Sin City

by Harold Robbins

  “I keep asking, you greaser bastard, what do I get out of it from you?”

  Diego grabbed his crotch. “This baby, you get to suck me. That’s good enough for any woman.”

  Diego had her bent over the arm of the couch and was pumping her doggie style when Bic staggered into the darkened living room. “Janelle? Where are you?” His words were slurred.

  She pulled down her dress as she walked across the room.

  “Right here, hon.”

  “I thought I heard somebody else.”

  “It’s my delivery man, hon, bringing the candy I ordered for you.”

  61

  MACAO, 1987

  Macao still smelled like sweaty gym clothes.

  I called Wan to talk about old times before I left Las Vegas. He told me Luis had had a 9mm café coronary, taking a shot between the eyes as he ate a plate of chouriço sausages. Not one to cry over spilled blood, Chenza had jumped into bed with a Japanese computer tycoon and moved on to Tokyo.

  Wan now controlled most of the gambling of Macao and a big chunk of Hong Kong. It sounded like he was rolling in dough. I never mentioned A-Ma on the phone because I wasn’t sure if she was still with him. I did mention I needed an angel for my project. The price tag on my super casino was running over five hundred million. To complete the financial package, I needed a hundred million to go with what I had already raised. Once I had it, a commitment by the banks for the balance would kick in. That kind of money was chicken feed to the Hong Kong—Macao crowd, and the clock was ticking for Wan and his triad buddies. When the Chinese Communists marched in, they knew better than to hang around waving a red flag. And before they got out, they needed to pad their nests with investments in safe locales.

  Wan couldn’t directly loan me anything—neither the feds nor the state gaming people would approve a license if he did. What I wanted from him was clean money from people he had juice with. As long as the third parties could show an honest source for the money, I wouldn’t have a problem. What went on between them and Wan was their business. Bottom line, I would not get a dime from Wan and would owe him nothing—except my life, if I fucked up.

  I was delightfully surprised when I found A-Ma waiting for me in the 1930ish Rolls Royce limo parked outside the wharf reception area.

  A-Ma looked exquisite. She wore a dark silky red dress that came down to her ankles. A seductive slit went up to her thighs. Her hat was small and round, with a mesh veil that fell over her face. A single string of priceless pink Indian pearls showed between the high collars of the dress. She looked like the model of a 1936 issue of Vogue. Her perfume attacked my senses, but I didn’t need an aphrodisiac. One look at her and I forgot about the hundred million dollars I wanted from Wan.

  “I wore the dress especially for you.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Then take it off.”

  “No, the color. Red is the color of luck. You will need it in dealing with Mr. Wan.”

  “What color will he be wearing?”

  “Hopefully not white. White is the color of death and mourning.” Her eyes appraised me. “You look different,” she said.

  “So do you.”

  “You look older … more manly.”

  I didn’t know what she meant by that, but she could have told me I looked like the woman on the Aunt Jemina box and I wouldn’t have disagreed.

  “You look like a Popsicle,” I said.

  “A what?”

  “A cool, sweet juice bar that tastes heavenly on hot days.”

  “Mr. Riordan, I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “You smell like Eve in the garden. Chanel No. 5?”

  “Ylang-ylang, from what we call the perfume tree.”

  “Marilyn Monroe had the best way of wearing perfume.”

  “Which is?”

  “She said it was the only thing she wore to bed.” I leaned across the seat, pulled up her veil, and brushed her lips with mine. “I thought so. Cool and sweet. For a man who’s been crossing a scorching desert, you are an oasis.”

  “You don’t look very deprived, Mr. Riordan.”

  “You haven’t looked at my love-famished soul. And if you call me Mr. Riordan again, I’m going to rape you.”

  “Is that a promise … Mr. Riordan?”

  “A-Ma has become a problem to me,” Wan said. “Now that she is a movie star, she attracts too much attention for an old man seeking the peaceful anonymity he has earned for his many years.”

  There was one thing I had learned in working with Wan: You could always tell when he was lying. It happened every time his lips moved. He hated the attention created by escorting a beautiful woman as much as lions hated red meat. He had a reason for priming the pump about his “problem” with A-Ma and it had nothing to do with his sudden penchant for privacy. Whatever it was, at the moment it appeared to be tipping the scales in my favor.

  As soon as we reached Wan’s “palace,” Wan and I got down to business after the preliminaries of hello and an offer of tea. I passed on the tea and went for a Jack Coke. “A bottle of Jack Daniels was left over from your last visit,” he said, too polite to mention I was almost murdered during my last visit to Macao.

  He wore a black robe for our meeting. I didn’t know what black meant.

  “We heard about the unfortunate attack on you in Las Vegas, and your narrow survival.” He clicked his tongue. “America is such a violent country.”

  I choked on my drink. “Mr. Wan, I’m going to have to bend the laws of politeness to a host and tell you that you are the most amazing bastard I have ever met.”

  He shook a bony yellow finger at me. “A-Ma tells me you are different but I suspect that you have still not learned the art of patience. Instead of waiting for your enemies to float by, you go out and bludgeon them.”

  “Let’s get down to brass tacks before I end up floating facedown in some goddamn Chinese river. I need a hundred million dollars in clean money. The person who puts it up will have a foothold in the biggest money machine in Vegas. What can you do for me?”

  He shook his head with true Chinese regret. “Nothing, I’m afraid. As you pointed out during our telephone conversation, a single dollar from me in the pile and you would never get a license.”

  I sipped my Jack Coke and waited. Wan didn’t have me fly halfway around the world for a simple answer—he could have said no on the phone. But I needed to exercise some patience and let him expose what he had up his sleeve at his own pace.

  “Hear any news of Chenza since the last time we talked?” I asked.

  “An interesting and provocative woman. You know, there was a dark rumor that she lured Luís to that restaurant the day he was killed because another woman was displacing her in his affections. But of course, one should not believe everything one hears, should one, Mr. Riordan?”

  It was hard to keep a straight face. Wan no doubt was behind Luís’s murder and convinced Chenza—for love or money—to assist in taking him out. What tangled webs this yellow spider wove.

  Wan stroked his short beard. “It has occurred to me that perhaps you are approaching the wrong person with your need for financing. Have you spoken to A-Ma about the matter?”

  He said it so casually that I almost bought into it as an innocent remark. I cleared my throat. So A-Ma was the game.

  “No, uh, I haven’t. I wasn’t aware acting in Hong Kong movies was so profitable.”

  “A-Ma does not just star in movies, Mr. Riordan; she owns the production company that makes her movies and many others. Because of the international nature of the business she has many financial contacts, even in your country.”

  “I see,” said the blind mouse. But there was light at the end of the tunnel. Wan was a known Asian gangster and was probably monitored by the FBI, Interpol, and other police agencies. A-Ma was a young woman without a police record. It didn’t take much imagination to realize that Wan not only owned the movie company, but probably didn’t give a damn if any of his movies made a profit. He
could pump money into accounts all over the world for production costs, publicity, and every other front he could think of … and leave every dollar earned in foreign bank accounts.

  “Do I have your permission to speak to A-Ma concerning the matter?” I asked.

  “Of course, of course,” he cackled, “it is no affair of mine what she does with her money. But as her guardian, I do offer the young woman some small advice in financial matters. Perhaps you will let me help you arrange an agreement in which A-Ma assists you in financing your ‘super’ casino?”

  I bowed my head and saluted him with my drink. “Nothing would please me more, Mr. Wan. I’m sure A-Ma values your advice over all others.”

  62

  I always loved street carnivals. A-Ma said this one was called “Feast of the Drunken Dragon,” as we walked along the happy crowds in the wharf area.

  “Why did the dragon get drunk?” I asked as a fifty-foot-long paper dragon flowed by. I had to admit that he definitely looked a little cockeyed.

  “Because he’s happy. The fishing season has been good and the fishermen’s and their families’ bellies are full.”

  “Sounds like an excuse for a bunch of fishermen to take time off work and drink it up.”

  “Exactly. It’s the only vacation these poor people have.”

  We walked around a string of firecrackers going off. “What is it about you people and firecrackers?” I asked.

  “Don’t you know that we Chinese invented gunpowder? It’s one of the paradoxes of China’s relationship with the West. We invented gunpowder, but used it mostly for celebrations. The Europeans refined it, stuck it in cannons, and used the cannons to force us to let them sell our people opium.”

  “Come again?”

  “It happened in the middle of the last century. The British and French were selling opium to the people of China. The emperor tried to put a stop to the evil practice, and the countries sent warships and armies to make China open its door to the trade.” She smiled. “You see, Mr. Riordan, my people learned many bad things from yours.”

  “Oh, I’m sure, Miss A-Ma, that your buddy Wan is an original number who learned nothing from nobody—he was born crooked.”

  We detoured onto the dock that I once ran down with a motorcycle gunman hot on my heels. The old fisherman who had taken me from harm’s way was still there. But he had a new boat, a larger sampan with a modern motor and helm.

  “I wanted to buy him a big cabin cruiser, but he would not have felt comfortable with it,” A-Ma said. “This was all he would let me do.”

  I followed her aboard his boat and we drank wine as we leisurely sailed toward a small island. She told me the fisherman’s name, but I found it unpronounceable and ended up calling him Sam.

  “I don’t understand your life with Wan,” I said. “You’re not a naive teenager anymore; you’re an international movie star. You can walk out any time you want.”

  “Choices, you are always talking about choices, Zack. I told you that I don’t have the same choices as you do.”

  “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to use them.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps my choice is to not make one.”

  “I don’t blame you if you’re afraid of Wan. But if you left behind his money, he’d probably leave you alone.”

  She laughed. “You do not know Mr. Wan. He discards people, but no one discards him. You call him a spider. You should know by now that nothing leaves his web. Look what he did to you when you took his money.”

  “Did to me? Wan—he had me …?”

  “I didn’t think you knew; otherwise you would never have come back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard talk after news came that you had been shot.”

  “Jesus. I thought someone else did it. And I came right back into his lair.”

  “You have nothing to fear. Mr. Wan saved face by having you shot, even if you did not die. And now you have something he wants—a place to put his money.”

  For a moment I faltered, wondering if I could handle what I was getting myself into. Wan’s tentacles reached a long way. “I can handle it,” I said, as much to myself as to her. “Our deal will be strictly business. He’ll have someplace to stick his money and get a nice return also.”

  “Do you see what I mean about choices?” she asked. “You have a choice to leave Macao and return to your already successful casino in downtown Las Vegas. That is the rational choice. But you choose to remain in Macao and make a deal with a dangerous spider who tried to kill you once.”

  “You know something, A-Ma, I’m beginning to believe that you’re right, that we all walk a path that’s been set out for us. What the hell else could explain the dumb things I do? I have shitty karma.”

  She found that funny and laughed and spilled her wine. She found that funny too and laughed some more.

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

  She wiped the wine off her dress. “You are good for me. The other women in Wan’s household say I was born an old woman and am living my life in reverse. Being around you, I am just learning how to laugh.”

  “I need a favor from you.”

  “I know. A hundred million dollars. I do not have that much in my name, but Mr. Wan will get you the balance from a man in America named Tommy Chow.”

  I chuckled. “I should have known.”

  “You know Mr. Chow.”

  “We’re old friends. I’ll tell you about it sometime, but that’s not the favor I need. In your movie White Flower there were scenes of a Chinese palace complex called the Forbidden City—”

  “The palaces of the emperors of China in Beijing.”

  “And the Great Wall. I want to see them.”

  She clapped her hands. “Oh, do you want me to take you to see them?”

  “That’s what I had in mind. Do you think we can get it by the old spider?” It was a rhetorical question; I already suspected the answer. I was pretty sure that Wan not only knew I was going sailing with A-Ma, but encouraged my personal contact with her. I had read the complete Art of War by Sun Tzu before getting on the plane for Hong Kong. One of Sun Tzu’s teachings was to use deception and deceit. I intuitively knew that Wan was dangling A-Ma before me and would jerk her back at will once I was hooked. What he didn’t know was how helpless I was. A-Ma didn’t just steal my heart—and my gonads—she took my soul, too.

  “Perhaps. I would love to go. I’ve never been a tourist and I’ve always wanted to see the Forbidden City and Great Wall.”

  “But you were there in the movie.”

  She laughed. “Movie magic. We never left Hong Kong.”

  Sam anchored the boat when we were a hundred yards off the island. A few minutes later I heard a splash. Sam had jumped in the water and started swimming toward the island.

  “Why has he abandoned ship?”

  “He knows we want some privacy.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Because I told him.”

  She led me down to the interior of the boat, which was surprisingly cozy and warm. It was still light out, but the heavy curtains were drawn and white candles that gave off a pleasant rose scent were burning. On the floor was a flowered quilted mattress with several dozen small pillows.

  Standing in the center of the snug room, I felt the warmth of her body and smelled her scent next to mine and the heat began to run through my body. I stared into her eyes for a moment, then lifted her head and kissed her on the mouth, softly at first, then with ardent passion. We moved over to the mattress and our clothes came off quickly, neither one of us ashamed of our nakedness.

  “I want to give you a massage. Lay on your stomach,” she said.

  She spread the warm oil on my back and began kneading my flesh with her hands, then massaging my buttocks and legs. The smooth kneading almost put me to sleep. She made me turn on my back and started again with my feet and worked up to my scrotum, gently massaging my testicles. I felt
myself growing hard. After her silken hand stroked my throbbing cock, a voracious hunger consumed me and I lowered her onto my hardened phallus. She moved rhythmically back and forth, up and down, keeping in motion with the rocking swells of the boat. Then she began to move feverishly as the climatic shudders shook her body. The explosion came from my body a moment later. We pressed our bodies together and closed our eyes and let the swaying of the boat rock us to sleep.

  63

  A-Ma was instructed to see Mr. Wan in the dining room when she arrived home that evening. Wan was at the table eating a late meal. Laid out before him were rice, noodles, and six different catches from the sea. He wore a large white bib and was sucking noisily on a crab leg as she walked in.

  “Did you enjoy your day with our American friend?” he asked.

  She took a seat at the table. “You told me to entertain him.”

  “Of course, of course, but I didn’t tell you to enjoy being with him, which, from the satisfied look on your face, I suspect was the case. Did you think you could get away from my spying by taking him out onto the water? I had your lovemaking filmed.”

  She didn’t know if he was lying, but would not have put it past him to have spied on her. Wan trusted no one, took nothing for granted. He believed nothing he couldn’t see with his own eyes, and doubted much of what he witnessed.

  As they talked, she realized Ling was standing against the wall in the shadows. Ling made her skin crawl. She had never met anyone so totally devoid of any human emotions. He reminded her of a windup toy, only active when Wan wanted him to be.

  Wan cracked another crab leg with his teeth. Juice dripped down his chin as he talked and sucked on the leg.

  “Riordan is going to China to see the Forbidden City and Great Wall,” he said.

  “I know. He’s looking for ideas for his casino.”

  “You are to go with him.”

  “Go with him?”

  He sucked air through his teeth and used a gold toothpick to loosen a morsel. “You want to please me, don’t you, my dear?”