“I sure hope so…because I’ve reached my limit of surprises for one day.”
When two guards stepped inside dressed in hotel uniforms, Beth relaxed. Once more, she’d had a reprieve from a fateful end. It wouldn’t last long, though. She had to figure out what was behind all of this. And who wanted her dead. Plus, she needed to do it soon, because delaying would surely get both of them killed.
Chapter 7
The world of container shipping played a vital role in commerce, yet few people knew what really went on in the business of transport. The industry fascinated Martin Foster because of its potential, such as accruing immense profits from drug smuggling.
Martin rocked in the oversized executive chair, the very chair his brother Stephen had occupied for years. Now it was his. The private office accommodated his needs, when he bothered to come in. The weekend had been brutal, but he’d managed to arrive at Foster before lunch. He got up to lock the door, then opened his briefcase.
Most of his life, Martin hadn’t needed to work, and it annoyed him that he did now—all the more reason to foist the majority of duties onto Kyle. He was the only son of Stephen, and had been groomed to take over the family’s shipping business.
That was all the better, as it made things easier. Martin maintained control, had access to funds, yet had no function in daily operations. Any misdeeds, mistakes, and even crimes could be blamed on someone else. After all, Kyle was the man who handled the majority of transactions, even if he wasn’t always clear about what they were.
Kyle was in his late twenties, anxious to do well in business, and loyal to the family. His trust and optimism worked in Martin’s favor, and directing him posed no barrier. His nephew had accepted Martin’s sudden involvement with company affairs, attributing his interest as willingness to support the family in a time of need. Without his father Stephen to guide him, Kyle seemed grateful for his uncle’s presence.
That part was manageable, in contrast to other things. Martin sat in the leather chair and dumped a bit of the white crystalline powder on the glass tabletop. With a small blade, he scooped it together and placed a silver tube over it. He sniffed the powder up one side of his nose, then the other.
He leaned back in the chair, more alert. The pep was just what he needed. He relished the euphoria, and walked over to the window, feeling the high already. His mood was better; it was time to chat with Kyle. After locking up his stash, he exited the office.
The cocaine was pricey but worth it. If things went as expected, Martin would be able to pay for all the drugs he wanted, without concern. He went down the hallway, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm in his chest, and a spring in his step. He found Kyle at his desk, hard at work, and took the chair across from him.
Kyle was the spitting image of his father, just a younger version. It was eerie how much his nephew looked like Stephen. Martin squirmed in the chair. It didn’t matter that his brother was in a nursing home; there were more urgent matters to attend to.
His nephew looked across the desk. “Uncle Martin, good to see you’re in today.”
“I’m sure you’ll manage without me later, as I do have some meetings.” Actually, Martin made a point to avoid attending board meetings, or any other type of meetings. “But I’d like to know what Beth said to you Saturday.”
Kyle frowned. “It was nothing.”
Martin exuded kindness, hoping he didn’t come across as fake. “It must have been something. After all, it was your birthday party. After I went in to make my phone call, I returned and saw Beth with Wyatt, coming in from the terrace. Judging by your expression, she’d upset you. But I waited to ask until now.”
“Beth had questions about the embezzlement charge. Actually, I’m not sure that I understand it. You discovered the missing funds, but you didn’t show me, or Beth, the evidence. It’s somewhat confusing.”
“Of course I didn’t,” Martin said, his voice sterner. “That would be unwise. Beth is family. I certainly don’t want to produce evidence against her, and be forced to press charges. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
“Since you put it that way… But you really should talk to her. Beth claims the situation is unjust,” Kyle said. “Surely, if faced with the truth, she would make good…pay back the money.”
Martin narrowed his eyes, in an effort to intimidate his nephew. “How would she do that? Beth has been supported most of her life. She had no initiative to get a real job, so your father saw fit to find a place in the company for her.”
“Uncle Martin—”
“I opposed the suggestion, but your father wouldn’t listen. He was adamant that Beth should be given a chance. Well, you can see what she did with the opportunity presented to her. As predicted, she was unreliable. Until she reforms, I’m afraid I can’t allow her to have influence on you, or this company.”
“It’s overly harsh to write her out of the will.”
The lie flowed off his tongue. “That’s not my doing. It was your father’s wish. Even he, as good-hearted a man as he was, got fed up with Beth’s shenanigans. It’s my duty to see it through.”
“I’d like to hear him say that, because I find it difficult to believe. Father loves Beth; I don’t see how that could change.”
“Beth has only herself to blame. And unfortunately, your father is in no condition to tell you personally of his wish to disinherit her. My understanding is that he felt she would only waste the money, that only if forced to do so, she would finally make something of her life.”
Kyle’s expression was unsympathetic, but Martin didn’t want to mess around with this foolishness. Beth had been a pest from the start; she had to be dealt with.
“I’ll be out this afternoon,” Martin said, then got up to leave.
Kyle didn’t respond, didn’t even look at him again. He resumed whatever he’d been working on, leaving his uncle to find his way out. Martin took issue with such rudeness. After all, he had stepped in as head of the family, and deserved some appreciation.
Martin went straight home to a limestone mansion on the Upper East Side that he didn’t own, strictly speaking. In the divorce settlement, the properties had been divided, and he’d been deeded the residence. Yet with his funds dwindling, he’d mortgaged the place to the hilt. And now he had no way to pay it off.
But circumstances would soon change. Martin would see to that. He had no choice, as he couldn’t let his life just go down the toilet. Yet it worried him, as it seemed he’d been caught unsuspectingly in a web. His ex-wife Leila had incessantly nagged him about gambling during the marriage.
When he’d refused to forgo visiting the local casinos, his wife demanded that he request voluntary self-exclusion from all New York gaming facilities. He’d flatly refused. Such a request would have banned him from all casino activities, and would have prohibited him from collecting any winnings or recovering losses.
It was the most emasculating idea Leila had proposed to date. Yet when he wouldn’t go through with it, she’d left him. It had been the last straw. Martin could stop gambling if he decided to, but the fact was that it was the one thing that made him feel alive. He’d won big a few times, and that high had been addictive.
He might have taken it too far of late. His losses had mounted, and drained his available funds. After the mortgage money had sifted through his fingers, he’d obtained what he needed from Foster’s bank accounts. His father had inherited the company from his father; the shipping money had passed down many generations.
Yet control of Foster International had gone to Stephen. At the time, Martin hadn’t let on that he cared. He’d been content to live off the sizeable inheritance, without having to maintain a schedule or hold down employment. And Leila had come from money, as well, so it had been most agreeable to marry her.
Now she was gone, and so was the money.
Martin went to change clothes. The sooner he got to the casino the better—more opportunity to make up some of his losses, and to escape his mund
ane life. Problems were mounting, and he needed to clear his head.
His shoes clicked over the marble hallway, and at the bedroom door he kicked them off. His feet sank into the thick, creamy carpet, his wife’s choice, and he made his way to the closet. He scanned the double racks of shirts and pants, opting for comfort. It might be a long night.
His phone vibrated on the nightstand before he was able to make his escape. Glancing at the caller ID, he swore, then picked up. “Chen, why are you calling? We are still in preparations. I told you I’d get back to you.”
Chen was a hotshot at the local casino, with ties to the Asian mob. If Martin had known that, he wouldn’t have gotten involved with him. It was just that he’d needed some fast cash, unaware that he’d entered into a loan agreement with a dangerous group.
“It’s Mister Chen to you, and you’d best remember who you’re talkin’ to.” After a moment of silence, the gangster continued, “I’ve called to tell you something important.”
Martin waited impatiently.
“There was an incident in the subway a week ago. Elizabeth was with some lady, and a mistake was made. If all had gone well, your niece would be dead, but our guy shoved the wrong woman in front of the train. The news on it hasn’t been released for some reason, but I expect it to come out soon.”
Martin was stunned…dead? “What are you talking about? You were just supposed to scare her. Who gave the order to kill anyone? We agreed that no one was to get hurt.”
A soft chuckle on the line was his answer.
“I didn’t mean for you to kill her. I told you that she knows too much, but the point was to make her stay away.”
“She won’t bother you when she’s dead.”
Control had slipped through his grasp, and Martin wasn’t sure where he’d erred. “You’ve botched the job now. Beth will be on the alert; she won’t let it go. I know her.”
“My guy will handle it,” Chen said. “He tried to fix it right after that party at your place.”
“Kyle’s birthday?”
“It seems there is some guy hanging out with Elizabeth, and he’s fairly handy with street fighting…maybe ex-military or something.”
Martin closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Could it get any worse?
“A bullet to the head would have done the trick, but her escort intervened.”
“Oh, God…was she hurt?”
“A cut to the head, that’s all.”
“Christ. You have to stop. This whole affair will fall apart the instant murder is involved.”
“Our mistake was doing it the American way. Back home we would have ended this on the first try.”
Martin shuddered. The Asian mob’s preferred weapon was a meat cleaver. The stories he’d heard had made him nearly retch. It was a horror, and he’d blocked it out. Reminded of what the mob was capable of, his stomach churned.
“It’s time for you to meet with the boss.”
Martin cringed. “What for?”
“That’s for him to say. You have a lunch appointment tomorrow at the Cave. He’ll send a guy to pick you up.”
Even the name of the establishment was repulsive. Martin was sinking fast. He had to do something to turn this around, so maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to meet with the guy in charge. He had to get his new partners on the same page, and disabuse them of the idea of murder as a solution.
“I’ll be ready.”
The siren call of the casino drew Martin, with its bright lights, strong drink, and perfumed women. That night he planned to get lost in the culture where he was most at home, and do what he was best at. A big win would do a lot to boost his morale.
Martin called a cab. The days of taking the limo were past; he couldn’t afford the limo, or the driver. If traffic cooperated, he’d be at Empire City in less than forty minutes. He needed a drink and another snort before long. Then he’d hook up with a woman for good luck.
Sex and drugs had been a potent combo for years, even when he’d been with his wife. Lately, not so much. He’d allow the woman to hang on his arm for the evening and bring him luck. But he wasn’t confident about performing. It wasn’t likely he’d take her up to a room anyway, since he planned to gamble all night, especially if he was on a roll.
In the cab, Martin closed his eyes and leaned back, while the driver negotiated the route. Murder. It sank in that it had been real. Those creeps might have killed Elizabeth were it not for unforeseen circumstances. Taking out his niece would come back to haunt him.
The others would vanish, leaving him to answer for it. He had to persuade them that there were better ways to deal with the threat. He regretted telling them about Beth’s curious mind, and her persistence in uncovering the truth.
Martin would spend time in a prison cell or worse if he didn’t get a grip. What else had he told them? This should be a lesson to keep his mouth shut, and deal with matters personally. In the long run, he’d be better off. But they’d demanded assurance that the plan would go off without a hitch.
Couldn’t they see that these tactics put it all at risk?
He had a vested interest in seeing that it all went as planned. His debts were an anchor pulling him to the depths. The burden of owing the Asian mob fell heavy on his shoulders. But Chen had promised the full amount would be forgiven.
Then Martin would continue to profit from the new arrangement. His spirits lifted. Most illegal drugs were moved via container ships, some in sailboats or fishing boats. The drug traffickers’ fast boats could even outrun law enforcement on occasion.
Martin had been enlightened on the subject. The cartels were innovative and reaped substantial profits. It was a sweet deal, and now Martin was part of it. He had control of a major shipping line, and his services were in demand. Such an arrangement offered salvation—if only his new associates didn’t blow it.
*****
The next day, Martin was back in the city in time for his lunch engagement. He had no big winnings to boast of, just a doozy of a headache. His body was heavy, his limbs leaden. And his brain was dull. He’d have to snort a line before facing the imposing man he was scheduled to meet.
Martin hadn’t heard of the Cave before, and suspected it was privately owned. A limo with blacked-out windows was sent to pick him up, but he didn’t appreciate the amenity. He suspected that the mode of transportation was to set the tone of the meeting, not for his comfort.
The restaurant was tucked away off an alley, but it was by no means a dump. Dim lights lent an ominous mood to the encounter, and muscular personnel stood at the ready, in case Martin should become a problem. He got the message.
The mobster was short and fierce. His dark hair was thinning on top and his eyes appeared black in the low lights. His short stature did not diminish his imposing presence. He stood up, and Martin got a good look at his attire. He wore a designer suit and leather boots, and had diamonds on his fingers.
“Welcome, Martin,” the menace said. “I’m Mr. Zhang.”
Martin bowed, assuming that was appropriate. That seemed to please his companion. “Mr. Zhang,” he said, “finally we meet.” He wouldn’t have addressed the man by first name even if he’d known it.
The full impact of the situation became clear. Martin faced a deadly foe, one who would snuff him out at the least provocation. It was abundantly obvious how the Asian mob had acquired its reputation.
Martin sat across the table from the man. “I assume Chen brought you up to speed?”
Zhang didn’t smile; he didn’t even move. “Before we eat, there are a few things we need to go over.”
Martin swallowed hard. His hands sweated, and he wiped them on his pants.
“Your niece has evaded us, but not for long. She will regret taking an interest in your affairs, now that your company has been allied with ours.” The man’s expression darkened. “I fear that she has information that could be an issue—merely a nuisance, probably. But it’s unwise to take chances.”
Zhang proce
eded to detail some of what he feared Beth had possession of. “We have the journal that you spoke of.”
“You stole it?”
“If you wish to view it that way. We have a right to see what she has uncovered.” He paused. “You’ve been careless.”
Martin held his breath.
“We will take care of it. Her laptop is no longer functional,” Zhang said.
Christ, what have you done now?
“It’s likely she has a backup source, but we’ll ensure the information doesn’t leak.” The man leaned forward. “It’s her connections to the press that concern me. She has to be silenced.”
Martin didn’t venture to point out that attempts thus far had been failures. Dread filled him. What was next?
There wasn’t a lot more to discuss. Zhang set the rules, and Martin had to abide by them. He was backed into a corner. Opting out of the business arrangement wasn’t a choice; he was in over his head. The mob would see that he made good on his debt, one way or the other.
Martin hadn’t gotten a fair shake. Life was against him. But that would change. Once Zhang got his money, any additional profits would be shared. The income from drug smuggling would set him up nicely, and he could have the lifestyle he deserved.
*****
The following afternoon, Martin went to the assisted living facility. He had to make sure that all was under control. He couldn’t risk Stephen interfering, not now. Upcoming events had to roll out without a hitch; Martin’s future depended on it.
He walked up the stone path to the entry, and a pang of guilt struck him. He brushed it aside, as the accommodations weren’t bad at all. The multistoried building was beige stucco, looking more like an exclusive hotel than a medical facility. The upper floors were for residents with Alzheimer’s, while the other levels were for a variety of types of care. With supervision, his brother could move about the facility, join in group activities, and even go outside to the gardens.
The care facility was one of the best, and Martin had employed a private nurse to care for his older brother. Martin spotted her writing notes in a chart. Irma was mid-forties, short brunette hair, and wore glasses. Her demeanor and motherly look inspired faith that she would see to Stephen’s care properly. He spoke with her first, checking that the medication was being administered as prescribed. Assured that there had been no deviation, he entered the room.
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