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

by Trudi Baldwin

  “Well, Michael,” I leaned in closer, dropping my voice to a sultry whisper so as not to embarrass him in front of the bartender, “I’ve already conducted a preliminary search of your wife’s habits.” I let that hang in the air a second or two. From our very first meeting, I knew that Mai was a subject guaranteed to shift this man from ice to fire to gloom in a split second flat.

  “And?” Michael queried, visibly on edge now. He’d lost every ounce of the authoritative advantage he was attempting to lord over me.

  “And, at this early stage, I do not think she has a, er,” I struggled for the right word, “nonprofessional relationship with Mr. Karl Zaiid.”

  I watched his tense, erect posture unwind as he exhaled in relief. His back slumped to the back of the barstool and his head bowed, almost as if her were giving thanks to some deity for his good fortune. I figured he might give me my paycheck on the spot just for that news alone. Fine with me.

  Unfortunately, after the visible relaxation, he straightened right up and continued to look at me expectantly. Hmm, apparently he wanted more for his money.

  “Perhaps we’d better move to a bar table, so that we can carry on a more private conversation,” I said. He nodded and we moved over to a private table near the large windows overlooking the city.

  I was grateful for the move. It gave me time to gather my thoughts, leave behind the telltale cherry stems, and start anew. Before we left the bar, Michael had ordered some Dewar’s on the rocks for himself and another Cosmo for me.

  As we sat down, I noticed the view had revolved to a stunning spectacle of the city to the east. Lights were blinking on, one by one, across the vast city as dusk settled over our cauldron of a town, a lid suppressing the heat.

  At this point the cute bartender zipped over and placed the Dewar’s in front of Michael, and a Cosmo loaded with three cherries in front of me. The bartender smiled cheerily, clearly intending to impress with the remembered cherries. Michael and I both stared at the cherries in unison.

  At the mutual sighting, I sensed a blush coming on that threatened to turn me as red as the cherries. To avert it, I pinched the end of one of the stems between my thumb and forefinger, flung it in my mouth, and snapped the plump little fruit right off. Then the next and the next. I lay the stems down side by side on the table like little trophies. When I was finished, I looked straight into Michael’s golden cat eyes and said firmly, “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Blush averted.

  Without pausing for breath, I jumped in. “After observing the behavior of your employees and conducting a preliminary investigation of Swann and other legal and personal records, we’re focusing our investigation on the activities of two of your personnel, Karl Zaiid and Liang Chen.”

  I could see by Michael’s reaction that this direction was not a surprise and confirmed some of his own suspicions. Good news for me. Although, it’s hard to tell at this early stage if we were on the right track. For all I knew, Michael, or Swane himself, was the real drain on the business. “Please be aware that it is far too early in the investigation for either you or me to draw any definitive conclusions. I’m just letting you know, as my client, where we are heading in this early phase of the investigation.”

  “So what evidence have you found to shift your focus on these two individuals?”

  Alrighty then, now what? “First of all, some of your other employees, who wish to remain unnamed, have raised suspicions that have helped us focus on these two individuals. Secondly, research indicates that Liang has had a series of addiction problems, including cocaine and gambling. Such addictive behavior,” I was beginning to like the sound of my own voice as I took a business-like sip from my second Cosmo, “can be a liability for any company, but especially a family-owned company, where he has so much access to your financials.”

  Michael exhaled visibly again. This time in a much different way than upon receiving the good news about Mai. He exhaled with despondent resignation. “Mai and I were hoping Liang had come clean and was no longer doing drugs or gambling.”

  “You might be hoping he’s come clean, but I think Mai knows the truth of his activities. We have no definitive proof at this time to confirm that his actions are negatively affecting your business. Investigation 101, though, tells us to look to the guy with the addictions when a business is going south, so we plan to get to the bottom of his behavior.”

  Michael leaned in closer. “So what about Karl Zaiid? What evidence do you have that makes you so suspicious of him?” Now the tone of Michael’s voice had switched once again, from resigned to predatory machismo. He’d probably be happy to get rid of Karl Zaiid forever.

  “Well, to be truthful, not much, except for what Sylvester calls my exceptional intuition. My gut just tells me something isn’t right with the guy. Also, he has an uneven past, with a series of judgments against him that bear looking into, including an ex-wife in Belgium with a permanent restraining order against him. We plan to explore all avenues and see if there are current connections to Swann that may be negatively affecting your business.”

  I could see on Michael’s face that finding enough evidence to kick Zaiid out of Swann would be more than welcome. Michael was in a tight spot, though, as Sylvester and Mai had brought Zaiid into the business in the first place. Also, since Swane was my client too, I was not yet prepared to explore Geo’s life insurance angle with Michael until I had more details.

  We’d talked through the case while watching claret streaks smear across the limitless view, then meld into pitch blackness. The lights of the city began flickering on everywhere. Darkness hushed the Valley, releasing it from much of its oppressive heat. I’d thoroughly enjoyed the view.

  I downed the final few drops of my Cosmo. By now the city had swirled by full circle, twice, and Michael was on his third Dewar’s. Time to try and wrap things up and worm a paycheck out of my new client.

  Oops, I’d almost forgotten one important detail. “Michael, I have a small favor to ask of you.” I steeled myself for the next part as he looked at me expectantly. I gingerly explained to him about planting the bug on Liang’s briefcase and getting caught. I searched his face for a reaction. He took the disclosure in stride.

  “Actually, Sammy, I’m the one on our team who usually interfaces with the security personnel for a number of reasons. I’ll be happy to clear it up for you. No problem.”

  Hallelujah! With that problem out of the way, I said, “That’s pretty much all I have to report at this point until I’m able to dig deeper.”

  Michael got the hint. He stood up, reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet. I tried to look nonchalant. “Sammy, here’s your first check. At this rate, Sylvester and I are hoping you can get to the bottom of your investigation in a few weeks. I trust you’ll have much more actual evidence upon our next meeting.” He stressed the word actual and I tried not to grimace.

  He went on, “We decided to make the weekly checks $9,000 each because 10K is the minimum threshold that triggers a money-laundering investigation.”

  Michael continued as he smoothed out the check on the table and handed it over to me. “We certainly don’t want that at this point.”

  After uttering those odd, suspicious words, he placed the check into my hand.

  Money laundering practices? One more reason not to limit the focus of our investigation too much in the early stages. I’d ask Geo to look into it.

  As he handed over the check and I grasped it in my palm, though, my attention switched away from all other thoughts and solely onto the check. I tried to refrain from looking down and reading the check. I really did. But I couldn’t help myself. I looked down and read the amount silently to myself like a child just learning to read. My lips were probably moving. I was mouthing nine thousand fucking dollars!

  It was the largest single check for a week’s worth of work I’d ever earned in my whole life! Michael had just handed it over to me as if it were no big deal. Woohoo! Geo and I were on a roll
.

  I quickly reminded myself to appear blandly professional before looking back into his topaz eyes. “My partner and I will give you more in-depth research by next Friday. If you like we can meet here at the same time.”

  “It may be both Sylvester and me next time. He’s otherwise engaged this evening. Oh, by the way,” Michael paused as he pulled out his wallet again. I didn’t even have to touch his wallet to know it was made of the finest Italian leather. It was gray, like a mourning dove’s breast, unbelievably soft to the touch, surely. It looked more like a little pillow for a diamond-collared Chihuahua than a wallet.

  I pried my eyes off of it and back to Michael’s face as he continued. “Sylvester wanted to make sure I gave you these.” He slid open one of the Chihuahua pillow’s compartments and placed four embossed tickets into my palm.

  I ran my fingers over the extravagant silver lettering with curlicues on the ends of all the longer letters. It read Biannual Swann Charity Ball, Black Tie Affair, Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Sunday, July 20th, 8 P.M., Admit One. In discreet little lettering in the lower right-hand corner, it said Purchase Price: $1,000, includes dinner, dancing, hors d’oeuvres and open bar.

  “Sylvester and I are giving these to you for free as an expression of gratitude for your services so far. Please bring three of your friends, if you choose. Sylvester holds major Swann charity events in July and December. He tries to invite in some clients as well for the events. We’re hosting a tour of the Swann office tomorrow morning for interested clients. All of our principal staff will be there: Sylvester, Mai, and me, of course; and Tomas, Karl and Liang. You are welcome to attend the tour if you like, but it isn’t required.”

  At this point, Michael seemed to become unexpectedly embarrassed. He slid the slender Chihuahua pillow back into his hip pocket and gazed out at the west side of the city. The black, jagged backbone of the White Tanks was barely visible on the farthest horizon.

  He cleared his throat, “Mai is having dinner with her father on Sunday night. She seldom gets to see him as he resides in China, so she doesn’t want to miss the chance. I was wondering if you would consider being my date for the Charity Ball? Mai wouldn’t mind, and I’m required to go anyway. I thought it might give you a chance to mingle informally and observe many of the Swann employees in a different setting.”

  Hmm. Wow! I tried to remain composed. Unwilling to appear caught off-guard, I retorted with my own question, “Do you waltz?”

  I’d learned to waltz with an early boyfriend, and had loved it, but it was a rare skill for most men.

  “Of course,” Michael retorted smoothly with his English accent purring, a panther enclosed beneath the hood of a Bentley. An exquisite and talented panther who can waltz, I might add.

  “Well then, my pleasure,” I replied, reaching out for his hand and curtsying demurely. I glanced sideways at the handsome bartender who’d been so generous on my Cosmos and cherries. He was looking at us suspiciously from beneath his dashing hair. My skirt was so short and my top so tight, perhaps he thought Michael and I’d just concluded a high-priced prostitution exchange. Maybe we had. One can only hope.

  Oblivious to the bartender’s gaze, Michael continued, “I’ll see you at 8 P.M. Sunday night.”

  “Au revoir, Michael,” and before he could accompany me, I executed a slick one-eighty on my spiked heels, making sure my miniscule skirt swayed ever so seductively from side to side as I stepped up the few steps to exit the revolving platform. I was 100% sure both men watched me go.

  Slipping into the elevator all alone, I pressed the “Down” button and pulled the magical check back out of my knock-off bag. As the cage dropped down floor after floor, my expectations for my future as an investigator shot up higher and higher. I kept mumbling to myself all the way down, Nine thousand fucking dollars!

  Chapter 20

  By 7 A.M. Saturday morning, as planned, I’d convinced Delilah, my friend, that it would be harmless fun to trailer my mom’s horses out into the desert and take a peek into the windows of Karl Zaiid’s house while he was away. Originally, as is often my approach to investigative planning, I’d been counting on sheer, blind luck that Karl would be gone, but my plan took wings when Michael told me the Swann staff had a mandatory appearance at the office this morning. Perfect timing!

  The truth is I was getting worried about gathering what Michael had so heartlessly termed actual evidence the evening before. If I was to receive another check by next Friday, some actual evidence would have to be gathered. Plus, the electric jolt of the high I got each time I fingered that check was getting addictive. I really, really wanted to earn another one just like it. These were my thoughts as we sped along Dynamite Road heading east with Mom’s six-horse gooseneck trailer attached to her F-350. Two horses inside, The Big Easy: a tall, nearly black thoroughbred who might have been better named “The Big Diificulty” and Cloud Nine an older, better-mannered, dappled gray thoroughbred, who was Delilah’s favorite mount.

  Delilah and I had been friends since elementary school. A large part of our friendship centered around horses. As kids my mom gave us both riding lessons, and entered us in hunter jumper shows. For a while we even did some eventing, which is sort of the triathlon of horse riding, but today we were just two girls heading out into the desert for a fun ride. Well, and a little spying.

  The big horse trailer was floating smoothly along behind us, and we’d just passed over the rise where the Santa Fe-style Troon homes nestle among boulders on their desert mountains. Then we began the gradual descent toward Tonto National Forest. Delilah and I were both happy, since riding horses in the desert, coupled with mild adventure, both counted as ‘Good Stuff To Do’ on the weekend. We’d stopped at the QT on the corner of 43rd Avenue and Cactus Road, pulling the big six-horse trailer in behind us and parking along the edge of the lot. Delilah had run in and bought us two large Diet Cokes from the fountain and a huge bag of single bite Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. The intent was that we’d just eat a few Reese’s each, but somehow the bag was near empty. We’d been snarfing the single bites down like there was no tomorrow.

  Little did we guess then how true the ‘no tomorrow’ part was, but, for the moment, we were supremely happy. The desert glided along on each side of us and we argued over what CDs should be inserted into Mom’s mega-watt sound system. Finally, we settled on Eclectic #27, sporting such tunes as Happy by Brandi, You Picked Me by A Fine Frenzy, some picks from Kings of Leon, a few from Mumford & Sons, and the unwittingly prescient Last Day of Our Lives by Schuyler Fisk.

  In this happy early morning state, full to the gills with caffeine, chocolate and peanut butter, we rolled down Dynamite Road trailering the two beloved horses behind us. Oh, life, she be good!

  When we reached the turnoff to Zaiid’s desert fortress, we hung a right onto 141st Avenue, the gravel crunching under our tires as the big rig powered along the sandy lane. Soon the beginning of Karl’s property came into view, marked by a three-foot high stucco fence with black, wrought-iron rods jutting out every few feet or so, adorned with spear-like tips.

  “A man making a statement,” Delilah observed.

  “Or with something to hide,” I quipped as I reached Quail Track and swung the truck and trailer to the right. My plan was to park out in the desert, saddle up and use one of Geo’s nifty devices to disarm the front gate.

  We found a stand of creosote trees about a quarter of a mile behind Zaiid’s property perfectly suited to disguise our rig. We parked behind it and proceeded to unload the horses, then disguise ourselves. We’d rummaged through my disguises at home and come up with the “cowgirls in the country” look. We seldom rode Western, but that seemed ideal for today. We slung some of Mom’s heavy Western saddles up onto our mounts over some Navajo-style saddle blankets. My horse, The Big Easy, had a red blanket with lightning-shaped zigzags woven into it and Cloud Nine sported a green one with stick figures of rain gods or harbingers of luck, or at least we hoped. Next we donned our disguises, just i
n case someone was there at Karl’s house, like a housekeeper or a girlfriend. We wanted no one to be able to remember us, and be able to identify us later on.

  I’d decided to be a red-headed cowgirl and slipped on a red, shoulder-length wig with a cute, little cowgirl flip at the bottom. I leaned into the F-350’s mirror and swathed some bright red lipstick over my lips, more for the fun than the effect. Skin-tight cowgirl jeans, as lightweight as I could find to fend off the heat clung to my legs. I topped them off with a red bandanna cowgirl shirt with a V yoke of white leather fringe. Perfect!

  Delilah had a straight blonde wig that fell down her back almost halfway to her Western belt. The belt was adorned with an enormous gold and silver-colored belt buckle emblazoned with the words 1974 Roping Champion of the Year, Dayton, Ohio. We’d picked it up at a garage sale for two bucks.

  Besides the enormous buckle, Delilah had on a green top, made of satiny, horse show material. Black jeans even tighter than mine, if such a thing is possible, graced the rest of her tiny form, and, oh yeah, we both had found some kick-ass cowgirl boots to finish the look. Mine pinched quite a bit, but, who cares since I’d be on the horse most of the time anyway. To top our outfits off, and to add further protection from overhead security cameras, we both donned Stetson cowgirl hats. They probably weren’t genuine Stetsons because they had those little push-up ties under the chin to hold the hats on our heads in case we needed to gallop.

  I also strapped on a canvas fanny pack around my waist to carry everything we needed for our breaking-and-entering excursion. I hadn’t told Delilah about the breaking-and-entering part yet. It’d been hard enough to talk her into just the trespassing part so far. I was waiting for a more opportune moment.

  Our only difficulty was in mounting the horses in such skin-tight jeans. It was hard to get our legs up high enough to get our kick-ass boots into the stirrups to mount, but we finally succeeded. We each grabbed the saddle horn and swung our legs up over our mounts. Then I had to dismount again because I’d forgotten to get Geo’s security disarming device. I swung back off the saddle, unlocked the pickup and extracted the ingeniously named (depending upon your point of view) gray market, Freedom Rings device, supposedly guaranteed to temporarily disarm most security systems long enough for you to enter undetected. At any rate, we hadn’t tried it out yet, and Geo and I were anxious to see how it worked. My saddle had saddlebags attached behind it, so I put our cell phones, truck keys and Freedom Rings into the pack, latched it up and inched my leg up into the stirrup to swing back up on The Big Easy again. The Big Easy might have been more appropriately named The Big Difficulty, but for right now he seemed subdued by the intense heat and stood quietly while I mounted.