The Case of the Chinese Boxes

by Marele Day

  ‘I would prefer yours,’ he said calmly.

  I walked on. And so did he. Two paces behind. I stopped. Very still. So did he. I did not turn around but I knew exactly where he was. Directly behind me. Neither tilted to the right nor to the left. He was not visible from the corner of my eye. OK, Mr James Ho, private investigator, let’s see if those shoes are more than just decoration. I imagined myself in a column of impenetrable light. I moved slightly forward and with my weight on the front foot turned and kicked.

  His right forearm was already there to block it and his left hand was a fist moving fast forward into a body punch. With both hands I grabbed his wrist and twisted it over, followed through by pulling the arm across the body, forcing him to turn. I pulled him into a sweep and in two seconds he was on the ground.

  And he was laughing! Lying on the ground like he was relaxing beside the pool, and laughing.

  Ho, bloody ho.

  The bastard had been playing me. His first blocking tactic was quick and had meant business but after that he hadn’t fought back, he’d just gone along for the ride. He’d yielded completely, and in yielding had won. He’d made a fool of me. Made me feel like a little terrier yapping at an Alsatian. Old dog learning new tricks, sure. I felt frustrated and on the verge of screaming.

  A white Subaru cruised alongside us. It came to a silent halt and I waited for more of Ho’s mates to come flying out of it. The window on the passenger’s side slid down electronically.

  ‘Are you winning, Claudia?’

  It was Carol. In a car driven by Campbell. She and Campbell got out of the car and Ho got up off the ground, never a safe place to rest in the streets of Balmain. But he didn’t have any dog shit on him, he looked like he’d just stepped out of the display window at David Jones.

  ‘This bloke bothering you?’ asked Campbell, just itching for an arrest. It had been an unproductive night all round.

  ‘Just someone I ran into.’

  ‘There were a couple of blokes looking for you back there. You should have stayed. Could have been interesting.’

  ‘Did you find it interesting?’

  ‘About as interesting as all the others. All theory and no fact.’

  ‘So you spoke to them in my stead,’ I said fuming.

  ‘Seemed a shame to pass up the opportunity,’ he said smugly.

  ‘Carol,’ I said through my teeth, ‘keep your boys off my patch, OK?’

  ‘Just trying to help.’

  ‘How can I make discreet enquiries with you two breathing down my neck? You three,’ I said, including Ho. I turned to where he’d been standing but he had disappeared. Obviously he didn’t want to talk to the cops any more than I wanted him to talk to them.

  ‘So what’s the word on Chinaboy?’ asked Campbell.

  ‘No word,’ I said tight-lipped.

  ‘C’mon, you can do better than that. You scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours.’

  The thought of Campbell scratching my back, even touching it, made my blood run cold. Beneath the wave of words was a nasty undertow, a bullying quality of a man who, when sweetness and light failed, threatened menace. Maybe that worked with break and enters but it sure wasn’t the way to win my heart.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I said, ‘it hasn’t been a pleasure.’ And walked away.

  ‘Claudia!’ It was Carol. I stopped momentarily but didn’t turn around. She was having words with Campbell and they weren’t nice. I heard the car door slam and started walking.

  ‘Claudia!’

  I kept walking. I could hear the rapid clack of footsteps behind me, then Carol drew level.

  ‘He can be an arsehole, OK? I’m sorry.’

  I was too fed up to be impressed with the apology, even though I knew Carol must have just about gagged on her pride to give it.

  ‘You were there too,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Look, it didn’t turn out the way we thought it would. It was strictly observation.’

  ‘Why didn’t you keep it that way, instead of making contact with me?’

  ‘Campbell got word that someone was asking volunteers to come forward, so we came for a look. We didn’t know you were the one doing the asking.’

  ‘You must have had a fair idea.’

  ‘You could have kept me informed, Claudia.’

  ‘Ah, so that’s what it’s all about. I don’t work for you, Carol. I’m not on your leash.’

  Carol grimaced. She wasn’t overly fond of dogs. ‘But we did agree to give you full co-operation on this one. Co-operation goes both ways. Co-operation,’ she repeated, emphasising both parts of the word.

  ‘OK,’ I said in a voice that called a truce, ‘if I get any information I’ll let you know. But let me go about getting it in my own way. Talking about information, did you check out that guy in the pool hall in Cabramatta?’

  ‘Checked all of them. Nobody knows anyone and no-one’s seen anything.’

  ‘You coming in?’ I asked as the bright lights of the pub came into view.

  ‘No, it’s been a long day, I haven’t been home yet.’

  ‘I’ll give you a call,’ I said as we came to the pub door. The pub was closing and people pushed past us to get out.

  ‘Sure thing.’ Carol lowered her voice a little. ‘Claudia, just between the two of us, who was the bloke in the street?’

  ‘A karate expert. You know, like Inspector Clouseau has. I get him to jump me in unexpected places. To keep my hand in.’

  She almost believed me.

  It was a relief to get home, even though I wasn’t quite yet in the inner sanctum.

  ‘Give us a Scotch, Jack.’

  ‘Wait till I get rid of this mob then we can have a quiet drink and you can tell me what that Chinese fella was doing here again.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Ten past twelve, gentlemen. Please!’ said Jack.

  A few more drinkers dawdled away. Jack started putting the chairs up, which entailed getting a few bums off them first.

  ‘It’s past closing time, lads.’

  I gave him a hand with the chairs and Jack started locking the doors. George, our local fixture, was the hardest to shift. Not that he became stroppy, he just got more friendly and would point out, as he did every night, how long he’d been a customer.

  ‘C’mon, George, we’ll still be here tomorrow.’ Jack put his arm around George and in this intimate fashion was able to steer him to the one remaining open door. When George finally tumbled out Jack locked it.

  The pub was a different place with no customers.

  ‘Want a game, Jack?’

  ‘Sure. Set ’em up. I’ll get the drinks.’

  I placed the balls in the triangle and took out a two dollar coin.

  ‘Queens or Aborigines?’ I called out, tossing the coin.

  ‘Queens,’ came Jack’s voice from the bar.

  ‘You break,’ I said as Jack came into the poolroom with two Scotches, a clean ashtray and a cigarette in his mouth. He was trying to give up smoking but pool was his critical point.

  He placed the ashtray on a nearby table, selected his favourite cue, ground its tip into the blue chalk and took aim. He pocketed a big one on the break, took a drag on the cigarette and missed the next one, but left the white ball in a difficult position.

  ‘Thanks a lot. What did the Chinese guy want?’

  ‘A vodka martini, shaken not stirred.’

  ‘Oh really?’ I pocketed the yellow.

  ‘Really. Gave me quite precise instructions on how to make it. Three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, and half a measure of something I’ve never heard of. Shake it until it’s ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘I made it the way I always make it. If he noticed any difference he didn’t say anything.’

  I walked around the table and lined up my next shot, going for the purple.

  ‘He left before closing time. Wish they were all as easy as that.’

  ‘H
e’s not so easy,’ I muttered.

  ‘I was talking about the shot.’

  I missed the orange. Jack stubbed out his cigarette, bending it at a right angle in the ashtray.

  ‘What was he doing here? Did you have a date?’

  Under other circumstances a date with James Ho would be a not unattractive proposition.

  ‘Maybe he just likes your pub,’ I suggested. ‘I was down at Dennis’s tonight.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Jack, on guard. ‘What was that like?’ He finished the question with yet another pocketed ball. He was doing well. Would probably clean me up.

  I liked this time of night, the crowds almost still present, but the only sounds our voices punctuated by the sound of cue on ball, the slight whirr of the ceiling fan circulating stale cigarette smoke. It was no man’s land, it was home. It was the time Jack and I played pool and told each other stories of our lives.

  ‘Full of cops and would-be robbers.’

  ‘Must have suited you down to the ground.’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’

  Jack won the game and I declined his offer of another. In our running score we were now even. It seemed appropriate to leave it at that for tonight.

  ‘No, not for me,’ I said as Jack poured another Scotch. ‘I’m going to lie down for a few hours. ‘Night.’ And I climbed the stairs to my room.

  I felt the heat as soon as I opened the door, an almost palpable presence. I turned the light on in the kitchen just in time to see a large Balmain cockroach scurry away to safety. I poured myself a large glass of iced water and went to go out on the balcony.

  But there was something stopping the french doors. I looked down through the upper glass part and saw what it was.

  A body. Propped up against the door like a Mexican having a siesta. But it wasn’t Mexican, it was Chinese.

  I pushed hard at the door and the body slipped away a little. Then it stood up. With a smile on its face.

  ‘What took you so long?’ he asked.

  Cold hard anger set in. The street was bad enough but finding him here on the balcony, on my balcony, was way out of the range of acceptability.

  ‘I have a present for you.’

  ‘I don’t care if you have the Taj Mahal in your back pocket, you’re gone, mate. Break and enter.’

  ‘I didn’t break into your premises nor have I entered them. Anyway, I have a key.’ He opened his fist and there lay a key. A gold key with a dragon curled round it, like the serpent twined round the sword of Aesculapius.

  ‘Perhaps you’d better come in. Brush the dirt off your trousers.’

  ‘If I’m going to get dirty I don’t wear trousers,’ he said, suggestively raising an eyebrow.

  The eyebrow quickly came back into place when he saw I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of suggestion.

  He came in and again sat on the floor. But this time he didn’t play with my fruit, he played with the key.

  ‘Why have you brought that here?’ I asked suspiciously.

  ‘It’s yours.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘The key you are looking for.’

  ‘I still don’t think so. The key I’m looking for would not be so easy to find. And why would you be giving it to me anyway? Isn’t it part of the set you’re after?’

  He looked at me with those calm eyes and smiled. ‘Are you always so mistrusting, my dear Ms Valentine? Would you not accept it as a gesture of friendship, like the two dragons in the Chinese Gardens? A friend like me might prove to be helpful. You must believe, I mean you no harm.’

  Trusting a smooth-talking bastard was a bit like dipping your hand in a piranha pool. But if you were careful, if you kept your armour on, maybe you could swim in the pool without even getting a nip.

  ‘Let’s assume for the moment that I believe your intentions are honourable. What about proving your trustworthiness by telling me what you might be getting out of this little venture.

  ‘Let’s say I’m using it to move things along. It looks enough like the real key to fool anyone who hasn’t seen it before.’

  It was similar, but not the Chens’ key. A winged dragon this time, and no intricate six-toothed locking mechanism.

  ‘But Mrs Chen would pick it straight away.’

  ‘She would, but others might not.’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘It may prove a useful bargaining point.’ He stood up to leave. ‘Come to yum cha with me at the Red Dragon next Sunday, bring your friends, it is a time for families. You may learn something interesting. Don’t bother to see me out. I know the way.’

  He placed one hand on the balcony rail and jumped into the night.

  The iceblocks in the water had melted away without me touching a drop. The night was still warm and carried the scent of geraniums. An eventful night but the events had no pattern to them. My attempt to sift through straws to get to the key had been thwarted by the heavy hand of the law. Then the key, or a key, had turned up. In the hands of James Ho. Not the key I was after but what had he said? A useful bargaining point? For whom? He was persistent but not menacing. I thought if I had to pick sides I’d rather be working with him than someone like Campbell.

  There were no drain-pipes leading up to my balcony for a budding Romeo to climb. There was nothing but brick. He must have run up the wall. I’d seen that once, in a martial arts demonstration. With training you could run up walls.

  The obvious thing, of course, was that the false key was a part of his jigsaw not mine. Somehow he needed me. And maybe I needed him. I needed someone I could trust and he was the best of a bad bunch. I wasn’t even sure of my client.

  A warning bell sounded somewhere in the back of my brain. Eliciting trust was the art of the true manipulator, the art of a conman. But he hadn’t tried to get anything out of me, had he? If I kept my armour on he never would. All I had to do was watch and wait.

  Watch and wait.

  I grabbed my car keys and sprinted down the stairs, banking on the fact that he would be strolling away, enjoying the balmy night air. It would be easy to spot someone in the deserted streets. I heard a car start up in nearby Darling Street. I got into the Daimler and followed the sound. Watching and waiting. As I edged round the corner I saw a Ford Laser pull up at the lights. It was the only car in the street. I grabbed the beanie from the glovebox and put it on, making sure to tuck all my distinctive red hair up into it. He had his blinker on, indicating a right turn. He’d be going up to Victoria Road. It was the only way out of Balmain by this route. There was more than one advantage to living on a peninsula. When the lights changed he turned right and I kept going straight through. I drove down to the roundabout and doubled back up Beattie Street.

  By the time I got to Victoria Road there were three cars between him and me. That suited me fine.

  He went left and so did I. Through Annandale, across Parramatta Road, heading for Newtown.

  King Street, Newtown, was slow, even at this time of night. There were still people straggling about, coming out of the Toucan Tango and getting into nearby cars, happy to have danced half the night away. On darker street corners kids looked like they were about to do dangerous things with beer bottles.

  The traffic dragged, finally coming out on the Princes Highway. We were heading south. I had enough gas to get to Wollongong and back but I hoped we wouldn’t be going that far. It was 2 a.m. and it had already been a long night.

  The traffic moved steadily, through St Peters and Tempe. We were heading for the airport. But no planes were taking off at this time of night. Or landing. Unless he’d made private arrangements.

  But he didn’t go into the airport, he pulled up at the Airport Hilton.

  He entered the vestibule doors. Casual, light-stepped. If I’d been close enough I might have heard him whistling. When he disappeared from the foyer I entered. Walking in as if I owned the place, or at least rented a room there.

  There was no-one in the lift foyer but one of the lifts was
going up. I kept the other lift door open and waited till the first one stopped. Floor seven. Mrs Chen had said that seven was a lucky number. I got in the waiting lift and pressed the button.

  When the lift arrived I waited to make sure the corridor was quiet. If I did happen to run into him it wouldn’t matter. He seemed to find no explanation necessary when he turned up on my turf.

  I walked along the corridor looking for a room that had light streaming out from under the door. And found it.

  I stood to the side and put my ear to the door. There were two people in there talking Chinese. One of them was Ho.

  The other was a woman.

  I felt my cheeks flush. So what did I care that James Ho was in a hotel room in the middle of the night with a woman? Maybe she was his sister. Or his mother.

  Sure, I thought, trying to find ways around the obvious.

  The talking stopped and the light went out. I waited for a long while. No-one emerged from the room. Whoever was in there was in for the duration.

  It was 4.30 a.m. I took the fire-escape and went back to the car. I didn’t think anyone would be leaving that room much before 6.30.

  Two hours sleep.

  I dreamed of Thailand. I’ve never been there but I knew it exactly as if I had been there in another life. I could almost smell the garlic and coriander. There was a huge golden Buddha being carried along by millions of people. They had covered it in cheap plaster to hide the gold. Warlords were coming and the people were protecting their treasure. Like the monks who’d smashed shadow bones instead of the real thing.

  I woke from that dream to a hot rosy dawn. It was 6.15 a.m.

  Back up the fire-escape I went and waited. Not long this time.

  At 6.33 precisely the door opened. And shut.

  The woman flicked back her hair and walked towards the lifts. She was in her mid-twenties; expensive leather jacket and leather trousers. The air of a high-class prostitute. Very high-class. Her smile was noncommittal. I let her get in the lift first. She was used to that.

  As she got into the cab waiting outside I heard her one word to the driver.

  The word was Cabramatta.

  I drove back along the long and dreary Princes Highway thinking about room service. In Sydney you could get just about anything to tickle your fancy. I wondered what James Ho’s particular fancy was.