The Sky Might Fall (Harry Vee, PI)

by Michael Young

  “Right here.” Jin-Ho lifted a heavy black sports bag from under the table. He unzipped it a little so Harry could see inside. Mui looked in and saw a shining silver pistol. “You’ve got a piece, one spare clip and a box of shells. Secure laptop with all the gear. And a chipped and scrambled, guaranteed untraceable phone, Montana Mike’s speciality.” He zipped up the bag again, and put it back on the floor on Harry’s side. “And I presume you remembered your part in this.”

  Harry took a wad of bills from his pocket, and counted out a large number. “Here,” he said, standing up and dropping the money on the table, “I’ll get the drinks.”

  Harry dropped Mui’s old clothes in, picked up the bag and they left, walking back out into the cold night air. Mui looked at the bag and half smiled to herself. “I suppose I’d better get used to it. This seems to be my life now.”

  “Not forever. It won’t be forever.”

  *

  Despite the cold, after dinner Mui insisted they walk back along the river, watching the night lights dancing on the ripples. Mui clung to Harry, staggering a little from too much wine. She looked up at him, “Thank you Harry. Tonight was wonderful.” She stumbled a little in her heels.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I have to get you back safe to the hotel first.”

  Mui laughed. She said, “That restaurant. Have you been there before?”

  “A few times.”

  “Who did you go with?”

  “No-one special.”

  Mui giggled. Her cheeks were red from wine, but the night was cold, and she pulled the shawl tighter around herself. “That’s okay. You’re older. I bet there have been lot’s of ‘no-one special’s.” She stumbled again. Harry caught her and she put her arms around him, lifting her face towards him. “Tell me, Harry. Am I no-one special?”

  He looked down at her. Her eyes were shining brightly, but slightly glazed. “No, Mui, you’re someone very special.”

  She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. She said, “Harry, I…” Her legs nearly gave way beneath her. She giggled again, as Harry held onto her. “I think I’m drunk.”

  Back in the room, Mui slipped off the heels and headed straight to the mini-bar. “My fucking feet are killing me. What’s in here?” She pulled out a half-bottle of red wine. “This’ll do, don’t you think?” She jumped on the bed, lit a cigarette, and opened the bottle, swigging from it without a glass. She held it out to Harry, who sat on the end of the bed.

  He took a drink, and placed the bottle on the bedside table. Mui swung around to lay her head on his lap, and looked up at him. She stared at him for a while, then unsteadily lifted a finger to his bruised temple. “Why do people keep doing things like that to you, Harry? Why do they keep trying to hurt you?”

  “I guess that’s just the way life is.”

  “I think you make your life like that.” She closed her eyes. “Well, I won’t hurt you Harry, I promise.”

  “I know you won’t, Mui.”

  Harry took the cigarette from between her fingers. In a few seconds she was asleep. He stubbed out the cigarette, and swung her around to put her head on the pillow, while she barely murmured a protest. He took the bag from by the door and placed it on the other bed, then took the bottle of wine and lit a cigarillo from his pocket.

  The smoke curled around his head as he inspected the gun, a compact Beretta. He checked the action, slid in a magazine, and chambered a round, cocked it, checked the safety was on. It had to be ready if he needed it. Satisfied, he slipped the gun and spare magazine into his coat pocket, and took out the laptop. He took a long suck at the wine while it booted up. It was going to be another long night.

  Harry looked over to Mui on the other bed. She was fast asleep. He loaded the encryption software installed on the laptop, another of Montana Mike’s specialities, and started typing a message to Stephen Chang in Hong Kong.

  *

  When Harry woke up, bright sunshine was streaming through the window. Mui wasn’t in the room, but he could hear the shower running. When she came out of the bathroom, dressed in the hotel bathrobe and her hair up in a towel, he handed her a coffee. “How do you feel?”

  “Better now,” she replied. She started drying her hair. “What were you up to last night?” She indicated the laptop.

  “I spoke to Chang. It was your father’s funeral yesterday.”

  “I know.” She lit a cigarette, and started to drag a comb through her hair.

  “Huang wasn’t there. Mrs Chan the housekeeper was. Most of the papers were talking about you.”

  “It’s nice to be talked about,” she said, cigarette hanging out the corner of her mouth.

  “Also, your doctor, Grant. Seems he’s not as clean as he first appeared.”

  “That does not surprise me. Not one little bit.”

  “A couple of years ago, he fell into a bit of debt at Huang’s casinos. He’s been in Huang’s pocket ever since it seems. Then last week twenty million Hong Kong dollars appeared in his bank accounts, and promptly disappears again, along with the doctor.”

  “That bastard. Oh, well, can’t worry about it now. I have a date, with another handsome doctor.” She giggled as she threw the towel towards the bathroom.

  “You’re in a better mood today.”

  Sipping her coffee, she sat on the bed and looked at him. “I guess I’ve realised that if everything goes wrong today, it’s only one more time. If people are going to chase me, then I’m going to run, until it ends one way or another. But one of these days…” she paused, and looked down at her palm. “One of these days maybe I’ll be chasing them. And then we’ll see.” She turned away, and stood to get dressed.

  In the taxi, Mui was quiet and distant, not exactly nervous, but distracted. She stared out of the window, her eyes focusing on nothing. As they drew up to the hospital she became more alert. The hospital was halfway up one of the mountains dotted through Seoul. They drove in through heavy iron gates and up the driveway, passing the large surrounding gardens. The lawn and sparse dotted trees looked like it had been modelled on a Merchant Ivory film. The building itself was thoroughly modern and fairly busy, but this was clearly an exclusive place.

  At reception Harry gave the name of the doctor, and they waited until a nurse came to get them. Wordlessly, she took them in the elevator to the seventh floor. Harry’s hand never left the gun in his pocket, his thumb on the safety. They walked down antiseptic corridors and through large double doors until they reached a small private room.

  The nurse sent Harry out and gave Mui a gown to change into, then started the tests: taking her temperature, her pulse, her blood pressure, and writing it on a chart attached to the bottom of the bed. When the nurse left, Harry went in. Mui was playing with the gown. “I really fucking hate hospitals,” she said, looking down at herself.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Yeah, true. I bet you’ve been in plenty.” She looked out the window. The sun streamed down into the garden. “At least I’ve got a nice view.” She reached up around her neck, and unclasped the chain holding her silver heart, with its little shining stone. “Hold onto this for me, will you? Keep it safe for me?”

  Harry smiled at her drama. He slipped the chain into his pocket. “Of course I will. Don’t worry.”

  Five minutes later, a different nurse came back to take Mui. Harry walked with her through the corridors. Mui slipped her hand into his. She smiled at him, “Do you think the doctor can help me Harry?”

  “I hope so Mui.”

  “Yeah,” said Mui. The nurse opened a door marked private, and indicated to Harry that he could go no further. “I hope so, too.”

  Harry pushed the nurse aside, and checked the room. It was a large space, lots of machines, but no doors or windows that he could see. “Wish me luck,” said Mui, as she disappeared inside.

  “Good luck,” Harry called to the closing door. He looked around. There was a small area with seating, coffee and a TV nearby. More than he needed. He
turned off the TV, and looked out the window. The view from here stretched down the mountainside to Namsan Tower, and beyond it the river, winding its sluggish course, splitting the city in two.

  Harry took the chain from his pocket, fingering the slightly raised amethyst in the heart, as he had watched Mui do so many times. He spun around again at the sound of footsteps. The doctor was old, short, with thick glasses. He gave Harry a dirty look, but otherwise ignored him and walked through to where Mui was waiting. Harry poured himself a coffee and settled into a chair. He relaxed a little, but his hand never strayed far from the gun in his pocket.

  *

  The nurses came and went, and at one point the doctor left, returning after nearly an hour, but it was late afternoon when Mui reappeared again. She looked haggard, but brushed Harry away when he came to her side. “I’m okay, I can walk.” Then she softened, “I’m sorry. Thank you for waiting.” The nurse took them back to Mui’s room, and left them alone. Mui started trying to stretch. “I ache all over. I feel like I’ve had needles all over my body.” She sat up on the bed. “I have to go for more tests in half an hour. Did you eat anything?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She smiled at him, held on to his hand and leaned her head against his arm. “I hope it will all be over soon.”

  The nurses came to get her, and took her to another room, one floor up. Again, Harry had to wait outside. This time she was only an hour. She smiled as she came out behind the nurse, and walked stiffly over to Harry. This time she let him help her back to the room.

  Ten minutes later the doctor came in. He set up a laptop next to the bed. Turning to Harry he said abruptly, “Who are you?”

  “A friend.”

  “Are you American?”

  “English.”

  “Good.” The doctor turned back to the laptop, and finally turned to Mui. Although his English was good, the accent was heavy and they had to lean in to listen. “I have results from your blood test. You have been prescribed a drug for transplant patients, yet you have never had a transplant. Am I right?”

  Mui nodded, suddenly shy.

  “There is some damage to your liver, certainly, and your gastrointestinal tract. This is causing the vomiting. Your lungs show first stage pneumonitis. The symptoms will only get worse if untreated.”

  “I…I don’t understand,” stuttered Mui. He might as well have been speaking Korean.

  “Your blood test shows extremely high level of cytokines.” He pulled up a microscope view on the laptop. Various cells squirmed under their gaze, Mui’s blood in extreme close up. The doctor pointed with a pen to one cell in particular. “Here, but it is not a type I have encountered before.”

  Harry lost patience, “What does all this mean, doctor.”

  “In layman’s terms? Something is attacking her body. It is called GVHD, Graft Versus Host Disease. Like when a body rejects a transplant organ. But here it is the other way around. The transplant is rejecting the host. It is not uncommon in certain transplants.”

  Mui and Harry stared at him. She said, “But Doctor, I haven’t had a transplant.”

  “Well then, that is the mystery. Tomorrow, we will do more tests.” He abruptly snapped the laptop shut, and went to leave.

  Mui called out to him, “Doctor Lee?” He turned and looked at her. “Doctor Lee, do you believe in UFOs?” He looked at her silently, but said nothing, turned and left.

  Harry and Mui were silent for a while. Finally, Harry said, “More tests tomorrow. You’d better get some rest.”

  She took his hand, “Thank you for being here Harry. I guess I don’t have anyone else to be with me right now.”

  He smiled at her. “I guess I don’t have anywhere else to be.” He squeezed her hand, and went to leave. At the door he stopped and turned to her. “You never asked me if I believe in UFOs.”

  She looked at him, framed in the doorway, “Harry, I didn’t think you believed in anything.”

  8

  For two more days Mui stayed in the hospital, being taken from room to room, having injections, tests, x-rays, scans. Harry rented a car to travel back and forth to the hotel. After three days, the doctor had said nothing more. Harry was waiting in Mui’s room after lunch. When she entered, the doctor was right behind her. He said, “I have the results of the scan. It shows some very interesting results.”

  He set up his laptop, while Mui collapsed, exhausted and sore, onto the bed. As the doctor brought up some images, Mui realised they were looking at her body. She felt suddenly naked, and pulled up the sheets to her neck. The doctor zeroed in on the image of her legs, then her thigh. He started pointing again with his pen. “You say you never had a transplant, but there is something here that should not be here.”

  Mui followed the doctor’s pen. She could make out the ghostly image of her thighbone, a long thick tube travelling up the centre of her leg. Without thinking about it, her hand went to her real thigh, to check it was still attached. The doctor circled some dark grey spots. “Here. There are three dark spots in the marrow. They do not belong there.”

  Mui was excited, despite her tiredness. “You mean that is what’s making me sick? And you can take it out?”

  The doctor looked at her. “Yes, perhaps we must take them out. We can control the symptoms to an extent, but you will only become more sick. It will not be easy. Tomorrow we will perform an endoscopy. We will look inside to see what we will see, and take a small sample.”

  Harry interrupted, “But what are those things, Doc?”

  The doctor gave him a dirty look. He didn’t appreciate being called that. “I told you they were attacking her body, releasing cytokines into the blood. That indicates that they are living tissue. I cannot say of what kind until we have a sample.” He gathered his things and left Harry and Mui alone in the room.

  They were silent for a few seconds. Mui heaved a huge sigh. Her hand idly rubbed her leg. To think there was something inside her… It made her skin crawl. She hardly dared to hope that it might soon be all over. And then she wondered what Harry would do if it really was all over. They looked at each other. “I hope you’ve got my cigarettes.”

  Harry patted his pocket, “Right here.”

  “Good. Come on, let’s smoke.”

  They took the elevator down to the third floor, where there was an open air smoking section. A few other patients were out, some dragging their IV drips on trolleys, others in wheelchairs, all puffing away. Harry and Mui found a quiet corner, looking up the mountain to the rear of the hospital, and lit up. Harry didn’t know what he could say to her, and Mui was gathering her thoughts, so each was happy in their cloud of smoke and silence. When they were finished, they took the elevator back up to seventh. Harry was lost in his thoughts when Mui screamed, “Harry!”

  He looked up. The agent from Beijing was coming out of Mui’s room. They saw each other at the same time. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Harry raised the pistol from his pocket, planting one foot forward, two hands on the grip, Mui beside him, flicking the safety, sighting, seeing the agent do the same, looking straight down the other man’s barrel, wondering who would get a shot away first, squeezing the trigger, and watching the agent fall back, as Harry’s bullet struck him in the centre of the forehead.

  Time rushed back in a hurry to catch up. Harry heard the echo of his shot, and two more agents burst from Mui’s room. “Run!” He pushed her back through double doors, firing off a couple of rounds as he turned.

  Mui didn’t need to be told twice; she sprinted down the corridor, through more double doors. Harry was right behind her. He turned at the doors, and fired again, saw the agents take cover, and turned to follow Mui. She was already at the lift, still jamming her finger on the button as the doors creaked open. Harry pushed her inside, reached around to press the second floor, then turned back down the corridor as the agents appeared.

  From inside the lift, Mui had time to see him raise his gun and fire as the doors closed between them, and bullets
flew past his head. She cried out to him, but he was gone.

  Harry quickly took stock. There were at least two agents, but he had them pinned down in the doorway. The emergency stairs were twenty yards further down the corridor behind them, so they weren’t going anywhere fast while he was there, but he had no cover. He started backing away from them.

  A hand and pistol appeared round the wall and fired off a couple of speculative shots in his direction. He squeezed off one in return, turned, and sprinted back to find some cover. The corridor turned left, and he crouched against the wall for a moment, and gingerly poked his head around the corner. Two shots sounded in answer. He looked around. The back stairs were further down this corridor.

  He had to make it to Mui before they did, and there might be more of them downstairs. He fired off three shots to keep them busy and started sprinting further down the corridor. Slamming through the fire door, he started rounding the stairwell, trying not to twist his still sore knee. At the second floor he crashed through the doors and straight into Mui, who screamed as they fell to the floor together.

  He pulled her up, winded, and dragged her into an empty office. At the window he took a look down into the rear car park. There was his car. He couldn’t see any sign of agents. He grabbed Mui again and they sprinted down the last flights of steps and into the bright sunlight. Fumbling with his keys, he unlocked the car door and in seconds Mui was seated next to him and they were speeding towards the front of the building and the main gates.

  In his mirror, Harry saw a third agent sprinting from reception, closely followed by the first two. Alarms started ringing across the hospital, as they turned out the gates and onto the main road down the mountain. Mui had got her breath back. She yelled, “Oh Harry, what are we going to do?”

  He didn’t answer as he took a small car on the outside, then at the first junction squealed a tight right turn. He caught a glimpse of the agents’ car behind them: they weren’t far away. The next light was red, so he took another right turn, skidding out in front of a bus, and started weaving between the traffic. There were more cars here, and in his mirror he saw the agents, in a bigger, more powerful car, were getting closer.