The Disciple of Las Vegas (22 page)

Ava got out of the shower and gently towelled off her damp body, which was still healing from the altercation in Las Vegas. She put on a clean black Giordano T-shirt and her Adidas track pants, then thought about dinner. The hotel was surrounded by restaurants, none of which she knew anything about. She called the concierge and asked for the best Italian restaurant in the area. He recommended Cibo, which was only a short walk from the hotel, in Russell Gardens.

When she got to the lobby, she saw that it was raining again. The concierge loaned her an umbrella and gave her directions to the restaurant. She crossed Kensington High Street, turned left, and walked north on Russell Road. About four hundred metres along she turned into the mews that was Russell Gardens.

Cibo was small and unassuming, its name simply written on a cloth awning that overhung a double window. When she stepped inside, she was quickly charmed by its intimate ambiance. The overwhelming aroma of garlic and olive oil washed over her and spiked her hunger.

She was led to a table near the back of the restaurant. The walls were covered with artwork, all of it original, the host said, and none of it traditional or stereotypically Italian. It looked to Ava as if the pieces had been chosen for their depth and wild colour. They were jarring and, it turned out, a suitable prelude to the meal.

She ordered
fricco
, wild mushrooms sautéed with potato and melted Asiago cheese, and a small plate of swordfish, tuna, and octopus marinated in thyme and olive oil. The waiter recommended Petrussa Pinot Bianco to accompany her food. She finished the first glass with the mushrooms and ordered a second with the fish. The food and wine were so good she thought a small plate of
linguine aglio
olio
with one last glass of wine would be the perfect way to end her meal. But when she had finished the pasta, she noticed the man at the table next to hers eating some fish that looked succulent and smelled divine. He told her that it was monkfish baked with saffron. Ava ordered that as well, and finished a fourth glass of wine.

It was just past eight o'clock when she left the restaurant. The area was bustling; Ava was reminded that most Europeans ate dinner late, like the Chinese. The thought had barely crossed her mind when she spotted two Chinese men standing a few store windows ahead of her. They were glancing sideways in her direction.

Two couples were walking directly in front of Ava and two men were behind her. She moved closer to the couples and as close to the curb as she could get without stepping onto the street. The Chinese men were pretending to look in the window of an Indian restaurant. One of them was about six feet tall and looked beefy beneath a badly fitting raincoat. He had two earrings in his left ear. The other one was only slightly shorter and his hair was shaved into a mohawk, a style Ava knew was popular with some of the Chinese gangs. He wore a raincoat that hung loosely over jeans and designer running shoes.

As Ava drew near they turned away from the window and looked in her direction. She tipped her umbrella to the left to hide her face and pushed closer to the people in front of her. Just then the door to the Indian restaurant opened and a large group spilled out onto the sidewalk between Ava and the Chinese men. She quickened her pace, got in front of the couples she'd been following, and then slowed slightly so they covered her back.

It wasn't until she reached Kensington High Street that she turned and looked back up Russell Road. There was no sign of the Chinese men. When she got to the hotel entrance, she stopped just inside the door and waited for five minutes, surveying the street. When she was convinced they weren't following her, Ava returned the umbrella to the concierge, thanked him for his restaurant recommendation, and went directly to her room.

It was three o'clock in the morning in Hong Kong. She thought about calling Uncle and then dismissed the idea. What was she going to tell him? That she had seen two Chinese men on a street in London?

She flopped onto the bed and turned on the television. She thought about ordering another glass of wine from room service but decided she'd had enough. She made it through only fifteen minutes of
Antiques Roadshow
before falling asleep.

She dreamt about her father again. This time they were on a Caribbean island, having arrived on a cruise ship that had docked for the day. They disembarked and then separated to go shopping. When Ava returned to the wharf, there were six ships in the harbour and she couldn't remember which one was hers. She raced from one to the next, begging the staff to let her board. No one would. Ava was left standing on the pier searching for her father, trying to find his face among the crowds gathered at the railings as the ships slowly pulled away.

She woke with a start, the sense of panic still clutching at her chest. Her cellphone was ringing. She looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was just past nine o'clock.

“Ava Lee,” she said.

“This is Roger Simmons.”

Ava sat upright. “Yes.”

“You do know who I am?”

“Of course.”

“We need to talk.”

“I was expecting your daughter to call me.”

“You have me instead.”

“Did she tell you —”

“I don't want to discuss any of this on the phone. I want to meet with you. Tonight, if possible. I don't see any reason for putting it off.”

“I don't either.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Fletcher Hotel,” Ava said without thinking.

“I live close to there, on Praed Street. Ten minutes away, no more than that. There's a bar downstairs in your hotel called Alfie's. Meet me there in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, I can do that. Will Lily be with you?”

“No, but a man named Hawkins will. He is my executive assistant.”

“Do I need to bring anything with me?”

“I don't think that's necessary. My daughter described to me the material you have.”

“How will I recognize you?”

“I have red hair.”

“And I —”

“My daughter described you. No need to add anything further.”

“Fifteen minutes, then.”

“Yes,” he said, and hung up the phone.

I should have insisted that Lily be there
, Ava thought too late, her head still partially lost in sleep.

She sat on the side of the bed, gathering herself together. She was dressed in her most casual clothes, and that wouldn't do for a meeting with a cabinet minister. She went into the bathroom, drank two glasses of water, and took some Tylenol. The clothes she'd worn that day were hanging on a hook on the back of the door. They didn't look too wrinkled, and all she could smell was a lingering trace of her Annick Goutal perfume. She dressed quickly, put on a touch of mascara and lipstick, fixed her hair with the ivory chignon pin, and left the room.

Ava stood at the entrance of Alfie's scanning the bar for a head of red hair. When she couldn't find one, she asked for a table for three and was led to a secluded booth at the rear of the bar. She ordered a soda water with lime, sipping it while keeping her eyes locked on the front door. They arrived five minutes later. The man Ava assumed was Hawkins spotted her first and tapped Simmons on the arm; they walked towards her.

Lily Simmons was definitely her father's daughter, at least physically. The minister's hair was also red, almost ginger. He wore it parted down the middle and swept back on either side, the curls held in place by gel. He had a large face and his eye sockets receded like hers. His sharp cheekbones were accentuated by a long, pointed nose and a massive square jaw. He was a big man, easily six foot two, and he wasn't carrying any excess weight. The belt around his waist was tightly cinched and his broad shoulders strained his grey suit jacket. He sauntered like an athlete, a man who had spent his youth playing rugby instead of tennis.

Hawkins skittered behind Simmons. He was at least six inches shorter and twenty years younger than his boss. He had copied Simmons's distinctive hairstyle, though his sandy hair flopped onto his thin, pale face as he walked. Ava had seen his type before. They always seemed to trail in the wake of successful men.

When Simmons was a couple of steps away, Ava stood and offered her hand. He took it and then cast it aside, establishing only the slightest contact. She looked up into his eyes. They were smaller than his daughter's, shifty and alert.

“Do you see anyone we know?” he asked Hawkins.

“No, Minister.”

“Then we'll sit.”

Ava resumed her seat on the right side of the booth. Simmons slid in beside her, keeping a few feet away. Hawkins sat on the minister's far left, physically removed from both of them but still within earshot.

The waiter came and Simmons waved him away. “We won't be here that long, thank you.”

“Mr. Simmons —” Ava began.

“The proper term of address is Minister, Mr. Minister, or sir,” Hawkins said.

“That's no matter,” Simmons said, and then turned to Ava. “You do understand that I am a minister of the Crown?”

“I do.”

“But I am not here in that capacity.”

“I see.”

“I'm here as a father.”

“So Lily obviously discussed our chat with you. I'm sorry that it —”

“Spare me your nonsense.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You heard me.”

Ava looked at him. His face was turned away from her, his eyes fixed on the bar. “I thought we were going to talk about our mutual problem,” she said.

“I would prefer it if I talked and you listened,” he said.

His jaw was set firmly and his body was stiff. Ava knew he was struggling to contain himself. “That's fine,” she said.

“Lily said you were clever, so I assume I won't have to repeat any of this. In case there is any misunderstanding, Hawkins here will act as a witness.”

“A witness to what?”

“A witness to my outright refusal to allow you to blackmail my daughter, and to my promise that if you release so much as a single foot of those tapes you say you have, I will pursue you legally to the full extent of British law and beyond.”

Ava drew a deep breath and detected the smell of Scotch. “Mr. Simmons, I met with your daughter today to try to resolve a business dispute in an amicable way. A company, one that you have invested in, has orchestrated a large-scale theft. The two partners in that company have already admitted to culpability. All we want is the return of the money that was stolen. The offer we made to the partners, and to your daughter, is, we believe, fair in the extreme. Return the money and we will forego any civil or criminal legal remedies. We will make sure the entire affair is kept private. And The River can continue to operate.”

“I know nothing about any such problem, and I have barely any familiarity with the investment,” Simmons said.

“Sir, you can deny it all you want —”

Simmons banged his fist on the table so hard that Ava's glass jumped and she had to grab it to stop it from spilling. “Are you calling me a liar?” he demanded.

“Sir, people can hear you,” Hawkins said.

“Let them. I won't sit and listen to this tripe.”

“Ms. Lee, the Minister is obviously upset,” Hawkins said, leaning towards her. “His daughter came to him earlier this evening and relayed the content of your meeting this afternoon. She was very emotional. She wondered if she should go to the police, but the Minister prevailed upon her to wait until he had had a chance to speak with you.”

“I don't mean to be impolite, and I'm certainly not in the blackmail business,” Ava said to both of them, “but I don't know how else to say that two partners in a business financed by the minister — directly or indirectly — and of which his daughter is a director and signing officer, stole more than sixty million dollars from my clients.”

“You need to prove that,” Simmons said.

“I have documentation. I gave it to your daughter. And in our earlier phone conversation you said you were aware of it.”

“Don't tell me what I said or didn't say.”

“Then let me be clear, for the record,” Ava said. “We have proof positive that Jeremy Ashton and David Douglas orchestrated a fraud that netted The River more than sixty million dollars. I met with your daughter to ask for the money back. Ashton and Douglas have already signed the transfer request; all I need is her signature. When she refused to give it to me, I explained that we would sue the company and its officers. I also told her that we would seek criminal charges against Ashton and Douglas.”

“According to my daughter you have allegations, not proof, and when she pointed that out to you, the blackmail attempt ensued,” Simmons said.

“I can give you whatever documentation you require,” Ava said.

“I can't look at it, can I, Hawkins.”

“No, sir.”

They might be taping this conversation
, Ava thought. It was all too careful, and Hawkins's presence was too contrived. “So why are you here?” Ava asked.

“I told you at the outset. I want you to leave my daughter alone.”

“If we can't settle this dispute, that's impossible. We will sue the company and we will file criminal charges.”

“Sue away. I've been in business my entire life; I understand that process. It will take years to drag through the courts, assuming you can find a court to hear the case.”

“And your daughter's fiancé? You have no concerns about him, about how all this might affect her?”

“Jeremy Ashton is an ass. I never understood what my daughter saw in him. But I'm realistic. She isn't any prize catch, and she did seem to love him, so I supported her choice until now. But that's over — I want him out of her life. If he did wrong and you can put him in jail, as you told my daughter you would when you were attempting to intimidate her, then I say, ‘More power to you.' You have my blessing, and she won't interfere.”

Ava sipped her soda water. She knew where the conversation was headed but she had no idea how to stop it. “Would you care for a drink now?” she asked.

Simmons shook his head. Then he turned to Hawkins. “I've changed my mind. Get me a single malt, neat.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“And bring me another soda with lime,” Ava said.

Hawkins looked at Simmons. “What are you waiting for?” Simmons snapped.

When he was gone, Ava moved closer to Simmons and said quietly, “We won't let go of this. We'll do whatever we have to do. You have to understand that. You can pretend that you know nothing, but it doesn't change a thing.”

“You fucking chink,” he murmured.

Ava froze. “Pardon?”

“You heard me. You and the other fucking chinks you work with can go to hell. You think you can come here and operate the way you do at home. I've done business with the Chinese; I know how it works. If it isn't bribery, it's extortion.”

“I'm Canadian, and my client is in the Philippines,” Ava said, struggling to maintain control.

“Makes no difference which flag you wave. You're all Chinese at heart, aren't you.”

“My client, the Ordonez Group, is based in Manila and is a respected multinational corporation.”

“You can say that with a straight face?”

“Yes.”

“What, with the same sincerity you show when you talk about lawsuits and criminal charges, when all the time you're holding sex tapes over my daughter's head?”

“Our claims are legitimate,” Ava said.

“Then take them to fucking court.”

“As you said, that takes time.”

“And you people never want to take the time, do you.”

Ava sipped the last of her soda water. She saw that Hawkins was still standing at the bar trying to get the bartender's attention. “We will release the tapes, you know,” she said.

Simmons leaned back. “Go ahead,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me. Go ahead.”

“Your daughter —”

“It will be media fodder for a couple of days, maybe a week. Her mother will be embarrassed and her friends will probably find it amusing. It will pass.”

“She'll be humiliated.”

He shrugged. “She'll get over it.”

“How about your reputation?”

He gave her a half-smile. “I'll put on a brave face and stand by my daughter. I have a reputation for being a hard-ass, you know. This could show my softer side, earn me some sympathy.”

“I don't understand how you could —”

“How I could what? Let that happen? This is the United Kingdom, not some jacked-up Third World country where extortion always wins out because people are worried about their precious fucking face. Right now sixty million dollars is worth more to me than my daughter's face.”

Hawkins was approaching the table. Simmons saw him first and slid away from Ava. “Ms. Lee was just telling me that she might release those sex tapes my daughter spoke about,” he said. “What do you think of that?”

“You are very good,” Ava said quietly.

“Thank you,” Simmons said.

Hawkins set their drinks on the table. “Surely there is another solution,” he said.

“Give us back the money that was stolen,” Ava said.

“You'll need to take that up with my daughter,” Simmons said, downing the Scotch in one gulp. “And that might not be easy. She's meeting with a lawyer tonight, and I suspect they will advise her to avoid any further contact with you.”

“I have to say, Mr. Simmons, that I don't think our chairman, Tommy Ordonez, is going to be happy when I relay this conversation to him. Up until now he hasn't been aware of your involvement, directly or indirectly, in this matter. But when I tell him, I know he'll be surprised by your refusal to pay back money that was so obviously stolen. He will also be rather dismayed by some of the attitudes you've expressed.”

“Ms. Lee, I know who Tommy Ordonez is. I know he's a Chinese hiding behind a Filipino name. I also know that he built his business on cheap beer and cigarettes, and I can only imagine how many people he paid off in the Philippines and China along the way. So I'm not going to be offended by any poor opinion he may have of me.”

“Minister,” Hawkins said, caution in his voice.

“I'll let Mr. Ordonez know how you feel,” Ava said.

“Do that,” Simmons said. “I actually met him once, you know. In Singapore at a dinner, when I was still running my generator business. He had a strange voice, like a monkey's. Don't you think he squeaks like a monkey?”

“Minister, I think we should be leaving now,” Hawkins said, sliding from the booth.

Simmons also stood, then looked down at Ava. “Our dinner host pulled me aside and apologized for seating me next to him. He told me where Ordonez was from and explained how, despite having hardly any education and not an ounce of class, he'd built his business. He said he thought Ordonez was worth maybe a billion dollars, but it didn't matter how much money he had, you still can't shine shit . . . 
You still can't shine shit
.”

Ava blinked, scarcely believing his crudeness. Even Hawkins seemed disturbed by it. “Minister, we must leave,” he said.

“Of course,” Simmons said, smirking at Ava.

Ava sat rooted, her eyes on her soda and lime. When she looked up again, they were walking towards the exit. Her palms felt clammy. Her mind had trouble focusing on where she was. She guessed that was how it felt to lose $65 million.