THE KING OF MACAU (The Jack Shepherd International Crime Novels) by Jake Needham Read Free Book Online Page B

amazement that I laughed right out loud.
    “Okay,” he said after a moment, “if it bothers you so much, think about it this way. You’re an American citizen. If you happen on evidence of a crime under American law, you are ethically bound to report it to the appropriate American law enforcement authorities.” Pete tapped himself in the chest with his forefinger. “That would be me.”
    “And would I happen on evidence of a crime under American law by looking into this money laundering at the MGM Macau?”
    Pete pursed his lips and made a thinking face. “It’s…possible.”
    THE SIMPLE TRUTH OF it was that Macau held an undeniable appeal for me. I had always been attracted to weirdness, and Macau is a free fire zone of weirdness. In a world floundering through the swamps of correctness, regulation, and regimentation, Macau is an outlaw. How can you not love that?
    Macau for a couple of weeks? Working for a beautiful billionairess? Picking up some big money and being given license to dig into the financial records of one of the biggest casinos in the world?
    “You promise me, Pete, this isn’t triad money?”
    “Have I ever lied to you?”
    I just looked at him.
    “Okay, Jack, I take your point, I do. But I’m not lying now. It is not fucking triad money.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I…know. You have my word on it.”
    “What is it you’re not telling me, Pete?”
    “For Christ’s sake, Jack, there’s a ton of shit I’m not telling you. I’m not completely stupid.”
    “But you’re telling me the truth about the money?”
    “Yes.”
    “Not triad?”
    “Not triad. Scout’s honor.”
    I PRETENDED TO PONDER for a little longer, but that was mostly for show. I couldn’t have Pete thinking I was a pushover, could I?
    Later, when I looked back and asked myself how I had gotten into all this, I could take no comfort in ambiguity. I couldn’t explain it away as coincidence or bad luck. I couldn’t say it was all unforeseen or, even better, someone else’s fault. It had happened right at that moment, and I had done it to myself. Everything that came afterward began when I agreed to do what Pete was asking me to do. Everything started the very second I spoke the words that Pete had flown all the way from Bangkok to hear.
    “Okay, Pete,” I said, “I’ll take the goddamned job.”
    In spite of my misgivings, I have to admit I felt a slight buzz of anticipation the moment I caved in. There was stuff to figure out, secrets to learn, shit to fix. Perhaps even a few tacos with a good-looking billionairess thrown into the deal.
    This,
I told myself,
just
might work out okay after all.

EIGHT
    THE NEXT MORNING AFTER breakfast I called Gerald Brady to tell him I would take the job. Brady wasn’t in, so I left a message that we needed to talk about the specific terms of MGM’s proposal. After that I went into the bathroom to shower and dress and, of course, the goddamned phone rang the moment I finished soaping up. I leaned out of the shower and grabbed the receiver of an extension helpfully mounted on a wall within reach.
    “What?” I snapped.
    There was a brief silence. Then: “Professor Shepherd?”
    The voice was female, deferential, and slightly tentative. The woman sounded so nice that I immediately felt like a jerk for the way I had answered the telephone.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but I’m in the shower.”
    The woman’s tone may have initially been deferential, but she didn’t acknowledge my apology and it didn’t appear to bother her all that much that she had called when I was in the shower because she didn’t acknowledge that either.
    “Please hold for Ms. Ho,” she intoned crisply, and there was a click.
    I stood there, half in the shower and half out, dripping on the bathroom floor and listening to hold music that sounded like an accordion band playing the greatest hits of Barry Manilow. Where did telephone manufacturers get this stuff?
    “Good