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

by Trudi Baldwin

  As I headed towards 7th Street to find a good crosstown route north, I decided to risk phoning Montaigne in an attempt to get back on his good side. I speed-dialed him once again.

  “What?”

  “Oooh, we’re getting a little testy, aren’t we this fine morning? I just called to say I’m sorry. I may have been a little over-reactive.”

  A few beats of silence. A sigh. “Sometimes I may not use the best choice of words,” he relented.

  Phew! “Me either,” I said and let that sit there for a bit. I knew it would soften him up even more.

  “What’s up?”

  “Well, two tiny things…”

  “Why do I not want to hear this?”

  “What do you mean? It’s just two tiny things. What’s not to hear?”

  “Okay, I give in. Shoot.” Later, the shoot part of the conversation was going to take on more significance, but at the time, I proceeded, profoundly ignorant of what the future would bring.

  “As you know, I’m working two cases, and I just need a tiny bit of cooperation from you on both of them.”

  Dead silence.

  I decided to wait him out. Finally he responded, “Tell me about the tiny part.”

  How to make his part seem tiny? Challenging, for sure. I decided to just plunge onward.

  “Well, if you decide to bring in Liang, could you just, please, hold off acting until 2 p.m. on Friday? I mean, really, it’s just a matter of inaction on your part. Not even a tiny action required.”

  “What’s that quote, Sammy? Something like, ‘In order for evil men to triumph, good men sit by and do nothing?’ Is that the kind of small request you’re asking of me?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to state it like that, Mountain. This is a request based upon love. Love of a sister for her little brother. Who can argue with a request based on love? A request for inaction, no less?” I thought I was doing an excellent job of laying it on thick.

  I was building a strong case, brick by brick. He wasn’t objecting, so I surged on. “If Mai could have a chance to talk Liang into turning himself into rehab before you bust up this operation, how can that hurt anyone? And, who knows, it might save Liang from himself and from jail. Your inaction would be helping out Mai, who hasn’t committed a crime of any kind, except the crime of loving her brother, as far as I can tell.”

  “What about busting up her father, Sammy? Did you think about the implications of that?”

  Duh, no, I’d completely forgotten about good ol’ Hu, since Mai had seemed so focused on the fates of Liang and Karl. In hindsight, because everyone around Mai said the old man was evil, I hadn’t cared or even thought of him. I did care about the effect on Mai, though. I’d have to warn her about that collateral damage, too.

  “To be honest, Mountain, I haven’t really explored that angle, yet.”

  “Well, she stands to lose a brother and a father in one fell swoop, but that’s the way the law works, Sammy. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  “No need to get sarcastic, Montaigne. How about giving me at least today to dig a little deeper into this?”

  “I’ll agree to that not so tiny request. Mainly because I’m still researching the distribution sources for Fine Asian Delicacies. That buys you some time. Tuna’s in lock-up and no one stepped forward to make the huge bail, so he’s in a secured situation right now. Of course he didn’t call any of his sugar daddies, Karl, Liang or Hu for bail because that would be tipping them off and he’d lose his plea bargain card. We had plenty of evidence in his little lime-green home that ties him to enough dope to lock him away for a good twenty years. That’s a good thing, Sammy, I’ll admit to that. So what’s the tiny second request?”

  “Thank you, Mountain, I appreciate the nice words and also your empathy for Mai’s situation. The second request is a little larger, since it involves action as opposed to inaction. Besides, you already know about it.”

  “You still want my help in your Obsidian Towers case.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “You’re so perceptive, Mountain. It is about the Obsidian Towers case, or lack of a case. Don’t forget that the basis of this request is the law’s inability to act at this time. Dad concluded there wasn’t enough physical evidence to tie Soul Patch directly to anything yet, not Leary’s murder, not the Delaware explosion, the Phoenix fire, anything.

  “Kathy has made some good progress on uncovering the multiple escrows scheme,” I continued, “but since we can’t find any bank accounts holding the deposits, there’s no substantive chain of evidence that directly links Soul Patch to those either, especially if he’s using multiple aliases. We could track down all of the people he’s ripping off, reverse-engineer the linkages, give the buyers their days in court, and hope we could connect the dots, but that will probably take years to sort out. Meanwhile, Kathy could get murdered just like Leary. Don’t forget that Soul Patch saw her at the Charity Ball. We’re almost certain that he ID’d her. The plan you and I outlined together will catch him red-handed.”

  “You mean the plan where I pose as a would-be buyer for the Penthouse Eye?”

  “Exactly!” I’d almost sealed the deal. I could feel it. I figured he’d make a few tentative objections which I would overcome, and then snap! The trap would close and he’d help us enact our sting, for sure.

  “Here are some problems with this idea,” Mountain said, launching into the predicted objections phase. “Although I know I tentatively agreed to it at the Eggery, that was under duress.”

  “What kind of duress?” I asked innocently. Primarily to find out what he’d say, since I knew the duress was my leg rubbing against his under the table the whole time.

  He skirted the issue, “I don’t know. I just had a feeling of coercion. It’s hard to say no to you, Sammy. Plus I’m a friend of your father’s, too.”

  “How about being my friend, Montaigne? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  A lapse into silence. “It does, Sammy,” he said solemnly. “Also, I have a strong urge to protect you, and I know you will act whether or not I am involved, so then I feel compelled to act, regardless of the consequences, so that I can ensure your safety.”

  My turn for silence. It took courage for him to be so vulnerable and honest. My trouble with Mountain was that he was better than me. More mature. More integrity.

  Someday, when I am able to match his maturity and wholesome goodness, I’d marry him. However, today, I wanted to make 9K for the week, so I could pay for the lease on my fancy office, my Mazda3, my Ninja, my mortgage, my orange sheath, my cute little sandals, etc, etc., etc. My long silence ended with a sigh. The only possible conclusion was that I was hopelessly shallow. I sighed again. I’m sure he heard me.

  “Sammy, in your short career as an investigator, you have already righted a number of wrongs using your brains and your bravery. On several of those occasions, I was the one who got the glory and the credit, not you, for a variety of reasons.”

  A variety of reasons involving me operating in border-line illegality he might have added, but he didn’t, and I was grateful.

  I protested. “Mountain, you more than earned the credit on each and every one of those occasions, and then some. Not to mention putting yourself and your career on the line, too.”

  “Please allow me to finish, Sammy,” he said softly with a masculine undertone. I’d put him on speaker phone, so I could drive, and his voice was starting to make me sweat onto my sexy orange sheath, even though the windows were up and the AC was blasting on high. I raised my arms one at a time to the roof of the car, allowing the AC to reach the hotspots, switching my hands back and forth on the steering wheel—all while trying to keep my Mazda3 on the road and not wanting to miss one word of what Montaigne was saying to me.

  “What I’m saying, Sammy, is that I admire you, and whether I like it or not, you are my friend, my close friend, and so is your dad. With those friendships come commitments. So, this is the long way of saying, yes. Yes, I wil
l help you in your sting.”

  Chapter 37

  A few minutes after talking to Mountain, I pulled into the Biltmore area and decided to see if I could find a spot on the bottom floor of the shopping center parking garage where there was some shade. I’d just spotted a Bentley backing slowly out of a spot. I planned on taking it when my phone chirped.

  Text message. Mai’s number. I opened it up.

  It read, Let’s talk.

  Where? I texted back.

  Dad’s house. Dad’s house! Shit, maybe they were going to murder me. What to do?

  I texted Is yr Dad home?

  Why are you asking?

  Tell u when I see u, but need 2 know.

  In Thailand.

  Ok. Yr address? Time?

  Now. And she wrote out the address and the gate code on Mummy Mountain for the house that Geo and I had staked out just last week. So, of course, I already knew where it was.

  I had to decide quickly if this was a trap or not. In an effort to save her brother, who knew to what lengths Mai might go?

  Maybe I needed backup. Geo was in class. Delilah was also in class. Besides, I’d pretty much tapped her out for this month during our little cowgirl expedition to Zaiid’s house. Mountain would freak if he knew what I was doing. I had him freaked out enough. I couldn’t call him either. What to do?

  I decided to rely on my intuition again. My intuition told me Mai wouldn’t harm me. My intuition also told me her dear ol’ dad would murder me in a heartbeat to save his own hide, so, hopefully she was telling the truth about his absence.

  I texted back. On my way.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away from the sweet parking spot left by the exiting Bentley. Headed to the west end of the lot and 24th Street. Hung a right and climbed back up to Lincoln Drive. The Mummy Mountain residence was only minutes away. Hopefully, I wasn’t minutes away from my own death. I could see my headstone engraving now: Death by Stupidity.

  I drove along, retracing the steps Geo and I had taken when we’d had Snoops listening in on Liang and trying to discern what the heck he’d been saying. I passed Tatum to Desert Fairways, traveled north on Shadow Mountain. Hung a right on Las Brisas. I could see the grounds of the estate, one of the largest residences on all of Mummy Mountain, with a view of Camelback Mountain to the south.

  The gates guarding the entry were extraordinary in their design, height and intricacy. I punched in the code Mai had given me. A second or two passed, then her voice sounded over the speaker. Her voice sounded muffled and ragged. I hoped it was really her and not a trap. Whoever it was decided to let me in. The gates swung open and I proceeded up the steep, winding drive to the estate.

  The house itself was completely hidden from the gate, and the drive was quite long. I figured Hu must own at least ten acres of the mountain side. Some very prime real estate indeed. Desert flora and fauna, most of it in full bloom, lined nearly every square inch of the drive with a few respites of sandy, rock areas. Yellow flowering palo verde trees, towering red bougainvillea, enormous oleanders and brilliant orange Mexican birds of paradise passed by.

  Finally, when I’d climbed up and up for a long time, I reached a plateau area with a cobblestone circular driveway. A three-tiered stone fountain cascaded water down with four spouts on each tier. The spouts were rotated an eighth of a rotation with each tier, so from my point of view, as I approached the fountain, streams upon streams of cascading water greeted me as I approached the house.

  The house was a pleasing configuration of Spanish and contemporary design. Heavy on the windows and monstrous in size. I parked the Mazda3 near the fountain, and slipped my bag over my shoulder, making sure my phone was in easy reach in a front pocket, in case I needed to speed-dial Mountain to save my ass.

  The brick-laden stairway that led up to the house consisted, like the fountain, of three tiers. Each tier had eight steps, then a landing. Not for the physically impaired. Maybe you could arrive through the garage if you were in a wheel chair?

  As I hiked up the stairs, the thought also crossed my mind that the house offered protection in its own way. Since the home rose above everything else, Hu could see the enemy coming, if need be, and prepare for an assault. An odd thought to be thinking in the USA. Perhaps commonplace in other parts of the world, though.

  I mentally prepared myself for my own psychological assault on Mai regarding her brother. I also formulated a Plan B if I walked in and I detected a set up. After climbing all those stairs and thinking all of those heavy-duty thoughts, the orange sheath was moist down each side. Oh well. I hoped Mai, Ms. Cool, Calm and Collected, wouldn’t notice.

  I eventually reached a large brick landing, which fanned out in a circle. A circular overhang covered the entryway in blessed shade. Cascades of purple bougainvillea flowed over the edges, offering more shade and rich color. I was afraid to turn my back to the door to take a look at the view, so I didn’t.

  Instead I rang the bell. I could hear a beautiful, melodious chime echoing through the vast recesses of the home. My adrenaline shifted into hyper-drive. My fight or flight responses began bickering with each other. In this conflicted state, I waited.

  The door opened. There stood Ms. Cool, Calm and Collected with mascara running down her cheeks. Her eyes rimmed in red and her hand shaking slightly as she gestured soundlessly for me to enter.

  I was taken aback by her disarray, but that didn’t dilute my adrenaline rush. Maybe she was sorry that she’d have to kill me and that was making her cry? If that were the case, I’d better start crying too and speed-dialin’ Mountain. My hyper-alert ratcheted up a notch as I stepped into the home.

  The foyer was a darkened, raised dais. From its height I could look down into the living room. Wouldn’t you know it, three tiers of steps and landings below. Must be something about building a custom home on a mountain top. Clearly a home of ups and downs.

  Silently again, like a wax figurine with only one moving part, Mai gestured with her arm for me to begin the descent of the steps. I complied. Fully alert to my surroundings and any unusual sounds. Such as the safety latch on a gun clicking off.

  As I carefully descended the stairs, all I heard was more water splashing and gurgling. A twenty-foot high sheer wall of glass adorned the west wall of the living room. Down that sheer wall, flat, random panels of water flowed across and down. Through the semi-sheer panels of water, I could just make out the city and faraway mountains to the west, immersed in the brown inversion. Must be extraordinary at night, though.

  Ah the lives of the very, very rich, I thought as I stepped down onto the living room floor which formed an oval. A bank of windows graced the entire edge of the oval facing southwest. The bank stretched so far around that I could see Piestawa Peak to the north, Camelback Mountain to the southeast and Paradise Valley Country club golf course far below. I could even see the Central and McDowell section of downtown more to the south.

  What a view! Apparently not enough to keep the tears from flowing down Mai’s cheeks as she once again made a silent gesture toward a long, soft, beige-leather couch that looked out through those windows. She sat in a darker brown, distressed-leather chair with ornate silver rivets marking the seams. Her face in shadow.

  I began to relax a little. Who wouldn’t? The view was so supreme. The couch so soft. Kind of a Spanish-western theme goin’ on with the furniture choices. I ran my hand along the leather of the couch, velvety smooth as a baby’s butt. Of course, I wasn’t positive, never having felt a baby’s butt and never really planning on it either. Babysitting hadn’t been my thing. More like horse-sitting was my thing. Maybe the couch was as soft as a horse’s muzzle. I ran my hand along it again to test and compare. The couch was actually softer than a horse’s muzzle. Not sure about a baby’s butt.

  A sound emerging from the shadowed chair abruptly halted this nerves-induced line of thinking. Oops, time to concentrate. The wax figurine speaketh. The oracle for my future. At least for the next few days.

  The o
racle had finally stopped sobbing, blown her nose twice and was beginning to speak. All that crying had transformed Mai’s voice. The confidence had leaked away. Almost unrecognizable, her voice now floated delicately through the air to me, fragile and broken. I leaned forward attentively to make out what she was saying. Afraid to miss her words.

  “What are Liang and Karl involved in?” the fragile voice asked.

  Here goes. “Mai, it’s more than Liang and Karl…”

  She sucked in air. Then sobbed again, “You mean Michael too?”

  Clearly a woman who was used to being abandoned. She anticipated it. Expected it, making it easy for her to imagine that everyone she loved had deserted her already.

  “No, no, not Michael,” I reassured her. “It’s Hu, your father.”

  At the mention of Hu, the wax arm darted out and grabbed three tissues in quick succession. She clasped them to her face. The once rapier-like body then folded forward, collapsing in a pitiful huddle in the chair. Giant sobs escaped her.

  Perhaps this was not going well. At this rate, she was going to get dehydrated from massive tear loss, and I’d have to call an ambulance. I began formulating Plan C.

  “My father,” she wailed in one of the saddest little voices I’d ever heard. “It always comes back to my father.”

  She clutched at the sodden mass of tissues in her hand. Her huge, sad eyes met mine. Black streaked her cheeks. In a child’s voice with just a hint of wonder she trembled, “You know how they say all roads lead to Rome? Well, in my family, all roads lead to Hu. Every action, every sadness, every misstep. They all, every last one of them, lead back to Hu. To my father, who will never…”

  A new series of sobs escaped her, then she continued, “never, never be a father. No matter how hard I try, no matter how hard Liang doesn’t try. None of it. Not one single bit of it has ever had any effect. My father is impenetrable. Impervious to anything we do. He cares only for himself and he will always be that way.”