Ridley Pearson - The Risk Agent

“We paid,” he said.

“And the wire cleared?” she asked.

“I’ll talk to my brother and my bookkeeper. Please forgive this failure, Amy. This dishonors me greatly.” Contrition was an important part of business relationships with the Chinese.

“You can make it up to me,” she said, coyly. “Show me interest, not pay it.”

“No shortage of interest.”

Knox wrote GRAND CATHAY in block letters on the bar napkin-the name of his room. He pinched it beneath the base of her Champagne glass. Amy kissed him and slipped off the bar, taking precautions in a city where the rumor mill spun faster than a turbine.

Having left the guesthouse by the front door, she circled around to the back door and joined him in the guestroom. Joined him without a word spoken between them. Joined him in a sweaty, athletic indulgence that ended with her straddling him, their eyes locked, their shared rhythm near perfect, their needs fulfilled.

“Sometimes I wish I still smoked,” she said, lying on her back.

“Oh, you smoke,” Knox said. And she hit him.

Knox rose up onto an elbow to enjoy the look of her. He could see her heart beating quickly at the V of her ribcage.

“If a body could be put into words,” he said, “yours would be poetry.”

Her smile widened. “Silver tongue, cold heart.”

He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “Does it feel cold to you?”

She shook her head, still smiling, and staring at the ceiling fan. “It is an expression is all.” She hesitated. “I am worried for you.”

He turned on the television and cranked the volume. He trusted Fay not to bug his room, but believed in taking precautions. “No worries,” he said softly.

The iPhone rang. He scrambled to get to it and then considered not answering it. But he couldn’t help himself. “Yeah?”

“Who do you think you are?” Grace’s shrill voice caused Knox to distance the phone from his ear. He moved away from the bed and made a face to indicate his surprise. “I will tell you: a common thief. A liar. A cheat. Worse than all: a man whose word cannot be trusted.”

“Listen to me a minute,” Knox pleaded.

“The GPS is the key to our success. We are partners. And yet you steal it from me. Steal it! A common thief! You delay our efforts. You cost me panic and fear when I cannot find it. How dare you treat me with such disrespect!”

“If you would just…listen.”

The line went dead.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” Amy asked.

“An unhappy customer,” he said, returning to her.

“You see? You have problem with customer, too.”

“It’s true.” He’d known Amy long enough to believe he could trust her, though trust was more of a concept here than a practice. Together they’d bent enough export laws to hold weight over the other.

He nibbled her tenderly and she startled.

“Oooh. I like that.”

The television continued to blare, though the sounds it covered were no longer of conspiracy and collusion. Instead they were the sounds of secret touches, pressures and timing. Of instruction and direction. Of a woman’s cries muffled by a pillow and a man’s growl as skin slapped skin and traffic hummed. Of shared guilty laughter between two people who knew no one deserved something so good.

When she had gone, Knox called down and ordered an espresso. He showered and dressed and double-checked the knife he carried, as if by looking at it he could hone its blade.

Then, he placed the call he’d not wanted to make. He used the iPhone, allowing Dulwich to pay for it-knowing it could not be eavesdropped upon.

Tommy answered on the third ring. Detroit sounded next door.

“Hey, bro,” Knox said.

“Johnny!” Tommy was the only person Knox tolerated using the nickname. His brother sounded as excited as if an ice cream truck had just pulled up in front of the house.

With proper medication, supervision and a solid routine, Tommy did all right. He could handle the responsibilities of their partnership. He indulged in video games. He’d pretty much conquered public transportation. He had a start on adulthood, if not there yet. Thankfully, he wasn’t inclined to look for the man behind the curtain. Knox played his role close to the vest.

The missed payment to Amy was a red flag. Knox did not want to access any of their online bookkeeping from China. He didn’t want to give the Internet-sniffing Chinese authorities a leg up.

“How goes it?” Knox asked.

“Just fine,” Tommy said.

“Business good?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Small problem over here.”

“Where?”

“Shanghai. Amy never received her wire.”

Silence.

“The pearl lady.”

“But that was months ago,” Tommy said.

Impressive, Knox thought. “Yes, exactly.”

“Wouldn’t we know if a wire didn’t go through?” Tommy struggled with the concept of moving money electronically.

“We should, yes.”

“You mean I should,” Tommy said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s what you’re thinking.”

“Don’t go there, Tommy. It’s not what I was thinking.”

“You think I screwed up.”

“If you screwed up, I’d say you screwed up. Since when do I mince words?”

“Then what? If not that, why are you calling?”

“Because we owe a lot of money to an important supplier and I want to get on it. That’s all there is to it. Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

“I’ll have to check with Eve.” Evelyn Ritter, their bookkeeper and accountant.

“Yes. That’s where we start. Exactly. A record of the wire and, if for some reason it didn’t go through-”

“We resend,” Tommy said, agreeing.

“Are you writing this down?”

“I’m not stupid. Of course I am.”

“We’ll need to check other payments as well. Eve can help. I don’t get how she could have missed this one, but stranger things have happened. Bet you anything it’s on this end: you know Chinese banks.”

Tommy had a schoolboy crush on their attractive bookkeeper. Knox did not like the way the relationship had developed-he didn’t know if he was jealous of Eve for winning Tommy’s attentions, or if he questioned why an attractive, smart woman would express interest in someone with Tommy’s limited social skills. But Eve spent time with his brother-quality time-and that was a blessing he wouldn’t discourage.

“How are things otherwise?” Knox asked.

“Tigers suck.”

“There’s news.”

“How about you?” Tommy asked.

“Looking into importing vintage motorcycles.” He’d lived with the lie long enough to begin to buy into it.

“Seriously?”

“They have some real beauties over here. They copied BMW and Russian designs for years. Better than the originals. We can get ’em for a song, bring ’em up to standards and sell them for five, maybe eight-X.”

“I thought I’m not allowed to ride motorcycles,” he said, sounding younger all of a sudden.

“Some of them have sidecars. Maybe we’ll make an exception.”

“An exception,” Tommy said, mimicking. A signal he was tiring. Phone calls were harder for him than face-to-face. Tommy’s doctors could not explain half of what went on-or failed to go on-in his brain.

“I’ll sign off,” Knox said.

“Expensive call.”

“E-mail me what you find out from Eve.”

“I’ll e-mail you,” Tommy said.

“You’re a good man, Tommy.”

“Miss you, Johnny.”

He hung up. Knox kept the phone to his ear a little longer than necessary, his heart working like timpani. He trod softly as he descended the stairs, heeding Fay’s warning about the night watchman, and slipped outside, carefully shutting the back door behind him.