by S. C. Abbey
Spector pushed the swinging door by its handle and entered the small establishment by the name of Four Seasons Restaurant on Queensway. The delectable whiff of Chinese food hit him like a wall of bricks, reminding him that he hadn’t had lunch today. The famed, cramped eatery was packed to the brim with local customers and tourists alike, understandable since it was lunch time. An Asian waiter carrying a plate of delicious-looking roast duck came walking out of the kitchen. After he placed the dish on a table, he hurriedly approached Spector with a somewhat sore expression. He spoke with apprehensible but strongly Chinese-accented English.
“Roast duck? One person? Two?” he said, signaling with his fingers, mistaking the incoming lone customer behind Spector to be with him.
“No,” Spector declined in perfect Cantonese. “I’m looking for Lou Syu.”
If the Chinese waiter was surprised that somebody had addressed his employer by that name or that an Englishman had spoken impeccable Cantonese, he certainly didn’t show it. In fact, his annoyed expression softened to a knowing one at the mention of the moniker as he raised a thumb and pointed to his back while keeping his eye on Spector.
Spector winked as he muttered a gratitude. The waiter stepped aside to allow the Brit to pass before stepping back to serve the customer behind him. Spector minced down the narrow walkway between tables and headed straight into the kitchen. He trod through the kitchen to the back where a door was and pushed it open, stepping into the back area of the restaurant. There, a stairway lay to the right of him, leading upstairs, while a wooden, lacquered door stood on his left. He tapped on the wooden door with his knuckles, waiting for an acknowledgment.
“Come in,” a voice said in Cantonese from within.
Spector twisted the doorknob and entered the room before closing the door behind him. “Lou Syu,” he called out, almost caressingly.
Lou Syu sat behind a large, heavy-looking table that appeared to have been carved out of a single massive trunk. The desk’s surface was messily covered with receipts, invoices, and documents of all sorts, a pair of gold and silver dragon sculptures on each side facing the door with their claws out, bundles of cash, and an abacus which the owner of the establishment was currently using. Lou Syu stopped her counting as she looked up from above her metal-rimmed glasses, developing an expression of disapproval at the use of that name. Spector leaned back against the door and folded his arms.
Lou Syu’s smile couldn’t come faster. “Alastair.”
“You look lovely, Syu. Still eating that gelatinous dessert every day? What was it called—swallow’s nest?” Alastair Spector said with a smile. He genuinely liked her. At least she was honest.
Syu was a middle-aged woman who was about Spector’s age, but looked naught a day past forty. She had always attributed it to the wildly expensive tonics she took, and good genes. The only item that suggested her real age was the use of her long-sighted glasses, which she permanently had perched on her nose.
“Once a day, every day,” she replied as she smiled even warmer. “Are you regretting not taking me up on my offer now? I told you, our babies would have been gorgeous. We would have many of them to carry on your family name.”
Spector laughed. She never missed a chance to talk about it. “I’m afraid I’m not good father material. I’m having problems handling just two…”
“Too bad for you then,” Syu said as her smile wavered from her face. She went back to counting the stacks of pound notes with her abacus.
“C’mon, don’t be a stranger,” teased Spector.
“Can’t you see? I’m having a great time with the love of my life.” She waved a bundle of cash at him. “What do you want?”
“I need my toys.” He grinned.
“How’s Zee?” asked Syu, looking down at her abacus.
“Aging, rather badly I must say. Definitely not as well as you.”
“Didn’t she tell you her budget got reduced recently?” Syu glanced up as if she was lecturing a child. “Times are bad. You rely on taxpayers after all.”
“How did you—even I didn’t know that.”
“I read the newspapers. You should try.”
“The best blacksmith can’t craft a single blade without his tools.”
Syu shook her head. “It took me so long to get my money the last time.”
“I will personally collect the payment for you when I come back from my…work trip,” Spector said.
“You promise?” She stared into his eyes.
“I have always kept all my promises—” he said.
Her glance softened. “But one,” she added.
“—but one,” he agreed.
Syu paused as silence filled the room. She gave in with a deep exhale as she picked up her desk phone and dialed. The call connected and she spoke in rapid Cantonese to the person on the other side before ending the call.
“Head to the vault, you know the way. Fong will be there. We’ve got some new toys on the second row which I think you might enjoy. They don’t come cheap, though…”
Spector tilted his head a little lower in response. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said as he turned and opened the door. Better leave before she regretted it.
“I’ll send Zee the invoice, make sure you don’t die on this trip,” Syu shouted after him. “Die after you get my money.”
Spector chuckled as he approached the stairway and climbed to the third floor. He knocked on the surface of a metal door in front of him. The sound of the gears of the locking mechanism of the walk-in safe cranked and the door swung open.
“Spector.”
“Nice seeing you too, Fong.”
Fong nodded and ushered him in. He entered the vault and in front of him was an armory of ranged and combat weapons, and enough ammunition to arm a small army.
He gave a low whistle. Life wasn’t that bad after all.
“Now, where are those new toys?”
Chapter 12
THE SOUND OF boots scrapping against the sunbaked, concrete path of the First Athens Cemetery Park filled the silence between the two men. One reflected a lighter, quick-paced stride while the other, a lazy dragged one. The full-sun continued its merciless onslaught upon every surface its rays shone on, burning with enduring vigor despite the time of the day. Harvey, deep in thought, was just following the path single-mindedly where it had led out of the morgue he had just come from. He didn’t know where he was heading.
“Professor Nolan—wait up, please,” said Obermaier as he panted in his sweat-drenched shirt. “Slow down.”
Harvey stopped abruptly as if he was shaken out of a trance. Obermaier almost walked into him. Obermaier exhaled heavily as he approached a nearby park bench, and rested his heavy frame on the squeaky-sounding furniture.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not used to walking that much. Just give me a minute. And the weather—” Obermaier said, stopping to catch his breath. He was evidently in really bad shape considering it was really just a brisk walk. His face started to regain a little more color as a minute passed, or perhaps he was starting to get a little burnt from the sun. He checked the time on his watch. “Shall we grab some lunch? It’s almost 4. That took longer than expected.”
Harvey didn’t reply to the lawyer. He continued being still as a statue in the middle of the path.
“And we are stuck with this now anyway. Seems like we won’t be getting Tanner out anytime soon.” Obermaier grunted. It sounded like a swine snorting. “I swear my documents were immaculate. Xanthopoulos promised me there would be no issues. Damned Greek attorneys. I might as well have done it myself.”
Harvey glanced at the sight straight in front of him. A tall, white marble structure stood across the road. On both sides of it were black metal grills, shaped in the image of two smiling angels looking inward where two flags swayed in the light breeze—one was the blue and white Greek flag, the other was a red and blue one that Harvey didn’t recognize. A small walkway in the
middle of the architecture led through the shelter into a cemetery. A faint smile crept up his lips.
Obermaier sighed heavily. “We can’t stay here indefinitely, till they release the body. Who knows when that will be—it might take weeks! I’ve got tons of work to do back in D.C.! Oh God, please don’t do this to me.”
Harvey turned his attention to Obermaier as if he had just realized the stocky lawyer was speaking to him all along.
“Let me call the U.S. Embassy—” said Obermaier as he tried to take out his cell phone from his pocket. “I know someone there, perhaps he can help us some way or another.”
“Don’t bother,” replied the young professor.
“Huh?”
“I said don’t bother.” Harvey chuckled lightly as he repeated himself.
Obermaier stared at Harvey with his mouth opened. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing is.” Harvey suppressed his smile as he spoke. “Except, Louis didn’t kill himself.”
“I don’t think that was what I read in the report.” The lawyer fumbled with his black document bag. “Did the police officer tell you something just now?”
“No. Well, yes and no. But one thing’s for sure. They made sure it looked like he killed himself.”
“What do you mean?” asked Obermaier as he stopped paying attention to his bag.
“The suicide note. Did you take a look at it?” asked Harvey.
Obermaier frowned. “I did.”
“Did nothing seem amiss to you?”
“Not that I can recall—”
“Don’t you find it odd that Louis never mentioned his sister—or you or I for that matter—considering the lengths he went to secure his testamentary arrangements when he was alive?”
“Uh-huh…” replied Obermaier.
“Plus, Louis could have never written the note—if it was up to him. He was allergic to graphite,” added Harvey.
Obermaier looked at Harvey in the same dull manner he had been looking at him. He didn’t seem surprised or anything. Harvey didn’t wait for him to figure it out himself.
“The note!” Harvey exclaimed. “It was written in pencil! Louis avoided pencils like the plague when he was alive because of his severe allergy to graphite. Didn’t you know that?”
Obermaier’s eyes slowly widened at the realization of what Harvey implied. He stared dumbfounded at the young professor.
“Which means,” added Harvey, “whoever planted that note wanted it to look like a suicide. And from the looks of it, the Greek officer I spoke with definitely felt more comfortable dismissing the case as a suicide. What was his name again? Linard—?” Harvey tried to pronounce the Greek name.
Obermaier looked positively horrified at the implication. The color from his face started to drain away again, just like before. “He was murdered?”
“More likely than not, I’m afraid. And for what reason, we have to find out,” Harvey said.
“We?” Obermaier squeaked.
“I have to find out the truth. I owe Louis that, at least.”
Obermaier swallowed the lump in his throat. “What should I do then? Shouldn’t we be taking this to the U.S. Embassy?”
“We could, but I doubt we’ll get far on that route. They couldn’t even do anything about the authorities not wanting to release the body. I think this probably goes higher than a normal murderer or a street cop.”
Obermaier breathed heavily, still seated on the bench. The poor man seemed like he was really having a hard time processing all the shit that had just hit the fan.
After a slight pause, Harvey said, “Go home, Obermaier.”
The lawyer released a long breath. He actually started to look relieved immediately.
“No offense, but you would only slow me down,” Harvey said. “Go back to D.C., see what you can do from there. Pressure the Greeks from there.”
Obermaier nodded vigorously as if he couldn’t agree more.
Harvey turned his attention back to the white marble structure he was admiring before and lowered his voice. “Problem is—where should I start?”
“If the police are involved in a cover-up, they’ll probably be on me the second I start acting too obvious—”
“Nolan—”
“The scene of the crime, perhaps—” Harvey ignored the lawyer.
“Professor Nolan!”
Harvey turned his attention back to him.
“I might have something that will help you.”
Harvey raised an eyebrow.
Obermaier fumbled with the document bag once more as he took out a zip-lock bag from it. Inside was a cell phone and a gold ring.
Harvey’s other eyebrow joined the first. “Is that—?”
“Tanner’s possessions.”
“How did you—”
“Xanthopoulos and I argued with the custodian officer that they could at least let us claim his belongings while you were busy talking to—Linard—?”
Harvey approached Obermaier in a sweeping motion as he placed his hands on his shoulders and shook him, bursting into a smile as he did. “Good man! This is a game-changer!”
He took the zip-lock bag from the lawyer’s hands and opened it. He pocketed the gold ring and tried to switch the cell phone on. “Battery’s dead. I’ll need a charger.” Harvey then looked down at the lawyer. Obermaier looked like a frightened, oversized kid. Harvey pitied the poor man.
“What will you do, Nolan?” asked Obermaier.
“I’ll find out the truth. But first, I need to make a few calls.”
Chapter 13
“JEOGIYO—” GARY PARK said as the owner of the Korean barbecue joint hurried past him with a metal serving tray of empty plates, trying to catch his attention.
The man stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him. “Can I help you?” he asked in Korean.
“Can we get another serving of this pork belly, please? And uh—” Gary looked at his table and then near the floor at the foot of it. It was only 9:00 p.m., but there was already a huge pile of empty glass bottles surrounding the table and on it. He glanced at the last half-empty bottle of soju they had on the table. He contemplated slowing down as he was starting to feel his senses dull from the copious amount of alcohol already in his body. Screw it. “—and six bottles of soju!”
“Right away!”
“Phew—what’s the occasion?” asked his dining companion, taking out a packet of unopened cigarettes. He was dressed in office attire—white shirt and black trousers, with his blazer draped over an empty chair beside him. He removed the plastic wrapping and popped a cigarette between his lips before lighting it. Lee Min-Jun exhaled his first puff of smoke. “What have you been up to lately anyway?”
“Nothing much. Just a couple of small jobs here and there,” Gary said as he reached out for the half-empty bottle of soju. In a stark contrast, Gary was dressed casually in a gray hoodie and cotton jogger pants. He wore a pair of black, plastic-rimmed glasses that sat on his high nose, covering his otherwise sharp-looking eyes. His outward demeanor was as if he preferred to be in the shadows and didn’t want to attract any attention from anybody. The good-looking Korean man filled his companion’s glass before his own and finished it in one gulp.
“Still working as a freelance hacker-for-hire?” Min-Jun grinned as he knocked back his own glass of soju.
“What else am I supposed to do? Unlike you, I don’t have a cushy government job that promises a pension.”
“I offered you one,” Min-Jun replied in a deadpan manner. “It was you who rejected it.”
“I’m not one who deals with authority and rules very well, Min, you know that. I thrive at being in conflict with them.” Gary shrugged.
“To each his own,” Min-Jun replied in English. “Is that how it is said?” he reverted back to Korean. “Besides, you make way more dough than me with my government job. I wouldn’t change a thing if I were you.”
The owner returne
d with a plate of pork belly strips seasoned with hot pepper paste and garlic in his right hand, and a rack of soju bottles in the other. “Pork Belly! Soju!”
The men nodded in response at the owner as he smiled before he left.
“I should be well-remunerated for the risks I take,” Gary replied. “It isn’t exactly a walk in the park I’m taking, you know. It is grey-area shit and one makes a lot of enemies doing the work I do.”
“What are you talking about? It’s full-blown illegal shit, Gary.” Min-Jun laughed. It took him a while to settle back down. “Say, have you ever hacked into any government systems?”
Gary Park picked up a strip of pork and placed it on the charcoal grill. The meat sizzled the instant it contacted the surface of the metal. He blinked and looked firmly at Min-Jun at an upward gaze. “I neither admit nor deny.”
“That means you have!” Min-Jun chuckled once more as he took the last puff of his cigarette and put it out in the ashtray.
Gary flipped the piece of meat. “You have no idea how rigged the system is,” he said in a lowered voice. “All the dirty politics and briberies going on behind closed doors.”
Min-Jun leaned in further.
“I’ve got stuff from the previous Presidential election that would shock the hell out of you. If it ever comes to light, it would send shockwaves through the entire governing system and even bring down the reign of the current president,” continued Gary.
Min-Jun’s eyes widened in curiosity.
Gary reclined back into his seat. “C’mon, you work for those dirty bastards, don’t tell me you don’t get in on anything.”
Min-Jun shook his head forcefully. “I’m only a freshly minted mid-level executive, there’s no way I’ll be getting any…perks from being a civil servant. Not yet at least.” He twisted open a new bottle of soju.
Gary looked at him with an animated look of disbelief.
“Besides, I don’t come from a rich or powerful family—my folks were factory workers—I’ll probably be stuck at this level for a long time. I’ll be grateful if I can retire with this job.”