Meaner Things

by David Anderson

  “No fortune cookies, Mr. Malone.”

  I smiled lamely, not knowing what to say.

  “Now we will go to my office and have coffee. And we will talk,” he added. By that, I’m sure he meant that he would talk and I would agree, which I was more than willing to do, simply to get away from here. He got up and I followed him through a series of beautiful rooms, up a grand central staircase and along a hallway. Everything I passed was in matching shades of off-white and cream colours.

  “White must be your favourite colour?” I asked his back. As soon as the words were out, I regretted them. Mercifully he didn’t seem to hear the question and led me into his office, which turned out to be yet another large room with chandeliers, rugs, and a mirror above the fireplace. The wall around the fireplace in this room was actually a dark mahogany brown and there were bookcases half filled with books and knickknacks on either side of it. We sat opposite each other on imitation Queen Anne chairs, a coffee table between us. Wark stood just inside the door.

  “You are wondering why I have brought you here, Mr. Malone?” Zheng was finally getting to the point of all this. I sensed his mood had heightened.

  “Yes,” I replied. Despite the scrupulously polite ‘Mr. Malone’ bit, I had an idea that this conversation wasn’t going to end well.

  “You know my wife.”

  I nodded.

  “From university days, yes?”

  So he didn’t know it all. Good. I wasn’t about to enlighten him about the plans Emma and I had tossed around and then abandoned – though he seemed to know them anyway – but discussing ten years ago couldn’t hurt.

  “Sure. We were good friends.”

  “More than just friends, I think.”

  Zheng looked distinctly irked, his thin, tight mouth turning down at the corners. He’d barely exhibited any emotion thus far, so I knew my renewed friendship with Emma must be pushing his buttons. I reminded myself to be careful, savvy.

  “As you know, she wants to divorce me, but I do not agree to it.”

  I nodded again, keeping my tongue in check.

  “You would be wise not to try to interfere in that in any way.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Childish infatuation.”

  Yeah, he had me there. “We’re just renewing an old friendship,” I parried.

  “And making foolish plans. Plans that will get you a very long jail sentence. Or worse.”

  Something inside me froze and I could feel the blood drain from my face. He’d now confirmed that he didn’t just know about my meetings with Emma but also the details of our conversations. Was he tapping her phone, maybe her apartment as well? I wouldn’t have put it past the bastard.

  “We’re just enjoying each other’s company, Mr. Zheng.” I did my best to sound relaxed and sincere.

  He straightened a little Buddha statue on the table in front of him, concentrating on it fully, as if seeking millimetre precision. Then he looked up into my eyes. “From here on you will do no such thing, Mr. Malone. Emma Virtanen is my wife and I don’t allow it.”

  Now he was pressing my buttons. I hate rich guys trying to boss me around. But right now I was too scared to do much about it.

  “We’ve had coffee together a couple of times. I visited her place a couple of times. You object to that?” I replied, as forcefully as I could muster.

  A dark fire lit up his beady little eyes. “I know her capabilities to persuade young men to attempt stupid things. Listen to me very carefully. You will not see her again.”

  I avoided his gaze and leaned back. A word out of place would get me into deep trouble here. I was in this dragon’s lair with no escape route and had to keep biting my tongue.

  “Now we will drink coffee.” For Zheng the ‘discussion’ was obviously over: he’d given his orders and I merely had to obey. He pushed a button beside the fireplace. I didn’t hear any ringing but a minute later two very attractive, and very young, Asian girls in traditional dress came in. One was carrying a tray laden with little black and gold-inlaid cups and saucers; the other was struggling with an antique silver coffee urn. They put them on the table and served Zheng, then me. Not bothering with cream or sugar I emptied my minuscule cup in about three mouthfuls and poured myself some more from the urn. I knew I’d just committed yet another social faux pas, but I was too nervous to care anymore.

  Zheng waved a hand at the girls. “This is Jenny and Suzie, to give them their Westernised names. I rescued them from the slums of Shanghai. The Jennies and Suzies of this world consider themselves fortunate to work in the high class establishments in which I place them,” he said evenly. “But these two girls serve as kitchen maids in my house.”

  “Very nice for you,” I replied. I gave him a man-to-man grin to try to draw him out. “I’m sure they perform other duties too.”

  “You begin to understand me, Mr. Malone. This is what my wife so arrogantly disapproves of. She would not see that she was foremost in the household.”

  “Very unreasonable of her.”

  Zheng smiled, but there was no humour in it. “You would do well not to imitate her obtuse ways.” He clapped his hands and the two girls disappeared.

  It was now that I made a big mistake. “Unfortunately she seems not to agree with your business interests,” I said.

  Zheng’s face flushed red. “Yet she was happy to enjoy its benefits. Let me explain it very simply,” he said, raising his voice, “What do you think my wealth is based on, Mr. Malone?”

  Lots of Jennies and Suzies came to mind. Instead I said, “Imports, isn’t it?”

  “And do you know what I import?”

  Again, I stifled the urge to say lots of Jennies and Suzies. “Emma mentioned something about diamonds.”

  “That is correct, Mr. Malone.”

  I knew a bit about diamonds from my jewellery store days and was intrigued. I had to be careful not to provoke him any further but I wanted to keep him talking if I could. I decided to go the flattery route.

  “She said you’d conquered the Western Canadian market.”

  Zheng blinked. “You mock me, Malone. But in reality my building downtown houses the Vancouver diamond trade. My vault there contains many thousands of raw and cut diamonds. Do you know anything about them?”

  “I used to.”

  “Then I will refresh your memory.”

  Zheng rose and went to a gilt-framed painting on the wall. He held the edge of the frame and pulled it outwards on a hinge. There was a small steel-grey safe behind it. He moved a central dial left and right several times and opened the safe door. Inside it looked empty, but he took out a small blue packet and brought it over to the table in front of me. He unwrapped what looked like greaseproof paper and revealed about thirty variously coloured, gleaming cut diamonds.

  “These are just a few fancies I’ve been collecting,” he said. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

  I nodded, unable to take my eyes off them, caught up in that well known hypnotic effect that diamonds possess. What I was looking at had to be worth seven or eight figures.

  “Sadly, I am unable to display these. You see, some fools call these blood diamonds.”

  So that was it, Zheng was illegally trading in conflict diamonds from Third World war zones. Warlords sold them to buy arms and fund their terrorist activities. Profits from trading such illicit diamonds are in the billions and Zheng was cashing in. No doubt what he was showing me was funding a civil war in some African country.

  “I can see you desire them as much as the next man,” he replied. “Unfortunately these beautiful objects are strictly regulated in this already over-regulated country. I do not like that. So I’ve done something about it, something my interfering wife discovered with her prying.” He refolded the package and placed it back in the safe, spun the dial and pushed back the picture frame.

  He took his seat in front of me and sighed. “And that, Mr. Malone, is the reason she wants to betray me. No doubt she told you what it w
as?”

  “No, not at all,” I replied.

  I could see immediately that he didn’t believe me. He kept silent for several seconds, giving me a cold, evaluating stare. When he finally spoke, it blew my mind.

  “How many diamonds do you think a human body can contain, Mr. Malone?”

  For once, I was completely speechless, truly baffled.

  “Up to ten thousand diamonds per girl,” Zheng continued, “Fifteen hundred carats. Close to half a million dollars.”

  Suddenly light dawned, and it finally came to me. He must be using girls like Jenny and Suzy as ‘mules’, smuggling diamonds inside their body cavities. Then, as soon as they delivered the goods, they were sold off to pimps.

  “You look surprised, Mr. Malone.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Can my wife really have kept this from you? I don’t believe it.”

  “Maybe you’ve made a mistake telling me all this.”

  “If you had hesitated to do her bidding, she would have told you everything soon enough.”

  I looked at Wark and took my courage in both hands. “What if she and I go to the police with this information?”

  He found that amusing, tilting his head back and emitting a weird falsetto laugh. “You think she would not have done so already? No-one would believe either of you, of course. I have many friends in this city, including the police.”

  I shrugged, not knowing what to say.

  Suddenly he was serious again. “Emma was nothing before I created her, just a bankrupt little accountant with stars in her eyes. I will never allow her to reject me. She is mine to keep until I grow tired of her.” There was now a real threat in his voice. “If you lift one little finger against me, I will utterly crush you. If you see her again, I will crush you. You are a powerless nobody and will remain one.”

  Normally I’d have responded to a threat like that with a few choice swearwords, but in my present situation I simply nodded.

  “I hope you have enjoyed this evening’s little drama as much as I have,” Zheng concluded. He looked behind me and made a motion of his head. The next thing I knew Wark clamped his hands on my shoulders.

  “Take him home as per my instructions,” Zheng said, now perfectly calm again. “Convince him of my seriousness. Do it well.”

  “I’ll enjoy that, boss,” Wark said.

  *

  I won’t belabour the rest of the evening’s events. They’re a bit of a blur to me anyway.

  Wark took me out to the garage and bundled me into the back of the BMW. I heard the doors click and when I tried the one on my side it was locked. There was glass between him and me and all I saw was the back of his ugly head for the next thirty minutes. He crossed the Lions Gate Bridge at breakneck speed and kept it up through Stanley Park and on into downtown. I was hoping a traffic cop would pull us over, then, peering forward, noticed a black rectangular box attached to the dashboard: a speed-radar detector. Charlie had fitted a homemade version to his old rust bucket even though, God knows, it could barely do over sixty.

  I mulled over Zheng and Wark’s ominous last exchange as we wove our way through downtown. By the time we crossed Cambie Bridge and got up the hill to Fourteenth it was dark and I was dreading something really bad happening at the end of the ride.

  I was right about that.

  We went down an alley near my humble abode and Wark pulled up tight against a wall at a spot where there was no street lighting. If the door hadn’t been locked I’d have made a run for it there and then. But he got out first, the door clicked open, and I never had a chance.

  He dragged me out by the hair and his first punch went straight into the crown jewels. I doubled over in agony and three or four more punches rained down on the back of my head. By now I was on my knees and another big haymaker to the temple had me stretched prone on the ground. Then the kicking started. I remember a particularly painful one right in the ear.

  In less than a minute I’d experienced more pain than I had in my entire life before then. I have no doubt that Wark was thoroughly enjoying his work, but he must have been under orders not to break any bones or do permanent damage. The next thing I knew he picked me up and hoisted me above his head, impressively one handed.

  “If you ever interfere again, you little shit-bag, you’ll end up in a wheelchair.”

  With his free hand he lifted a dumpster lid and I guessed what was coming.

  It was the second time in my life that I’d been in a garbage bin and I liked it even less than the first. I heard the car drive off and felt sticky liquid dripping from my damaged ear. Then I must have passed out.

  *

  Eventually I fumbled my cell phone out of my pants pocket and called Charlie. He arrived a few minutes later, fished me out of the dumpster and bundled me into his car.

  “Take me to your place,” I said.

  “Sure you don’t want Emergency? It’s only two minutes away,” he asked.

  “Nope. Nothing broken, just really sore all over. That gorilla knew what he was doing.”

  I gave him the gist of what happened.

  He whistled in surprise. “I guess you’ve been well and truly warned off,” he said.

  I thought about that for several minutes as we drove to his place. I thought about the Jennies and Suzies, and about ten thousand diamonds in a young girl’s body. And about what came after for those young girls.

  “Actually, I’m not warned off, no. Remember what we were talking about?”

  “Yup.”

  “I’ve just changed my mind about that. Got a better idea. I’m going to get my revenge on that crooked bastard and free Emma from him at the same time.”

  “How?”

  “The only way I know. You’re going to help me. You’re going to get rich doing it, and you’re going to feel good about it too.”

  LINE

  11.

  TROJAN HORSE

  I woke up in Charlie’s spare bedroom the next morning, stiff and sore, bruises all over my body, and a giant cauliflower where my left ear used to be. After a long soak in the bathtub I examined the ear and decided that, now that I’d washed the encrusted blood off, it looked a lot better. In a day or so, when the swelling went down, it would look better still. I shaved, pulled on my clothes and went to find Charlie.

  I found him in the garage, messing around with some electronic bits and bobs. He looked up as I came in.

  “Good morning, soldier,” he said cheerily. “There’s hot coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”

  “Later,” I replied, remembering Charlie’s coffee.

  He put down the screwdriver he was holding and his face became serious.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  I nodded. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  He raised a flat palm. “Wait; let’s go to the kitchen first. I need coffee even if you don’t.”

  “OK,” I replied, “But I insist on a fresh brew.”

  I got to the kitchen ahead of him and tossed the oily looking contents of the coffee carafe down the sink before he could protest. I boiled some fresh water and made two mugs of Nescafé instant. It actually wasn’t too bad. As we drank I filled him in on the details of what Zheng knew about Emma and me, and how I suspected he knew it.

  “You have to let Emma know about this,” he said.

  “How? I can’t call her if I’m right about Zheng listening in.”

  Charlie thought for a moment, as if figuring it out. “I’ll FedEx her a prepaid cell phone, with a gift message from you. She can get it in a few hours. Then you can call her on it.”

  “Can you afford that?” I asked, “’Cause I can’t.”

  “No problem, I’m flush at the moment. Don’t ask how.”

  “I won’t,” I replied, grinning.

  *

  There was a bench seat in the back of the 1967 Dodge A100 van, but nothing to hold on to. So, for the whole of the ride downtown I swayed from side to side, struggling not to
fall over every time Charlie turned a corner. My bruises and aches screamed in protest.

  This was just one of three vehicles in Charlie’s garage, crammed in beside the workbench, tool cupboards, and piles of old tyres. One of his many ongoing projects, the van retained its original sky blue paintwork, the roof white. It didn’t look much like the sort of workman’s van around today, but at least it wasn’t rusted away like his 1978 Buick Regal. It would have to do, and hopefully no-one would be looking at it too closely.

  “What’s taking so long?” I protested loudly, hoping that Charlie could hear me up front. We seemed to be inching along in tiny spurts.

  “It’s West Georgia,” he replied, “A main arterial route in and out of the city, in case you forgot. The traffic here is lethal.”

  He was right. There’d always be some traffic on this street, both day and night. I filed that fact carefully in the back of my mind for future reference.

  “Alberni,” Charlie said from the driver’s seat. He pulled into the underground garage driveway beneath Emma’s building.

  ‘Nine-zero-two,” I reminded him.

  He punched the numbers into the garage intercom and I heard Emma’s voice at the other end.

  “Yes?”

  “Carpet cleaners,” Charlie called out loudly.

  “I’ll buzz you into the parkade,” I heard Emma reply. “Park in the rotunda area at the front of it. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  So far, so good.

  Charlie eased into the parkade, the gates behind us closed with a well-oiled whirr and a minute later I emerged from the back of the van. We were in a small parking area containing about half-a-dozen parking spots, each one labelled ‘Visitor’. Another gate further in led to the parkade proper, where the residents parked their BMWs and SUVs. The two gates gave them double security. I liked it.

  She came down to meet us and let us in to the building. We’d had to keep the call as brief as possible, so there hadn’t been time to tell her the whole story. I was wearing an old pair of Charlie’s overalls but was walking stiffly due to the injuries, and of course the ear was visible. She noticed it immediately, rushed up and gave me a tight hug. I tried hard not to wince.