Casanova (23 page)

‘I know, I can see them,’ she said.

‘Which side is his?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know until I see the numbers,’ she said.

‘Wait! We do it my way, remember.’

She stopped and turned back. An expectant frown spoilt her smooth face.

‘Stay here, out of sight and wait. I’ll go round the corner and find a way in at the top. Then we’ll approach the doors together. You take the side with the cars and I’ll take the side with the posts. Be careful. Watch the cars and the windows. Expect to be shot at, that way if anybody does shoot at you you’ll be ready.’

My advice didn’t impress her. ‘I’m always ready,’ she said.

I headed off.

‘Can I shoot back,’ she asked.

‘Yes. Just don’t shoot me,’ I said without turning back. I heard mumble something but I didn’t catch the words.

I hurried to the top of the next street and cut across. Mosaic stone flagons appeared beneath my feet. I focused ahead. The tight residential grid was easy to navigate. I arrived at the turning and slowed my pace. On the corner, I stopped and scouted the street. The row of cars pointed downwards and the sleeping bats remained unmoved. I searched for Xing. The street was still empty. Then I saw her head pop out from the recessed doorway on the right-hand side and look up the street towards me. She was already there. I held the Glock against my side and moved down along the wall. The parked cars gave me cover. Opposite the doorway, Xing motioned for me to join her. I saw she held her Glock tight against her hip. I checked the street, in both directions, and listened. It was tranquil like a chapel after evensong. A couple of fast strides and I was across.

‘You should have waited,’ I said.

Xing shrugged, and then by way of reconciliation said, ‘you can take point from here.’

A car door slammed. The sound echoed loudly between the buildings. We reacted simultaneously. We dropped, turned, searched and raised our weapons in one single rapid action. It was a middle-aged woman. The taxi had dropped her off at the top of the street. We straightened, and then watched her. She went into the apartment building opposite.

‘How do we get in?’ Xing asked. ‘You probably don’t want to ring the bell.’

She was right, I didn’t. ‘Take your jacket off,’ I said.

She threw her shoulders back and wiggled provocatively. Her breasts pushed against her top. She turned around. ‘Pull it off me,’ she said.

I pulled it off one arm at a time. Her Glock got in the way and she had to swop hands.

I wrapped the jacket around my arm at the elbow. The glass broke at the first strike. I cleared the jagged edges, reached in and opened the door.

Xing took her jacket back. ‘Subtle,’ she said.

We went in. A high, ornate entrance lobby led to a long corridor. The pale green apartment doors where numbered with gold numerals.

‘Vong is number eight,’ Xing said.

Gold door handles matched the gold door numbers. We stopped outside number eight and listened. There was silence. Xing looked at me mischievously and then tried the handle. It was unlocked. The door opened inwards. She raised her weapon and went straight in. I followed. She was already across the hall and looking through the open doorway. Her body was tense and her head turned rapidly. She signalled to me. I signalled back for her to wait. She nodded. I went into the first bedroom. It was empty. The bathroom and the second bedroom were both empty too, and so was the kitchen. I joined her at the doorway and looked in. It was the living room. In the centre was a man roped to a chair. It was Vong. He was naked to the waist. Fresh blood ran from his face and body. It had formed a pool on the wooden floor around the chair legs like spilt cream. We entered together, guns raised but whoever they were had gone.

Xing went to Vong. He was dead. They had cut a triangle, deep into his torso. Most of the blood had flowed from there. His face had bled from the beating. Death had finally come from garrotting. The cord still hung loosely around his neck.

I went to the window and looked out. The street was quiet. I didn’t see anything to concern me. Whoever had killed Vong had left before we arrived.

Xing was still standing beside the toothless old man. She bent down and spoke softly to him in Cantonese. She straightened up and turned to look at me.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.

She seemed reluctant but nodded her agreement.

We left quickly and carefully. Nobody saw us as far as I could tell. Back on the street, the late afternoon sunshine coloured the air with a blood red hue. We checked our exit and then hurried to the end of the street. It was all clear. The Glocks went back inside our jackets.

‘Let’s find a bus,’ I said. ‘Use your K106.’

She found the directions and we walked to the bus stop and waited.

‘Why did they cut a triangle into him?’ I asked.

‘The triangle is a triad symbol. The three sides represent the union between heaven, earth and man,’ she said.

‘Was there any other symbolism?’

‘Garrotting is sometimes used to kill an informer. It’s hard to talk when someone is garrotting you.’

‘Have you ever used symbolism like that?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Sometimes a job comes with a particular request, usually something specific—something that leaves a message.’

The bus arrived.

‘This one’s ours,’ she said.

‘What did you say to him?’ I asked.

Her face was cold and her eyes certain.

‘I told him I would kill Missouri,’ she said. ‘They killed him because he helped me.’

‘Well, he won’t be helping anymore,’ I said, ‘and we’ve lost our only possible ID of the boy.’

We stepped onto the bus and found a seat.

‘Yes,’ she said.

The bus pulled away.

‘We’ll discuss it back at the hotel.’ I said.

Xing nodded and then her eyes turned distant. I wondered what it was she was thinking.

21

SUNDAY, 18:00—24:00

The bus dropped us off beside the harbour. After what had just happened, I was feeling extra cautious, so we went the long way round. I insisted we walk separately, and that I take point.

‘Yes, you go first, if you want to,’ Xing said.

I climbed the slope with a muddle of questions playing tag inside my head. I kept coming back to one question. How did Missouri find out Vong was helping Xing? I didn’t have the answer.

The hotel was lit up and busy. I took my time. Xing caught me up. ‘Are we going in?’ she asked.

I insisted we follow our set routine. She agreed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be careful. It was just she didn’t like being told. ‘It’s better to be safe than sorry,’ I reminded her. She didn’t smile. She turned and walked away.

Once we were safely inside our suite, I relaxed. The risk for Xing, given that Missouri wanted her dead, had risen considerably and yet she appeared unaffected. I decided to start with that.

‘What did Vong know?’ I asked.

Xing opened two bottles of Coca-Cola and handed me one. It was ice cold. ‘Did he know how to find us?’ I asked.

‘No, I never told him, and as far as I know only you and I know, nobody else.’

I nodded. ‘Who else knew Vong was talking to you?’

‘...apart from you,’ she said.

‘Yes, apart from me.’

‘The only person was my contact in HK. Vong used him to find me. It was the same way Missouri found me for the job.’

‘Then it must have been him,’ I said. ‘Tell me about him.’

‘He’s a donkey, I told you, a Blue Lantern. You know this. I met him in the park by the water. You remember. That was the man. He wore a bright jacket and a baseball cap. They call him Erico.’

I nodded. Erico sounded like an odd name for a man connected with triads. Perhaps Erico the donkey had changed his employment status.

‘How do you know him?’ I asked.

‘Many people know him. It’s what he does. It’s how he makes money. He runs errands, he carries messages and he keeps quiet about it.’

‘Not this time,’ I said.

Xing didn’t reply.

‘We should ask him,’ I said. ‘Can you call Erico?’

Xing used her own phone. ‘He does not answer,’ she said. ‘Is talking to him really important?’

‘Maybe not,’ I said. I wondered if there was a chair somewhere with tight ropes and a triangle cut into his chest. Anyway, Xing was probably right, it didn’t matter who had told Missouri. Vong was still dead, and we had lost our contact.

‘Why weren’t they waiting for us?’ Xing asked. She was right. I too thought it was strange. ‘If they were there when I spoke to him they should have been waiting for us.’

‘How well does Erico know Missouri?’ I asked.

‘Well enough to bring me his message for the job.’

‘Could he identify the boy?’ I asked.

‘Yes, it is possible,’ she said.

‘Try calling him again,’ I said.

This time he answered. They spoke in Cantonese. I could tell from Xing’s voice that she was asking questions. I couldn’t tell what she thought about the answers. The conversation lasted several minutes. I drank my Coke and waited.

Xing ended the call and looked at me. She sipped from her Coke bottle. She was thinking. ‘He says he did not tell anyone about Vong,’ she said.

‘Do you believe him?’ I asked.

‘He sounded very upset when I told him Vong was dead,’ she said.

‘Can he identify the boy?’

‘He says yes. He says he saw him with Missouri one time, a few months ago,’ she said. ‘He wants money.’

‘When can we meet him?’

‘It’s arranged. We can go now.’

‘How did he sound?’ I asked.

‘He sounded scared. He didn’t want to meet. I had to offer more money, but still he was scared.’

‘How did you persuade him?’

‘It seems he’s more scared of me than Missouri,’ she said.

That didn’t surprise me.

Erico the donkey wanted to meet on Taipa at the shrine of the Four-faced Buddha. Xing told me that the authorities had purchased the gold statue from Thailand in the 1980s.

I found out the mostly Chinese local people, knew Taipa by the name Tamzai. This I discovered when Xing used it to give our destination to the taxi driver outside our hotel.

Leaving the hotel, we had followed our usual security routine. Xing ordered the taxi at the desk, and not through the doorman outside. She wanted to limit the chances of anyone seeing us should anyone be watching the hotel entrance. As we got into the taxi, I scanned the area. I checked the pedestrians and the cars. It seemed all clear, but I couldn’t be certain.

‘Does it have four faces?’ I asked.

‘Yes, of course. They represent the four elements: earth, water, fire and air.’

‘Are you a Buddhist?’ I asked.

‘No. I have no religion you know that. I believe in nothing. All beliefs like religion are childish, foolish even.’

‘How do you know about Buddhism?’ I asked.

She didn’t answer that question. Instead, she told me something.

‘The four-faced Buddha is used as a prayer stopover by passing gamblers on their way to the nearby Jockey Club.’

Then she smiled with that lace of contempt in her eyes I’d seen before.

Once again, we crossed the bridge. The taxi took us out over Nam Van Lake and across to Taipa or Tamzai depending on your ancestry. We had travelled the same route earlier, on the bus. Once on the middle island, the taxi steered a course for the Village just as the bus had done.

‘I want to do this the same way as we did at the first meeting with Erico,’ I said.

‘No,’ she said, ‘this time is more dangerous, there is much more chance of us being ambushed.’

She was right. ‘Okay, how do you want to do it?’

‘You remember Erico, don’t you—you remember what he looks like. I want us to approach separately and carefully. When we see him we watch, we watch and we wait. If it is safe, you will go to him and I will cover you. Tell him you are with me, tell him my name, he knows me as Mosquito. Then move him away from the shrine. There is a supermarket across the road; take him there. Once it is safe, I will join you. Then you will cover me while I talk to Erico and show him the pictures.’

‘Yes okay,’ I said. It seemed like a good plan.

The taxi left the village and headed down a street lined with restaurants.

‘And if it is an ambush?’ I asked.

‘Then we pull-out and return to the hotel separately.’

We crossed a large roundabout. Xing lent forward and spoke to the taxi driver in Cantonese. He drove beyond the shrine turned off and pulled over.

‘It is busy,’ Xing said. ‘You remember what he looks like?’

‘See you later,’ I said.

I got out and walked away. The early evening sky was settling like a freshly pulled pint.

The area around the shrine buzzed with tourists, sightseers and Buddhist worshippers. Together, they produced a low frequency hum reminiscent of an English summer tea party.

The four-faced golden Buddha sat on a golden plinth beneath an ornate Far Eastern style pavilion. I made a slow circuit of the square. Nothing I saw made me concerned it might be an ambush. I didn’t spot Erico, which wasn’t unusual given the number of people. I kept an eye out for his bright puffer jacket and baseball cap. I did spot the supermarket, which was across the street just as Xing had said. I stopped beside the fence and pretended to tap my K106 while watching the people. I looked for Xing but didn’t see her. I moved away before cutting back behind the Buddha where I stopped and watched again. I did more K106 tapping. Everything seemed normal. It was just another early evening hoedown at the Taipa Buddhist shrine with four-faces. I watched three men perform some kind of a prayer ritual and wondered if they were on their way to the Jockey Club. I searched again for Xing but still couldn’t find her. However, at last I did see Erico.

He was wearing a denim jacket instead of his bright puffer but the baseball cap was the same. I made a wide, slow turn and watched him without making it obvious. He stood without moving and stared at the Buddha like a man casting his eyes upon heaven itself. I waited. It was important that I made sure nobody else was watching him. After searching carefully, I thought it looked all clear. Xing had appeared. She was covering herself among a coach trip of tourists. She threw me a discreet glance and then cast a fleeting gaze towards Erico. I figured if Xing thought it was clear then it must be okay. I wouldn’t do that again. I moved towards the shrine and approached Erico.

I stopped beside him and kept my eyes on the Buddha. I took a step forward. Without moving my head I said, ‘are you Erico?’ His eyes left the Buddha but he didn’t answer. I said, ‘I’m a friend of Mosquito.’

‘Where is she?’ Erico whispered. ‘Is she here?’

I remained silent.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘Walk over to the supermarket, across the road,’ I said. ‘I’ll follow you.’

He hesitated. ‘Tell me where Mosquito is?’ he whispered.

Again, I remained silent.

Still Erico hesitated.

‘Move,’ I said. ‘Are we going or not?’

I had read him correctly. He gave a derisive shrug and then started for the supermarket. I studied the Buddha for a while longer and then I followed. As I walked, I looked for Xing but I didn’t see her. The street was busy. While I waited to cross, I scanned the supermarket entrance. I couldn’t see Erico; he must have already gone inside. I crossed and entered the shop. The aisle ahead of me was empty. I went in further. On my right the row of checkouts were also empty. Even the checkout assistants were missing. Then my K106 began ringing. In that moment, I felt the jolt of alarm, the one I got whenever something unexpected happened. It was the standard reflex of all combat soldiers. Exactly what happened in the next second I can’t be sure, but judging by the faint whine, I recall hearing and the bruise and pain I felt later, some type of rubber bullet hit me. My legs went and I fell. I saw blurred feet and they were at ninety degrees. The dirty tiles of the shop floor had my face pressed hard against them. A man was going through my pockets. He pulled out my K106. I think it was still ringing. He took my gun and knife. I heard a faint laugh behind me. Then I blacked out.

Water was running somewhere. I could hear it. It was cold water. I realised I knew it was cold water because I could feel it. It was falling on my head and running down my neck.

I was coming round.

My first thought was the sharp ache in my abdomen, made worse every time I took a breath. The blackness began to lift. There was light, then shapes. I straightened my head. Objects came into focus.

I heard a man speak Cantonese and then the water stopped. I looked down at myself. I was naked to the waist. An ugly bruise was forming on my stomach just below the ribcage. Ropes tied me fast to the chair and dug into my arms and legs.