“Hi,” Jim said, putting his hands on the counter top, leaning forward a bit. His two mates stood solidly behind each shoulder and it gave him a feeling of control.
“What you want?”
“Remember me?” Jim asked. “You’re Wah-jai, aren’t you?”
The Chinese lad shrugged coolly.
“We met a few days ago outside a Chinese take-away and you told me to stay away from Chinese girls.”
“Maybe,” Wah-jai said. He stared back hard at Jim, apparently willing the Englishman to do something.
“You know why we’re here, don’t you?”
“You wanta rent video?” Wah-jai said showing an uncharacteristic sense of sarcasm.
“I want to know why you broke into my flat and trashed the place.”
“You crazy,” Wah-jai said, shrugged and then added as an after-thought, “Fuck you’ mother.”
Jim wanted to lunge at that moment but Sawyer’s hand was on his arm.
“No, he’s not going to fuck his mother. Maybe fuck yours since she’s a well-known prostitute around the red light district and all her customers get herpes,” Sawyers said evenly.
Wah-jai stared at all of them in turn and said something more in Cantonese, while the other man got up and took a step backwards. He seemed unsure, not as cool and hard as his colleague.
“You want to buy or rent video, okay, stay. You want to talk shit. You go. Or I call police,” Wah-jai said.
“I don’t think anyone will be calling the police,” Jim said. “Not unless you want to be done for assault. And attempted arson and burglary and criminal damage.” Jim noticed the tip of a tattoo that was partially visible around the neck of Wah-jai’s black T-shirt.
The Chinese youth shrugged but his eyes betrayed a sense of knowing. Jim had the right guy, not that he’d admit anything. Or perhaps he might, if they grabbed him and beat the shit out of him now.
“Why the hell did you break into my flat and trash the place?” Jim demanded.
“Okay, yeah, fuck you,” Wah-jai confirmed that his conversational skills were limited after all. He stepped out from behind the counter, which was a mistake, because Jim grabbed him suddenly by the front of his shirt and kneed him hard in the groin. Wah-jai collapsed onto the floor groaning, clutching his balls. There was blood on the front of his shirt because as he went down he’d struck his nose on the edge of the counter.
* * * *
Later, over a drink in Jim’s living room, Hetherington-Blake said, “It was a bit like something out of West Side Story.”
“Yeah, without Natalie Wood and I was definitely Ice,” Sawyers said, his feet up on the side-table, grinning with remembrance. “Fuck me, Jim. I would have done a bit more than just kneed him in the balls if he’d done this to my flat.”
Jim nodded and popped the tab on his can of Boddingtons. “No proof but he looked guilty as hell.”
“And that other little squit. He was ready to shit his pants,” Hetherington-Blake chuckled.
“So that was Doris’s cousin, eh?” Sawyers said wanting to know more.
Jim nodded without obliging him. “She’s pretty tasty, I must say, for a Chinese bird. Even got tits, but I’m not sure I’d put up with having my house broken into just to shag a bird with a nice pair of knockers.”
“Sawyers, shut up will you,” Jim said, feeling better but wondering if he’d done the right thing.
Chapter 8
The new Hong Kong airport seemed to be designed for overweight travellers who needed some much missed exercise. From gate to Immigration counter must have been five miles. Burdened with his heavy briefcase Dougie Campbell was getting irritable at trudging the distance, despite his recent rest and the relative comforts of the Upper Class reclining seats.
Otherwise the place was impressive, with steel grey carpets and high ceilings supported by pillars that seemed to proclaim, “this is a modern building, cold, efficient and very hip, do not relax but rush immediately to your meeting, mobile in hand and laptop at the ready.”
Once past Immigration, a vast hall of conveyor belts greeted him and his suitcase rose up the chute faster than expected. He wondered who would be there to meet him. Bob Chen was still out of town. There’d better be someone waiting or he’d have to blow a fuse. He was the General Manager, after all, and they should show suitable respect.
As he pushed his trolley past bored Customs men they took one look at his rumpled suit and black leather bags which identified him as a jaded business traveller and he was waved on. Once through the electronic gates his eyes scanned the sparse crowd for a sign with his name.
Finally he found one, and was pleased to notice that it was in the hands of an attractive Chinese girl with very short hair wearing very tight black trousers. She was frowning, not sure what Dougie might look like until he gave her a small wave and her eyes lit up.
“I’m Madeleine Fong, the Textile Merchandising Manager. Did you have a pleasant flight, Mr. Campbell?”
“Bearable. I’m not a great one for twelve hours cooped in a tube. Bob Chen not around is he?”
“I’m so sorry, sir. He’s still in Shanghai.”
“Well, he’d better be back for our meeting tomorrow or he might as well stay in Shanghai and start looking for a new job there,” Dougie commented, wanting to set the tone right from the start. The girl would report his words verbatim, he felt sure. He eyed her sideways and found a pleasant form. He wasn’t one for the skinny Chinese fillies. He liked a bit of shape and something to cup your hands around. This one though was fine looking, although a bit plain. He’d met similar ones before: serious about their jobs and no time for boyfriends or social life. Often their work became so dominating that it left no balance in their lives and their physical frustrations made them bitchy and aggressive, yelling and screaming around the office at colleagues, suppliers and subordinates.
He gave her another sideways look. She was exactly the type. Not pretty but still fresh in a plain way, with lively brown eyes. If she made the effort she could still find a husband before it was too late. If not, the office would consume her and she’d become a shrivelled old prune, griping and snapping about every little detail.
They made small talk, which she did well for a Hong Kong person, until they reached the Airport Express train which took them smoothly into town. At Kowloon Station they got off and hopped into one of a long line of taxis across to the Shangri-La Hotel. Dougie was dying for a hot bath and perhaps a massage to get the kinks out of his shoulder blades. They’d sent up a cracker of a mainland girl during his last trip and although she hadn’t offered any extras after kneading his muscles for an hour, he felt sure that if he’d asked she would have agreed. This time he might just ask.
* * * *
Ever the realist, Jim was grateful that so far nothing had gone wrong this morning. But that didn’t lift his bad mood. He was still fuming about the damage to his flat and wondering if he’d done the right thing assaulting Wah-jai.
Doris wasn’t in the office and one of the other girls told him that she’d called in sick at nine. He tried her mobile but only got the voicemail, so he left a short message. Maybe she’d heard about last night’s events and didn’t want to face him. It was only understandable, but he wanted to have a chance to tell her his side of the story.
Jim rang Dougie’s secretary to confirm that the GM had arrived okay in Hong Kong. She said all was fine and would Jim come over later and sign some documents on behalf of his boss?
A while later Sawyers came in, grinning. “Served that little Chinkie right,” he said. Jim grunted in reply, barely looking up. Sawyers reached over and placed three printed emails on Jim’s desk.
“What’s this?” Jim asked.
“Have you seen these emails from the Bangkok office?”
“Yes, what about them?”
“What do you think we should do?” Sawyers perched himself on the edge of Jim’s desk as always.
“Do you know what you’re doing here?”
Jim said.
“Yes, asking my boss for some advice,” Sawyers ventured.
“You’re doing something called ‘Reverse delegation.’ To make a decision on these routine things is your job. It’s what you get paid to handle. Coming to me with them means you are effectively trying to delegate the job upwards to me. That’s not the way it works.”
Sawyers rolled his eyes. “We’re being a bit of a testy sod this morning.”
“I’ve a reason to be,” Jim replied, relenting a bit and pulling the papers over. “If the Bangkok office says they found problems with the canned pineapples during laboratory testing and have halted the shipments until further tests then you can be sure that (a) it’s a solid reason and they’re not over-reacting and (b) that if the goods were shipped we’d end up with a whopping claim and an irate customer. Especially this thing; salmonella’s a nasty one.”
“Yeah, but remember last year when they did the same thing and it turned out the lab had just mixed up the results and there was nothing wrong with the goods at all?”
“I think our Bangkok office learnt from that mistake so this is likely to be the real thing. John McHardy, the boss there, runs a pretty tight ship. For Asia anyway. Not like our friend in Hong Kong. So call the client, give him some bullshit about how careful we always are about quality and that this shipment needs to be delayed until we’re sure what we’re getting.”
Sawyers nodded and retrieved his papers when there was a low cough from the door. They looked up to find two men in suits, neither of whom Jim recognised.
“Mr. Beauregard, I’m Detective-Sergeant Porter and this is DC Fisher. I wonder if we could have twenty minutes of your time.”
Jim got to his feet and came around his desk. He nodded a dismissal at Sawyers who looked grave and left the office.
“Please sit down, I’ll just close the door,” Jim said. He knew what this was about. Should have expected it. But he had a strange feeling there was more to it than just a burglary followed by a small punch-up. These men’s demeanour was far too serious.
Once they were all seated he asked, “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
DS Porter began, “Did you report a case of burglary and criminal damage at your flat at 34 Green Hills Gardens last night around 2032 hrs?”
“That’s right.”
“And have you any idea who the culprits may have been?”
Jim thought for a second. He’d been expecting this question but wanted to be careful in how he answered. “Are you investigating my burglary, Sergeant?” he asked.
DS Porter smiled grimly. He had a black notebook out and was resting it on his knee. “We are investigating a more serious case that may have a connection to your burglary. Could you answer my question, sir?”
“A more serious case?” Jim said quickly. “What kind of serious case?”
DS Porter sighed and his colleague DC Fisher studied Jim with eyes that seemed to penetrate like X-rays. “Sir, you have a right to remain silent of course but we are just making some enquiries here. But that requires us to ask the questions and you to choose how to best answer them.”
“Okay, I had some idea of who might have trashed my place. A Chinese guy called Wah-jai with whom I’ve had a run in before.”
“Would that be Wah Bik Mun?”
“I’ve no idea. I don’t know his full name. His cousin is my assistant here. Well, she’s really only a temp because our usual assistant is having a baby. Wah-jai somehow heard that I’d been out a few times for drinks with his cousin and came after me a few days ago with a gang of Chinese guys to warn me off.”
“Was there any physical violence?”
“Yes, he smashed the headlights on my Saab and punched and kicked me.”
“Did you report this to the police, Mr. Beauregard?” DS Porter asked sternly.
Jim shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you might have more important things to do than waste your time with this kind of minor street altercation. And I didn’t want to claim on the insurance and lose my no-claims bonus.”
“You should always report crimes to the police. Leave it up to us to decide what we wish to spend our time and resources on,” the policeman admonished.
Jim shrugged, somehow, foolishly, reminded of being told off by a teacher at primary school.
“So you suspected this Wah-jai of being behind the burglary at your flat? Apart from calling the police last night, did you do anything else in regard to this matter?”
Jim knew that lying would get him nowhere. The way the questions were being asked made it clear that they already knew and wanted him to verify what he had done at the video shop.
“I went up to Chinatown to the video shop where I knew the guy worked and asked him if he’d done it.”
“And what did he say?”
“He told me to go and fuck my mother.”
“And what did you reply to that?”
“I kneed him in the balls.”
DC Fisher hadn’t moved an inch while DS Porter was silent as he jotted something in his book. “That’s all?” he said after a while, staring hard at Jim.
“That’s all. We left him clutching his groin. I think he may have cracked his nose as he fell down to his knees. It’s hardly what you would call a serious assault.”
“Let us decide what kind of assault it might have been. You said ‘we.’ Who were the other people with you?”
“I’d rather keep them out of this. All the assaulting was done by me.”
“Well, sir, I’d rather you gave me all the facts. It’s always better that way. Saves us a lot of bother. We’ve got a few witnesses and we could find out. I’d much rather you told us.”
Jim hesitated for longer than a minute, then picked up his phone and asked Sawyers to come back into the office.
“Boss?” his colleague said, eying the two detectives curiously.
“I’ve got a bit of a problem. These officers want me to give them the names of the men who were with me in the video shop last night.”
Saywers shrugged. “No, problem. I was with him and so was a friend of mine. We didn’t do anything wrong,” he said with an aggressive tone. “The little bastard deserved what he got and much more. After what he did to Jim’s apartment.”
“I don’t believe you had any evidence that this Wah-jai fellow did break into Mr. Beauregard’s domicile?” DS Porter said.
“Of course he did,” Sawyers replied. “It was written all over his face. So what are the charges?”
“Well, there aren’t any charges at this moment,” the Detective-Sergeant said casually, as he closed and returned his notebook to an inside pocket. He leant back in his chair and flicked a glance at his partner who remained stony-faced. “With an assault case as you describe it we usually like the victim to be the one who presses charges. In this case that won’t be possible since the victim was found at the docks under some old crates with his head beaten to a pulp. Would you know anything about that, sirs?”
* * * *
Dougie Campbell stepped out from the lift and walked into the marbled lobby of the Kowloon Shangri-La. It was where the buyers liked to stay and one could always expect a high quality of service. A small fountain burbled behind him and he looked about for the familiar face of Bob Chen.
The Chinese MD of the Hong Kong office was sitting by the panoramic windows talking on his mobile phone and waving with the other hand. Dougie walked over slowly, catching the eye of a waitress wearing a cheong-sam, a long Chinese silk dress with a side-slit that went all the way to the top of her thigh. It was a bit much so early in the morning because she had disturbingly good legs.
“Coffee and some toast,” he said to the girl who was hovering and then he shook hands with Bob Chen.
It took the Chinese man another two minutes before he ended his call, and Dougie studied him.
Bob Chen was in his late forties, with black hair slicked backwards and silver-framed glasses. He was
of average Asian height, wore the obligatory gold Rolex and a well-cut dark suit that was probably an Italian brand rather than anything locally tailored. He effected a slight pseudo-American accent when he spoke.
“Hey, Dougie, how have you been? Was it a good flight?”
“Fine, thanks, fine.”
“You ordered already?”
“Just coffee and toast.”
“We’ll have to go out and have some Peking Duck tonight. You don’t have any other engagements, do you?”
Dougie smiled and shook his head.
“You didn’t come with the wife, did you?” Bob Chen asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Why would I bring the wife? This is a business trip.”
“That’s the spirit, Dougie.” Bob Chen poured himself some black tea from a pot. He had to remove the white linen cover first. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t meet you at the airport, you know. Did my girl do okay?”
“She was great, Bob.”
“Attractive, if you like the older type,” Bob Chen winked lasciviously. He was known to prefer girls barely out of their teens. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, a nervous habit of his. “Now, what brings you into town? We weren’t expecting you until two months later.”
Dougie had prepared for this moment carefully while sipping champagne on the plane. He fixed Bob Chen’s eyes firmly with his and leant forward a bit. “The Hong Kong office has been making a lot of mistakes lately. Far too many and the proprietors of the company would like to know what is going on. I’m here to find out what’s been happening.”
Bob Chen smiled slickly. “No big deal, Dougie. These things happen. Some staff changes. I’ve been busy working on new projects. Haven’t had time to keep an eye on the normal business.” He took a sip from his tea cup, his entire attitude showing a lack of concern, a confidence that these were just minor glitches.
“I’m sure you’re right, Bob, but we’re going to have to go into a bit more detail. You’re the boss of the office, new projects or not. It’s your responsibility to make sure everything is under control. I’ve got some files that my staff have put together. We can’t have the Hong Kong office making mistakes. It’s been noticed by some of our major clients. People aren’t happy.”
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