Deadly Assets

[THREE]

Queens Club Resort

George Town, Grand Cayman Islands

Saturday, December 15, 7:35 P.M.

“Here’s Illana now, right on time,” Mike Santos announced as the stunning tanned blonde appeared through the white canvas flaps of the Jolly Mon Cabana.

Rapp Badde saw that she carried a stack of manila folders. He also noted, appreciatively, that she had changed from the nautical-themed outfit of tight navy shorts and sheer white captain’s shirt into a melon-colored linen sundress.

Illana put the folders on the table between Badde and Janelle Harper.

Santos looked at Jan and said, “These you’ll of course recognize as the contracts that I sent up for your review last week.

“Rapp,” Santos then said, “if you’re ready to sign, we can move forward to more important things. Like celebrating.”

As if on cue, the white cotton flap of the cabana was pushed aside again, and two very attractive females who looked like younger versions of Illana carried in a polished stainless steel insulated tub containing three bottles of champagne on ice and a serving tray holding champagne stems and an assortment of sushi, sashimi, and raw oysters on the half-shell.

“A little something to celebrate with while the ink is drying,” Santos said, smiling broadly. “It’s a tradition for us. And after we celebrate, tomorrow I will show you the plans for the casino.”

“I like it,” Badde said, and turned to Janelle. “You want to hand me a pen, so I can get this done?”

–

Illana popped open the first bottle of champagne and poured everyone a full stem. After Santos had made a toast-“To the success of Philly’s newest and finest luxury hotel and its developers”-and they touched glasses, Santos reached into the pocket of his shirt. He came out with a small cell phone, looked at its screen, thumbed it, then looked up at Rapp Badde and Jan Harper.

“You’ll excuse me a moment, please,” Santos said, standing.

He put the phone to his head as he carried the champagne stem out of the cabana.

Rapp and Jan exchanged glances when they heard Santos say, “Talk to me, Bobby. What the hell is going on?”

Badde shrugged, then drank half of his champagne. He looked at the tray of food, and proceeded to eat two pieces of the tuna sushi-selecting them over the sashimi only because the pieces were on rice-he wasn’t sure about simply eating slices of raw fish.

And then, feeling adventurous after swallowing the sushi without incident, he tried one of the half-shell raw oysters.

“You sure you want to do that?” Jan Harper said, right before he slurped it from the shell-and began gagging.

She gestured toward his champagne stem.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Rapp. Just wash it down.”

He did, emptying the stem. Then he burped.

“Nice,” Jan said, shaking her head, disgusted.

As Badde reached for the champagne bottle, his Go To Hell cell phone began ringing again. He refilled his stem, then looked at the caller ID. It again read gibberish: #01-0K0-30X–V34-X%K.

He looked at it a long moment, considered ignoring it, began to answer it, then finally decided to let the call go to voice mail. Almost the moment after it did, the phone began ringing again, and again the ID came up as gibberish.

“Damn it,” he said, then quickly left the cabana.

He walked about ten yards over to where a pair of tall palms leaned against each other, flipped open the phone, and barked into it, “What?”

“Councilman Badde,” an adult male said, his tone calm, with no indication he had taken any offense over how his calls had finally been answered. “We have a mutual friend, one who has asked that I get in touch with you.”

Well, that’s how this guy got my private number. But who?

“Who is this friend?” Badde said.

“I believe you will be able to figure that out in due time.”

What kind of accent does this guy have? Badde thought.

Badde was quiet a moment, then said, “What is this about?”

“A matter of mutual concern. We are in the process of recovering some valuables that belong to us.”

“What kind of valuables?”

“Perhaps you have seen the news today about the robbery in the casino.”

Robbery? What robbery? All I’ve seen is Lenny’s craziness.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I see,” the male voice said.

There was a long silence.

“You know my name,” Badde then said. “What’s yours?”

“That is immaterial right now. You are aware, I trust, of your friend Reverend Cross’s rally today?”

I wouldn’t say he’s exactly my friend these days.

But where are you going with this?

“Yeah,” Badde said, “I know of it.”

“And that he had a musician perform?”

“I do not know the details of who was at the rally.”

“Well, I do. And the musician who performed during it is a young African-American named Tyrone Hooks. He goes by the stage name King Two-One-Five.”

“Okay, so this rapper, why is he relevant. .?”

“You do not know Hooks?”

“Never heard of him.”

“I will have to take you at your word on that.”

Well, you just do that, Badde thought, fuck you very much. .

“What the hell do you want?” Badde snapped.

“It’s what and who. As I said, we intend to recover the stolen valuables. But in order to do that, we first need to find Tyrone Hooks.”

“Okay. And?”

“And the last time that Hooks was seen, he was in the company of Cross.”

“What, assuming it were possible, is it that you want me to do?”

“It is very important that I find Hooks immediately. I need you-our mutual friend needs you-to find Cross and then find Hooks.”

There was a long pause, then Badde said, “Fine. How do I get in touch with you when I do?”

“I will call back in thirty minutes. Every thirty minutes.”

“Fine. Okay,” Badde said, as he looked at Jan exiting the cabana while holding her cell phone.

As she approached him, he saw that she was looking at it, then apparently letting the call go to voice mail. After a moment she went to listen to the recording and raised her eyebrows as it played.

A moment later Badde almost spilled his champagne when he heard Jan gasp audibly as she held her phone to her ear.

She broke the connection and leaned in toward Badde.

“That was Raychell Meadow. She’s the fifth reporter who’s been calling, asking for a comment-one from you, but she would settle for me speaking for you-about the apparent shooting of Josiah Cross after he called Matt Payne Public Enemy Number One.”

Badde, his eyes wide, did not immediately respond. Instead he drained his stem, then burped.

After a moment’s thought, he shrugged, and then said, “Between you and me, Skinny Lenny is not shot, but him being out of the picture would not be a bad thing-”

Badde felt his Go To Hell flip phone vibrate, and saw that the caller ID read PHILA MAYOR’S OFFICE.

Probably that Stein guy. He, and Carlucci, can kiss my big black ass.

He pushed the key, sending the call to voice mail.

“What do you want to tell Raychell and the others?” Jan Harper said.

“What I want to say and what I am limited to saying are two completely different things. You’re the lawyer. Why don’t you earn your keep and come up with a clever quote that says nothing?”

Jan narrowed her eyes at him as she sipped her champagne.

Just as he slid the Go To Hell phone back into his pocket, the smartphone with his general number began to vibrate. Without looking to see who was calling, he immediately pushed the key that sent the caller into voice mail; a moment later, a short vibration signaled that the caller had left a message.

Curiosity caused him to glance at the screen. It read WILLIE LANE, 1 VOICE MAIL MESSAGE.

He pushed the key to play the message, then put the phone to his head.

He heard City Council President William Lane’s gravelly voice: “Rappe, it’s Willie. I need you to call me yesterday. It’s an extremely important matter. You should have my numbers, but just in case, these are my office and cellular. .”

Oh shit! Badde thought as the numbers were repeated.

“Yesterday”?

Willie sounds pissed.

Then the phone rang again.

He checked its screen.

Willie again? He must really be pissed. .

–

H. Rapp Badde Jr., using the hand he had not punched the palm tree with, pushed the white canvas flap aside and entered the Jolly Mon Cabana. Janelle was gone, and Santos was on his cell phone.

Santos glanced up at Badde, then said into the phone, “I’ll get back to you.”

He ended the call, stood, and walked over to Illana. He leaned in close, putting his right cheek next to hers.

“Illana,” he said softly, “put those in the safe in my office for now.”

She nodded, and quietly replied, “Yes, sir, Mr. Santos.”

With the folders against her ample chest, tightly beneath her crossed arms, she made a thin smile at Badde, and then turned and walked out of the cabana.

What the hell just happened? Badde thought, his stomach suddenly in a knot.

“We seem to have problems,” Santos said.