A Million Reasons

by Mark David Abbott

  “Wow,” was all John could think of to say.

  Peter laughed. “Come on in.” He led John to the left where the entrance opened onto a wide living room furnished tastefully in cream and black. It shared the entrance lobby's view, and sliding doors opened out onto a pool deck with a four-lane wide swimming pool, cantilevered over the side of the cliff.

  “Take a seat, John,” Peter waved to a cluster of sofas in the middle of the room. “Imelda,” he called out.

  A middle-aged Filipina emerged from a side door. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Imelda, can you fix us some drinks, please?” He turned to John, “Botanist, tonic, and a slice of orange?”

  Yes, please,” John grinned. This guy was good. “You have a good memory.”

  “Make that two, Imelda.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “John, come out and look at the view.” Peter walked over and opened the sliding doors, stepping out onto the pool deck. John followed him outside and peered over the edge at the jungle-clad slope forty feet below. Peter watched him, a smile on his face. “It took some major engineering to do this, but it’s pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

  John swallowed, hoping the engineer’s calculations had been correct and forced a smile.

  “Come over here.” Peter was like a kid showing off his toys. He beckoned John over to join him at the extreme end of the deck. John walked over and tried not to think about what wasn’t below him.

  “Don’t you love this city?” Peter waved at the view. “There isn’t a better view in the world.”

  John had to agree. It would have been spectacular during the day, but at night, it was a multicolored fairytale of lights spread out before them. The temperature was much cooler than on the city streets below, and a gentle breeze rippled through the stand of potted heliconias lining the sides of the pool deck.

  “It’s incredible.”

  Peter turned and leaned against the handrail, looking back toward the house.

  “When I was growing up, John, I promised myself one day I would have a house up on The Peak, and... Lady Luck has been kind.”

  Imelda arrived with the drinks, and Peter waited until John had his before raising his glass. “Cheers, John.”

  “Cheers,” John replied and took a sip. He licked his lips, “Delicious. I’m sure it was more than just luck, Peter. I think you are being modest. Skill and hard work must have had something to do with it.”

  “You are too kind, John,” Peter laughed. “Yes, it was a lot of hard work but worth it. You get nothing without hard work.” He took a large swig of his drink. “This is delicious. Thanks for introducing me to it.”

  John smiled and took another sip himself. He couldn’t help but like the guy. He was easy to talk to, and despite the trappings of wealth, not at all arrogant.

  “Come, I’ll show you around.” Peter led him inside and gave him a guided tour around the house. The living room led to a separate dining room filled with an eight-seater table and chairs. At one end of the room was a well-stocked bar, and behind the bar, a door opened into a temperature-controlled wine cellar, the walls lined floor to ceiling with racks of wine bottles.

  Another door led into the large, fully equipped kitchen where Imelda and another Filipina were preparing dinner. Stairs from the living room led down to the accommodation floor which held three expansive bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms, then the floor below that contained the master suite which took up the whole bottom floor of the house. The furnishings were expensive but tasteful, nothing garish or over the top. John could imagine himself living the same way if he ever came into money. Seeing the luxurious furnishings reminded him of why he was there.

  He had come into some money, but it came with strings attached, and it was those strings he needed to deal with. The thought sobered him, and he followed Peter back upstairs to the living room where a second drink was waiting. He didn’t want to kill Peter. He was too nice, and he couldn’t think of any justification for taking his life. Peter had done nothing but show him generosity and kindness. John didn’t know what to do. He sat down, drained his drink, and picked up the fresh glass, tuning back into Peter’s conversation.

  After some time, they moved to the dining room for a beautifully prepared, three-course meal, Peter switching to a bottle of Penfolds Bin 95 Grange with his food, John sticking to gin. Red wine gave him a headache.

  Peter's tongue loosened as he relaxed with the drinks, and over dinner, he described how he had built his company and the pressures of doing business in Hong Kong. He let it slip things weren’t going so well with Sylvia, his second wife, one of the reasons she was away in Singapore. He fell silent for a while, staring at his plate. John didn't know what to say or how to comfort him. John knew what it was like to lose someone and felt sorry for him.

  Peter was a nice guy, but despite all his success, perhaps a little lonely. All most people wanted was companionship and someone to love.

  John changed the subject to lighten the mood, and the conversation moved on to travel and cars, discovering they had many similar interests. John was enjoying himself and had to keep reminding himself why he was there. After dinner, they returned to the living room. The conversation paused while Imelda served them both a glass of Port, John reluctant to mix his drinks, but at the same time, not wishing to turn down Peter’s hospitality. In that time, John made a decision. He waited until Imelda left the room, then put his glass down on the coffee table and leaned forward.

  “Peter, I have something I must tell you.”

  “What, are you gay?” he laughed.

  “Ha, no,” he paused. “But it’s serious.”

  Peter stopped laughing and put his glass down. “Okay.”

  “Last night when we met in The Captain’s Bar...”

  “Yes?”

  John took a deep breath.

  “I was following you.”

  22

  John told Peter the whole story, from the discovery of the money in his account, right up to the deposit slips found in David’s office. He left nothing out, and Peter just listened, his eyes not leaving John’s. When John finished, Peter sat back in his chair and let out a long exhalation of air, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Wow.”

  John sat back too, a huge weight off his chest.

  They sat in silence for a while, Peter thinking, his eyes flicking back and forth around the room. When he spoke, it was almost as if he was speaking to himself, and John had to strain to hear him.

  “If I die, David gains control of the company. He gets everything... the greedy son of a bitch. I always had my doubts about him and some of his connections, but sometimes, you can’t be choosy about your bed partners.”

  John cleared his throat. “I’ve heard he has heavy gambling debts.”

  Peter nodded, still deep in thought. John sipped on his port, not wishing to disturb the thought process.

  Suddenly, he turned to John. “I think you should do it.”

  “What?”

  “I think you should kill me.”

  23

  Thursday

  John spent the night at Peter’s. Peter had Imelda prepare the guest room and gave him a change of clothes for the next day.

  John woke around seven, his head heavy from the gin he had consumed. He felt tired, but he couldn’t sleep anymore. He thought back over the previous night’s discussion and Peter’s suggestion to go ahead with it. At first, he thought he was crazy, but Peter had explained they would arrange it so David was implicated in the attempted murder. Peter had a plan.

  John climbed out of bed and opened the blinds. He stretched and rubbed his eyes as he looked out across Victoria Harbour toward the blue hills of the New Territories. He could get used to this lifestyle… as long as he didn’t have to keep going around killing people.

  He stripped off in the bathroom and examined his bruises in the mirror. His torso looked like it had been hit by a truck. He probed his abdomen with his fingertips. It
was sore, very sore, but it would heal. After a long hot shower in the capacious bathroom, he felt much better, more mobile. He splashed himself liberally with the expensive cologne left on the counter before dressing in the clothes Peter had lent him. They fit him well, both keeping themselves in shape and being of similar builds. He walked out into the bedroom and picked up his phone from the bedside table—a message had come in while he was in the shower. He tapped on the screen and opened the message app.

  Don’t get too comfortable. You only have four days left.

  Shit. John’s heart pounded, and he looked around the room before realizing how stupid that was. He wouldn’t find the sender in the bedroom. He took a couple of deep breaths and calmed himself. Hopefully, this would end soon.

  Not sure what to do next, he climbed the stairs to the top floor and looked around. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon came from the kitchen, so he followed his nose. Peter was already there, sitting at the breakfast bar, reading the South China Morning Post while Imelda busied herself at the stove. A small television played in the corner, the screen filled with a talking head discussing the financial markets while a ticker tape ran across the bottom of the screen.

  “Good morning.”

  Both Imelda and Peter turned and smiled.

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Morning, John. Sleep well?”

  John pulled out a bar stool and joined Peter at the breakfast bar. “Like a log. Been up long?”

  “An hour or so. I like to exercise before starting the day. Coffee?”

  “That will be great. Thanks.”

  Imelda prepared a coffee at the fancy stainless-steel coffee machine on the counter and brought it over.

  “What would you like to eat, sir?”

  John looked around the kitchen. “That bacon smells good. Bacon and eggs?”

  “Sure, sir,” she smiled and went back to the stove.

  John pushed his phone across the bench-top toward Peter, the message open on the screen.

  Peter glanced down at the screen and raised his eyebrows. He folded the newspaper and pushed it to one side. He looked at John, then flicked his eyes toward Imelda before looking back.

  “Let’s continue last night’s conversation after breakfast. I have some ideas.”

  John nodded as Imelda placed a plate of fried eggs and bacon in front of him. He looked questioningly at Peter.

  “I don’t eat breakfast. Only coffee for me. But please tuck in.”

  John didn’t wait any longer. He was starving.

  Later, Peter led him out onto the pool deck and closed the French doors from the house behind him.

  “It’s best we’re not overheard,” he explained. “Grab a seat.” He pulled up a cane chair and gestured for John to do the same. Sitting down, they both gazed at the view in silence. The air was cool, the sun beginning its climb above the hills in East Kowloon, a gentle breeze blowing across the pool deck. The peaks of the New Territories were just hidden behind tendrils of soft clouds.

  Peter broke the silence. “I’ve made some calls, John. I have some contacts in the police.”

  John stiffened. “They told me not to involve the Police.”

  “It’s okay, I trust my guy. You have nothing to worry about.”

  John pursed his lips, not convinced.

  “He’s on his way here. I have an idea John, and with his help, we can make it work.”

  John looked out across the harbor. He didn’t like getting too many people involved, it opened up too many possibilities for things to go wrong. He preferred to trust his own abilities and street smarts. That’s how he had got away with his revenge killings in India. The difference was, this time, he didn’t want to kill anyone. He liked Peter, he was a good man and didn’t deserve to die.

  In India, he was successful because he was the only person in the world who knew for sure what he had done there. But now, Peter knew about the messages and the money and who knows how many police would find out now. The other danger was if David Yu knew about Bangalore. The Hong Kong Police could find out and inform their counterparts in India. John would have solved one problem only to be thrown into a deeper one. He thought fast. He was screwed either way.

  Peter was looking at him waiting for a response. He had to make a decision and didn’t have the luxury of time to consider all the options. John bit his lip. One step at a time. He would go with the flow and see how things panned out. If the Bangalore issue came up, he would deal with it then. Hopefully, it could all be turned around, they would apprehend the man behind all this, and John could live the rest of his life in peace, a million dollars richer.

  “Okay,” he shrugged, “what’s the plan?”

  “Let’s wait until Joseph gets here.” He turned as they heard the French doors opening. “Ah, speak of the devil.”

  John turned to look at the man who had just walked onto the pool deck. A medium height Chinese in tan cargo pants and a black cotton shirt walked toward Peter, holding out his hand, his mouth smiling, but his eyes darted nervously back and forth from John to Peter.

  Peter shook his hand like a politician, clasping Joseph’s hand with both of his, then turned to John.

  “John, this is Inspector Joseph Wong from the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau, Wanchai.”

  Joseph held out his hand, his eyes glancing at John’s cut lip. “What happened to your face?”

  John’s hand moved to his lip, but before he could reply, Peter interjected, “He walked into a door. Please, take a seat.”

  John shook his hand as Joseph frowned at him, apparently not convinced by Peter’s explanation. John studied him as he sat down, and Peter explained what had happened to John over the past few days. Joseph looked fit, no trace of a belly, his close-cropped hair greying at the temples. He listened closely to Peter, interjecting once or twice to check a fact, the fingers on his right hand tapping rhythmically on his thigh. He didn’t look like a policeman—at least John’s idea of how a policeman should look—and although he couldn’t put his finger on it, for some reason, he didn’t like him. Something about him made him uneasy. There was no warmth like he had felt when he met Peter.

  Peter turned to John, including him in the conversation. “John found the deposit slips in David’s office. We’re sure it’s him. My plan is for John to proceed as if he is going along with David’s plan, and we get David involved and catch him red-handed.”

  John looked away from Peter and at Joseph, catching him staring at him. Joseph flicked his eyes away and sat forward.

  “Let’s do it on the boat.”

  Peter nodded slowly, frowning as he thought it over.

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “Boat?” John questioned.

  “Peter has a boat at the Aberdeen Marina. We can wire it up for sound and hidden cameras. It’s an environment we can control. We’ll arrange for you to be on the boat, and I’ll hide on the boat with my colleagues, ready to arrest David once we have his confession. He won’t be able to get away.”

  “But how will you get him and me on the boat at the same time?”

  “That’s easy,” Peter replied. “I invite him on the boat all the time. I’ll call him for a meeting about the Central Reclamation development. He won’t know you’re there. Once we are settled in, you can appear, and we’ll confront him.”

  John nodded, playing the scenario out in his mind. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t see any other way out—he had no other options.

  “Let’s plan it for Saturday afternoon. That will give Joseph time to wire up the stateroom on the boat and get his men ready. I often take the boat out on the weekend, anyway so it won’t look suspicious.”

  “We’ll aim for one p.m. I’ll have the boat ready by then,” replied Joseph. He turned to John. “Peter will give you the details, but I want you on the boat by eleven thirty to reduce the chance of anyone seeing you. You never know where his spies are.”

  Peter stood. “Great, it’s done.” He turned to John. �
��John, go home and get some rest. We’ll need you in top form on Saturday. I’ll sort out the finer details with Joseph. Why don’t we all meet tomorrow morning to go through the plan once more? I’ll send my driver to pick you up from the ferry.”

  “That sounds good.” John stood and shook Peter’s hand. Joseph remained seated, watching him closely. “Thank you, Peter.”

  “Not at all, John.” Peter clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for confiding in me. You are saving my life. My driver will drop you at the ferry. Rest up, and we’ll speak soon.”

  “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I owe you my life.”

  John smiled and frowned at the same time, then nodded at Joseph before walking toward the house. He slid open the door and stepped inside, sliding it closed behind him. He looked back at the pool deck. Both Peter and Joseph stared back at him, neither of them saying a word.

  24

  John sat back, leaned his head against the headrest, and closed his eyes as the S Class Mercedes wound its way down Magazine Gap Road toward Central and the ferry piers. John had decided to go home. It was out of his hands now, nothing more he could do. He was set on a path—there was no turning back. All would come to an end on Saturday. Hopefully, it would end well.

  He must have drifted off because it seemed like only seconds later the Mercedes pulled up alongside Ferry Pier Three, and the driver turned in his seat.

  “Here okay, sir?”

  John opened his eyes and looked around. “Ah yes, thank you.”