had as much to lose as he did, but more than that, no one had all the information necessary to do him serious damage.
“You have no need to worry about your shipment,” he said.
“We’re not going to talk about this here.”
“I have protection.” No way was the FBI wiretapping his phone. He had state-of-the-art security to prevent it.
“We’ll meet. Tonight.”
Xavier didn’t like Noel Marchand, but he was one of his best customers, on both ends-importing and exporting. In this business, one didn’t have to like one’s business associates. As long as they paid and did their job with discretion, Xavier was happy to do business with them. Besides, he wasn’t in it to make friends. He’d buy whatever friends he needed through his philanthropic donations.
“Here?” Xavier asked, loath to bring the man into his sanctuary, but it was a gesture of goodwill, and right now Xavier needed to keep Marchand happy.
“Of course not. Midnight. Your restaurant.”
Xavier had purchased a riverfront restaurant last year and was renovating it. The place was convenient and private, off the west River Road. It was Xavier’s turf, so Marchand wasn’t overly upset.
“I’ll be there.”
He hung up and stood on the balcony of his bedroom. Marchand was a minor annoyance compared to what had just happened with the FBI. They had gone through his
He dialed his secretary on her cell phone. She worked out of his consulting office, but handled both personal and professional appointments. And while he had no desire to screw her, Denise provided him with a weekly blow job that was satisfying. He refused to stick his dick into any man or woman; what other men had been there before him? Disgusting.
“Call in the cleaning service,” he demanded. “I need them to come early-I want the house cleaned top to bottom, before noon.”
He next called Craig Gleason, the attorney and head lobbyist who ran the day-to-day management at XCJ Consulting. “I’ll be coming by late this morning for a briefing. Have you had any strange calls or visitors?”
“Define strange.”
“This isn’t a joke, Craig. There’s been some excitement here at the house. I want to make sure that reporters and other vultures aren’t circling.”
“It’s a Wednesday during the middle of a budget crisis in the California capitol-business as usual.”
“Good. Just put everything I need to know together and the status of the key bills we’re pushing. I’ll give you one hour; use it wisely.”
“Yes, sir.”
More often than not, for the last twenty-some years he had called himself Noel Marchand. He stood on the balcony of his penthouse suite at the Hyatt Hotel across from the California State Capitol. He rarely came to America, and when he did he took a great many precautions. Of course, he was registered under a false identity: Pierre Devereaux, a French Canadian from Montreal. It amused him to remember that he had, in fact, been born in Montreal and was part French Canadian. But his life as Franz Corbert had ended when he was nine, when his father killed his mother and fled to South America with Franz and his younger brother Tobias. He’d never returned to Canada even after his father died; he had no attachment to the country.
Nor did he care for the United States. He could not be king here, no matter what he did or who he controlled. He preferred places where he could wield power so great that when he killed, no one questioned his action. Where, when his car drove past, people cowered. Where, when he walked into a room, the women did what he said, and if he had to punish them, no one asked why.
Americans had money, and rich Americans liked their toys. He provided the toys; Xavier Jones provided the buyers.
His business certainly wasn’t limited to the States, but Americans usually overpaid for everything, and considering the risks of importing under the federal radar, Noel felt justified in charging his North American buyers far more than he needed to cover his expenses.
He paced his hotel room, antsy, yet well aware that keeping to himself until the Saturday-night exchange would protect him. The less time he spent in the States, the less opportunity that a savvy cop might recognize him. He wasn’t worried about just any cop-there were only a handful who could identify him as Noel Marchand-but one of those called Sacramento home. He wouldn’t have come here this early at all, except for the situation with the Zamora kid.
Noel Marchand deplored incompetence, and until this last week, Xavier Jones had been the pinnacle of professionalism and discretion. And while Jones had made good on providing another boy, letting the first one escape was a disaster. Perhaps not for Jones, but to Noel the boy was a threat: the brat had seen him.
The Zamora kid needed to die or disappear-Noel didn’t much care which, as long as he didn’t talk to anyone. Though even if he did tell what he knew, putting all the damning information together would be virtually impossible. Only the fact that Noel was in the same city as the kid made the risk a sliver more than nonexistent. But what really irked Noel was that he had made two mistakes. First, he had underestimated the boy, never suspecting that Andres Zamora would run when he had the chance. Most of his captives were too scared to flee, knowing they would be hunted down and severely punished. Noel’s second error was in not leaving at least one family member alive as leverage over the two Zamora kids. Threats against family back home were the single best tool to keep the slaves in line.
Noel didn’t make mistakes like these. He’d been furious that the mother had challenged him, that the brother had attacked him, that the girl had wanted to renege on her agreement. Allowing his anger to dictate decisions inevitably led to problems. Problems like a missing kid in California who could identify him.
Noel was successful because he was discreet. He employed enough people, and paid them well, to ensure that he could fill the high demand for males and females of all ages and types. While he specialized in teenage and young adult females for prostitution throughout the Western Hemisphere, he also provided a few bonded workers when the money was good enough. When he was putting together his next shipment of females, he’d received an order for two boys. One of the girls he’d spoken with had two brothers. She was eager to bring them along, with his promise that they, too, would have jobs in America.
He lied smoothly. But almost immediately there were problems with the older Zamora. And when the younger boy saw him dispose of the mother-who had become a major liability, he had had no choice but to kill her-Noel should have also shot the two boys and put the girl on the truck alone. But he was on a tight schedule and timing was critical. His trip to California was far more important than the troublesome Zamora family.
Noel was upset by the series of events that resulted in the younger boy ending up under Jones’s watch, of course, but he could let it go because, ultimately, the situation wasn’t completely Jones’s fault. What truly frustrated him was the FBI looking at Jones. He didn’t care one iota that the warrant was for financial records, Jones was a threat to Noel if he was arrested. Noel knew exactly how the government worked. They did what he did-leveraged. You give me this, we’ll give you that. The only difference was that Noel’s punishment was far more permanent than prison if the person didn’t agree with the terms.
Jones was a potential threat. And while Noel didn’t want to kill one of the best people he’d ever worked with in this business, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it.
Noel was training someone to take over for Jones should it become necessary. They might have to make the change sooner than planned, since business demanded continuous adjustments in personnel.
And if he had to let Sacramento go altogether, so be it. He dealt with other brokers like Jones. While there were few with Jones’s breadth of clients-and the added service of providing squeaky-clean money was a major allure-Noel could withstand some losses in order to protect his larger empire. Obviously, the “squeaky-clean” money Jones guaranteed was being looked at by American law enforcement. It was no longer safe to do business with him.
Noel made his decision. He’d gather the rest of the information about Saturday’s exchange, ensure that the girls had arrived safely and were secured, and then kill Jones.
His assistant came in through one of the suite’s doors and cleared his throat.
