by Graham Reed
Once we cleared the freighters, Thaddeus throttled back on the small outboard until we were nosing through the inky black water at little more than a walking pace. Seemingly out of nowhere, a yacht loomed above the water in front of us, ghostly white in the moonlight. The running lights were off but dim yellow outlines shone out around the blinds drawn over its cabin windows. Just enough light to be seen from a short distance if you knew where to look.
Thaddeus angled us in towards the stern, bringing the Zodiac close enough alongside for me to make out the name of the yacht displayed in large black script along its side: The Chairman.
I was still trying to guesstimate the probability that Mickey Wu’s yacht had the same name as a prominent local opium supplier when Thaddeus dropped the outboard to an idle, letting us drift up to the stern of the yacht. Standing onboard was a hulking figure, his expression unreadable in the dark.
“Take that rope,” Thaddeus grunted behind me. “Throw it across to him.”
I gathered up the line and tossed it over. The Norwegian grabbed it without a word. He wasn’t wearing a white leather sailor suit, but his presence still added a nightmarish quality to the evening’s festivities. By way of a greeting, he reached across and yanked me aboard.
Chapter Thirty
Mickey Wu was waiting inside the cabin. Unlike The Norwegian, he looked every inch the yachtsman as he lounged comfortably in a captain’s chair, dressed in a blue blazer with gold piping, tan slacks, and a white captain’s hat.
“I used to have a blazer just like that.” I surveyed the spacious cabin. It was well appointed with an abundance of teak panelling, a fully stocked wet bar, and an L-shaped leather sectional. Which was empty.
“Where are Richard and Dante?” The mere fact that I had to ask didn’t bode well for any of us.
Mickey Wu smiled, waving me towards the sofa. “Would you care for a drink, Mr. Constable?”
“Sure, why not?” Something told me I was going to need a stiff one before we were done. I eyeballed his impressive selection of bourbons. “Woodford Reserve over ice. Large glass.” I almost sighed out loud as I sank into the sofa’s cushions. It was even more comfortable than it looked.
He waited until Thaddeus brought over my drink before speaking again. “I trust you have the phone?”
I took it out and placed it on the coffee table. “So you’re into flip-phones?”
Mickey Wu hesitated. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be. I love them, too. I assume you’re a collector? Because I can’t think of any other reason you’re so keen to get your hands on a phone that has nothing on it.”
Mickey Wu shot me a look of alarm and snatched the phone off the table. After his thumbs danced around the buttons for a few seconds, he froze, his tense poker face slowly melting into a small, soft smile.
“Oh, right, I almost forgot about the photos.” From his expression, it seemed a safe bet that he was looking at the picture of the girl rather than the bank. “She sure is a hotty.” I hoped a play to his ego would get him boasting and elicit some information about her.
Mickey Wu’s smile was gone in an instant. His eyes narrowed along with his vocal chords as he hissed, “You are talking about my daughter.”
“Your...you must be very proud,” I mumbled, mentally giving myself a pat on the back for uncovering information that did indeed throw things into a new light. One that temporarily blinded me.
Mickey Wu flared his nostrils rather dramatically before returning his attention to the phone. He mooned over his daughter a bit more before pulling up the photo of the bank. After contemplating it for a moment, Mickey snapped the phone shut with an air of finality I couldn’t help but find disconcerting. Rather than speculate on his intentions, I tried to make sense of this new information.
When The Norwegian told me that his run-in with the dead guy had been about blackmail, I assumed that he was the one shaking down the dead guy on behalf of his Mystery Boss. Now that I knew the guy in the bathroom had been carrying around a photo of Mickey Wu’s daughter, it seemed more likely that Mickey Wu was the one being blackmailed.
Which meant that Mickey’s story about the dead guy being the cousin of one of his business associates was a load of crap. No real surprise there. I tried my best to believe it because it made my problems with Mickey Wu go away, and finding out that the Chinese Ministry of Public Security was after Mickey Wu had helped—if he was one of the targets for Operation Fox Hunt, it seemed plausible that the people he did business with might be as well. Especially since Agents Wang and Chung were flashing the dead guy’s mugshot around.
The fact that the dead guy had somehow dug up compromising information on Mickey Wu’s daughter in order to blackmail him suggested he was more hunter than fox. But if the dead guy wasn’t another corrupt business man being targeted by Operation Fox Hunt, why would the Ministry be looking for him? I found myself wishing that I could head back to the public library to ask Mr. Two Hats if he could provide me with the solution to another puzzle.
And then he did. “You’re not the only one who can figure out the tough clues,” I muttered aloud. “Or wear two hats.”
“What did you say?” Mickey Wu asked, with understandable confusion.
I gave him a knowing smile, taking time to let the moment ripen. “The man on your bathroom floor was blackmailing you, correct?”
For a split second Mickey Wu looked surprised, then his face rapidly reconfigured into a grimmer version of my smile. He nodded. “‘Was’ being the operative term.”
I saw his nod and raised a finger of accusation. “He also worked for the Chinese Ministry of Public Security, didn’t he?”
This time, Mickey Wu didn’t even attempt to conceal his surprise. “How could you know that?”
“A couple of his colleagues paid me a visit the other day.” I said with a shrug. “I put two and two together.” There didn’t seem to be any need to mention that I only finished the math a few seconds ago.
The fact that the dead guy was an agent explained why the Ministry was wondering where he had disappeared to. During his covert investigation of Mickey Wu, he had evidently dug up information on Mickey’s daughter. Something the Ministry could use to force Mickey to return to China—or at least make a generous, tax-deductible contribution to the Communist Party. But instead of reporting it, the agent went rogue and tried to blackmail Mickey Wu. Which explained why the Ministry was trying to track him down.
As I worked through the angles in my head, I noticed that Mickey Wu was watching me intently. Something approaching panic was not quite hidden in his gaze. “What did you tell them?”
I took a sip of bourbon. Then I took another, buying myself time to consider how to proceed. Mickey Wu watched me while he played nervously with the phone he had been so desperate to get his hands on. It gave me an idea. “What did I tell them, Mr. Wu? Or what did I show them?”
His eyes flicked reflexively downwards.
I smiled conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I didn’t show them that photo of your daughter.”
Mickey Wu didn’t say anything, but the way he visibly relaxed spoke volumes.
“What don’t they know about her?” I asked, hoping to capitalize on whatever modicum of goodwill I had managed to generate by inadvertently keeping his confidence.
For a moment I didn’t think he was even going to answer my question. “That she exists,” he said at last.
I nodded slowly. “That’s big.”
“At great personal cost, I have taken precautions to keep my daughter at a distance. Hidden, so that she cannot be used against me.” Mickey Wu sighed. “But she is impetuous, and came to visit me, despite my orders to the contrary. It was meant to be a happy surprise.” He shook his head sadly. “She has no idea what is at stake.”
I nodded slowly, recalling the accounts of the family members of Operation Fox Hunt targ
ets being harassed, allegedly even kidnapped, by the Chinese government. I was on the verge of feeling sympathetic until I remembered the dead agent on the bathroom floor.
I wondered what Li Wei would say when he found out that a member of the Party had attempted such a sordid form of economic corruption as blackmail. No doubt he would be Officially Outraged, and also possibly annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it first. Sure, the Ministry guys were issued stylish black suits and red ties, but it was hard not to envy Mickey Wu’s swanky lifestyle. I could see how someone with a crappy job and frayed moral fibre might stoop to questionable means to help himself to a piece of what Mickey had.
Which now included the blackmailer’s phone. So I stopped worrying about threats to the integrity of the Chinese Communist Party and started worrying about saving three asses that meant a lot more to me: Richard’s, Dante’s, and my own. “I’m happy to have helped you clean up some loose ends. Getting back to Richard and Dante…”
Mickey Wu offered me the thinnest of smiles. “I am grateful that you have returned the phone. And that you didn’t show the photo of my daughter to the men from the Ministry, Mr. Constable. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Belatedly, I realized that I had purchased some mildly interesting information at the cost of my leverage with Mickey Wu. Now that he knew I hadn’t shown Agents Wang and Chung the photo, my status had switched from potential threat to another loose end.
Chapter Thirty-one
Thaddeus ignored my suggestion that he freshen up my drink while Mickey Wu was visiting the head. Probably for the best, since I was going to have to keep my wits about me to talk my way out of this.
I took a shot at it as soon as Mickey got back. “Getting rid of me isn’t going to solve your problems. Sure, The Norwegian deep-sixed the agent who was blackmailing you, and might even be convinced to do the same to me, but that won’t change the fact that the Ministry knows you’re here. They’re going to keep coming at you.” I was grasping at straws, but if I got my hands on enough of them maybe I could build myself a life raft.
Leather creaked as The Norwegian crossed his arms. “I told you, Constable, I’m going legit. I don’t do that stuff anymore. But keep it up and you might just convince me to give you a beat down.”
I held up my hands in what I hoped was a calming manner. “Hey, I’m sure you were only trying to put a scare into him. I know it’s not precision work.”
The Norwegian’s expression gave me pause, not just out of concern for personal safety. I was also somewhat taken aback by an unmistakable aura of wounded sincerity.
“You really only paid him off?” I asked.
The Norwegian nodded emphatically, now looking genuinely exasperated with me.
“Then how’d he end up dead?” We both looked over at Mickey Wu.
“The guy’s dead?” The Norwegian asked.
“What of it?” Mickey Wu snapped. Apparently, he didn’t like being challenged, even by Scandinavian man-mountains.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The Norwegian’s voice dropped to an ominous growl. “You setting me up to take the fall for that?”
“Of course not. Your task was legitimate. You were supposed to pay the man off in exchange for the phone and the safety-deposit box key, then go and retrieve the documents on my daughter from within it. But you failed to accomplish this.” Mickey Wu gave a “see what you made me do” shrug.
The Norwegian threw his hands up angrily, making the cabin suddenly seem very small. “I told you, that wasn’t my fault. He was already inside the house when I arrived, scurrying around Constable’s party like a frightened rabbit. When I tried to take him back outside, he got spooked and locked himself in the bathroom. Said he didn’t know me so he wouldn’t deal with me.”
Mickey Wu nodded impatiently. “And that’s why I sent Thaddeus over to deal with the matter.”
Thaddeus bared his nicotine-stained canines at me. “Guy just needed to see a friendly face, is all.”
“And, as of right now, we have everything tidied up,” Mickey Wu continued. “So there’s really nothing for you to be concerned about. Once you have helped me take care of my business tonight, I will be free to help you with yours.”
The Norwegian considered this in silence.
As did I. It seemed I owed The Norwegian an apology for messing up his business, after all. He hadn’t been able to impress his new boss by handling a simple payoff in exchange for a phone and a key. At least I had made it up to him by bringing the phone. But it occurred to me that Mickey Wu was wrong about all the loose ends being tied up. “I also found a key on the dead agent. Maybe it’s the one you’re looking for?”
Thaddeus snorted. “Nice try, goofball.” He grabbed a chain around his neck and pulled it up to show a small silver key. It looked like the kind used to open safety-deposit boxes. “I took it off Mr. Secret Agent man myself right after I bounced him off the water fountain in Mr. Wu’s bathroom.”
“Sounds like thirsty work. I hope you helped yourself to a drink from it afterwards. But if you’re so good at fetching, why didn’t you take his phone, too, and save your boss all this trouble?” I asked, still hoping to sow some dissension in the ranks.
Thaddeus glared at me. “I did.”
“But not the right one,” Mickey Wu scolded.
“He was holding a phone so I grabbed it,” Thaddeus protested. “I even checked it like you told me by calling the number he texted the picture of your daughter from, and the bloody thing rang. How was I supposed to know he had switched the SIM card into a new phone?”
Thaddeus’ discomfort brought me a fleeting moment of satisfaction. It also explained why the phone I found on the dead guy had no SIM card in it. The call log on it showed that he had first made a six-minute call to Mickey Wu, followed by a much shorter one to The Norwegian. After that, the dead guy had apparently transferred the SIM card to a different phone, perhaps because he suspected he was being double-crossed when Mickey told him The Norwegian was handling the payoff. Or maybe the dead guy was planning to hand over the phone with the pictures but had a great phone number he wanted to keep, one that spelled out “spy dude” or “cash cow,” and Thaddeus bashed the guy’s head in before he had a chance to hand over the right one.
“You did your best,” Mickey Wu assured Thaddeus in a soothing tone. “The trick with the SIM card was unanticipated.”
“Almost as clever as killing the guy in your boss’ house. Nice way to get him a murder rap,” I interjected. I was in no rush for them to patch things up and move on to other business. Such as dealing with me.
Thaddeus doubled down on his scowl, but Mickey Wu merely smiled. “Except I was out of town, wasn’t I? An upstanding businessman out for a cruise on my yacht while, unbeknownst to me, the sanctity of my home was being violated by a gang of depraved low-lifes. If the police had been summoned, we both know who they would’ve suspected.”
We did, indeed. I glanced at one of the depraved low-lifes who had been at my party to see if he was following along. Sure enough, The Norwegian hadn’t failed to grasp the risk to which Mickey Wu had exposed him. He was even looking grumpy about it.
“Great that you had a solid alibi. Particularly one that conveniently positioned you to disappear if things went wrong that night. Too bad you didn’t make similar arrangements for your employees.”
Thaddeus looked befuddled, as if he suspected I was referring to him but couldn’t figure out why. Mickey Wu caught my meaning instantly. His eyes widened slightly as he appraised The Norwegian’s simmering rage. “Unfortunately, that wouldn’t have been possible. Which is why I have gone to such efforts to clean things up. The body will never be found—”
“But if it is,” I cut him off, “the man was an employee of the Chinese government…”
“A covert agent,” he countered, butting in on my interruption. All Mickey Wu and I needed were matching wind
breakers and we could pass for an old married couple. “His identification documents were forged. Totally untraceable even if his remains were found. Which they won’t be.” Mickey Wu smiled at me. “No police, no body, and no witnesses—I’d say that adds up to no crime.”
Judging from his expression, The Norwegian seemed to agree. And if I was honest, he pretty much had me convinced as well.
Some people had a natural sense of timing and Mickey Wu was clearly one of them. Both his carefully timed entrance after the party, and now. He smiled at The Norwegian as he rose from his chair. “Why don’t you come along with me and we can discuss any lingering doubts you might have? Thaddeus will stay here to take care of Mr. Constable.”
Without so much as a good-bye, Mickey Wu disappeared out the door. The Norwegian gave me an apologetic shrug and followed him.
Chapter Thirty-two
“They’re not coming back, are they?”
Thaddeus merely grinned in response.
I swirled the last of the ice around in my glass. It really was a big one, just like I asked for. Heavy, too. Crystal, from the look of it. The thing probably cost as much as my aquarium. When I looked up, Thaddeus was screwing a silencer onto an automatic pistol.
It was depressing but also a bit ironic. Thaddeus was exactly the kind of knucklehead I brought The Norwegian in to deal with. “Are Richard and Dante even onboard?”
He shook his head. Still grinning.
I held up my glass. “Any chance of a last drink?”
Thaddeus raised the pistol. “Get up. We’re going outside.”
I looked down at the thick, beige, undoubtedly expensive carpet—not even Richard and Dante would have been able to get blood out of it. “Mickey Wu gave you a scolding about making a mess in the house, didn’t he? Sorry, but I’m not feeling too motivated to help you out.”
“Suit yourself.” He casually lowered the angle of the pistol until it was pointed at my Joe Boxers. “But I’ll make it hurt a lot more.”