“Of course not,” he snapped.
“It is just that you appear very anxious over a matter that is surely of little concern to you.”
“I have been asked to represent these businessmen in this matter, that is all. It would appear to me that an injustice has been done.”
“Indeed.” Tyler looked at Lacey. “Inspector Lacey, Sir Gordon has posed an interesting question. Have you any suggestions how we might be able to help him?”
Lacey leaned towards Sir Gordon, who did not even turn in his seat to look at her. “You see, Sir Gordon, three weeks ago a man was attacked and murdered in a particularly vicious manner in a mah jongg parlour in Jaffe Road. The incident took place, co-incidentally, above one of the restaurants we were recently forced to shut down. Then three days ago there was another assault in a premises known as the New York Grill in Queens Plaza. In this instance shots were fired. Unfortunately a young British tourist was hit by a stray bullet. She was fatally wounded.”
“That is most unfortunate,” Gordon Wu said.
“It's an absolute tragedy. This young woman had the whole of her life in front of her. I wonder if you can imagine how her family back in England must be feeling?”
Sir Gordon Wu fidgeted impatiently with his tie.
“Subsequent to this outrage, our superiors now feel we have been too lenient on enforcing the letter of the law.”
“I wish I could have discussed this matter with them personally. Is it usual for the Commissioner and Assistant Commissioner to take leave at the same time?”
“Highly unusual. But before they left they gave us strict instructions that we were to start policing with far greater diligence while they were gone. They said they hoped to find the matter resolved by the time they got back.”
“You cannot make scapegoats of honest businessmen because you cannot do your job and catch the persons responsible for these two assaults,” he said.
“The fact is, we can,” Tyler said. “We did. We have.”
“It seems to me we have nothing to fear from the Chinese in 1997. We already have a police state.”
Tyler affected a chuckle. “That seems a little harsh, Sir Gordon.”
“As a member of the local business community you have my assurance that we will do all we can to help bring any criminal to justice.” He stared pointedly at his very expensive Piaget wristwatch. “I have another meeting,” he said.
“Detective Lacey will show you out,” Tyler said.
Sir Gordon rose to his feet. His manner became suddenly conciliatory. “Tell me, Chief Inspector, should you find the person responsible for these outrageous crimes, would you find it less reasonable to harass members of the local business community?”
“I am sure we would not be under such pressure to read the letter of the law so exactly.”
“Thank you for your time.” He turned to Lacey and addressed her directly for the first time. “I know my way around this building perfectly well,” he said, and walked out.
Lacey and Tyler looked at each other.
“Lovely chap,” Tyler said. “Anyway, I think we've stirred the sewer, Lace. Now we'll see what floats to the top.”
Chapter 37
Kennedy Town
Keelan found the dim sum house, with great difficulty, in a six story building near the harbor. The restaurant shared the third floor with a rice merchant and an ivory carver making chops and mah jongg tiles. There was a sign on the stairs for a fortune teller on the next floor.
Lacey was waiting for him at a table by the open window, facing onto the untidy hubbub of the street. She was wearing jeans and a pink jumper, and her hair was tied back in a braid. She was the only European in the restaurant, and the only woman. She had a Chinese language newspaper open in front of her.
She waved to him as he entered. “You found the place all right?” she said.
“I've been wandering around lost for half an hour,” he said as he sat down.
“Well, you're here now.” She poured some hot green tea into a small porcelain cup and passed it to him. He nodded at the newspaper. “You can read Mandarin?”
“I pretend. A few characters. I speak Cantonese fluently and a smattering of putonghua. My amah taught me when I was a child. Dad insisted.”
“I'm impressed.”
“Really? I didn't think anything impressed a Californian except an earthquake.”
Keelan looked around. The customers were all Chinese, young men in jeans and pullovers to grandfathers in shiny black pants and old tweed jackets. They smoked and drank tea and read the Jockey Daily News. There was a rail hanging along the wall next to the window where the old men hung the wooden cages of their pet finches and parakeets. Stainless steel spittoons were placed strategically around the tiled floor.
Other customers clustered around the television in the corner, talking and laughing against a background of sickly Cantonese music.
A waitress pushed a dim sum cart from the kitchen. Lacey chose three bamboo baskets and pushed a bowl and chopsticks towards Keelan.
“You've eaten dim sum before?”
“I'm from San Francisco. It's like asking an Italian if they've ever eaten pasta.”
“It's just that you look like a McDonalds sort of person.”
“Thanks.”
“No offence.”
He leaned in. He noticed she was wearing lip gloss and there was a hint of perfume.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Is this going anywhere?”
He tested the table, shaking it with both hands. “No, seems pretty solid to me.”
“Funny. You know what I mean.”
“It’s a big question.”
“I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment, but you've pursued me with a sort of vague enthusiasm I find confusing.”
“The first time I met you, I told your uncle I thought you had a plum shoved up your ass.”
“I wasn't that taken with you either.”
“But like I told you, it’s a little complicated.”
“So what changed your mind?”
“I don't know how to say this.”
She offered him some of her shrimp with her chopsticks. “Try.”
He chewed slowly, reflecting. “I felt like I was cheating on my wife.”
“Are you?”
“I didn't lie to you. It wasn't a story I made up. Is that what you think of me?
“No, that's not what I think of you. Charlotte said you had secrets. She's quite psychic. Even religious nuts can have a sixth sense, you know.”
Two youths in white T-shirts and jeans, wearing black wrap-around sunglasses, walked in and spoke in whispers to the owner. Several hundred dollar notes were passed across the counter, behind the stacked Ovaltine tins and packets of dried noodles. The boys went out again.
“Did you see that?”
“It's my day off.”
“Triads.”
“Are we going to spend the day arresting sixteen-year-olds or did you have something better in mind?”
He turned back to her. “They were just so blatant.”
“Just like you.”
“Like me?”
“I talk about real stuff and you start looking around for criminal activity.”
“Okay, guilty.” He put down the chopsticks. He had decided he would tell her the whole story but he just didn't know how to do it. “Since it happened, I haven't been much interested in women, or anything.”
“You're not that good at forming sentences away from the workplace, are you?”
“Funny, that was always Anna's complaint.”
“Anna?”
“My wife.”
“That's the first time I've heard you mention her name.”
She was right. He had not spoken her name aloud since that night. Having her name on his tongue again felt like swallowing a razor blade.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you to talk about it. I just want to know
where I stand with you. Are you looking just for a friend or something else?”
“I don't know. I gave up smoking for you. That must mean something.”
“My God. You Americans. You're so romantic.”
“I can't stop thinking about you,” he said.
Their fingers touched on the table. “Listen, yanqui. It's Sunday and it's Charlotte's day off. My apartment is ten minutes away in the car. I don't know why, but I can't stop thinking about you either. I'm not asking forever, or even for tomorrow. Just don't talk about me in the office. Alright?”
***
They rode the elevator in silence. She opened the door to her apartment, led him to the bedroom and drew the shades. A soft yellow sun filtered between the microlites and threw chevrons of light over the quilt.
She stepped out of her jeans and pulled off her jumper. Then she picked up his hand and placed it on her breast. “Feel like ice to you, yanqui?” she murmured.
He shook his head. “You're beautiful,” he mumbled.
“I hope you're nice. If you tell Tyler about this, I'll kill you, I swear.”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shh,” he whispered. He kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, just the lips. She reached behind his head and pulled him to her again.
She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. There was a scar, just below the rib line, the flesh around it puckered and still slightly pink; another, from the surgeon's knife, stretched around his abdomen almost to his spine. She traced the scars gingerly with her fingertips, as if they were still raw, then felt the waxy smear of tissue over the entry wound.
She looked up at him.
He shrugged. “What was it Reagan said? I forgot to duck.”
“Didn't they ever tell you about Kevlars?”
“I wasn't expecting trouble when it happened.”
“People die from wounds like this.”
“That's what the doctors told me.”
“These are not old scars.” She felt the mood slipping away. So she said: “Any more surprises before I start to undo your belt?”
“Everything was there last time I looked.”
“Which was when?”
“Been a long time, Lace.”
She pulled him towards the bed. “Then we'd better make up for it.”
***
I should have taken the money, he thought.
If I'd taken the money Caroline and Anna would still be alive. If I'd taken the money they would not have had to pay for my mistakes, and become the casualties in my crusade.
He sat on the edge of the bed, reached out and parted the microlites. In the distance he could make out the misty peaks of Lantau island, the sunlight reflected on the windscreen of a car rushing along Pokfulam Road. The world was hurrying along and every day left him further behind, stranded back when his own life had stopped.
Lacey's bare back was towards him. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. He knew she was awake. He could almost imagine her staring at the wall, eyes bright and angry.
He started to dress.
Anna had been dead for over two years. How was this wrong? Perhaps if it had been something beyond his control, a car crash perhaps, he could have got on with his life. But the guilt was crushing him. What right do I have to be happy when it was my fault that they died?
If only he had taken the money.
“I'd better go,” he said.
Lacey turned over. She had been crying, her voice sounded hoarse. “You don't have to,” she said.
“I think it would embarrass us both if I stayed.”
Lacey rolled back onto her side. He went out, shutting the bedroom door gently behind him.
There was hollow chill in the pit of his stomach. But he was used to that. He assumed he would feel this way for the rest of his life.
Chapter 38
The Peak was strung with early lights. The sun sank below Lantau Island, silhouetting the monastery against the mountains, staining the white cubes of the apartment blocks on Pokfulam and Mount Kellett with rose pink. A window flashed suddenly with gold. Far below, the Lamma Channel was crowded with the yachts and varnished pleasure junks scurrying for the harbor at Aberdeen.
Storm clouds piled up on the western horizon. The Red Ensign whipped in the freshening wind and the swell was rising. But soon they would be back at their mooring in Aberdeen and thanks to the Vosper stabilizers, the guests on the Born Rich could not feel the roll of the waves; a rough sea would not upset the lobster and chicken on the Wedgewood service or the terrines of bird's nest soup or the silver salvers of Beluga Malossol Caviar Caspian or the flutes of 1980 Krug's Clos du Mesnil arrayed on white linen tablecloths under the awnings on the high poop.
Many of Hong Kong's elite figured among the guests; Li Ka-shing, the chairman of Hutchison Whampoa; Sir Run Run Shaw, one of the world's most successful film producers, who presided over the Hong Kong film industry as Cecil B. de Mille had once dominated Hollywood; Sir Y-K, and Lady Kadoorie; Stanley Ho, the Macao casino operator and the property magnate Sir Pao Yue-kong, his neighbor in Deep Water Bay; even Chris Patten the governor. The chairman of Jardines had arrived late, landing by helicopter on the extended afterdeck. There were movie stars like Jackie Chan and Anita Mui, as well as less well known illuminati, bankers from Barclays and the WestDeusche Landesbank Girozentrale and from Bankers Trust.
It was an impressive assembly, Sir Gordon Wu thought, and he congratulated himself on all he had achieved; this beautiful young Chinese woman in the cherry red silk cheongsam was one of Hong Kong's Canto-pop stars, but he could end her career tomorrow; that balding Chinese in the ridiculous canvas trousers and Sperry topsiders was a 14K Red Pole and deferred to him as if he were his own tai lo; the gwailo in the blue and white striped shirt and Saville Row suit was pay-rolled to his own organization and ensured that his construction companies won all the government building tenders.
Sir Gordon fell into conversation with the singer. He was thinking about having her later. She was prattling about some industry gossip, and he pretended to listen. It amused him to observe how she tried to ingratiate herself with him.
They were interrupted by Timothy Wong. He came up, an arm outstretched, holding a brandy balloon. He was resplendent in black tuxedo and white fringed scarf. “A wonderful party, Sir Gordon,” he said, grinning hugely. “Your hospitality is legend in Hong Kong.”
Sir Gordon turned his back on the singer. After all, she was no more important than the ice sculpture on the buffet table. They had both appeared less attractive as the day wore on.
“The Born Rich is just a humble little runabout,” Sir Gordon said, “you do me great honor by your presence here.” In fact, as they both knew, the ninety-foot Broward was one of the finest vessels in the colony.
“I am the one who is honored,” Timothy Wong said, “simply to be invited to such an illustrious gathering.”
It was true that there were no other silks like Timothy on board the Born Rich; the guest list was mostly drawn from the world of entertainment and finance. But as 489 of the Sun Yee On, Timothy Wong was rarely excluded from any party invitation.
“Come and join me in the salon,” Sir Gordon said to him. “There is something I think we need to discuss.”
***
The salon had been designed in Italy, a recreation of an Edwardian drawing room with solid walnut paneling and red plush. There was a wall-mounted color television and crystal wall sconces created a subdued and golden glow. A Brahms fugue was filtered through tiny quadriphonic speakers.
The laughter and conversation from above was muted and they could barely feel the vibration of the huge twin diesel motors.
A trimly uniformed Chinese waiter brought a bottle of Courvoisier VSOP and was dismissed. Sir Gordon and Timothy Wong exchanged pleasantries as equals. There was an irony to their respective positions in Hong Kong society; Sir Gordon was now one of the colony's most prominent businessmen, but had never risen above the rank of 49 in the Wo Sing Wo
, even though he provided the financing for many of their enterprises.
Timothy Wong, on the other hand, was the Dragon Head of Hong Kong's best organized triad, a position he had inherited from his father, although he earned most of his income from the various finance companies that he controlled.
He rarely had a problem with bad debts.
“I understand you have a problem with Eddie Lau,” Sir Gordon said.
Timothy nodded. “An associate has approached me with what appears a legitimate complaint. He thinks Eddie Lau is trying to break his rice bowl. First Eddie accused my associate of stealing, then betrayed him to the yellow air, and murdered three of his employees. My associate arranged a gong-jou to try and reach an understanding with him, but he will not listen to reason. Now this Eddie Lau is encroaching on established business enterprises that have taken him many years to build. What am I to do?”
Sir Gordon considered. “I understand your dilemma,” he said. “I am sorry for your position.”
Timothy sipped his Courvoisier. “I told my associate that I had complete faith in the wisdom of Sir Gordon Wu. I said to him: ‘Sir Gordon is a very smart man, he does not want trouble, he will find a way to mend this.’
Sir Gordon nodded, accepting the compliment, and ignoring its implied threat. Although his social inferior, Timothy Wong's position in the Sun Yee On made him a dangerous man.
Besides he had already decided his course of action; the police had closed down four of his bars and raided all his mah jongg parlours in Wanchai. If this was allowed to continue, he would lose the confidence of his own people. The course of action was clear.
Eddie Lau had been useful in the past, but he had now become a liability. He was undisciplined; a loose cannon, to use a gwailo expression. Eddie Lau should have come to see him before he embarked on this stupid street war with a Sun Yee On 426.
“How are we to settle this?” Timothy Wong said.
Chasing the Dragon: a story of love, redemption and the Chinese triads (Opium Book 2) Page 17