Gone in Hong Kong (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order)

by R. J. Jagger

  The woman looked confused.

  “I didn’t know there was a back room.”

  “Syling never said anything about a back room that has a K’ung chia symbol painted on the floor?”

  No.

  She didn’t.

  “Is that why she’s gone?” Dan Dan asked. “Because of that room?”

  Teffinger shrugged.

  “We don’t know,” he said. “Do you know Nuwa Moon?”

  “I know she’s Syling’s friend but I never met her.”

  FAN RAE PAID THE BILL, a big bill. She gave Dan Dan a sizeable tip, plus her business card in case she thought of anything else. Then they headed for Hei Yewan, mingled with the crowd and showed pictures of Nuwa Moon and Syling Wu. What they found out was pretty much what Teffinger expected.

  Both of the women had been there Wednesday night, the night Nuwa Moon got a symbol carved in her stomach. Unfortunately, however, no one knew or at least wouldn’t talk about what was going on in the back room that night.

  They left.

  Fan Rae drove.

  The neon city rolled by.

  “Here’s the way I see it,” Teffinger said. “They were both there Wednesday night. They were in the main bar area the whole night, based on all the sightings. Whatever was going on in the back room, I don’t think they knew about it or participated in it. Somehow, though, they got targeted. They left together and then got taken, probably by whoever was in that back room. Nuwa Moon ended up getting murdered. That happened on the beach, not in the back room.” A beat then, “What happened to Syling, I don’t know. Maybe she was killed the same way someplace else.”

  BACK AT FAN RAE’S APARTMENT, Teffinger realized he had gone the whole night without lifting up her dress, so he did it now.

  True to her word, she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  “See, I proved it,” she said. “You’re special.”

  Teffinger walked her to the wall, pulled her arms up high and held them in place with one hand. With the other one, he reached down between her legs.

  She spread her feet, trembled, and surrendered to his touch.

  “I hate that you can do this to me,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Day Six—August 8

  Saturday Morning

  ______________

  PRARIE TWISTED AND TURNED all night, a captive in that eerie netherworld where she wasn’t quite asleep and wasn’t quite awake. She woke Saturday morning in a seedy room—definitely not the InterContinental. She rolled over and stretched, hoping that the nasty thoughts about killing a man last night would evaporate like bad dreams do.

  But they didn’t.

  Next to her, Emmanuelle breathed deep and heavy, soundly asleep.

  She rolled out of bed, stepped into the shower and replayed the events of last night.

  After she shot the man with the knife, things got real dicey real fast and, in hindsight, could have gone either way. But she had the gun and somehow kept her wits. She made one of the men tie the other one to one of the chairs. She gathered up their wallets, cell phones and knives, which went into her purse.

  She made the man carry Emmanuelle outside.

  A white BMW sat next to the junker they came in.

  The keys were in the ignition.

  She made the man put Emmanuelle in the back seat.

  She debated briefly about shooting the two men who were left. Then she said, “Consider yourself lucky,” and got the hell out of there.

  Emmanuelle didn’t wake up for a full hour.

  When she did, and got the story, she said, “You’re nicer than me. I would have killed them.” She pointed to her forehead. “Right there. Bam bam, bye bye.”

  “I thought about it,” Prarie said.

  “You should have done it. Now we got to worry about them.”

  “Who are they?”

  “My guess? They’re after the paintings. Somehow they figured out we are too, probably from that gallery guy. He must have figured out that we were hunting for someone talented enough to make the fakes that got put into Musee d'Orsay. Then he tipped these guys off, or who knows, maybe he’s even part of them. Either way, they lured us to that warehouse to find out what we know and we fell for it. I’ll tell you one thing, I won’t be that stupid again. Not even close.”

  TO AVOID PROBLEMS, at least for the night, they used cash to check into a seedy place called the Sea View Hotel on the far eastern edge of Hong Kong, not far from the Wholesale Fish Market. Then they drove to North Point, abandoned the BMW behind a bar, and hoofed it back to the hotel.

  That was last night.

  Now it was morning.

  EMMANUELLE WAS AWAKE when Prarie got out of the shower. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, hugged Prarie briefly, and said, “I want to work their cell phones this morning before they get smart and cut the service off. Chances are they know things we don’t. We need to make a record of who they’ve been in touch with.”

  Prarie agreed.

  “Do me a favor while I’m in the shower and figure out which one belongs to the dead guy,” she added.

  “Why?”

  “Once the police found his body, they’ll be tracking his phone,” she said. “I don’t want them zeroing in on us by GPS or something.”

  Prarie shook her head.

  “How do you come up with this stuff?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just there.”

  Emmanuelle headed to the shower.

  Prarie headed outside for coffee and food. There would probably be something down by the fish market.

  What she saw outside she could hardly believe.

  A NUMBER OF POLICE CARS were congregated not more than fifty meters down the road. Her natural instinct was to run, but she didn’t, and on further examination saw that their interest was in something on the ground. Against her better judgment, she walked over.

  On the ground was a body, not just any body, the body of the man she shot last night.

  A small, meaty cop raised his eyes and looked at her briefly.

  Then went back to work.

  WHEN PRARIE GOT BACK to the hotel, Emmanuelle was still in the shower. Prarie pulled the curtain open and shook the woman by the arm. Emmanuelle jumped, then studied Prarie’s face and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “The man I shot is on the ground, right down the street.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  No.

  She wasn’t.

  “I don’t get it,” Prarie said.

  Emmanuelle didn’t either and wrinkled her forehead to prove it. Then the confusion disappeared.

  “They dumped him there as a warning to us.”

  “Warning? What kind of warning?”

  “A warning that they’re not backing off and that we’d better cooperate.”

  “But how did they even find us?”

  “My guess is the BMW, it probably has a GPS tracking system that showed them everywhere we went.” She rinsed off what soap was left and said, “Hand me that towel. We need to get out of here.”

  “What do we do with the gun? It’s still in my purse—”

  “Bring it,” Emmanuelle said. “We can’t leave it here.” Prarie must have had a deer-in-headlights look because Emmanuelle said, “Put it in my purse. I’ll carry it.”

  FIVE MINUTES LATER they walked out of the hotel and nonchalantly headed in the direction away from the body.

  They didn’t turn around.

  A hundred steps later, just when they were starting to feel safe, something bad happened. A cop car pulled up next to them and the cop said something in Cantonese.

  “English,” Prarie said.

  He brought the car to a stop and stepped out.

  He was small, meaty and mean looking.

  Prarie recognized him as the one who looked up at her back by the body.

  This time he addressed them in English.

  “I want to talk to you two for a minute.”

  Chapter Thirty-N
ine

  Day Six—August 8

  Saturday Morning

  ______________

  FAN RAE FAN WAS A DRUG and Teffinger was addicted. He realized that now as he got out of bed Saturday morning and saw the sensuous curves of her body once again. She was no good for him. She was implicated in the plan to kill d’Asia but he couldn’t stay away, physically or emotionally. Each time he was with her, her pull became more powerful.

  An explosive ending was inevitable.

  He didn’t want to think about it.

  He dressed, gave her an imperceptible kiss as she slept, then headed for the door. He was in the hallway and about to close the door when he remembered her words.

  Next time wake me.

  He debated for a second, then went back in, laid down next to her and ran his fingers through her hair until she woke up. She kissed him as soon as she realized she was awake.

  “I’m going to head back to the hotel for a jog and fresh clothes,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

  She put a finger on his lips.

  He kissed it.

  “You woke me,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “I said I would.”

  “I know, but I didn’t know if you would,” she said. “When you get back to the hotel, check out and bring your stuff over here. Stay with me. I don’t like being away from you.”

  Teffinger stood up.

  “If I do, you’ll need to devote a whole cabinet to coffee,” he said. “You realize that, I hope.”

  FAN RAE INSISTED that he use her car, so he did, punching the radio buttons and actually getting a Beatles song.

  “I Call Your Name.”

  At the Fleming, he searched the car to see if there were any leads as to who the mystery woman was, the one who was going to kill d’Asia.

  If the clues were there, they didn’t jump out.

  Nada.

  Nothing.

  Once he moved in with Fan Rae, he’d be able to search her apartment. Maybe his luck would be better there.

  HE BYPASSED THE ELEVATOR, took the stairwell to his room, and then set out for a good jog through the Hong Kong cityscape, keeping up the pace and fighting the humidity. He needed more of this, a lot more. There was a time when he worked out five days a week without missing and had a six-pack to prove it. That changed when he got promoted to the head of the homicide unit three years ago. Most people considered him to be in phenomenal shape, but if you asked him, he was soft.

  Back at the hotel room, he did five sets of fifty pushups alternated with five sets of a hundred stomach crunches and then took a long cool shower.

  When he got out, someone knocked on the door, timidly, barely perceptible.

  He wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the door.

  Standing in front of him was the last person he expected.

  D’Asia.

  Chapter Forty

  Day Six—August 8

  Saturday Morning

  ______________

  KONG WOKE SATURDAY MORNING when a throaty go-fast motored up to the port side of Dangerous Lady and someone jumped aboard. Kong looked out the portal, saw the Predator, and was informed that he had been summoned to Poon’s penthouse. When he got there, Poon introduced him to a man with a stressed face, about 45, rough, with an iron handshake.

  Vance Wu.

  “Vance is a friend of mine,” Poon explained. “He came to me this morning with some very bad news. He has a daughter named Syling Wu, she’s 21. On Wednesday night, she went to a club called Hei Yewan, which is a g-punk hangout. She went with a friend named Nuwa Moon. Did you hear about the woman who was found floating down by the piers?”

  Kong nodded.

  He had, but hadn’t paid much attention.

  “That was Nuwa Moon,” Poon said. “Someone killed her. Mr. Wu’s daughter, Syling, has not been seen or heard from since Wednesday night.”

  “That’s rough,” Kong said.

  Poon nodded.

  “Yes, rough,” Poon said. “Mr. Wu came to me, asking for help. Now I’m coming to you. What I need you to do is help find Syling Wu.”

  Kong shifted his weight.

  “That’s a job for a P.I., or even more to the point—the police,” he said. “Not to mention, I don’t have the skills.”

  POON LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW, then back at Kong. “Mr. Wu already has an investigator on it,” Poon said. “Unfortunately, he’s not the best. In fact, he comes across sort of creepy. Later this morning he’s going to be fired and replaced with someone infinitely better, a woman I know by the name of Brittany So Kwok. She’ll take the lead. What I want you to do is be at her disposal. If she calls you and asks to get something done, it needs to get done.”

  “You mean dirty stuff,” Kong said.

  Poon shrugged.

  “Whatever,” he said. “We’re not going to have time to obey all the laws, or play nicey-nice with everybody, or leave it to unmotivated and underpaid civil servants. We need speed. We need someone who can cut through the crap and get the job done. A facilitator, if you will.”

  “Why the rush? Do you think she’s still alive?”

  Wu grabbed Kong’s arm.

  “She’s alive,” he said. He pounded his heart. “I can feel her, in here.”

  Kong nodded.

  Okay.

  Fine.

  Who was he to argue?

  “Once we find out who took her, there’s going to be some sanitation work to do.”

  Kong studied the man.

  “What makes you think I would do something like that?”

  Poon smiled.

  “Why? Am I wrong?”

  “I didn’t say you were wrong.”

  “Okay then,” Poon said. “We appreciate your help. To show our appreciation, you’re going to be paid well.”

  Kong smiled.

  “Sounds reasonable,” he said.

  Poon handed him an envelope.

  “Good faith money,” he said. “Discretion is of the utmost importance. I’m sure you appreciate that.”

  Kong did.

  “Be sure Brittany So Kwak doesn’t get hurt.”

  Kong nodded.

  “I would be most unpleased if she got hurt,” Poon added. Then he slapped Kong on the back. “You like the Predator? It’s a nice boat, huh? Slices right through the chop.”

  “Yes it does.”

  KONG WAS ALMOST OUT THE DOOR when Poon grabbed his arm and said, “One more thing. You’ll find Brittany to be a very attractive lady. She’s here to do a job, not to be screwed, so be sure you keep it that way.”

  “Is she a girlfriend of yours?”

  Poon laughed.

  “All the women in Hong Kong are my girlfriends of mine, even the ones who don’t know it yet,” he said. “Maybe someday you’ll have real money and understand what I’m talking about.”

  “I already have real money.”

  Poon shook his head.

  “What you have is Saturday night fun money,” he said. “But maybe things will get better for you. Who knows?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Day Six—August 8

  Saturday Morning

  ______________

  THE MEATY, MEAN-LOOKING COP asked Prarie and Emmanuelle if they stayed at the Sea View Hotel last night and, when they said “Yes,” wanted to know if they saw or heard anything.

  No.

  Sorry.

  He took a curious look at the way Emmanuelle clutched her purse, and said, “Okay, thanks.”

  He never asked their names.

  They took the MRT to Central where there were a billion people around in case the cops traced a phone signal. They turned on the dead man’s cell, copied everything in the memory—especially recent calls to and from—turned it off, and then did the same with the other two. They took the Star Ferry across the harbour, went to the far end of the boat, made sure no one was looking, and dropped all three of them over the side.

  The deep choppy water swallowed them
instantly.

  “What about the gun?” Prarie asked.

  Good question.

  They had debated it all morning—it saved their lives once and gave them an edge for the future, but it also connected them to a murder and was illegal as hell.

  Now it was time to decide once and for all.

  “We have four bullets left,” Emmanuelle said. “You decide.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  They wiped it for prints one more time, made sure no eyes were on them, dropped it over the side and watched it disappear into the salty green water.

  There.

  Done.

  “I feel a hundred times better,” Prarie said.

  “Yeah,” Emmanuelle said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

  THE KNIFE-WEILDING MANIAC who forced Prarie to shoot him last night turned out to be Pierre Durand, 37, from Paris, according to his wallet. The other two were Nicholas Lefebvre, 32, also from Paris, and Michael Chow, 25, from Hong Kong. “We need to figure out if they’re a group trying to find the paintings or the ones who took them in the first place,” Emmanuelle said.

  “How do we do that?” Prarie asked.

  Good question.

  “As far as our two Paris boys go, I know a P.I. back home who isn’t above breaking into a flat or two if the money’s good enough,” Emmanuelle said. “The problem in this case, though, is that it’s so sensitive. If I tell this guy to look around for something connected to paintings, he might put two and two together, which wouldn’t be good.”

  “You don’t think he can be trusted?”

  Emmanuelle tilted her head.

  “With normal stuff, yes, but with something this big, no one can be trusted,” she said. “Everyone becomes a player.”

  Prarie considered it.

  Then said, “Maybe we need to go back to Paris and do it ourselves.”

  “You mean, break in?”

  “Right.”

  Emmanuelle shrugged.

  “It’s a possibility but it’ll take time,” she said. “Maybe what I can do is keep it vague, so he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. I can just tell him to gather up papers and copy computer files, assuming there are computers, and then send it all to us.”