Ghost Hero (28 page)

“Haig? Double-dealing?”

“I know, it rocks your world. It didn’t make either of them happy when I announced I knew he’d already found them.”

“Either of them, Woo or his boss?”

“Either of them, Woo or Haig. His boss wasn’t there. Woo’s probably on the phone to him right now. Bill and I are going to go up and see him. Vladimir and I, I mean. Actually, this might turn out not to be a bad thing.”

“You don’t think so? Gangsters wanting a piece of Haig?”

“As far as I’m concerned everyone can cut him into lots of little pieces.”

“Be practical.”

“I’m trying. Right now, I think we should go ahead. Momentum’s on our side.”

“Sometimes they call that the slippery slope.”

“You want out?”

“Why do you guys keep asking me that? Anyway, you can’t do this without me.”

“We’d do something else.”

“See,” he sighed, “in every species on earth, it’s that carefully calculated who-needs-you attitude on the part of the female that keeps the male strutting, sticking his neck out trying to prove himself.”

“It’s not calculated. It’s instinctive. Are you still in?”

“Was there ever any real question?”

“And so the real reason I’m calling: Did you speak to Dr. Yang?”

“Which is the real reason I’m still in. After the trouble he gave me? Now that I’ve talked him into getting with the program, the rest of this is going to be like taking candy from a baby.”

“That usually results in a lot of deafening squalling.”

On that encouraging note, we hung up.

*   *   *

I smartphoned my way to the Tiger Holdings Web site and checked out Lau’s photo so I’d know him when I saw him. Then I called. By dropping “Baxter/Haig” a couple of times, I leapfrogged through levels of secretary to the secretary to the man himself. When I hung up Vladimir Oblomov and I had an as-soon-as-we-can-get-there appointment with Lionel Lau.

We got there soon, meeting at Lau’s midtown building so we could saunter in together.

“Does your mother know you dress like that?” Bill asked when he saw me.

“You mean, parading my well-rounded calves for all the world to see?”

“And your dimpled knees, and not inconsiderable amounts of thigh.”

“She thought I looked very nice. She just hoped I wasn’t meeting you. You should consider piercing your ear, by the way. A nice diamond stud would complement the rings and chains.”

“Uh-huh. In your dreams.”

On the twenty-ninth floor the elevator opened into a hushed lobby. Glass doors guarded by a pair of marble lions announced “Tiger Holdings” at the far side of a carpet no bigger than a town square or softer than a summer evening. Bill peered around in smiling, fellow-gangster approval at the gaudy gold dragons on crimson columns, the blue-painted vases big enough for assassins to hide in, and the young woman at the desk, whose scarlet lipstick accentuated her Ming-princess cheekbones and porcelain skin.

“Lydia Chin and Vladimir Oblomov for Lionel Lau,” I told her. She arched an eyebrow and spoke into an elegant 1930’s desk phone, listened, then pointed a fingernail at the door behind her. A moment later it opened and a familiar squarish Asian man beckoned us in. I smiled at him. “My, my. So nice to see you again. I’m sorry, at the bakery I didn’t catch your name.”

He didn’t offer it now, either, just scowled and stood waiting. He and Bill sized each other up with identical nice-to-meet-you-I-wouldn’t-try-it looks. I ignored the rising scent of testosterone and walked past them into a large room where a wall of windows spread Manhattan below me. Bill followed me in. The young man shut the door and stood beside it.

I smiled at the man who stood between us and the view: an older, sharp-nosed Asian gent who looked exactly like his Web site photo. He wore short graying hair and a fine navy suit my mother would have admired.

“Mr. Lau? Thank you for seeing us. I’m Lydia Chin. This is Vladimir Oblomov.”

Bill came forward and enthusiastically shook Lionel Lau’s hand. “Meester Lau! A real pleasure, dis is.”

Lionel Lau, face impassive, returned the handshake in a more restrained manner and gestured us to large leather chairs. As we sat, he asked in accent-free English, “May I offer you tea?” He might be shady, Mr. Lau, but he was Chinese.

Before I could answer, Bill said, “Yah, tenks, but you got
real
tea? I mean bleck, vit a sugar cube? Dis tea you people drink, she like it,” he thumbed at me, “but it don’t got no punch, you know vat I mean?”

The younger man darkened, and internally I questioned the wisdom of throwing around the word “punch,” but Lionel Lau just said, “Mr. Zu, will you see to it, please?” Young Mr. Zu stuck his head out the door and spoke briefly to the Ming princess.

Bill cheerfully shifted his chair so he could see both Lau and Zu. “Dis iss big honor, Mr. Lau. Vassily Imports got great respect for Tiger Holdinks. My boss tell me, ‘Oblomov, you verk hard, you lucky, someday you be like Lionel Lau.’”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Lionel Lau said, sitting behind his ornate desk. “In that case, however, I wonder why you—or your boss…” He waited, but Bill did nothing but grin, so Lau continued, “… would want to interfere with one of my business ventures.”

“You mean, det gellery. Vere Fetso has de Chaus.”

“I do.”

A knock sounded, and Zu opened the door to a young woman who brought a tea tray to the sideboard, bowed, and backed out. Zu lifted from it a smaller tray with a glass of tea in a silver-handled holder and a bowl of sugar cubes, and brought it to the coffee table near Bill. From the larger tray he poured green tea into tiny cups, brought one to Lau and one to me. There was no cup for Zu; he must not drink on duty.

I gave the tea my full attention, out of courtesy to our host. It was sharp, sweet, and uncomplicated. “Lovely,” I said. Bill was busy positioning a sugar cube between his teeth and noisily sucking his tea across it, so after a second sip, I spoke. “Mr. Lau, we appreciate your situation and we don’t mean to cause trouble for you.”

“No, sir!” Bill stored the sugar cube temporarily in his cheek. “Vassily Imports vant to be friends vit Tiger Holdinks. But problem vass, my boss, he vanted Chaus, too.” He shrugged. What can a working stiff do? He went back to his tea.

“The problem runs deeper than you might think,” I told Lau. “We came here to warn you that there’s about to be unavoidable trouble at Baxter/Haig.”

“Warn me? Are you making threats?”

“No, I’m sorry, that was a bad choice of words. Perhaps ‘alert you’ would have been better. This trouble, you see, is unavoidable because the forces involved are some with whom Vassily Imports will go some distance to remain in good standing.”

“Da,” Bill agreed. “Big shots, you know?” He winked at Lau.

“If keeping these relationships untroubled involves Vassily Imports stepping aside in certain situations, I’m sure you can see that that’s an investment well worth making,” I went on. “And worth urging others to make.”

“Ms. Chin—”

“Vat she sayink, Meester Lau—she beat across da bush all da time, I know—she sayink, vat’s about to go down at Baxter/Haig, pleeze, you and Meester Voo chust stay out uff it, okay?”

“Vlad, please,” I said. “Mr. Lau, we’re in a position to help some friends with an operation that matters a great deal to them, and we’d like to do it. To this end Mr. Oblomov’s employer has already abandoned his pursuit of the paintings. We do understand, however, that Tiger Holdings has a significant and legitimate investment in Baxter/Haig.”

“All my investments are legitimate,” Lau said. When Bill and I glanced at each other, Lau added, “If Mr. Woo’s eagerness to complete his assignment had led you to think otherwise, I apologize. As, I’m sure, would he, if he’d understood that he’d upset you.”

“His willingness to shoot me was a trifle upsetting, yes,” I said. “In view of his self-restraint an hour ago in Mr. Haig’s office, though, it’s possible he and I just got off on the wrong foot. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Rest assured I’ll be speaking to him about his approach. However, that’s really neither here nor there concerning my investment in Baxter/Haig. I’m sure you understand, I must protect my business interests.”

Bill said, “By heving Voo, or some udder jeckess, henging around dere all da time?”

“If that’s required.”

Shooting Bill a dark look, I said, “In that case I think you’ll understand the value of the arrangement we came here to discuss.”

“And what would that be?” Lau placed his teacup on his desk and tapped his fingertips together, the very picture of a reasonable executive willing to consider a deal.

“As I understand it, if Mr. Haig can’t repay your loan, you’ll own the gallery.”

“That’s correct.”

“Vell, dere you go,” said Bill. “All de paintinks, dey gotta be worth lots uff money. You don’t need Fetso to sell de Chaus.”

“Technically correct. But if I wanted to own a gallery I’d have bought one. Art isn’t my business. I’d much prefer it if Doug Haig could sell the Chaus, pay off his debt, and go about his business while I go about mine.”

“He can’t, though,” I said. “They’re worth nothing. They’re fakes.”

Lau regarded me steadily. “Mr. Woo said you told Haig you could get them authenticated.”

“Mr. Lau, my … arrangement … with Mr. Haig is predicated on Vassily Imports’ relationship with the other forces I mentioned, and is not as straightforward as it appears. Tiger Holdings would be best served to stay far from the proceedings. In view of the fact that you do have a legitimate investment to protect, however, Vassily Imports is prepared to guarantee that, should Mr. Haig’s debt to you become uncollectible, his assets will simultaneously become a great deal more valuable than they are at the moment.”

“I’m not sure, Ms. Chin, just what you mean by that.”

“She mean, iff you stay beck und vatch from da sidevays—iss dat right Eenglish?”

“Sidelines,” I said.

“Da, de sidelines. Iff you don’t mess us up, Meester Lau, you end up vit golden goose.”

“And if I choose not to permit whatever is about to happen to go forward?”

“Den, my friend,” Bill smiled, clinking his empty glass gently onto the silver tray, “I tink you find yourself vit goose egg.”

22

I called Jack as soon as Bill and I hit the street.

“Life and limb still intact?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” I said. “All we need to do now is find a golden egg for Lionel Lau before he makes fritters out of all of us.”

*   *   *

When I heard the buzzer at nine-thirty the next morning I didn’t ask who it was, just buzzed to let Jack in. I looked up when my office door opened and, fast, slid my chair closer to my desk, making sure I could reach the panic button. The stranger in the doorway was tall and Asian, but that was about all he shared with Jack Lee.

“Ms. Chin?” The man spoke in nasal, accented tones. “I think you expect me, we have appointment?” Disdain written all over his tanned face, he stood just inside my door in a cheap suit a few years out of date. It fit poorly over his wide shoulders, and his shirt strained over the early stages of beer belly. Polished loafers and showy tie said clueless foreign fop. His hair, combed straight onto his forehead, was Extreme Nerd. Black-framed yellow-tinted glasses rested on his nose, below which drooped a thin Fu Manchu mustache. He held himself tightly, as though stepping into my back-alley office was an action he didn’t think he should be asked to undertake. “Dr. Lin Qiao-xiang,” he announced with impatience. “You want see me, so I understand. Or maybe,” suddenly relaxing the rigid pose, walking in and sprawling onto a chair, “I should send Aramis in?”

“Well,” I managed. “Don’t you look splendid.”

“Do I?” Jack grinned. “If I didn’t know better I’d have thought you didn’t recognize me there for a minute.”

“I must admit you’re quite the apparition. How did you get to be that color, stage makeup?”

“Insta-Tan.”

“That stuff’s bad for you.”

“Line of duty. Like Bill drinking with Shayna.”

“And padding in the jacket? Or you gained twenty pounds overnight?”

“In the jacket and under the shirt. You don’t buy the Daniel Dae Kim shoulders?”

“I’d have to wonder where you were hiding them for the last two days. The real question is, where did you get that terrible suit?”

“At a thrift shop, for occasions like this. Hey, as great as Linus’s Photoshop work is, I thought I ought to look at least something like the real Dr. Lin.”

“You think his mustache is that ridiculous? And he has that bad taste in clothes?”

“I also needed to look not like me.”

“Ah, and chic would have given you away.”

“Don’t you think? I told you, Haig and I have met.”

“Only once, you said.”

“But we’ve been in the same room any number of times, grabbing off the same hors d’oeuvre trays. Haig’s generally too self-absorbed to notice anyone he’s not on the make for, but in case I did something unforgettable I don’t remember I wanted to play it safe. Also, there’s Nick. Be a bummer if that little punk derailed us.” He took off the glasses and handed them to me. “Near the hinge,” he said. I examined the decorative screw holding the earpiece on and found the tiny camera lens in its center.

“How do you—”

“Remotely. From my pocket.” He held up a pen and clicked the top as though he wanted to write something. “You just took a picture of the junk on your desk.”

“Hey, very cool. If the glasses weren’t so ugly I’d get myself a pair.” I handed them back.

“Come on. You can’t tell me any of this is nearly as bad as Bill’s bling and his accent.”

“Can’t I? But as long as it works on Haig. Which, let me remind you, Bill’s bling did.”

Jack grinned at me for another few moments. Then, as though I’d said something unbearably foolish, his smile vanished into a look of arrogant irritation. Jack Lee disappeared. Lin Qiao-xiang stood stiffly and replied, “In that case, we go now, see if can make this work, too.”

Dr. Lin apparently shared Jack’s penchant for cabs, and I didn’t want to argue with so eminent a foreign expert. Also, I had those heels on again. We pulled up in front of Baxter/Haig, where Jack, without a care, got out, leaving me to pay the driver. On the sidewalk I once again smoothed my skirt, mussed my hair, and let my lips bloom into a superior smile. I waited for Jack to open the gallery door for me, but in his role as self-important overseas hick he was gawking through the glass at the art inside. So I yanked the handle and stalked into Baxter/Haig. Jack blinked and hurried after. I was surprised to see Nick at the front desk so early, but maybe Haig liked his first-string players here for VIPs. “Mr. Haig’s expecting us,” I told him nicely.