The Dragon Head of Hong Kong

by Ian Hamilton

  There was nothing romantic about Chek Lap Kok. Within forty minutes of landing, Ava had disembarked, cleared Customs and Immigration, and collected her bag and was walking to the express train that would take her to Kowloon. The airport was built on reclaimed land on Lantau Island, to the southwest of Hong Kong. It replaced the old airport, Kai Tak, which had been situated on Kowloon Harbour.

  The first time she had landed at Kai Tak she was ten, just old enough for it to make a lasting impression. Her mother had put her in the window seat and Marian in the middle, but as the plane weaved its way through the mountains that encircled the city, they had pushed against her so they could share the view. The South China Sea was beneath them and to the west; a long strip of a runway that jutted into the harbour was in front. To the east was Kowloon, its office and apartment buildings so close to the airport that Ava felt she could reach out the window and pluck laundry from apartment balconies.

  Kai Tak was as congested as the neighbourhoods that surrounded it. The lineups at Immigration seemed endless. Baggage took forever to reach slow-moving carousels. Then there was the walk into the arrivals hall, where families and friends were crushed so close to the exit door that Ava was afraid she’d lose her mother in the melee.

  “I love this airport,” Jennie Lee had said, gripping her daughters’ hands. “The instant you step through these doors, there’s only one place in the world you can be.”

  Well, that’s not true anymore, Ava thought, as she neared the train station. Chek Lap Kok had sister airports in Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, and she was sure more would follow. Modernization had become a mania in Asia.

  She spotted an ATM outside the station and withdrew $5,000 Hong Kong, just less than $1,000 U.S. Then she waited ten minutes for the train that would take her over the Tsing Ma Bridge, a dual-decked structure that stretched one and a half kilometres over the Ma Wan Channel, more than sixty metres above the major shipping lane in and out of Hong Kong. The train was on the lower deck of the bridge. Above, three lanes of traffic moved in each direction. It never ceased to amaze Ava how efficient it all was.

  It took only twenty minutes to get to Kowloon. Ava exited at Olympic station. The Mong Kok neighbourhood was to her east; to her south was Tsim Sha Tsui with its five-star hotels, expansive malls, and breathtaking view of the Central district of Hong Kong, across Victoria Harbour.

  The air was cold and damp when she walked out of the station. Winter in Hong Kong was bone-numbing. Few of the homes — more than ninety-five percent of them apartments — had central heating, and inside and out the chill was pervasive. She took a cab to the Oriental Crocus. Mong Kok was fully alive with the morning commute, and as the cab inched eastward on Cherry Street and then north on Tong Mi Road, she began to wish she had taken the MTR.

  Mong Kok was a working- and middle-class neighbourhood of modest-sized office buildings and older apartments lined up along narrow streets, interspersed with storefronts and restaurants that catered strictly to the locals. The driver had seemed to know where he was going when Ava mentioned her destination, but he still almost drove past the hotel. Its façade was no wider than two small storefronts, and if Ava hadn’t spotted the name above the doorway they would have missed it. The moment she did see it, she wished she hadn’t allowed Mr. Lo to make the reservation. On her trips to Hong Kong with her mother they had always stayed at the Mandarin Oriental in Central — a true five-star hotel that epitomized unobtrusive luxury. The Crocus was merely unobtrusive.

  She walked into the lobby and was relieved to see that it was clean and airy. The hotel had nine floors and her room was on the eighth. When she opened the door, she felt a surge of regret. The room wasn’t much bigger than a jail cell. It had a double bed, a small dresser, and a folding table and chair. She knew she would have to slide her luggage under the bed if she wanted room to turn around. She unpacked, putting her clothes in the dresser, pushed her bags under the bed, and then headed to the bathroom for a shower.

  When she came back into the room, she sat on the bed and thought about what to do. Part of her was tired and the idea of crawling under the duvet was appealing, but she remembered from her previous trips how necessary it was to try to stay awake if she wanted to avoid serious jet lag. She reached out and took Lo’s envelope from the table. She had printed out a map of Mong Kok and had marked where Kung’s office was. It didn’t look like more than a ten-minute walk from her hotel. It was time to put Plan A into action.

  ( 6 )

  KUNG’S OFFICE WAS in the Serenity Building on Bute Street, which was a few blocks south off Tong Mi Road, close to the Nathan Road intersection. Ava knew of Nathan Road. It was one of the major north–south routes in Kowloon, and its southern terminus on Victoria Harbour was in the heart of Tsim Sha Tsui — home of the original Peninsula Hotel and some of the best shopping in the world. In Jennie Lee’s mind, no trip to Hong Kong was complete without high tea at the Peninsula and a day spent shopping in the neighbourhood. Ava and Marian both lacked their mother’s shopping gene, but they had gone with her and in the process got to know the south end of Kowloon.

  Bute Street wouldn’t hold Mummy’s interest for a minute, Ava thought as she trudged along. It was all noodle restaurants and discount shops on the ground floors, with apartments in need of repair on top. The Serenity Building was just as shabby. It was six storeys of nothing but offices, and its grey stucco exterior was flaked and broken from street level to as far up as she could see.

  The building lobby didn’t inspire confidence either. Its tiled floor was sticky and littered with cigarette butts. To the left of three elevators she saw a company directory. Kung Imports was listed as an occupant of suite 612.

  As she stepped out of the elevator that had creaked and groaned all the way to the sixth floor, she found herself staring at one double door. She glanced right and left and saw nothing else. There seemed to be only one office on the floor. A computer printout was tacked to one of the door panels. When Ava drew close to it, she saw that it listed the companies that were, presumably, inside. There were at least ten, and all of them seemed to be involved in the import or trading business. She thought about Mr. Lo, talking about how impressive Kung’s offices were, and wondered if he had actually been here.

  She opened the door and found herself looking at a sea of desks. They ran from the door to a row of glass-panelled offices along the far wall, from one side of the room to the other. Most of the desks were occupied, and a steady buzz of one-sided phone conversations filled the air.

  “Can I help you?” a woman’s voice said.

  Ava turned and saw a middle-aged woman wearing an orange T-shirt seated behind a desk. To her left were four empty chairs and a beat-up wooden coffee table.

  “Is this reception?” Ava asked.

  “I guess so,” the woman said, pointing at a small sign on the corner of the desk that did indeed read RECEPTION. Next to it was another that read FAN YING.

  Ava was wearing black slacks, black pumps, and a plain white button-down shirt, but she felt decidedly overdressed. Everyone else seemed to favour jeans and an eclectic mix of casual tops. She walked over to the woman. “I’m looking for Kung Imports.”

  “You mean you’re looking for Johnny Kung,” the woman said.

  “Yes,” Ava said.

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Then can I see someone else who works for the company?”

  “There’s only him.”

  “What, no secretary, assistant, or bookkeeper?”

  The woman pushed her chair back and swivelled to the left. “See that empty desk over there in front of the last office? That desk is Kung Imports. That’s all there is. We have close to thirty companies that rent offices and desks. They come and go. Kung Imports went, along with whatever records there were.”

  “Would you know where?”

  “No.”

  “I see,” Ava said, f
eeling flustered by the woman’s abruptness.

  “You’re the third person in the past two weeks who’s come here looking for him. I told them the same thing.”

  “And why did they say they wanted to see him?”

  “They didn’t, but from the looks of them there’s money involved.”

  “How do you know that?”

  The woman stared at Ava. “How old are you?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “Besides the fact that you’re a woman, you seem a bit young to be in the collections business.”

  “What made you assume I was?”

  “They’re the only people who ever want to see Kung.”

  “Well, that’s not my case,” Ava said softly.

  “No?” the woman said.

  Ava took several small steps forward until she was at the desk and then leaned over. “Mrs. Fan, I’m here because of my sister,” she whispered.

  “And why is that?”

  “She’s been seeing Johnny Kung. Now she can’t find him.”

  The woman shrugged.

  “Auntie, my sister is nineteen years old. She met Johnny in a karaoke bar. He set her up in a small apartment in Hung Hom. Now he’s gone.”

  “That’s normal enough.”

  “Do you mean for Johnny?”

  “For men in general, but Johnny is as general as any man can be.”

  “Well, that doesn’t matter, because none of this is normal in my family. My sister was a student at the Polytech until she met him.”

  “Then what was she doing in a karaoke bar?”

  “She wasn’t a hostess, if that’s what you’re implying,” Ava snapped. “She had a part-time marketing job with a liquor importer. She went to the bars to promote their products. She said she was sampling Johnny Walker Blue Label when she met him.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult your sister.”

  “She’s beyond insults now. He hasn’t paid the rent in two months and she’s three months pregnant. The only reason I want to find him is to get him to live up to his responsibilities.”

  “I’m sorry. I would help you if I could,” the woman said.

  “Isn’t there anyone in here who might know where I can find him?” Ava said.

  The woman hesitated and Ava saw her glance towards Kung’s empty desk.

  “Please, Auntie,” Ava said.

  “Wait here for a minute,” the woman said, rising from her chair.

  Ava watched her walk towards and then past Kung’s desk and enter one of the closed-in offices. A moment later, the man who was inside looked in Ava’s direction. Ava hoped he wouldn’t come out to talk to her. She was feeling self-conscious enough about the lie she had spun. She’d had no idea she could lie that well, but then, she had never really tried before.

  Whatever they were talking about in the office, the conversation was getting more animated. It made her uncomfortable to watch. She sat in one of the chairs, out of their line of sight.

  When the woman returned, she was carrying a piece of paper in her hand. “Here,” she said, thrusting it towards Ava. “That’s the name of a hotel in Shenzhen. My boss thinks that’s where Kung is most likely to be.”

  “What makes him think that?”

  “It’s his normal hole in the ground when the collection boys are after him. He’s in Shenzhen often enough that he even has an office there.”

  “How many collection boys are chasing him now?”

  “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business. I’m really grateful for your help.”

  “One more thing. My boss says that he doesn’t use his real name when he’s there.”

  “What name does he use?”

  “If I knew that, I would have told you already.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Now, good luck to you.”

  ( 7 )

  SHE LEFT THE office on Bute Street, disappointed that Kung hadn’t been there and discouraged by the reality that was Kung Imports. What had Kung shown Mr. Lo that convinced him he was dealing with a legitimate company? Surely not that office, she thought. But then, who knew what Lo had been told and what his state of mind was. Maybe he went there the morning after a night at the karaoke bar.

  She was pleased with herself, though, for getting a lead. It was still early in the day, and it occurred to her that she probably had time to get to Shenzhen to check it out. Ava knew of the city but had never been there. Until 1979 it had been a small village at the very edge of Hong Kong’s northern border with China; then it became the first of the special economic zones established by the Chinese government to attract foreign investment and create jobs. Premier Deng himself had travelled there to make the announcement. When questioned about cozying up to capitalists, he said, “When you own a cat, what does it matter if it is black or white? All that matters is that it catches mice.” The village was now a city with a population that neared ten million. That was a lot of mice, and Ava had to assume Kung was one of them.

  When she got back to the Oriental Crocus, she went directly to the check-in desk. “I need to go to Shenzhen today. Where can I catch a train and how long will it take?” she asked.

  “You can get the train at the Mong Kok East MTR. It takes about forty-five minutes to Lo Wu station, which is the entry point from Hong Kong into Shenzhen,” a young woman said.

  “Thanks,” Ava said, turning to leave.

  “Excuse me,” the woman called after her. “Do you have a visa for China?”

  “No.”

  “You’ll need one, but you can get it at Lo Wu when you arrive. The only problem is that the lines can be very long and slow. I thought I should warn you.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Ava rode the elevator to her room to collect her passport and the two photos of Kung that Lo had given her. She looked at the bed and quite suddenly felt an urge to sleep. She fought it off and headed downstairs.

  “Now, where exactly is the Mong Kok East MTR?” she asked the same woman.

  The station was a five-minute walk from the hotel. The morning rush hour was over, and she was able to buy her ticket and work her way onto the platform without getting pushed and jostled. She had experienced rush hour once, with her mother and Marian. It was something she never wanted to go through again. Getting to the train had been hard enough, but then they had to fight to get on it, her mother holding onto their hands for dear life, and survive being so tightly squeezed together that Ava couldn’t move her arms.

  The train to Shenzhen arrived half-empty and Ava was able to find a seat. At the first stop, Kowloon Tong, the train filled, but there was enough room for people to stand, so she could follow the train’s progress through the New Territories and towns such as Tai Wai, Sha Tin, Tai Wo, and Fanling.

  When Lo Wu was the next scheduled stop — by her watch, about five minutes away — she saw the other passengers begin to stand and move towards the exit doors. She had no doubt that when the train stopped, they would be making a mad dash towards the Chinese immigration booths. Part of her was tempted to join them, but then the thought of how unpleasant it would be to get caught up in the melee prevailed. She was one of the last people off the train.

  It took twenty minutes to get to an immigration officer. He looked quickly at her passport and then directed her to a door with the words VISA APPLICATIONS above it. Thirty minutes and twenty dollars later she emerged with a five-day visa stapled into her passport.

  There were two things she noticed immediately when she walked out of the station and into the city: everyone was speaking Mandarin, and Shenzhen seemed to be one gigantic construction site. She had been prepared for the Mandarin but not for the extent of the city’s development. Stunned, she stood on the sidewalk and counted the cranes that were in plain view. When sh
e got to forty, she stopped.

  She walked to the taxi stand and got into a long, snaking line that was orderly and moved quickly. When she climbed into her cab, she was barely seated before it was moving. “The Good Luck Hotel,” she said.

  The driver’s face fell. “So near,” he said.

  Ava pulled a Hong Kong $100 bill from her purse. “Here, will this make up for it?” she said.

  “No renminbi?”

  “Just Hong Kong.”

  He sighed and took the money from her.

  The cab left the station, drove past two stoplights, made a right turn, and pulled up in front of the Good Luck Hotel. “If I’d known it was so close, I would have walked,” Ava said.

  The driver grunted.

  She slid out from the back seat and stood in front of a large grey box dotted with small windows. If it weren’t for the name on the sign, the hotel could have been mistaken for an office tower, or even a factory. She glanced both ways down the street. The aesthetic appeal wasn’t any better. She had read that Shenzhen was a city that had been thrown together in a hurry rather than planned. It was all about function and purpose. The quality of city living was an issue for another day.

  She walked through the revolving doors into the hotel lobby. It was as plain as the exterior, with a bare brown tile floor, a Styrofoam-panelled ceiling, and walls that lacked any decoration. It did look expansive, but that was mainly because it was sparsely furnished. There were only four sofas, ten chairs, and six coffee tables in an area that was about fifty metres long and thirty metres wide.