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

CHAPTER 2

“Billy, you’ll never believe what just happened to me…”

The fact her cell phone had been off since she had arrived at Central Booking until she had gotten it back from the incredible hulk who was driving her home after a ninety-minute conversation with Xiang Yeung in person gave Billy his first clue.

Marta assumed the back seat, with the security window up, afforded her privacy. She spoke in a whisper.

“They want me, uh, us to represent the family in all criminal matters in the greater Newark area. He said a retainer would arrive at my home by the time I unlocked the front door. I’m scared, Billy. Do you think this is over our heads?”

“Your call, Marta. You’re a big girl, and you want to play with the big boys. Well, lady, this is your chance.”

“All right, I’m all in. I’ll call you when I get upstairs and see what my new friend Mr. Yeung left me. Just hope it’s not a dead rat.”

The box was on the kitchen table. It was wrapped in red paper, the good luck color in China.

Marta double locked the front door and peeked out the window before she even opened the box. Her hands were trembling. The box contained cash. Lots of cash. The note simply read:

RETAINER. NOW UP TO YOU TO EARN IT.

A quick count revealed what appeared to be one million dollars in banded hundred dollar bills.

The actual number was a little different.

Marta panicked. She had never seen this much cash in one spot before. Certainly never on her kitchen table. She grabbed the cell phone again.

“Billy, what do I do?”

“Relax. Don’t go ballistic on me. First thing in the morning, call the police. Tell them a client has dropped off a very large sum of cash and you want a ride in a squad car to your bank to deposit it. Make sure the funds are put in our escrow account. That way, it’s not taxable until we need it. Don’t tell them the dollar amount or the name of the client. It’s none of their damn business. Besides, it’s privileged information. I’m flying up first thing in the morning. Congratulations, partner.”

Marta remembered her promise to Fung regarding the bail hearing. She called Miranda at home. She needed to serve the DA’s office at nine sharp. Miranda assured her it would be done. Marta then double checked all the doors and windows, put the cash in the freezer and refrigerator; undressed; took a long, hot bubble bath; and crawled in bed.

Alone.

Thirty seconds later, she was fast asleep.

What she did not know was a black Mercedes was parked a few doors away on the opposite side of the street. It was protecting its investment.

***

It took less than ten minutes to count the wrapped bills. The two tellers were curious but said nothing. They were merely doing their job.

As luck or fate or the position of the stars would have it, one of the tellers assigned to count the bills was Asian. As she handed the printing tabulation to Marta, she asked a very unusual question.

“Was this given to you by someone Chinese?”

Marta could not believe what she just heard.

“Why would you say that?”

The exact dollar amount was one million, eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight dollars. As you may know, in the Chinese culture, eight is the luckiest number you can have.”

“How unusual. No, it must just be a coincidence. Thank you for pointing it out to me.”

They did that on purpose. They are just waiting for me to screw up. It won’t happen. They can bet their little asses on that.

The bail hearing went better than expected. Miranda, bless her heart, had handled everything including have a quick talk with the judge’s law clerk. It may also have had something to do with the fact ADA Rosenthal had asked Marta out at least a dozen times and, so far, had been rejected. It also could have been the judge was in a particularly good mood—no one knew why—and there was no opposition to her motion for bail to be set at $50,000.

Tao was impressed. Normally on a Class A felony and considering he was a foreign national, $100,000 or more would not have been unreasonable. Tao was pleased—so far.

Marta had agreed before the hearing to discuss the case with Ronnie the next day over lunch.

“Call me around eleven to remind me. You pick the spot. Somewhere close by, Ronnie.”

As she shook his hand, the pressure lingered a split second longer than necessary.

Sex sells—everything.

Marta knew damn well there would never be sex with Ronald Rosenthal. Not as long as she was alive and breathing.

“Good job, Ms. Clarke. Mr. Yeung was not wrong about you. You can be sure we will keep you busy. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fung, but this is far from over. My secretary will call you to set up an appointment in the next few days.”

“Right. You have her do that.”

Marta got a spooky feeling just listening to Tao. For a man just arrested on a Class A felony, he was far too cocky.

Billy arrived too late to sit in on the bail hearing. He phoned Marta from the airport and arranged for lunch. He wanted to talk to her about their newfound retainer and the consequences of it.

“The choice is simple. Either you return the million plus with a polite thanks-but-no-thanks, or we are all in. This means our clientele will be somewhat limited, our reputation branded, but we will not lack for much. You can move to a high-end condo and buy yourself a new set of wheels—as long as the client is pleased. Your call.”

Marta sat in a booth in the back of the bistro, playing with her food. She knew exactly what she would be getting herself, both of them, into. She was not sure of an exit strategy or if there was one.

Sorry, Mr. Yeung, it’s been fun and profitable. Thanks for sharing with me, but I don’t feel comfortable any longer, so find yourself a new defense team.

It didn’t work that way, and Marta damn well knew it.

Billy was patiently waiting for an answer. He was pretty sure he knew what it was. She had waited too long to walk away from the chicken that laid all those golden eggs. She was tired of living on the salary of an ADA and wondering if she would ever walk into a new car showroom, point, and say, “I want that one” without the expected song and dance.

“Yes, damn it, yes.”

The two of them raised their coffee mugs.

Real drinks would come later tonight.

“I suggest you pull out fifty thousand from the escrow account and go on a well-deserved spending spree. You might also consider a new car. Perception is reality in this business, and your four-year-old Nissan just doesn’t cut it. It will send a strong message to the DA’s office and the criminal bar and pile up your perception points with Mr. Yeung and any potential new clients. What about leasing a new Jaguar convertible or a top-of-the-line Mercedes SUV? Your call—you can now afford it.”

Marta now had a grin from one ear to the other.

“I like the way you think, Billy Jo. We will make one hell of a team.”

“We already have, we already have,” Billy replied.

CHAPTER 3

Dinner was spent at a high-end steak house/watering hole just outside the city limits where attorneys and judges were known to frequent. Not only was the food and service good, but the visibility was great. At times it is good to see, at others, to be seen.

This was one of the latter.

Marta was wearing a long black skirt with a slit halfway up her thigh. Her jet black long hair was piled up in a French braid. The waiter almost stumbled bringing the drink order over. He was staring at her ample cleavage, not where he was walking. More than a few members of the bar were there with their wives.

They were all talking.

A gorgeous black woman with a six foot three white dude wearing cowboy boots and a white Stetson could hardly be missed.

“That’s Gibson and Clarke, the new kids on the block.”

“She just left the DA’s office after twenty years, and the tall dude is Billy Jo Gibson, a legend in his own mind.”

“Someone said they’re now representing the Yeung Syndicate.”

Rumors were flying. Marta and Billy loved every minute of it.

The attention they were getting was overwhelming. The maître d’ came over twice to make sure everything was in order.

“How’s your New York strip?”

“I could eat here every night,” Marta responded. “Might not fit into my clothes within a week, but it would be worth it.”

Billy Jo had just cut off a thin slice of his medium rare filet mignon and was savoring the mouth-watering juices. He carefully placed his fork down on the side of the bone china plate, sipped a delightfully aged Brunello DiMontalcino red, and turned to Marta.

“Depending on how things work out in the next six months, I’m thinking of hiring an associate or two to handle the West Virginia office and spending more time up here. What do you think?”

“You’re the boss.”

“No, we’re a team, and we make decisions together. You’ve got the local reputation, the brains, and the moxie; I have far more years on the other side of the street. I have gotten away with more crap in a courtroom than you’ve ever thought of. That’s why we make a great team. That’s why we will make a bundle of money.”

Marta knew he was right.

Billy interrupted her thoughts.

“For now, Miranda can handle the office and paperwork. At some point, not sure when, she’ll need an assistant to do the typing and answer the phones. I suggest we get a first-rate CPA to keep track of everything. There may be a fair amount of cash flowing through our offices. I’m using the Grimaldi accounting firm. First-rate, fair, and honest. I would trust them with my life. Matter of fact, I do, every day. One last thing. We need an investigator. Someone who knows the ropes and is not afraid to bend and twist them. Must be sharp and loyal. Know of anyone?”

One name came to mind. She had been thinking about him more and more lately.

Rik Scott. He would be perfect.

“Give me a minute to think on it. Are you ready for dessert?”

“Maybe coffee only. Then I have to get back to my hotel and review a few files I brought up with me. I have a flight back at noon tomorrow. Let’s plan on an early breakfast so I can take a look at the Fung case and get your thoughts on how you want to handle it.”

Marta temporarily forgot about her luncheon appointment with Ronnie Rosenthal. First things first.

That would be Rik Scott.

Billy Jo called for the check and reached in his wallet for his new metal credit card, the latest in prestige in the industry. Marta reached over and playfully slapped his hand.

“We now have a new business account card. This is strictly business. Let the IRS split the cost with us.”

Billy smiled.

“Now you’re thinking like a businesswoman. Thanks.”

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

Marta gave him a peck on the cheek, let others stare as she slid out of her chair, and gave the parking slip to the teenage parking attendant who was visually undressing her.

“Now that you have something to think about when you meet your girlfriend later, could you please stop staring and get my car?”

The pimply teenager blushed and ran off looking for the four-year-old dark gray Altima.

Marta headed home. Alone.

I’ll look good in a new Jag ragtop. Maybe silver with a black top and gray leather interior.

Marta then thought of Rik Scott, the new investigator currently working for the county. He was officially part of the sheriff’s office but was assigned to the district attorney for all big cases. Rik was a hunk. A solid six-foot black man whose muscles rippled when he got nervous. He had a killer smile and body. More important, he was smart and discreet. He would be perfect, in more ways than one, to be the office’s private investigator.

It was close to ten p.m. when Marta got home, showered, and crawled into bed. It was then she did something totally out of character. She found Rik’s number on her cell phone.

“Rik, it’s me, Marta Clarke.”

“What’s wrong? Are you in trouble? Did you get arrested for anything?”

“No, none of the above. I wanted to talk to you. Is this a good time?”

“Marta, it’s ten fifteen. What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning?”

“I have a job offer for you and didn’t want to wait. As you know, I left the DA’s office and now have my own shingle—actually with Billy Jo Gibson. We’ve just picked up a major client. Can I assume this conversation is not taped and considered confidential?”

“Marta, you know me better. Lay it on me.”

“We may be representing Xiang Yeung and his associates. We will need a first-class investigator. One who is smart and very discreet. The first person I thought of was you.”

“I’m honored. Tell me more.”

“First, we would pay you twice as much as you’re now making. The hours may be long, and it would be a personal services agreement. When I call, you must be available.”

“Sounds too good to pass up. When do I start?”

“As soon as you can get that tight ass over to my place. The door will be unlocked. I think you’re smart enough to figure it out. And be discreet.”

“Give me twenty minutes, Boss.”