The Allegation: A John Mackworth novel

by Tony Davies

  Mack looked up at the roof and saw the building was five storeys high. Given that the club occupied the whole building, it meant that it either had extensive dining facilities spread over all the floors or offered other facilities that were not listed in its licensing application. If the latter was true, then someone from the licensing department had turned a blind eye when conducting the building’s annual inspection. Not unheard of, but nevertheless unusual. The Independent Commission against Corruption, or ICAC as it was more commonly known as, had long ago put a stop to petty corruption, particularly when it came to government departments.

  Mack knocked on the door and it was immediately opened by a large, imposing Chinese man wearing a tuxedo and a fixed smile. He was at least three inches taller than Mack and had shaved his head, probably in attempt to make himself more intimidating. He needn’t have bothered.

  The man looked intently at Mack as if trying to recognize him before saying in a slightly accented English “Good evening sir, how may I help you?”

  “Someone recommended I join the club so I thought I would come along and check out the facilities” replied Mack.

  “Who is that person sir?”

  Mack had anticipated this question and had weighed up whether he should use a fictitious name or just say he couldn’t remember. He had decided to go with the latter and replied “I can’t remember actually, does it matter?”

  “Sorry sir, we are not open for new members now.”

  The doorman started to close the door so Mack quickly replied “Actually, I remember now, it was Stephen Chan. I am not sure if he is a member here or if he came with his partner.”

  The doorman hesitated a moment before replying “Please come in sir, I will get someone to talk to you”.

  Mack was shown into the reception area, which was small but expensively furnished. There was a reception desk, behind which sat another similarly dressed and equally imposing man. Along side him sat a Chinese woman in her mid-thirties who was wearing a white blouse and black jacket. Her hair was tied in a pony-tail and it gave her an austere, authoritarian look.

  On the wall behind them hung a Norman Rockwell print of bald man in a grey suit looking at a multi-colored abstract painting. The artist’s name was on the print and Mack thought it was an odd choice for a private members club.

  He looked around the room and saw there were two doors, one next to the reception desk, which presumably led to the administration area and one off to the side, which he assumed was for members to enter the main part of the club.

  A floor to ceiling mirror occupied one wall and Mack’s first thought was that it was two‐way and would be used to watch whoever was in the room.

  After a few minutes a middle aged Chinese man entered the room. He was also dressed in a tuxedo, but was far less imposing and from his demeanor it was clear that his role was not to physically intimidate unwanted guests. He smiled at Mack and said in Cantonese “I am Mr. Wong. How may I help you?”

  Mack did not respond. There was nothing to be gained by divulging that he spoke the language so he looked quizzically at the man. The man then spoke again “I am sorry, let me say it in English, I am Mr. Wong. How may I help you?”

  Mack smiled and repeated what he had told the doorman. The man studied him for a moment before replying “I don’t remember a Stephen Chan, do you have the name of his partner? And what is your name?”

  “My name is Mackworth and I can’t remember the name I am sorry. I never met him. Stephen just said he had been here a few times and that it was quite private and exclusive. He told me I would fit in and that I should join.”

  The man continued smiling. “This Stephen Chan, what is his profession. Perhaps if I knew that I could help identify his partner.”

  “Another of those investment bankers I am afraid, I know him through tennis. We often play together.”

  “What profession are you in Mr. Mackworth? Have you been in Hong Kong long?” “I have an import/export business and I have been here a few years now.”

  He handed the man a business card for the JM Import/Export Company, which showed him as the managing director. It had a Kowloon address and if anyone took the trouble to ring the telephone number on it the phone would be answered in the company’s name. It was one of the many virtual offices in Hong Kong where for a nominal sum each month people could maintain the illusion of an office even if it was basically only a telephone answering service.

  “Please forgive me, I will be back in a few minutes.”

  The man then left and Mack was directed to one of the chairs in full view of the mirror.

  After ten minutes the man returned and Mack stood up to face him. He again smiled at Mack. “If you would like to join our club you will have to be sponsored by two members. We do not have an application form. Your sponsors will know what to do. The annual fee is ten thousand dollars, US of course, and whatever services you use are on top of that.” He continued smiling and stood motionless for a moment waiting for Mack to respond.

  “The fee is not a problem, but finding two sponsors may be. I don’t know who your members are. Any suggestions as to how I overcome this? I really would like to join.”

  “But you do know Stephen Chan and his partner. I am sure if he wants you to join our club he will help you do so. When your sponsors ask us to, we will happily show you the facilities and go over the services we offer. Until then, thank you for coming to see us.”

  The man took Mack’s arm and gently and subtly guided him towards the door.

  He was startled when Mack stopped abruptly and turned towards the mirror and looked intently at it. He sensed there was someone watching them and he wanted to register his interest in Stephen and the club with whoever was there. After a few moments he walked to the door and left the club.

  ……………………………………………………………………………………………

  After he left the La boheme, Mack wandered aimlessly towards Lan Kwai Fong. He hadn’t expected to be admitted to the club, although he told himself that stranger things had happened. Using Stephen’s name would obviously have put them on notice that he was interested in the club’s activities, that is assuming they knew of him of course. The club was clearly more than it appeared, but it didn’t mean it was in any way connected with Stephen’s death.

  The muscle at the door, the mirror and ‘Mr. Wong’ meant they didn’t like unwanted guests and he could understand that. Private members clubs are just that. They are private.

  He realized that his attendance at the club would have been noted by whoever ran it, so perhaps the visit had not been a total waste. Sometimes you had to make things happen and he felt this was one of those occasions. If they had nothing to hide then nothing had been gained, but if they were involved in Stephen’s death then he expected a reaction from them. Time would tell.

  After a few minutes of aimless walking he found himself in front of The Solar bar. He looked inside and saw there were seven or eight people sat in chairs spread around the room with two people stood at the bar. He wasn’t in the mood to go home. He found it extremely difficult to switch off at the end of the day and today would be no exception. He walked in and took a seat at the opposite end of the bar.

  Two beers later a group of expats walked in and stood at the far end of the bar. He assumed they were bankers blowing off steam after making even more money for their employers. Hong Kong was full of them. Long live capitalism was Hong Kong’s mantra so their presence was inevitable. It was not their money that he objected to, it was simply their attitude. Young professional wannabees who earned far too much money and insisted on letting everyone know how rich and important they were.

  He was watching Real Madrid play on a small screen behind the bar. The volume had been turned off, but it didn’t matter as he wasn’t really focusing on the game. His thoughts drifted from the case to job offers and he was content to sit there quietly drinking his beer.

  His solitude was int
errupted when someone asked him quietly “Why don’t you get them to turn the sound on?”

  It was a female voice and he looked up to see an expat woman in her early thirties standing next to him. She was tall, with shoulder length brown hair and was wearing a long-sleeved pink business shirt and black slacks. Up-market, expensively dressed and very confident. Probably another banker. Mack had met many similar women in Hong Kong, although he admitted to himself that not many were as attractive as this one.

  “My Spanish isn’t very good and at least this is better than the children’s cartoons they were showing earlier.”

  He kept a straight face, which drew the required response when she laughed and replied “This is a sports bar, children’s cartoons?” She paused for a moment before saying “Ah I see, a football fan with a sense of humor. Sorry to spoil your fun but they won that game 1 – 0, a goal in the last minute.”

  When he didn’t reply, she stroked her chin and said to him thoughtfully “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You are a rocket scientist taking a night off, or perhaps a heart specialist catching a quick break between transplants?”

  “Actually no, I’m a kinder garden teacher.”

  She seemed startled for a moment before laughing “Ah, as I said, a sense of humour. My name is Em by the way. I didn’t want to disturb you but someone at the end of the bar thought they knew you and told me you wouldn’t bite my head off if I came over and said hello.”

  Mack looked at her group of friends at the end of the bar and didn’t recognize anyone so he thought response was appropriate.

  “And did they tell you my name?”

  She stroked her chin again and answered “Let me think, no, I don’t think he knew your name, just that he knew you from playing rugby.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was being entirely truthful. He had played rugby for a number of years, but that wasn’t unusual in Hong Kong. Not that he cared. As a pick –up approach Mack had seen better, but he had also seen a lot worse.

  “So what is your name?” She was obviously English, probably from somewhere like Crawley or one of one the other Surrey towns.

  “It’s John, but everyone calls me….”

  Before he could finish one of her friends came over and said “We are going on to Schnobarts, you joining us or staying here?” He seemed friendly enough and had an easy going, relaxed demeanor.

  Em glanced at Mack and replied “Yes I am” and turned to walk away.

  Mack’s first reaction was one of disappointment. Its not every day someone of Em’s standard appeared on the horizon. Before he could react she stopped and spoke quietly. “Over to you.” She then walked slowly back to her friends and was greeted by a high five from an older looking woman in her forties. A few moments they all left. Em didn’t acknowledge him in any way as they did so.

  Ten minutes later Mack walked into Schnobarts. He hadn’t been there in a long time and it hadn’t changed in his absence. It was small and cramped, but it had a lively environment with people talking loudly.

  Em and her friends had found some space at the bar and had a tray of schnapps in front of them. It was the bar’s trademark drink and Mack had fond memories of evenings spent there with Don and other ex-colleagues.

  Em was talking to a short Chinese man who seemed to be captivated by her and was hanging on her every word. In your dreams Mack told himself. In Hong Kong, expat guys and Chinese women was a common occurrence, but Chinese guys with expat women rarely, if ever, happened. It wasn’t racism on the part of expat women, or at least he reasoned it wasn’t. It was just the way it was.

  Em glanced at the door and saw Mack. She smiled briefly, but continued listening intently the man. Mack saw a friend of his and waved to him. He was about to go over to him when Em appeared at his side.

  “I am glad you came. You rescued me. He does some work with my firm so I have to be polite to him, but its obvious he likes me and I am not sure how I should tell him that I am not interested.”

  She glanced back in the direction of the Chinese man who was standing on his own looking slightly lost in the crowded bar. “I suppose I could tell him I know his wife.”

  She smiled mischievously and confided “I am joking, he is single, although I do think he wants me to have his children, well, at least he wants to have sex with me.”

  When she didn’t get an immediate response she smiled and went on to say “I hope I haven’t shocked you. You don’t seem like the type to be shocked easily.”

  Mack looked at her and inwardly smiled to himself. Em seemed spontaneous, attractive and almost certainly available. Well, perhaps not certainly, but the signs were promising. He replied “Are you staying on schnapps or can I get you something else?” She told him to order her a white wine soda and that she had to speak to her friends and would be back in a few minutes.

  Mack made a show of looking at his watch before she moved off, but was impressed when within five minutes she was back alongside him. He started with his standard technique when approached by a beautiful woman, an occurrence which he told himself happened less often than he would care to admit.

  “So, tell me all about yourself?”

  “Nothing much to tell really, I am over 25 but under 35, I am British and like men not women. I pretend to be shy, but I am not really, in fact I can be an extrovert at times, in a controlled sort of way if you know what I mean. I am not married, although I have come close a few times. I would like to find Mr. Right but I am not desperate to find a husband and I like my independence. And I always get straight to the point.” She laughed before saying “What about you?”

  “Me? Been here a long time, never married, not even close if I am being honest about it. What do you do for a living?”

  She suddenly turned serious and answered “I am a PA, but not tonight, tonight is all about fun. And don’t ask me how long I have been in Hong Kong. Everyone does that. Try something a bit more original.”

  “Flowers or chocolates?” asked Mack “Flowers definitely and preferably roses.” “Texts or calls?”

  “Texts, then I can call if I want to or pretend I haven’t read it if I don’t want to.” “Kitchen or office?”

  She started laughing and her whole face lit up when she joked “In what context? A career girl or closet housewife? Or where would I prefer to have sex?”

  “Good questions, but I am asking the questions.”

  “I am definitely the office type, but the kitchen can be okay on certain occasions too.” Before Mack could respond she said “My turn now. Boxer shorts or Y fronts? And please don’t say commando.”

  Mack laughed and answered “If I say boxers I will sound like my dad so I had better say Y fronts.”

  “Coffee or tea in the morning?” “Definitely coffee.”

  “Top or bottom?”

  “Scared of heights, so bottom it is. I am always afraid I will fall off if I sleep on the top bunk.” He kept a straight face for a few moments and then they both burst out laughing.

  At that moment another of Em’s friends approached them and shouted “Come on Em, this is pub crawl night, we are going on to Insomnia.”

  Em looked at Mack intently and without removing her eyes from him said “You go ahead, I may join you later”. Her friend waved goodbye and headed towards the exit with her other friends. When they were alone she moved closer to Mack and whispered “I hope you are not going to let me down and disappear on me. I would feel so foolish.”

  “Me, let you down! Why would I do that” replied Mack

  “Oh, men are funny sometimes. If women are too forward they can feel threatened or intimidated and then run for cover. Not that I have been too forward with you that is, but you never know how men will react when a girl approaches them in a bar. Of course, I haven’t approached lots of men before, it’s just something I read in the girlie magazines while I was in the dentist ‘s waiting room.”

  “Yep, got that. Been to the same dentist. And read the same magazine. You can relax, I am not
planning on going anywhere without you.”

  They stayed in the bar for another twenty minutes, making small talk about movies they had seen and places they had visited. Em was originally from Oxford, but she seemed reluctant to divulge much about her personal life and Mack didn’t push her needlessly.

  When she said she felt sleepy Mack suggested he see her home. They took a taxi to the Belchers in Kennedy Town, a huge residential complex on the west of Hong Kong Island. They said very little in the taxi and when they got there Mack paid the driver the thirty Hong Kong dollar fare and they took the lift to the 15th floor.

  When they got to her apartment door she searched inside her bag for her keys. Mack stood patiently waiting to see what happened next. She found her keys and as she opened the door she asked him “Would you like to come in for a coffee?” He nodded his head and stepped into the apartment.