FBI: Drawn In Blood Part 27

"Hey." Jeff recognized Derek's cell phone number. "What's up?"

"A lot. Most of which I'm still putting together. But get this. Ben Martino is hiring his workers from the Sih Fu Employment Agency."

Jeff whistled. "There's your tie to Xiao. Rent-an-illegal."

"More like rent an illegal today, get squeezed and threatened tomorrow."

"Threatened with what-violence? Bringing down the business?"

"Or something bigger. I'm on my way to Johnson's gallery. I'm sure he's expecting me, since Martino probably called him the minute I walked out the door. Could you do a little digging for me?"

"Not a problem. I'll find out how long Martino and Xiao have been doing business, and how the relations.h.i.+p got started. Also if Johnson is part of the equation. And speaking of digging, Rich and I have both talked to our contacts at the Hong Kong police. There's no record of a suicide involving a woman in her early to mid-twenties matching Meili's description-not as Meili Somebody or Jane Doe."

"So someone's covering it up."

"That's our take. We're pus.h.i.+ng to find out who. I'm also putting some of our informants out on the streets to see if Xiao Long's name is linked to a girl named Meili. He's been running his gang here since the mid-nineties, slowly growing his empire. Now we're pretty sure it's triad-funded. In which case, he'd be tight enough with the right people to find out if the Rothberg he'd killed for had been ripped off and sold to Henry Fong."

"Or resold to Fong," Derek amended. "If the Fong Triad is the one Xiao's working with, this Meili could have gone to Zhang because she knew Fong would want his stolen painting back. But you're right. We've got to follow up on this Meili lead. She's our tie to the Rothberg, and to whomever Xiao gave it to."

"And whoever that is is now funding Xiao and the Black Eagles."

"Right." Derek glanced up as a group of pedestrians crossed the street. "I gotta go. Let me know what you dig up on Martino and Xiao's employment agency. I'll see what I can find out from Johnson. I know this case seems like a giant can of worms. But my gut still tells me it's all part of one big puzzle. We've just got to get our hands on the right pieces, and then figure out how they fit together."

Derek was right about Ben grabbing his cell phone the instant Derek left.

But he was wrong about who Ben called.

His first call was to Xiao Long. He had to warn him that the FBI was piecing things together, or Xiao would send that big ape Jin Huang over to break his legs. Or worse-do it himself. Jin Huang was a hefty, menacing guy. But Xiao called the shots. And he had an icy coldness about him that was eerily terrifying. It was as if the man had no soul.

Ben wasn't pus.h.i.+ng him any more than he had to. Besides, he'd find out about Derek Parker's visit anyway; Xiao Long had eyes everywhere. Better the news should come directly from him.

Xiao wasn't happy. But he wasn't surprised either. In broken English, he told Ben to go on as usual, keep his mouth shut, and leave the rest to him.

Ben didn't even want to know what that meant.

His second call was to Phil. He'd never wanted to make this call, but the time had come. His choices were nil. And he was just drunk enough to get it all out before he changed his mind.

Almost all of it.

"Phil, I need your help," he began, the minute his friend answered.

"You're drunk," Phil replied.

"And getting drunker by the minute. Listen to me. You're the numbers genius. I don't know where else to turn. I'm being squeezed, and I can't get out of it."

Phil gave an ironic laugh.

Ben didn't even hear it. "I've been getting my workers from the same Asian employment agency for years. A couple of years ago it was taken over by another company. Their prices were great, so I stuck with them. Then I found out why they were so cheap. Without my knowing it, they'd been sending me illegals. When I tried to break off the relations.h.i.+p, they tripled their prices and threatened to tip off the cops if I opened my mouth. They've been upping the prices ever since. I've sold off everything I can. I'm about to go bankrupt."

"You've got company. I'm in a major financial hole. So if you're looking for a loan, there's no way..."

"I don't want a loan. I want a solution. Because it gets worse. Sloane's boyfriend just left the factory. Besides mentioning my DWI and asking questions about Wallace and me not being there when you sold the Rothberg, he spotted the agency's business cards on my desk. He must know they're dirty. So I'm going bankrupt for nothing. I'll end up in jail or dead on the street anyway."

"Did he actually say he saw the business cards or knew the agency is crooked? Or are you just overreacting because you're wasted?"

"I don't know...I don't know." Ben dropped his head to his hands. "But I'm not kidding about being dead on the street. If Parker keeps poking around, the crooked b.a.s.t.a.r.ds I'm dealing with are going to kill me. Without batting an eye, they'll cut me into little pieces, toss me in a Dumpster, and go out for noodles."

"Slow down, Ben. Get a grip. And let me think." A long, drawn-out pause. "Actually, I might have an idea."

"What?"

"Give me a little time to work this through. I'll call you back in a couple hours. I might just have the answer to both our problems. Now go drink some coffee and sober up."

Ben flipped his phone shut. He should be relieved. And on some level, he was. But the answer to all his problems? Not a prayer. There were some things that could never be fixed.

He didn't need coffee. He needed absolution.

Derek left Johnson's gallery an hour later. The man was smooth. Derek might have learned nothing if Jeff hadn't called right after the meeting, as Derek was wolfing down two hot dogs. But now he had two solid links.

It wasn't the whole picture.

But it was enough to convince him that it was time Sloane knew what he was up to.

Sloane let herself into the cottage, automatically squatting down to greet the hounds as they came tearing around the corner, leaping and yipping with pleasure. It had been a fine evening for them.

Derek had come home early and romped with them in the den for a good half hour before taking them out for a jog. Now, Sloane was home, also earlier than usual, which meant another round of attention. Life was good.

"Hey, you." Derek walked out of the bedroom, wearing only a pair of jeans, a towel wrapped around his neck. His hair was still damp from the shower he'd taken. He leaned down and kissed Sloane h.e.l.lo, holding her for just a minute before letting go.

"Okay, that shoots my first theory to h.e.l.l," Sloane commented. "When you called and asked me to come home early, I was half expecting a candlelight dinner, or at least another lovemaking tour of the house. But that kiss and the look on your face tell me it's neither."

A rueful smile. "I only wish." He gestured toward the living room. "We need to talk."

Sloane followed him, a wary expression on her face. "I don't like the sound of that."

"You're going to like it even less once I'm finished," Derek replied as they sank down on the sofa.

"Just hear me out, think objectively like the professional you are, and leave our feelings for each other out of it."

"In other words, you did something to protect me, and never said a word."

"Sort of, yes. But it wasn't only about protecting you. It was about working this case and getting answers to the anomalies that have been bugging me."

Sloane eyed him shrewdly. "Those anomalies don't happen to be my father's partners, do they? Because I thought we'd put to rest any involvement on their part once Anna came forward with her information."

"You did. I didn't. There were too many questions still unanswered."

"And now you've answered them?"

"In part. Enough so that I felt it was time to come to you and fill you in. It's still very much a work in progress."

Sloane folded her hands in her lap. "Is Rich in on your theory? Is that the reason he questioned my father and each of his partners again? Because I was told those interviews pertained to any knowledge they might have of the Fong Triad."

"It was. I just asked Rich to throw in a few extra questions, mentioning Xiao Long's name and an implication of his involvement in this case-just to gauge their reactions."

"And?"

"And both Johnson and Martino reacted. Odd, considering they weren't in Hong Kong when their partners sold the Rothberg and Cai Wen was killed. When Rich told them the name of the killer, they were visibly taken aback. The name Xiao Long struck a chord. So I paid each of them a visit today."

Sloane listened silently as Derek relayed his entire conversation with Ben to her. He omitted nothing, including Ben's drunken state, his defensiveness about his relations.h.i.+p with Wallace, and his agitated reaction to Derek's reference to hiring illegal workers. Derek concluded with the business cards, the fact that Xiao Long owned the employment agency, and the probability that he was squeezing Ben.

Then came Wallace, who, during his interview with Derek, claimed that he was appalled by the whole idea of his art partners.h.i.+p inadvertently dealing with organized crime, and who'd fervently said he wished he'd been in Hong Kong during the Rothberg transaction, since he was the one most likely to smell a rat.

Afterward, Jeff's phone call revealed the interesting fact that both the computer systems at Wallace's galleries were serviced by none other than Eric Hu's company. Further, Hu had been referred to Wallace by an art appraiser who-surprise, surprise-worked for Xiao Long.

Sloane was quiet when Derek finished, her gaze lowered as she fidgeted with her hands.

"Sloane?" Derek prompted.

"I wish I could say I'm shocked," she surprised him by saying. "But I'm not. It occurred to me more than once that Xiao Long was holding something over my father's friends. When Anna came forward and exonerated them from aiding Xiao in the break-in, I was so relieved. I a.s.sumed my suspicions had been wrong. I wanted them to be wrong. But I couldn't stop thinking about the night of the poker game. Ben was such a wreck. I could tell he'd started drinking again. And Wallace..."

Sloane swallowed. "He was in physical pain. Stiff. Wincing. Sweating. He claimed he was getting the flu. He looked like he'd been in a brawl-and lost." Another pause. "Answer me honestly-do you think it's more than Ben and Wallace who are involved?"

"It's possible." Derek went on to tell Sloane about walking in and finding Leo shoving papers back in her FBI file last week. "That's not necessarily a sign of personal guilt," he qualified. "Maybe he was looking for something that would protect his friends. As for Phil, he's a gambling addict. I don't know how far he'd go to support his habit."

"Including fraternizing with organized crime," Sloane said tonelessly. Her chin came up, and she met Derek's gaze head-on. "What about my father?"

"Rich and I see no sign that he's done anything illegal. I can't speak to what he knows, only what he's done."

Sloane nodded. "I understand why you kept this from me until now. I've been in denial. But no more. I want to know how Xiao Long inserted himself into each of their lives, and why."

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Phil had thought through everything long and hard.

His plan was a winner. It would get Ben out from behind the eight ball, force the employment agency to stop squeezing him, and rattle them enough to accept Phil's proposal and pay his fifty-thousand-dollar consulting fee.

It wouldn't cover his entire debt, only a third. But that was just the beginning. Having found the right Achilles' heel, he'd capitalize on it, expand the creative services he provided. And that would mean subsequent payments.

In the meantime, fifty thousand dollars would be a healthy first installment-enough to keep Ardian Sava, his b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a bookie, from giving the go-ahead to break a few of his body parts.

Phil glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty p.m. Too late for even Ben to still be at work.

He called him at home.

Ben answered on the first ring, dropped the receiver twice, then put it to his ear. "h.e.l.lo?" he mum-bled.

"It's me," Phil said, wis.h.i.+ng Ben's garbled tone meant he'd been sleeping, not drinking. But no such luck.

"Phil-finally. I've been waiting for you to-"

"Here's what I want you to do," Phil interrupted. "Go stand in the shower under a cold spray of water until you sober up. Then call that new owner of the employment agency who's bleeding you dry, and broker a meeting between him and us."

"Us?" Ben might be drunk, but he wasn't unconscious. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Silence. Whether it was because Ben had a legitimate basis for his objection, or he was trying to clear his mind, Phil wasn't sure.

"Why can't you do that?" he pressed.

"Because..." Another pause. "What do you want me to say-that my accountant wants to have a nice chat with him about bringing down his prices so I don't go bankrupt, and so he holds off sending over a thug to bash my head in?"

"Just tell him I'm your partner, that I handle the company's finances, and that I have a winning business proposition for him that'll settle your debts and benefit his agency."

"Phil, this isn't a guy you want to screw over."

"I'm not s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him over. I'm proposing a deal. He'll either take it or leave it. But I have a feeling he'll take it. The fact that he keeps raising your prices tells me so. He needs the cash. And he's a shrewd operator who'll look out for his own best interests. We'll use both to our advantage."

"His English sucks."

"He'll understand the universal language: money." Phil talked over Ben's continued objections.

"Just trust me and do it. Tell him he can pick the time and place-so long as it's private. Let me know the details once he decides them."

"It isn't that simple."

"Actually, it is."

"Phil, he doesn't need the cash. He wants the cash."

"Fine. So he's not hurting, he's greedy. That works, too. I'll offer him a strong incentive-a couple of them, in fact. Now go take that shower. And don't come out until your mind is crystal clear. Then make the call."

Ben stared at the receiver long after the dial tone signaled that Phil had hung up.

He should have told him. He'd tried to, several times. But Phil had cut him off.

Who was he kidding? If he'd wanted to tell his friend, he would have found a way. But Phil had seemed so d.a.m.ned confident that he could make his plan work.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut. He was a f.u.c.king coward. Phil deserved to know that the mob leader he was asking to negotiate with was the same one who'd killed Cai Wen and stolen the Rothberg. Ben hadn't been in Hong Kong that day. But Phil had. He might have gotten a good look at Xiao Long.