ***

  Now the talcum powder itself was gone. The evidence box was completely empty. The evidence sheet showed a sign-out by a Lt. U. B. Skrewd. The records showed there was no one by the name of Skrewd on the force. The clerk did not remember what the Lt. looked like—if he was black, white, or yellow. It was one massive SNAFU.

  When word got to Russ Baylor, the DA, he knew this was a potato he did not want to touch. It had political disaster written all over it. He instructed ADA Ronald Rosenthal to shit-can the entire file.

  “Burn it if you have to, but never bring up the matter again. You must have other files that need your attention, don’t you?”

  Ronnie merely nodded. The problem was way above his pay grade. He would be removing Marta’s name from his Christmas list this year. Not that he really had a list to begin with.

  Tao Fung decided
it was finally time to celebrate.

  ***

  Marta mentioned the incident to Billy Jo, more to get his reaction then to report a file had been closed with virtually no time or effort. One of the many questions Marta had been billing and billable hours. Mr. Yeung never commented or requested a monthly bill indicating the hours the firm had spent on his work.

  “Send him a statement there would be no charge for handling the Tao Fung matter. Yes, you handled the bail hearing and had a few preliminary conversations with the ADA, but as a show of gratitude for introducing us to Salvatore Bonnonnos, we consider it a wash. Don’t say anything else, and don’t give in when he insists. The results will be overwhelming. Trust me on that one.”

  Marta did not argue. She was learning fast. Not everything is taught in law school. She was dying to know about the missing evidence but remembered what you don’t have any firsthand knowledge to you can’t testify to.

  She hung up, knowing she was better off not knowing.

  CHAPTER 24

  “I insist. There is no discussion. Please make it clear to her.”

  Marta knew it was a mistake, but it appeared there was nothing she could do but to present it. She had to give Mr. Yeung his due. If he was going to hand over a check for almost three million dollars, he was damn sure going to do it in person. The only question was would Mei Ling accept it—in person. It was now a battle of two very strong-willed people.

  And why shouldn’t it be? They were brother and sister.

  “I will try and make the arrangements.”

  “Don’t try. Just do it,” was the response.