Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) (9 page)

If that weren’t enough, after Melendez’s experience in Santiago, there was always the chance somebody would try to finish what they started. Leopold didn’t relish the idea of getting caught in someone else’s crossfire. He had more than enough experience dealing with his own. 

***

Half an hour later, Leopold eased the heavy Escalade off the main road and into the First Hill Suites Hotel loading bay. The security guard checked his computer, finding their clearance, and waved them on through. Once parked, Jerome led the way into the service entrance, heading straight for the operations manager’s office. They found their man slumped over his desk, massaging his temples. He looked up as they passed the window.

Leopold knocked on the door and stepped through. “Rick Gustafson, I presume?”

The manager stood up, dusting potato chips off his uniform. Blonde, a little overweight, he looked flustered. “Yeah, that’s me.” He held out a hand. “And you are?” 

“Security detail for Jack Melendez.” He ignored Rick’s outstretched palm. “We need to go through an inspection right now. I’m guessing you’re not too busy to take us up to his floor.” 

“Christ, this is getting ridiculous,” Rick said. “How long is this gonna take?”

Jerome stepped forward. “It’ll go a lot faster if you cooperate.” He paused. “Who else has been through here?”

Rick withdrew his hand and stuffed it into a pocket. “We’ve been getting ready for the conference for days. We’ve had teams come through looking at the ventilation systems, ducts, electric systems.” 

“Ducts?”

“Yeah. Checking for security threats, I guess.”

Leopold frowned. “We’ll need to do our own sweep.”

Rick sighed deeply. “Fine. Whatever.” He tossed them a clipboard. “Sign in here. We’ll get your ID badges printed out.” He turned his attention to his computer screen. “I’ll need your names to check our records.” 

“One more thing,” said Leopold. “We’ll be needing our equipment.”

***

The housekeeper, a lithe Filipino woman with jet black hair and dark skin, met them outside Rick’s office and handed them a set of key cards to activate the secure elevator. She introduced herself as Mariel and led them up to the seventh floor. They put their bags in one room toward the end, Suite Three.  

“Will that be all, sir?” the housekeeper asked, standing in the doorway.

Leopold grabbed a thick manila folder from one of the console tables. He looked up at her. “Mariel Reyes, right?”

She nodded. 

“How’s the visa application going?”

Mariel shifted her weight uncomfortably. “You’ve done your research.”

“Relax. The hotel sent your file over, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I’ll need your phone, miss,” Jerome said, tossing their luggage onto the sofa in the living room. The cases of surveillance and monitoring equipment had arrived at the hotel as planned and were currently taking up most of the floor space. 

Mariel took half a step back. “Why?”

“I’ll need to check it for bugs. You can have it back.” Jerome walked toward her, holding out a hand. “I won’t damage it.”

She made one last quick check for messages before turning her phone off and handing it over.

“You get the instructions about the supply closet?”

Mariel nodded. “This way. It’s just down the hall.” 

Jerome checked the broom closet and cleaning supplies first, with Mariel by his side. All of them were labeled properly and none had been opened yet, in accordance with their specifications. Her supplies were new and unused. Checking the Material Safety and Data Sheets for each product, he nodded in approval. 

Next, the linen closet. Jerome removed the stacks of bed sheets and towels, poking and prodding through layers of fabric, knocking on the closet interior walls. 

“You have enough linen here to get through the weekend?” he asked her.

“Should have enough for bed changes in each room, each day. The same with towels and bathroom supplies.”

“You enjoy working here?” he asked, putting everything back. 

Mariel shrugged. “It pays the bills. I like it okay.”

“They treat you well?”

“The pay is good. I get dental.”

The four suites came under scrutiny next. Jerome rummaged through drawers and closets, bathroom toiletries, finding nothing suspicious. He performed a few test touch strips to check for stray toxic or combustible chemicals. With a flashlight, he scrutinized cubbies and ventilation grates, finding nothing out of place.

“I made sure these rooms were swept this morning,” Mariel said. “Everything is ready.”

“We double-check everything,” said Jerome. “Gustafson said he’d had someone here inspecting the ducts. Show me.” 

The housekeeper led them out into the corridor, stopping beneath a hatchway in the ceiling. She pointed up. “There’s a crawl space up here. Hooks up to the floors ventilation system.”

Jerome fetched a monitoring device with a flexible probe from the room, stopping by the storage closet for a stepladder. Carefully, he set the ladder underneath the hatch and pulled it open, extending the probe through into the ducts above. Satisfied, he logged the readings in a pocketbook for future reference, and climbed to the top rung. His head disappeared into the crawl space for a few moments, before he climbed back down to the carpet. 

“Readings came back negative,” he said. “Visual checks out. All the rooms are hooked up to this duct, so it looks like we’re good to go.” He turned to Leopold. “You check the maintenance records?” 

Leopold nodded. “Well, one piece of good news: all records and inspections are up to date. Looks like they had a team in this morning, checking the basement systems.”

“Doing what, exactly?” 

“Wiring and firmware checks. Warranty, apparently.” He leafed through the manila folder. “A piece of bad news, though. Right now that plant operations manager is filling in for someone else. I got the impression he’s qualified to do basic building maintenance, but not to be in charge of a five-star enterprise.”

“All the more reason for us to check everything as thoroughly as we can in the hotel,” Jerome said, tucking his notebook into his suit jacket pocket. “Secret Service?” 

“Nothing in the records, as you’d expect,” said Leopold. “But the convention center is state-owned. With the hotel just next door, you can be sure they’ve been sticking their noses in.”

“We’ll need to check in with whoever’s running the event,” said Jerome, turning to Mariel. “Can you give us some names?”

She nodded.

“Good. I think it’s time we paid the Secret Service a little visit.”

Chapter 13

A THIN VEIL of misty rain swept over the city as Jonny Yamada hurried inside the doors of
Shibuya
, a Japanese restaurant just off Belltown, and shook the water from his hair. A perky waitress found him a table, took his order, and brought him a cold bottle of Asahi
beer. 

The restaurant was full. The quiet murmurs of lunch time conversations filled the air, mingling with the steamy hisses from the kitchen grills and the quiet
clink
of tableware, the dull, tuneless melody of some obscure Asian pop band coming through the stereo system.

Lunch arrived after a few minutes, Osaka-style
Okonomiyaki
, a savory pancake stuffed with grated
nagaimo
yams,
dashi
fish stock, eggs, shredded cabbage, and thinly sliced pork belly. The waitress set the dish down, along with a second beer, and cleared the empty bottle away. Jonny ate quickly. The sticky, salty food helped him drain the second Asahi
before finishing his plate. He ordered another. 

 Checking his watch, he wolfed down the last of his lunch. He had arrived early, allowing him to keep an eye on the door, as well as fill his stomach, while he waited for his Oguchi family contact to show. His uncle had arranged the meet, but Jonny figured it was more of a formality than anything else.

The lunchtime rush had peaked, a line of people huddled in the doorway. Or maybe it was the shitty weather. Still, it would be hard to pick out Kanezaki in the crowd of diners, most of whom were Asian. There were a few
hakujin
scattered around, looking puzzled by the menus, but this place was off the beaten path and tourists rarely dropped by. A fitting place to meet. 

A tall, muscular man approached, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Japanese features, his eyes locked on Jonny’s table. The man took a seat opposite without introduction and glanced around. His gaze settled on Jonny, apparently waiting for him to say something. 

“You Kanezaki-san?” Jonny said eventually, sipping his beer. 

The man nodded. 

“You’ll be pleased to know everything’s going as planned. Tomorrow night should go off with a bang.” He smiled. 

Kanezaki eyed Jonny’s drink. “What you drinking that Canadian piss water for?” 

Jonny waved one of the waitresses over and ordered two bottles of
Kirin Ichiban
import, and picked out several appetizers;
yakitori
,
gyoza
, and
tsukemono
in chili sauce.  The waitress nodded and walked away, brought the beer back with her. Jonny made sure his lunch mate’s glass was filled before his own.

Kanezaki took a long sip of his drink. The end of his little finger was missing, something Jonny recognized as a Yakuza tradition; severing one’s own finger to prove undying loyalty. He had always wondered how painful it was to remove a finger, and how much whisky was involved. He figured a lot.

Taking in the surroundings, Jonny had the sinking feeling he should’ve found a classier place to meet, a place where they could’ve talked privately. Since Kanezaki walked in the door, the table was getting much more attention.

Kanezaki ignored the food when it arrived. 

“You eating?” Jonny asked.

“Not at this shit hole.” 

“My uncle said you were here to assist,” Jonny said, changing the subject. “I’ve got everything under control. I don’t need any help.” 

Kanezaki laughed. “I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck up,” he said, taking a deep swig of his beer. “The family has a lot riding on this weekend.” 

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” 

“Do you?” 

“Listen, I know the family took a chance using me. But I’m more than capable, and you’ll get what you want.” 

Kanezaki finished his drink. “Come with me.” He stood up.

“Where are we going?”

“Just come with me.” He made for the door. 

Jonny followed, pushing through the line at the entrance. Kanezaki pushed open the door and stepped out into the rain, disappearing around the corner and into the alleyway. 

“Shit, we didn’t get the check,” Jonny said, increasing his pace. He rounded the corner and spotted Kanezaki halfway down, partially obscured in shadow. “Shit,” he said again, breaking into a jog. He caught up a few seconds later. 

Out of sight of the street, Kanezaki waved Jonny closer. 

“What the hell are you –” Jonny started, but never got to finish. 

Two other men appeared from a sheltered doorway, tossing half-smoked cigarettes onto the wet ground. They were both tall, a little taller than Kanezaki, with obvious muscle and smart-looking rain jackets. Their eyes fixed on Jonny’s as they sidled up.

“This him?” one of the men asked. 

Kanezaki nodded. 

“Doesn’t look like much.” 

“He isn’t.”

Jonny felt his muscles tense. He took a step backward.

“Where you going?” Kanezaki said. He turned to one of the other men. “I think we got ourselves a runner, boys.”

The two men laughed. 

“Isa, Kimura, show our friend how we deal with
unko
like him.”

The two men marched forward, grabbing hold of Jonny’s coat. The slightly taller of the two reached into his jacket pocket, before jabbing something cold and hard into his stomach. 

“Consider this fair warning,” Kanezaki said, standing back. “If tomorrow night doesn’t work out, I’ll cut you down the middle and feed you to my dogs.” 

Jonny looked down and saw the knife against his gut. Isa and Kimura held him fast. 

“Holy shit, yeah, yeah, I get it,” Jonny said. “Don’t kill me, Jesus, don’t kill me.” The words spilled out uncontrollably.

“You think we’d trust some shit-bag
daburu
like you? You’re not the only one with a part to play in this.”

Jonny nodded frantically. “I got it, I got it. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do it, I swear.”

Kanezaki smiled and waved the two men away. They let go.

“Something to remember us by,” Kanezaki said. 

One of the men drew back a fist, swung hard and hit Jonny in the face. He went down hard, seeing stars, and felt himself land awkwardly in a puddle. Scrambling, he forced himself back to his feet, pain throbbing in his jaw. 

“I’ll be watching,” Kanezaki said. “Keep your shit together and get back to work.” 

The three of them walked back toward the main street, knocking into Jonny with their shoulders as they passed. Jonny stumbled, almost slipping over on the rain-soaked ground. He watched them stroll away, steady and calm, as though nothing had happened.