by Mark Arundel
We stood together by the tall window and watched. Our hotel suite felt grey. Outside, the sky was the colour of sheet metal. The harbour bay was reminiscent of the English seaside on a bad day in late summer. Xing stared through the gloom.
‘I can barely see the water,’ she said.
‘Now, I feel acclimatised,’ I said.
In the lobby, Xing purchased an umbrella from the gift shop. I covered her in the role of bodyguard. The position I chose was the apex opposite the lifts with clear sight lines to all the entry points. I held my hand inside my coat and watched. As usual, nothing happened. Xing came up to me holding out her purchase. I took it from her and went to the exit. At the doors, I waited. Xing came up behind me and I felt the familiar touch of her hand on my back. The doorman stepped aside and we went out into the rain. I opened the umbrella and the flag of Macau appeared, light green with something white that looked like a flower. Xing had chosen well—it made us look more like tourists. She pushed against me as we sheltered from the downpour.
The rainwater flowed through the gully beside the pathway and ran across the stones like a woodland stream. Xing skipped over so as not to get her feet wet. Above our heads, heavy raindrops slapped against the umbrella making a sound like the beat of a bongo drum.
When the bus arrived, I flapped the umbrella dry. Aboard, we found a seat and rode the yellow bus to the centre of the old town. Senate Square was shiny wet. Open umbrellas bobbed up and down in an impromptu dance routine. We joined in. When the music stopped, we found ourselves at the entrance to a bar.
‘This is Leiteria i Son,’ Xing said. ‘It’s a milk bar. They have amazing milkshakes.’
We went inside.
‘What’s your favourite fruit?’ Xing asked.
‘...mulberries,’ I said.
Xing ordered in Cantonese.
We found a seat. I watched while we waited.
I held the metal container in both hands and stared down at my amazing milkshake. It was pink.
‘They don’t have mulberry,’ Xing said, ‘so I got you a strawberry one.’
‘I don’t like strawberries,’ I said.
‘Try it,’ she encouraged.
I tried it.
‘Well?’ she asked.
It was milk and strawberries after an encounter with a food blender. A couple of the strawberries were cut in two but still alive.
‘It’s amazing,’ I said.
Xing sipped hers. It was blue.
She saw him first. I watched her eyes register his presence and then look away. I found him myself. He was standing alone, wearing a baggy cotton jacket and eating what looked like a bowl of custard. Without too many teeth, the milk bar was probably his favourite place to eat. Wong or Vong didn’t look in our direction. He spooned in his custard until the bowl was empty and then he left.
‘Let’s go,’ Xing said.
‘I haven’t finished my milkshake,’ I said.
‘Leave it,’ she said.
‘But it’s amazing.’
Outside, it was still raining. I put the umbrella up. This time, Xing didn’t seem bothered by the rain. Vong was shuffling away while avoiding the puddles. He sheltered below a tatty old umbrella. We followed. He stopped at a dried meat stall. The vendor cut the meat using a pair of dirty scissors. Vong paid and put the wrapped meat in his jacket pocket. He moved on. We left the cover of the jewellery shop window and followed.
‘It does sound like pitter-patter,’ Xing said.
‘What does?’ I asked.
‘...the rain on the umbrella. It’s what my dad used to say when I was a little girl and we were out in the rain. He always held the umbrella.’
‘You’re not tall enough to hold the umbrella,’ I said.
Vong had stopped again. This time, it was beside a souvenir stall. We caught him up.
‘Look at the rooster,’ Xing said, pointing at an elaborately decorated carving of a rooster. ‘They’re supposed to bring good luck.’
‘Really,’ I said.
She spoke to the stallholder in English, money changed hands and then the flamboyantly dressed capon was heading in my direction. It was impossible to avoid getting the colourful little fellow thrust into my hand.
‘Isn’t he great?’ Xing said.
‘Great,’ I said.
Vong was casually browsing the souvenirs and ignoring us.
‘Let’s take a picture,’ Xing suggested, ‘one with you and the rooster.’ She stepped back and held the camera to her face. ‘Smile,’ she encouraged.
I held the rooster up and forced a smile.
‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘Now, I want a picture of you, me and the rooster for good luck.’ She turned and looked around with the craft of a natural actress. She was searching for someone to take the picture. ‘Excuse me,’ she said in English. Vong turned from his souvenir browsing and with equal thespian ability said, ‘Yes, I help you, yes.’
‘Can you take a picture of us?’ Xing asked.
‘Yes, I help, very good, yes,’ Vong replied. He nodded enthusiastically and took the offered camera from Xing’s hands. He looked down at it. ‘How it work?’ he asked.
‘I’ll show you,’ Xing said. They stood side by side and Xing took back the camera. She held it for them both to see. Vong held his tatty umbrella above their heads. They spoke together, quietly, studying the camera and glancing at each other for confirmation. It lasted for just a minute or so. I waited and watched. Then Xing pulled away and came to stand with the rooster and me. ‘Okay, we are ready,’ she said. She pressed against my body while I held up Cogburn with one hand and the umbrella in the other. Vong took the picture. ‘It very good picture,’ he said. Xing retrieved the camera. ‘Thank you,’ she said. They spoke together quietly again for a few more seconds. Then Xing returned to me and Vong shuffled off, exiting stage right.
‘Well?’ I asked.
‘Let’s find somewhere to sit down, out of the rain,’ she said. There was a cafe nearby, called the Singing Bean.
‘This is popular with tourists,’ Xing said. We went downstairs and found a table. I ordered in careful English. I already knew what I wanted.
‘I like your rooster,’ the young waitress said.
‘His name’s Cogburn,’ I said. ‘He’s going to bring me good luck.’
She smiled.
Xing ordered sharply in Cantonese and the young waitress hurried away.
‘He won’t bring you good luck if you don’t show him respect,’ Xing said.
‘What’s wrong with the name Cogburn?’ I said, ‘I think it suits him.’
Xing made a noise that told me she disagreed.
‘Tell me what Vong said.’
She held up the camera so we could both see. The two pictures with Cogburn she quickly deleted.
‘We don’t want our faces on the camera,’ she said. A clear picture of three men then appeared. It was a head and shoulders shot. Xing pointed to the man in the centre. ‘This is Missouri,’ she said. There was Portuguese in his ancestry. His brown hair was thick and wavy and his big nose was obviously European. His skin and eyes were Chinese. ‘This man is the Vanguard and this one the Red Pole.’
‘...what do they do?’ I asked.
‘The Vanguard is head of operations and the Red Pole is the protector.’
I studied their faces. One was intelligent, the other aggressive.
‘They were at the casino for a business meeting. Their business is mainly gambling and prostitution. Their girls work the big casino hotels. They also fix greyhound races.’
We scrolled through the other pictures and familiarised ourselves with the faces. ‘This doesn’t get us very far,’ I said.
‘Know your enemy like your brother,’ she said. Before I could give a suitable response, the waitress returned. She gave me a sly smile and then placed my order on the table. The steak looked good. I drank some Coke and then tucked in. Xing had ordered a bowl of seaweed and some kind of fish. She picked up her chopsticks. ‘I nev
er promised it would be quick,’ she said. ‘Do you have a better idea?’ I didn’t. I kept quiet and ate my steak. It tasted great. Xing’s knitting needles dissected her fish.
‘We need to do more surveillance,’ I said.
With the taste of steak still on my tongue, I called Jemima.
‘I was just about to call you,’ he said. ‘There’s been a development. Can we meet?’
‘We’re in Senate Square,’ I said.
‘I’ll be at the fountain in fifteen minutes,’ he said.
We finished up, paid the bill and left. Back on the street, the rain had slowed. We no longer used the umbrella. We made our way to the fountain. I watched out for Jemima. Senate Square was crowded. It gave us good cover but made it difficult to watch out for people. I didn’t see him until he was on the steps. He walked past without a glance. He wore light coloured trousers and the rainwater had stained the hems dark. He made a slow circuit of the fountain before stopping with his back to us. His umbrella was black and it dripped onto his shoulder.
‘We’ve got more pictures,’ he said. His voice was deliberately soft. Xing was standing on the other side of me and she didn’t hear.
‘What did he say?’ she whispered into my neck. Now that I knew her better, I didn’t need to spot the trace of comedy in her voice to tell she was trying to be funny. I ignored her.
Jemima said, ‘Let’s swap cameras.’ He briefly glanced at me to see I had it and then said, ‘I say, are you British? Would you mind taking my picture? Perhaps you might get the fountain in the background.’
I whispered to Xing, ‘Give me the camera.’ She passed it to me and I took it in my hand. ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘it would be my pleasure.’
Jemima gave me his camera. I stepped back and used it to take his picture. He posed like an uncertain bridegroom.
‘There you are,’ I said, and passed him back the camera. It was easy to make the switch. I slid the camera he had given me with the new pictures into my jacket pocket.
‘Thank you very much,’ he said. Then he whispered secretively, ‘call me,’ and then he strode away.
‘Let’s find somewhere dry to look at these new pictures,’ I said.
‘I know somewhere,’ Xing said.
We took a short walk across the Square to an imposing white building.
‘This is the Holy House of Mercy,’ Xing said. ‘It was once a hospital.’
We went inside. A sign read Museum, Open Daily (except Sundays and Public Holidays) 10am – 1pm and 2.30 – 5.30pm, MOP$5. We paid the entrance fee and went in. It was quiet. A few tourists moved slowly among the exhibits. I looked into the nearest display cabinet. It contained historical religious artefacts. We both moved away to the far wall. I pulled the new camera from my jacket pocket. We stood with our faces together and looked at the pictures. A series of four grabbed our attention. They showed two men and a boy leaving Missouri’s house and getting into the Merc. One of the men was the Red Pole from the earlier pictures, the other man we didn’t know. We focused on the boy. He was six years old. We knew this from the information in the report the HK office had compiled and Meriwether had sent to us on our K106s. The boy was Missouri’s son.
‘He’s in the house,’ Xing said.
‘I’ll call Jemima,’ I said.
‘Have you looked at the pictures?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Have you seen the boy?’
‘Yes, we’ve seen him.’
‘Yes right, well, he was driven to a house on Coloane,’ Jemima said. ‘It’s in the village. He stayed there for about an hour and a half. The Mercedes waited for him. Both men remained with the car throughout. Then they drove him straight back. There were no stops en route.’
‘Give me the address,’ I said. ‘Enter this address into your K106,’ I said to Xing. She took out her K106 and held it ready. Jemima read out the address and I repeated it to Xing. She tapped it in. She waited for the satellite. ‘Got it,’ she said.
‘Maintain your surveillance,’ I told Jemima. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
I ended the call and looked at Xing. ‘How would you like a trip to the seaside?’ I asked.
‘In the rain,’ she said.
We left the museum and walked outside into the Square. The rain had stopped, the cloud had broken and the sun was shining.
‘Sunshine,’ Xing said.
‘On a rainy day,’ I said.
I checked Xing’s K106, not because I didn’t trust her ability to work it, but because I wanted to visualise the location on the map. ‘Do you know where this is?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘I’ve been there before. It’s a little village on the west coast. There’s not much there. It has narrow streets and old buildings.’
‘Why did you go there?’
She made a face. I didn’t really need to ask. It was obvious why she had been there before. It was the same reason that she went anywhere.
‘How do we get there?’ I asked.
‘By bus,’ she said.
We walked to the bus stop. Xing checked the timetable. ‘Not long,’ she said.
The plastic seat was wet. I brushed the rainwater off with the palm of my hand. It was dry enough, so I sat down. Xing looked at the rainwater on the seat beside me and then brushed it off too. She sat down, but kept her back straight and her feet together. She turned her head and glanced at me. We sat like that and waited.
‘It moves faster,’ she said, ‘now that we begin.’
She was referring to my comment from earlier. I didn’t reply. The silent waiting returned. Xing wriggled in her seat, but she didn’t stand up. I copied the address into my own K106 and studied the directions.
‘We must make certain of the boy,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I agreed.
A bus arrived. It was ours. We boarded and found a seat. The diesel engine shuddered and then grumbled deeply. We chugged slowly away and headed south. At the roundabout, we left the peninsular and drove onto the bridge.
‘This is Nam Van Lake,’ Xing said. ‘Do you recognise it?’
I did. We crossed the lake and went out over deeper water. I glanced through the windscreen.
‘Can you see the land yet?’ she asked.
We reached Taipa Island and headed south-east. The bus stopped to let people off. We left Taipa village behind and turned due south. The causeway was long and straight. The driver changed gear and the bus gathered speed. Low hills edged the horizon. At the end of the causeway, the bus slowed before turning east.
‘We have to go around the coast,’ Xing explained. ‘The village is on the other side.’
We passed a hotel and a golf course. Beyond the coast road, I saw the sea and then a long wide beach with black sand that seemed to stretch forever. We reached the south coast and turned west. A second beach appeared. The heavy rainfall from earlier had washed the sand flat. We turned north and headed for the west coast and the village.
‘This is Seac Pai Van Park,’ Xing said. ‘The village is just a little further.’
The bus stopped on the open access road. We got off. I checked my K106.
‘It’s this way,’ Xing said. We walked into the village. Other tourists from the bus followed. I noticed a man who got off last. He was alone. His black trousers were baggy and he wore a straw hat.
Xing looked at her K106. ‘It’s just up here,’ she said.
The road was narrow and uphill. White terraces pushed together like footballers making a wall. The house was on the end. It had a first-floor balcony and a trellis covered in foliage. The front door was recessed and decorative columns supported each side. We strolled by like tourists. Both of us studied the house carefully. We continued and then stopped. Our embrace was just like lovers on holiday. Anyone seeing us would have thought so.
‘It’s possible from here,’ Xing whispered.
‘Yes, the road is good,’ I said, ‘It’s just the location.’
‘What’s wrong with the location?’
&
nbsp; ‘It’s too isolated,’ I said. ‘It makes the exit strategy difficult.’
We walked to the end before doubling back. We studied the house for the second time.
‘They would park right outside,’ Xing whispered into my neck. We had stopped again and been embracing. Our bodies pressed together. ‘It wouldn’t give us much time.’
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ I agreed.
We ended our fake hug and continued.
‘The village square has a cafe,’ Xing said.
It was only a short walk. Cafe Nga Tim had tables outside. We ordered coffee and waited. I scanned the other tables and checked the milling people as they came and went. The waitress brought our order. When she left, I saw him. It was the man from the bus. His straw hat was on the table. His hair was straight and black. He sat facing the cafe door and read a newspaper. He was just too indifferent.
‘We have a friend,’ I said.
Xing searched my eyes for an explanation. ‘The man sitting behind you, by himself, he may be following us. He travelled with us on the bus. He’s not a tourist and he’s not in any hurry to get somewhere.’
‘Perhaps he waits.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said.
‘What do you want to do?’
‘Talk to him,’ I said.
Xing smiled. ‘Sit with him at his table,’ she suggested, and then she stood up and went into the cafe. I got up and walked slowly to the man’s table. His eyes looked up, they were questioning. I pulled out the chair and sat down. The man dropped his newspaper and continued to stare expectantly.
‘It’s a nice day,’ I said, ‘now the rain’s stopped.’
He spoke to me in Cantonese with a confused expression creasing his forehead.
‘Don’t you speak English,’ I said.
Again, he replied in Cantonese, and his confused look deepened.
I grinned at him. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I have an interpreter.’
Xing had approached silently from behind. The concealed knife dropped from inside her sleeve into her fist with the sleight of hand of a skilled magician. She bent down, grabbed the man’s ear and pushed the steel point into his neckline. She whispered rapidly to him in Cantonese. He jolted with shock, and one of fear instantly replaced the expression of confusion. He replied to Xing in equally rapid Cantonese before he looked back at me and said, ‘Duckling, I duckling.’ His words diffused the situation. I sat back and smiled, Xing put her knife away, and the duckling slumped with relief. Xing sat down. She and the duckling conversed. I didn’t speak Cantonese, but I understood the gist. The man grabbed his newspaper and his straw hat and left. We returned to our table. I drank my coffee.