by Mike Coony
Just wait till Mac hears about this! We’re rich…seriously…honestly rich! As far as I know, it’s legit. No one rushed into a bank with a shotgun, no one died, no one was ripped off – well, maybe Noriega, but I can’t be sure of that.
———
Uncle Sui rang the suite first thing this morning; I’m to meet him for breakfast here in the hotel. I have to tell him that we slaughtered twenty innocent pimps. Then there’s what I know – or suspect I know – about Paul Wills, the 14K and Susie’s murder. And I have to find out about the heroin. If all that goes well I’ll ring Paul Wills and summon him here this afternoon.
I walked into the restaurant and spotted Uncle Sui sitting at a table behind an enormous ice sculpture. The waiter brought a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice just as I sat down.
“Uncle Sui…the Russians had nothing to do with killing Susie. It was the 14K…with the help of that traitor Paul Wills.”
I would have never guessed how Uncle Sui would react to the news. He burst into a rip-roaring belly laugh that brought tears to his eyes and mucus running out his nose. It’s an extraordinary sight to watch a usually staid, elderly Chinese man laughing like a pratfall comic on Blackpool Pier. Simon Li once shocked me in the same way, when he burst out laughing in a totally un-Chinese way at the Waterfront Bar. It took five minutes for Uncle Sui to get control of himself, but he still seems likely to burst out laughing any second.
“So Finn, how do you know that the 14K and Paul Wills are responsible for such a brutal and tragic killing?”
“I know because Chief Superintendent Peter Conway of the Royal Hong Kong Police told me they have enough evidence to charge members of the 14K. But they don’t know anything about Paul Wills…not yet anyway.”
“Do you mean Chopper Conway?”
“That’s the very man.”
This brought on more two more minutes of belly laughter from an almost hysterical Uncle Sui.
“Finn, I must apologise…the loss of your woman is a serious matter…but I can’t help myself. However, to change the subject for a moment…so I may take control of myself…do you know why they call him Chopper?”
“I assume he disarmed someone attacking him with a chopper…or he arrested someone wielding a chopper….And the name stuck?”
The belly laugh began all over again. Is Uncle Sui on some sort of drugs, or what?
“No…no…it is because of the size of his manhood…his penis…chopper…big penis. He is a first-class policeman. I should know, I trained him when he arrived at Wan Chai District Police Headquarters as a snot-nosed kid from England. If he says it is the 14K then it is. He has had an informer in that society for twenty years.”
“I think Paul Wills told the 14K where to find Susie Cooke, and he may even have told them that she was Fran Cooke’s wife. That’s the journalist who wrote for the SCMT.”
“Now Finn, I accept what you say about Paul Wills. But how do you intend to deal with him? Will you kill him?”
“No, Uncle Sui. But this brings me to the other business…the heroin. I’d like to get Paul Wills involved in the shipment once it arrives in Rotterdam, hopefully six weeks from today. Is it possible to know for certain that the heroin will be leaving Cambodia and on its way to the Netherlands within the next two weeks…at the latest?”
“Yes, the heroin will be in Rotterdam six weeks from today. I give you my guarantee. You understand that after this task is completed, I will have concluded all the business between us Finn, and I think it most unlikely that we shall meet again. Nevertheless, I am indebted to you in a way you might not understand. You have shown me what it is like to live in interesting times…and survive. I thank you for that timely reminder, and I apologise for my earlier frivolity…most unbecoming.”
I thanked him, and stopped meself asking what he meant by such a backhanded compliment. Then it struck me what he’s getting at…the old goat’s reminding me of the Chinese curse: may you live in interesting times. You’d think that you were being wished well for the future when exactly the opposite is true. ‘Interesting times’ here means difficult and hard-to-cope times…times that might finish you off.
With that pearl of tortuous Chinese wisdom we parted company. Like Uncle Sui said, I expect never to meet him again.
———
I’m on the jetfoil to Macau. I have to meet Finn Flynn at the Mandarin Oriental in less than an hour. We’re passing Lantau Island, and I can see the ramshackle jetty for the Frog and Toad – where I mud wrestled on Finn’s team. Now I’m looking at Sea Ranch; it’s a classy resort, and I would love to have lived there. The Trappist Monastery, where I often meant to visit but never did, is high on the hillside. Why the bloody hell am I going to meet Finn Flynn? I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t kill me.
I took a taxi to the Mandarin Oriental, and there he is, sitting in the lobby…like he’s lying in wait for me.
“Sit Paul. What will you have to drink? Or maybe you’d like something to eat…something to settle your stomach, perhaps? Don’t look so worried. I’m not a murderer. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to kill someone, and certainly not you….”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Finn Flynn isn’t going to kill me!
“Paul, we both know that what you did was inexcusable, but reasonable in your eyes, I’m sure. However, a woman is dead now, and you want to make amends….Yes?”
“Yes, yes, of course! I’ll do anything, anything at all! Please…just don’t hurt me. There boyo, I’ve said it. I don’t want you to hurt me,” I blurted out without thinking.
“Did I detect a Welsh accent there, did I? Straight from the heart…that little plea…was it Paul?”
“Yes….Most of my family are railway workers around the port of Fishguard, but Mum and Dad moved to Reading when I was teenager.”
“I thought as much. I’ve always had a soft spot for the Welsh, and railway workers at Fishguard Harbour in particular. Why you chose to drop your native accent, I’ve no idea. Trying to fit in with the Brits, were you?…So, Paul, here’s how you can get yourself outa the hole you’ve dug. OK? A shipment of heroin will arrive in Rotterdam in six weeks. You’ll drive a vehicle large enough to accommodate two hundred kilos of China white from Wales to Rotterdam Port, someone else will accompany the shipment to England, and all you’ve to do is handle the onward transportation of the vehicle once it drives off the ferry in Hull. Your debt with me will be cleared when the job’s done. Don’t ask me anything about the heroin…who owns it, anything like that. I won’t tell you. I just need to hear you say that you’ll do what I ask. So…yes? Say it…NOW!”
What does he mean about my accent? What’s he doing with millions of pounds worth of heroin? Why me for Christ’s sake? They’d lock me up and throw away the key for two hundred kilos. Crazy, fuckin’ crazy, but I can’t say no. I’ll try to stall him…play for time.
“Paul, don’t even think of stalling. You’ve got ten seconds from now to answer me…and the answer had better be yes, I’ll do it.”
“Yes…I’ll do it.”
“Good lad.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Maybe he should’ve just killed me….
———
I am arranging for the urgent shipment of Finn Flynn’s heroin from Cambodia to Rotterdam, Holland via Thailand, Dubai and Cyprus. And the Sun Yat Sun will transport it to England.
Eddie Tang will be used for this risky work – because his mother has finally given up on him. She learned of his love affair with a transsexual who is part way through the sex change procedure, and she asked me not to protect Eddie any longer.
I first promised Eddie’s mother I would care for him after her husband committed suicide – an unforgivable sin in Chinese society. His death left her scratching out a living as an exotic dancer, but she does not have the figure for such work. No one will tell her, however, for fear she will go the same way as her husband. So they keep the lights low and put her on stage once the audience is too drunk to notice. I could ge
t her a job filleting fish…an occupation she is better suited for. But who could tell her that? Not me.
Triad Societies are not all protection rackets, drugs, firearms, prostitution and gambling; we take care of our own. This is a side of Triad Societies that people in the West do not appreciate. Eddie’s father was a Red Pole in my society long before I became Mountain Master. I am obliged to help the family he left behind…and even to help those who do not believe they need any help.
53
HONG KONG and IRELAND
A Mandarin Oriental limousine drove me to the Macau ferry terminal where I got the jetfoil to Hong Kong. I grabbed a taxi at Sheung Wan ferry terminal and told the driver to take me to the Island Shangri-La Hotel.
As we passed under the flyovers at Admiralty I glanced up towards Tregunter Path; it struck me that I haven’t been to my penthouse since we found Susie. When Chopper Conway advised me and Anna to check into a hotel I left the penthouse with an overnight bag. All I have with me are three freshly laundered bespoke Sam the Tailor shirts, two pairs of slacks, underwear, socks and a blazer.
If I detour to Citizen Tower will I be allowed in to collect my belongings? I imagine that it’s still a crime scene and I’d have to get permission from Chopper. I love the rest of my Sam the Tailor shirts, each one fits like a glove, but is it really worth all the hassle to get them? Probably not.
I’ll be better occupied calling Mac with the good news about the two million dollars, and organising a way to leave Hong Kong sometime in the next twenty four hours. Uncle Sui made it pretty clear that I’ll be overstaying my welcome if I stay any longer.
As I stepped from my taxi outside the Island Shangri-La, Roger Wynne came out to greet me.
“Ah, Finn…welcome back. Don’t be too surprised when you find a familiar set of Louis Vuitton luggage in your suite. Your penthouse was cleared as a crime scene while you were away….Chief Superintendent Conway asked me to take charge of your personal effects and clothing, and have them packed and brought over. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Roger, you’re a life saver, so you are! Thanks a million.”
“My pleasure. Now, anything I can do for you this evening?”
“If you wouldn’t mind booking Finbar Furlong on a dog-pissing-in-the-snow route to Ireland around five p.m. tomorrow…with an overnight stop in London before flying into Shannon on an America-bound flight…I would appreciate it.”
“Indeed…Mister Furlong. Your tickets, etcetera, will be sent up with your breakfast in the morning.”
———
Breakfast was delivered at six a.m., and Jaysus, I got a stack of individual airline tickets, a couple of pre-issued boarding passes, and two invitations to British Airways courtesy lounges. You’d think I’m going on a six month trip around the world. Roger took the dog-pissing-in-the-snow request seriously…a little too seriously.
There are many people I should say goodbye to, people who’ve shown me friendship in Hong Kong. I haven’t time to see them all, but I’ll find time to take a Yaumati inter-island ferry to Lamma and bid farewell to Flick at the Waterfront Bar. He’s done more for me than most.
———
When I arrived back from Lamma I joined the crush at Central Pier; I pushed my way past the chicken baskets and up the steps to the elevated walkway. It’s only ten thirty, but I’ll walk over to Two Exchange Square to see if Michael Harrington-Browne is in Plume’s Wine Bar.
I ordered a fresh orange juice, and Natasha Harrington-Browne joined me at my favourite table in Plume’s.
“Finn Flynn, hello. Sorry, Michael isn’t here. He’s at his new winery in China. Anyway, how are you coping?”
“Grand, now that you ask. I’ve just stopped in to say goodbye really. I’m leaving Hong Kong this afternoon.”
“Leaving? I suppose I don’t blame you…after what’s happened.” After a few moments of awkward silence Natasha spoke again. “Let’s not talk about what’s on both our minds, yes?”
“Good idea.” I appreciate Natasha’s sensitivity. It’s too distressing to think about Susie and remember all the great nights we enjoyed together in Plume’s.
Natasha filled me in on Michael’s new winery in China, and I drained the last drop of my fresh orange juice. As I was getting up to leave, she stopped me.
“Finn, Michael and I have been asked to officiate at the firing of the Noon Day Gun today….Will you do me an enormous favour before you leave the Colony? Michael’s away….So…will you accompany me?”
I don’t know what to say. Jaysus, the Noon Day Gun, I’m astonished. The privilege is supposed to be reserved for royalty, visiting heads of state, celebrities and very senior Jardine Matheson executives.
“Finn, it’s on the way to the bloody airport, and I can drop you there afterwards. Go on…say you’ll help me. I can’t stand loud bangs, and I wouldn’t know what to say to all those twats standing around waiting for me to mess it up.”
“Right, so. I’m staying at the Island Shangri-La. Be there in thirty minutes.”
I went back to the hotel and had a porter take my luggage down to the main entrance. When Natasha arrived someone piled my cases in her Range Rover, and we drove to the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club. She parked in Vice-commodore ffrench’s reserved parking space and, laughing like bold schoolchildren, we walked the short distance to the Noon Day Gun emplacement.
We watched as an old retainer from Jardine Matheson loaded a blank shell into the gun and stood to attention in his little white uniform with brass buttons. Then he handed a firing string to Natasha, with the instruction to pull it sharply on his signal.
She called me over to join her, and at precisely eleven fifty-nine a.m. we tugged the string together…firing the Noon Day Gun a full minute too soon! I bet it was the first time that’s happened in a hundred years or more. Bless her Dutch cotton socks….I can’t think of a more fitting send-off. My parting shot from Hong Kong was premature! Ha!
———
I have mixed emotions as the Cathay Pacific Boeing 747 lifts off from Kai Tak Airport and swings out over Castle Peak. It will be good to get home, and to see Anna again, but I can’t say I won’t miss Hong Kong.
Notwithstanding the tragic loss of Susie, Hong Kong has been a fair refuge. I’ve done well from its laissez-faire economy and privileged expat lifestyle. And thanks to Vincenzo and Earl, the duck farmers in Taiwan, General Manuel Noriega of Panama, and Uncle Angelo of the Cosa Nostra, Mac and I will never have to worry about money again.
———
I am relieved that Finn Flynn is on his way back to Europe, but life is far from harmonious for the Sun Yat Sun. No sooner did he leave Hong Kong than the Royal Hong Kong Police and the Polícia de Macau began showing a keen interest in him…and everyone he associated with in Asia. They are seeking the whereabouts of a commander in the Provisional IRA. He was wanted by the Irish Gardaí until today – I am informed – but the Swedish Police and Interpol are still searching for him.
Fortunately, the RHKP and the Polícia de Macau do not always question their own officers, and the murders of twenty Russian citizens and a homosexual stockbroker are not connected to Flynn…yet. Mountain Master Fu in Belfast would not be pleased if I had to tell him that the Irishman he sent here had been arrested for murders in Hong Kong and Macau.
———
The flying grand tour of Europe that Roger Wynne sent me on turned out to be useful after all; it gave Mac time to organise another passport for me. Finbar Furlong disappeared in Paris, and Urho Laukkanen of Finland arrived at Heathrow Airport with Rory Mac Kyle of New Zealand.
I sneaked back into Ireland on the ferry from Fishguard Harbour – no passport required and no questions asked. One of Mac’s London lads is driving my luggage home next week, but he doesn’t know who it belongs to.
For the time being, I’m holed up about fifty kilometres south of Dublin, in Ashford, County Wicklow. It’s near enough to Arklow harbour…if I need to make an unseen getaway on a trawler ag
ain.
Johnny Sparrow’s really come through for me. He moved two million US dollars from the bank in Macau to a fiduciary bank in Jersey, and he sent me two hundred thousand cash through a Hundi underground bank operating out of an Asian rattan importer in Dalkey Village, County Dublin. He also settled my bill at the Island-Shangri La, and wired the balances from my Hong Kong bank accounts to a Jersey account for Mac. I reckon Mac should have about fifty thousand pounds after the currency conversion – it’ll keep him going for a while anyway, until we know what we’re at.
When this other business is over I’ll have Johnny wire two hundred fifty thousand US dollars to the bank in Kungsgatan, in Stockholm – to re-pay what Ingrid stole. An anonymous note explaining that Ingrid acted out of kindness, trying to help a friend in trouble, will arrive at the bank the same day as the wire money transfer.
Johnny won’t exactly be told why the money will be sent to Stockholm using a fake account number, but he’s a merchant banker through and through. He was groomed from prep school not to poke his nose into other people’s business, or to ask too many questions. I’m sure he’ll figure it out if he doesn’t cop on immediately, but he’ll keep himself to himself about it.
———
I’ve been home for five weeks, but I haven’t contacted the Army Council. In fairness, they sent word through Mac that the guards have officially crossed me off the list of Clonmel kidnap suspects.
I keep asking meself, where were all these so-called Republican hard men when the likes of students like me, and apprentices like Mac, joined the poor bastards on the barricades against the B-Specials? I’ll tell you where they were – sitting in pubs, listening to rebel songs and swilling pints of stout…yapping about blowing up horses and sad auld fellahs. That’s where they were. Blowing up all those fine Irish horses on London’s Horse Guards Parade was a load of bollocks. I didn’t sign up to kill fine Irish horses or blow up Mountbatten – that harmless auld queen out doing a bit of fishing…and paying a few local lads to carry his tackle. And now there’s talk of the Armagh boys joining up with the Dundalk Brigade and breaking away from PIRA. MI5 and MI6 must love all this infighting…it could be the end of the Provos.
