It wouldn’t cover his entire debt, only a third. But that was just the beginning. Having found the right Achilles’ heel, he’d capitalize on it, expand the creative services he provided. And that would mean subsequent payments.
In the meantime, fifty thousand dollars would be a healthy first installment—enough to keep Ardian Sava, his bastard of a bookie, from giving the go-ahead to break a few of his body parts.
Phil glanced at his watch. Nine-thirty p.m. Too late for even Ben to still be at work.
He called him at home.
Ben answered on the first ring, dropped the receiver twice, then put it to his ear. “Hello?” he mumbled.
“It’s me,” Phil said, wishing Ben’s garbled tone meant he’d been sleeping, not drinking. But no such luck.
“Phil—finally. I’ve been waiting for you to—”
“Here’s what I want you to do,” Phil interrupted. “Go stand in the shower under a cold spray of water until you sober up. Then call that new owner of the employment agency who’s bleeding you dry, and broker a meeting between him and us.”
“Us?” Ben might be drunk, but he wasn’t unconscious. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Silence. Whether it was because Ben had a legitimate basis for his objection, or he was trying to clear his mind, Phil wasn’t sure.
“Why can’t you do that?” he pressed.
“Because…” Another pause. “What do you want me to say—that my accountant wants to have a nice chat with him about bringing down his prices so I don’t go bankrupt, and so he holds off sending over a thug to bash my head in?”
“Just tell him I’m your partner, that I handle the company’s finances, and that I have a winning business proposition for him that’ll settle your debts and benefit his agency.”
“Phil, this isn’t a guy you want to screw over.”
“I’m not screwing him over. I’m proposing a deal. He’ll either take it or leave it. But I have a feeling he’ll take it. The fact that he keeps raising your prices tells me so. He needs the cash. And he’s a shrewd operator who’ll look out for his own best interests. We’ll use both to our advantage.”
“His English sucks.”
“He’ll understand the universal language: money.” Phil talked over Ben’s continued objections. “Just trust me and do it. Tell him he can pick the time and place—so long as it’s private. Let me know the details once he decides them.”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“Actually, it is.”
“Phil, he doesn’t need the cash. He wants the cash.”
“Fine. So he’s not hurting, he’s greedy. That works, too. I’ll offer him a strong incentive—a couple of them, in fact. Now go take that shower. And don’t come out until your mind is crystal clear. Then make the call.”
Ben stared at the receiver long after the dial tone signaled that Phil had hung up.
He should have told him. He’d tried to, several times. But Phil had cut him off.
Who was he kidding? If he’d wanted to tell his friend, he would have found a way. But Phil had seemed so damned confident that he could make his plan work.
Ben squeezed his eyes shut. He was a fucking coward. Phil deserved to know that the mob leader he was asking to negotiate with was the same one who’d killed Cai Wen and stolen the Rothberg. Ben hadn’t been in Hong Kong that day. But Phil had. He might have gotten a good look at Xiao Long. He might recognize him.
Or he might not.
Even if he’d clearly seen Xiao as he left the crime scene, the murder had happened fourteen years ago. People’s appearances changed. The only reason Matthew had recognized Xiao Long that night in Chinatown was because Xiao had planted himself in Matthew’s face for the sole purpose of being recognized. Otherwise, they might have walked right by each other and never batted a lash.
And if Phil didn’t recognize Xiao Long, and if this plan of his really did work, it would be a godsend. It would free Ben from both financial and physical demise. No more debt. No more terror of being dismembered by Jin Huang. And it would mean a pretty penny for Phil, as well.
On that thought, his decision was made.