by R. J. Jagger
He followed and then waited outside, at first for a half hour, then for an hour.
The sun rose higher and trained every ounce of its energy directly on Kong, heating him up, frying his brain. He needed air conditioning; not in ten minutes, now, right this second. Two minutes later he pushed through revolving doors and into an opulent lobby. He’d been there before but it had been years and he’d forgotten how elegant it was.
It pissed him off.
The women could afford it because they were using the blackmail money—his money.
Well that was going to change.
A MAN AND A WOMAN stood behind the reception desk. Kong walked over to the woman, put on his friendliest GQ face, and explained that he was there for a meeting with two ladies. He was supposed to meet them in the lobby, but got here late and was afraid they might have gone back to their rooms.
“What are their names?” the woman asked.
Kong wrinkled his forehead.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t know. I only know what they look like.”
He described them.
“That could be Emmanuelle Laurent and her friend,” the woman said. “Would you like me to call her room and check?”
Kong nodded.
“You’re too nice.”
He watched as she pressed the numbers.
718.
No one answered.
“Well, thanks for trying,” Kong said. “You’re very sweet. I really appreciate your time.”
He left.
Outside, it was just as hot as before.
He found a place to sit by the water, a shady spot with an ocean breeze, and contemplated the next move.
HIS FIRST INSTINCT was to get inside room 718, but he suppressed it. The hotel had too many cameras and security was tight. Making a move there could only lead to disaster. He needed to wait until the women got off-site.
That would take patience.
Usually that was something he didn’t have.
But he’d make an exception, just for them.
HE CALLED KAM LEE and said, “Did you ever contact that guy?” He didn’t need to define that guy. They both understood it was the client, the one who would probably be interested in taking a session all the way.
“I did,” she said. “He’s interested.”
“Will he pay?”
“Yes, but we didn’t get into specifics,” she said. “He wants to see them first. Why?”
Kong told her.
He might have a lead.
It might be sooner than later.
“I’ll tell him,” she said. “By the way, for your information, I’m still trembling from that little session you did with me. Next time I want you to stretch me even tighter.”
Kong shook his head.
“You don’t go any tighter, darling.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Day Six—August 8
Saturday Morning
______________
MICHAEL CHOW’S GIRLFRIEND didn’t want to talk at first but then saw something in Emmanuelle’s eyes and loosened up. She turned out to be a 20-year-old student at the University of Hong Kong named Sya Bo Lau, majoring in marine biology. She knew Michael was up to something, but didn’t know what. He’d been spending a lot of time with people from Paris during the last week. Michael kept telling her he was going to be rich if things went well. It had something to do with finding some kind of treasure.
“Paintings?” Emmanuelle asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what, but I do know he’s real nervous all the time. He’s been spying on a man named Guotin Pak.”
“Who’s Guotin Pak?”
She didn’t know.
She sensed he was someone dangerous.
They talked for another ten minutes.
Then Emmanuelle said, “The worst vice is advice but I’m going to give you some anyway because you’re such a nice person. Get a new boyfriend and do it quickly. Michael Chow isn’t the person you think he is.”
She expected the woman to press for specifics but she didn’t.
Instead she got a distant look in her eyes.
“I’m going to ask you to do one thing for us,” Emmanuelle said. “Don’t tell Michael we were here and don’t tell him that we talked. It will be better for us that way but more importantly it will be better for you.”
Sya Bo nodded.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know, I said okay.”
“Find a reason to break things off,” Emmanuelle said. “There’s a good man out there somewhere just waiting to meet you. This won’t be the end of the world.”
The woman’s eyes got wet.
Emmanuelle hugged her.
Prarie did too.
Then they got the hell out of there.
At street level, Prarie said, “Do you think she’ll listen?”
“If she doesn’t, at least we tried.”
THEY RESEARCHED GUOTIN PAK on the net and didn’t find much, other than he lived on the south side of the island. “Let’s swing by his house and scout it out,” Emmanuelle said. “How far of a drive is it”
Prarie shrugged.
“Less than an hour, I guess.”
“Good.”
The south side of Hong Kong Island, although geographically not far from the city, was a dramatically different world—an island world of beaches and vistas and aqua waters, untamed by man and largely as nature intended it, not totally unspoiled but mostly.
Pak lived in a modest but standalone house on a low bluff, almost close enough for the water to lick if a good-sized storm came in at high tide.
“I’d be nervous living there,” Prarie said.
They saw no signs of activity.
They saw no cars.
Emmanuelle tapped her fingers on the dash and said, “We need to get inside and look around.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
No, she wasn’t.
“I’m still freaked out over the key going into Chow’s door,” Prarie said.
Emmanuelle nodded, understanding.
Then said, “I’m not talking about right now. We’ll come back tonight after dark. Hey, do me a favor, will you? Don’t let me forget about that guy who drove by you going the other way after you got released, the guy with the tattoo on his neck. I forgot all about him until just now. We still need to run him down.”
“What made you think of him just now?”
“I don’t know. The mind’s a funny thing.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Day Six—August 8
Saturday Afternoon
______________
TEFFINGER STOOD BACK as Fan Rae knocked on Syling Wu’s door. Unlike last time, when no noises came from inside, this time a shuffling vibration resonated and the door opened. A petit young woman wearing a tank top and white panties look surprised to see them. She had sleep in her eyes. The knock must have pulled her out of bed.
She wasn’t Syling Wu.
She must be a roommate or a friend.
“Do you speak English?” Fan Rae asked.
The woman shook her head.
Fan Rae looked at Teffinger and said, “Sorry.”
Then the two women spoke in Cantonese. After a few moments, the young woman invited them in. The place was small but neat, with a main living area that included the kitchen, a separate bedroom and a bathroom. Two loud air conditioners ran at full speed and managed to keep the place tolerable. Fan Rae must have said something about Teffinger because the woman smiled shyly and then got the coffee pot going.
Teffinger nodded at her and said, “Thanks.”
They spent some time there, more than a bit.
Teffinger spent it drinking coffee, looking out the window and wishing he spoke the language. Fan Rae spent it jotting down notes and going through Syling’s computer.
When they were finished, Fan Rae said, “She wants to know if she can give you a hu
g, for trying to help Syling.”
Teffinger looked at the woman.
She turned her head, shyly, then walked over and gave Teffinger a hug.
He patted her on the back.
“We’ll find her,” he said.
OUTSIDE, FAN RAE POINTED to a no-nonsense eatery across the street and said, “Feed me, cowboy.”
“Cowboy?”
“Right.”
“You know what a cowboy is?”
“God, Nick, sometimes you act like Hong Kong is on Mars.”
He flicked hair out of his face.
“Okay, if you know what a cowboy is, name one.”
She hesitated, stumped, then smiled and said, “John Travolta.”
He pulled up an image from Pulp Fiction, almost said “No,” but then remembered Urban Cowboy, and decided to give it to her.
“Close enough.”
They were seated in ten seconds and plates of rice, chicken and vegetables clanged down in from of them three minutes later. Fan Rae told him what all the Cantonese was about across the street. The roommate in the white panties was Tu Lien Lo, who worked as a bartender at Mink on Hollywood Road.
“Mink?”
“Right.”
“What’s Mink?”
“A hotspot,” Fan Rae said. “Think pretty people on leather couches.”
Anyway, according to the roommate, Syling Wu worked as a hostess girl, but that was it—she didn’t use it as a front for prostitution.
“Syling and her friend, Nuwa Moon, stopped in at Mink for a couple of drinks on Wednesday night before heading to Hei Yewan,” Fan Rae said.
“So they were definitely together.”
“Right.”
“Speaking of Hei Yewan,” Fan Rae said, “Tu Lien doesn’t know anything about it or the K’ung chia room. She’s never been there. G-punk isn’t her thing.”
Teffinger nodded.
He already figured that out.
“As far as she knows, Syling wasn’t into anything weird or in any kind of trouble,” Fan Rae said. “She doesn’t know anyone with a reason to hurt her. But she knows something’s wrong, because it’s totally out of character for Syling to just drop off the earth.”
Teffinger chewed a piece of chicken.
“So why didn’t she report it if she knew something was wrong?”
“Good question,” Fan Rae said. “In fact, that’s the exact question I asked her.”
“And?”
“And, you’re very sexy when you eat,” she said. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”
TEFFINGER GAVE HER A SIDEWAYS GLANCE.
“Be careful,” he said, “I’m not above pushing everything off this table and throwing you on top.”
She stared into his eyes.
“Yes you are.”
“Are what?”
“Above it.
“Not I’m not.”
“Okay, then do it,” she said.
“You want me to take you, right here right now, on the top of this table?”
“You said you would, so do it.”
“I said I could, not would,” Teffinger said. “There’s a big difference.”
“Fine, don’t do it if you’re afraid,” she said. “Anyway, getting back to your question, she didn’t report it because a P.I. was already working on the case. He stopped by two days ago and talked to her.”
“Who?”
“Some creepy guy,” she said. “Her words, not mine—creepy guy. Does that remind you of anyone?”
It did.
It did indeed.
A creepy guy had been in Syling’s hostess bar last night asking questions about her.
“Who hired him?” Teffinger asked.
She shrugged.
“We need to find out,” Teffinger said. “That’s the next step.”
“Why? Who cares?”
“We care.”
“We do?”
He nodded.
Yes.
They did.
“Why?”
“Because people who hire a P.I. instead of going to the police usually do it because they don’t want to be involved with the police,” he said. “And the reason they usually don’t want to be involved with the police is because they have something to hide.”
“So?”
“So, if someone has something to hide, and that person is somehow connected to Syling Wu, I get awful curious as to who it is and what they’re hiding.”
Fan Rae studied him.
“You scare me sometimes,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because you think like them.”
“What do you mean—them?”
“You know, the bad guys.”
“I don’t think like them. I just know how they think. There’s a difference. A big difference.”
“Like could and would.”
“Exactly.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Day Six—August 8
Saturday Evening
______________
SATURDAY NIGHT was the absolute worst time for Kong to be away from Ra, but he had no choice. Right now he knew where the women were, but if they checked out and disappeared, he would never get this chance again. In the afternoon, he figured out how they got out of the hotel earlier today after he watched the front entrance for an hour—they left by car out of the parking garage. He planted himself by the garage and waited all afternoon. That waiting paid off, because they actually returned in a vehicle—a blue VW Passat.
He wrote down the license plate number.
Then he called Kam Lee at the dungeon and said, “Can I borrow your car?”
“Why?”
He explained.
It was to follow the two women when they left the hotel again.
“Do you just want the car or do you want me to be with you?”
Kong wiped sweat off his forehead.
“It’ll be safer for you if you’re not around.”
“I don’t mind,” she said.
He considered it. There might be a need for two pairs of eyes. Plus she was good company. He almost said, “Okay,” but decided against it, for her sake.
“You’ll be involved enough after I get them,” he said. “Let’s not press our luck. Can you throw some rope in the trunk?”
Half an hour later she pulled up in red Audi, handed him the keys and gave him a long wet kiss before she disappeared. He parked it where he had a good view of the parking garage without being obvious.
Then he waited, for a full hour, followed by a second and a third.
Then, finally, the women pulled out.
HE FOLLOWED THEM through the Cross Harbour Tunnel, all the way to the south side of Hong Kong Island. Where in the hell were they going?
Traffic thinned.
He dropped back.
The women passed Aberdeen Harbour and Deep Water Bay, then pulled into a parking lot at Repulse Bay.
They got out and took a walk on the beach as the sky changed from late evening to early night. Kong almost made a move, but there were a few too many stragglers around for his taste. Then the women got back in their car, turned on their headlights and headed east towards Tai Tan Bay. Before they got there, though, they turned onto a side road.
Kong turned the headlights off and crept along behind them.
The women made a slow pass by a house on a low bluff.
Fifty meters later, they pulled over and stopped.
Then their taillights went out.
They were sitting there, alone, ripe for the taking.
Half of Kong’s brain told him to take them now.
The other half said to hold on for a few minutes and see what they were up to.
Chapter Fifty
Day Six—August 8
Saturday Evening
______________
SATURDAY NIGHT, Prarie and Emmanuelle drove to the south side of the island, bided their time at Repulse Bay until the sky got good and dark, and then made a pass by Guotin Pak�
�s house. No one appeared to be home.
Perfect.
They continued for another fifty meters and killed the engine.
“You still up for this?” Emmanuelle asked.
“Not really.”
“Okay, wait here.”
“I was kidding.”
With knives and flashlights in hand, they doubled back to the house, looked in the windows and saw no signs of life. Just in case someone was inside sleeping, Emmanuelle knocked on the front door.
No response.
She knocked louder.
No response.
The front and back doors were both locked, so they broke a rear window. Emmanuelle crawled through and opened the back door for Prarie.
The main room and the kitchen showed nothing of interest.
But the adjacent room did.
It was an art studio with lots of northern windows. The pungent odor of turpentine hung in the air. A large easel held a panting in progress. Although it was only half finished, Prarie recognized it immediately as she flicked the flashlight over it.
“This is a Renoir,” she said. “He’s replicating a Renoir. It’s not one of the ones at Musee d’Orsay, though.”
“Where is it from?”
Prarie didn’t know.
“Look at this,” she said, flashing her light on a large wooden table. Dozens of detailed photographs of the original painting were carefully laid out. Many of them had yellow post-its with handwritten notes. “I still don’t see how he can do it, even with all this reference material. The guy’s got some serious talent.”
“He better,” Emmanuelle said. “He’s got five paintings hanging in Musee d’Orsay. He’s the only person currently alive who can actually say that.”
A FAINT BUT DEFINITE NOISE suddenly came from the back of the house, as if someone bumped into something. They looked at each other, then turned off their flashlights.
The room turned blacker than black, so black that they couldn’t even see each other.
They stood perfectly still with pounding blood.
Prarie shifted the knife to her right hand.