THE KING OF MACAU (The Jack Shepherd International Crime Novels) (6 page)

“That’s not the point.”

“Okay, then try this on for a pretty good point. This isn’t triad money. The triads are a big deal here, but not that big a deal. A hundred million dollars is out of their league.”

I was so surprised at that I stopped walking and glanced back at the street sign that said
Avenida Doutor Stanley Ho.
I half expected to see it smirking down at me.

“Are you telling me, Pete, that you already know where the money’s coming from?”

Pete didn’t say anything. He had continued walking when I stopped and by now he was half lost in the fog. I didn’t know if he was ignoring me or he hadn’t heard my question, so I caught up with him and repeated it.

“Are you telling me you already know where the money’s coming from?”

“No. But I know it’s not the triads.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know, okay? Don’t piss me off here.”

Pete looked over and gave me a smile that had absolutely no humor in it.

“Look, Jack, you understand more about shit like this than anybody I’ve ever known. My job was to open the door for you. I’ve done that, and now I’ve had to come all the way up here and starve my ass off to get you to walk through the fucking thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Who do you think tipped Pansy to the spike in money passing over the MGM tables?”

“It sounded to me like they had figured it out for themselves.”

Pete gave me a long stare.

“Okay,” I said when I saw Pete’s face, “but why would the FBI have to tip MGM off about money hitting their casino? They must have some pretty sophisticated cash management systems in place. They would have picked it up before anyone else.”

“They would have if all the money was flowing thorough MGM, but it isn’t. To them, it would only look like they were having a few better months than usual. Which is what any business always expects to have, so they don’t try too hard to explain it.”

“You’re saying this mysterious bubble of money is turning up at more than one casino?”

“It’s spread pretty evenly across at least four casinos.”

“So why only tip Pansy? Why not tip everybody?”

“Because Pansy is the most vulnerable. She scares easiest because the slightest hint of a triad connection to her would blow her personally right out of the water. I figured she might even be scared enough to hire somebody from outside to track down the source of the funds. So I floated your name and lied my ass off about how smart and reliable you are.”

“I’m sure you did a hell of a sales job.”

“Well…to tell you the absolute truth, it turned out to be easier than I thought. She’d already heard of you. Said you had a great reputation as a troubleshooter. She had to be thinking of somebody else, obviously, but I saw no point in correcting her.”

Pansy Ho had heard of me? Said I had a great reputation as a troubleshooter? Even I was pretty impressed by that, but to Pete I only nodded matter-of-factly.
Of course Pansy had heard of me,
I wanted my expression to say.
How could she not have?

“And you went through all of that…why? To save the FBI having to pay me?”

“Don’t be stupid. I did it for the cover. You think I’d want everybody to know you’ve been hired by the US government to track down the source of a flood of money through Macau? Why would the FBI need some half-assed lawyer hiding out in Hong Kong for something like that?”

“But you do.”

“Well…ah, yeah. We do.”

“I’m flattered, Peter, but—”

“Look, man. Think about it. It’s beautiful. All Pansy knows is that I tipped her about millions of dollars being laundered through MGM every month, so she hires you to get to the bottom of it. That gives you inside access to MGM so you can shut off the dirty money before anyone finds out about it. What she doesn’t know is that some other casinos have exactly the same problem. If she thought her competitors were involved, too, she would never give you the kind of access you’re going to get. Beautiful, huh? Fucking beautiful.”

Oh, yeah, beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

PETE DIDN’T SPEAK AGAIN
until we were almost directly in front of Government House.

“Then today,” he said, “Pansy calls and tells me you’ve refused to take the goddamned job. You know what she asked me? She wanted to know if I could recommend anyone else.”

“And could you?”

“That’s not the point.”

“In other words, you couldn’t.”

“I got on an airplane, came straight to Macau, got a couple of our local lads to track you down, and here I am starving my ass off and begging you to take the goddamned job. Does that answer your question?”

“I’m flattered, Pete.”

“You sure as shit ought to be. Look, Jack, I know you’re the best at this kind of thing so I need you. You happy now? Want me to say it again? You’re the best! I need you! How’s that?”

“My God, Pete, you must really need me if you’re willing to debase yourself like that.”

“Tell me you’ll take the goddamned job and I’ll figure it was worth it.”

I stood looking at the front of Government House, a two-story Mediterranean structure the color of over-ripe raspberries. With its white shutters and white balustrades, it looked like a very large cake of some very peculiar flavor.

“Let me make absolutely certain I understand what you’re saying here, Pete. You want me to let Pansy pay me to track down the source of this mystery money and tell the FBI where it’s coming from. Is that right?”

Pete nodded.

“You don’t think it would be unethical of me to give you information my client had paid for?”

Pete turned his head and gave me such a look of total amazement that I laughed right out loud.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, “if it bothers you so much, think about it this way. You’re an American citizen. If you happen on evidence of a crime under American law, you are ethically bound to report it to the appropriate American law enforcement authorities.” Pete tapped himself in the chest with his forefinger. “That would be me.”

“And would I happen on evidence of a crime under American law by looking into this money laundering at the MGM Macau?”

Pete pursed his lips and made a thinking face. “It’s…possible.”

THE SIMPLE TRUTH OF
it was that Macau held an undeniable appeal for me. I had always been attracted to weirdness, and Macau is a free fire zone of weirdness. In a world floundering through the swamps of correctness, regulation, and regimentation, Macau is an outlaw. How can you not love that?

Macau for a couple of weeks? Working for a beautiful billionairess? Picking up some big money and being given license to dig into the financial records of one of the biggest casinos in the world?

“You promise me, Pete, this isn’t triad money?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

I just looked at him.

“Okay, Jack, I take your point, I do. But I’m not lying now. It is not fucking triad money.”

“How do you know?”

“I…know. You have my word on it.”

“What is it you’re not telling me, Pete?”

“For Christ’s sake, Jack, there’s a ton of shit I’m not telling you. I’m not completely stupid.”

“But you’re telling me the truth about the money?”

“Yes.”

“Not triad?”

“Not triad. Scout’s honor.”

I PRETENDED TO PONDER
for a little longer, but that was mostly for show. I couldn’t have Pete thinking I was a pushover, could I?

Later, when I looked back and asked myself how I had gotten into all this, I could take no comfort in ambiguity. I couldn’t explain it away as coincidence or bad luck. I couldn’t say it was all unforeseen or, even better, someone else’s fault. It had happened right at that moment, and I had done it to myself. Everything that came afterward began when I agreed to do what Pete was asking me to do. Everything started the very second I spoke the words that Pete had flown all the way from Bangkok to hear.

“Okay, Pete,” I said, “I’ll take the goddamned job.”

In spite of my misgivings, I have to admit I felt a slight buzz of anticipation the moment I caved in. There was stuff to figure out, secrets to learn, shit to fix. Perhaps even a few tacos with a good-looking billionairess thrown into the deal.

This,
I told myself,
just
might work out okay after all.

THE NEXT MORNING AFTER
breakfast I called Gerald Brady to tell him I would take the job. Brady wasn’t in, so I left a message that we needed to talk about the specific terms of MGM’s proposal. After that I went into the bathroom to shower and dress and, of course, the goddamned phone rang the moment I finished soaping up. I leaned out of the shower and grabbed the receiver of an extension helpfully mounted on a wall within reach.

“What?” I snapped.

There was a brief silence. Then: “Professor Shepherd?”

The voice was female, deferential, and slightly tentative. The woman sounded so nice that I immediately felt like a jerk for the way I had answered the telephone.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but I’m in the shower.”

The woman’s tone may have initially been deferential, but she didn’t acknowledge my apology and it didn’t appear to bother her all that much that she had called when I was in the shower because she didn’t acknowledge that either.

“Please hold for Ms. Ho,” she intoned crisply, and there was a click.

I stood there, half in the shower and half out, dripping on the bathroom floor and listening to hold music that sounded like an accordion band playing the greatest hits of Barry Manilow. Where did telephone manufacturers get this stuff?

“Good morning, Jack.”

Pansy Ho’s voice cut off my cascade of internal rants before I could get too worked up.

“I hope I haven’t called at an inconvenient time,” she said.

“No, not at all. I just finished breakfast.”

I’m such a pussy when it comes to good-looking women I even embarrass myself sometimes. I wonder if I would have responded the same way if Pansy Ho were short, fat, ugly, and poor. Actually I know the answer to that, and it isn’t pretty.

“I understand you’ve decided to help us, Jack. I wanted to tell you how very pleased I am. Very pleased.”

“It sounds like word travels fast around here. I haven’t even talked to Brady. I only left a message.”

“It’s a small town and, to be completely honest, Gerald’s office was told to notify me immediately if they heard from you. I hadn’t given up. I was still hoping something might make you change your mind.”

For a split second, I thought Pansy was about to ask me what it was that had changed my mind, and I didn’t have a clue what I was going to tell her. But she didn’t ask.

“I’m looking forward to having you around, Jack.”

I was getting a creepy feeling I was being manipulated, but I wasn’t completely sure to what end. If it was Pansy using her feminine wiles to get me to take the job…well, maybe that wasn’t too bad. Yeah, okay, I am a pussy. I admit it. All right?

“Why don’t you come down to my office right now and we’ll get everything worked out?”

“I had assumed I was going to be working with Gerald.”

“Oh…”

Pansy trailed off for a moment, which gave me the opportunity to kick myself. Hard.

“…that’s okay, too, if you would rather.”

I was being manipulated. Now I was sure of it. But I didn’t actually mind all that much.

“I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” I said.

WORKING OUT MY DEAL
with Pansy was painless. She asked me what my billing rate was. I told her I billed a thousand United States dollars an hour plus expenses, and if I had to bring in any people to help me their fees would be on top of that. She said fine. I was a hell of a negotiator, wasn’t I?

To be honest, quoting a rate like that always embarrasses me a little. I understand people aren’t actually buying my time. They’re buying my knowledge and my experience. I also realize the amount of money usually at stake when people ask for my advice makes my charges seem like a rounding error. Still, it feels pretty ridiculous to me, really, that anybody’s advice can possibly be worth a thousand dollars an hour. I can’t imagine what my father would say if he were still alive and found out his son was charging clients that kind of money for, mostly, talking. He would no doubt see it as an out and out scam. Sometimes even I thought it was.

“I’ll fill Gerald in on our arrangement, Jack. How soon will you be available?”

“I’m available now. I can devote at least the next few days exclusively to you.”

I thought that had a nicely ambiguous ring to it, and I liked it that Pansy smiled after I said it.

“I may need to go back to Hong Kong for a bit next week,” I added, “but we ought to have made a good start by that time. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even have your problem solved.”

“In a few days?”

I spread my hands. “Hey, everybody tells you I’m good, don’t they?”

“What do you need to get started?” Pansy laughed. “Some office space?”

“That’s not necessary. I can work in the suite. But I want to start by studying the daily casino cash management and currency inventory reports. Can you get them for me going back…say, ninety days?”

“I’ll have them delivered to your suite by the end of today.”

A few minutes of pleasant conversation followed after that, and Pansy and I both nodded politely through all the detailed talk of casino operations and cash flows. Each of us was trying to hit the socially acceptable level of flirtation without stumbling into wretched excess. That’s not nearly as easy as it sounds.

Pansy was walking me to the door when my telephone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It said HENRI’S RESTAURANT, which was when I remembered that I had agreed to talk to Raymond’s friend with the immigration problem. Raymond was calling to set up the meeting.

How do I get myself into these things?

AFTER I LEFT PANSY’S
office, I found a quiet spot beyond the elevators and called Raymond back.

“This is Henri’s, the best loved restaurant in Macau.”