Brother Fish (120 page)

‘Yes, I am alone. I came by taxi and I have the box,' she replied, anticipating his next question.

He continued to scowl and, with a gesture that she should follow him, turned and led the way through a labyrinth of dirty shopfronts and putrid-looking dwellings. On they continued through the maze of passages, most no wider than outstretched arms that seemed to be roughly leading into the chaos of the evil-smelling city centre. Her canvas shoes were wet from stepping over open sewers and she was constantly confronted by illegal electrical appendages bunched and strung at head height, many crackling with a warning of danger. Every drain they passed was infested with audacious rats and cowering, scrofulous dogs. Mangy cats jumped from her path.

The centre of the walled city took no more than ten minutes to reach. It consisted of little more than a depressing, greasy, cobbled square lined with a variety of eateries. Dog meat was a feature of every menu, and rows of skinned canine corpses hung from the open shop windows, dripping blood. Her senses had grown immune to the smells and chaos pressing around her, and she simply focused on the dirty rolled singlet below narrow, bony shoulders moving ahead of her. They passed crowded tables, drawing little attention. She was thankful that she had thought to dress as a working woman.

Finally they crossed the square and entered a lane only wide enough to walk single file. It was a place that had never known sunlight and was the first lane they'd entered where there were no people – only overstuffed cardboard boxes filled and spilling over with garbage, and crawling with rats. Deep within the darkened alley the messenger turned, and she saw he was holding a dirty cloth stretched between his sinewy hands. A silent scream rose in her throat as his hands reached for her neck. He was almost close enough for her to bring her knee up into his crotch. Then a sudden roar overwhelmed everything, shaking the walls of the alley, and so loud she was forced to look up at the narrow strip of sky. She saw the silver underbelly of a passenger jet so low she could make out the lines of rivets along it. The messenger was suddenly right up against her and she could smell his foul fish-oil breath. The absurdity of the jet coming in to land had claimed the split second that would have changed everything. Instead of her throat, the filthy cloth wound clumsily over her eyes and she felt the messenger's hand twist her around so that he could knot the cloth at the back of her head.

He was behind her now, urging her forward with sharp prods from his forefinger, clucking his tongue, anxious, she felt, to be rid of her. His hand on her shoulder stopped her. ‘Down,' he grunted, warning her of steps to come. His bony fingers pinched her elbow as he guided her downwards, then it was flat going again and they seemed to pass through several doors, each opening and closing behind them until only the soft tread of her canvas shoes could be heard. They passed through yet another door and she noticed the heavy, cloying smell of opium smoke. Then, without warning, her escort pushed roughly past her to open a final door. Speaking in gutter Cantonese, the language of the underling and the thug, she heard him say, ‘No driver, only taxi. She has the box. Nobody follow.' She was pushed forward, and the door closed behind her.

Several seconds passed, and then a voice with an American accent said quietly, ‘You may remove the blindfold – there is nothing to fear.'

The Countess silently cursed her shaking hands as she snatched at the rag around her head, but it had been tightly knotted and in her panic to remove it her fingers became frantic, plucking at the knots ineffectively.

‘Allow me,' the American voice said. She caught a waft of expensive cologne as he untied the dirty rag, and she was suddenly blinking into the shadowy candlelight. A young man moved to stand in front of her and she saw that he wore a white robe. She guessed it concealed a lounge suit as she could see the bulge of a necktie under the collar of the robe, and from its hem protruded perfectly creased trousers and highly polished and expensive shoes.

The young Chinese man with the perfect American accent stepped back to join two other men, one of them seated so she could only see his legs, the remainder of his torso lost in the gloom, while she could barely make out the outline of the standing figure. If asked on some future occasion to describe either man she would have found it quite impossible, whereas the younger man made no attempt to hide his face. He bent down to say something to the seated man, and then stepped forward from the shadows. He had a pleasant-looking face that seemed to her to be without guile. His short hair was brushed back from his brow without the use of pomade, and he wore thinly rimmed spectacles that gave him the overall appearance of a mid-echelon office worker destined perhaps for higher things.

‘I must apologise, Miss Lenoir-Jourdan. This is not a pleasant place to come, or to do business, but in this instance it is necessary.'

‘I understand, and am grateful for this opportunity to meet you,' she replied quietly. The softly spoken and calm-looking man, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, gave her confidence.

‘Let me introduce myself. I am Sun Lu-ching, Lord Ching's eldest son. Or if you prefer my western name, it is Edward – Eddie Ching. I returned from the States yesterday to conduct this business. It is my father's express wish that the dragon box be accepted by me. He is no longer young but he is present to witness its return.' He turned towards the standing figure in the shadows, and added, ‘With him is his white paper fan. In normal parlance you could say he is our lodge secretary, and it is important that he is also in attendance.'

The Countess realised that Eddie Ching must have been born after her escape, and she wondered if Big Boss Yu considered that the kidnapping of her daughter was the reason for his having a son in his fifties. ‘I am greatly honoured that
loh yeh
Yu Ya-ching is present. May the contents of the dragon box bring him many grandsons to sit on his venerable knee.' The shadowy seated figure gave the slightest of bows from the waist, but did not speak.

The overwhelming stink of the oppressive cellar made it difficult to breathe. Two branches of half-burned-down candles, the stands holding them buried in spent wax, threw a flickering light over a small altar upon which stood an image of Kuan Kung, the heavily armoured God of War. A thick bunch of joss sticks burned cherry red at his winged feet. Curls of incense smoke rose undisturbed, somewhat obscuring rows of decorated pennants beyond which she could just make out what appeared to be racks of some sort of bladed weapon. To the side of the altar stood a fish-head drum of the kind used in the dragon dance at every Chinese festival.

‘Your message was received and as carefully read as it was composed. We congratulate you on your understanding of our ways, and thank you for your considered choice of expression.' Eddie Ching paused. ‘We see no reason why, if you bring us a business proposition of significant importance, we would not be interested, providing always that what you want in return does not compromise us. My father has told me of your business acumen. Perhaps you will now tell us what you require from us and then, if we are able to meet your request, what you propose to bring us in return. But first, have you brought the item?'

Nicole slipped the bag from her shoulder, undid the toggle and withdrew the silk-wrapped box. She moved to give it to Eddie Ching but he stepped to the side and pointed to the altar. ‘Please, be so kind as to unwrap the box, open it, and place it on the altar.' She suddenly realised that they may have thought the box contained some form of danger and she may be seeking revenge, prepared to sacrifice her own life.

She did as she was told, and Eddie Ching moved to the altar, examined the opened box briefly, then picked it up and carried it into the shadow towards the seated Big Boss Yu, who she suddenly realised was in a wheelchair. She heard a soft cackle as he inspected the plait and, for a fleeting second, glimpsed his black-ringed eyes and white-bearded face, creased in a smile. She had re-lined the box with silk and taken the plait to a hairdresser who had prepared it so that it looked like spun gold on its bed of rich crimson. Eddie Ching returned the dragon box to the altar and closed its lid. ‘The Lord Ching is pleased with the return of the box,' he said, then added in a businesslike tone, ‘Now, what is your request?'

‘It is a simple one, Sun Lu-ching. I wish to know if my daughter is alive and, if so, how I may contact her.'

Eddie Ching smiled. ‘We have correctly anticipated your request. But what have you to offer us?'

Nicole was feeling a little more confident – Eddie Ching was a smooth combination of velvet glove and iron fist, something she understood. ‘I have to respectfully add that if my request cannot be met we will not enter into a future business arrangement.' She paused, then added softly, ‘It is a matter of principle.'

‘I understand,' Eddie Ching replied. ‘On the other hand, we will not gratify your wishes unless we are impressed with your business proposition. It is less a matter of principle than it is of stubborn pride.'

The Countess realised that he knew about the kidnapping. ‘I am in the fishing and wholesale seafood business and am in a position to supply abalone and crayfish to you to give you control of this lucrative market in all of Asia, the exception being Japan.'

‘You can guarantee this?' Eddie Ching asked.

‘We have sufficient licences and long-term leasing arrangements, as well as the boats and infrastructure, to make you the major Asian supplier for the next twenty years.'

‘Consider this business closed and, for the moment, completed in good faith. You do of course understand that if we meet our end of the bargain and you do not substantiate your end, the consequences will be onerous?'

‘I have tasted the dish of your clan's wrath and it has poisoned my life,' she replied simply.

Eddie Ching made no attempt to reply, but instead said, ‘Please bow three times to our God, Kuan Kung.'

‘With permission, may I ask one more question?'

‘Of course.'

‘What is my daughter's name?'

‘Lily – Lily No Gin, the same as yours. My father wished to perpetuate exactly his good joss.'

‘Thank you, Mr Ching.'

‘The way back is fortunately easier than the way you arrived. I must congratulate you on your intelligence and the initiative you have shown to dress in the manner you have.'

Even in such dire circumstances she was still the old Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, and Eddie Ching was not going to be allowed to get away with such a comment. ‘Do not patronise me, Mr Ching,' she said sharply in English. ‘We are potential business partners, each with something to gain.

I expect to receive normal business courtesy from your organisation.'

Eddie Ching drew back in surprise, and she heard a cackle of laughter from the shadows. ‘I did not intend to offend you, madam,' he apologised, then suddenly smiled. ‘I am suitably chastened, and look forward to our business relationship.' Eddie Ching, she decided, had a cool head. He had recognised the courage it took to be assertive under her compromised circumstances. He produced a spotless handkerchief. ‘I'm afraid I must blindfold you once again,' he said, apologising. ‘I will contact you at your hotel to discuss future business arrangements after I hear that you are satisfied we have kept our side of the bargain.'

He thanked her for coming, and she turned, blindfolded, and bowed in the direction of the wheelchair in the shadows. ‘Thank you, Lord Ching,' she said, and was surprised to hear a grunted ‘
Ho!
' in reply.

Less than ten minutes later Nicole found herself in the back seat of a taxi, threading its way through the traffic along Prince Edward Road towards Kowloon City and the Star Ferry. The driver, who glanced uncertainly into his rear-vision mirror, must have wondered why the strange
gwai mui
dressed as a
gung yun
, a working person, suddenly burst into tears.

Our reunion at the hotel was highly emotional. The three of us had gone down to the lobby directly after lunch and positioned ourselves on a set of chairs directly facing the entrance. It was a few minutes to three o'clock when Nicole finally came through the doors, and we all leapt up simultaneously, shouting out our greeting, oblivious to the fact that we were drawing attention to ourselves.

‘Oh, thank God you're back!' Wendy cried, running up and hugging Nicole tearfully, then suddenly drawing back and saying in a surprised voice, ‘What on earth are you wearing?'

We all went up to Nicole's suite and waited while she showered and changed. We ordered afternoon tea and, when room service arrived, sat back and got a blow-by-blow account of the day's events. Despite the harrowing experience she'd so recently been through she was ebullient, certain that Eddie Ching would soon arrange for her to meet her daughter.

‘What's her name?' I asked.

‘Lily No Gin, of course. How incredibly silly of me not to have thought this through – Big Boss Yu was, after all, trying to replicate the good joss he believed I originally brought him.'

‘What if she's in the telephone book?' I asked, grinning. Nicole looked at me, astonished, and we all laughed – but it was one of those laughs you'd rather not have. She might have been under our noses all the time. Wendy ran to get the telephone directory and I think we were all relieved to discover that among several variations of Gin, none had either a ‘No' preceding it or an ‘L' as the first and only initial.