Dragon Breath
Page 31
“I thought that was part of the therapy.”
Scrimple sighed. “It should have been, but there’s too much I’ve got to get sorted here. Running away from it for too long won’t make the problems go away.”
“You should get into writing self-improvement books. Very commendable mindset that,” Jim said lightly.
“I suppose you’ve got a mortgage back in London? Well, mine won’t get paid if I tell the police to fuck off. I’m not qualified to do much else. Might take a distance-learning degree or something, get more on my resume before I can think of a career change.”
“You seem pretty up-beat about it. Thailand must have done you some good?” Jim grinned at the policeman.
“In a way. It wasn’t the boozing and the shagging that got my head together. It was being there when they sorted out this fucking mess that started with your boss being chopped and the Filipina I knew being killed…” Scrimple stared pensively into his beer for a few seconds.
Jim leant forward. “I heard from Foxcroft they’d wrapped things up. He said finding the shipping lists was a major score. And he said McHardy was in it as well as Bob Chen and has done a runner? Is that right?”
Scrimple smiled mysteriously and nodded. “Foxcroft probably only knows part of the story. What else did he tell you?”
“He said they arrested the Triads who killed Dougie and Bob Chen but it was clear that Henry Chan was behind some of this and he’d been connected to a political power play in China. But Chan has gone to ground. The guy they reckoned strangled Louise Walker and tried to strangle you was found shot in Bangkok, apparently.”
“Yeah, the Hong Kong Police had to cover up how serious the whole thing could have been because they need to do as Beijing tells them. It’s been made to look like some Triad business deal gone wrong so arresting the Triad killers is the high-profile stuff they boast about to the press. Foxcroft must have been well-chuffed. Another one in the bag for him. Do you know if they ever found the bastard I shot in the leg in Wanchai?”
“No idea,” Jim said. “So, what’s your side of the story? Give me the rest of the iceberg.”
Scrimple stared at him gravely. “Listen, mate. If I tell you this you’ll have to promise me it will never go further than this table here. This is really serious shit.”
Jim shrugged, impatient. He knew Scrimple wanted to tell him but he wished the copper would get on with it. “Sure. The same way I won’t be able to tell anyone about what goes on in Wanchai on a Sunday afternoon. Nobody would believe me, period.”
“Well, you can’t tell them this bit in the first place.”
“Get on with it,” said Jim.
Scrimple took a long pull from his beer and gave his version of the abduction of Henry Chan—under orders from a higher authority. He didn’t mention the names of the other men nor was he too graphic about the interrogation. He left out the portable jump-start kit that had been put to such effective use. He thought it would sound too extreme and old policemen’s habits die hard—you don’t admit to having gotten your confession by duress. It’s frowned upon by the courts and public opinion.
When he’d finished Jim was silent. It was quite a story. He had no reason to disbelieve Scrimple because all the facts he was aware of backed up the explanation. Yet it was hard to comprehend.
“Listen, Scrimple. Doris is coming any time soon and we were thinking of going for a meal next door. Great Italian restaurant. Do you want to join us?”
“Got to watch the bucks,” Scrimple said, but what he really meant was he didn’t want to be a gooseberry.
“I’m paying. There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What’s that,” Scrimple asked intrigued.
“I’ve decided that I like what’s going on here in China and Hong Kong. It’s all highly dynamic. It would be good for my career to stay here for two years and get more hands-on experience with the sourcing process.”
Scrimple began to smile. Why did Jim want his advice on that? “Nothing to do with gorgeous Doris and the fact that you don’t want to go back to cold, dreary London and leave a hot, Chinese chick here?”
Jim smirked. “An important factor in my decision-making process. But seriously, the job always comes first. Anyway, I’ve asked the Old Man, Mr. Ferguson if he’ll let me run the Hong Kong Office and get it back on track. He’s agreed, offered me a good deal and a two-year posting to begin with.”
“That’s excellent. You lucky bastard,” Scrimple said, hiding a tinge of jealousy that had crept up on him.
“Now I was thinking: the last thing we need is more dodgy shysters whom we’ve hired through some expensive headhunters to come and work for us out here. Our business isn’t that complicated. It’s about managing people, being well-organised and entertaining clients when they’re over here. It’s all stuff you’ve done in the police for years. How about you running our Bangkok office for us? Reporting directly to me. I’ll get you trained up in Hong Kong for a month and then you take over whatever team John McHardy’s left us with. It’s only a small office but they do big volume shipments.”
Jim smiled confidently at Scrimple. The policeman stared at his new friend for a while and then it sank in that the fellow was being serious.
“Fuck me. Do you reckon I could do the job?”
“Well, if I can do it, there’s no reason why you can’t.”
“Living in Bangkok?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Be nice to leave Hong Kong behind.”
“If you do a good job, you might have to come back and run Hong Kong eventually.”
Scrimple grinned. “Let’s get Bangkok sorted first.” He reached over the table and they shook hands on the deal.
About the Author
Valerie was educated at Stonyhurst College and Bristol University where she read Russian and Politics. She went to Hong Kong in the eighties as a government employee and later began a new career working with factories in China. She now runs her own business with offices across Asia, Europe and North America. She writes romantic intrigues and thrillers to relax from the daily stresses of her job. She travels frequently and does not enjoy airline food.
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