Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (19 page)

Fan Rae.

Fan Rae.

Who was she, really, deep down?

How did she get such a hold on him?

Or he on her?

WHEN HE GOT BACK, the women were in the kitchen, wearing T-shirts and equally dripping hair, hinting that they showered together.

Fan Rae tapped her hand on a newspaper and said, “You’re famous, cowboy.”

The paper had s
everal pictures from last night, n
amely Yuki partying at the Dragon-i.

She was pressed up against
Teffinger w
ith her hand on his ass.

Her tits were almost out of her dress.

“Want’s the caption say?”
Teffinger
asked.

“It says, YUKI GOES WESTERN. Everyone in Hong Kong’s going to want to know who you are.”

Teffinger
grunted.

“Well, if they get the answer to that one, I hope they let me know,” he said, “because I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”

Th
en something happened, s
omething that made his heart race.
He spotted something in the background of the picture
, namely the mystery woman—Tanna—sitting
on the couch.
It wasn’t a perfect picture but was a picture nonetheless. Now he had something to show d’Asia.

Yeah, baby.

He slapped Fan Rae on the ass.

“It’s going to be a good day,” he said.

She slapped his ass back.

“We’re getting tattoos today,” she said. “Don’t forget.”

He’d forgotten about that.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.”

TEFFINGER
TOOK A SHOWER, wrapped a towel around his waist and then followed his nose towards the aroma of coffee. Fan Rae poured him a cup and said, “I just got a call from Tu Lien Lo.”

Tu Lien Lo.

Tu Lien Lo.

The name was familiar but
Teffinger
couldn’t place it.

“Syling Wu’s roommate,” Fan Rae added, “the one with the white panties.”

He pulled up a visual.

Right.

Fan Rae punched him on the arm and said, “I knew you’d remember that part. Anyway, she said another P.I. showed up to talk to her.”

“Really?”

Fan Rae nodded.

“Someone besides the creepy guy?”

She nodded again.

“A woman, this time.”

HE WAS JUST ABOUT TO ASK “WHO?” when his phone rang and the voice of
Sydney
Heatherwood
came through. After catch-up and chitchat she said, “The reason I called is, I gave that videotape to
Kwak
to enhance, like the chief wanted.”

“Right.”

“
Kwak
’s been acting funny ever since,” she said.

“Acting funny how?”

“I don’t know exactly, it’s just the way he looks at me,” she said.

“Has he said anything?”

“Nothing specific.”

“So what are you saying, that he recognized me?”

Yeah.

Maybe.

“He looks torn.”

Day Seven—August 9

Sunday Morning

______________

KONG WASN’T INTO PAIN except as a last option. He interrogated the blond woman, Emmanuelle Laurent, briefly last night after he got her secured to an X-frame in Kam Lee’s dungeon. She wouldn’t talk. Kam Lee took a riding crop off the wall and ran it in a circle around the woman’s bellybutton.

“Give me ten minutes with her,” she said.

Kong considered it.

He almost consented.

“We’ll let her think about it until tomorrow.” Then to the bound woman, “That’ll be your last chance to do it the easy way. Do you understand?”

Silence.

Defiance.

“That’s a promise.”

Emmanuelle spent the night on the dungeon floor, inescapably handcuffed to a steel bolt, with the door closed and locked.

Kong went back to Dangerous Lady
and
fell asleep to the sound of the water lapping against the hull.

That was last night.

WHEN HE WOKE UP this morning, the water was calm. He dived in and swam with a strong overhand stroke between the junks and the yachts out into Victoria Harbour and then east along the coast.

His body worked like a machine, a
Tarzan machine.

He had lungs to spare
, s
houlders to spare
, a
rms to spare
, k
ick to spare.

When he got back an hour later, Dangerous Lady
had another vessel tied to her—the
Predator.

What the hell?

“Jack Poon wants to see you.”

“Doesn’t that guy ever rest?”

“Be warned, he’s in a bad mood.”

AN HOUR LATER, Poon poured two cups of coffee in the penthouse kitchen and handed one to Kong. He took a sip, said “Thanks,” and set it down on a newspaper that was sitting on the granite. Poon beat around the bush, feeling Kong out, before he finally got to the point. He had a situation, a very delicate situation, one that required drastic measures and the utmost discretion.

“Are you interested in hearing more?”

Kong shrugged.

“Sure.”

Poon studied him and said, “I want someone dead.”

Kong didn’t flinch.

H
e expected something like that.

“Who?”

Poon handed him a photograph of a woman
, a
stunning woman
, Kong’s equal
if there was such a thing.

He tossed the picture on the newspaper, looked into Poon’s eyes and noticed for the first time that they had a touch of jaundice.

“What’s her name.”

“D’Asia.”

D’Asia?

Right.

D’Asia.

“Nice name,” Kong said. “I’m still listening.”

They talked money and came to an arrangement.

“Don’t look into her eyes,” Poon said.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you falling for her.”

Kong laughed.

“Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen.”

HE DIDN’T ASK POON why he wanted the woman dead and Poon didn’t volunteer. There was, however, one small snag. The woman might be hard to find.

Kong left with a suitcase.

Inside was the picture
and cash, a
down payment
; g
ood faith money, win lose or draw.

He took a glance into the bedroom as they walked past.

A young woman was sprawled out on the bed
, u
nconscious
and n
ake
d, t
he latest and greatest Fion.

TWO MINUTES AFTER the Predator dropped Kong off at Dangerous Lady, his cell rang and Kam Lee said, “Where are you?”

“On my way,” he said. “I had an unexpected interruption. How’s our friend?”

“Feisty.”

Kong chewed on the word.

Feisty.

“Well that’s going to change and change fast,” he said. “I’m tired of screwing with her.”

“You want me to warm her up a little bit before you get here?”

Kong pictured it.

He didn’t necessarily like what he saw
b
ut needed this part of his life over with.

“Yeah, do it.”

Day Seven—August 9

Sunday Morning

______________

SOMETHING JAGGED ON THE WINDOWSILL sliced a long gash down Prarie’s left arm as she dropped out. She registered the pain and saw the blood but didn’t have time for it. She ran
, l
ifting her knees
, n
ot looking back
and g
asping for air.

Shouting came from behind her.

“Get back here, bitch!”

The words were closer than she thought. She tried to go faster but couldn’t. Her lungs burned. Her legs hurt. Then suddenly the man was right behind her, breathing heavily, closing in. He must have dived at her, because he got a hand around her ankles and her legs went out from under her. Her chest and face hit the ground, hard, before she could get her arms in front to block. Pain exploded from her nose and blood filled her mouth.

Then the man punched her in the back of the head.

She didn’t pass out b
ut everything went foggy
a
nd the fight went out of her.

THE MAN LIFTED HER OFF THE GROUND, threw her over his shoulder and huffed towards the house. She pounded on his back but it was like hitting a boulder. He didn’t slow down and didn’t even tell her to stop.

She looked around for witnesses.

There were none.

Before she knew it, they were back inside the house.

The door slammed s
o hard that the windows rattled.

She knew she was about to die.

Day Seven—August 9

Sunday Morning

______________

TEFFINGER
DIDN’T KNOW if he would actually go through with the tattoo part of the arrangement, but Fan Rae and Xiang were so excited about it that he couldn’t back out. It turned out to be a simple abstract design of three black parallel wavy lines, about two inches long, the brainchild of Fan Rae. They all got them at the same place, namely on the right leg, outside calf.

“Which line am I?”
Teffinger
asked.

“Which one do you want to be? The one in the middle?”

Teffinger
chewed on it.

“Let me be the one on the right.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t get to be right that often.”

Fan Rae chuckled.

“Okay,” she said. “Me and Xiang are the other two.”

They dropped Xiang off at her flat, kissed her, and
headed over to see Tu Lien Lo, t
he white panties girl.

SHE ANSWERED THE DOOR wearing a white tank top and white panties. She smelled like smoke.
Teffinger
couldn’t resist making a comment.

“You don’t like pants that much,” he said.

She looked at him
, c
onfused.

Then he remembered she couldn’t speak English.

Fan Rae translated for him and then translated back. “She says Hong Kong is too hot for pants.” The young woman led them to the kitchen counter, poured coffee from a fresh pot and said something to
Teffinger
as she handed him the cup.

“What’d she say?”

“She said she remembered your addition.”

“Tell her fondness, not addiction.”

Fan Rae rolled her eyes.

“I’m not going to lie to her,
Teffinger
.”

THE WOMEN CHATTED in Cantonese for ten minutes. At one point, Fan Rae showed Tu Lien her tattoo, who then looked at
Teffinger
shyly, as if in awe.

Then they left.

Outside, Fan Rae handed
Teffinger
a white business card and said, “That’s the P.I. who went to see her.”

Teffinger
read it.

Brittany So Kwak.

“At first, she didn’t want to give her name, other than Brittany,” Fan Rae said. “But then Tu Lien told her she wasn’t going to talk to her unless she had some identification. That’s when she handed over the card.”

Teffinger
nodded.

“So what did she want to know?”

The answer turned out to be long but simple. She was looking for any information as to where Syling was or who might have taken her.

“The thing that struck Tu Lien as weird was that the P.I. seemed to know somehow that Syling was alive and that someone had taken her. Her words, not mine, taken her.”

“How could she possibly know that?”

Fan Rae shrugged.

“She didn’t volunteer much,” she said. “She mostly asked questions.”