Baby Brother Blues (Sammy Dick, PI Series: Book 1)

by Trudi Baldwin

  The second the door shooshed shut behind Mai, it flew open again and in zipped Tomas. Also without knocking. I felt like I was in some kind of well-timed play. He pulled the door gently closed behind him.

  “Welcome back, Tomas!” Apparently, I wasn’t going to be left alone for a minute to conduct this not-so-private investigation of the business, but since my real role was to evaluate the people, that was fine with me. Especially when one of the people was this sexy Latino leaning over the laptop beside me, his silky white shirt hanging open at the top with just the hint of a well-defined pectoral on his chest peeking out.

  Yum, I almost said, but switched to, “Hmmm, so, Tomas, how long have you been with the Swann organization, and what is your role exactly?”

  Tomas’s fingers were flying across the keyboard as he granted me access to various programs and software. Multitasking appeared to be second nature to him, as he explained how the company operated. In between these explanations, he also told me about his own role. “I met Mai’s brother, Liang Chen, ten years ago in Puerto Rico on his holiday.” I noted that he didn’t elaborate the circumstances. “When Liang discovered my bookkeeping abilities, he arranged for me to come to Phoenix as an entry-level bookkeeper for Swann. Mai and Michael seemed to take a liking to me, and before I knew it, I was in the role of personal assistant, primarily for Mai, but also some for Michael. I’ve been in that role ever since. I manage their personal finances, much of the company records and am, what you call in mainland America, somewhat of an all-around gopher.”

  One of the first records I was to see was the payroll statement. Tomas earned 100K a year as a gopher. Yeow, some gopher! Sylvester, Mai and Michael each pulled in 500K a year as their base salary, at least on these books, for running the company. There were only ten employees on the payroll, each having done quite well in the salary department, and the company grossed a considerable amount each year. Further, their profitability, at least to my untrained eyes, seemed enormous, if these books were correct. I’d have to get Geo to conduct his own analyses, though, to dig deeper.

  Tomas went on to explain that Swann was an intermediary supplier in the diamond industry. Swann Diamonds did not sell diamonds directly to the public; rather, they acted in an interface, consultative role, seeking out uncut and rough cut diamond suppliers throughout the world and overseeing the distribution of higher quality, loose, wholesale diamonds. Swann’s role was to ensure that high quality diamonds made it into the hands of those in the jewelry creation industry, businesses which focused primarily on design, not supply management.

  To do this, Tomas enlightened me, Swann had developed liaisons with the equivalent of original equipment manufacturers of diamonds, primarily located in South Africa and, to some extent, Canada and Australia. Swann Diamonds dealt exclusively with Kimberley certified diamonds or Canadian certified diamonds, and steered clear of what were known as “blood-diamonds,” diamonds that were mined in a war zone and sold to finance insurgencies, war efforts, or a warlord’s payroll, usually in Africa. Tomas explained that certified liaison companies extracted diamonds right out of the ground or received the diamonds and further processed them to a rough-cut stage.

  Then with a degree of pride, Tomas told me that Mai, besides being CFO, was also particularly adept at staying ahead of the industry and was often one of the first on the scene when a new lode of superlative diamonds, the kind Swann specialized in, became available to the industry. She was able to corner the market, so to speak, on new caches of diamonds. Further, she had the skills, charm and business acumen to establish and maintain a business connection that wouldn’t waiver for years.

  “Her charisma and personal presence seem to win others over. Other CEOs and all levels of business people in the industry are intrigued by her, so much so that they sign up for deals and long-term contracts with Swann that are quite lucrative, at least for our side, for years and years,” Tomas explained, his high estimation of Mai undisguised.

  Tomas and I spent the next two hours getting me set up and connecting me to the company’s various financial and other tracking systems. By 11:00 A.M. I was ready to get up and stretch my legs. Also, if Michael and Sylvester hired me to assess the people here, I’d better get out and do some assessing, so I straightened my back and turned to face Tomas. “Tomas, could you please point the way to the restroom?”

  Tomas’s fingers stopped flying over the keys and carefully closed out of what we were working on. He stood up. “I’ve probably given you enough of this fire hose of information for now anyway. How about we meet again tomorrow at 9:00 A.M. to work further? That will give you time to digest what you’ve learned and go over the reports in some detail. I can answer any questions you have then, and in answer to your first question, I will escort you to the Ladies Room.”

  I silently gave Tomas permission to fire hose me, as he put it, with information any time he wanted. I stood close to him, feeling the soft vibrations he exuded. He didn’t step back but bowed slightly and extended his hand gracefully toward the door, like a chauffeur, indicating that I should precede him. I pressed down on the lovely French door handle. All the office doors were constructed of solid wood on their lower halves and beveled glass windows on the upper halves, giving some visibility into each room. But the visibility was distorted because of the cut glass. We stepped out into the hall, festooned with more art. Tomas gestured down the hall and said, “Fourth door on the right.”

  I had thought for a minute that he was going to escort me right into the stall and watch over me while I tinkled, but, apparently I was going to be allowed some freedom to roam, freedom I planned on taking advantage of right then and there. I hustled down the hall, swinging my hips in case he was watching. This proved challenging as I was simultaneously trying not to limp in my brand new ultra-high Gucci knockoff heels. As I struggled down the hall under these constraints, further impaired by an overwhelming need to pee, I heard what could only be described as a very intense conversation in one of the offices to my right. The thought of slowing my pace to the bathroom sent a ringing alarm to my bladder, but I couldn’t afford not to listen in on this heated conversation. I glanced back to make sure Tomas was no longer in sight, sidled closer to the door and tried to peek in through the cut glass window.

  No luck. All I could see were two dark figures pacing back and forth. The figures appeared to be a female, probably Mai, because of the height and the short skirt, and a male, but that was all I could discern. The figures would pace and then stop, face each other, then gesture in a fervent or angry fashion. The male’s gestures bordered on violence, but the female did not flinch or cower. She stood her ground, clearly fighting with words versus the male’s violent gestures, and, at least at this stage, holding her own.

  I glanced furtively again up and down the plush hallway to see if anyone was watching me. I could see no one to my left or right, so I placed my ear against the glass without being too obvious about it. The voices rose and fell, ocean waves cresting and falling, and every once in a while throwing a stick my way, a word or two I could actually decipher. Then the voices rose to an angry pitch. “How could you!” I heard almost growled from the female figure before her voice was lost in murmurs again.

  Uh oh, the male figure appeared to be storming out of the room. Time to straighten up.

  The door to the office I’d been trying to eavesdrop on swung open and a stocky male of about 5’8” emerged. He turned so that his back was to me. He then strode angrily down the hall toward the elevator. He had short, dark brown hair that shot upwards from his head, and wore a beige and white striped golf shirt with tan chinos and rubber soled deck shoes, giving him an outdoorsy look. He had a broad back and before he’d turned, I got a good view of his massive chest. His arms were long for his shorter height, and even from my distance, I could see the dark hair on his brutish forearms. His ham-like fists clenched and unclenched as he waited for the elevator. I heard the elevator’s chime just as I stepped finally and blessedly
into the door marked Women.

  Feeling much better, I exited the restroom with no one in sight. I spotted a hall leading toward the center of the building and decided to take it. As I made the turn, I pulled up short at an amazing sight. Whoa! Right before my eyes was a small watercolor painting about fifteen inches high and twenty inches wide gracing the wall, composed of pastel colors with blue eel-like shapes swimming in a rose-colored sea. The boats and sky were multifaceted with planes of color angling in from various directions, creating a delicate origami effect. All in all, a happy, yet mysterious painting. I looked closer, searching for a signature.

  “Do you know anything about art?” asked a voice from behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I was fairly certain the gruff voice belonged to the unidentified man behind the cut glass I’d heard earlier. I whirled to see the stocky man with the long, dark-haired arms standing uncomfortably close. How did he get there so fast without me hearing him? I guess the rubber soled shoes enabled stealth.

  “Well, this looked like a genuine Paul Klee, but that seemed impossible,” I replied. We were almost perfectly eye to eye because of our similar heights. He seemed to relish standing uncomfortably close in my space. His breathing was pronounced, even though we weren’t moving. A mouth breather. And proud of it.

  “Nothing is impossible here,” he quipped arrogantly and smiled a tight smile that never reached his eyes. I detected a degree of menace in the statement. “May I introduce myself? I am Karl Zaiid.” He extended his right hand.

  “Tina Brown,” I retorted, getting a sudden sick feeling that his handshake might reel me in, the way a fisherman reels in a hapless fish after a long resistance. His handshake was one of those male clasps meant to display dominance. I refused to step backwards from his intrusion into my space and the overly long, extra firm handshake he administered. Power, raw power were the words that came immediately to mind. I held his gaze during the painful handshake to let him know that I had got his message and, oh by the way, I don’t give a shit, Karl.

  The stealthy sliding up behind me, the in-your-face position, the lock-til-you-drop eye contact and the rough shake all combined to put me on the alert. I decided to grill him a little more.

  “So, Mr. Zaiid, I’ve been here all of one morning and am just getting to know my way around. How long have you been with Swann?”

  “Ah, yes, Ms. Brown,” he nearly growled, “you must be the new ‘performance consultant’ as Michael so carefully put it. Here to assess our performance.” His tone was so inflected with sarcasm, I began to feel like a sex therapist sent in to measure the height of his erection.

  If that hadn’t raised my ire, his complete sidestep of my original question did. “Yes, that would be me,” I returned his serve with an overly sweet smile, “and, as part of that job, I investigate every aspect of the business, including the length of time each employee has been here and their role with the company. Then I advise upper management on any changes that may need to be made to improve performance.” I uttered the word changes with a gritty relish so he’d get the implications.

  I guess he figured his position at Swann wasn’t totally unassailable, because at that point he backed out of my private space and abandoned most of his growl. “May I call you Tina? You may call me Karl, and I’ve been with Swann for only ten months.” His words indicated a truce, but his eyes and body language were still combative in a way that made me uneasy.

  I have great intuition, and right now my Esteem-o-Meter, as I secretly call it, was registering zero with this man. He was an empty shell and therefore scary as hell. I could sense that he had nothing to lose, and he was on the prowl for external gain and dominance anywhere he could grasp it. Probably at any price. Perhaps Michael’s intense uneasiness stemmed from the presence of this man in their company. I wondered what Karl’s gig was here, and not being particularly shy, I decided to ask.

  “So, Karl, what is your role at Swann?”

  “My role,” he eyed me coldly, “is to head up our startup niche in industrial jewels, a possible expansion business that Swann’s been exploring.”

  “What are industrial jewels?” I queried, conjuring up zirconium factories churning out fake diamonds, like a See’s Candy factory. Why had Tomas made no mention whatsoever of this sideline business in the three hours I’d just spent with him? Surely, he’d realize I’d find out about it sooner or later. I made a mental note to quiz Tomas on the subject later.

  “One of the reasons diamonds and other precious stones are sought after,” Karl explained, obviously enjoying his superior, professorial role over me, the newbie student, “is that years and years of compression have transformed them into some of the hardest substances known on earth. Many other industries that manufacture or construct hard substances, such as metals and some of the harder plastics, require drill bits, punches and other devices with tips or components capable of cutting into them. Diamonds, and even some other precious stones, are ideal for this. Very few substances in the world are as tough and hard as a diamond.”

  Karl had once again slid in unreasonably close to me and I wasn’t about to back up. He seemed to relish saying the words tough and hard because he slowed down looking at me strangely while he said them, his black beady eyes glinting. The menacing intent seemed obvious, but could he really feel so strongly about me so soon? After all, we’d just met. I took note to begin watching him closely but to be very careful around him.

  “About the only substances appropriate for some of this drilling, cutting and punching in the high-tech manufacturing industry are gems because of their precision and strength. And, of course, in the diamond industry, we often run into deals on gems that are not necessarily retail quality, but still quite marketable as industrial jewels. Industrial gems are not just diamonds, but rubies, sapphires, emeralds and a host of other types of stones, depending upon the manufacturing need. That’s the market I’ve been hired in to develop because I have an industrial gems background.” He paused, and, I swear, puffed his chest up. “Further, Mai seems to have a knack for selling these industrials to manufacturers for an excellent price, and she keeps the clients coming back for more. My job is to assess the gems, research the market and make recommendations for appropriate buyers. Then Mai goes in to seal the deal.”

  There it was again, that reference to Mai as the rainmaker, the supreme golden goose. She was much more than the CFO; she was the principal sales agent. I wasn’t that hot at being a true business performance consultant, but I did know that without your sales force, you are nothin’, and she seemed to be the sales force extraordinaire that kept this company alive and humming, a valuable member of the team indeed, besides being beautiful, exotic, and alluring. Of course, that might be part of the reason all these buyers kept coming back for more.

  I wondered about Karl’s relationship with Mai. Obviously, all of this buying and selling in the new niche market forced these two together on extended business trips, minus Michael, who had to stay home and run the show. I was pretty sure now that it had been Mai and Karl arguing behind the cut glass door. I was eager to learn the cause of their friction.

  Finally, as Karl wound down his explanation he released the space he’d been controlling and stepped away. “I have research to do,” he said curtly. He turned his back and strode purposefully down the hall. I watched him go. Some women like a high testosterone, dominance-takes-all man. I think this kind of man makes weaker women feel secure, and strong women feel challenged. Perhaps Mai, who was clearly in the latter category, liked the challenge of this man. Perhaps not. I’d have to find out.

  Personally, I liked more levels of complexity in my men, a balance of male and female skills overlaid with playfulness. Karl Zaiid had none of this complexity. My intuition was shouting that he was one of the empty ones, a one-dimensional man, trying to get his fix at Swann Diamonds. Definitely someone who deserved to be watched.

  “Do you like art?” asked another voice. Yikes, was this painting haunted or what? This
voice was familiar, however—smooth with an English accent. I whirled again and there was Michael Oversong at a respectful distance, standing behind me.

  “Whoa, you startled me a little. I didn’t hear you arrive.”

  “There’s a door kind of hidden back there,” he pointed down a hall that veered off from the restroom door, “to what we call the Research Room. We house many of the diamonds there in small vaults. Also research books, scales, samples and some marketing materials. I guess it’s easy to sneak up on someone if they aren’t aware of that door.” He looked me directly in the eyes with a questioning look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The compressed intensity I’d witnessed in our first meeting seemed to have dissipated a little. Perhaps because I was now here in the heart of the business, investigating, and Michael had gained a sense of hope that I would uncover what was really going on with his wife.

  I couldn’t tell if he was sincere or not—about not meaning to sneak up behind me—but I decided to take his word at face value.

  “In answer to your question, yes—I do like art. Art history was my minor in college. I was just admiring this painting and studying it to see if it might be genuine. Surely it’s not, but I thought it might be a Paul Klee.”

  “Collecting art is one of my favorite hobbies, and you have an excellent eye. This is, in fact, a genuine Paul Klee, albeit a little Paul Klee. At the right time and place, some of these works of art are less expensive than you might think.”

  I silently thought that Michael’s definition of less expensive and mine might be vastly different, but since I was trying to come off as a wealthy big-time business investigator, I played along. “So do you go to auctions? Where exactly do you pick up a ‘little Paul Klee,’ as you call it, to add to your collection?”

  “I’ve been to a few auctions, but the best way to pick up a little Paul Klee, as you say,” he was smiling and his topaz eyes lit up for the first time since I’d met him, “is to trade for them. Sometimes in our search we come across uncut diamonds of such uniqueness and value that certain select people we know alert us to contact them. When we come across these specialty diamonds, then I seek out these interested buyers, who are also collectors of art, and conduct a trade. ‘My uncut diamond for your little Paul Klee.’ All on the up and up, I assure you, and thoroughly documented.”