Relapse: A Novel (29 page)

Seth’s friend Prince Amir was so pleased by the way Beijing efficiently and discreetly had the pound of marijuana delivered to Seth when he and Amir touched down in Miami that over the past two months he’d called on her a few more times to handle things for him. The moonlighting work was a welcome distraction from her problems with Lootchee.

With the money that Amir paid—not to mention several of Beijing’s other clients demanding so much of her time—she had to make a hard decision. She thought about what she needed to do from every possible angle before deciding that it was time for her to step out on faith, follow her passion, and work full-time for herself. Beijing filled out the necessary paperwork to take a temporary but indefinite leave of absence from the Tabby, her home away from home for the past six years. She had been burning the candle at both ends for so long that she didn’t want to torch the bridge down.

She called Thaddius to inform him of her decision. Thaddius was a good employer and even a better person. He told her that although he was sad to see her leave, he fully understood. Business was business.

“The door to the Tabby will always be open to you,” he promised her.

Amir’s latest request was to have thirty Escalades shipped to his new home in Cuba. He wanted to give the cars to a Cuban diplomat as a gift. The Cuban diplomat and Amir had been good friends for years; he was like an uncle to Amir. He loved American cars, and since the United States had placed the embargo on Cuba in ′62, American automobiles had been difficult for the ol’ head Cuban to obtain.

Amir didn’t want to deal with customs and he wanted no documentation of him, her, or anyone around him ever receiving the vehicles, because then he’d have unnecessary headaches with the government. Beijing didn’t fully understand the seriousness of the risk she was taking, but she was up for the challenge or the trouble that she could get in from sometimes helping the people she helped. This time was no different!

If she could pull this one off Amir promised to pay her enough money to send Chyna to boarding school, college, medical school, and any other type of educational institution the child wanted.

Beijing sat in her front room in an off-white suede recliner sipping a cup of hot tea, her computer resting on a pillow on top of her lap. She was thinking hard. The prince’s request was odd. The man was a billionaire many times over, and what he wanted with the cars was none of her business. That was one of the reasons most of the people she dealt with returned to do business with her again: She didn’t ask questions and was always discreet.

Beijing’s mind was a total blank. Getting those cars overseas
didn’t seem within her means whatsoever. She wished she could call Lootchee and see if he had any ideas, but that was pointless. He was out of the country, still on the run. Though she talked to him for a few minutes a few times a week, she knew the reality was that she couldn’t rely on him for anything.

She felt like a junkie who knew that her drug of choice was bad for her but at the same time loved to indulge all the same. She had to keep telling herself to forget him, forget him, FORGET HIM. Maybe if she kept telling herself, eventually it would come to pass.

Back to business. She had an idea. It was a long shot, but if it could be done, it would solve at least part of the problem.

She picked up the phone from the end of the table and dialed Peggy Bucotti.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Peggy. This is Beijing.” It had been over six months since the two last spoke. Peggy loved herself some Sterling. She and Sterling had gone to high school together, and though Sterling never gave her the time of day, she always kept in touch with Beijing.

“Hey girl,” Peggy said, “long time no hear. How’ve you been?”

“Just working hard,” Beijing said. She set the laptop on the coffee table and stood up. “You know how it is.”

“All too well.” Peggy sighed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She knew Beijing well enough to know that it wasn’t a simple social call.

“I have a question for you, Peggy. How easy would it be to have a car declared salvage?”

Peggy had been working at the DMV for over eighteen years, and she had seen it all throughout her time.

“That’s pretty simple,” Peggy said. “When do you need it? I will just need the VIN number to get it done for you.”

So far so good
.

“How about if there was more than one car?” Beijing asked.

“It’ll definitely be worth your while.”

“How many more?”

Beijing could sense that Peggy was less enthusiastic than before.

“Twenty-nine more,” Beijing said, laughing a little. “Thirty in all.”

“Are you serious, B? That’s a lot of cars.”

“Serious as a heart attack,” Beijing replied. “Can you help me?”

Peggy was quiet for a few beats.

“I’m afraid not,” she finally said. “If it was one, certainly, two no problem, three maybe … But thirty, Beijing? That’s a lot. If I tried to mess with that many documents it would be like taking a red flag and sticking it in my ass for everyone to see. If we were talking about before those terrorists flew into those buildings, that would be a different story. But now, that would be my last day at work and I would be sent off to the federal prison.”

“And we don’t want that.”

“No we don’t.”

It was worth a try
, Beijing thought. “I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you.”

Peggy told her if she needed anything else to call and said that she was sorry one last time, then said good-bye.

With no other ideas of her own, Beijing did what she knew best.

The next morning Beijing sat in her father’s newly remodeled kitchen. She admired all the upgrades added since the uninvited guest had tried to demolish the entire first floor of the house. For a split second she daydreamed about what it might be like to have a house of her own as Lootchee’s wifey, then she quickly shoved that idea right back where it came from.

Sterling drank a glass of juice while Beijing put together a veggie and cheese omelet and heated up a can of corned beef hash. She explained the situation to her father as she cooked.

“Well, baby,” Sterling said after she finished, “I’m pretty sure it can happen, and if it can be done, you’re going to want to call a guy I know that goes by the name Stash. If it can be done, dude can do it. He can get his hands on anything, so I am sure he might be able to help you. Besides, he’s a good person to have as a friend with all these high-profile clients you have making these types of requests.”

“What exactly does this dude Stash specialize in?” She put a plate of food on the table in front of her father.

Sterling said the grace and then jabbed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Anything he wants,” he said, after swallowing. “The guy is so off the hook at what he does, when I hear on the news about one of those multimillion-dollar paintings turning up missing from the museum, I envision Stash somewhere selling the Picasso or the
Mona Lisa
to the highest bidder. I’m telling you, baby, this is your man.”

According to Sterling, Stash would buy and resell anything of value: old, new, collectible, vintage, hot, borrowed, gifted. The only exceptions were illegal drugs, his ass, and his soul.

Sterling filled Beijing in on the background info. For almost twenty years Stash had run one of the most lucrative fence operations on the entire East Coast, providing services to some of the wealthiest and sometimes grimiest people on Planet Earth.

In Stash’s eyes what he did was completely ethical. He was just a middleman accommodating both sellers and buyers. Although a great percentage of the goods he sold were hot or had been at one time, he could honestly boast that he had never stolen anything in his life—not even second base when he played softball in junior high.

Beijing was impressed with Stash’s MO and that her father
knew him. “How come you haven’t put me in touch with him before now?”

“Never seemed to need to.” He forked some corned beef hash into his mouth. “Time and place for everything, though,” he added. “And I guess no better time than the present.”

The sun was a ball of fire inching across the tropical sky, blasting waves of heat onto Stash’s rented Dodge Stratus. The small nondescript car was characteristic of its driver: low-key and efficient. He fingered a button on the console, switching the air-conditioning to high, then signaled and made a right turn off the main street.

A young man behind the wheel of a souped-up blue Honda Civic bumped his horn at Stash after almost hitting him.

Stash cursed himself for forgetting that he was in the U.S. Virgin Islands, St. Thomas, where they drove on the left side of the road. He sheepishly waved his hand in the air gesturing to the young native,
my bad
.

St. Thomas was the place to come if a person wanted to be on vacation on a tropical beach or buy a nice piece of jewelry for a decent price, but Stash was on the compact island for neither of those reasons.

He parked the Stratus in front of the small, familiar box-shaped building on a narrow road. He smirked at the irony of the sign above the door,
GOLD MINE
.

He’d made a small fortune over the years dealing with the owner of this particular establishment, he thought as he got out of the car.

“Look what the cat done dragged in,” the owner, Ian, said as Stash opened the wooden door and walked in. He acted like Stash hadn’t called in advance to announce that he would be paying a visit to the island.

“It’s been a long time.” Ian got up from the stool behind the glass display case and hurried to lock the front door before a customer walked in or, worse, a tourist wanted to window shop.

“I always appreciate any business we do and I’m glad you consider me for your merchandise. I like Maurice. He’s good and honest, but it’s always good to see you. Don’t get to see you much.” He patted Stash on the back.

“It’s good to see you, too, Ian.” Stash shook the gray-haired Jewish’s man hand. “How’s business, old-timer?”

“Fantastic,” Ian replied. “But I would rather talk about our business, if you don’t mind.” He smiled a mouth full of tobacco-stained teeth.

“That’s why I’m here. Let’s slide to the back and I’ll show you what I have for you.”

Ian led the way to his private office. Inside the tiny space, he took a seat behind the old, scarred-up desk. Stash sat in the chair across from him.

Ian’s eyes lit up like a six-year-old peering under the tree at Christmastime, seeing everything he’d asked Santa Claus for, plus some. He removed an eyepiece from his pocket to get a better look. “May I?” he asked.

Stash nodded. “Help yourself. There’s a hundred Russian diamonds in all. All three to five carats.”

Ian held one up to the jeweler’s glass and somehow his smile
managed to grow even larger. “Beautiful,” he murmured to himself. “I’ve never seen this many stones of this quality at one time in my life,” he added. “They have to be worth a fortune.”

“Actually,” Stash confirmed, “they’ll bring in one point two million, wholesale, on the open market. But for you, old-timer, I’m going to give you a real nice deal.” He paused. “Seven hundred thou.”

“Really? Hmmm, I don’t have the whole amount now, but I can get it together in … let’s say … ten days.”

Stash studied the old man. They’d done a fair share of business in the past, and the man’s word was always his bond.

“Not a problem, old-timer. I’ll even leave the stones with you. You can get me the money the same way as the last time. If that’s okay with you,” Stash added, smiling.

“Your generosity doesn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated, Stash. I’ll see to it that you get all your money on time.” Then, as an afterthought, “I have one question, and your answer has no bearing on our deal. Only so I’ll know how to proceed.”

“Then ask, old-timer.”

“The diamonds …” There was no way to ask other than bluntly. “Are they stolen?”

It was Stash’s turn to sport the mega-smile. “Have I ever sold you stolen jewelry before?” he asked. “I have my ways, old-timer.” He added with a wink, “Besides, who ever heard of hot ice?”

They both laughed.

His business on the island was concluded, and Stash was climbing back into the Stratus when his phone woke up. It was a 704 number. He answered.

“What’s up?”

“Is this Stash?” the guy on the other end asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“My bad, Stash, this is Sterling; you may not remember me, but I used to run with your uncle Benny.”

Stash knew exactly who Sterling was; he had the memory of an elephant. Benny never had anything but good things to say about the man. And the one time they’d met, although more than ten years ago, had been nothing but love.

“Sure I remember you, Sterling. What’s popping, my man? I thought you had completely squared up?”

“Like a box of Kleenex,” Sterling joked, “but I still know what I know. My daughter, Beijing, presented me with a problem that I couldn’t solve. I told her, though, if it could be done, you could make it happen.”