The Sky Might Fall (Harry Vee, PI)

by Michael Young

He was dozing in the chair when he heard the lock click again. He almost jumped to his feet. The bathroom door opened a crack.

  “Harry?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t suppose you, um…”

  Anita was stood at the door, a towel tucked around her chest with another wrapping her hair. Steam flowed out through the crack of the door. He passed the bag of new clothes through the door, and she beamed at him, flashing her teeth. “Oh God. Thank you so much.” She closed the door again.

  Twenty minutes later the door opened again, and she came out dragging the cheap hotel comb through her damp hair. She was wearing the new jeans and sweatshirt, with a vest underneath. The jeans were actually a little tight, but they fit okay. Everything fit okay. Harry congratulated himself. He had orange juice and Danish pastries for her on the table. The television was on the music channel.

  She pulled the desk chair over and sat down to breakfast. “Christ, I’m starving.” She took a huge bite of pastry. “I don’t think I’ve eaten properly for a week,” she said, spraying bits from her mouth. She wiped them off the table and onto the floor. “I washed the sheets and the towels, but there isn’t much room to dry them. And I couldn’t get your blood stains out. Sorry.” She filled her mouth again, chewing quickly, then drained her orange juice. She finished the pastry, and dusted the flakes off her hands.

  Harry poured her some more juice. “Anita,” he started.

  “Mui.”

  “Mooey?”

  “Mui. M, U, I. Like the singer. Everyone calls me Mui.”

  “Mui,” he repeated. It sounded better. She didn’t look like Anita.

  “Where is the blood from? On the towels…” she started.

  Harry said, “I told you there were some men after you.”

  “No. I mean, show me.”

  Harry undid a couple of buttons, and pulled the shirt down over his shoulder. He had cleaned it up this morning, and taped some fresh tissue over the wound as well as he could with one hand.

  The girl stood up, and went to the shopping bags. She pulled out the new bandages and first-aid bits, and started pulling the tape off of his arm. She worked without speaking, sometimes humming along to the music from the TV, cleaning the wound with cotton pads, and bandaging it tightly. Harry let her work. When she was finished she rinsed her hands in the bathroom. She returned with her empty cup, and went to make another coffee for herself.

  “Mui?”

  “Yes?” She didn’t look at him.

  “Sit down.”

  She poured the hot water into her cup, then sat at the table, blowing her coffee and watching it swirl round.

  “About your father…”

  She stared hard into her coffee cup. “He sent you, didn’t he? My father I mean. He sent you to bring me back.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you haven’t taken me back.”

  “Mui…”

  She interrupted him again, “He’s dead, isn’t he.”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “I understand. I’m not surprised. He was always so scared.” Harry sat there in silence. The TV continued to play music. “What about Sandra? She was looking after me, for Andy.”

  Harry told her about the apartment, about Sandra and Jason Denmead, in the men with guns. She listened without speaking. Finally she stood up. She looked pale. “I’m going to lie down.” She walked over to the bed, and lay down on her side, staring at the wall. Harry turned away. He took a cigarillo from the desk, and sat tapping it against the box.

  *

  After a while, Harry saw that the girl was sleeping. He slipped quietly out of the motel room, locking the door behind him, and went down to the car. He had to get rid of it. The police must be looking for it by now. Keeping to the back roads, trying to stay away from cameras, he drove it three miles and parked it in an alley behind some small shops. If the shop owners didn’t report it in a day or two, the police might not find it for weeks. Walking back, he pulled out his phone, turned it on, and called Chang.

  “Harry, I’ve had Huang’s son and his boys at my place looking for you. They turned the place upside down. Your hotel room’s been done as well. Where the fuck are you?”

  “I’m keeping out of sight. What have you heard about Fong?”

  “Nothing. They’re saying he killed himself. Shot himself in the head. My friend in the department says the police are investigating, but there’s no evidence of foul play. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m thinking. What did you find out about Fong’s contacts in America?”

  “Shit I forgot about that. The company goes back to the estate of a guy who died ten years ago. The estate owns or part-owns a dozen companies. At least three of the others are suspected to be intelligence fronts, with ties to gangsters across America as well as in London and Paris. This shit is starting to stink, Harry.”

  “Okay, just keep an eye on things for me. And one more thing: the Scooby gang said it was all about UFOs, from the mainland.”

  “Okay. And what drugs were they on? Can you get me some?”

  “Listen, they believed it. Just look into it for me, will you? See what ties Fong and Huang have in the field.”

  “Whatever you say, Harry. You know I charge by the hour, right?”

  “Whatever. I’ll call you when I know what I’m doing.” He hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang. It was Jessica.

  “Hello Harry. Where are you?”

  “What happened to Fong, Jessica?”

  “He killed himself. In a hotel room.”

  “Yeah, I watch the news too. I want to know what really happened.”

  “That’s the truth, Harry. Have you got the girl?”

  “Her father’s dead. He hired me, so there’s no case anymore.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. Huang wants the girl, and he’s got the money. A lot of money. You know that already.”

  “Why does Huang want her?”

  “Too many questions, Harry. Questions don’t make money. Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

  Harry hung up and turned the phone off. He started walking back to the hotel.

  It was late afternoon when he returned. The girl was still sleeping, but she had pulled off her sweater and jeans and slipped under the sheet, leaving her clothes in a heap next to the bed. Harry set the takeaway bags on the table, and rinsed the breakfast cups in the bathroom. When he walked back into the room, she was sat up in bed. Her hair was messy from sleep. Her face was ashen. She was fingering the silver heart around her neck.

  “Maybe you should take another pill,” said Harry. She looked at him blearily, her eyes sunken and her cheeks flat. “You don’t look so good.”

  “Trust me,” she croaked, “I feel great.”

  She went into the bathroom, turning the taps on full, but Harry could still hear her noisily vomiting. Twenty minutes later she emerged again, her cheeks a little pinker from having cold water splashed over them. She took a pill from the bottle, with lots of water, and slipped back into the jeans and sweater.

  “What’s for dinner, I’m bloody starving.”

  Harry started taking the cartons out of the bag, “Fried rice, and sweet and sour pork.”

  She turned her nose up to show what she thought of his selection, but she didn’t take long to finish. They ate in silence, until she sat back, exaggeratedly rubbing her belly. “That feels so much better.”

  Harry cleared the cartons back into the bag. He poured himself a scotch and lit a cigarillo, and settled back into the chair, rubbing his sore ribs.

  She asked, “What happened to your chest?”

  “A boot happened to my chest.”

  “And the bruise on your face? And your lip?”

  Harry said nothing, but sucked on his cigarillo. She continued, “I can tell people really like you, Harry. They’re always wanting to give you things.”

  “Mui. Who’s the singer?” Harry asked.

  “What singer?�
��

  “Mui. You said it was a singer.”

  “Oh. Anita Mui. She was my dad’s favourite. She was really big a long time ago. I’m named after her. When I was little I used to dance to her songs all the time when he put them on. So people called me Little Mui.”

  “Only now you’re not so little.”

  “Exactly.” She pointed at his whisky. “Can I have a glass?”

  “You’re too young.”

  “So?”

  “You’re not well.”

  “A sip then.” She took the glass and took a mouthful, and coughed as the whisky burned her throat. “Christ! That’s strong.”

  Harry laughed and took the glass back. “It’s cheap stuff. Pretty rough.”

  She stood up, and started wandering the room, inspecting things. She picked up the packet of Chinese cigarettes from the desk, “Can I have one of these?”

  “You’re too young,” Harry repeated.

  She took one anyway, eyeing him for a reaction, and lit it with a match from the box with the scooter girl on the front, inhaling deeply. She puffed out the smoke at the ceiling, holding the cigarette delicately between the tips of her fingers. Harry watched her. She was starting to look better, much better than before. She sat down again at the table, still smoking.

  “That’s not the first time you’ve smoked.”

  “There’s not a hell lot else to do when you’ve been holed up in apartments for a couple of weeks. I don’t suppose you thought to bring any cards?”

  “I did actually.”

  Her face brightened again. She rummaged through the bags to find the pack, ripped open the plastic, and fetched the matches from the desk. They played pontoon, since it was about the only game they both knew, until she had lost most of her matches. Outside the tiny window the patch of visible sky had turned black. She stood up to get another cigarette from the desk.

  “Why don’t you teach me to play poker?”

  “Sure, if you like.”

  “No forget that. I’m too tired. Let’s watch TV.” She turned on the TV and lay down on the bed, on her side. She had lost some of her colour again, and Harry could see a sudden weariness in her face. She changed channels, and found the start of a movie. Ten minutes later she was sleeping. Harry carefully pulled the covers over her, turned down the sound on the TV, and sat back in his chair to drink whisky and think.

  5

  Harry woke early the next morning. The sky outside was still dark. Mui was not in the bed. He sat up quickly and looked around the dim room. She was sat in the chair by the table. The glowing tip of a cigarette waved in the air close to her hand. Harry relaxed.

  She said, “I wanted to let you sleep.”

  Harry sat up on the bed and rubbed his face. He needed to sleep more, but tried not to show it. Still fully clothed, he stood up and went to put the kettle on for coffee.

  “I need to go outside,” she said. “I haven’t felt fresh air for two weeks.”

  “You can’t. It’s too dangerous for you right now.”

  “I need to,” she insisted. She sounded close to tears. “I can’t stay indoors forever. It’s making me sick.” She stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray.

  Harry was quiet for a second. Then he said, “Get dressed.” She leaped up from the chair, and pulled on her jeans and Sandra’s Redskins hoody. “I can put the hood up to hide,” she said, demonstrating.

  Harry pulled it off her head. “It’s okay. You won’t need to.”

  She pulled the hotel slippers on to her bare feet, and followed him out to the lift. He pressed the button for the fourteenth floor, the top. She looked up at him, beaming. “Harry, you’re a genius.”

  At the top, they walked up a short flight of stairs to find a fire door. Harry pressed the bar, and it swung open. Mui raced outside into the open air. Harry propped the door open with a half brick, and followed her. The flat roof was bare and almost empty. On three sides it was skirted by a railing at waist height. On the fourth side, where they had come through the door, a wall closed off the centre of the roof.

  It was the tallest building in the area, until the endless fields of apartment blocks. Mui stood on the edge, looking out at the mountains to the north. She raised her hands up, breathing deeply, enjoying the breeze. Above them the night clung on, a few stars still shining through the blackness. But eastward the sky turned from black, to blue, to fiery orange. Dotted clouds were shining pink and silver. She ran over to Harry on the south side, looking over the centre of Kowloon and the wooded Peak on Honk Kong Island just visible beyond, and slipped her arm through his.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. The city was still nearly dark, and a few buildings were dotted with tiny lights, like the sky. Harry looked up at the stars that still shone in the west. He realised he couldn’t name any of them. As he watched, he saw that one of them was slowly crawling across the sky. He thought to himself, a satellite, probably. Mui turned around, “Look!”

  The sun was just starting to catch the tips of the northern mountains, and send a pink wash sliding down their slopes. She pulled Harry over towards the sun, just beginning to climb over the horizon, and they saw the sky turn red around it. One star still shone brightly near the sun. Mui said, “That’s Venus, the morning star. But when the sun goes down it’s called the evening star.”

  The silver streaked clouds became pink, and orange, and caught fire as the sun hit Harry and Mui and began to warm the chill air of the night. She hugged his arm tightly. For a long time they watched in silence as the sky turned to palest blue, the clouds faded to orange, then silver, and the red sun climbed surely up the sky. Mui smiled up at Harry, her face coloured by the sun and the gentle wind pushing at her hair, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Back in the room, Harry made coffee and pulled out the remaining pastries from yesterday’s breakfast. Mui retrieved the orange juice that had been crammed into the tiny mini-bar. As they sat eating, Harry pointed at the silver heart around her neck. “What is that?”

  She raised her hand to the heart, fingering the tiny amethyst in the centre. “My mother gave it to me. She died when I was seven. She used to point at it, and tell me I was the star of her heart.”

  “Do you have any other family?”

  She shook her head, “Not really. My mother’s family is in Taiwan. I haven’t seen them since she died. My father argued with one of his brothers, years ago. He hasn’t really talked to his family in a long time. Hell, he’s hardly talked to me in a long time. It’s only me and Mrs Chan, really.”

  “The housekeeper?”

  She nodded. Harry chewed his stale pastry. “Mui?” The new name still felt strange in his mouth. “Yesterday you said that your father was afraid. What was he afraid of?”

  Mui finished her breakfast and drained her juice. “I don’t know. I think Mr Huang, mostly. And that woman, Miss Lee.”

  “You know Jessica Lee? And David Huang?” She nodded. “How long has your father been working with them?”

  “I don’t know. Miss Lee’s been around for a couple of years, I guess. I only saw her a few times. Mr Huang has been around forever. Since I was little, anyway. I remember seeing him when I was maybe six or seven. He always wanted me to call him Uncle Huang, but I never did. I didn’t like him.” She walked over to the desk and took a cigarette from the packet. “But the last few years, I think my father was afraid of him, mostly. He didn’t think I noticed, but of course I did. Not that I saw him much. He was always working, or out drinking all night.”

  She took out her medicine, and swallowed a pill with the last of the water. “Is Mr Huang the bad man who’s after me?”

  “Huang wanted for me to find you. But there’s someone else, too. Another group. I don’t know who they are.”

  Mui sat at the table with her cigarette, and crossed her legs, and watched smoke drift to the ceiling for a while. Finally she said, “Why is everybody after me?” She was trying to sound calm, but to Harry she sounded scared. “What did I do? Why
did Sandra have to die? Just for me?” Tears fell on to the table. Her mouth creased at the edges. She half sobbed, half shouted, “What the fuck is so special about me?”

  Harry tried to take hold of her hand, but she pulled it away. She wiped her sleeves over her eyes, and tried to breathe deeply through the tears. “I mean, first Andrew, then you, and all these people. Why am I so bloody interesting? What do you all want from me?” The tears came again, her body shaking as she sobbed. She held a hand across her mouth and stubbed out the cigarette as though she could hurt it.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you just take me back to Huang? He’s paying you,” she accused him with angry eyes.

  “I don’t trust Huang. I think he wants to hurt you.”

  She went quiet. Staring at the table in front of her, her shoulders slumped and her eyes red and swollen, she angrily picked at the seam of Sandra’s hoody. Harry watched her, not knowing what else to do. Eventually she stood up and, silently taking a bath towel from the shopping bag, walked into the bathroom.

  *

  An hour later, she emerged again in a cloud of steam, with the large towel wrapped around her breasts. She lit a cigarette from the packet, then sat down and started rubbing motel moisturizer into her bare legs. With the cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth she looked across the table at Harry. She half-smiled, and said, “You should take a shower, too. You stink.”

  Harry grinned at her, “Thanks, Mui.”

  She laughed, and tipped her ash, “I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be able to say anything nice to you.” She continued to rub the lotion into her legs and arms, then said, “I know Andrew was only interested in me because of my father. He was really sweet and kind, but he met me on purpose, because of what my father does.”

  “What did he say your father does?”

  Mui dragged on the cigarette, and looked Harry in the eye. “He sends bits of alien spaceships to America.” She laughed. “I know it sounds crazy, but Andrew believed it. He said a spaceship, a UFO, crashed in China. The army took bits of the spaceship, but then they lost them. People were selling the bits off, generals or whatever. He even bought a piece, I saw it.”