Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2)

by Rick Santini

  Rod returned her salute. “Permission granted, Mate.”

  “You up for dinner, drinks, and an evening sail?”

  Marta was not surprised. She sort of thought this was what Rod had in mind. Quiet, romantic, and very private.

  “You know it.”

  Thirty minutes later, they were in the middle of nowhere. At least Marta had no idea where they were. Rod had cast off the bow lines, spoken to the dock master on Channel 16, and quietly exited the harbor. As best she could tell, after sailing under a huge bridge, they were in the Gulf of Mexico, heading south by southwest. The engines were now cut; he had thrown out two anchors and had gone below to retrieve something from the ice box. He had opened a bottle of a pinot grigio a few minutes before.

  “I hope you like chilled salmon already grilled with a touch of rosemary, thyme, and partially marinated in a very light rum. It was my father’s favorite. Made it myself a few hours ago after getting the Hooker in ship shape. I also have a rather sharp cucumber and onion salad.”

  “So you’re a cook.”

  “Live by myself and I like to eat good. Seems to me it’s a no brainer. Love to cook, grill, and listen to quiet jazz from a small radio station out of Miami. Do you like jazz? Miles Davis and Wynton Marsalis are two of my favorites.”

  Marta’s eyes lit up. She couldn’t believe it.

  “I love Miles, especially his album Kind of Blue. That’s the one with the five minute cut of “Freddie Freeloader” on it.”

  Rod was impressed.

  She does know her jazz.

  “Let me refill your glass.”

  By eleven thirty, they had finished eating, drinking, and listening to jazz. They talked like they had been together forever. The stars appeared to be standing still so they could take in all the conversation. Now Rod started the engines and brought up the anchors. It had been a perfect evening. Then she remembered they had not made out. He held her hand while talking about his family and friends back home, meaning Jamaica, but he never made a move on her. She was sure they would have made love in his cabin by now. She certainly would not have said no or resisted.

  It never happened.

  Did I do something wrong? Did I give him the wrong signals? Is there something wrong with me? Is he gay? No way.

  As he was tying up at the dock, he mentioned he had some errands to run early in the morning, but if she was free, he would like to take her to brunch at the Wooden Spoon around ten thirty.

  “I’d love it.”

  Rod put his arms around her, gave her a quick kiss. When there was no resistance, he gave her a longer, far more passionate kiss.

  This boy is definitely not gay.

  “Let me walk you to your bungalow. Can’t be too careful around here. Lots of tourists.” Then he added, “Present company excepted.”

  When they got to her door, she fumbled for the key. She was waiting to see if he was going to kiss her again. She was hoping.

  “Want to come in for a late-night drink—or a cup of coffee?”

  Rod smiled. “Would love it, but not a real good idea. We don’t really know each other that well, and I don’t like being frustrated. Maybe some other time. Hopefully soon.”

  He kissed her again, held her for a split second, and reminded her he would be at the Wooden Spoon around ten thirty.

  “If I’m a few minutes late, save us a booth. Just tell Jenny it’s for me—I mean us.”

  Rod blew her another kiss as he headed back to the boat.

  He has no idea what the meaning of frustrated is. My God, I practically gave him a written invitation. What do I have to do?

  Marta went inside, sat in the rocking chair, and thought about Rod until she fell asleep.

  It was close to two thirty in the morning.

  CHAPTER 48

  There was no way Xiang would have, could have taken the chance of bringing his pipe with him even if it were a strictly business charter flight where Customs was rarely enforced. Yeung was an expert on the subject. His livelihood had depended on it.

  Fortunately, he did not need it. He wiped out all thought of the meeting with Mr. Scalesci in a mini second, put his head on the goosedown pillow, and was asleep in no time. He did not even hear the phone ring three times.

  By four p.m., he was refreshed. He washed his face, put on a clean shirt, and decided to test the teas the hotel was famous for. He noted the blinking light on the phone and ignored it. He was sure he knew who it was.

  Anthony Scalesci and his entire entourage were sitting in a corner of the lobby, facing the bank of three high-speed and antique-looking elevators. Xiang spotted Anthony the moment he stepped onto the classic Persian rug. He pretended not to notice as he turned to his left and walked toward the coffee shop.

  “Mr. Yeung, please, a moment of your time.”

  Xiang stopped, looked around to see who else was in hearing distance, and faced Anthony. “You can’t possibly be talking to me. I’m a, how did you say it, oh yes, a motherfucker. You should never associate with motherfuckers. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to have a cup of tea.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Yeung. At times, my temper gets the best of me. I didn’t mean it. Again, I sincerely apologize. May I please join you? My treat.”

  Xiang had to smile to himself. He was about to really stick it to the baboon for millions more, and Scalesci was offering to buy him a lousy five-dollar cup of tea.

  “If you insist, but I must tell you, Mr. Carlos Escobar is most interested in buying my business with no contingencies and is prepared to make me a most inviting offer. I am prepared to complete the transaction with him the minute the bank verifies the funds are available. That should be at ten tomorrow morning.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll match it. Fuck the escrow. That was my lawyer’s idea. He doesn’t know shit. He doesn’t know how we operate. I trust you one hundred percent.”

  When looking for a convenient scapegoat, always blame the lawyers, Xiang thought.

  “Mr. Scalesci. The price is now ninety-five million. You have already paid five. If you are prepared to make that offer to me now, gentleman to gentleman, and advise the bank at nine thirty tomorrow morning you can transfer ninety million, we have a deal and I will tell Mr. Escobar I misunderstood you and the deal is done. I am quite sure Carlos will not be pleased.”

  “You have a deal. You have my word. Ninety million more. I’ll tell my lawyer to draw up something right now, and I’ll sign it. I think this calls for a celebration.”

  “You may celebrate anyway you want, Mr. Scalesci. I am going to have a cup of tea. Alone. I will see you at the bank at precisely nine thirty. No contingencies, no escrow, no hold back, no nothing. If you are more than five minutes late, a sale will take place with Mr. Escobar. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly. Thank you, and again I apologize for my big mouth.”

  That big mouth just cost you an additional seventeen million dollars, you dumb Occidental.

  “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Scalesci. I will see you at UBS at nine thirty sharp.”

  Xiang had a difficult time repressing the smile, for now he had to notify his two lawyers. He would call Mei Ling after confirmation of the transfer of funds.

  He also wanted to call Marta. Perhaps they could celebrate his good fortune, without the pipe, when he returned. Yes, he had to speak to Marta. Without thinking about the six-hour time difference, he picked up his cell and impulsively called Marta.

  She did not answer.

  ***

  Marta could not believe Xiang was calling her. She was in the middle of packing. She was also thinking about last Sunday morning and having coffee with Rod.

  He is the most self-assured guy I have ever met, and he’s just plain nice. He didn’t play games with me, try to hand me a crock of shit, or try to impress me with who and what he is. He told me Saturday night he was tired of fighting corruption and liars in his home country and just wanted to be left alone to do his thing. In addition to playing a mean saxop
hone, he loves to sail and fish.

  Rod saved up from hundreds of gigs, moved to Miami, got a job on a fishing vessel, and put a down payment on his own boat, a used thirty-six foot Grady-White with twin 360 Merc engines. After two months in dry dock to get it in top-notch condition, Rod moved down to Marathon to try his luck as a sport fishing Captain. That was at least twenty years ago. Today he had a larger, newer, and more luxurious boat, one that he could sleep and entertain on when he was too tired to drive back to his small two-bedroom home on Turtle Key.

  Everyone at The Wooden Spoon, almost everyone in Marathon, knew Rodney McGuiness, and no one, no one had a bad thing to say about him.

  The back booth had a small handwritten note on a napkin on the table: ‘RESERVED.’

  Two piping hot coffees were served two minutes after they were seated. Jenny was hovering over them, reading off the breakfast specials. As far as Rod was concerned, anything before noon had to consist of eggs, in some form or shape.

  Marta decided to be a bit more creative.

  “You first.”

  Marta looked over the menu and ordered crab meat Benedict on a toasted English muffin with tomato juice. Rod sort of looked at her sideways.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. Want me to pay for it?”

  Rod shook his head.

  “I’ll have three eggs over easy, a mess of home fries, and rye toast loaded with butter. It’s what I order every morning. Don’t know why you even ask me. I’ll never change.”

  Jenny said nothing and brought over a plastic bottle of ketchup.

  Marta thought for at least the tenth time, He’s my kinda guy.

  By the time they were on their third cup of coffee, the subject changed to when she was heading back north.

  “Probably day after tomorrow. I feel much better and have my head screwed on again. I’ve also thought long and hard about my priorities. Life has to be more than just making the big bucks. Someone recently taught me that.”

  Rod did not respond.

  “Maybe it’s time to relax and take a few deep breaths,” she continued.

  “Do you like to breathe salt air? I’m going down to Jamaica next month for a week to ten days. To see friends and family. Might be nice to have someone to talk to along the way. Don’t need an answer today. You have my cell phone number. Call me after you get back home and see the pile of work on your desk.”

  The bill was $18.73. Rod laid a twenty and a five on the table for Jenny.

  Marta now had her mouth wide open. She had gulped down the last of her coffee and was close to speechless.

  “Are you asking me to spend a week, more like ten days, with you on board your ship? Just you and me?”

  “I don’t think there would be room for anyone else. Who were you thinking about bringing?”

  “No, no, no. You don’t understand. I don’t want to bring anyone else. I guess I’m just surprised. As you said last night, ‘we really don’t know each other that well.’”

  “You’re absolutely right. What better way to get to know somebody than to spend a week on a small boat where we can’t possibly avoid each other? We’ll have a great time or end up hating each other by the second day. I’m betting it will be the former. As I said, no answers today. Think about it, and call me next week. Or the week after. Now, I’ve got to head down to my place on Turtle Key and do some laundry and pick up some clean clothes. Maybe I’ll get a chance to see you before you leave.”

  Without thinking, Marta blurted out, “Want some company? I can throw in a wash while you’re getting some clean clothes.”

  Marta stopped talking. She had just invited herself to Rod’s home. What could possibly be more brazen?

  He has to think I’m crazy—or unbelievably desperate.

  “Hope you don’t mind riding in a Jeep. She’s clean, and I guarantee you’ll get lots of fresh air.”

  ***

  The Jeep had no doors and no top.

  Marta was told to buckle up tight. Marta always—well, almost always—did what she was told. Especially if it was something she really wanted to do in the first place.

  CHAPTER 49

  The same parties were present. There was a slight tension in the air, but that was to be expected.

  Mr. Scalesci requested time to talk to the gentlemen about logistics, supply, payment, and reliability. Xiang did not like the way the sale was going.

  “Mr. Scalesci, with all due respect, there has been no transfer of money yet. I, or should I say my corporation, still controls the how, when, and whys. As soon as the bank tells me the funds have been successfully transferred to my accounts and it becomes your business, I must instruct my agents to say nothing. Surely you must understand that. Nothing for nothing.”

  Clearly Anthony was not pleased. No one ever told him what he could or couldn’t do. He was the boss. He controlled the syndicate in all of Illinois. No one bought anything in Chicago unless he gave the final okay. Now this Chinaman was telling him what the new rules were. He turned to his big shot lawyer.

  The lawyer nodded his head yes.

  Tony, you play by their rules, or you don’t play at all. Just do as you’re told, and let’s get out of here.

  “I apologize again, Mr. Yeung. It’s been a long and most expensive two days.”

  “No need to apologize. Yes, it has been a long two days.” And thanks to your quick temper, a most profitable two days.

  Forty minutes later, all the papers were signed. As to enforcement, there was not a court in the world that would touch the case. If push came to shove, it would not be the lawyers who would be doing the heavy lifting.

  The button on the table was pushed.

  Three minutes later, Mr. Banker in his black suit, spit-polished shoes, pressed white shirt, and muted tie, appeared. He went to Mr. Scalesci and was given a set of written instructions.

  “You will excuse me, gentlemen. I should be back in ten minutes with verification. Is there anything I may bring you? Coffee, tea, or bottled water?”

  “For what it’s costing me, some cannoli and black coffee would certainly be appreciated.”

  Xiang smiled. It had to be the most expensive cannoli Anthony would ever buy.

  “Yes, Mr. Scalesci. In a few minutes.”

  ***

  Rik Scott finally received a job offer. It wasn’t what he wanted, but cash was running out. He was also bored out of his mind. He had heard Marta was out of town. No explanation where or why. Rik decided not to push it. It would do no good, and you never knew when you might need a favor. A legal favor.

  He was assigned to investigating cases in Parole and Probation for Essex County. He would be in the same building as the sheriff’s office. For a good part of the day, he would be chained to a desk. It was a steel gray county-issue desk with a chair that had seen its better days five years and three occupants ago. To begin, he would be verifying employments of paroles by phone from the office. He would not be assigned a vehicle until the ninety-day probation period was over. The fact he had been a deputy sheriff working on leave for the district attorney’s office cut him no slack. In fact, it made it harder. Everyone wanted to know why he gave up his pension rights to work for a defense lawyer, and more important, how had he screwed up that job.

  It was my own damn fault, and I know it. My ego gets me in more trouble than all the broads I have ever banged.

  Rik vowed he would do as he was told, keep his nose clean, and retire in another fifteen or so years.

  ***

  Mr. Prim and Proper Banker returned. He said nothing to anyone as he walked over to Mr. Yeung, whispered something in his ear, and handed him a sealed envelope. Everyone waited. Anthony still had not received his cannoli—although, coffee had been brought to him three and half minutes after he requested it. The coffee was poured by a six-foot-tall blonde who had legs up to her armpits. Anthony was so busy sizing her up he temporarily forgot the cannoli.

  Xiang carefully read what was inside the envelope
, smiled, and shook the banker’s hand. He then placed the heavy stock paper in his locked brief case. By now, the proceeds were safely sitting in half a dozen banks across the globe…none in the USA. They were all numbered accounts.

  UBS was paid a princely sum for use of the room and discreet handling of the transfers. At times, most times, it is good to be a banker.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Scalesci. I wish you nothing but good luck. Now if you will excuse me, I have several phone calls to make before my flight back to America.”

  For all practical purposes, Xiang Yeung was an unemployed billionaire. The thought, assuming it even entered his mind, did not seem to bother him.

  Now I can spend more time with my beloved sister, Mei Ling, and grant her every wish.

  ***

  Anthony too was excited. It had nothing to do with his sister, his brother, or any members of his immediate family. He needed to know from the three wise men from the East how soon they could deliver their precious fruit of the poppy.

  Mr. Scalesci already had visions of expanding his Chicago operation to New York and New Jersey.

  Black Jack Renaldo said nothing to anyone. He now had his client’s get-out-of-jail card safely tucked away. Yes, it had been a good day for everyone.

  CHAPTER 50

  I’m having the time of my life, and it was all by accident.

  The open-air Jeep was heading south on US 1, a short eight miles away to Turtle Key. Marta knew there were dozens, maybe hundreds of small islands that made up the Florida Keys, from Key Largo to Key West, the southernmost place in the continental United States. Apparently, Rod had failed to mention Turtle Key was less than five acres in size, a little more than a football field, and contained only one residence.

  His.

  Rod was driving about fifty-five with the Atlantic on one side of the road and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. It was no place to make a sharp turn. He crossed a small bridge, pulled off the road, and exclaimed, “This is it.”