Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2) (16 page)

CHAPTER 34

Billy Jo decided it was time for a partners’ meeting, to review what new clients they had taken on in the past few months, how many more new clients they would accept, and most important, their expenses and profits.

As far as Billy was concerned, it was a business. He was not a tree hugger; he did not care how many minnows died in the making of the Hoover Dam or if the poor could not afford adequate legal representation. Billy was only concerned about the rich—and whether they could afford his services.

Black Jack Renaldo came from a long line of lawyers. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all lawyers in the great State of West Virginia. He was taught from a mere boy, there was no greater calling than to serve your country.

To the Renaldos, country meant State. The federal government had screwed up so many times; there was no longer hope for the Union. Their loyalty ran to the State. The state where General George McClellan drove off General Robert E. Lee. As a result of the Wheeling Convention, West Virginia was allowed to form their own government, and they ultimately sided with the Union.

Money was never an issue for Jack. When you have it, you don’t worry about it and have no fear of spending it. Jack assumed it would always be there. It was why he began his law career as an assistant US attorney and ended up as The United States Attorney for West Virginia.

The fact he granted special favors as a government official to a few old friends had nothing to do with money or paybacks. It was the right thing to do. Their families all dated back more than a hundred fifty years. What else could he do? If you cannot help your friends, who can you help?

Now, Jack was actually working for a living. A very good living, according to those who knew him. The fact the Renaldo name was still prominent in certain political and financial circles did not hurt. He was practicing law because he wanted to, not because he had to.

To Jack, the partners’ meeting was a complete waste of time and effort.

Still, he had an obligation to his two partners and obligations had to be taken most seriously. It was the moral code he lived by.

For a man who lived by a strict set of moral values, Jack apparently did not take one of his vows too seriously. It was the vow of the sanctity of marriage. To love, honor, and obey sounded good when said quickly. He never considered adultery a crime. It was the right of a southern gentleman.

Besides, it was a victimless crime.

What my wife of close to thirty years does not know cannot possibly hurt her.

Southern wives knew far more than they let on. They also knew if their own pappy did it and their mamas did not fuss over it, far be it for them to fight a battle they had no chance of winning.

Mrs. Patricia Mae Renaldo knew her husband began cheating on her the first week of their honeymoon. It was with a black chambermaid at The Greenbrier in the middle of the afternoon. He was supposed to be playing golf with some new buddies. She was going for a walk, had forgotten her parasol, and was about to open her hotel room door when she heard Jack and his familiar grunts and groans. There was no question what he was doing. Ten minutes later, she spotted Jack and the chambermaid leave the room within minutes of each other.

She called her mama in tears and was told she was mistaken. If she knew what was good for her, she would never mention to anyone ever again. Mrs. Black Jack Renaldo never forgot that advice. And she was still happily married today. Maybe not happily, but she is still married. It was more than she could say for too many of her less forgiving friends.

Thank you, Mama. You saved my marriage. And my life.

Jack never had a clue.

***

The last partner was Marta Clarke.

Marta became a lawyer to right a racial wrong. Her father was black and in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was killed in the shadow of the Washington Monument during what was billed as a peaceful demonstration. No one knew how it happened, and more important, no one cared. There was only one person who vowed to make a difference. She was now a full partner in the criminal law firm of Gibson and Clarke.

The best lawyers money could buy.

Marta now had to decide. Why had she become a lawyer in the first place? Why was she now a lawyer? Did her priorities change and if so, what were they now?

And what was going on with Xiang and her new smoking episode?

Lots of questions. Very few answers.

***

The partners’ meeting was a mere formality. Jack would have called it a waste of time. Billy Jo had an agenda and ran through it like a marathon runner breaking the tape. Marta and Jack smiled and voted yes on everything Billy proposed. It was the easiest way, and besides, Billy was indeed the rainmaker of the firm. He was the one to yes new clients to death, he was the one who sprung for expensive dinners, and he was the one that made the pot boil.

Every successful litigation law firm, especially one practicing criminal defense work, needed three things. An accomplished trial attorney who keeps his promises and produces results; a good organizer, usually called the managing partner; and most important, a rainmaker who brings in the business.

Gibson and Clarke had all three.

“I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s all meet at Grimaldi’s Steak House for dinner. After looking at what we made in three short months, the firm can well afford it.”

Billy had all the books and records to show the net profit for the past ninety days was just over one point three million. Billy had proposed a distribution of two hundred fifty thousand to each partner. Marta was flabbergasted. That was more money than she had made in the last two years, and this was only the first quarter.

Holy crap. Why, after taxes, I will have netted more than one hundred seventy thousand bucks.

Marta had forgotten she had tentative plans to meet with Xiang this evening.

Jack pleaded he had a plane to catch, but Billy would not hear of it. Making that kind of cash called for a party. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt their reputation if the three of them were all seen together celebrating. Word would quickly get out something big had happened at Gibson and Clarke.

As far as Billy was concerned, that was what he lived for.

Recognition by his peers.

What could possibly be sweeter?

Dinner was a huge success, depending on how you define the word success.

There was not a patron in the high-end restaurant that did not know Billy Jo Gibson was celebrating with the firm he put together, a remarkable first quarter. Billy did everything except bring a chalk board with the exact figures written in three-foot letters.

The waitstaff loved a big tipper. Billy loved to play the role of the big tipper and had the means to prove it. It was a marriage made on Wall Street or a convention of high rolling four flushers.

All Marta could think about was Xiang and how she must have disappointed him. Not to mention another opportunity to get better acquainted with the now infamous clay pipe.

How could just a few hits of whatever it was in the pipe affect me so much?

She knew it was a naïve question. One that had been probably asked by about a million pot heads before they got hooked. She vowed that would never happen to her. Just a few hits to relax, that was it.

Xiang, bless his understanding heart and nature, made it clear he was not disappointed. There would be other times, he reassured her. Business came before anything else. He did not sound convincing. She apologized and promised they would get together the next night. In fact, it would be sort of a date. She knew this would make him happy. It was agreed he would send his car around to pick her up at the appointed hour.

While thinking about Xiang, she suddenly realized she had not spoken to Mei Ling in a few days. Actually it had been more than a week. She would call her in the morning.

Marta drove herself home and went right to bed. It had been a long but most profitable day. She could not sleep. Her thoughts were all over the place. At the top of the list were Xiang and that damn clay pipe.

And how luxurious it made me feel.

CHAPTER 35

Mei Ling was cordial, but guarded. She knew Marta was not her real friend; she was just doing her job, representing her brother. She also knew if it was not for Marta she never would have agreed to meet with Xiang and would never have received the money necessary to take the clinic to the next level. As for letting everyone know the clinic had only enough funds to keep afloat for the next few months, a little white lie can be a businessperson’s best ally.

“Have you seen your brother since your last meeting?”

“No, but we have talked a few times. He wanted to know exactly what happened to our parents and how they died. He also wanted to know how I escaped the charity hospital, where I lived, and how I met my husband, the one who brought me here and then abused me. I guess in one sense, I should be grateful.”

Marta sensed Mei Ling felt like talking, so she listened and asked a question now and then. It was obvious Mei Ling was vacillating as to her feelings for her long lost and now found brother.

She missed and clearly loved Xiang but abhorred what he did for a living—the classic love/hate relationship. Mei Ling had no idea how to resolve the problem. It would take time and something else. She was not sure what that something else would be.

Money, remorse, admission of guilt? Maybe something she had not even thought of yet.

Mei Ling was not sure.

The fact the construction of an addition to the clinic for twelve more beds was keeping Mei Ling busy—and most pleased. She knew it was a gift, and in her culture, gifts must be repaid. It is not good—it is not acceptable—to be beholden to another. Not necessarily in kind, but with a gesture or acknowledgement. For more than a million dollars, it had to be a big time acknowledgement.

She felt it would not be proper to discuss this matter with Ms. Clarke. She was the legal representative for her brother.

“May I invite you for tea? I have the same as you and your brother. It was a gift from Mr. Yeung. He is a most thoughtful gentleman.”

And he gives me some great coke.

“You are so gracious, Ms. Clarke. I think I would like that.”

“Good, and please, call me Marta. I may not be your closest friend, but I am certainly not your enemy. I am merely doing my job. I understand your dilemma and like you very much.”

The two of them made arrangements to meet in Newark, at Marta’s apartment, on Saturday afternoon. She felt Xiang would be pleased to hear there had been some progress. It was now very important to please Xiang in any way she could.

***

Rik was having trouble finding a new job. It had nothing to do with Marta. She had promised she would give him a good recommendation and state their philosophies regarding guilt and innocence of one merely accused were not in sync. The fact he was a special investigator for the sheriff for a number of years, made a switch to work for a criminal defense firm, and left less than thirty days later raised some serious questions.

What was the real reason?

Surely he knew he would be working for a law firm that represented the bad guys. Or to be more precise, the alleged bad guys. No way had Rik grown a new conscience in thirty days. Not with the kind of money defense lawyers paid top investigators.

There had to be more. So far, no one had an answer, and no one was willing to take a chance. The sheriff wished him “good luck” but no job. They smelled a rat. They knew Rik too well to know he would not walk away because of a mere moral problem. Rik had no morals; that was why he was so good at doing whatever it took to get the answers he was paid to find. If it meant tramping on the Constitution, Bill of Rights, breaking and entering, or doing some serious arm twisting, so be it. It was all part of the job. At times, the arm ended up fractured, but it was never his fault.

Rik would swear to that.

On a few occasions, he did. Under oath.

He had a badge; the bad guy didn’t. Who do you think the judge believed?

Marta is seeing Mr. Yeung. That I’m positive of. I have no clue why, but it’s not illegal, and if I’m caught stalking, it could mean my license.

Rik decided to break off the stake out and concentrate on finding a good paying job. Or any job, for that matter.

Marta had no idea she had been followed almost continually for the past four or five days. Now she was preparing to meet Xiang—again. She was more nervous than ever before. It was not that she did not trust Xiang implicitly; she did—she just did not trust herself. She dressed meticulously, especially her newly purchased undergarments.

She had no idea why.

***

The driver was right on time, as usual. He was polite but said little. His job was to drive, not engage in conversation. He always listened; he seldom responded. He also had a very good memory. One that Yeung relied upon.

Marta waited for the clay pipe to be lit. She swore to herself she would remain calm and not try to inhale too much or hold it in her lungs too long. The truth was she was so excited she almost grabbed it out of Xiang’s hand when offered to her.

“I promise I will not cough.”

“Perhaps before you participate with the pipe, you can tell me of your meeting with Mei Ling yesterday.”

How did he know I met with her yesterday? How does he know more than I tell him?

Marta was dying for a hit to get high but could not refuse the request of her host, who was also her biggest client.

“Your sister is going through an internal conflict, and there is nothing you can do or say. On the one hand, you are her brother. Her only brother. Her only living relative, and she loves you very much. On the other hand, you represent all that is evil, all she has fought so hard against, all she despises. She wants to do the right thing. She just needs some time.”

“What can I do to help her?”

“Give her time and space. She will come to the right decision; it just takes time.”

Xiang knew of all the possessions he had acquired the most precious of all was the one he could never get more of.

Time. Father Time waits for no man.

How very true
, Xiang thought.

Xiang thought of his age, his health, and the fact he was well past the halfway mark. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he removed the pipe and slowly began to fill it. It was a mechanical gesture that required no conscious thought. He removed the small butane lighter from his jacket pocket, tamped down on the bowl, and lit the crystal rock that was inside. He waited for a few seconds until he was sure it would remain lit and then took a long, slow draw. His mind was a million miles away, or so it seemed.

Marta was waiting for the transition. She was not disappointed.

Xiang realized he was still holding the clay pipe and not being attentive to his guest. He apologized and handed the smoldering pipe to Marta. She tried to be casual about it as she drew a long, slow draw, as she had seen Xiang just do. She was more relaxed than the last time and did not cough or panic. She allowed the smoke to remain in her lungs for four or five seconds before exhaling.

The change was remarkable.

After a few minutes, her limbs became heavy, her eyelids had trouble remaining open, and the weight of her body felt like it had increased ten-fold. She doubted if she had the strength to stand up. Her mind slowed down to a pace where she could anticipate her next, her every move.

Marta slowly and with great effort handed the pipe back to Xiang. Her speech was like a 78-RPM record being played in 33 1/3 time. Each syllable was pronounced separately. Her entire world was now acting in slow motion. She took another hit, and she had trouble understanding what Xiang was saying to her. She remembered leaning back to rest her head because it felt so very heavy.

She was listening but not understanding. The fog had slowly enveloped her, and she was fighting to break out of it. She asked for the pipe again. With great effort and concentration, she took one more long, slow hit. That was the last thing she remembered.

***

The following morning, Marta woke up in a strange bed. She was not sure where she was. She was still wearing her new undergarments and nothing else. Her sweater and skirt were carefully hung on a chair in the corner of the room.

Where am I, and what the hell happened to me?

The light streaming through the window told her it must be morning. A knock on the door brought her back to reality.

“Yes, who is it?”

The door opened, and a lovely young thing dressed in a black and white French maid’s outfit was carrying a tray with tea, a bowl of cut-up fruit, and a freshly baked croissant. There was butter and an assortment of jams on the side.

She desperately needed a cup of coffee. Black.

“Mr. Yeung thought you might be awake and hungry. I hope you will forgive me, but I undressed you last night when you fell asleep on the couch. I was instructed to do so. No one saw you but me.”

Marta sat up in bed, dumbfounded.

She hated it when she lost control, in any situation. Obviously the night before, she had lost complete control. She was not interested in tea or croissants or eggs over easy, for that matter. All she wanted to do was get dressed, go home, and regroup.

“Thank you. Now if you will excuse me, I must get dressed and go home.”

She realized quickly she did not have her own car.

“Please thank Mr. Yeung for breakfast and ask if he could please call a cab for me. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later, Marta was ready to leave. She did not take a shower—although, there was shampoo, conditioner, and an abundance of Turkish towels at her disposal. She washed her face, brushed out her hair, and tried to make herself look presentable. She had not planned on staying over and had brought no makeup.

Xiang greeted her at the front entryway. There was an awkward silence on her part. Marta felt like a schoolgirl caught necking behind the lockers in high school; something she had not done in more than twenty-five years. She lowered her eyes.

“Good morning, Marta, I trust you slept well. I was not sure what your preference was for breakfast. I had hoped we could spend a few minutes talking this morning. About my sister, among other things.”

“I would love that, but I must be in the office, and I am late already. I’ll just get a cab, go home and change, and talk to you later today.”

“A taxi cab is not necessary. My driver has been alerted and is waiting outside to take you wherever you want to go.”

She muttered a thank you reply, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and headed for the door before he could see she was blushing.

Once in the back seat of the chauffeur-driven sedan, she breathed a sigh of relief and thought about what had happened in the past twelve hours.

What the hell have I gotten myself into? Am I now a druggie?