Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2)

by Rick Santini

  With that, Rod stripped off his t-shirt and began putting the buckets and mops away.

  Marta marveled at his glistening body and washboard abs. He obviously was not a stranger to physical labor. He made no pretense of showing off his body; it was what it was. For now, he needed a shower and some fresh clothes. He retired to the single stateroom where Marta could hear both the shower and Rod singing. She found the icebox, took out a Corona, and went topside.

  “That didn’t take long,” she said as she glanced at her watch.

  “Don’t want to keep a pretty girl waiting. ’Sides, how long does it take to shower and put on a clean pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt?”

  Not to mention combing your hair and putting on some great-smelling masculine cologne.

  As they headed to the Plaza Grill, a typical island-type bar, Marta casually reached out and held Rod’s hand. He smiled and gave it a squeeze.

  This could be fun. This could be exactly what I need.

  ***

  “Mr. Yeung, I have some rather bad news for you. I have spoken to Marta, who is presently out of the country. She’s feeling better but is still a bit shaky.” Thanks to you introducing her to crack cocaine, you bastard. “She feels a flight overseas in her present condition, plus the fact she is not thinking one hundred percent, would be a strain on her and an injustice to you. Unfortunately, I must concur. I am sure Mr. Renaldo would make himself available or I would be pleased to clear my schedule for two or three days. My passport is up-to-date, and I would consider it an honor to represent you in whatever the matter entails.”

  Before Mr. Yeung could respond, Billy Jo added, “You know I am a criminal litigator, not a corporate negotiator, but I will do my best.”

  Xiang paused to consider what Billy had just told him. He wondered if he had really spoken to Marta and if in fact she was out of the country. He had verified she had flown to Miami, but his people had lost track of her at MIA International Airport. It was possible she was somewhere in the Caribbean, but he could not be positive.

  “May I think on this for a few hours? I will call you back, Mr. Gibson. And thank you for contacting Ms. Clarke.”

  “Of course. If you decide on Mr. Renaldo, I personally will make all the arrangements, that is, if you like.”

  “Thank you, but that will not be necessary.”

  I do not need you to be my high-priced errand boy.

  ***

  “Hot damn, I’m going to Switzerland. On a private jet. I wonder what the stewards are like and if they’re as good as they look in all those ads.

  Black Jack was already up to his eyeballs negotiating with the US Attorney in Manhattan for Sonny Bananas, and was unaware the DA in Newark was keeping a sharp eye on Mr. Xiang Yeung. The matter of Tao Fung and his violent death near the airport had come to a dead end. No one saw anything. The tire tracks could have come from a Ford F-150. There had to be more than a thousand registered in the tri-state area. Besides, the truck had to have been sold or dismantled twenty-four hours after the incident. The death was no great loss to anyone. The Gibson Clarke law firm paid for the burial arrangements. There was no formal funeral.

  ***

  “Thanks for picking up the tab. It was appreciated but clearly not necessary. I would love to take a walk on the beach, but it’s getting late. I have a charter leaving at seven thirty in the morning and have to pick up bait and food by seven. That means a very early wake up.”

  Marta frowned—in fact, she pouted. She wanted Rod to know she had dessert planned for him later that night.

  “How long will you be here?”

  Marta wanted to answer, “How long do you want me to be here,” but that would have sent the wrong message.

  “Three or four more days. I have no time table.”

  Rod grinned. “I have no charters this Sunday. Maybe we could get together Saturday night and spend part of Sunday together.”

  “Sounds like a plan, sailor.”

  Marta reached over and gave Rod a kiss. It landed somewhere between his cheek and lips.

  “Thanks, I’ll call you Saturday to confirm. You’re staying at the Blue Dolphin, right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Small town, big mouths. Again, thanks for dinner and the drinks.”

  Marta headed back to the bungalow. Rod intended to sleep on the boat.

  CHAPTER 46

  Salvatore Bonnonnos had voluntarily surrendered his passport to the US Attorney’s office when he became a target. It was a gesture suggested by his lawyer as a sign of cooperation. No one knew it except Jack Renaldo. The last thing Sonny wanted was for any of his associates to know he was meeting with the other side.

  Sonny politely declined the invitation by Xiang to accompany him to Switzerland. He had severe sinus problems and limited his flying to emergency flights only. He also preferred to remain with both feet solidly on the ground.

  I’m afraid to fly, but no one must ever find out.

  The sum total of passengers was now down to three. Xiang, Mr. Renaldo, and a senior partner from a white-shoes law firm on Wall Street. As far as the commercial litigation attorney was concerned, it was strictly the sale of a business with the usual non-disclosure, non-compete clauses, covenants, and representations. What the actual product being sold was never entered into the picture.

  At times, it was best not to know.

  ***

  Everything was confirmed. And confirmed again. Xiang had leased a Gulfstream G-V to leave Tetterboro at ten in the evening of October 7th. They would arrive ZRH at approximately six a.m., where a limo would take them to Park Hyatt Zurich. That would give them all five hours to rest up before the meeting. The hotel was within walking distance of UBS.

  The simple reason Xiang chose that particular G-V was the physical layout. Although normally configured to hold up to sixteen people as it flew at a cruising speed of four hundred eighty-five knots per hour, this particular plane had a private bedroom and bath. While his two companions would both have ultra-comfortable couches to rest on, Xiang would receive his normal seven hours of sleep in his bed at forty-five thousand feet.

  Money, even drug money, buys everything. Including a good night’s sleep.

  ***

  When Xiang told his sister the reason for the flight to Switzerland, she was thrilled. Finally, her only living relative would get out of the world’s nastiest business, but her brother would be a billionaire. He had not told her before he had already reached that lofty mark. She was having strong sibling feelings for her big brother but could not dismiss the fact she was his only living relative. If something happened to him, she would be an instant billionaire.

  Mei Ling though of the good she could do with that kind of money. Why, she could build and staff small hospitals and treatment centers all over the country. She could also do some good back in her old country where female abuse ran rampant.

  Mei Ling’s thoughts drifted to her homeland, a place that held bittersweet memories. A place she had not seen in more than twenty-five years. When she left China, she was a teenage war bride. Now she was an attorney in the United States of America and CEO of a small but successful clinic and rescue center for abused Asian women in New York City. It had been a strange voyage.

  She reluctantly agreed to stay at his home for the time being. Jabor, the chauffeur, drove her into the city every morning and was parked in front of her office at five o’clock sharp every afternoon. Mei Ling was not used to this type of service. It was a lifestyle anyone could get used to very easily.

  She wished her brother good luck and asked he call once he had arrived. Then she closed her eyes for a few minutes to relax and think about how her life had changed in the past thirty days. She also thought what it would be like to be a millionaire. She could not conceive of the wealth or power of a billionaire. Too many zeros.

  Would my life really change? Would I be the same person? Would my values be different?

  Mei Ling assured herself she would be the
same person as before. For a smart businesswoman who was also a bar certified lawyer, she was incredibly naïve. Money does strange things to everyone. Aside from the Dalai Lama, there was not a person alive that would not change going from dirt poor to being a billionaire. It was just human nature.

  She could not wait to find out how the negotiations went. She was not as confident as her wise brother. Too many times, what could go wrong did go wrong. When you are dealing with millions and millions, everything could go wrong.

  ***

  For Marta, Saturday night could not come quickly enough. It had nothing to do with her raging hormones—she just enjoyed being with Rod. There was no pressure, no competition, no need to be anything other than what she was. So why was she looking for a hairdresser, a manicurist, and a new outfit? Rod had made no specific plans, and there was not a hell of a lot to do in Marathon at night but eat and drink. And maybe get to know each other a little bit better.

  “Meet me on the dock around five. Make sure you wear boat shoes or sneakers.”

  Marta was not sure what boat shoes were, but she did have a pair of Nike running shoes. They were really high priced sneakers.

  So, we’re going on the boat. I wonder where to?

  She knew she could now forget about a hairdo, a manicure, or a new outfit. She had a pair of white shorts and a navy blue wool sweater. It seemed like the perfect outfit.

  The excitement mounted. Marta wasn’t sure why. This wasn’t the high school prom, and Rod, although he was more than good looking, was not captain and quarterback of the football team.

  I really like him. It’s not about sex. Well, maybe just a little bit.

  Marta was now fantasizing. She had a grin on her face when Billy called. There was no way she could avoid the call.

  “Yes, Billy.”

  The tone indicated annoyance. He did not put her in this situation. It was her own doing.

  “First, how are you doing? Second, when are you coming back? Cases are piling up, and I can really use your talents. Third, Xiang Yeung is flying to Switzerland to close some big deal. I told him you were out of the country, a small lie, and you were still a bit shaky. He said he understood. He took Jack and some senior partner specializing in mergers and acquisitions from the Nixon law firm on Wall Street. I thought you would want to be kept up to date.”

  Marta’s voice softened. “Thanks for the update. I’m feeling much better. Sun, sand, and sobriety, and no sex, has completely cleared my mind. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when Xiang offered me that damn pipe.”

  Marta thought about the “damn pipe” and knew exactly what she was thinking. La la land for a few brief hours. No cares, no responsibilities, no anything. Sort of like what she was now experiencing.

  “Give me a few more days—say Monday or Tuesday—and I will be back. I’ll let you know when I book a return flight. I’ll rent a car to drive to MIA airport. Maybe one of the guys down here will drive me back.”

  Billy wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He was her partner, not her babysitter. At least not as far as sex was concerned.

  “Call me when you know. Oh, you may want to call Yeung and explain you were somewhere in the Caribbean getting a little R & R. You’ll be back when he returns and wish him success. He’s still our biggest client.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Billy. It means a lot to me. You’re the best.”

  As Marta hung up, she looked at the time on her cell phone. It was three o’clock. She had a date on the docks in a mere two hours.

  She began to tingle.

  CHAPTER 47

  There were five of them. They were all from Chicago. They were all Sicilians. From their body language, two were lawyers; they clung to their highly polished briefcases like they contained the crown jewels or maybe the Magna Carta. Two were associates or body guards, probably a combination of both. The shortest man, only five foot five, maybe an inch taller than Xiang, slicked black hair and a thin mustache, was clearly the boss. He was wearing a light gray, almost silver, silk suit, a white on white shirt, and a white silk tie. He looked like someone from wardrobe on a Hollywood remake of the Godfather had dressed him for the meeting.

  Xiang refrained from laughing. They still controlled the money.

  Three Chinese gentlemen, all over the age of sixty, all from the Golden Triangle, bowed deeply when Xiang entered the room. There was no question who they were and what role they played.

  All told, there were eleven people in the conference room. The host, a Swiss banker, introduced himself and said he would be available by just pressing the button on the table when it was time to transfer funds. He mentioned the room “was clean;” there were no recording devices, and whatever they wanted, coffee, tea, fruit, or lunch, would be available by merely asking. The “Godfather” asked for a plate of cannoli. The banker nodded and suggested the room be locked from the inside. Then without any introductions of the parties—he knew exactly who was in the room; he had collected their passports a half hour ago—the banker left the room.

  Each side waited for someone to break the silence. It was the Wall Street attorney, used to controlling the negotiations, who began.

  “We all understand why we are here. Mr. Yeung has a business to sell. Mr. Anthony Scalesci and his associates have made a most generous offer of seventy-eight million to purchase it. The five million, non-refundable down payment has been made and the offer accepted in writing. The gentlemen from southwest Asia along the Mekong River and Laos, normally referred to as the Golden Triangle, are here to assure Mr. Scalesci they will guarantee delivery of the product in question under the same terms and conditions as they have to Mr. Yeung for the past thirty years. I have all the agreements here for your lawyers to review.”

  There was relative silence in the room as the lawyers read the contracts that had been previously emailed to them. There were no surprises. At least not on the part of the seller.

  “Mr. Yeung, while we trust everyone here at the table, and we acknowledge we are all honorable men, my client feels there must be some money held in escrow to guarantee delivery.”

  Xiang looked at his own attorney. There had been no mention of a hold back or escrow. This was to be a cash deal. He was about to stand up when Winthrop looked him down.

  “What sum of money are you suggesting, Counselor?”

  “One half, thirty-nine million, to be held for six months and half of that, nineteen million, for the following six months. The money can be held by the bank. You will be paid in full at the end of one year, assuming all deliveries are on time with the same terms and conditions.”

  Winthrop looked at his client for instructions.

  Xiang rose to his full stature. He smiled and bowed.

  “It appears we have all traveled a great distance for nothing. Of course your new terms are unacceptable. I thank you for your time, and of course, your non-refundable deposit, but if you will excuse me, there is another buyer waiting. Although I trusted you, I always believe in backup. The group from Miami, originally out of Venezuela, can be here in the morning. Mr. Winthrop, will you please call Mr. Escobar’s lawyer and tell him his offer has been accepted and we can close tomorrow?”

  With that, Xiang got up and headed toward the door.”

  “Hold on, motherfucker. You got our five mil. We want it back. Now.”

  Winthrop was already on his feet.

  “Mr. Scalesci, with all due respect, that language is totally uncalled for. You are in a foreign country as their guests. This type of behavior is unacceptable. If necessary, I will call the bank manager in right now. I strongly suggest you ask your attorney to explain to you, in the simplest of terms, the meaning of non-refundable.”

  With that, the rest of the room emptied, leaving Scalesci, his two associates, and two lawyers, sitting with their mouths open.

  “That son-of-a-bitch is dealing with Carlos Escobar. I hate that cocksucker.”

  ***

  Mr. Winthrop had no idea his c
lient was bluffing. He had never heard of Mr. Escobar. Well, he had heard the name of Carlos Escobar the drug lord on the news and in the paper, but certainly never from Mr. Yeung.

  What the hell did I sign up for? I’m a corporate attorney; I don’t want to get involved in people killing other people. Or me.

  After thanking the banker, assuring him the closing would take place the following morning in the same room, Xiang, Jack Renaldo, who had not uttered a word and was amazed at the balls of the little Chinaman, and Winthrop headed back to their hotel, a short block away.

  “Do not accept any calls from Scalesci or his lawyers. None. They know where we are staying. I promise you they will be in the lobby waiting for us before five p.m. Mr. Anthony Scalesci needs my connections, needs my referrals, needs my business, and he will pay for it. I have been in this business long enough to know they can make back their investment in one year. I am authorizing no one to talk to them. I will do everything. Is that understood?”

  Jack nodded his head. Winthrop did the same.

  “I am going to my room to take a nap. I must not be disturbed by anyone. When Mr. Scalesci shows up, and he will, I will agree to meet with him alone.”

  Xiang did not say another word. He had his key card and went right to his room. He had no intention of talking to anyone until after his afternoon nap.

  ***

  Marta was standing alongside the Happy Hooker at precisely five p.m. It was obvious the boat had been scrubbed down. It was still wet and sparkled.

  Rod was standing on the aft deck, wearing freshly pressed jeans and a denim shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and the tail not tucked in. He was wearing dark brown Dockers, a type of loafer with rubber bottoms. They were deck shoes.

  “Permission to board, Captain.”