Chasing the Dragon: a story of love, redemption and the Chinese triads (Opium Book 2)

by Colin Falconer

“Well, you sure picked a good place to learn. You cut it in Maha Chai, you can cut it anywhere.”

  “How long you been here?” Ruby asked her.

  “Got busted March 23rd 1993. How long's that?”

  “You been in here two year?” Ruby said.

  “And still waiting for a fucking trial. I tell you honey, you want justice in Thailand, you gotta fucking pay for it.”

  “Be out today,” Ruby said. “Have friends outside.”

  “Well, good for you, honey.” Nan leaned on the rail and looked her over. “You sure got those fancy clothes fucked up already. Get the tip, Rube. Designer label don't do shit in here.”

  “Will remember next time.”

  Nan lowered her voice. “You carrying, Rube? You got any shit to sell?”

  “Did have seven units, heya,” Ruby said, and she watched the other girl blanch. “But get the tip, Nan. I lost it.”

  “Too bad,” she said.

  “No shit.”

  Breakfast was a bowl of rice with a slop of vegetables and some gristly meat. The meat smelled as if it were going off and Ruby refused to eat it. “You'll find your appetite after a couple of days, honey,” Nan said.

  “Couple of days I won't be here.”

  One of the other Europeans looked over. “What are you?” the woman said. “The king's sister? Don't waste your time on the bitch, Nan.”

  “She's okay,” Nancy grinned. “Just had a sheltered life. Haven't you, fancy pants?”

  ***

  They left her sitting alone in the food hall. Ruby dropped her head on the wooden table. She felt stupid sitting here in her expensive clothes, all stained with sweat and filth. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, and already she wished she had eaten her rice. What if her connection did not come?

  What if Colonel Ramawong had not been bluffing?

  If not her connection, then by now Eddie-ah would know what had happened. He would move heaven and earth to get her out. Only maybe it would just take a little longer than she thought.

  ***

  “Ruby Wen,” the guard said.

  She jumped to her feet, her heart pumping.

  “You have a visitor.”

  Her connection had sent one of his fancy lawyers! I'm getting out of this shit hole! The three western girls huddled on the other side of the veranda, watched her walk out, their eyes hooded.

  “See ya, fancy pants,” Nan said.

  Her visitor was an Indian, in a white linen three piece suit, a large diamond ring winking on the little finger of his right hand, and a chunky Rolex on his wrist. He had a red silk handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket.

  His black hair was receding on his forehead but hung over the collar at the back in long black curls. He was running to fat, and he perspired freely in the morning heat. He mopped at his face and neck with a white handkerchief.

  Another younger man stood beside him, holding his attaché case.

  “Miss Ruby Wen?” he said.

  The visitor's room was an oblong shaped room divided by two sets of iron bars, set six feet apart. All conversation had to be conducted across this no man's land, with the guards standing by, watching and listening.

  “Who are you?” Ruby said.

  “My name is Julian Prassaran. I have been retained by a Mister Edward Lau as your legal counsel.”

  “Where is Eddie-ah?”

  “He says you are not to worry. He is going to take care of everything. First we must clear up all this foolishness about this jolly Article Twenty Seven.”

  “When you getting me out of here?”

  “Please, Miss Wen, I must implore you to be patient. The wheels of justice sometimes turn with excruciating slowness here in Thailand. But I can assure you that all will be well. After we have persuaded the authorities to remove the threat of Article Twenty Seven, we will see about organizing bail.”

  No, I want to get out of here today - now! What was this stupid coolie telling her? “Have to stay here? In this stinking jail?”

  “We will have you released very soon. Now what do you need? You have a pillow?”

  “Pillow?”

  “I will send one along later with food and some money. Is there anything else I can do to make your stay more comfortable?”

  He sounds like the concierge at the Hong Kong Peninsula, Ruby thought. “Need my Azzedine Alaïa to change into for dinner. Some bath salts, okay. And my mobile phone.”

  “I don't think it's allowed,” Prassaran said, deadpan.

  “Tell Eddie that Ruby will cut off his stalk if he don't get me out of here!” She slammed her palm against the bars. “No shit!”

  Prassaran's young assistant smirked.

  Prassaran checked his watch. “I understand this must be very upsetting. My goodness, look at the time. Anything else you need, just give me a call.”

  He nodded to his assistant and turned to leave.

  “How?” Ruby shouted after him. “How can I give you a call, okay?”

  But Prassaran was gone. One of the guards led her back to the prison yard.

  SHENZHEN City, Special Economic Zone, China.

  The entertainment in Shenzhen did not compare to Hong Kong; there was no racetrack and no topless bars. But there were plenty of discos for the amusement of the Hong Kong tourists and the spoiled brats of the cadres. Eddie's favorite haunt was in the Century Plaza Hotel, on the very top floor. He danced, but he often sat in a corner booth with a bottle of Hennessey VSOP, chain smoking, until two or three in the morning.

  Ever since we had to run away from Hong Kong he has been drinking and smoking too much, Vincent thought. And since the news of Ruby Wen's arrest he has veered into even darker moods.

  “Let me come with you tomorrow,” Vincent said.

  “Too dangerous for you.”

  “He betrayed me also.”

  “You are not expendable, not just some forty nine boy! I will take revenge for both of us.”

  “I can drive for you.”

  Eddie shook his head, his eyes hooded, his thoughts somewhere in the void. Vincent knew Eddie was no longer thinking about Gordon Wu and his imminent execution, a subject that had pre-occupied him for weeks.

  Hard to credit that Sir Gordon had sold them out to the yellow air. Their own 489 had betrayed them! He must blame Eddie for this trouble with Louis Huu, and for the war with the Wo Sing Wo. But sell out your own to make a peace with the competition? Shop your own red pole to stop a war with another triad? What kind of boss was that? He deserved to die.

  Maria Carey was singing “Without You'. Cannot go anywhere without hearing that dog-breath song, he thought. All the pirate CD stalls were playing it, all the discos. Like listening to a cat die of rat poison.

  “Right now Ruby is in some stinking jail with cockroaches crawling over her,” Eddie said.

  I feel sorry for the cockroaches, Vincent thought, but kept it to himself.

  “This Prassaran,” Eddie said. “He is good lawyer?

  “Very expensive lawyer,” Vincent answered.

  “Doan care about money. Just get her out. How much we have to pay?”

  “Prassaran offered the prosecutor one million baht. He won't budge.”

  “Offer him five, ten million. Whatever he want.”

  Ten million baht for Ruby Wen? She was a cheat and a whore and she had made a fool of them and still he wanted to pay ten million baht to get her back? When Vincent thought of her sitting in her own filth in some mosquito-infested prison it was hard to keep the smile off his face. If it was him, he would pay ten million to leave her there.

  “I will tell him.”

  “You think I should go to Bangkok?” Eddie asked him.

  “Too dangerous. Louis Huu will wash you the minute you step outside the airport. Anyway Eddie, you have to go to Hong Kong. You have appointment with Gordon Wu.”

  “Ah Kung, yes. What do you think he is doing tonight? Hope he enjoy himself. It will be last time, last time ever.”

  ***
r />   DEA EYES ONLY

  CONFIDENTIAL

  FOR KEELAN, DEA LIAISON, HOPEWELL CENTRE, HONG KONG

  PASS TO LOCAL AUTHORITIES

  FROM LEE, BANGKOK

  ON 29O295 FOLLOWING JOINT OPERATION WITH THAILAND NARCOTICS SUPPRESSION UNIT THE FOLLOWING PERSON WAS ARRESTED IN POSSESSION OF SEVEN KILOS OF HEROIN IN PETCHABURI ROAD.

  WEN SHUI MING, ALIAS RUBY WEN, DOB 26.3.69, RESIDES 17B/63 CONDUIT ROAD, PUN SHAN KUI, HONG KONG. P/P 156341.

  THIS PERSON HAS ASKED LOCAL POLICE TO CONTACT YOU URGENTLY TO CLARIFY HER POSITION AS A CI. CAN YOU PLEASE ADVISE.

  Chapter 48

  Hong Kong

  JARDINE HOUSE was one of Hong Kong's most famous landmarks. The building's circular windows had earned it many nicknames such as the Hong Kong Stilton, or, to the Chinese, the House of a Thousand Assholes. Next door was Exchange Square, a monolith of granite and glass that housed the Hong Kong stock market, the Hang Seng. It was in this building that Sir Gordon Wu maintained his office and where he spent his last afternoon on earth.

  His chauffeur-driven Rolls Royce Phantom conveyed him to the Luk Yu teahouse in Stanley Street at a quarter to six that evening. The driver did not pay attention to the Yamaha motor cycle that pulled into the traffic behind him on Pedder and followed them to Stanley Street.

  As Sir Gordon Wu got out, the motorcycle swung into the curbside behind and the pillion rider jumped off. He calmly produced an automatic pistol from his leather jacket and fired five shots into the head and body of Sir Gordon Wu. Then he jumped back onto the motorcycle which roared away down Stanley Street and then turned up Pottinger towards the Mid-levels.

  ***

  A Chinese sergeant from Central, Michael Chui, was one of the first detectives on the scene. A constable had already detained an old English couple, who claimed to have seen everything. Colonel James Kirkham-Pratt, and his wife Marjorie seemed like relics from another age, like the rickshaw drivers at the Central ferry terminal and the clock tower at Kowloon. The old boy wore a navy blue pin-striped woolen suit and a bowler hat, his white moustaches teased to two symmetrical points. The old codger must be well into his eighties, Chui thought.

  His wife Marjorie wore a blue broad-rimmed straw hat.

  “Saw it all,” the colonel said, as Chui approached, 'happened right there in front of us. Isn't that right, Marjorie?”

  “Right in front of us.”

  “Bloody little bastard,” the Colonel said, with such perfect diction that the curse sounded like an affectation.

  Sir Gordon Wu lay on the pavement, face down, ugly dark pools spreading around his body. Beyond the police cordon, people were straining for a good look on their way home from work. “What exactly did you see?” he asked.

  “This chap got out orf this motorcycle ...”

  “What sort of motorcycle? Can you describe it?”

  The colonel looked non-plussed, “Japanese thingy. What are they called Marjorie?”

  Marjorie looked blank.

  “You know what I mean,” he said.

  “What color?”

  The Colonel had to think about this.

  “Orange,” Marjorie said.

  “Yes, that's it. Orange. Orange Japanese thingy.”

  “He was the rider?” Chui asked him.

  “No, there was some other chap driving it. Anyway, he got orf, took out a gun and started blasting away. Bloody little bastard.”

  “What happens after he fires the weapon?”

  “Just got back on the Japanese thingy and they both took orf.”

  “In which direction?”

  “Up that way.” He pointed towards Pottinger Street.

  Dusk was falling over the city. TV camera crews were hurriedly setting up in the street. Flashbulbs popped as newspaper crews took hurried photographs of the dead man which would appear as a blurred and grainy image in tomorrow's press.

  “Can you give me a description please?”

  “Bloody little bastard. What was that?”

  “Can you give me a description of the man with the gun?”

  The Colonel looked at his wife. '“Fraid not, old chap. He was still wearing a thingy. A helmet.”

  “What about the other man? The rider?”

  “He was wearing a thingy too.”

  Chui swore under his breath. “Maybe,” he said, almost as an afterthought, ' you were able to get the license plate of the motorcycle?”

  The Colonel looked him up and down. “Of course I did. What do you think I am, young man? A complete fool?”

  ***

  Just an hour later a motorcycle patrol officer from Wanchai found the Yamaha abandoned in an alley off Amoy Street. Tyler and Lacey and Brian Kwok headed straight over.

  It was a big machine for Hong Kong, 500 cc, and it had been reported stolen just that morning in Mongkok. A quick search of the area recovered a Chinese-made type 54 Makarov inside a brown Giordano carrier bag among some bins at the back of a nearby noodle shop. A piece of paper had been tacked to the petrol tank with brown tape, Chinese characters written on it in red ink.

  “What does it say?” Tyler asked.

  Brian Kwok squatted down and studied it carefully.

  “For the oath my finger I prick,

  This is a secret you and I must keep.

  If doing otherwise,

  Your suffering is much and deep.”

  “A triad poem,” Lacey said.

  “Crazy Eddie Lau,” Tyler murmured.

  “You think he came back for this?”

  Tyler shrugged. “Who knows? Kai Tak's on full alert but I don't think he would risk that. A speedboat from the SEZ to the Territories then by motorbike into the city. His boys would have had everything ready for him. London to a brick he’s already back over the border. But let's go by the book. Start a canvass round here, see if anyone wants to remember seeing anything.”

  “This means more trouble,” Lacey said.

  “Gordon Wu isn't a great loss,” Tyler said. “But this Eddie Lau worries me. He just doesn't know when to stop.”

  “Bad pennies.”

  “Bad news,” Tyler said.

  Chapter 49

  FIRST she thought she would die of the filth; then she thought she would just die of boredom. The long term inmates took solace in drugs, which were plentiful, just a few hundred baht for a third of a gram of crude heroin which the Thai women smoked through paper tubes - they called it 'chasing the dragon'. Nancy and the two other Europeans - they were both Swiss, Ruby discovered - were what the Thais called 'number four ladies'. They shared a needle between them, washing it between uses in the water trough in the compound outside.

  Prassaran's assistant brought her food and medicines every few days. They were not allowed can openers inside Maha Chai - they could too easily be turned into weapons - and so tinned food was out of the question. Ruby survived on rice and chicken which she cooked on a gas ring owned by Soong, a Thai chiu chao, who demanded a portion of the food as payment.

  They all used the same water for bathing or drinking. She suffered almost continuous diarrhea and stomach cramps.

  One afternoon the cramps got so bad that not even Prassaran's medicines helped. She spent the next few days doubled over on the floor of the cell, her knees drawn up to her chest, shivering in the baking heat. She squatted over the hong nam in full view of the others and no longer cared who saw her. Her bowels had turned to fire and water. She wanted to die.

  “You'll be okay, honey,” someone said. “Everyone gets the shits at first. You'll be okay.”

  She recognized Nan's voice, felt a cool cloth on her forehead. She tried to speak but she did not have the energy. She realized that right now Nan was the only friend she had in the whole world.

  Hong Kong

  Tak kam-chau - Won Ton - had owned a luxury apartment in Caine Road near the Mid-levels escalators. It had been sold shortly after his demise in the mah-jongg parlor above the Water Dragon restaurant in Wanchai.

  His resid
ence, like all of the units in the high-rise block, had its own concrete garden box outside the living room window in which the residents were encouraged to grow ferns and orchids.

  The couple who had recently purchased the apartment noticed an unpleasant smell in their new home. An unidentifiable fluid had begun to leak from a crack in their window box. They had informed the caretaker, who in turn had notified the management. A plumber had been called in, and he had discovered the source of the leak was a decomposing body buried in the window box.

  A call was made to Central Police Station in Wanchai. The investigating officers had noted the interest of the Serious Crimes Squad in the man once known as Won Ton, and so Inspector Sian Lacey had been invited to witness the exhumation.

  “Make very good compost,” Detective Sergeant Michael Chui said, as the remains were transferred to a zippered plastic bag. “Will grow very good flowers in that window box.”

  “I've seen everything now,” Lacey said.

  “This man...” Chui referred to his notebook. “...Won Ton? He was connected to the triads?”

  “He was an enforcer.” She shook her head at the ingenuity of it all.

  "He covered this body with quick-drying cement and put more earth on top.”

  “Any chance of making an ID?”

  Chui shrugged. “Teeth and fingers were removed before they put him in the planter.”

  “Maybe they're in a vase somewhere. Have you checked the pot plants?”

  This appealed to Michael Chui's sense of humor.

  “Who are the current owners?”

  “Man is a pediatric surgeon. Wife is dentist. No criminal record.”

  “So you think the body was planted on them?”

  Michael Chui giggled again. He liked this woman.

  “Does the body have any distinguishing characteristics?”

  “Has only one arm. Maybe they chop off with the fingers?”

  “One arm?” Lacey shook her head. She thought about the fisherman Eddie Lau had attacked with a meat cleaver a few months before on Hennessey Road. He had lost an arm in the assault. Won Ton was an associate of Eddie’s; perhaps he had finished the job for him.