by Chan Ho-Kei
“And that was … N?”
“Yes.” The man nodded. “He never said a word, but I have friends who keep one ear to the ground, and they told me the triad leader was out of the picture—someone from outside the gang had got rid of him. Of course, it turned out that the stomach ache was just an excuse. A businessman had hired them to harass me so I’d give up my shop. If this space was vacant, they could buy up the whole building, tear it down, and build a luxury condo. That would make billions.”
“How did you know this outsider was N?”
“N had asked me about the gangsters: Did they have any identifying marks, what did they say as they were smashing up the joint? I thought he was just curious. When I asked him about it afterward, he didn’t deny it. All he said was, ‘If Loi’s were to close down, that would be a real loss for the neighborhood.’”
Nga-Yee wondered if he was hero-worshipping N just a little too much, but then she recalled N’s uncanny ability to find clues in seemingly irrelevant details, and the way he’d terrified those gangsters right in front of her.
“Plenty of people in and out of the underworld want N’s help, but he’s picky with his cases. If he doesn’t want to do something, no amount of money will persuade him. But then sometimes a case just happens to catch his interest, the old busybody. Have you read Jin Yong’s Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils? N is like that floor-sweeping Shaolin monk who never interferes with the kung fu world, but as soon as he steps in, not even Murong Fu or Xiao Feng can stop him.”
Even though Nga-Yee had read Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, she found it hard to connect any of the characters in this martial arts novel to N. The proprietor seemed to be quite a fan, and he went on at great length to discuss the differences between the various TV adaptations. Nga-Yee smiled and nodded till he put a delicious-smelling bowl in front of her: plump wontons and delightfully chewy noodles, all in an aromatic fish broth. After she’d gobbled it down, he poured her a cup of hot tea, making this one of the best meals ever.
She paid up as soon as she finished her tea. Although the shop was still relatively empty, it was tiny enough that she didn’t want to take up space for any longer than necessary.
As the owner was handing Nga-Yee her change, another customer walked in. “Large wonton noodles, reduced noodles, extra scallions, soup on the side, fried greens, no oyster sauce.”
Nga-Yee’s head whipped around. It wasn’t N, but someone more surprising.
“Oh! Miss Au?”
Standing in the doorway was a man of about fifty with a head of gray hair: Wendy’s uncle.
“Mr. Mok?”
“What a coincidence.” He came and sat next to her. “Or are you here to visit N? Not such a coincidence, then.”
“Nope, that’s not why I’m here.” It was true, she told herself: from the moment she’d decided to come to Loi’s for noodles, she was no longer in Sai Ying Pun to see N.
“But you know about this place through N? He brought me here a few years ago, and I’ve been hooked ever since. Stop by for a bowl every time I’m in the neighborhood.” He beamed. “Plenty of noodle restaurants these days scrimp—you’re lucky to get six wontons in a bowl. But this place gives you four in a small portion, eight in a large. It’s really a taste of old Hong Kong.”
“Did you have work in the Western District today?” asked Nga-Yee, avoiding words like “investigate” because she wasn’t sure what detectives were allowed to talk about in public.
“Yes. It was for your case.”
“Mine?”
“N asked me to check up on some details, and I came to give him my findings.” Detective Mok unwrapped some disposable chopsticks. “He said I’d palmed you off on him, so I had to provide some ‘after-sale service.’ Strange fellow. Calls himself a computer expert but makes me deliver everything in person. Apparently sending documents by email isn’t safe.”
“What did he ask you to investigate?” Nga-Yee asked anxiously.
“The red-haired teenager, the one in the photo with your sister …”
Nga-Yee jumped to her feet, said a quick goodbye to Mr. Mok and the store owner, and hurried up Second Street to number 151.
Tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. Having dashed up six flights, she kept her finger on the doorbell, though this dull racket didn’t do enough to express her frenzy. A moment later the white wooden door opened to reveal N’s grumpy face.
“Miss Au, didn’t I tell you I’d call when—”
“I just ran into Detective Mok.”
N’s brow furrowed. With a sigh, he opened the door to let her in.
“What did he tell you?” he said as he walked over to his desk.
“You said you’d find someone familiar with Mong Kok to check up on the red-haired guy.” Without waiting to be asked, she sat down across from him. “And that was Detective Mok.”
“Yes.”
“What did he find out?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“As soon as he said what he was doing, I ran straight here,” gabbled Nga-Yee. “Even if he told me the guy’s name, I wouldn’t know if he had anything to do with Siu-Man or kidkit727. You’re the only one who can put the pieces together.”
N rested one foot on the opposite knee and clasped his hands behind his head. “Your reasoning is correct, but that’s a dead end. This guy has nothing to do with kidkit727.”
“How do you know?”
“He was sent to the detention center on Lantau Island last March and hasn’t been released yet.”
Nga-Yee blinked. There were four of these facilities in Hong Kong, for offenders age fourteen to twenty-one.
“This fucker’s called Kayden Cheung. He was arrested for burglary and assault last year, about a month after the karaoke incident. Remember Kwok-Tai mentioned those two scumbags who join bands just to pick up girls? He’s one of them. His cousin’s at your sister’s school and has been raising hell since Kayden was sent up.”
“What’s his name? Was he in Siu-Man’s class?”
“The cousin’s called Jason, and he was a year above your sister—until he transferred out last year.” N shrugged. “It seems Enoch has a habit of forcing unsavory characters to ‘voluntarily’ leave.”
“So this Jason—”
“I’m in the middle of an investigation, Miss Au, so please stop asking.” N slumped forward, cradling his face in his hands. “Honestly, you’re the most aggravating client I’ve ever had.”
Nga-Yee had more questions, but seeing how pissed off he looked, she gave up.
“Go home. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
Nga-Yee stood dejectedly and headed for the door. She couldn’t help noticing that in just a few days N’s apartment had returned to its previous squalor, with trash and plastic bags littering every cranny of the living room. She glanced into the kitchen; the teapot and cup she’d used the other day were on the counter, exactly where she’d left them. She bet the tea leaves were still in there, steeping away.
“N, why didn’t you—”
She’d been about to lecture him on his slovenliness—he hadn’t even offered Detective Mok a cup of tea!—when a realization stopped her in his tracks.
“Detective Mok came to tell you about Kayden Cheung and Jason?” she asked, standing in the doorway.
“That’s what I said.”
“You’re lying.”
Her interjection put a wary look on his face.
“Me? Lying?”
“Yes. Detective Mok told me you asked him to check up on ‘some’ details. If it was just Kayden he was looking into, he’d have said ‘a person’ or something like that.”
“I’m not responsible for Detective Mok’s choice of words.”
“That’s not the main thing.” She strode back over to the desk and rested both hands on it. “He also said you made him come here because it wasn’t safe to send documents by email. If he was just looking into the red-haired guy, there’d be no need to come to Sai Ying Pun when all he found
out was his name and that he was locked up—a phone call would do for that. He brought you a document—that means a physical object. What was he looking into? What document?”
N glared at her, and she met his gaze steadily. After a few seconds he sighed and reached into a drawer for a USB stick.
“You really are the absolutely most annoying client in the world.” He stuck the USB into his computer.
“What’s that?”
“Listen.”
N clicked the mouse a few times, and voices came from the speaker:
“Thanks very much for letting me know, Mr. Mok. As soon as you told me, I fired Victor. I’ve made careful enquiries about the information he leaked, and I’m sure it won’t lead to any legal difficulties.”
“That’s fine, Mr. Tong. I wasn’t planning to push the issue of legal responsibility, I just wanted a bit more information. If my client wanted to take things further, I wouldn’t have come to see you today.”
“That makes things much simpler, then. Victor’s just graduated high school. He’s still so immature, he didn’t know any better, that’s why he made such a serious mistake. Young people these days are so lazy. They just sit around at work playing with their phones. It’s a nightmare.”
“How did Victor meet the girl?”
“Our team goes to community halls in various districts to give free legal talks. People often come up to us afterward asking for advice, and I get the interns or assistants to deal with them. That’s how Victor started talking to her. He’s never had any luck with women, so when she came up and started chatting, he completely forgot his professionalism. Now I think of it, she must have targeted him deliberately, to pump him for information.”
“How much did Victor tell her?”
“Most of it was already public, such as what Shiu Tak-Ping said the first time he was questioned. The rest was stuff we were keeping back to use in his defense, such as his relationship with his wife, suspicious points that worked in his favor, and so forth. I’m sure none of this infringed anyone’s privacy, including my client.”
“You don’t need to keep reminding me, Mr. Tong. Besides, you’ve already fired Victor, so you’ve dealt with the matter.”
“Right, right.”
“How many times did Victor see the girl?”
“Three, maybe four times. She told him she wanted to study law, that older students said she should get practical experience with a live case, to give her more to talk about during her interview.”
“And he believed her?”
“He’s a bit of an idiot. Didn’t even stop to wonder if she was tipping off a journalist or something. We dodged a bullet when we fired him. Oh yes, Mr. Mok, who is your client? I hope it’s not a newspaper looking to settle old scores?”
“Like you, Mr. Tong, I have a duty to maintain my client’s confidentiality. But don’t worry, I can guarantee anything you’re telling me will remain secret.”
“That’s all right, then.”
“Did Victor mention the girl’s name?”
“Um … what was it—oh yes, it was quite an unusual surname: Shu. Her name was Lily Shu.”
Monday, June 22, 2015
We’re in trouble. Au Siu-Man’s sister and her boyfriend just came to the school. They asked a whole bunch of questions.
16:25 ✔
Maybe they know what I did?
16:31 ✔
sorry was in a meeting
17:14
what did they ask?
17:15
Mainly about when Siu-Man was still alive, at school …
17:17 ✔
They definitely know what we did!
17:17 ✔
What if they’ve already called the police?
17:18 ✔
I’m so scared.
17:18 ✔
or maybe they just wanted to say hi to the teachers
17:41
there’s no way in hell they know who you are
17:42
stop thinking about it you just make yourself crazy
17:43
All right …
17:50 ✔
Are you free tonight? I’d like to see you.
17:55 ✔
difficult tonight and tomorrow, work stuff
18:02
big client
18:03
will message you later
18:03
CHAPTER SIX
1.
Sze Chung-Nam stood at the corner of Shanghai Street and Langham Place in Mong Kok, stunned and elated, and also a little anxious. From time to time he looked around, scanning the crowd.
It was 6:45 p.m. on Thursday, June 25, five days after Chung-Nam had “bumped into” Szeto Wai at the Cultural Centre. Ever since exchanging numbers with the chairman of SIQ, Chung-Nam had kept an eye on his phone, terrified of missing a call. Yet there’d been not so much as a text. For the first two days, he’d kept a lid on his anxiety—Szeto was probably busy. By the fourth day, he’d been frantic. Even Ma-Chai could tell that something was up. He thought about making a call himself—after all, Szeto had said he’d like to meet again to hear more insider gossip about GT—but Szeto was practically superhuman, and Chung-Nam didn’t feel he could bother him like that.
Just as he was hesitating about what to do, Szeto Wai had phoned him at work. When Chung-Nam saw the number flash up on his phone, he pretended to need the bathroom, and he hurried out of the office, away from watchful eyes, before answering.
“Chung-Nam? Szeto Wai here.” As before, he spoke Cantonese with a slight accent.
“Mr. Szeto! Hello!”
“We mentioned having dinner. Are you free tonight?”
Chung-Nam glanced at his watch. It was 4:30 in the afternoon.
“Yes, sure! I’m free!” He actually had somewhere to be, but this was more important than any other appointment.
“Great, see you at seven! Hangzhou food in Tsim Sha Tsui okay?”
“Hangzhou’s great, but I might be late. I don’t get off work till six thirty. It’s hard to get a taxi at rush hour, and the MTR’s so crowded you have to let two or three trains go by before you can squeeze on.”
“You don’t drive?”
“I don’t have a car. It’s too expensive in Hong Kong.” Six-tenths of Chung-Nam’s salary went on rent alone. If he bought a car, his parking space would probably eat up the other forty percent.
“Then why don’t I pick you up near your office? Six forty-five at the side entrance of Langham Place Hotel on Shanghai Street. Okay?”
“Oh no, please don’t bother—”
“I’m on my way to a meeting at the InnoCentre in Kowloon Tong right now, so this will be on my way. It’s no trouble at all. See you at six forty-five.”
Westerners are always so decisive. Szeto Wai hung up without giving Chung-Nam a chance to refuse.
Chung-Nam thought it was great that Szeto Wai was so down-to-earth, but he hadn’t turned down the lift out of politeness. It was self-interest. It was easy to hide his identity online, but in real life there was no way to use a different name or wear a mask. If any of his coworkers saw him meeting in secret with a potential investor, he might end up joining the ranks of the unemployed.
To minimize the risk of being spotted, Chung-Nam didn’t leave the office till 6:40, then had to dash from their location at the corner of Shantung and Canton to Langham Place. Ma-Chai, Hao, and Thomas were all working overtime, so he only had to stay clear of Mr. Lee and Joanne, who’d both left work around six. They’d left separately, but Chung-Nam suspected that was just to throw everyone off the scent, and they were actually meeting up later. That probably meant that they’d gone far away rather than sticking around Mong Kok where someone might see them. Even so, Chung-Nam found himself unable to relax. He kept turning to look down the street in either direction.
Naturally, his excitement far outstripped his anxiety.
When he was still a kid, Chung-Nam’s parents had taken him to a fortune-teller, who
said that the boy was destined to be more than just a regular fish in the pond. He was going to achieve great things. And so, despite enduring more than his share of eye rolls, he firmly believed in his own superiority. He had been at the top of his class, and even more, he was proud that his extraordinary brain was good at detecting hidden layers of meaning. Szeto Wai’s attitude toward him was different from his attitude toward Mr. Lee. He couldn’t say different in what way exactly, but he intuited that Szeto Wai was trying to win him over.
This made no sense. What could this international talent with a personal worth of billions see in a lowly director of technology?
Just as he was contemplating this, a sleek black car pulled up.
The window opened, and Szeto Wai stuck his head out. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?”
Chung-Nam quickly recovered, but he couldn’t help gasping at the sight of this car. Although he’d had a license for years, he didn’t own a vehicle—it was a dream of his, as it was for many Hong Kong men. The standard markers of success for someone like him would be a fancy house, a brand-name car, fine wine, and a beautiful woman. He kept up with all the auto websites and never missed an episode of Top Gear. When Szeto offered him a lift, he’d imagined someone of this stature would have rented a Porsche or an Audi. Yet this surpassed his expectations—not even a tasteful Rolls-Royce or a flashy Ferrari, but something even more suited to Szeto Wai’s role as a tech genius: a Tesla Model S.
