The Doll Brokers (22 page)

Jonathan planted a hand on Patrick's chest and kept him back. “Hold yourself together.”

Patrick blinked as a sense of misgiving moved inside of him. He looked at Ann. Something bad was happening and Ann was behind it. She was always behind everything.

She held out a paper, legal-sized and crowded with too much small print. “Sign here, Pat.”

“What's this?” He had the sudden conviction that if he took it from her hand, he'd be damned.

“Six weeks of nice, cushy living. In a rehab clinic.”

“I'm not—”

“Fine,” Jonathan said, turning away. “Then sit in jail until this is resolved.”

“Wait!”

But Jonathan didn't stop.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he acting like this? Patrick grabbed the paper from Ann's hand and hurled it to the floor. He went for his brother, grabbing him from behind.

The guards caught him. Ketch was apoplectic. “We'll finish this back at the jail.”

“No,” Ann said. “Now.”

“That's not wise,” Ketch said. “We need privacy. We don't want to play this out in front of the prosecution.”

Jonathan bent and picked up the paper. “Pat, you need help.”

Patrick's heart was slugging his rib cage. He felt sick.

“We don't know where Irene is at the moment, but by law she can claim half of everything you own,” Jonathan went on. “We can't get to your assets without her. You can't even come close to making bail on your own. Mom will give you the money provided you stop drinking. Those are her terms. It's called tough love, pal.”

Patrick felt his own eyes shift as he struggled with the situation. His mother wasn't with him twenty-four hours a day. There was always a way out. He grabbed the paper out of his brother's hand.

“Sign at the bottom,” Jonathan said.

Patrick stared at it. “Mom's making me commit myself?”

“She doesn't trust you to do it otherwise.”

“I didn't
do
anything! This is all some fucking mistake! You heard Ketch.” He waved a hand at the lawyer. “They don't even have probable cause!”

“You blew a 2.2,” Ann snapped. “You were inebriated enough to allow someone to set you up for the rest. Damn it, for once in your life, Patrick, take some responsibility!”

He tried to kill her with his eyes. Then he signed the paper, slashing his name across the bottom. Patrick thought about
making Ann eat it. Then, with utmost control, he handed it back to his brother instead.

“I'll show you where to go to post bail,” Ketch said to them.

Jonathan nodded. “My mother has requested that you or one of your associates transfer Patrick to the clinic personally. We need to know that he gets there.”

Ketch paused. “How can I reach you?”

“My cell phone.” Ann rattled off the number. “We might be in Hong Kong, trying to sort some of this mess out. But my phone will work there.”

Patrick watched his brother walk away, hip to hip with the woman who had single-handedly taken everything that was his birthright, everything he should have been able to call his own. He looked at Ketch. The son-of-a-bitch had known all along what Jonathan and Ann were up to.

Anger rushed through him, making him shake. He hated them all.

“H
ow many does that make?” Jonathan demanded. He stood behind Ann, leaning forward to stare at the computer monitor.

She clicked the
send
button on the screen. “Five e-mails. I've also sent two faxes.”

Jonathan swore softly and moved away.

They were still trying to reach Edmund Chow. Koji had called them back twice, once to ask how he could help, the second time to let them know that he, too, had been unable to reach Edmund. “Do you want me to fly to Hong Kong?” he had asked them. But Ann didn't see the point. The job was hers to do. She had to resolve the mystery of Edmund Chow's disappearance and get to the bottom of whatever dirty tricks they had fallen prey to.

It all boiled down to keeping their doll on track, finding a way to keep her viable. Ann could practically feel the competition nipping at her heels. The way that Sidney Greenspan had questioned her when they saw each other in Spain was just one small indication of the circling that would begin. She could not lose the doll now.

Ann came to her feet. She did a few shoulder shrugs to try to work out some of the stiffness. “What time's our flight?” she asked.

“Ten o'clock. That means we have to be ready to go at 7:30. We have one hour.”

“I need to go home and pack. I'll check my BlackBerry on the way to the airport to see if Chow's responded.”

“He's pissing me off,” Jonathan snapped. “He's supposed to work for us, right?”

“Presumably.” She was wracking her brain to come up with an explanation.

“Damn it, will you stop that?” Jonathan said with emphasis. “You're making
me
hurt.”

“What?” She looked at him blankly.

“This.” He imitated the way she had been rolling her shoulders. “Turn around.”

Ann obeyed without thinking. His hands came down on her shoulders. She jumped forward and pivoted. “Don't.”

“You prefer pain?”

“Actually, I'm numb.” Something in his eyes made her understand this went beyond a simple shoulder massage.

“Let's go,” she said. She grabbed her briefcase and started out of the office. “Do you want to call your mother on the way?” They'd given Felicia no details of the mess they were in, hoping for an easy fix. But the woman was too astute, she'd realize they were holding something back. For the time being, she was completely preoccupied with Patrick's problems. Sooner or later she would turn her considerable mental resources to the issue of the doll.

Jonathan hesitated, then shook his head. “Not quite yet.”

When they got outside, the sky was starting to brighten, with the rising sun and the light actually hurting Ann's eyes. They got into separate cabs and sped off, agreeing to meet an hour later. Their game plan for Hong Kong was to find Chow, as well as Charles Ling of Mae Sing Creations, the inventor of Baby Talk N Glow. His was the only name—other than Chow's—that Ann could remember from the contract she had signed. Her desperate hope was that, if nothing else, Ling would be able to confirm that he was in the loop when it came to the negotiations that had taken place.

As for Jonathan, his cab ride home found him thinking about Koji Sashika. He could not find it in his heart to doubt a man whom he had known since he was a boy—one who had spent countless hours with him, bringing him treats and gifts from Japan. This was another piece of the complicated puzzle which was driving Jonathan to get some answers. Regardless of what they ultimately discovered, he could guarantee that Koji was blameless.

By seven o'clock Jonathan was through packing and knew he could no longer delay. He had to call his mother. When Cal Everham answered the phone, he was so spinelessly glad, he was ashamed of himself.

“How is she?” he asked the doctor.

“Sleeping. Holding up. This whole situation with Patrick has galvanized her. But personally, I've known her too long and too well. I understand that she hides her weaknesses by pushing herself beyond endurance.”

Jonathan frowned when he heard Cal's words. Ann was exactly like his mother. Two peas in a pod. “Well … at least you convinced her to rest.”

“I slipped a little something into her wine.”

He laughed. “You'll see her as often as possible until we return?”

“Of course. Jonathan, try to make quick work of this. She's being inundated with calls. I'm trying to intercept them, and Sidney Greenspan is going to come by tomorrow to do phone duty while I go to my office. He's just back from China himself, as I understand it.”

For all his foibles, Greenspan was a good friend, Jonathan thought. “He ought to keep Felicia on her toes.”

He disconnected and made one more call, this one to Frank Ketch's home number. “How is Patrick doing?” he asked when the man came on the line.

“All tucked away. And very unhappy about it, I must say. Let's hope this helps our case.”

Jonathan hung up the phone and checked on the time; he was cutting it close. In the cab on the way to Ann's apartment, he faced the fact that they were off on another trip. The stakes were higher and the outcome even more unknown. He should only be focusing on the challenge ahead. Yet he found himself picturing Ann, the two of them in a heated embrace that would lead to bed.

He and Ann had a rocky history. It defied logic that he should be contemplating such a scene with her. Although he finally had to admit that he wanted her. No,
more
than wanted her. It was a craving that had squirmed its way into his psyche and taken hold. He was sure he had seen desire in Ann's eyes, too. But Jonathan was also aware of how conflicted she felt. Even if he could assuage her fears, where would that lead them? They would both have to know where they were headed before they began that journey.

When the taxi arrived at her building, she was lingering under the entrance awning with her suitcase. For the second or third time, seeing her there, waiting for him, took his breath away. It was with great anticipation, and some apprehension, that he realized they would be confined again. Another plane, another hotel. The two of them. Together.

T
he Cathay Pacific flight was practically full in Business Class. Ann expected a fairly comfortable ride on this new Airbus. It was equipped with seats that fully reclined and there were to be no stops in either Los Angeles or Anchorage to delay their arrival. Despite the usual head winds, they would be sixteen hours in the air instead of twenty-one. Finally, a technological improvement in flying that she could appreciate.

Not that this fact lowered her anxiety level. She swallowed a few antacid pills and lowered her window shade. She would not be at ease until they arrived in Hong Kong.

“Hey,” Jonathan complained. “I can't see.”

“Better that way,” she retorted.

The staff of Cathay was more accommodating than most and there was no shortage of food or alcohol. Sleep, however, was difficult for them both, even with the newly configured seats. A quarter of the way through the flight, Jonathan picked up the conversation by asking how many times she had flown to Asia.

Ann had to think for a moment. “This is number twenty, I think.” She started counting on her fingers. “Yes, twenty.”

“So you like going there?”

“Me? I hate it.”

“Then why go so many times?”

She sighed, remembering that she was dealing with a novice. “There are two sides to our business, Jonathan. The domestic side, where we ship out of our own warehouse, and the F.O.B. side, where we act as the sales agent and sell goods directly from Eastern Asia—mainly China—to the retail accounts.”

“I still don't see why you have to go there so often.”

“Neither do I.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look—let me make this as simple as possible. Ever since television advertising began, margin has taken on more importance for our industry. Sales increased dramatically while profits diminished to dangerous levels. The North American toy buyer, especially, began to search for creative ways to guide him back to a healthier bottom line. Barbie, for instance, might cost nine dollars, yet retail for nine ninety-nine. Not a positive trend. Not if the buyer wants to keep his job. So what we end up with is the constant search for
mix
, that magical combination of advertised toys that are sold close to cost, with basic goods, many classified as parallel developed products, which is a fancier name for knock-offs. These
copies
retail for close to the original toys but bring in profit margins of fifty percent or better.
Capisce
?”

“No.” Jonathan's frustration began to show. “You're still not telling me why you have to be there.”

She shrugged. “Simply stated, our competitors go, so we have to do the same. Years ago, when market conditions were different, buyers were able to search out unique product that was exclusive only to them. Today, for the most part, what one buyer finds, the others find as well. There is no longer a practical need for anyone to go to Hong Kong. Having the goods manufactured in China should not necessitate visits to Chinese showrooms. Samples can be flown to the States and shown to buyers there.”

“I get your drift. One retailer goes so the others follow. And we at the supplier end must cater to their needs. But isn't it expensive?”

“Very. Millions upon millions of dollars spent. And most of it wasted. A vast sum of money that shows up in the cost of goods sold, ultimately paid for by the consumer.”

Jonathan sighed and shook his head.

They were both silent after that. Ann closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Jonathan turned to a novel he was reading.

Three-quarters of the way through the flight, Ann became restless again. This was the worst part. So near and yet so far. The air was thick. She stood in the aisle and stretched. She went to the bathroom. It was inhumane, she decided, to ask anyone to take a flight this long. Inhumane and stupid.

When she got back to her seat, Jonathan opened his eyes and she talked him into a few games of Rummy. Another meal was offered, but they both declined. Ann slept and Jonathan fiddled with the personal video system. Then they reversed roles.

Finally, their landing approach was announced. It was nearing three o'clock in the afternoon, Hong Kong time. Two o'clock in the morning back in New York.

Ann raised her window shade and peered outside. She smiled at the memory of her first time arriving here, almost fourteen years ago. Nothing could beat the sight of the old airport and its surrounding environs. They had flown across Victoria Harbour, then the Tsimshatsui district at the tip of Kowloon Peninsula, with rows of modern hotels spreading inland from there to the oldest part of the city, and still further into Mainland China. It had been an impossible corridor for any aircraft to traverse—skimming rooftops, it seemed. So close, Ann could see laundry hanging from apartment balconies, people leaning out of windows, as the plane narrowly wended its way between buildings.