RITUAL SACRIFICE: The Ultimate Alpha Female & Political Corruption on the West Coast (Noah Reid Action Suspense Thriller Series Book 5)

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  Of course, she knows why she sees Hiram. She’s heard the rumors about Prez and her desire to get involved with state gambling. Hiram has never met a lobbyist that he wouldn’t take advantage of, and he is the man that everyone courts for anything to do with Native American gambling. Who needs a senator with little influence when Prez can get everything she wants out of the kickback and graft-driven Hiram?

  However, it seems that Coyote River’s pending foreclosure is changing the ball game. Prez’s proposal is under active consideration, and she figures Prez wants to line up as many ducks as she can.

  So when Prez requested a dinner meeting a few days ago, Sandy figured that maybe she might be next on the gravy train… or even better. She salivates at the thought of a possible after-dinner dessert. That’s why Sandy is wearing a low-cut dress, six-inch heels and spent two hours at Amika’s, adding highlights to her air, getting her fingernails and toenails painted and had Mohammed apply his makeup magic on her. It’s what Sandy does every time she is on the hunt.

  If Sandy knew the truth, she would have saved the taxpayers’ money. Sandy’s appearance is not important to Prez. Prez is a sexual omnivore. The only requirement she has before she will entertain or allow herself to be entertained is that the other party has got to have something he or she can offer other than their bodies. Sex for sex’s sake stopped being interesting to Prez years ago.

  The truth is, Prez avoids Sandy for precisely the reason that Sandy went to Amika’s. Sandy flaunts her sexuality. As a businessperson and lobbyist who needs to get people of all stripes on her side, the last thing Prez wants is to be associated with a cause where she’d be considered a “10 percenter,” a term reflecting the supposed percentage of homosexual population.

  But situations change, and it’s time to move into the next phase.

  Prez is nothing if not prepared. For a year, she was starting to have doubts about Hiram and whether he might really deliver. This afternoon’s adventure with the late senator was disappointing but anticipated. That’s why six months ago, she started hanging at The Grill—she knew Sandy would be there. She purposely ignored the senator, knowing that that would make Sandy, the vice chair of the gambling subcommittee, want her all the more.

  Dinner is at what Prez knows is Sandy’s preferred restaurant in Salem: Fellini Fuji, an upscale Italian-Japanese fusion restaurant.

  Tiny cups of Isojiman sake are poured from the small porcelain flask and downed in a single gulp. Prez refills Sandy’s cup.

  “You know my favorite drink,” says Sandy.

  “Hiram Franklin—Glenlivet. Thomas Halpern—Mormon, doesn’t drink. Susannah McConkey—anything. Carol Lee—mojitos, easy on the rum. Ian Simpson—vodka martinis. Krystal Johnson—doesn’t drink, will smoke the occasional joint,” says Prez.

  Prez has just named off the rest of the members of the gambling subcommittee.

  Sandy’s impressed. “So why have you been avoiding me until now, Prez?”

  Prez shoots Sandy a sharp look and speaks matter-of-factly. “I need you.”

  “Of course you do. And I can guess that Hiram is being his usual speak-out-of-both-sides-of-his-mouth self.”

  Once upon a time, Prez took an acting course, and she’s got to use all those chops now. Much as Sandy seems to be a cut-to-the-chase kind of gal, Prez is sure that being a straight shooter is not the right approach.

  “Yes, you’re right. I have been avoiding you, but it has nothing to do with Hiram. Mind you, if I could, I’d cut off his nuts.”

  Sandy laughs. “You and me both.”

  “I avoided you because you and I are the same,” says Prez with a cryptic confidence.

  “What do you mean by that?” asks Sandy, cautious but even more interested.

  “We are powerful women in a man’s world. And let’s be blunt. There isn’t a guy in America that wouldn’t want to get into your pants or mine. But let’s be even blunter. There isn’t a guy in America whose pants we would want to take off.”

  Now that’s an introduction.

  “Are you still hungry?” asks Sandy.

  “Ravenous,” says Prez. “But let’s have room service.”

  Five minutes later, two young guys in valet parking are drooling. One of them has just driven a Tesla Roadster in mint condition to the front of restaurant. The other has just brought up a Corvette Stingray. But better than the hot cars are the hellcats who own them: a cougar and an Asian fox.

  ***

  Three hours later, the two women come up for air. During that time, they have explored every millimeter of each other’s bodies, savored and delighted in each other’s fruits, nooks and crannies.

  “Now what is it you really want, Prez?”

  Prez pulls herself off Sandy’s bosom and cups her breasts.

  “I wanted to show you what I am capable of.”

  “You know you were the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Do you know how often I’ve heard that? That’s meaningless to me.” Prez lets go of her breasts and lets Sandy soak in the view. “If you want more, there’s a price.”

  Sandy sits up. “Isn’t there always? What’s yours?”

  Prez is all business now. “Hiram’s being an ass. Doesn’t want non-Indians to be able to bail out the Coyote River.”

  “You mean, you didn’t offer him enough?”

  Prez shrugs. “Men like that don’t deserve to live.”

  “That’s true, but he’s still chair of the committee.”

  “You know no one else on the committee likes him or respects him. You could lead the charge.”

  “It’s not that easy to get rid of him.”

  “I am pretty resourceful, Sandy. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Hiram is pretty nasty. He’d fight forever.”

  Prez takes out her cell phone and holds it in front of Sandy. She hits play.

  For the next thirty seconds, there is the disgusting video of Hiram barking like a dog as Prez whips him with his own belt.

  Prez flips the video off.

  “If you are chair of the gambling committee, you could approve my taking over the Coyote River. There would be a huge public hue and cry against it, during which time I would keep the courts tied up for years fighting it, losing then appealing, repeating the process until it goes to the Oregon Supreme Court. By then, the Indians will be making so much money, they will lynch any politician or judge that tries to take it away from me.”

  Ingenious. “Oregon’s got a lot of religious nutbars who will use any excuse to get rid of me. They’ve already got me in their crosshairs.”

  “If you don’t go for it, Sandy, I’m toast. I’ve put everything I have into this. What’s it going to take for me to convince you?”

  Prez’s vulnerability gives Sandy cause to gloat inwardly. “Let me think about it.”

  “No thinking necessary. I will show you two videos.”

  Prez takes out her iPhone and sends a video text to Sandy of the Tiger Palace in Macau. It’s mega, it’s modern and it’s money-making.

  Prez narrates as the video progresses.

  “These Bengal tigers in the lobby are real as are the antiques that are worth more than your average small country… here you have a three-thousand seat Chinese restaurant with chefs that every other restaurant is trying to steal… those acrobats are direct from Beijing. They have turned down Cirque du Soleil to stay with us. This casino belongs to my father. Our family knows something about gambling.”

  Prez clicks off the video.

  “So why isn’t he part of your proposal if he’s so knowledgeable?”

  Prez remains silent for several anxiety-filled moments.

  Then she quietly declares, “Because he is one of the biggest Triad leaders in Asia. No one knows who he is. No one knows what he does. But he will kill anyone that doesn’t accede to his wishes. Anyone.”

  The emphasis on anyone is not lost on Sandy.

  Prez hands the cell phone to Sandy and hits play.

  The video
opens with a screen that displays the message, “This is where your tax dollars have gone.”

  Then for the next two minutes is an edited version of the previous three-hour sexual adventures of Prez and Sandy. It makes the antics of Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and Miley Cyrus look like Sunday school teaching material.

  The video finishes.

  Sandy stares at the phone and then turns to Prez. “You and I, we really are the same.”

  “No, I’m better. And more than that, I will kill you if I don’t get what I want.”

  “How do you know me so well?” marvels Sandy. “That is so what I want to hear.”

  The next hour and a half is pure pornographic erotica that would have the religious nutbars send the two sex goddesses one-way tickets to Hell.

  An acting performance that would give Prez an Academy Award. She would rather have taken her pets for a romp in the woods.

  Chapter 8

  It’s fifteen minutes before her shift in the casino lounge starts. Good thing nobody’s in the room because Melva, wearing a Playboy bunny outfit, is screaming at Freddy.

  “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever worn!”

  “You look pretty… sexy,” says Freddy.

  “If you’re blind.”

  “Sex sells, Melva. Everyone knows that.”

  “Yeah, if you’re twenty and got a bod worth showing off.”

  Melva taps the white little furry round tail on her uniform and gnashes, “I ain’t no cuddly rabbit, and ain’t no one gonna want to pull my tail.”

  “Different strokes for different folks. Melva, we gotta do something.”

  “Give out free drinks. Give ‘em a free weekend room.”

  “We tried that. Remember? Melva, no one wants to be served by someone in some Hiawatha outfit. Give them a little T & A.”

  “Yeah, well my 'Ts' have been mangled by six kids, and my 'A' is uglier than an elephant’s snout.”

  “We got to start somewhere.”

  “Why don’t you get Cindy? She’s pretty hot.”

  “I asked already. My daughter doesn’t want to have anything to do with the tribe. She’s got her heart set on being a nurse.”

  “Well, thank God someone in your family’s got some brains because it sure ain’t you. I ain’t no Keira Knightley, no Angelina Jolie, no Heidi Klum. I’m a fifty-going-on-seventy-year-old grandma trying to make a few bucks to help out my kids and grandkids. Freddy, that’s who we are here. Coyote River isn’t sexy. We aren’t glitzy. We’re just a nice bunch of Injuns.”

  “That the white man has been taking advantage of for three hundred years.”

  “If you got a problem with that, get white or yellow or black ones here instead.”

  “You’re fired, Melva.”

  “Actually, you’re the one who should be fired. Anyone who thinks they can make money here by having me peddle my petunias is gonzo, bonzo.”

  Freddy and Melva glare at each other, and then Freddy sticks out an olive branch.

  “Okay, you don’t have to wear the costume. You look pretty stupid in it anyway.”

  “Well, screw you, too. How did you come up with such a bonehead idea anyway?”

  “I… I… went to Vegas last weekend. Melva, it was so exciting. You can win a million bucks in slots. I saw four shows in two nights, including Celine Dion and Elton John. Spectacular. And the food? The Bellagio Buffet. MGM? The women just did anything I wanted. Anything.”

  “And you did that out of the expense account money out of the casino here while I was making five bucks a night in tips?”

  “No. No. I had an old baseball buddy. He’s working the rigs now, making a ton of dough. Figured he owed me because I fixed his car for free so he could drive to Texas.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Freddy. I’ll bet Prez bought you off, didn’t she?”

  Freddy’s face reddens—he’s been caught.

  “She didn’t buy me off. She said I should go and see the potential of what Coyote River could be.”

  “Yeah, did she show you the thirteen-year-old prostitutes or their twenty-five-year-old pimps who beat the crap out of them to keep turning tricks for every tourist in town? Did she show you the old man who just lost his house because he kept thinking, “Next hand lucky?” Did she show you the bodies in the deserts from the saps who were late in paying up?”

  “Do you want a job or not, Melva? 'Cuz like it or not, we gotta change or die. I don’t want to die.”

  “You do what you’re thinking of, and you’ll kill the spirit of the tribe, what’s left of it.”

  Melva tramples off, pompom tail waving in her wake.

  Her cell phone rings as she enters the staff changing room.

  “Kathy! How’s my daughter doing? Haven’t heard from you for so long.”

  “I’m doing great, Mom. New York’s going great.”

  “If you need money, honey, I just can’t help out right now.”

  “No, Mom. I called to tell you I have a job. A real job!”

  “This I gotta hear about. Good going, girl.”

  The conversation lasts half an hour, but it’s no big deal. Only a couple of customers in the lounge.

  Chapter 9

  Early Wednesday—Hong Kong

  Now that’s got to be one of the most boneheaded things I’ve ever done.

  Noah had not known that the small airport in Hong Kong would elicit that kind of emotional response from Olivia. How could he? It was the first time that they’d gone together. He thought she’d love the special treat of having a private plane for just the two of them for the two-hour flight.

  She wasn’t mad at Noah, but it was a painful reminder of how much hurt Chin caused to the Southam family. She wishes she could be more understanding, but the only thought running through her mind is how much she hates Chin, his family… Even worse, it drummed up old resentment against her father for dragging the family into this.

  Olivia didn’t say a word to Noah during the entire flight to Shanghai, she said nothing when they got into the limo and she’s saying nothing now as they travel toward the town. She just stares outside the window, looking at the massive construction that’s going on. There’s a saying that the most common bird in Shanghai is the crane—the building crane, with maybe 20 percent of the world’s total number in its environs.

  Not exactly the most interesting scenery. And her mood doesn’t change when they pass by the mammoth Shanghai Expo site or the fantastic mixture of old and new architecture on the mile-long Bund, just off the French concession.

  What did Dad do when Mom was like this? Uh…

  “Maybe we can move to Cupertino,” ventures Noah timidly.

  “What are you talking about?” asks Olivia, furling her eyebrows as she finally turns to face her husband. “We said we’re going to stay in Asia.”

  “A few months ago, a few of my old law school buddies suggested we could put together a start-up games company.”

  “That’s so bogus.”

  “No. We played video games for hours for a break from studying. It’s a great stress reliever. The plan is to give seed funding for five hundred different games. There’s got to be at least a handful that’ll hit.”

  “If I wanted to marry a rich guy, I would just pick one of my Harvard law classmates. That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard coming out of your mouth. That’s a complete crapshoot. You could just as easily lose it all.”

  “It’s a whole lot more fun than watching you mope.”

  Olivia’s jaw drops. “You insensitive lout. How could I ever have thought to have married you?”

  Noah shrugs. “I’m smart. Handsome. Great in the sack… ”

  And then… Olivia gets it. She smiles her little smile with the cute, charming dimple.

  “You wish.”

  “You mean I’m not?” says Noah as he puts his arms around her. Finally.

  “I mean… I wish life didn’t have to be like this,” says Olivia as she snuggles against Noah’s ches
t. “I mean, here we are, and what are we going to do on our honeymoon? Visit cemeteries. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t Chinese.”

  “I think you mix up,” says the limo driver in his broken English. “I only Chinese in car.”

  Noah laughs and says in perfect Mandarin, “I was born in Shanghai. My wife was born in Hong Kong. We are both ‘eggs.’ White on outside, yellow on inside.”

  The driver gives the new couple the thumbs-up.

  “Slow down!” shrieks Olivia.

  As the limo lurches to a stop, driver and Noah both call out, “What’s the problem?”

  “Oops. Sorry. I just saw a Prada store.”

  I just married a moody shopaholic… “Don’t worry. There’s at least five of them in Shanghai.”

  “And five Gucci,” adds the driver.

  “I promise that next time we come, we’ll stay as long as you like,” says Noah.

  “You better mean that, Noah.”

  “Of course. I love shopping.” Noah smiles, grinning from ear to ear.

  One look at his ten-year-old jeans and flea market shirts certainly dispels that lie, but who knows? If a man can walk on water, maybe Noah will change his fashion statement from grunge to GQ.

  The first stop is the exterior of the Hua Dong Hospital, an impressive modern structure.

  Noah looks at the address and then the building, perplexed. “This doesn’t seem right. I thought the hospital was more downscale than this.”

  “Maybe it’s been renovated. Just about everything else in Shanghai’s had a facelift. But even then, how did you parents manage to afford medical care here?”

  “You never knew them. They had this crazy philosophy that the Lord will provide. There is no doubt in my mind that thinking about how to pay for hospital care was not on their minds when I was conceived. They would have been happy to have a midwife deliver me. Or maybe they made a friend at the university that’s connected with the hospital.”