by Ciaran Nagle
Yaumati, Kowloon, Tai O Factory Building
Zhivkin stared down into the street from his hidden vantage point in the Tai O building. His private meeting with Bezejel and Kodrob had gone well. He had outlined his plan to deal a sizzling blow to the angels supporting Nancy. At first they challenged it and rejected it. Then, after a rethink they called him back and refined it. Finally they approved it.
Bezejel had even gone so far as to hint that during their 'rethink' she had taken the plan to very high levels within Inferno to gain approval. Maybe even the Leader himself. Clearly there could be political repercussions of the highest magnitude if anything went wrong and so the Inferno leadership team had to give consent.
Zhivkin was now feeling extremely nervous. With the level of visibility his plan now had, he was either going to zoom to the top of inferno's management cadre if the plan was successful or suffer consequences of extraordinary pain and duration if not.
But Zhivkin was a gambler and he played for high stakes. He had brought down the Russian aircraft taking off from the Crimea and stolen its fuel from the bottom of the Black Sea. He had even covered his tracks from the thieving hands of the Confiscations Unit.
Through that little escapade he had won notoriety and managed to talk his way into Kodrob's squad. No mean feat, that. Now he was on another mission but this time it was to bring down, not an inanimate aeroplane, but a very animate angel. An angel by the name of Jabez. Zhivkin had been watching days before, unknown and unseen, when Jabez had been walking the streets of Yaumati.
Unlike Lafarge, that useless French bourgeois ladies' man with the silken tongue and the permanent thirst, Zhivkin had not taken his eye off Jabez for a moment. Indeed he had watched in amazement as the angel disappeared from the middle of a Hong Kong street as though plucked from above by giant chopsticks. Supernaturals visiting Earth did not just appear and disappear in an instant. The transfer to the Fourth Dimension was a process that required preparation. Whether angels or demons, both had to seek a quiet place completely secure from accidental discovery where they could pass through a gateway between the Fourth and the Fifth. But Jabez had disappeared in a location where Zhivkin was sure there was no such gateway. He had disappeared in the middle of the street and that could only mean that he had some sort of invisible astracraft. Zhivkin wanted that craft. It would be his passport to a blazing career in Inferno with as much nitro as he could drink and top-caste, classy squaws every day. As many as he wanted.
Zhivkin opened the window blind just a tad further to increase the distance his eyes could sweep. There was Holzman, oblivious to his presence. Holzman was a typical demon duffer. No imagination and no ambition. Well, that was fine. Holzman was useful right now. He just had to do his job - which was to notice nothing - and all would be fine.
Zhivkin continued scanning the street. He would wait as long as it took. He would not blink. He would spot that smug, smiling angel without being spotted back. Then he would strike.
Blue Diamond Warehouse & Godown
Fatty Lo pointed to the huge gantry that spanned the warehouse from side to side twenty feet above the ground.
'During the day,' he told Nancy, 'this warehouse use for import cotton. Use crane and pulley for move heavy bags from side to side and up and down. But night time we use equipment for add excitement to cockfight.'
Nancy was on sensory overload from the smell of forty sweaty male bodies as attractive as swamps to the squadrons of circulating mosquitoes. From forty hoarse throats shouting, negotiating and laughing in discordant unison. From forty pairs of eyes furtively scanning her face, body and hemline. And from the proprietorial touch of a single podgy arm draped casually around her shoulders, property of one extremely contented triad society leader at the peak of his powers.
Fatty's moll du jour, the forty pairs of eyes read back to her. His bit of exotic fancy. A pale-faced courtesan to show off his cosmopolitan modern manners.
But Nancy was enjoying every bit of the attention, even the many lustful glances that came her way like panting dogs. Men gave themselves away at times like this, betrayed their power or lack of it. She read each face in an instant and knew who mattered, who counted, who was on the rise and who were just the placemen. She folded her hands delicately in her lap and surveyed the raucous assembly with calm interest, neither approving nor judging, just absorbing.
Fogies were busily removing dozens of thick oak planks from the floor. These revealed a circular, brick-lined pit under the gantry's path. Around this, other junior gangsters were piling bales of sheet cotton in tiers to make a grandstand.
'Down there is where the action,' explained Fatty unnecessarily. Only he and Nancy had chairs, placed in prime position near the edge of the pit to watch the upcoming avian battle. The rest would stand. He pointed to a metal grille set into the pit's brick wall, a small one-metre deep recess behind it. 'Challenger come from there, champion come from up there. Meet in pit and decide who live and who die,' he laughed.
Nancy saw the hoist attached to the gantry. A square metal pallet dangled below it.
Clap-clap-clap. A dapper gentleman with a wide, pointed moustache brought the meeting to order. He had slicked back grey hair and wore a satin waistcoat under a blazer with a carnation in the buttonhole.
'Frenchy,' Nancy heard many of the gangsters mutter in muted respect.
'Faithful leader, Devoted Encourager, Brother of Brothers,' began Frenchy. 'We salute you and thank you for your leadership and for the gift of tonight's entertainment.' A murmur of approval rippled around.
'First, we salute you,' he held up his glass and looked directly at Fatty. 'Drink to victory.'
'Victory,' shouted the hoarse throng through a thick cigarette smoke haze as forty Adam's apples protruded at once, flushing down cold beer and finest XO cognac. Grateful mosquitoes joined in, buzzing their way through the pall and drinking from their steaming human tankards.
Somewhere an air conditioner could be heard fighting the ferocious heat. It was no match for the task.
Fatty Lo acknowledged the toast with an imperious wave of his hand. 'Enjoy, enjoy,' he shouted. The forty hoodlums raised their glasses to him again before continuing with their drinking and smoking. 'Maybe I Rome emperor in previous life,' Fatty laughed to Nancy. 'The Fat Caesar. What you think?' Fatty's hand was now firmly clasped on her shoulder, his thumb casually brushing her skin.
A second speaker with the comical-sounding name of Chopper Kwok, who Nancy had seen before in Fatty Lo's company now took the floor. Chopper looked anything but a comedian. His hard eyes looked around him at his brothers and sisters in crime and gave off not a hint of kindness. The respect shown him by those gathered near was the respect of fear, not the respect of admiration. But Chopper was one of the most senior officers in Brother so it was appropriate for him to speak at this important gathering.
'Today we work and tomorrow we work. But tonight we drink and gamble.' While he spoke, Chopper's eyes ranged around as though looking for targets for his venom. 'Here are some reasons why we celebrate. We are no longer dependent on police informers. No need to pay off those uniformed parasites.' He looked down and nodded meaningfully at one or two of the men watching. 'In the last year, two more regional triads join Brother. In total ten casinos are in operation throughout the colony and nearly a thousand healthy women are on the payroll.' This brought a mild cheer and some clinking of glasses. 'The partnership with the Colombians is paying off and we now have our own factories in Thailand.' Everyone understood that the 'factories' were for heroin production.
'But now I want to address those of you who are impatient for us to grow faster. To make more money quicker.'
Nancy could just about follow the speech but now she paid close attention. Chopper appeared to be addressing an ongoing internal wrangle.
'Brother is growing 10% every year,' he continued. 'There is no need for faster growth. Let those who think otherwise keep their mouths shut.'
Nancy looked at Fatty bu
t he showed no emotion.
Beside Chopper was his dog Wolf Smoke, a German shepherd. Wolf Smoke, whose comic book name was testament to Chopper's immaturity, was a model for those who believed dogs took after their owners. Wolf Smoke lunged at everyone who came close to his master and made as if he would rip their hearts out if just given the command. Men put their hands in their pockets near Wolf Smoke to protect themselves. They surreptitiously tried to move the fabric of their trousers around their waist so that a hand covered their groin. Wolf Smoke was Chopper's aggressive persona on four legs.
He finished with a final toast for the Brother of Brothers and then handed back to Frenchy, the evening's fightmaster.
Fatty Lo turned to Nancy. 'The first fight is always between the current champion cock and a challenger. The challenger get thrown into the pit. The champion come from above, like Heaven,' he laughed.
Frenchy shouted, 'The first challenger, Snake Biter' and waved his arm with a flourish. An Armani-suited young man stepped forward holding a wide-eyed bird and threw it fluttering into the pit. Snake Biter landed and peered around him, startled, head on one side. He looked most unworthy of his name.
Then Frenchy looked up and with great aplomb announced the name of the champion, Black Wing. There was a roar of applause. Stewards now came around with notebooks taking money from the excited audience and marking the bets. Junior brothers handed out more beer and XO. Fatty Lo smiled graciously above the fray and shouted his own bet to a steward.
A steel gate crashed shut, there was a clank and then a hum as the hoist and pallet began its journey across the gantry. A metal cover with large air holes had been placed over Black Wing on the pallet. Once over the pit, the pallet descended.
Anticipation was now at fever pitch. The theatre of Black Wing's clanking journey to his next gladiatorial contest had captured the attention of old and young brothers alike. Necks craned, eyes stared, voices stilled. For the first time, no-one was looking at Nancy.
Fatty Lo's hand was now resting on Nancy's leg and his thumb indelicately stroked her thigh.
'Daai Lo,' - Big Brother - she said, 'drink with me.' She turned her whole body to face him. Fatty snapped his fingers at a nearby junior brother and shouted 'Brandy.'
'Scotch for me,' ordered Nancy. Two glasses appeared and two bottles. A small slug was poured in each. Nancy's was Johnnie Walker Black Label. The real deal, not tea.
'More,' she called. She tilted the bottle to give herself half a glass and did the same with Fatty's brandy.
'Down in one,' she said, looking him directly in the eye. Fatty was delighted.
'Wait, a picture.' She turned and put down her glass and rooted in her handbag for a minute, finally producing a small Land camera. She gave this to the brother and turned back to Fatty, glass in hand. As they downed their drinks the camera flashed and a moment later a photo rolled out of the machine. Nancy coughed and put her hand to her chest. Fatty's eyes shone.
The pallet hit the floor and the cover was raised. Black Wing looked up shyly at the two score of leery faces peering down at him. His moment's distraction cost him the first blow as Snake Biter descended on him with a screech and a rasping claw. The fight was on.
Two hours and eight cockfights later a limousine pulled up outside the Blue Diamond Warehouse & Godown. A swarm of brothers wreathed in cigarette smoke and with watery eyes emerged with Fatty Lo into the night, shaking him by the hand and guiding him to the car.
He just made it without stumbling and poured himself into the back seat. A brother held the door open for Nancy who stepped in after him. The car moved off with Fatty slumped against the far door, his cheeks unusually red.
Nancy lifted her handbag onto her knee. It sloshed a little despite the bundle of toilet paper she had thrown in earlier. It also smelt like a distillery. She hoped no-one had noticed.
'Where to, Miss?' asked the chauffeur.
'Drop me off at Golden Luck and then take Mr Lo to his apartment and see him safely indoors,' she replied.
Beside her, Fatty groaned.
She pulled out the small soy milk bottle with the flip top. There was still a little tea left inside. She drank it and replaced the top. Then she threw it quickly back inside her bag and zipped it up tight to stop the whisky vapours escaping. Thanks for the warning, Jenny, she thought.
Looking ahead as the chauffeur pulled away, Nancy saw a red candle about a metre in front of the windscreen that stayed in place even as they turned out of the parking spot and accelerated. She couldn't see its wick but its bright red flame was just hovering there, mysterious and beautiful. She was drawn to its enigmatic energy, almost wanting to reach forward through the glass and touch it.
She consciously resisted its attraction. I'm not a moth. I'm not a creature of the night. You shan't have me yet.
The candle became a lower case letter i, stark in outline, still as death, staunch as certainty. You're coming, Nancy. You'll soon be mine. Nothing you can do.
No need to ask the driver if he saw it, Nancy thought. She knew he couldn't have, he'd have crashed by now.
Red Si
The limo cornered, the i faded, Nancy placed her bag on the floor and folded her hands in her lap.
Tai O Factory Building, Yaumati, Kowloon
Out on Nathan Road the hawkers were dishing out salt fish and rice in little snack packets; hot woks were frying pork with prawns, pork with chestnuts, pork with cabbage and pork with chicken; currency exchangers with exquisite charm, rapier wit and murderous no commission exchange rates were robbing the tourists like oriental Dick Turpins; jewellers were dusting their trays of Rolex, Girard Perregaux and Cartiers while restaurant windows displayed goldened ducks and honeyed char siu pork that drew eyes and flies in equal numbers.
Lafarge patrolled the highway with his eyes peeled for heavenly angels. He had strict instructions from Bezejel to unpeel his eyes from the many delightful local angels that filled the streets. These bubbly brown-eyed beauties poured out from offices and factories in the warm October noontime and teased him insane with their pretty faces, narrow waists and slender hips. What he wouldn't give to bring half a dozen of these girls back to his old chateau for a night or two. But he knew Bezejel would skewer, spit and slow-roast him like a Cul Noir pig at Chinese New Year if he missed so much as a real angel's sigh.
One floor above him and unknown to him, Zhivkin was into his third day of watch behind a dirty pane of glass in an unused storeroom of the Tai O Garments Factory. Zhivkin was aiming for glory among thieves and he had the patience and the watchfulness to achieve it.
A car skidded and a horn blared as someone stepped back suddenly from the road below. Near miss.
There. Zhivkin saw Jabez appear outside a jewellery shop. One moment that part of the street was empty and then suddenly Jabez was there. I couldn't do that, he thought, how can he do that? It was so quick. Lafarge was still lazily watching the almost-accident. Concentration of a five year old. Jabez walked slowly, almost insolently in Zhivkin's view, on the opposite side of the road, letting himself be seen by Lafarge. I'm not up to anything, he seemed to be saying, just taking the airs and showing you Inferno doesn't own this patch.
Cats do that. Jabez was parading like a cat. Amateur.
Zhivkin knew his opportunity had arrived. This was what he had waited three days for. It might not come again. He left the window at a fast trot and made for the stairs. He ran up the six flights of steps as fast as he could, kicking open the fire door at the top and bursting onto the roof. Running to the roof-edge he dropped low and took out his lightly-dusted periscope, using it to peer over the drop. The dust on the lens would reduce his spectre making it hard for Jabez to see him, even if the angel looked upwards directly into the optics. He just had to keep from being seen until Jabez returned to his craft. Then he would have just seconds to act.
For two hours Jabez walked around the area, occasionally disappearing down side streets or into buildings. Both demons knew he was planting his ludicrous
code. They knew he could not know their own plan to capture Nancy's mind and turn her into one of the most powerful corruptors of men the world had ever seen. Why, even they didn't know the full details of Hideki's plan.
Zhivkin watched closely the area in which he had first seen Jabez. It was there somewhere, the ship, and he was going to hijack it. He had brought down an aircraft before with his quick thinking. Now he was going to steal a heavenly astracraft.
Jabez reappeared, nonchalantly strolling back towards Nathan Road from a side street. Lafarge hadn't clocked him. No surprise there. Beyond Lafarge, further north, the sound of an ambulance. It skidded to a halt outside a department store and two medics disgorged in a hurry. Up and down the street heads turned and rubbernecked, eager to see someone on a stretcher, ready to tell the story later to eager friends. Lafarge flashed his eyes up and down the street and then followed the medics' progress, sure he had missed nothing. Zhivkin kept his eyes on Jabez.
Sure enough, Jabez stopped just near where he had appeared earlier and looked up, as if calling with his mind. Then he stepped forward and disappeared.
Zhivkin grasped the edge of the parapet, raised himself up and threw himself off the building. He sailed through the air in a perfect arc drawing his knees up to his chest to make himself smaller. He crashed heavily six feet above the pavement.
Boot and Shoe Archipelago, Azurine Sea, Paradise
