For the first time in his life, Gabriel Sanders did not know what to do. He did, however, know what he should do. He just didn’t know if he had the guts to follow through. Then, in the blink of an eye, he thought he had the answer when Pilar’s phone, which she had left on the counter, pinged. He reached over to grab it and saw the name of the incoming caller, Bert Navarro. The man in Hong Kong. Well, hellooo!
Gabe cleared his throat, swiped at his burning eyes, and clicked on the phone. “Gabe Sanders,” he said by way of identification.
“Bert Navarro, Mr. Sanders. I’m calling you from Hong Kong. I was wondering if you and your wife had come to a decision regarding my offer. The reason I’m calling you again is to alert you to the fact that I am going to need your answer ASAP, because of all the planning we have going on for our opening night. I hate to rush you into a decision if you aren’t comfortable with my offer. I also need to tell you that the powers that be are trying to solicit the Rockettes, so whoever gets back to us first gets the gig. Are you following me here?”
“I am, Mr. Navarro. My wife and I are very interested. We have one problem, however. All of our past Mr. Decembers have moved on to other things and are not available. Our current Mr. December can be counted on. We have four other equally impressive dancers who will meet your criteria. We planned on a meeting this evening, our time, to see if the boys were agreeable. My wife planned on getting back to you after the meeting. I think I can say with ninety-nine percent confidence that all the boys will jump at the chance. Will that work for you?”
Gabe thought his heart was going to explode right out of his chest when he didn’t hear an immediate response. He cleared his throat. He tried to muffle his sigh of relief when he heard Navarro speak.
“I think I can work around that if you can send me some footage of the dancers, names, all the info I requested in my first communication. So then, I’ll wait for your call. Can you give me a time?”
Gabe cleared his throat again. “I think we can have an answer for you by nine this evening my time. You’re what . . . ? Twelve or so hours ahead of us, right?”
“Correct. I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Sanders.”
Before Gabe could even think about saying good-bye, the connection ended.
Was this the answer? Gabe wished he was clairvoyant. Should he tell Pilar? Such a stupid question. Of course he had to tell Pilar.
Gabe squared his shoulders as he took four deep breaths to calm himself. Something he referred to as 478. Take four deep breaths. Inhale on the count of seven, and exhale on the count of eight. Now he was ready to beard the lioness.
Gabe knocked loudly on the bathroom door. He didn’t even bother to try to enter, because he knew Pilar would have locked the door. He spoke in his normal tone of voice, certain Pilar could hear him. “The man from Hong Kong called. We talked. I explained the situation. He expects a response from us by nine o’clock this evening. He let me know that the Rockettes are under consideration, and the winner will be the one who gets back to him first. I’m going to give you five minutes to open this door and talk to me, or I am going out. When and if you see me again is uncertain.”
Gabe stared at the intricately carved bathroom door for a moment before he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away. He heard the snick of the bathroom lock, but he didn’t turn around; he just kept on walking. His days of groveling were over. Finally.
“Gabe, wait!” Pilar ran down the hallway after her husband. She latched onto his arm and walked barefoot with him into the kitchen.
“Make it quick, Pilar. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit. My mind is made up. Either we take the offer, which means we sit down right now and iron it out, or I am packing my bags, and I’m outta here.” He pointed to her head. “Don’t even try telling me that you weren’t in that bathroom, trying to figure out a way to play both ends against the middle. I know you. Are we clear on that, Pilar?”
“We’re clear, Gabe,” Pilar lied. Double. How clear was that? So damn clear she couldn’t think about anything else. Double. Gabe would come around. He always did. Double.
She went on. “Tell me everything Mr. Navarro said so I know how to proceed. I think we can count on Toby for this. I don’t see a problem with the other four or five lead dancers. We’ll need to take two substitutes, just in case. I don’t suppose you talked money, did you?”
“No. I guess that’s something for tonight’s discussion. Whatever it turns out to be, I think we should take it. It’s our answer, Pilar. Are we in agreement here?”
Pilar sniffed. “Okay, but that’s no way to do business. You never accept the first offer. You negotiate for the best deal. We want paid airfare, paid accommodations, and our food paid for. We want top U.S. dollars for the boys. We can pay a small bonus on top of that out of our own funds to make the deal more enticing to them. If all goes well for the trial month, then we can renegotiate from that point on. If you’re worried that Zuma can get to us, forget it. There’s no way he’s going to go to China to look for us. He’ll just latch onto someone else. That’s who he is.” Double. Oh, yes, double.
Gabe listened to his wife. He knew she was right. To a point. He even liked what she was saying, but in his heart of hearts, he didn’t believe her. He looked at his wife now, at her clean, shiny face devoid of the thick makeup, the false eyelashes, the ridiculous red lipstick, and thought he could see the old Pilar. The feeling lasted bare seconds. He knew that no matter how much he pretended, no matter how he hoped or, yes, even prayed, Pilar was lost to him.
Chapter Ten
Jack Emery looked over at Harry Wong and gave a slight nod. “I’m going to take Cyrus out. Want to keep me company? I think we can both use a little fresh air.” He looked around to see that everyone was busy doing something or other and decided their absence wouldn’t be noticed. Except maybe by Dennis, who had the eye of an eagle and the nose of a hound dog on the hunt; but at the moment, Dennis was in what appeared to be a deep, intense conversation with his friend Toby Mason.
Harry unwound his lanky frame, stretched, and rolled his shoulders as he followed Jack out of the conference room. Cyrus was already at the door, waiting. No surprise there, Harry thought. Cyrus was right up there with the mystical dog Cooper.
Once outside, Jack leaned up against the building while Harry did some limbering stretches. Jack fired up a cigarette, one of two or three he smoked in a month’s time. He didn’t really want the cigarette now, but he was feeling charged up and knew that the tobacco would calm him down. He fully expected Harry to swat the cigarette out of his hand, but when the martial-arts expert stared off in the distance, he knew Harry didn’t care one way or the other. At least for the moment.
“Cold out here. I always hated the cold. I am never going to like the cold. Makes my skin itch. I’d like to live somewhere where the temperature is a steady seventy degrees every day,” Jack said, simply to make conversation.
“Zamboanga,” Harry said without missing a beat.
“Well, I don’t see that happening any day soon,” Jack responded before he blew a perfect smoke ring, which floated upward and then dissipated in the gusty wind.
“Then why bring it up in the first place? We both hate the cold, so what the hell are we doing out here? Cyrus doesn’t need us to help him lift his leg. Spit it out, Jack, and get rid of that cigarette before I jam it up your nose.”
Ah, now that was the Harry Jack knew and loved. He tossed the offending cigarette on the ground, then ground it to a pulp with the heel of his shoe. He then picked it up and stuck it in his pocket. Jack Emery did not litter. As in ever. He offered up no comment to Harry’s threat, but he did spit out what was bothering him. “I hate drug dealers, especially big-time drug dealers, because big-time drug dealers belong to cartels, which have no morals, no scruples, and they kill people just for looking at them sideways if they think they are interfering with their drug trade. I hate them as much as I hate the cold, probably more.
“This Zuma g
uy . . . he was . . . is supposedly Dito Chilo’s next in command. But then Espinosa said he’s further down the drug ladder, like maybe three or four, so that means there will be a turf war of some kind. If he is the next in command, that will put him right up there at the head of . . . of . . . Chapo’s organization, since Chapo was just recaptured and is now sitting in a Mexican prison, hopefully awaiting extradition to the good old U S of A.
“Anyway, neither scenario is good. If it turns out that he is next in command, it makes sense to me that the guy would hightail it to Miami to get away from the DEA and every bounty hunter looking to make a name for himself. And, of course, to avoid a turf war. He’ll need to gather a small army to make all that happen. Again, Miami is the perfect place to do that. What do you think, Harry?” Jack asked as he stomped his feet on the cold concrete.
“I’m not liking what I’m hearing, Jack. So correct me if I’m wrong here. Are you saying that you are or you are not afraid of this guy, and that this mission should be aborted?”
“No, I’m not afraid, Harry, but I have some concerns. You should, too. We don’t know enough about Pilar Sanders and her deals with this guy. Toby can’t help us, because he doesn’t really know anything, either. I’m not liking that we don’t have more background. Knowledge is power. You know that. Drug runners and their cohorts do not play by any rules. They make up their own as they go along, with the main one being to kill anyone who stands in their way. Hell, Harry, we don’t even know how big this all is. When we first heard about it, it almost sounded routine. Small potatoes. Now I’m thinking we were way off the mark.”
“This might surprise you, Jack, but I am in agreement. Bear in mind, those people use guns. We do not! In a fair altercation, we could take them hands down. As good as we both are, neither you nor I am capable of catching a bullet in midair before it hits someone and kills them.”
“There is that.” Jack sighed. “Any ideas?”
“What’s taking Cyrus so long?”
Jack looked at his watch. “He still has a few minutes.”
Harry frowned as he stared down at the alley, where Cyrus was sniffing the brick walls. “How does that dog know when fifteen minutes are up?” he asked, his expression as sour as his tone.
Jack shrugged. “When you can tell me how Cooper does what he does, maybe I’ll be able to answer that. Until then, let’s just pretend both dogs are normal.” Jack looked down at his watch again. “Two minutes, Harry.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Harry asked, his eyes still on Cyrus, who was now making his way up from the far end of the alley, which was over a block long. He knew in his gut the dog had it timed to the last second.
“The plan is that there is no plan at this immediate time. I’m thinking that after Toby has his meeting with Pilar Sanders this evening, we’ll know more. And then we can go full bore. Plus, Ted’s colleague will arrive sometime tonight, and he might be able to shed more light on exactly what we’re up against. It’s sticking in my craw that someone like the Sanders woman can be crucial to a big drug deal. Think about it, Harry. She runs a string of supper clubs that feature male dancers who dance for women and get money stuck in their . . . you know, that thing they wear. How did she get involved in something like this? We need to know the why of it all.”
Cyrus nudged Jack’s leg and let out a soft woof.
“Right on schedule, bud. C’mon. Let’s go inside, where it’s warm.”
Cyrus woofed again. Harry rolled his eyes as Jack stared into the retina scanner. The moment the huge door clicked shut, Cyrus raced to the kitchen and waited patiently for his treat.
“Cooper never wants treats. He doesn’t beg, either. He simply accepts what is. Why do you think that is, Jack?” Harry asked fretfully.
“Like I know, Harry! I don’t want to talk about this. We have a mission to think about. That’s where all our thoughts should be. As far as the dogs go, they are what they are. We can’t change them, and even if we could, I don’t think I would want them any different than they are now. We good, Harry?”
“We’re good, Jack.”
Back in the conference room Charles was speaking. Jack and Harry slipped into their seats, and then Cyrus settled himself at Jack’s feet instead of under the table. Jack stroked Cyrus’s big head with gentle hands. If Cyrus were a cat, he would be purring in pure contentment.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not really understanding what’s going on. Is the China offer legitimate, or is it a smoke screen? Is the plan for the Sanderses and the dancers to actually go to China? If so, then they’re off the hook. Am I reading this right?” Toby asked boldly. “And just for the record, these feet of mine are not leaving U.S. soil. If you tell me that’s a game changer, then I am outta here and will take my chances come what may.”
“Why don’t we just say it’s all a work in progress for the moment?” Charles responded.
Toby let out a displeased snort of frustration. “That tells me you don’t know the answer to my question. That is not good, from my perspective. What it also doesn’t tell me is how I am supposed to act this evening at the meeting. If Pilar asks me to go to China, what do I say?”
Fergus looked offended at the question. “You simply tell her an offer like that out of the blue demands that you have time to think about it, and remind her that you have just fallen in love. Love conquers all, as they say.” Fergus smiled.
“Toby, for now we’re playing it by ear. We have nothing concrete to go on. We have no proof of anything. Yet. If it’s there, trust me, we’ll find it. That’s when we go into mission mode. You have to trust us. It might seem to you right now like we don’t know what we’re doing, but I assure you, we do. You are in good hands,” Charles said quietly. “Trust is mandatory right now, son.”
Toby nodded as he locked his gaze with that of Dennis, who simply nodded.
“I’ve been scouring the Net for an hour now and can’t find any advance notice for the California Mr. December contest,” Ted said. “I’ve gone back four years, and by now, in previous years, there was an enormous number of teasers posted all over the place, especially on the Net. I realize it isn’t even Halloween yet, but in previous years, pictures of the contenders are front and center, with new, randomly shot pictures following every week thereafter until the contest in December. Either someone is asleep at the switch or that contest is not going to be happening this year.”
All eyes turned to Toby. A deer caught in the headlights, all Toby could do was shrug and flap his hands in the air.
Toby looked up at the clock on the wall, then over at Mia Grande, who was buffing her nails with some kind of long stick. Feeling Toby’s gaze, she grinned. It was a winsome grin, as though they shared a really good secret. Right at that moment, Toby didn’t know if he wanted to slap her or kiss her. He looked away, hoping he wasn’t telegraphing his emotions. Girls were so . . . so . . . unpredictable. And crafty. And sneaky.
Toby cleared his throat. “I have to leave now and keep to my routine. I have an hour at the gym and a mini photo shoot for some random shots to post for the Mr. December contest. No one said it was canceled, so I have to show up. Then it’s back home to shower and change and head to the club. Plus, I have to eat out. Any orders or instructions before I leave?”
“Not at the moment,” Charles said. “You’re free to go, but stay close to Mia. Wait a moment. There’s a text coming in from Director Sparrow.”
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing. The room went totally silent as they waited for what Charles would share.
“At the moment, I don’t know if this is good or bad, but Director Sparrow’s text says he is going to have to sit this mission out because of his orders from the White House. He said Annie and Myra told him in no uncertain terms to make up his mind whose side he’s on—theirs, which means the veterans, or the White House and the prez losing face. He goes on to ask if there is a paying job within our group that he can apply for. He also wants to know what kind of health benefits
we offer.” Charles chuckled as he looked around the room. “Someone tell me how you all would like me to respond.”
Abner Tookus stood up and waved his arms about to loosen his shoulder muscles. “That doesn’t exactly thrill me, even though it’s clear whose side Sparrow is on.”
“Our accounts are robust, so I don’t see a problem, if Sparrow is serious,” Jack said. “That includes health insurance. I seriously doubt it will come to that, but we’re on board if it does. We can take a vote. Hands up if you all agree.”
Every hand in the room shot in the air.
“There is your answer, Charles,” Jack said.
Toby looked at Dennis and shook his head. This was so far over his head, he couldn’t think straight. The director of the FBI was asking these people if they had a job for him that provided health insurance if he left his prestigious position as the head of the FBI. These people. Those were the key words he had to focus on. But not right now. Right now he had to get the hell out of here before he exploded, thinking about it and dogs that could fold towels. He could think about all of that while he was at the gym. Or not.
“C’mon. I’ll walk you out,” Dennis said. He waited for Mia to gather up her things, for Cyrus to decide if it was worth his while to trot after the departing guests or not. In the end, Cyrus decided to stay right where he was, at his master’s feet.
Harry hated inactivity. With a passion. “I have an idea.”
The room turned silent immediately. Harry never volunteered. Never.
“Let’s hear it,” Maggie said as she gleefully rubbed her hands together.
Harry looked at Abner. “Your friend Philonias Needlemeyer. Is it possible for you to get in touch with him and have him check out Zuma Delgado and the chain of command? Do people like that use banks to launder money? I admit I have no clue how that works. Take away their money and . . .”
High Stakes Page 11
