by R. J. Jagger
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we’ll cut you in,” she said. “I have the case on a one-third contingency. I’ll give you one-third of my one-third, which is roughly 10 percent. That’s $8 million a piece, U.S. dollars—$40 million total, if we get all five.”
Kong wrinkled his forehead.
“Don’t insult me, I can do the math,” he said. “So I get 10 percent, just to let you live?”
Emmanuelle laughed.
“Just to let me live? Hell no, there’s a whole lot more to it than that. If we don’t find the paintings, no one gets anything.”
“So you want my help?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t,” she said. “Now let me down before I change my mind.”
Kong smiled.
“You got some balls, lady.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Day Seven—August 9
Sunday Morning
______________
PRARIE DIDN’T REALIZE THE FULL EXTENT of Guotin Pak’s ugliness until he pulled her off his shoulder and threw her on the bed. That was her first good look at him. He must have gotten the scars at a young age because they hadn’t grown with his face. Instead, they sucked his skin in. His eyes were too far apart and his teeth had gaps. He reminded her of a troll. And now he had her—a nice looking woman—in his control.
He glared at her.
Pissed.
He shouted something mean in Cantonese.
She recoiled as far as she could on the bed.
He waited for an answer.
She said in English, “I don’t understand.”
He switched to English. “What were you two doing in my house?”
“Nothing.”
Nothing?
Nothing?
“Did you just say nothing?”
He grabbed her feet, pulled her back into the middle of the bed and flipped her onto her stomach. Then he tied her wrists together behind her back, did the same with her ankles, and then tied her ankles to her wrists, a hogtie position.
“Nothing?” he said. “Talk now, before I lose my patience. What were you two doing in my house?”
“We got lost, and then—”
He slapped her ass.
THEN HE PICKED HER UP, carried her outside where the waves were lapping against the bluff and laid her in a recessed crevice on her stomach, a meter or two above the water, where she couldn’t be seen from either side.
He studied her.
“The tide is coming in,” he said. “I may or may not come back to see if you’re in the mood to talk. If I do, you’d better make the best of it.”
Then he was gone.
She was alone.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Day Seven—August 9
Sunday Afternoon
______________
FAN RAE’S RESEACRH on Brittany So Kwak revealed that the woman was a partner in Phantom, Inc., one of Hong Kong’s most reputable and pricy private investigatory firms. “Our office has butted heads with them before,” Fan Rae said. “It wasn’t pretty,” meaning the woman would never reveal who she was working for.
Teffinger studied a printout of the woman’s face.
“She’s attractive,” he said.
“Don’t you ever think of anything besides sex?”
Teffinger raised an eyebrow.
“I think of coffee sometimes,” he said.
She punched him in the arm.
“Actually, what I’m getting at is that maybe I could find a way to bump into her and buy her a drink,” he said.
“You do stuff like that?”
“Ordinarily, no,” he said. “But the clock is ticking.”
He didn’t tell her the rest, namely that he’d been feeling guilty lately. He’d had a couple of abducted-woman cases like this in his day. What happened was always the same, namely, he get obsessed. He put his life on hold. He worked the window of opportunity before it disappeared. But with Syling Wu that obsession hadn’t been there. Going out with Fan Rae and Xiang and partying last night was proof evident. He didn’t know what the problem was. Maybe it was because she technically wasn’t his case. Maybe it was because all this was happening in Hong Kong instead of Denver. Maybe he was just getting jaded. He didn’t know why it was. But he did know one thing. He needed to get that obsession back in his life, not in ten minutes, now, this second.
Syling Wu deserved it.
“If there’s no front door to Brittany So Kwak, maybe there’s a back door,” he said. “I don’t want to do it though unless you’re totally okay with it.”
“I don’t want you sleeping with her, Nick.”
Teffinger grunted.
“I’m not talking about anything even remotely close to that,” he said. “All I’m talking about is seeing if I can meet her and then get her to spit something out, before she even knows she’s doing it.”
Fan Rae studied him.
“It was okay for you to be with Xiang, but that’s only because I was there,” she said.
THEY PUSHED THE BUZZER for Brittany So Kwak’s flat from the lobby of her apartment building. When she answered, confirming she was there, they said nothing and went across the street to a mom-and-pop eatery to drink coffee.
Their target emerged an hour later, alone.
She wore sandals, white shorts and a light-blue blouse. Her hair was in a ponytail and a large black purse draped over her shoulder.
She walked north towards the harbour.
They followed thirty steps behind.
“This is such a long shot,” Fan Rae said.
Teffinger grinned.
“True, but long shots are all you have left to shoot after all your short shots are shot.”
She shook her head.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Teffinger.”
“It’s not supposed to.”
“Good, because it doesn’t,” she said. “After all your short shots are shot. What is that supposed to mean?”
Teffinger shrugged.
He didn’t know.
“After all your short shots are shot,” she said. “Give me a break.”
Teffinger laughed.
“You have a very sexy smile,” he said. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Day Seven—August 9
Sunday Afternoon
______________
KONG WAS APPREHENSIVE about confronting Guotin Pak, not just because the man could throw a death star and was no doubt into Kung Fu or Wushu, but because he was big and strong even without the martial arts training.
Still, the confrontation was necessary.
Pak was the key to everything.
So he headed that way in Kam Lee’s car with Emmanuelle riding shotgun.
“Promise me one thing,” Emmanuelle said.
“What?”
“If he killed Prarie, I get to be the one to kill him.”
“We’re going there to interrogate him, not to kill him,” Kong said.
“If he killed Prairie, we’re going there to do both,” she said. “Make no mistake about it.”
Kong threw her a sideways glance.
“You remind me of a female me,” he said.
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“Trust me, it was.”
She said nothing and watched the scenery.
“We can’t get caught,” she said. “I’ve been hired in an unofficial capacity so I can cut through the red tape. It might be a bit much, though, if they found out I killed someone. They might renege on the fee.”
“Then let’s not get caught,” Kong said. “Tell me about Paris. I’ve never been there.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about the women,” he said. “What are the women like?”
She told him; the women understood their sensuality and weren’t embarrassed by it or afraid of it; how they oozed it
with their sexy little mouths and their sexy little walks; how every little nook and cranny of the city had a story of lust to tell.
“It’s the coolest place on the face of the earth,” she said. “Not just because of the sex, but because of the Seine and the architecture and the culture and the cafes and the clubs and the wine and the songs. It’s all wrapped up into one big thing.”
“I got to go,” Kong said.
“When this is all over, you can come and stay with me for a while.”
Kong gave her a quick look.
“You mean that?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely,” she said. “I’ll show you all the secret places.”
Kong said nothing.
The woman was just trying to get on his good side.
He knew that.
Still, Paris sounded like fun.
THEY PASSED THE FISHING BOATS of Aberdeen Bay and then the aqua waters of Repulse Bay. “We’re almost there,” Kong said.
“So what’s the plan?”
“The plan is to take it as it comes.”
They made a pass by the house, not slowing down, not being obvious.
The front door was shut and the windows were draped but a vehicle sat in the driveway. Fifty meters later, Emmanuelle’s VW Passat appeared on the side of the road exactly where she’d left it. She checked the interior and said, “The keys are still in the ignition but my purse is gone and so is Prarie’s. That means he knows my name.”
Kong exhaled.
Then he looked around and saw no one.
“Let’s get this over with.”
They locked the car and headed towards the house on foot.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Day Seven—August 9
Sunday Afternoon
______________
PRARIE WAS UNCONSCIOUS when something cold touched her legs—water, just a splash, but enough to make her pull at her bonds with all her might. The tide had reached her. She didn’t want to die.
What was the troll doing?
Was he up above, watching, playing a mind game and letting the water lap right up to her mouth before he swooped down and pulled her up?’
Or had he sentenced her to death?
Maybe he’d just silently watch her die from above.
Or maybe he’d taunt her when it started to happen.
She pulled at her bonds.
They didn’t budge.
Her skin tore.
She pulled harder.
SHE DIDN’T WANT TO DIE, not by drowning, it would take so long.
She’d be so alone.
What would her final thoughts be?
How long would she continue to live after her lungs filled with water?
Would the tide carry her body out to sea?
Would she rot in the sun and be eaten by crabs?
Would the troll pull her dead body into the house and screw her?
IT WASN’T FAIR!
She didn’t do anything to deserve this.
Help me!
Somebody help me!
Please!
Please!
Please!
Chapter Sixty-Six
Day Seven—August 9
Sunday Afternoon
______________
BRITTANY SO KWAK walked all the way to Victoria Harbour and then sat down on a pier. Twenty minutes later a long sleek Predator picked her up and whisked her out to sea.
Fan Rae scribbled down the numbers on the hull.
The vessel was registered to the White Sky Company.
All the stock of that company was owned by one man—Jack Poon.
“Who’s Jack Poon?” Teffinger asked.
“He owns half of Hong Kong.”
Teffinger grunted.
“Guys like that use P.I.’s all the time,” he said. “Our friend could be working on a hundred different things, none of them being Syling Wu.”
“True.”
Now what?
Teffinger’s thought was, Coffee, but when he held his hand out to see how much his fingers shook, he figured he’d probably had enough for the day.
“Where do you think they’re heading?”
“Who?”
“The boat.”
Fan Rae retreated in thought. “I’m not a Jack Poon expert, but I’ve heard his name mentioned in connection with Macau, which is where the casinos are. It wouldn’t surprise me if he owned one or two of them. In fact, that would explain the Predator, as a way to shuffle between here and there.”
Teffinger raked his hair back with his fingers.
The humidity was so thick that it stayed straight up.
Fan Rae grinned.
“What?”
“Your hair—”
Teffinger pushed it down.
“How far is this Macan place?”
“NOT MACAN—MACAU,” Fan Rae said. “Sixty kilometers west, give or take.”
“That’s a long ways.”
“Not in a Predator.”
“I mean for us.”
Fan Rae cocked her head.
“What are you suggesting, that we go there?”
Teffinger nodded.
“Poon is having a meeting of some sort,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind know who’s going to be there.”
“It might only be the P.I.,” Fan Rae said.
True.
“And even if other people are going, how would we possibly find out?”
Teffinger looked west, over the water.
“What’s the fastest way for us to get there?”
“You’re serious,” Fan Rae said.
He was.
He was indeed.
THEY HIRED A PRIVATE VESSEL, a bluewater boat with a deep-V hull and two outboard Yamahas, about 25-feet long, owned and operated by a small man named Chi who couldn’t have been a day younger than seventy. When they left Victoria Harbour and entered the South China Sea, the waters got messy and the chop came straight at them.
The boat slammed into the waves.
Bam.
Bam.
Bam.
Then the water got bigger.
Whitecaps came.
The trip only took an hour but Teffinger was two years older, minimum. They gave Chi a good tip for getting them there alive, hopped in a cab and said, “Which one of these places does Jack Poon own?”
“That would be the Cotai Storm.”
“Take us there.”
On the way, they passed the Venetian Macau, which was almost identical to the Venetian in Las Vegas.
Other equally impressive casinos emerged. The Casino Lisboa—a festival of domes and curves, something in the nature of a giant lotus flower. The Galaxy Rio Casino—a royal, Italian palace, close to the TurboPier. The Sands Casino—one of the larger structures, with contemporary lines and a smooth skin of yellow glass.
“It’s almost like this is a satellite of Vegas,” Teffinger said. “Same players.”
“It’s the only place in China where gambling is legal,” Fan Rae said. “It just keeps growing. People are coming from all over Asia.”
She had been there twice before.
“Everyone likes Baccarat,” she said. “It has the best odds.”
“Is that what you play?”
“Me? No, I like craps. You can holler at the craps table.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER they were at Cotai Storm Hotel & Casino, a futuristic city from another planet. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more, Dorothy.”
Fan Rae smiled.
“Now what?”
Teffinger shrugged.
“All I know is that Jack Poon owns this place and I couldn’t even afford to eat diner here.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Day Seven—August 9
Sunday Afternoon
______________
KONG AND EMMANUELLE SILENTLY CREPT to the front door of Guotin Pak’s house and turned the doorknob. It was locked. They headed around to the back and found that door beautifully o
pen. They snuck in on cat feet and found themselves in the kitchen. A half-dozen death stars sat on a wooden table next to a razor sharp hatchet. Kong picked up the hatchet and got a feel for its weight.
Faint noises came from the north room.
Kong tiptoed that way.
Emmanuelle followed two steps behind.
The door was half closed.
Kong sprang through with the hatchet cocked, expecting to see his target’s startled face turn from an easel. Instead, an iron fist flew through the air from the side and struck him squarely in the face.
He staggered for a second, then dropped to his knees.
A large body immediately loomed over him.
He braced for the next blow.
Just when it should have landed, the man let out a horrible sound. Kong looked up just in time to see him pull a death star out of his chest. Then Emmanuelle was down there with Kong, prying the hatchet out of his hands.
She raised it to strike Pak.
“I’ll do it!” she warned.
Pak slumped to the floor next to Kong.
He put pressure on his chest.
“Where’s Prarie?” Emmanuelle said.
“She’s not here.”
“If you killed her—”
“I didn’t kill her.”
KONG STAGGERED TO HIS FEET, grabbed the hatchet out of Prarie’s hand and stood over Pak. “You painted the fakes that went into the museum,” he said.
Pak didn’t answer.
He ripped open his shirt to check the wound.
It was messy, deep and serious.
“You bitch,” he said to Emmanuelle.
“Shut up!” Kong said. He raised the hatchet to strike and said, “Where are the originals?”
“What paintings?”
“Don’t play games,” Kong said. “Otherwise I’m going to start chopping your fingers off one at a time. Do you think that will help you paint better?”
Pak hesitated, sizing Kong up.
Then he said, “I don’t have them.”
“I already figured that,” Kong said. “Who does have them?”
“I don’t know,” Pak said. “I just painted the fakes and got paid for them. That was it.”