Bad Traffic (19 page)

‘What is going on? What is going on?’

He paused in the hallway to put shoes on, and she rushed out alone.

Someone hurtled past, an elbow caught her in the
stomach
, and she was knocked against the wall. It was a small figure with a hoodie pulled up, and over it a bomber jacket. It was clutching a spray can. It sped around the corner. That bloody Jessica.

In the yard, Ding Ming stood contemplating the wet letters sprayed in blue paint along the wall by the back door, the word ‘Chin’.

He said, ‘I hear noise, come out, person paint on wall, I grab him, he run away. Run away very fast.’

Joy wondered what Jessica had intended to write. ‘Chinky bitch’, perhaps, or something similarly uninspired. She touched the paint and her fingertip came away blue.
Perhaps
it would be easier to clean up while it was still wet, but she couldn’t be bothered. Leave it till the morning.

Her father arrived and inspected the damage. He ignored Ding Ming completely, you’d think he hadn’t noticed the man at all, but on his way out he said, in English, ‘I want him go out first thing in the morning.’

Ding Ming said, ‘Thank you.’

‘I saw her and I know who it is, so we can go the police,’ said Joy. They were on their way upstairs.

‘No police,’ said her father.

‘We slap the bitch with an ASBO, she gets arrested if she comes near the place.’

‘If you want to let people stay in my yard, you ask me first.’

‘We could go and tell her parents. We should take a
picture
before we clean it up.’

‘I don’t understand young people today,’ said her father, and Joy wondered if he was talking about Jessica or her, and got no chance to ask for clarification as he went back into his room and shut the door.

‘That’s right,’ she said, to the door, in English. ‘Why don’t we ever have a proper talk? We talk for, like, minus a second a day. Oh well, whatever.’

Finally, she got to go to bed, but jumbled memories from the day were bright in her head – Mark’s smile, a
hand-drawn
map to a service station, broken fish, the word ‘Chin’ in blue paint, Jessica’s vicious eyes.

The notion took her to learn how to squat the way the mainlander did. She didn’t much feel like sleeping, so she got out of bed and gave it a go. She managed for about ten seconds, then the strain was too much and she collapsed on her bottom. It made her laugh. ‘How daft are you,’ she said out loud. ‘Look at yourself.’ Someone knocked on the front door.

She slipped bare feet into trainers and put a coat over her nightdress and buttoned it as she clumped downstairs. It was either that Jessica or that mainlander and they were both trouble. If it was that Jessica she would punch her in the gob, definitely. She wound herself up to do it as she unlocked the door. It was on a chain and she saw a radio on a dark uniform and a moustache on a serious face. The police. That one from earlier, and behind him his wingpig, the woman who looked round a lot.

‘May we come in?’

‘It’s a bit late.’

‘Yo

ur lights were on.’

‘Okay.’

She took off the chain and opened the door and said, ‘How can I help you, officer?’

‘We are investigating reports of a serious assault. Do you have a young Chinese man staying at this address?’

‘What do you mean, assault?’

‘An attempted rape has been reported.’

‘That’s ridiculous. It was that Jessica, wasn’t it? It wasn’t an assault. She was spraying graffiti and he chased her off. I don’t think he even touched her. She’s a vandal – go and arrest her.’

‘Nonetheless the allegation has to be investigated. It’s the second incident involving a Chinese gentleman tonight, and we need to talk to him urgently.’

Her father joined her at the bottom of the stairs, with his gravest face on.

‘Your co-operation is advisable. We can drag you in for questioning and get warrants if we believe it’s necessary.’

The girl cop said, ‘If an offence has been committed and you do not co-operate, you could be in a lot of trouble. Where is this man?’

‘I don’t want any trouble,’ said Joy’s father. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed at a point above her head. ‘He in the yard. He stay in the shed.’

The policeman said, ‘Take us there, please.’

Joy led them round to the alley. She guessed that even if Ding Ming was innocent, he’d be in bother. Probably he was an illegal immigrant, in which case they’d – what did they do? Did they put you in prison, or fine you, or deport you? She coughed and scraped her feet on the tarmac, with the
idea that the noise might alert Ding Ming. If he was quick he’d have time to run away.

‘This is stupid,’ said Joy, loudly. ‘You should be round at her house arresting her. She’s the one done wrong, she’s a vandal.’

‘He’s in there? In the shed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Stand back. Back. Does he speak English?’

‘Yes.’

The policeman knocked at the shed door.

‘This is the police. Come out of there, please, sir. Come out of there, sir. If you do not come out I will open the door. I’m opening the door.’

Ding Ming hurtled out, head down, arms flailing, and crashed into the policeman. They went down together. He got up and rushed towards the alley.

The policeman got him round the waist and the
policewoman
steamed in, and after a flurry of limbs they had him down in the dirt on his front, the policeman planting a knee in his back and wrenching his arm round and going, ‘Oi oi oi oi oi.’

Both cops were puffing and had lost their hats. Even as they were cuffing him he squirmed and fought, and it was horrible to observe, like watching the spasms of a dying animal.

‘He hasn’t done anything wrong,’ said Joy. ‘He’s just scared shitless.’

‘And why would that be?’ The policeman was flushed. He was in control of the situation, and the satisfaction of
victory
was in his voice.

‘We’re taking him down the station. We’ll need
statements
from you and your father, but we can get them in the morning.’

The girl cop was frisking Ding Ming. She said, ‘Found a gun.’

‘A firearm? He had a firearm? Is it loaded?’

‘I don’t know.’

Joy could see they were struggling to contain their
excitement
. A real live gun! It was well out of the ordinary. This arrest was getting better and better – now it was a story, what kudos they’d get down the cop shop.

‘Make sure the safety’s on. Take the bullets out.’

‘I’m not sure how.’

‘Just put it away. Carefully.’

She lowered it into her upturned hat.

‘Look at all this trouble,’ said Joy’s father, in English. ‘Look at it. Trouble and more trouble.’

Ding Ming glanced at Joy as he was led away and the
awkward
feeling rose in her that perhaps he thought she had betrayed him. She waved at him, trying to convey her
sympathy
, and bit her lip the way he did. She hoped it would be okay for him. She had no idea why he would need a gun, it seemed completely out of character, but she was certain that if he did there was good reason. She felt that she had glimpsed the edge of a secret, and would now never know its full shape.

‘It’s a shame,’ said her father, in Cantonese.

‘Yes.’

The cops took Ding Ming over the road to a squad car. They put him in the back and the man with the moustache got in with him and the woman climbed into the driver’s seat.

Joy took her father’s hand.

‘Who’s that?’ he said, pointing.

‘Huh?’

‘I thought I see somebody. There.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Yes. I made mistake.’

His hand was hot. She hadn’t held it like this since she was a kid. She supposed she should let go, but she didn’t. Her bottom lip was trembling.

‘Let’s go inside. I can’t watch.’

Jian opened the back door of the police car, slid in and put Ding Ming in a headlock. He pressed a shard of glass against Ding Ming’s neck, behind the windpipe.

The peasant sat still, wide eyes moving rapidly. The
policeman
on the back seat glared across the peasant’s exposed neck. He was annoyed, his moustache twitched. Jian moved his hand to show him the glass, show he knew what he was doing. A few pounds of pressure and the carotid artery would get severed. The policewoman in the driver’s seat turned off the engine.

The policeman sighed with irritation. The girl adjusted the rear-view mirror so she could check out the back seat drama, and Jian glimpsed his own reflection. He looked like a wild man, a savage come out of the woods. When he was in his twenties, he’d helped to chase down two robbers – brothers, one retarded, the other evil. His unit had tracked them to a cave, where they had shot one – the idiot it turned out – who died complaining he was hungry. Now he looked like those brothers, and it wasn’t just the dirt. It was something sullen and furtive in the eyes. He said, ‘
Jiao zheige nan de
… Tell the man to take out a set of handcuffs.’

With his head up and back, eyes bulging, Ding Ming croaked, ‘I don’t know what handcuffs is in English.’ He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down beneath the fragile skin.

Jian worked to keep his breathing shallow and level, it helped in keeping the pressure of the glass blade steady. It cut into his palm. The pain was welcome, it kept him alert.

‘You can manage it. Say, ‘those things you tie people up with’ or something.’

The command was communicated in a croaking rasp, Ding Ming’s English now sounding more like frogs than birds.

The policeman took cuffs out of a belt pouch, slowly.

‘Tell him to put one around his right wrist.’

The policeman slipped it on.

‘And secure it. Properly. Now tell the girl to put the other cuff round her left wrist.’

The policeman leaned forward and put his arm out, and she reached back and did as she was told. Neither looked too happy about it. No doubt they were thinking, the idiot doesn’t realise we can get these off in a few seconds. But that was fine for Jian, let them think him a fool.

Now they were cuffed together, the policeman leaning
forward
, the policewoman leaning back, hands joined over the handbrake, an awkward position for both.

‘Tell them to take off their radios and drop them on the floor.’ Ding Ming croaked, and the two police unclipped the radios from high on their torsos and dropped them.

‘Tell them to kick them under the seats. Tell the girl that if I see her touching the radio on the dashboard, I’ll kill you.’ Ding Ming babbled some more, his voice a little higher.

‘Now tell them to take off their belts and drop them on the floor and kick them under the seat as well. Him first. Good. Now tell the man to put his left hand on the back of his head. Good.’

The peasant licked dry lips. A bead of sweat ran down his neck, touched Jian’s thumb and dissipated.

Jian had been lucky when the car went into the lake. He’d taken some knocks but nothing debilitating.

Water gushed in through the broken side window. He grabbed the door handle and tensed against the force of the rushing tide and waited. Feeling the van revolve, he hoped he didn’t end up trying to open a door jammed against the bottom.

When the interior was almost full of murky water he took a deep breath, ducked, pulled the handle and, with one foot braced against the steering wheel, forced the door open. He wriggled out and kicked for the surface.

When he came up he took a quick breath and went straight back under – he didn’t know if his enemies were watching. He struck out for the far side of the lake and swam for ten minutes before reaching shallow water.

He knew that he needed to get dry and warm before
considering
anything else. Having broken into a fishing cabin, he crouched in front of a fan heater for half an hour. It was a glorious experience – the comfort so unexpected, the hum and the heat lulling him into drowsiness. He still had the black address book but the ink on the vital page was so smeared it was illegible, and his life started to look without purpose. Then, realising where the peasant was bound to have gone, he cursed himself for wasting so much time.

Ding Ming said, ‘
Ni bu mingbai
… You don’t understand: snakeheads had my mother, I had no choice—’

‘You don’t talk to me, only to them.’

He didn’t want the peasant too frightened, so he added, ‘I don’t want to kill you. Do what I tell you and it’ll be fine.’

He was keeping his expression and his tone neutral. If he showed fear, uncertainty or craziness, it would encourage the cops to act. He was wondering how he’d react if he was on the job in this situation. He’d do what the idiot with the weapon said. Citizen getting knifed in the back of a squad car would look very bad – black marks on your record and a big dry-cleaning bill. He’d co-operate, and let a stand-off drag on. Sooner or later, back-up would arrive. Then you’d be looking at a siege and cops always win a siege.

He was concentrating hard. The pressure on blade had to be kept constant, the police and the peasant and the road had to be watched, he had to anticipate and calculate. He’d been involved in these sort of situations a couple of times, on the other end, and things had never finished happily for the hostage taker. But they’d always been cornered men in the grip of strong emotion. He reckoned if he played it well his chances were good, but it was no sure thing.

He began talking in a low, level tone. ‘If you stay with them, they’ll deport you, at best. Stay with me and you’ve got a chance. You help me, like we agreed, then I’ll take you back to your boss and that’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s the only chance you’ve got. Tell her to open her door.’

This was going to be the difficult bit. ‘Now tell them to leave the keys in the ignition and get out of the car.’

Ding Ming relayed the instruction but nobody moved. Jian had expected that – he’d have done the same thing. Get the guy irate and talking, see how far you could push it. See how it played and maybe, after a few hours of threats and coaxing, rush him. Unless back-up turned up first.

The guy began to turn in the seat, saying something in a reasonable tone.

Jian took hold of Ding Ming’s left little finger and said, ‘Either I pretend to break this finger, and you scream
really
loud, or I really break it, and you scream really loud. Which is it to be?’

‘Pretend, pretend. I’ll scream.’

‘Scream and thrash about. But don’t move your head, I don’t want any accidents.’

Jian bent the little finger back, and made sure the woman could see it in the rear view.

‘Tell them that if they don’t get out of the car now I’m going to break the finger.’

The command was relayed, but still nothing happened.

The peasant’s hand was warm and damp with sweat. It was clean and unblemished, the skin soft and supple. His own aged hand was grimy, with dirt ingrained in knuckles as gnarled as wood knots.

‘Ready? Really scream. One two three…’

Jian pushed the peasant’s hand down so they couldn’t see what he was doing any more, then pinched the back of it hard.

Ding Ming screamed and thrashed about, then sobbed and breathed in ragged gasps. Jian worried he was rather overdoing it. But it worked. The policewoman got out and pulled at the handcuffed hand of the man and he
scrambled
over the seat division into the front and half fell out of the car.

‘Tell them to walk forward twenty paces. Now tell them to lie down on their faces.’

Jian clambered quickly into the front seat, put the car into first gear and stamped on the accelerator. He got the car into the road, kept his foot down, and changed up. He checked the rear view. The uniformed figures were getting to their feet, but diminishing fast.

He reached across, dropped the blade onto the road and pulled the door closed. His palm throbbed where it had pressed against the glass, and he wiped blood off onto his trousers and shook it to take the sting out. Still, he supposed he could have come out of that worse.