Point Blank

by Fern Michaels

  “You got all that, Snowden?” Jack bellowed.

  “I got it! I got it! Like the countess says, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been here in Hong Kong so many times, I’ve lost count. I got it! We’ll meet for breakfast, so put my order in for coffee, bacon, and eggs. I do not do tea. None of us do tea.”

  “Okay. Okay. I got it, too.”

  The big truck ground to a stop. Pedestrians scurried to get out of the way, and the five Americans and Dishbang Deshi exited through the back of the truck. The big truck lumbered off.

  “Follow me, people. We’re going to a pastry shop for tea and rice cakes. Just a normal stop before heading to the hotel. Try to look . . . like tourists. I will pretend to be your guide. Harry and I will speak Chinese. Just keep quiet and smile. Be sure to drink the tea and eat the cakes. If you don’t, it will raise suspicion. Eyes are everywhere just waiting to report something to someone for a few yen.”

  Within minutes, the small group of six was seated at a round table. The shop was crowded, even at this late hour, with customers eating rice cakes and drinking tea or slurping noodle soup. It was a noisy crowd, all speaking Chinese. Harry more or less paired off with Dishbang Deshi, while Jack and Dennis sat next to each other. Yoko sat in the middle, still pretending to be a child. Her glasses, minus one arm, were still perched on her nose.

  While Harry and Dishbang Deshi jabbered away in Chinese, Dennis leaned closer to Jack and whispered, “She wouldn’t have . . . you know . . . done that, would she, Jack?”

  Jack smiled as he bit into one of the sticky rice cakes sitting in front of him. “That and more, and she wouldn’t have missed a beat, kid. All those women march to a different drummer. I thought you knew and accepted that.”

  “I did, I do, it’s just that it was so real, so in my face. Hearing about things like that and actually seeing it going down is something else. I’m not being a wimp here.”

  “Yeah, you are, kid. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Let me ask you this, Dennis. Let’s say Yoko faltered, tripped . . . whatever, and she dropped the wire, and the rest of us were preoccupied, could you have picked up that wire and did what Yoko intended?”

  Dennis thought about the question for a moment. To lie or not to lie. “Probably not,” he said honestly.

  A grin split Jack’s face. “Me either, kid. I would have just smashed his nose up into his brain. Women just have a different take on . . . what works and what doesn’t. And they’ve been at it longer than we have. In short, they don’t mess around.”

  “I get it,” Dennis said, gulping at the tea in his tiny cup. “What do you think Harry and that guy Dishbang Deshi are talking about?”

  “No clue, kid.”

  What Dishbang Deshi and Harry were talking about had nothing to do with their present circumstances. While the conversation was the news of the day, their ever-watchful expressions were not.

  “Everyone in Hong Kong is talking about the Brit who worked for the Bank of America who was arrested today in Wan Chai for a double murder. It’s where you go for a special kind of nightlife.” Dishbang Deshi lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just listen, Harry, that’s all the people are talking about. We need to do and act like them, or we’ll come under suspicion.”

  “I don’t give a good rat’s ass about some dumb-ass banker getting arrested. So that means you’ll have to do the talking, and I’ll ask questions,” Harry said.

  “The guy was twenty-nine, a British banker. They found one body stuffed in a suitcase and left on his balcony. The other one was inside the apartment.”

  “Prostitutes?” Harry asked.

  “According to the press and TV coverage, yes. The truth is, Hong Kong has a very low murder rate. The last big one was one of your Merrill Lynch bankers who was clubbed to death in 2003 by his wife, who drugged him beforehand by serving him a milkshake full of sleeping pills. Since he was one of yours, Harry, I thought you might remember.” Dishbang Deshi lowered his voice and hissed. “Look like you’re interested and say something, for hell’s sake. People are watching us. And they’re listening.”

  Harry cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, the milkshake murder. It had a big run back in the States at the time. What’s the Brit’s name? Anyone you know, Dishbang Deshi?”

  “No, but I use that bank here. The guy supposedly liked the high and good life. At twenty-nine, that’s all guys think about around here. The British consulate is involved but not saying much. He was what you Americans call a mover and a shaker. He worked at Barclays. Attended Cambridge—Peterhouse, the oldest college—and was president of the Cambridge University History Society. Prior to Cambridge, he went to Winchester College, one of Britain’s most famous and oldest public schools. He was also a cross-country runner and rower.

  “You, of course, know what Facebook is, eh? He made a post that said, ‘Money does buy happiness,’ and twenty-nine is the perfect age.”

  “And I need to know all this crap, why?”

  “You aren’t listening to a thing I say, Harry. I told you to tune in the other patrons here and listen. Mr. Rurik George Caton Jutting is the sole topic of conversation. When in Rome . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Can we leave now?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Dishbang Deshi dug in his pocket and withdrew a fistful of yen notes and placed them under the teapot. “Slow and easy, everyone, smiles, little waves. A few bows to the waitstaff, and we can go. Walk very slowly, and do not draw attention to yourselves.” No sooner were the words out of Dishbang Deshi’s mouth than Dennis tripped over his own feet and fell forward. A portly little man at the next table acted quickly and stiff-armed him, breaking his fall. Jack pulled him back and upright. Dishbang Deshi stepped forward and let loose with a long string of dialogue that made the round little man smile and nod, then laugh out loud. Dennis winced, knowing he was the butt of some secret Chinese joke, but at the moment he simply did not care. He just wanted to get out of here.

  “What did you say to that guy?” Dennis demanded the moment they were back out on the street.

  “I said you were a tourist and in need of dancing lessons. Step lively now. We’re almost to the hotel. Did anyone alert those in the hotel as to what happened at the showroom this evening?”

  “I did,” Yoko chirped. “Everyone is excited that things are moving so quickly. They’re waiting for us in Myra’s suite. We’re to go straight up. We rented the entire floor, so there is plenty of room for you.”

  Dishbang Deshi nodded. “Ah, I see the lights, the Peninsula is just ahead. Step lively, act like you actually belong, and no one will stop you. Walk straight to the elevator and don’t look at anyone.”

  The group followed Dishbang Deshi’s directions. As Jack said later, it didn’t look to him like anyone was paying undue attention to them. Yoko agreed. Dennis said he thought the majordomo looked at them a little too long as they made their way to the elevators. They all heaved a sigh of relief when they reached the partially open door to Myra’s suite. They breezed in like a brisk wind. Jack had the presence of mind to turn and lock the door behind him.

  Then everyone was talking at once. Alarmed, Dishbang Deshi stepped away from the others as he stared at them, then at Harry. “Who are these people, Harry? All these women! What do you think this is, a garden party?”

  “Oh, dear, did that man just say what I think he said?” Annie asked.

  “I think he did, dear,” Myra cooed.

  Kathryn took a step forward, and when her face was a bare inch from Dishbang Deshi’s, she said, “I think the question should be, who are YOU?”

  In a nanosecond, Dishbang Deshi was surrounded by women. “How nice. Now we can play ring-around-the-rosy,” Nikki said.

  “You might want to stand over there by Ted, kid. This could get real ugly, real fast.” Dennis scurried across the room, where a buffet of food was set up. He was hungry, wanted to eat; but more important, he wanted to know what was going to happen to Harry’s friend Dishbang Deshi. He
popped a plump pink shrimp into his mouth and crunched down. Kathryn was a hothead. Nikki could kill with a look. Isabelle looked like she could chew nails and spit rust. Alexis was toying with a long silken cord, stretching it back and forth. Like a garrote. Myra and Annie simply smiled as they closed the circle tighter.

  “Harry!” It was a desperate, high-pitched squeal that made Harry laugh out loud. “I warned you back in the showroom, Bang. These women are not your average women. They do not come from Mud Flats, Mississippi. They are . . . um . . . worldly.”

  “Are you . . . are you . . . saying they’re . . . killers? My God, what are you mixed up in, Harry? First Jun Yu and now you and these . . . these people.”

  “They’re extraordinary women, Dishbang Deshi. I know that even here in China you must have heard about the American Vigilantes.”

  “Oh, my esteemed husband, such kind words for our little group.” Yoko giggled. “I will reward you later, my precious little dove.” Harry turned five shades of red, pink, and reddish pink and purple pink and pale pink.

  Dishbang Deshi took his time, letting his eyes lock on first one woman, then the other, until he completed the circle. He moved slightly to see Harry better before he passed out cold.

  The women laughed in delight.

  Chapter 12

  Dishbang Deshi came to with a start, his eyes glazed as he stared up at the circle of women peering down at him. His heart hammered in his chest as he moved his head to seek out his friend Harry. He struggled to sit up but realized there was a heavy foot on his chest. Kathryn’s foot. He held out his hands, palms facing outward in open surrender.

  Harry stepped forward until he was between Yoko and Isabelle. He leaned down, stretched out his hand, and pulled his old friend to his feet. Dishbang Deshi started to babble in Chinese. In a nanosecond, Nikki was in his face demanding he speak English. In a voice that could have frozen a leg of lamb, she said, “Let’s hear the magic words. You will respect us, women or not. Or”—her voice turned sweeter than honey—“we will take you out right here. If for some ridiculous reason you don’t think that is possible, just ask your friend Harry here what we are capable of.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” In a voice that was so fearful, so jittery-sounding, Dishbang Deshi could hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “I’m getting the picture here. You have my apologies, ladies.”

  “It’s a wise man who knows when to step up to the plate, Mr. Dishbang. Your apology is accepted,” Myra said smartly. “Now, can we get on with the business at hand?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Maggie said as she moved away to stand next to Ted. “Let’s make our plans for the morning, then I really need to get some sleep. This jet lag is doing me in.”

  Two hours later, the group had a plan formulated and were about to separate for the night when there was a knock on the door. As one, the group tensed but when a rat-a-tat-tat knock sounded again, Jack knew it was Avery Snowden. He threw the door open wide and stood back.

  “Just so you know, the first string is out there. My people are on it, and I’m posting two operatives on this floor, one right outside the elevator and the other one at the stairwell. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s your friend Dishbang Deshi they’re after, not the rest of you. Seeing as how they must have followed you all here, at the very least they are suspicious of the Americans. I spotted them immediately. Surveillance-wise, they are amateurs.

  “Any orders, ladies and gentlemen? If not, I’m going to retire for the rest of the night. I’ll be up and ready to go by five o’clock. We’ll convene in the lobby at seven.”

  Dennis danced around, first on one foot, then the other. He desperately wanted to ask Snowden if he thought they were safe in going to sleep but didn’t want to appear like a wimp, so he just chewed down on his lower lip and let his stomach curdle at the thought of being murdered in a bed halfway around the world.

  He risked a glance at the others. But no one seemed unduly worried, not even Harry, his idol.

  The others gathered up their gear and followed Snowden out the door, hotel room card readers in hand. They all agreed to meet in the lobby for breakfast at seven the next morning.

  When the door finally closed behind the others, Annie made sure the double lock and chain were in place. Only she, Fergus, Myra, and Charles remained in the suite. Annie’s suite could be accessed through a short hallway off Myra’s suite. There was no need for them to go out into the hallway at all.

  “Well, the ball is in motion,” Annie said. “I have to admit, I didn’t think things would move this fast. I always more or less thought of China as being slow for some reason.”

  “I think what you mean is sneaky slow, dear,” Myra said. “I will admit I do have a worry, however. What happens to Harry’s friend Dishbang Deshi when we leave in the morning to go on our shopping expedition? No one said whether he’s staying behind or going with Avery. Obviously, if we want to keep our cover intact as far as being tourists, then we cannot be seen with Dishbang Deshi. Which then brings up another question. Was Dishbang Deshi seen with Harry, Jack, Yoko, and Dennis at the café? If he was, then our cover is blown.”

  Charles could feel the start of a full-blown migraine coming on. “We have to assume our cover is blown if Snowden is right and the first string is already outside. If that’s the case, then those men have already notified whomever they report to that this is all a plot against China. I’m not liking this one little bit.”

  Fergus massaged his temples. Charles was right. “Call Snowden now, Charles. I do not plan to close my eyes until I know exactly what’s going on. For all we know, when we wake up, there could be a hundred police down there in the lobby waiting to toss us into one of their stinky prisons. Now, Charles!”

  Myra held up her hand to stop Charles. “This might just be a guess on my part, dear, but I rather think Alexis has the matter under control. She did bring her red magic bag of tricks with her. I saw it on the plane. I think in the morning, Mr. Dishbang, also known as Dishbang Deshi to the rest of us, will be someone else entirely. Just another member of the Crescent China Tours group. Annie, do you agree?”

  “Of course! Of course! That’s exactly how it will go down. Never mind, Charles. And, Fergus, my darling, do not fret. We ladies have it in hand. I think we’ll say good night now.” Annie gave Fergus such a shove, he literally sailed across the room to the open door that separated the two suites.

  “Well then, my dear, I suggest we follow suit and hit the sack,” Charles said as he felt the tension in his neck abate. Perhaps there would be no migraine after all. Unless Myra had other . . . Don’t go there, Charles, he warned himself. Then again, Myra did look like she was in a playful mood....

  Pegasus had nothing on Charles Martin as he galloped toward the bedroom.

  As was inevitable, morning came to Hong Kong as it always did. To everyone’s dismay, early on the atmosphere was gray with the effects of the heavy pollution that poisoned the air. Doom and gloom in her voice, Maggie announced that things would get brighter when they partook of some good old-fashioned shopping. The others wholeheartedly agreed. They were all down in the lobby well before the appointed hour of seven o’clock.

  “We do breakfast just like all tours do,” Maggie announced in her best tourist-guide voice. “I suggest we all do the buffet so we can move along at a good pace. Then we can depart the hotel and head for Nathan Road, where we will shop till noon, have lunch, then shop some more until three thirty, at which point we will head back here to the hotel, partake of high tea, then settle down and discuss the day. Raise your hand if you are in agreement. And by the way, we need to welcome a new member to our group, Mr. Bik Bo. Mr. Bo is from San Francisco. He got stranded somehow, and his tour company shuttled him over to us. So, everyone, a big welcome to Mr. Bik Bo.”

  The gang waved with gusto. Mr. Bo grinned, showing twice as many teeth as he had when he was Dishbang Deshi. Mr. Bo also had twice as much hair, a new eye color, and ruddy cheeks
, along with ten extra pounds plus two inches more in height. All thanks to Alexis and her red magic bag of tricks.

  “Mr. Bo will stay as close to Alexis as possible during our shopping trip. We don’t want him pairing off with any of the guys, so if someone is following us as a group, nothing will cause suspicion. If we’re all good here, then let’s get some breakfast so we have enough energy for all the shopping we’re going to be doing. Ah, I see Mr. Snowden heading our way. Okay, everybody, showtime. Act just like the stupid tourists we’re supposed to be.”

  “Nice talk, girl.” Nikki giggled as she walked alongside Maggie, her gaze sweeping the exquisite dining room for anything that appeared out of the ordinary.

  “I’m thinking I missed my calling. Maybe I was meant to be a tour guide in my other life.” Maggie lowered her voice, and said, “I’m not seeing anything to cause concern, are you, Nikki?”

  “No. But we are inside the hotel. I’m sure things will change once we get outside into the street.”

  The quick meal was accompanied by a lot of girl talk and a bit of nibbling while the guys mostly remained silent while stoking down a heavy-duty breakfast. While they chewed and swallowed, their eyes and ears were tuned to anyone who looked like they didn’t belong in the elegant hotel and whatever conversations they could overhear. Surprisingly, most of the conversations they could overhear were spoken in English by tourists like what they were supposed to be.

  “No cause for alarm,” was Charles’s assessment. Snowden agreed. “Yet.” Charles followed up with a roguish wink.

  And then they were outside waiting for the transportation that would take them to Nathan Road for their shopping excursion. The group separated and climbed into three white hotel vans much like the one that had been assigned to them the night before.

  Maggie and Ted plopped on their hats with the huge colored feathers; gave one last, mercifully short speech; and they were on their way.