“Boss, it’s here,” he said in English.
Don surveyed the room. The blond was out cold, or close to it. The black guy wasn’t in much better shape, and the New Yorker was glowering up at them from the floor. All three were covered by guns. It was over.
He looked under the bed. Sure enough there was the briefcase. He pulled it out and left it on the covers. In the drawer of the bedside cabinet were the keys to the house and the MG, and some stuff from Julia’s purse. Don stuffed these and the pearl-handled revolver in his pocket. Julia, now in the short bathrobe and rubbing her sore wrists, picked up her dress from the floor but it was torn nearly in two so she dropped it again.
Don turned to the Brother. “The money.”
The brother smiled back at him. “I think we will keep the money, Mr Jacobs. To cover our expenses.”
“We had a deal.”
“Yes, but you have the girl.” He turned to look at Julia, his eyes slowly caressing her legs as they emerged from the bathrobe. She shivered and tried to pull it further down her thighs. “I think she is worth a million dollars, don’t you? And you have the briefcase. Unless I am mistaken, the contents of that briefcase are worth a lot of money to you, no? Or perhaps we should all take a look inside.”
Don sighed. Right now, Chinese pistols were pointed at the Americans but there was no reason they couldn’t be pointing at him. He looked at Julia. She just wanted to get out of there. “Fine. You take the money. Consider it my gift to your uncle.”
“And rest assured, Mr Jacobs, Uncle Wang appreciates your generosity.” He looked at Julia again. “If you have everything you came for, then perhaps you should go. We will tidy up this…” He looked around the room, at the Americans scattered across the floor like bowling pins, “…this little mess.”
Don looked at the New Yorker who glared back up at him. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Don’t worry about them, Mr Jacobs. Put them out of your mind. We will make sure they are no longer a problem.”
Julia picked up her handbag from near the door. Her shoes were nowhere in sight. Now was definitely a good time to get out, money or no, before it got messy in here. Don grabbed the briefcase and took hold of Julia’s arm, dragging her outside without another word. They took the lift down to the basement and found the MG.
In the safety of the car Don checked the briefcase – zero zero one – and was relieved to find the tablets inside. Next he looked in the glove compartment. The phone was still there. Julia curled into the passenger seat, still dressed only in the bathrobe, the soles of her feet now black with oil from the parking lot floor.
They looked at each other. Her eye wasn’t too bad, probably a hard slap rather than a punch. The lip would heal. She opened her mouth for the first time since the Brother had kicked his way through the door. She mouthed to him, “Thank you.”
Don said nothing, but started the engine and drove them up out of the parking lot and into the daylight. Julia pulled the bathrobe more tightly around herself and looked out of the passenger side window, tears silently crawling down her cheek.
58
Julia went straight upstairs when they got in. Don could hear the shower water running. He let her go. They hadn’t spoken another word in the car. Stupid fucking cow. She’d brought it all on herself, and now the two million was gone to the Brothers Fucking Wang and their arse of an uncle. So far the whole thing was a cock-up from start to finish. At least they had walked out with the tablets and the phone. Now they just had to survive a few more days without making a mess of things.
It was another couple of hours before she appeared again, dressed in a bathrobe with her hair up in a towel. She poured herself a large cognac while Don cooked. They ate mostly in silence. When they were finished and sat smoking at the table she said to him, “I’m sorry.” He looked at her blankly. He had nothing to say, didn’t know how to feel. “It was my fault, and I’m sorry.”
When the silence became unbearable, he said, “Yeah well, we came out the other side in one piece. Which is more than I can say for those fucking yanks.” He half-laughed at this, thinking she might smile at the thought of revenge. She didn’t.
“What do you think those guys will do to them? Kill them?”
“I dunno. Maybe. Maybe just slap them around a bit and send them on their way.”
Julia nodded slowly. She stubbed out her cigarette, gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek with her split lip, disappeared upstairs.
When Don went up to bed, a few hours later, he found Julia lying awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He lay on his back next to her.
After a few minutes she said, “We’ve got the gold tablets, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, we’ve got them.” The briefcase was in a cupboard in the kitchen. He didn’t know if they should move them, hide them, or hold them close. That was a problem for the morning. The American’s wouldn’t be coming near the house, not tonight, not for a long time. Even if the Brothers had spared their lives, Don doubted they’d be able to walk for a while.
“And we’ve got the phone, haven’t we? For Saturday.”
“That’s right.”
“We’ve got a lot then.” She looked at him through the darkness. “We’ll be okay, won’t we? I mean, for the deal. We’ll come through that okay? With the money?”
“Yeah. As long as we don’t screw up again, we’ll be fine.”
Silence. Then she turned on her side, put an arm across his chest, buried her face into his shoulder.
59
In the morning Don took a good look at the bruises down the left side of her ribs and on her left thigh while she sat naked on the bed. A few were deep purple, others turning yellow and green already. They’d pretty much gone to town on her. The ones on her ribs looked like punches but the bruises on her leg were thinner, like the yanks had worked their way down her thigh with some kind of a stick or metal bar. Pretty nasty but nothing too serious. No broken bones, anyway. Her eye was looking better and wouldn’t go too black. Her lip would heal just fine in a few days.
Then she rolled over onto her front. In a straight line down the back of her thigh were half a dozen cigarette burns. Those bastards. Don felt his anger rising but there was nothing more to do about it. They’d got what they deserved already, most likely. He inspected the burns. The skin had blistered and popped to leave angry red circles dotted over her smooth skin. Nothing too deep. They’d be sore for a while, then heal. Might leave little scars. He wondered how long she had held out before telling them where the money was. He wondered what it was that had finally broken her.
Don asked her if she had any antiseptic cream. She said she’d put some on later. Then she rolled over again and lay there, naked, sad and helpless, her big eyes looking up at him. He stood and walked into the bathroom to take a shower.
Don spent most of the morning upstairs, reading Moby Dick. He told himself he was giving her some space, took an ashtray into the spare room. The couch there was comfortable. He ignored the twee pastels and wildflower decorations and concentrated on the book.
At noon he found Julia still in her dressing gown, already half cut on gin. He let it go. She’d been through an ordeal. Julia paced around the dining table, highball in hand, singing softly to herself in Cantonese. He didn’t recognise the song but it sounded like a nursery rhyme. Or perhaps just a very old, traditional ballad.
She opened wine for lunch. There were still half a dozen bottles remaining on the rack in the kitchen so they wouldn’t be running out, but Don didn’t touch his glass. After lunch she reverted to the gin. Don disappeared upstairs again, feeling it best to stay out of her way.
A few hours later Julia had passed out on the sofa. Her bathrobe was twisted open showing her bruises, one leg sprawled onto the floor. Since nothing else was likely to happen today Don left her to sleep it off. He took a random bottle of red from the wine rack in the kitchen, popped the cork, poured himself a large glass. Might as well celebrate the success t
hey’d had so far, he thought to himself. The wine only tasted slightly bitter. But they were half way through and still alive, just about. No thanks to her.
When he entered the sitting room again Julia was folded over with her head in her hands. Must be one hell of a hangover. She rose and turned to face him before retying her bathrobe. After a moment she took the glass from his hand and emptied it, took it through to the kitchen to get a refill.
Only three more days of this.
60
“Haven’t seen you around for a while.”
Rose’s sour face never quite glowed with friendship, but any admission that you were more than a nagging hassle on the wrong side of her bar was practically an endearment. The flames danced up her neck from beneath the collar.
“Been busy. Got a new job.” It was a convenient half-truth. He didn’t see why he should change it.
“Have you seen Jeannie around much?”
It was pretty quiet in the Keller. Just a few casual afternoon drunks, couple of suits finished early for the day, a tourist hunched over a map and a guidebook.
“No, not really. Like I said, been busy.”
She nodded slowly. The tourist came up to the bar, Rose took his money then went off to clear his table. Don sat on his stool, slowly spinning his beer glass and gazing into its depths. When Rose was back behind the bar she said, “You heard about Jonny?”
Don hadn’t heard anything about Jonny. “No. What happened?”
“He’s gone.”
Gone? What kind of gone? “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s gone. His girl came in, said he’s cleared off.”
“Where to?” He couldn’t imagine Jonny leaving. It seemed like too much energy, too much movement, for him.
“No-one knows. He didn’t tell her. Said he had a plane ticket and it was one-way. Back home maybe, if he’s still got a home somewhere.”
Don said, “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”
“Well then he’s moved on to the next place. Thailand? Korea? Europe for all I know. But he’s not coming back.”
Don was still lost. He couldn’t fix his head around the concept. Jonny was like a rock, always there, always doing the same things, an anchor. To say he was gone was like saying… He didn’t know what.
Rose moved off to wash some glasses, and Don resumed playing with his beer glass. The suits were picking up cellphones off the bar. The TV in the corner wasn’t saying anything interesting. The widow was waiting for him, drunk as hell, back at the house.
Jonny had been here when Don arrived from London. He must’ve walked out on somewhere else before he came to Hong Kong. That’s all anyone does in Hong Kong, really. They come and they go. Don just hadn’t noticed any change in Jonny. Not in the time he’d known him.
Rose finished with the glasses, wiped her hands on a rag cloth, took money from the businessmen. Don called over to her. “But why would he leave?”
“Who knows? I sure as hell don’t. Why did he come here in the first place? Maybe he’s looking for something else. Maybe he just got bored.”
There are two sides to Hong Kong, thought Don. The old, steady, traditional. The rock of history. And then there was the new, the money, the movement. But even the constant renovation, rebuilding, remaking, that was part of the tradition. The Peak would always be there, and the Bay, and the constant change, too. They were all part of Hong Kong. Jonny was gone, one day Don would leave. The Hong Kong he knew would be swept away to make space for the future. It always was.
A young guy in a baseball cap entered, took a seat where the businessmen had been, waited to get served. Don said, “It won’t be the same without him.”
Rose grunted, turned to serve the newcomer.
Don took a sip of his beer. It felt good. He watched Rose pour a fresh glass and give it to the new guy. He wondered how far the green flames went across her body. One day he’d ask her.
61
The widow took the bottle of cognac and a brandy glass, disappeared back to the bedroom. When Don went up later she was sprawled face-down diagonally across the bed. The cognac bottle, down to the dregs, was on the dresser. The nightdress showed Don the bruises on her left leg and the burns on her right. He gently moved her under the covers, with barely a murmur of response, climbed in himself.
He woke once in the night to the sound of the widow vomiting in the bathroom. Coming back into the bedroom she staggered into the dresser, sending make-up, perfume bottles and the cognac scattering across the room.
He wondered how she would be tomorrow, how he was going to deal with her if she didn’t deal with it herself, and soon. They had money to make. She had already screwed up once.
Next time, maybe he’d be better off doing without her.
Next time, it might be him that got hurt.
62
Thursday morning. Two more days. Don woke to the sound of the shower. So she wasn’t drunk yet. Presumably, anyway. For all he knew, she had a bottle in there with her.
In the kitchen there was already a pot of coffee. He took a cup and her cigarettes out into the garden. It was a sunny day with a clear blue sky. The wind was strong and fresh, reminded him it would be winter soon. Not that winters in Hong Kong were so harsh. Mild and pleasant. And, with any luck he’d spend the winter sitting pretty on a pile of cash.
That worried him, the cash. He’d seen the size of the bags it took to hold two million. Ten million was going to be a hefty amount. He should talk to Julia about it except that he didn’t want to talk to her at all.
Don stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the garden table. It was still full from the cigarettes and cigars he’d smoked out there last night. He was about to go back inside when he heard movement. Looking through the French doors he saw Julia by the refrigerator. It was too early to face her. Too soon and too awkward. He sat at the table with a fresh cigarette, finished his coffee, watched the wind take the smoke.
Maybe he was being harsh. But they had to try and hold it together, for a few days at least. They’d already screwed up once. If she screwed up again they could lose the whole deal, then Don walked away with a big fat nothing. He couldn’t go back to his apartment. They must’ve figured he’d done a runner, rented it out to someone. He owed a couple of month’s money, so they would’ve sold the stuff he’d left behind, TV, old laptop he never used, furniture. They wouldn’t get much for it.
Maybe Jeannie would take him back, let him stay over her place? Probably not. He’d burned that bridge, and more. He wouldn’t be doing any work for Mickey Hong, either. What a fucking mess he’d left behind. No, it was this deal or nothing. He was all in on the final hand.
The real question was whether he needed Julia at all?
The door opened and the Widow stuck her head out. “Breakfast is ready,” she said softly. She turned away, leaving the door open for him to follow.
The tension grew with every clank of cutlery that emphasised the silence around them. He wanted to scream, to shout at her, or to walk away. If he cut her out of the deal there was no chance she could screw it up. She was obviously losing it. She’d cracked. She couldn’t take the strain and she was only going to put him in even more danger. Christ, he’d already had to walk into the Brothers’ garage. They might have just beaten the shit out of him and told him to hop it. The Americans had put a fucking gun to his head, for Christ’s sake. Her gun.
As they sat back, breakfast finished, he’d practically made up his mind. He watched her light up a cigarette. But could he really? Maybe he should just leave her at the house, do the deal himself, demand a bigger cut. Yeah, that was the best way if she was going out of her mind.
She left her cigarette burning in the ashtray, reached out a hand and placed it over his. She smiled weakly.
“I’m sorry.” She looked him dead in the face. Those big, brown eyes again. “I’m sorry. I screwed up. I know it was my fault, and I paid the price. Thank you for coming to rescue me.” She leaned over and kissed
him on the cheek. Her lips lingered near his. “And I’m sorry I lost it yesterday. But I’m over that, I’m back. I won’t do it again.” Don could smell her skin, feel her warmth. She reached up and gently pulled his head round towards her, their faces just an inch apart. “I won’t screw up again Don. I owe you everything, I know. I’ll do anything you say.” That velvet voice, wafting over him, stroking him. She leaned in and kissed him, pulled away again, “Do you forgive me, Don?”
“Yeah, course I do babe. Course I do.”
Julia sat back in her chair and picked up her smouldering cigarette. She took a drag and blew the smoke above his head. “On Saturday, we’ll be ready. No more mistakes, I promise. You’re in charge of everything.”
Don lit a cigarette for himself. “Yeah, well on that note, I have a question.”
“What is it darling?”
“The money, the cash. You saw how much space two million takes up. Hell, you put it in the bags. Ten million dollars is going to weigh an awful lot. It’ll be hard to move around.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“It’ll just be difficult, not impossible. But why the fuck does it have to be cash in the first place? What’s wrong with a bank transfer?”
She put her hand back on his. “I told you, Alex arranged everything. The cash was easier to put through the business. He was going to spread it over a couple of years, a little each month, so as not to arouse suspicion. Then the bank would just think the business was doing much better. And after that it was too late to change things, because I don’t know how to get in touch with the buyer.”
“What are you going to do next? Are you going to keep the business? I guess you own it now.”
“Technically, Mr Sun still owns half, even if he goes to jail. I would try to sell my half, but that place is mortgaged to the hilt. The assets, including the building and all the stock, barely cover the debts. Sun knows his antiques, but neither of them knew anything about running a business. I guess I’ll wind it up if I can, sell it piece by piece. And try to do something else with the money we’ll be getting on Saturday.”
All Blood is Red Page 13