Ian Hamilton - The disciple of Las Vegas

“That’s what I told him.”

“Thank you.”

“One more thing about this afternoon, Ava. The Chief wanted to know what made you so sure Douglas and Ashton wouldn’t go to the authorities and file some kind of complaint against you, against me.”

Ava thought about her last conversation with the gambler and his partner, and then she put it aside. “I told them I would have them killed. And they believed me.”

“The Chief thought it might be something like that.”

They turned south and the airport came immediately into view. Hooters couldn’t have been more than five minutes away. “I need you to do something for me before you leave tonight,” Ava said.

“What’s that?”

“You’re the last one out. Just before you board, use a pay phone and call the security office at The Oasis. Tell them there was a home invasion and they need to go to Douglas’s house.”

“Okay.”

Ava turned to Carlo and Andy. “Here you are, you two. I’ve written out your flight information for tonight and tomorrow, including confirmation numbers. I’ve also written down your hotel name, address, phone number, and reservation number, in Chinese and English.”

“Thanks,” Carlo said.

“But do me a favour — stay in your hotel tonight. Don’t go wandering. Not many people in Los Angeles speak Cantonese, and I don’t want to worry about the two of you getting lost. Uncle would never forgive me.”

“ Momentai,” Andy said.

They were flying out of Terminal One, Ava out of Terminal Two. The airport road took Martin past her terminal first. He pulled up at the curb and got out of the car.

“See you soon,” she said to the boys as she opened the door.

They each placed their right hand over their left fist, lowered their heads, and moved their hands up and down, the same sign of respect they had shown her when they landed.

Martin took Ava’s bags out of the trunk and brought them to her. “I was going to say this was fun, but it was too stressful to qualify as fun. Anyway, I’m glad I met you.”

She stepped forward and leaned towards him. He looked down shyly as she kissed him gently on both cheeks. “I’d like to keep in touch, maybe visit the Mohneida Nation one day. You’re only a few hours down the road from Toronto.”

“Anytime.”

“Tell the Chief I’ll call him when I’ve concluded my business in London — however it turns out.”

“Actually, Ava, he’d rather you call me. He says every time he talks to you, he ends up doing something he doesn’t want to.”

She smiled, then turned and walked into the airport. She was halfway through a glass of wine in the first-class lounge when her cellphone rang. She checked the screen, which simply read private number. “Ava Lee,” she said.

“You didn’t call me back.”

She looked at her phone. It was one thing not to answer; it was another to hang up. “I was busy,” she said.

She heard the now familiar wheeze as Ordonez drew in air. “I know. Uncle just called Chang with the news.”

“Yes.”

“It is a start.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But just a start. I want the rest of it back.”

“That’s something we all want to happen. Me, Uncle, Chang Wang, and, I’m sure — perhaps more than anyone — your brother.”

“My brother has nothing to do with this anymore. They didn’t steal from him; they stole from me. It was my money, the company’s money, not his money.”

A boarding announcement for another flight was being broadcast in the lounge. “They’re boarding my plane, Mr. Ordonez,” she lied. “I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t want to discuss that.”

He hesitated. “Get the money,” he said. “Get it all.”

The plane landed at Gatwick five minutes early. Ava cleared Immigration and Customs in less than twenty minutes, then phoned Lily Simmons from the station platform while she waited for the express train to Victoria. Simmons’s mobile went directly to voicemail. Ava hung up and then tried the office line, expecting to get an automated receptionist. Instead she heard, “This is Lily Simmons.”

Her voice was full of cheer. Ava noticed that her accent was soft and rounded, the S’s prolonged like a hiss.

“And this is Ava Lee.”

“Ms. Lee, you are in London?”

Thank God she remembers, Ava thought. “I’m at Gatwick, waiting for the express train to Victoria Station.”

“From Victoria, you know, you can catch the Jubilee line directly to Canary Wharf.”

“Yes, I saw that.”

“Your intention is to do that, to come directly to me?”

“It is.”

“Excellent. Our offices are in One Canada Square; it’s the tallest building in the complex. Come to the forty-fifth floor. I’ll let our receptionist know you’re expected.”

“That’s perfect.”

“Well, I’ll see you then. Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Ava said, as the train arrived.

She got off at Victoria Station, where she jostled her way through a crush of people to the subway platform. When she arrived at Canary Wharf, she placed her luggage in a locker and exited the station, her Chanel bag slung over her shoulder.

The air was cool and damp, and the sky was the colour of steel. She shivered, wishing she had a jacket with her. She was grateful that it wasn’t windy and hoped that the rain would hold off. She had never been to Canary Wharf, but she knew that Toronto’s Reichmann brothers had conceived it as Europe’s financial epicentre. Although they had gone broke turning the barren and deserted West India Docks into a massive complex of office towers, others had realized the dream. Ten skyscrapers within immediate view housed more than a hundred thousand workers. One Canada Square was the tallest, with fifty storeys of office space topped by a pyramid-shaped roof.

At ten to five Ava entered the cavernous marble lobby. During the elevator ride to the forty-fifth floor, she checked herself in the full-length mirror on its back wall. At first glance she thought she looked graceful and elegant in her powder-blue shirt and tailored black slacks. At second glance she saw a woman dressed for battle, an avenging angel come to rain misery on Lily Simmons’s life.

The reception area was small, not much larger than her room at Hooters. A young man wearing a white dress shirt and matching white tie was sitting at the front desk, focused on his computer screen. The only other furniture in the area was three chairs off to one side. Ava guessed that Smyth’s occupied more than one floor, and that the forty-fifth was not the corporate floor.

Ava introduced herself to the receptionist. He turned away from his computer and greeted her with an annoyed look. She glanced at the screen and saw that he was playing Hearts. “Oh yes, Ms. Simmons has booked a conference room for you.” He stood up abruptly. “Come with me.”

She followed him down a narrow corridor in which every door was closed. Near the end of the hall he stopped, swung open a door, and showed her in. “I’ll tell Ms. Simmons you’re here,” he said.

The conference room was as plain as the reception area, furnished with just a round wooden table, four chairs, and a small credenza with a phone on it. The walls were bare and the room had only one small window. Ava had thought Smyth’s Investment Bank would be swankier.

At five o’clock on the dot, Lily Simmons walked into the room. Ava stood to meet her and was immediately overwhelmed by the woman’s size. She was long and lanky, her height accentuated by her bony frame. She wore a plaid skirt that fell just below the knee, and Ava could see a smattering of freckles on her shins. Her white silk blouse was buttoned to the neck; her chest was almost completely flat. Her face was gaunt, full of hard lines, and her auburn hair, streaked with shots of ruby red, fell to her jawline in a mass of wild curls. She is striking, Ava thought.