I offered my guests seats on the couch, and then I took a seat in one of the armchairs. That was just fine with the boys in the bedroom. At this very moment, they were watching us on a twelve-inch closed-circuit TV screen that received images from a pinhole camera concealed inside a digital clock. The clock was resting on one of the side tables, placed there by the tech guys. Ironically, I wasn't wired today; only the room was, pursuant to a court order. The only thing I was concealing was a very fat envelope with $50,000 inside. It was in the left-inside breast pocket of my navy sport jacket, and I was to hand it to Loo at the appropriate moment.
After a few minutes of small talk, I said, “I want you to know, James, that Dennis has vouched for you a hundred percent. And that means more than anything to me.”
James nodded dutifully. “Likewise,” he said. “Dennis vouched for you too, so I am very comfortable.”
“And that's very good,” said the Chef, who had little capacity for ass-kissing. “And now that we got dat ouddadaway, let's move on to the good stuff!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “The sooner I get my cash overseas the better. And by the way, James, I want you to know that the fact that you've done a lot of business with Bob makes me that much more comfortable.” I nodded respectfully. “It's like getting an endorsement from the Pope, you know?” Actually, more like Darth Vader, I thought.
James nodded. “Yes, we have very good history together. And it is also a very funny story how we met.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “I'd like to hear it.”
“Well,” he said proudly, “I was what you call ‘emergency CEO’ in one of Bob's underwritings.”
“Yeah—get a load of this,” snapped the Chef. “Bob does a deal, makes ten million, but then the CEO kicks the bucket the day the thing goes public. So now we needed someone—or, should I say, anyone—tostep in.” The Chef looked at his Chinese friend. “No offense, James.”
“None taken,” he replied.
“Anyway,” continued the Chef, “James was on the board of the company at the time, so he agreed to step in as CEO. Then, of course, he did the right thing afterward, which is why we're all sitting here today.”
I nodded slowly, searching for a way to delve deeper into how James had “done the right thing afterward,” which in Chef terms (and in Wolf terms) meant that James had continued to issue cheap shares of stock to the Blue-eyed Devil after he went public. “So how did the company end up doing?” I asked casually. “Did it go anywhere?”
“It struggled for a while,” said James, “but we all did okay.”
The Chef said, “The most important thing is that James can be trusted. The company had its ups and downs, but James was always solid as a rock. And that's how he'll be with you on this: solid as a rock.”
Sensing an opening, I asked, “So you've helped Bob the same way you're gonna help me? You know, like”—I winked—”over there, in the Orient?”
James shrugged. “I do many things for Bob, but I do not like to discuss them. It will be the same way with you. What we do is only between us, and, of course, Dennis.”
I needed to get off this topic quickly, so I smiled at James, as if I'd only been testing him to see if he were a blabbermouth. “That's exactly what I wanted to hear, James. Exactly!See, the most important thing to me is that no one outside this room ever finds out about this. That's crucial.”
“They won't,” James said confidently. “Remember, it will be just as bad for me if that happens.”
“And that is indeed true,” added the Chef, with a single nod. “So all that's gotta happen now is you and James gotta come to your agreement; then I'll do what Igotta do, and you'll do what yougotta do, and then James will do whatever he'sgotta do, and badabeep, badabop, badaboop—schwiiiitttt!—the money'll be over there,and we'll still be over here,and we can all sleep at night like babies.”
“We're all on the same page here,” I said confidently, “and if it's okay with you, James, I'd like to move very quickly. I have two million in cash that I want to get out of the States ASAP, because I, uh”—I looked around the room suspiciously, then lowered my voice—”got the money from new-issue kickbacks. You know, from clients I gave units to, who then did the right thing afterward and gave me back cash.” I slowly raised my voice to normal. “Anyway, then I got another ten million dollars already in Switzerland, which I'd like to wire to your sister as soon as we get all the accounts set up.”
“It is no problem,” said James. “She is very organized and very reliable.”
The Chef said, “I can take care of all the paperwork over there or anything else you need to get done. And when it comes to making investments, I'll work as an adviser to keep you one step removed until your problems blow over.”
I nodded in understanding, wondering if there was any point to sitting in this room one second longer. Both the Chef and James Loo had already buried themselves a thousand times over, plus I had the Chef on audiotape from the other day, with his diagram of the nuclear submarine.
Still, according to OCD, there was nothing more powerful with a jury than videotape, so, if possible, I should try to get the Chef to explain the entire money-laundering scheme yet again. Obviously, with the way things were going, I knew he would; it was just that I was so bored with the whole thing by this point that I couldn't bear to hear it myself again. I had already been an expert on money laundering before all this started, and I was sick and tired of playing dumb.
Nevertheless, I had a job to do; so I took a deep breath and said, “Everything sounds great, but I'm still a little bit confused. Just so there's no crossed wires in the future, can we go through the whole thing one more time?”
The Chef shook his head quickly, as if I were a bit on the dense side. Then he said, “Yeah, of course. Grab that pen and paper over there, will you…” and that was it. Ten minutes later I had another nuclear submarine, this one even moredetailed. After all, the first one had only been a prototype; this one was the second generation. All I had to do now was to pass James the envelope. Then I was done.
I patted the outside of my sport jacket, just over the left breast pocket. “I assume Dennis mentioned that I was gonna give you a little cash today to get things going.”
James nodded. “Yes; that would be excellent.”
“Okay,” said the Chef, “well, I don't think you guys need me around for this, so I'm gonna get going.” And just like that he rose from the couch. “Is that okay with you, James?”
James shrugged. “Yes, no problem.”
The Chef looked at me. “Is it okay with you?”
No, I thought, I gotta check with the guys in the bedroom first. “Sure,” I said quickly, “it's fine.”
With that the Chef shook James Loo's hand and headed for the door.
And that was when it hit me: I would never see the Chef again. I had no doubt that once the Bastard saw this videotape, he would indict the Chef quickly and then announce my cooperation shortly thereafter. The end was fast approaching, and it was time to say my last good-byes to a man whom I had once trusted with my dirtiest secrets, a man whom I had once called my friend.
The Chef was a man's man, and there was no one else like him. He was the sort of Chef who could stand the heat in the kitchen, the sort of man I would want to go into battle with. How many times had I said that to myself over the years? How many times had I looked to the Chef for strength, and for answers, wisdom, and courage? And this was how it ended up.
As the Chef opened the hotel-room door, I said, “Hey, Chef!”
“Yo!” he said, smiling. “What's up?”
I smiled back sadly. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. It's a fucked-up business we're in, and you've always been a friend to me. Don't think I don't know that.”