Read THE KING OF MACAU (The Jack Shepherd International Crime Novels) for Free Online Page B

weren’t bad either.
    We walked along together for while without saying anything. Me enjoying my Montecristo, and Pete…well, I had no idea what Pete was doing there other than walking. Then he cleared his throat and I figured I was about to find out.
    “I want you to take the job,” he said.
    “I’m not going to take the job.”
    “Take the job.”
    “What’s going on here, Pete? What are you trying to get me involved in?”
    “Take the job. You owe me.”
    “I owe you?”
    “Sure. I got you out of jail a few months back, didn’t I?”
    “Pete, it was you who put me in jail in the first place. And for something you knew damn well I didn’t do.”
    Pete shrugged, but he didn’t say anything.
    “Why is the FBI interested in Pansy Ho anyway?” I asked.
    “We’re not interested in her.”
    “So it must be her father you’re interested in.”
    “Are you crazy, man?” Pete chuckled. “I’m not going to fuck with Stanley Ho. It would take bigger balls than I have to go after Stan.”
    Pete stopped and pointed across the harbor to where the brightly lit shape of the Macau Tower loomed through a break in the fog. The tower was a slim concrete spear shooting over a thousand feet into the night sky.
    “Did you know people bungee jump off that thing?” Pete asked. “They say it’s the highest bungee jump in the world. I saw a clip on YouTube once of a guy doing it on a bicycle. Now why do you suppose anyone would want to bungee jump off a thousand-foot tower on a bicycle?”
    I had no idea why anyone would want to bungee jump off anything, let alone off a thousand-foot tall tower while riding a bicycle, so I said nothing.
    “You ever hear what the locals call that thing?” Pete asked, pointing to the Macau Tower.
    I shook my head.
    “They call it ‘Stan’s Boner.’”
    The tower had a bulbous looking observation deck on top that I had to admit did give it a certain resemblance to male anatomy in full flight. It was unfortunate, but utterly unmistakable.
    “Stanley Ho is about ninety and in a wheelchair,” I said. “He’s probably forgotten what a boner is.”
    “Doesn’t matter. I still ain’t fucking with Stan. He’s the king of Macau, man.”
    “I never figured you for a pussy, Pete.”
    “Learn something new every single day, don’t you, Jack?”
    I let the silence hang between us after that and gave my full attention to my Montecristo. The only sound was the muffled impact of our feet on the concrete walkway alongside the harbor.
    It wasn’t long before Pete started talking again, exactly as I knew he would.
    “WE’VE BEEN WATCHING THE money flows in Macau, Jack. This place is a fucking mountain of cash.” Pete waved an arm in the general directions of where the bright lights of the casinos were lost in the fog. “Do you have any idea how much money passes over those tables out there?”
    “More than in Las Vegas.”
    “A lot more. Six or seven times more. More than in the whole fucking state of Nevada, my friend.”
    “What’s your point, Pete?”
    “My point is that we live in a world in which cash has become a problem. Some of it’s just cash, of course, a few bills that Mom and Dad have put aside to have a little fun, but more and more of it is something else altogether. It’s the proceeds of government corruption, or drug sales, or arms dealing, or smuggling, or plain old thefts and swindles. Some of it finances bombings and killings and people who are trying to blow up airplanes.”
    Pete glanced at me to make sure I was listening. I was, but barely. Mostly, I was hoping Pete would get to the point before I fell asleep.
    “Cash is a problem for people who have it because they usually don’t want to admit they have it. So they try to put it into the banking system in a way that makes it difficult to tell where it came from. A casino is the perfect way to do that.”
    “You don’t have to explain money laundering to me, Pete.”
    “I like to do introductions. They