Zak and Kim, arm in arm, with Yuan in tow, make their way from the Pier. Nearby is a covered metal stair rising twenty feet to an elaborate pedestrian overpass spanning Gloucester Road. A Ferry has just disembarked passengers who join a growing crowd of morning commuters. Exhausted Zak and Kim do their best climbing the many stairs amid the hurried crowd, but it’s not fast enough for busy office workers intent on beating each other to their desks. Buffeted by the crowd, they reach the upper landing where they can stand to the side.
Here they are on a pedestrian overpass that is brightly lit by the early morning sun. Sun casts the shadow of a protectively high railing into high relief across whitewashed concrete floor. Central support columns for the overpass roof are artfully, colorfully covered with abstract designs. On the other side of Gloucester Road, large pedestrian ways continue, both down to the sidewalk and, continuing at elevation, across the adjoining street. Zak, Kim and Yuan go straight ahead, crossing Gloucester, looking down at the jammed morning traffic filled with trucks and buses. The elevation they are on continues as they walk further among the hi-rise office buildings. All the buildings in this area are connected above street level by expansive walkways that give way to various restaurants and shops. It is a kind of second street level.
Kim looks up to see a picture postcard sky filled with bleached white puffs of cloud in a sky of deep blue. The sky is reflected back to her in the glass of the building towers surrounding them. El fresco dining spots abound, separated from one another by rows of potted landscaping. Strings of lights decorate shrubbery for romantic nights. Small cabanas are positioned as oasis in the middle of seas of tables, serving beverages.
Yuan leads them down to the street level where they find a busy coffee shop. The shop is located in a glassed in corner shop, an ultra-chic interior easily visible from the street. Once inside, Kim drops into an overstuffed chair as Zak and Yuan head to the counter. The chair she has chosen is about the only open seat in the place and she is immediately accosted.
“Excuse me!” says a well-tailored young Chinese woman wearing expensive make-up, a lit tablet in her hand, a stack of paper on the coffee table in front of her, “That seat is reserved! I have a meeting coming.”
Her tone is imperious. How dare you not ask me for permission to be seated in what must very obviously be a reserved seat? The woman’s English is, surprisingly, Midwestern. She speaks too loudly, drawing the attention of those seated nearby. They turn to witness the confrontation.
Kim thinks, “Who takes a meeting in a coffee shop? Particularly one this crowded?”
The warm, comfy chair enveloping her is starting to feel awfully good after her ordeal in the water, and she moves to sink even deeper into it. Maybe I’ll spend the day here, she thinks. Better yet, how about a nice long nap?
The Chinese American woman notices Kim getting more comfortable and glares at her all the more maliciously for it.
“Really?” remarks Kim pointedly, meeting the woman’s glare.
“Yes. Really.” The woman’s response is rapid fire and staccato.
“Bite me.”
Kim says this sweetly, not really trying to be confrontational.
Just then Zak shows up at Kim’s side with a large coffee. He can’t miss the glaring woman.
“Hello,” he says, acknowledging her.
The scorned girl gives Zak a look that says, “Hey buddy, your girlfriend is bat-shit crazy,” and drops her face to her tablet, obviously now determined to ignore them both.
Zak takes a seat on the wide armrest of Kim’s chair. She pulls on his shirt, bringing him closer so the girl can’t hear.
“I’m feeling better already,” she smiles.
The weary couple sips their coffees. Zak and Kim silently people watch and savor the break. The woman’s meeting companion, a short chubby fellow, arrives. She gets up and they go to another part of the shop.
Yuan shows up with his own coffee.
“I’ve made arrangements. We’re all set from here. Maybe we should get underway? What do you think?”
Kim is having none of it.
“Guys! You’ve got a lady here and you think I don’t need to hit the little girl’s room? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Kim tries, and fails, to lift herself out of the deep pile of the chair. Zak lends her a hand. She grabs his whole arm and in the process somewhere ends up on her feet, wobbling there uncertainly for an instant.
“Whoa. Who put the world there?”
Zak quickly reaches out and grabs her shoulder to stabilize her, but she really doesn’t need the help. As Kim walks away, she gets steadier with each step.
Zak gives Yuan a meaningful look.
“Let’s not do that again, shall we?”
“What’s that?”
“KO a Triad gangster in Hong Kong Harbor.”
Yuan smiles.
“I’ll make a note.”
“And don’t forget to attach it to my bill,” Zak says wryly.
Yuan pretends to be taken aback.
“What bill is that?”
“The one I’m sure you’re writing in your head. I’m sorry that you were dragged into this mess.”
Yuan nods, sipping from his coffee.
“It is what it is,” he says.
The two men lapse into silence. In the time that it takes to down half of their drinks, Kim finally returns. Having put away so much coffee, this now necessitates Zak and Yuan’s turn at the restrooms. They eventually rejoin at the front door of the shop and take to the sunny sidewalk.
The energy of the city washes over all three as Yuan leads, taking them on a meandering route through the rushing morning crowds. The Wan Chai Precinct is vibrant and teaming. They end up standing on a long traffic island in the middle of Lockhart Road as the huge Tramway double deckers, as big as railroad diesel engines, woosh by at insane speeds mere feet away from the crowds of Chinese on the platforms, barely a guard railing in sight. The trams are weathered yellow, blue and red. The street furniture is a kudzu of beaten traffic signs, scratched newspaper stand machines, and city key boxes, street light and traffic poles packed together at street corners. Inches from the curb yellow double decker transit buses lumber along, continually stopping with squealing brakes and starting up with loud roars of their engines as they exude hot, noxious vapors out their backs.
Above the street, old apartment buildings rise to the sky. The oldest have small windows that open to the noise of the street and miniscule but colorful balconies that run skyward. Endless ladders of these balconies ascend in monotonously repetitious patterns. The contain innumerable rented rooms no bigger than a closet, having nowhere to sleep but on the floor.
Yuan moves with agility and ease winding his way through the crowds, challenging Zak and Kim to keep up. Their packs, now on their backs, become a necessary buffer to all the jostling throngs. They have moved their valuables to the front pockets of their pants and carefully keep an eye on those around them, especially when poised on the curbs, next to the traffic.
At points they pass colorful open market stands, some with the fresh catch and strong smell of fishmongers, or others with butchers and glistening roasted chickens hanging from strings in a row, sometimes behind glass, sometimes not. Everywhere, there are varieties of fruits and vegetables being displayed for sale by different vendors.
Kim stops to grab and pay for a banana. As she does, Yuan keeps going and almost disappears out ahead. Zak has to call out to him to wait up.
They keep on through a market street of tiny open store fronts filled with every assortment of lumber, plumbing fixture, and appliance known to the world bulging forth from small shops. Too much to be contained in the confines of each store, the shops’ merchandise cannot be stopped from spilling onto the sidewalks in front of them, forcing shoppers to go around in the street. Even then, Zak and Kim are frequently blocked by pedestrians standing in their way, deep in serious contemplation of possibl
e purchases, staring at this kitchen cabinet or that panel of chrome drawer pulls.
Yuan finally leads them to a quieter part of the waterfront, a less commercial area away from the center of trade, to a nondescript high rise. Taking the cramped elevator, they rise to the 34th floor and get out. A series of empty hallways branch out in various directions to residential apartments. Each numbered doorway has a pink florescent light installed over the door, some lit, some not. Yuan explains that the building is owned by a triad and that these are girl’s apartments, but that the person they seek also lives here. They turn a corner and he presses the doorbell of Number 3440.
At first there is no response. Then they hear footfalls coming to the door followed once again by silence. Yuan knows that they are being closely studied by the apartment’s occupant. He steps closer to the door’s peephole, offering himself up for inspection. They hear a lock turn and the door is opened by an attractive young woman with big hair.
“May I help you?”
Kim’s impression is of a bouffant of jet black hair supported in the middle by a pretty, delicate face. The woman wears a sheer, pink dressing gown with a bodice cut low.
Kim notices Zak’s look and she gives him an elbow.
Yuan and the girl speak to each other in Chinese, apparently clearing something up, after which the young woman turns to them with a welcoming smile.
“Please come in,” she says.
They both turn to Yuan, who nods, and they enter what turns out to be a tiny apartment. Clearly, on the small island of Hong Kong, living space comes at a premium.
“Pardon me,” she says, “My name is Sally.”
Kim and Zak start at the English name. It is unexpected.
Yuan is solicitous.
“Sally will take your identity papers and create for you new ones that you will need to leave the country.”
Sally ushers them forward to a corner of the room where she has an office fit for major forgery.
“Unfortunately,” says Yuan, “we cannot really do anything with your passports. However, we have a way of dealing with that as well.”
“Please,” says the beautiful girl, sweeping her arm toward the armchairs of the living area, “sit.”
Chapter 22
On Fire Page 21