The Disciple of Las Vegas (15 page)

Terminal Two at McCarran International was smaller and more relaxed than the main terminal. It was a one-minute walk from her cab to the main level, and once there Ava could position herself at the bottom of an escalator that carried a steady stream of new arrivals.

The Air Canada flight from Vancouver was on time, and at ten minutes after five she saw Martin Littlefeather among the throng, an excited gleam in his eye. She smiled and waved. When he got to her, he hesitated as if trying to decide whether to offer his hand or give her a hug. Before he could do anything, Ava thrust out her hand. “No bag?” she asked.

“I had to check it. Remember, I was packed for four days in Victoria.”

The baggage area was highly efficient, and Martin retrieved his luggage within a few minutes.
They'll do anything to get you to a casino faster
, Ava thought. “What kind of car did you get?” she said.

“I couldn't get a Mercedes, so I thought a Lincoln Continental would meet your size requirement.”

“Perfect.”

It was a short drive to Hooters. Ava told Martin to leave the car with the valet service and then waited in the lobby while he checked in and took his bag to his room. When he came back to the lobby, she saw that he had exchanged his Western plaid shirt for a black tee and a buckskin jacket with elaborate beadwork across the chest and leather fringe down the arms.
He's handsome
, she thought as she took in his soft brown eyes, fine features, high cheekbones, and long, silky black hair.

“Do you like Japanese food?” she asked.

“Never really had it. Cooper Island and Kingston are more meat and potatoes, although Kingston does have more variety.”

“Well, we'll try Japanese,” she said.

They took a cab to Ichiza and were early enough to get a table. When Martin was handed a menu, he looked at Ava and grinned awkwardly. “You'll have to do this,” he said.

“Garlic chicken gizzards?”

“You're kidding, right?”

She pointed to it on the menu.

“I can't eat that.”

She laughed. “Don't worry, I'll order food you can recognize. Wine? Beer?”

“Wine is good. Red, preferably.”

Ava ordered everything in one go. Miso soup, seaweed salad, broiled eggplant, seared black cod, and a sashimi platter with yellowfin, snapper, octopus, and shrimp. She ordered the house wine, a California Pinot.

“Is Chief Francis still angry with me?” she asked.

“He isn't angry; you just confuse him.”

“How?”

“He's used to getting his own way and sort of takes that for granted. He's had two meetings with you and both times you got what you wanted. He thinks you manipulated him.”

“What did you say?”

“No more than you were manipulating me.”

“That was an astute comment.”

“He also thinks you have some serious muscle behind you. Is that true?”

“My muscle arrives tonight from Hong Kong. Carlo might weigh 140 pounds, Andy a bit less.”

“What kind of names are those for Chinese?”

Their wine arrived. She watched as the waiter filled two glasses almost to the rims. “Cheers,” she said. They clinked glasses, his eyes trying to catch hers.
Shit
, she thought.

“Anyway, we were talking about Chinese names,” she said. “We're given Chinese names at birth, but when we move into Western society, many of us adopt — or in my case are given — English names. Carlo and Andy chose their own names. Actually, Carlo was Billy for a while and then decided he liked Carlo better.”

“What is your Chinese name?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, Martin, that's my secret.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “You know, Ava, I'm really attracted to you.”

“I know, Martin.” She shook her head.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I'm gay.”

She saw a hint of shock, and then disappointment spread across his face.

“And besides, I'm way too old for you,” she said.

“That's bull.”

She smiled. “Well, maybe a bit too old.”

“The gay thing?”

She picked up his hand, pulled it towards her, and kissed the back of it. “All very true, since the day I felt my first sexual impulse. Never any doubt, never any regrets.”

“God, I feel so clumsy,” he said.

“I think you're sweet,” Ava said, still holding his hand. “And I think you're smart, really smart. You aren't thirty yet and already you're a CFO. Chief Francis listens to you as well, that's obvious. And I don't blame him. You aren't afraid to give advice, and when you do, it's thoughtful and pragmatic.”

He covered her hand with his. “That's because I've told him twice to do what you wanted.”

“See what I mean? Sweet and smart.” She smiled. “Friends?”

“Yeah, friends — I told you that back in Victoria. Even if this Vegas thing hadn't come up, you would have heard from me again.”

The restaurant was full now, people standing at the door and spilling outside. “I hope you like this,” she said as the miso soup and broiled eggplant were served.

—

It was just past eight o'clock when they left the restaurant. “What's the plan?” Martin asked as they went down the stairs to the car.

Ava couldn't help looking around as they walked across the parking lot. “That's up to you. I have to go to the airport to meet my boys.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Sure,” she said as she climbed into the car.

It was no more than a ten-minute drive to McCarran. They parked the car and jostled their way into the terminal.

“You've obviously worked with these people before,” Martin said.

“Once or twice.”

“What is it they do exactly?”

“It depends on what's called for.”

“That's vague.”

“As it should be.”

Carlo and Andy came down the escalator side by side. Carlo was about five foot six and 140 pounds. He had shaved his head since she'd seen him last, and added a wispy moustache that only partly hid the scar running down the right side of his nose to his mouth. Andy was an inch shorter and a good ten pounds lighter. His thick black hair was brushed straight back and gelled into place. To her relief they were both wearing long-sleeved shirts buttoned right up to the neck. She could still see the tip of a dragon's tail on Carlo's neck, but she had to search to find it.

Their eyes scanned the arrivals hall, looking for her. She waved and Andy saw her. He nudged his partner and they both waved back.

“They don't speak English,” she said to Martin. “So I apologize in advance for the fact that we'll be speaking Cantonese.”

They each carried one small bag. Ava knew they always travelled light, getting by with a toilet kit, a couple of shirts, a pair of jeans, and two sets of underwear for a week. When they reached her, they put down their bags and pressed the palms of their hands together in front of their chests, moving them up and down, their heads bent slightly forward. It was a sign of respect, a greeting to a superior. She wondered what Uncle had said to them before they left Hong Kong.

During the entire ride to Hooters, the two men sat in the back of the car talking to each other. “I'd translate,” Ava said to Martin, “but they're just talking rubbish.”

She checked them into the hotel using her Jennie Kwong credit card. They were, as was their custom, sharing a room.

“Drop your bags off and then meet us downstairs in the bar,” she said to them, pointing towards the Dixie Dam Bar. “We have a lot to go over.”

Ava slept badly, waking three or four times during the night, trying to get rid of a dream that clawed its way back into her head every time she shut her eyes.

She and her father were in a massive hotel. They had a flight to catch in an hour, so he sent her to get the luggage from their room while he checked out. She wandered aimlessly from floor to floor, searching for their room, poking her head through open doors to gawk at strangers. Panic began to set in. She gave up looking for the room and went to tell her father, but she couldn't find him. She ran outside to catch a taxi to the airport, where for some reason she assumed her father had gone. When she looked back, the hotel had disappeared.

The last time she forced herself awake, she had been sitting in the cab in the middle of a traffic jam, the airport visible on the horizon, unreachable. She sat up in bed, a cold sweat on her brow. This was a recurring dream. She had lost her father in more places than she could count, but it always unsettled her.

She made herself an instant coffee and sat on the side of the bed. Then she lowered her head and said a small prayer to St. Jude, asking that the day go well and end with her and her boys safe and secure. Prayer usually calmed her, but she still felt edgy. She took a bottle of vitamin B from her kit bag and swallowed two tablets, then sat on the bed again, drawing deep, slow breaths.

They had gone over the plan the night before. Ava had presented it to the men confidently, but deep down she wondered if it would work.
Sometimes
, she thought,
you just have to have faith
.

She went to the desk, turned on her computer, and typed in
david “the disciple” douglas
. Ten minutes later she sat back in the chair, frustrated, unable to find anything of substance to add to the information Maynard and Littlefeather had already given her.

Ava turned her attention to Jeremy Ashton. The investment firm he had worked for in New York was the Whiteburn Group. The name sounded familiar to her, and when she accessed its website, she saw why — it was a major player in many Asian markets. She had been going to call Uncle to tell him the boys had arrived; now she had another reason.

“
Wei
,” Uncle said.

“Carlo and Andy are here and there weren't any problems.”

“Good. And when do you expect to use them?”

“Today.”

“I will not say anything to Chang yet. Let's wait to see how things go.”

“Yes, I think that's best. But in the meantime, Uncle, I could use some help getting information. His name is Jeremy Ashton. He's English and he worked for the Whiteburn Group in New York. I would like to speak to one of his former bosses or colleagues. Whiteburn has a big presence in Asia. We must know someone who's worked with them, someone who can exert enough influence to find me a contact to talk to.”

Uncle paused. “I think I may know someone myself, and if I do not, then Chang might. And if he does not, between us we will find what you need.”

It was her turn to hesitate, a question about Jackie Leung on the tip of her tongue. She left it there. If Uncle had any news he'd tell her. “I'll call after we're done. It could be early in the morning your time.”

Ava turned off her phone and went back to the computer. She reread the data she'd already dug up on Ashton and then googled a name that was linked to his several times: Lily Simmons. Ava was impressed. Simmons seemed to be something of a party girl, but she attended only the best parties. She had gone to the finest schools — Marlborough and then Cambridge — and she had been a champion show jumper, representing Great Britain internationally, including in one Olympics. Now she worked for Smyth's Bank in London, and Ava assumed that's how she and Ashton had met. Her mother was Scottish, the daughter of a peer whose title was hereditary. Her father, Roger Simmons, had been a successful businessman who manufactured generators and then turned to politics. After being elected to the British House of Commons and serving three years as a backbencher, he had been appointed to the Cabinet and was now minister of industrial development. Ava saw that he was still listed as the major shareholder of the generator company. Given that the British political system operated much like Canada's, she assumed his assets were being administered by a blind trust.

She has great pedigree
, Ava thought, and then wondered why Simmons was linked to Ashton. What was the connection? She knew enough about England to know that a man from Sheffield who had attended Leeds University and now ran an online gambling site would hardly be a catch for a woman in her social circle. He'd be strictly downmarket to someone like her.

She drank another coffee and downed two Tylenols. Her hip was feeling better, but the pain in her ribs wouldn't let up. She got up and took a long, hot shower.

When she had dried herself off, Ava put on her bra and panties. Normally for this type of job she would have thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of track pants. Instead she chose her black linen slacks, a white Brooks Brothers shirt, and her black Cole Haan pumps. She dressed slowly, carefully inserting the jade cufflinks, securing her chignon with the ivory pin, slipping her Cartier watch onto her wrist, and finally putting on her gold crucifix pendant. She went to the bathroom and applied black mascara and a light touch of lipstick, and then for good measure a spritz of Annick Goutal perfume. She stood back and looked at herself in the full-length mirror.
I may not feel confident
, she thought,
but I sure as hell look that way.

She made a fresh coffee and then went over to the table where she'd left the gear. She loaded the gun and put it in a paper bag for Carlo. She put the cleaver in a separate paper bag. Two rolls of duct tape and the vial of smelling salts went into her Chanel purse. Then she retrieved her notebook and sat down next to the computer. Taking out copies of the emails she had received from Jack Maynard, Felix Hunter, and Martin, she started going through them, her focus not on entering the house but on what would happen when she was inside.

Ava knew the money wasn't going to be all in one place — this was not going to be a simple one-time transaction. Douglas and Ashton had the holding company and a controlling interest in The River. Undoubtedly each of them also had personal accounts and assets spread out over various locations. One way or another she had to get at both of them, and she also needed time to execute multiple transactions.

She glanced at her cellphone and saw that she had missed calls; her phone must have rung while she was in the shower. There was a message from her mother telling her about the planned cruise, which she implied had been her idea.
That didn't take long
, Ava thought. Uncle had called to say he had found a contact at Whiteburn and to expect a call. Maggie Chew had left a message saying that her father was out of intensive care but the doctors were worried about his will to get better. Ava deleted the messages and had turned back to her paperwork when the phone rang.

“Ms. Ava Lee?”

“That's me.”

“My name is Jeff Galley.”

“I'm sorry, I don't know you.”

“I was told to call you by Harold Knox.”

“And I don't know anyone named Harold Knox.”

“Mr. Knox is chairman of the Whiteburn Group.”

“Oh, yes,” Ava said. “I'm sorry about the confusion.”

“Evidently Mr. Knox was speaking with a friend of his in China, who requested that someone from Whiteburn call you to chat about Jeremy Ashton.”

“And that's you?”

“It is.”

“Good. So tell me, how do you know him?”

“I worked with him for three years, side by side.”

“What kind of work?”

“We were on the investment side, mainly doing analysis — real drone work.”

“You've moved on since then, I imagine.”

“I'm a senior manager. I handle the energy sector.”

“You're American?”

“A New Yorker.”

“Jeff, let's talk about Jeremy Ashton. I need to understand him — professionally, personally, it makes no difference.”

There was a long pause. “Personally?”

“I'm assuming that Mr. Knox told you to be candid.”

“I didn't actually speak to Mr. Knox. George Hall called me — he's my boss. Mr. Knox called him. George didn't say anything about personal. I thought this was more of a professional reference kind of thing.”

“So do I need to call my friend in China, so he can call Mr. Knox, so Mr. Knox can call Mr. Hall, and Mr. Hall can call you back to tell you to give me what I want?”

“No, you've made your point.”

“Good, and thank you. Now, what was Ashton like to work with?”

“Well, you never really worked
with
Jeremy. He was on a little island, looking after himself. When it came to the job, he was a loner, a one-man band.”

“Selfish, self-centred?”

“Yeah.”

“Secretive?”

“Absolutely.”

“Give me an example.”

“The job he ended up with is almost perfect for Jeremy. The guys behind that gaming site came to Whiteburn looking for funding. The first and only guy they talked to was him. He was still kind of junior but he was the first point of contact, and he saw an opportunity to get into something from the ground floor and leapt at it. The only reason we found out they had approached Whiteburn at all was because the IT staff cleaned up his computer after he left. There was a long email trail.”

“A conflict of interest, surely.”

“Yeah, but so what? In our business that's called taking the initiative. No one cared. Besides, it was a fairly small placement.”

“Did he make many friends at Whiteburn?”

Galley snorted. “Hardly. Jeremy thought he was too good for us and he didn't hesitate to let us know. I mean, he had the Oxford education, the fiancée connected to royalty, the big-shot future father-in-law. He was always harping on about how bush-league Whiteburn was. He came from Smyth's Bank in London, and his girlfriend was still working there. Smyth's is, I admit, the penthouse of investment banking but, I mean, we're hardly the fucking basement.”

“He said he went to Oxford?” Ava said, looking at her notes that said otherwise.

“Every day.”

“And he's engaged to Lily Simmons?”

“He wouldn't shut up about her.”

“Mr. Galley, if Ashton was so secretive, tell me, why did he tell you about his fiancée?”

“That was one of the things that was weird about him. As secretive as he was about business, when it came to personal shit he was like the
National Enquirer
.”

“Like how?”

“The fiancée.”

“What do you mean?”

“He talked about her all the time, about how kinky and what a wack job she was.”

“Define kinky.”

Galley paused. “You sure you want to hear this?”

“I'm a big girl.”

He laughed nervously. It always surprised Ava how uncomfortable Americans were talking about sex. “She lives in London, he's in New York. He went there once a month for a weekend and she came here once a month. On any Monday after a visit, Jeremy used to drag his ass into the office saying he could hardly walk.”

“Go on,” Ava said.

“He'd say they hardly left the bedroom for the entire weekend. She was like a fucking rabbit. As many times as he could get it up, she could take it. And when he couldn't get it up, she'd find other ways to get off.”

“Like how?”

“Ms. Lee, really —”

“It's okay. Tell me.”

“She evidently liked being tied up. She liked being spanked. He said she'd play with herself while he was spanking her, and it would always end up giving him a boner. Then she'd suck him to death.”

“Did you ever meet her?”

“Once.”

“And?”

“She was absolutely crazy about him and kept telling me how fantastic he was and how lucky she was to have him . . . It was a bit bizarre, to tell you the truth. I mean, Jeremy was listening to her go on about him with this big, stupid grin on his face. He was high on something, and she was too, I think.”

“High on what?”

“I have no idea. I'm not into pharmaceuticals.”

“But, high or not, she was obviously strongly attached to him?”

“Given how ugly she is, it's hard to blame her for being grateful.”

“What does she look like?”

“Tall, skinny, frizzy red hair, long, pointy face. No tits and no ass to speak of. She's no beauty, that's for sure.”

“What did Ashton think about her looks?”

“He used to joke about them, but he said anyone who could fuck like that had to be forgiven.”

“Charming.”

“That was Jeremy.”

“You said that was one of the things you found strange about him. What else?”

“Like I said, I'm not into pharmaceuticals and I'm not a doctor, but I think he was manic-depressive.”

“What made you think that?”

“Well, the normal Jeremy was very contained, a bit slow to react. Not stupid or anything, just deliberate, thoughtful, careful. Then once in a while this other Jeremy would appear in the office. He'd be jumpy, his eyes were off-centre, and he'd talk fast and get angry fast. One of the assistants said he must have gone off his meds. I asked her what she meant, and she said her brother was manic-depressive and that Jeremy had all the classic symptoms.”

Ava paused to review her notes.

Galley said, “You still there?”

“I'm here . . . Tell me, where did the money come from to fund The River? Did Ashton have it?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“So from where?”

“I think the fiancée talked Smyth's into putting up some of it. The rest, I heard, came from her family.”