by Robert Daley
It was an enjoyable enough day, and a profitable one, and it was dusk when Chan again dropped her at the Mandarin. Expectant and excited, she hurried inside, and again phoned Powers’ room. He was again absent. This time she left a message that gave not only her room number, but also her name, and when she had mounted to her suite, and had begun once more to pace her room, her eyes filled up with tears of frustration. She did not know how much longer she could stay in this place, nor how long he could. But time was certainly short. Minutes, hours, more than a whole day had been wasted so far. Time continued to be wasted that could never be replaced.
POWERS, meanwhile, had driven with Sir David up into the New Territories to a country restaurant. They stood now in a second-floor office overlooking an outdoor patio where a banquet was in progress. Illumination came from candles burning inside lanterns that hung in the trees. About forty men, all Chinese, sat around a horseshoe-shaped table gorging themselves on delicacies. There had been nine different dishes so far - Powers had counted them - and, as waiters moved forward with the tenth, the man who occupied the place of honor at the head of the horseshoe – Koy - rose to his feet to propose still another round of toasts. From the office, watching and listening through cracks in drawn blinds, they could hear the toast and also understand it, for Koy spoke in English. He spoke too loudly, and with the excessive care of the man who knows his wits are addled. He was so drunk he could barely stand up.
“With true friends,” he said, having raised his cup, “even water is sweet enough.” Everybody was laughing. “And this is not water.” In Cantonese, Koy added the simplest of all Chinese toasts: “Dry cup.”
Peering through the blinds, Sir David said, “Our man does not look much like a master criminal at the moment, does he, what?”
“What are they drinking?” asked Powers.
“Probably Moi Tai. It’s a distilled spirit. It’s almost pure alcohol. Those men down there are old police cronies of Koy’s. You’re looking at a drunken police reunion. Ever seen one before?”
“A few,” said Powers.
“The Chinese say that when a man is drunk his spirit is calm.” But the party itself was not calm. Below them was much boisterousness and hilarity, as each man in turn rose to offer a toast. They were drinking from small lacquered cups. After each toast the cups were emptied, and then were refilled for the next one, as the toast made its way around the table.
“We have no way of knowing what may be going on down there,” said Powers, presently. It had become impossible for him to keep the urgency out of his voice. Two days of tailing Koy everywhere, two days of tailing the other ex-sergeants also, had produced neither evidence nor information. Conversations over the tapped telephone lines had been so innocuous and so brief that it was impossible to tell even why Koy had come back here, much less to determine what his future plans might be.
“They could be setting up deals down there,” said Powers. “We wouldn’t even know about it.”
“Try to be a bit less anxious, Captain,” advised Sir David. “The Chinese never talk business while eating. Gastronomy is as important to them as to Frenchmen. It’s sacrilege to talk business while eating. I have men moving among the waiters, and we’ll get their reports later. But I doubt we’ll learn very much. What we are looking at is neither more nor less than what it appears to be, what? Same type reunion you have in New York, I expect.”
“Police reunions are scary, aren’t they?”
“Indeed they are.”
“Cops are scary. They all have guns, and they get so drunk.”
Koy had risen late each of the two mornings. Coming out of his house with his wife about noon, he had seemed to notice the surveillance trucks - a telephone truck the first day, and a moving van the second - for he had studied them closely, as if aware of what their function might be. However, each time his wife had distracted him, taking his arm and dragging him toward the limousine. The limousine had taken them no place suspicious - to restaurants, to shops, to a cemetery where they left offerings and bits of torn colored paper on the graves of ancestors, and finally to the American consulate on Garden Road where Koy entered alone and where, Sir David was able to learn, he applied for a visa for his son.
Neither Sir David nor Powers had considered this detail significant. Plenty of Hong Kong kids of college age went to college in America.
As for the other former sergeants, all three had moved about the city from bank to bank carrying attaché cases, and it was presumed that they were either depositing or withdrawing cash, presumably the latter. One imagined they were about to buy something, but who knew what. Without knowledge of the total sums withdrawn, one could not even guess. Their business could be completely legitimate. Hong Kong banking laws were strict, Sir David said. Not only was it impossible to learn more without a court order, but such orders were extremely difficult to get.
“Even if you get one,” snorted Sir David, “it wouldn’t do you much good.”
Hong Kong had no currency controls of any kind, he explained. The Colony was blessed with over 900 branches of 105 different banks, whose cashiers cashed drafts for $100,000, or more several times every day in the ordinary course of business, and never looked up. Southeast Asia, according to Sir David, was a cash society. Enormous amounts of cash money were always moving around. The Chinese - who were the preeminent businessmen of Southeast Asia - had not in the past trusted checks. If you wanted to do business, whether to hire a cargo ship, or build an apartment complex, or buy a factory, you most likely arrived with the cash in an attaché case under your arm. It made money impossible to track. It made the job of the police, and especially the job of Sir David’s Corruption Commission, extremely difficult.
Powers lifted one slat of the blinds with his forefinger. The flickering lanterns below lit the sweating drunken faces. The men looked as garish as circus clowns, as feverish as men terminally ill. “We are not getting anywhere,” Powers said.
“Patience, Captain,” said Sir David. “Try to emulate the Chinese a bit, what? Try to be a bit more patient.”
Powers said nothing. It was very hard to be patient when his career, and to some extent his life, rode on whatever game certain of those men down there might be playing - a game whose object was to him impenetrable, whose outcome he seemed unable to influence in any way.
“It’s getting close to midnight, Captain. Shall I run you back to your hotel?”
The ride back was via super highway, much of it elevated. Sir David sat in his corner, a reading light drooping over his shoulder, thumbing through memos and reports that had piled up during the day, while Powers stared into ten miles of third-floor windows, into small rooms crowded with large Chinese families and much hanging wash.
At the reception desk he was handed Carol’s message. It was then midnight. He studied the message and at first did not comprehend it - he thought she must have phoned, which was not so surprising. Then he realized she was here - here in Hong Kong - which was more than surprising. It was astonishing. It was electrifying. His heart began pumping hard, and his hands turned moist, symptoms, he realized, that were more associated with fear than with elation. Did this mean he was afraid of her? Or merely shocked, and after a long day, both tired out and somewhat bewildered. If she was here, what did this mean?
He studied the message again, and did not know what to do about it. He knew he was preoccupied by Koy and the investigation, and thought he wished to remain that way. Carol was a separate problem, one he would have to cope with, obviously, as soon as he returned to New York. But not before. Not here in Hong Kong. Not now. Not right this minute.
And yet he wanted to see her. He could, if he wished, be in her presence in a matter of seconds, and in bed with her, most likely, shortly after that, a prospect that presented itself almost unexpectedly, and left him feeling not only slightly breathless, but also with a sense of wearing too-tight trousers. When he glanced at his watch a second time the hour still read midnight. Carrying key and m
essage toward the elevator bank, he pondered this new equation, this new strain on his life. He should not be surprised that Carol had come to Hong Kong. She was rich, self-indulgent and capricious. She could afford to come here on a whim, and had done so, just to see him, he supposed. What other reason could she have? She wanted him, or said she did. And not just casually - she wished to take him away from his wife, or said she did. What did he mean to do about that?
Powers rode the elevator up and when it reached Carol’s floor he stepped out into the hallway. As he walked along searching in the dim light for the correct door number, he was at the same time searching in his heart for a correct course of conduct. He either loved Carol or was infatuated with her - even at forty-six the two emotions were too close together to tell apart - but he had not come to Hong Kong for that, and believed it would be better for them both if he stayed away from her. Since any big decision seemed too big to make right now, he decided on a small one instead. He would rap softly on her door one time, and once only. If she answered, this would mean that their meeting tonight was meant to be. He would not fight what was foreordained. If she did not answer then he would go down two flights to his own room and go to bed. It was the type of game he had sometimes played as a child: he would let God decide.
He had reached Carol’s room - when he stared from the number on the message to the number on the door, the two numbers matched. Raising his knuckles, he rapped once – softly - as promised.
No answer. Although he put his ear to the door, he could hear no movement inside, so he rapped again, slightly harder this time.
Still no answer. Turning, he gazed back toward the elevator banks, and tried to will his feet to take him there. But they refused. What to do?
He rapped solidly three times, and on the third knock Carol pulled the door open.
“Oh,” she said, “it’s you. Come in.”
SHE WAS dressed in sweater and skirt and wore oversized horn-rimmed glasses, a surprise. He had never seen her in glasses before. He glanced past her into the lamplight at the end of the sofa: papers and clippings littered the cushion, the floor. He had interrupted her studying. Studying what?
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“When I do the show I wear contacts. Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” She made the “you” echo. He had noted this before, her ability to make an individual word sound as intimate as a caress. The whole weight of her body seemed behind it. It surrounded him like arms in an embrace.
Powers forgot about the evidence trying to find its way through to him, the pool of light behind her, the strewn sofa and floor. He kissed her mouth, her ears, the point of her chin. The only evidence that counted was her presence here in Hong Kong. She had come 13,000 miles to be with him - any jury would say the same - this famous, rich, beautiful woman who could have anyone, but wanted him. He was terrifically pleased with her and impressed with himself.
“I’ve been here two days,” Carol said. “I was beginning to
be afraid I would miss you completely.”
Holding her by one hand, he walked half around her, looking her over. “Two days? Why didn’t you - but there was no message.”
“I know. My mistake. I wanted to surprise you. What a silly idea. Surprises are for children. I should have realized.”
It was quite a long speech. The grinning Powers hardly heard or understood it. He could not stop looking at her.
But at last his attention reverted to the evidentiary litter.
“What are you studying?”
She picked up the Triad booklet and handed it to him. “The Chinese Mafia. Would you like to know how the Triads induct young girls into a life of prostitution? Ask me how.”
“Chinese Mafia?”
Powers held the booklet. He examined both covers. He peered down at the headlines on the floor. It was like studying the faces of playing cards, and finding them different from those he was used to. It raised questions. What kind of game do you play with cards like this?
He had two immediate reactions, disappointment - she hadn’t come all this way just to see him - and alarm.
“What do the Triads have to do with you?”
“It’s for a piece I’m doing. I’m mixing business with pleasure. Am I glad to see you.”
But this time the word didn’t echo. “Business?”
“Sure. I wanted to come to see you, but I saw no reason why the network shouldn’t pay for the trip.”
Powers’ fatuous grin was beginning to dry out on his face. It began to feel caked on, like a mud pack.
“What’s this piece all about?”
“About the emergence of a Chinese Mafia in Chinatown, about the gangs, the tongs - and how the root of the problem is here in Hong Kong. It’s a good story. Don’t you think?”
Powers sat down. There was more to this than one interview with Cirillo. “Please tell me more. “There was no smile on Carol’s face now, either. As she sat down on the sofa facing him, she looked thoughtful.
“I mean,” said Powers, “Your story parallels my investigation. When it airs will it compromise my investigation? That’s what I ask myself.” And what about compromising his career?
Carol shook her head firmly. “That won’t happen.”
“The network will want to run it. Right away. Suppose my investigation isn’t concluded by then? Do you think the network will hold back for that reason? I don’t.”
Carol carefully set the Triad booklet down on the end table. “I don’t see where my story compromises your investigation in any way.”
“Well, I think it might.”
“Listen, in New York I interviewed a lot of people. I mean, it’s my story. I did a lot of work on it. It’s not exclusively yours. I mean, you don’t own it.”
“It’s a criminal investigation.”
“I don’t see what you are getting so upset about,” said Carol.
“How did you get on to it in the first place?”
“You told me about it, didn’t you?”
“That’s right. And where did I tell you about it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes you do. It was in bed. Don’t you think that when you use bedroom talk, you violate a confidence?”
“This is my story. I earned the right to it. I got machine-gunned in a restaurant, and after that I did the work.”
“How bad is this thing?” said Powers. “Who did you go to see in Chinatown, before you came here?”
“I tried to see Mr. Koy, but-
“Koy? Who told you about Koy?”
“You didn’t, that’s one sure thing. You can’t blame that on bedroom talk. I found out about Koy on my own.”
Powers had begun to feel frantic. He was being crowded by several disasters at once. “All you’ve done is warned Koy that he’s the subject of an investigation.”
“I haven’t warned him of anything of the sort. I haven’t seen him yet. I’m going to try to see him here Monday or Tuesday.”
“Don’t you go near Koy,” shouted Powers. “If he finds out he’s being investigated, you’re liable to wind up in the South China Sea.”
Carol tried for a jaunty laugh. “You’re exaggerating now, he wouldn’t dare. My network-”
“Your network wouldn’t be able to do a goddamn thing about it. They wouldn’t know where to start looking. That’s what the word disappear means. No trace. For all they would know, you ran off to India or somewhere with one of your many lovers to contemplate your karma.”
“I don’t have many lovers.”
“Oh no?”
“Is that what’s bothering you? Are you jealous? For someone who’s jealous, you don’t behave very possessively toward me, if you want my opinion.”
“I’m not jealous. You took information you learned in bed and you’re using it against me. If that’s not a betrayal I don’t know what is. Who have you interviewed here in Hong Kong?”
“Well, the police commissioner yesterday-”
“You didn’t go to the police. Oh God.”
“Sure. Why not? Didn’t you? Who else was I supposed to go to?”
“This is the most corrupt police department in the world. Some constable will tell Koy - has probably already told Koy. They’d sell him the information if nothing else. It isn’t enough you want to get yourself killed. You want to get me knocked off too. Jesus Christ, how could you?”
“I didn’t know,” said Carol in a small voice.
“And what about my wife?” cried Powers. “What about my marriage?” He was pacing and fuming. “Have you thought about me at all? Have you considered what my wife is going to think when she sees you presenting this story on television? Her husband goes off to Hong Kong, and you go off to Hong Kong, and we come back with the same ‘story,’ as you call it. Do you think she’s stupid? Do you think she can’t put two and two together?”
“If you want to know the truth,” Carol shouted, “I couldn’t care less what your wife thinks.”
“I know,” said Powers. “I know.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “If you ruin my marriage, I’ll never speak to you again. If you ruin this investigation, same thing. My whole career rides on this investigation. Don’t you realize that? Did it never occur to you?”
“I intended to talk to you before I did anything here. I just couldn’t find you in time, that’s all,” said Carol. “I still say it’s my story as much as yours. I earned the right to it. Where are you going?”
Powers strode toward the door. He yanked it open. “I’m going somewhere to try and think this thing out.”
“You go out that door, and-”
“Right,” said Powers, and stepped out into the hall and slammed the door shut behind him.
Waiting for the elevator he stood with knuckles pressed into his temples on both sides, pressed hard. He wanted to scream or to weep, but did not do either. There was still a chance this wouldn’t get back to Koy. There was still a chance it wouldn’t get back to Eleanor. Not much chance in either case, but some. He knew he would get little sleep this night.