The wild beast of Wuhan al-3

by Ian Hamilton

  “What will you wear?”

  “I’ll take my running gear, some T-shirts, my toiletries, and some jewellery. I’ll throw everything in my carry-on. I can buy some business clothes when I get to Hong Kong. I need some new things anyway.”

  Her mother sighed and passed her room key to Ava. “Leave your case in my room.”

  Ava leaned over to kiss her mother on the forehead.

  “Be careful,” Jennie said.

  Ava went to her room and turned on her laptop. She found a flight that landed at eight a.m. in Hong Kong with a stop in Newark. She booked it and then called Uncle. He didn’t react when she told him she was coming, and she knew he had probably expected nothing less.

  “There is an early Dragonair flight from Hong Kong to Wuhan,” he said.

  “No, Uncle, I’m sorry. I have no business clothes with me and I need to shop. See if you can book something for later in the day.”

  “Where do you want to shop?”

  “There’s a Brooks Brothers store in Tsim Sha Tsui,” she said, knowing that his Kowloon apartment was no more than ten minutes from the popular shopping district and tourist destination.

  “I will send Sonny to meet you at the airport. He will take you wherever you need to go. Wong will have to wait.” Uncle paused. “I hear that his wife is very attractive and a real power in their business. They should know that we have the whole package too.”

  (2)

  There was no Wi-Fi at Curacao’s Hato airport but there was an Internet cafe, where Ava bought fifteen minutes of time. She emailed Mimi to let her know about her change in plans. The two women had been friends since meeting at Havergal College, a private girls’ high school in Toronto, and there wasn’t much they didn’t know about each other.

  In recent months Ava had had some worries about their friendship. Mimi had fallen in love with Derek Liang, Ava’s best male friend and at times associate, when she needed the extra muscle. Like her, he practised bak mei, an ancient and lethal martial art that was taught strictly one on one. Their teacher, Grandmaster Tang, had introduced them to each other; they were his only two students in the discipline. Derek joked that the Grandmaster had dreamed they would one day produce a baby he could turn into the perfect fighting machine. Instead they had become friends, and occasionally employer and employee.

  Ava had inadvertently brought Mimi and Derek together, not anticipating that the two would fall so hard for each other. Within days of meeting they had moved in together. As it turned out, Ava’s concerns about how their relationship would affect her friendship with Mimi had been unfounded. Mimi was as available and open as she had ever been. The only negatives were that Ava had to listen to Mimi’s graphic descriptions of their sex life, and so long as they were together, she didn’t feel she could ask Derek to work with her. Over the years they had confronted knives and guns and chains and even been outnumbered by three or four men. Now she didn’t see how she could put Derek at risk, knowing how devastated Mimi would be if anything happened to him. I can’t, she thought, and she closed her email by writing and give Derek a big kiss for me.

  Ava thought about phoning Maria but sent an email instead. For someone who was so beautiful and intelligent, there was something almost heartbreakingly simple about the girl. When they were together, Maria was unfailingly buoyant, but the second that Ava left her side she was overwhelmed by waves of self-doubt.

  “You need to have more trust,” Ava told her.

  “You don’t understand,” Maria said, her voice quivering. “I lived at home in Bogota before I came here to Toronto. I have never been apart from my family, and my very Catholic family — especially my mother — would never have accepted my sexuality. So I led a life of secrets. I hid my true self. It’s only now, living in a city where I’m anonymous, that I’ve finally been able to be open.”

  When Ava told this to Mimi, her friend said, “You need to give her more time. She’s still learning how to be in a relationship.”

  “What scares me is her intensity. I’m not ready to commit to being a life partner.”

  “Has she asked you to be one?”

  “No.”

  “Then enjoy her. Let things develop. There’s so much to love about that girl.”

  Yes, there is, Ava thought as she sat at her computer and wrote: I have to go to Hong Kong and then China on business. I’ve been forced to cut short the cruise. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I’ll email when I can. Don’t worry, everything is fine. Love, Ava.

  She left the cafe and walked to the departures gate to catch her flight to Newark. As a rule, Ava avoided American airlines, but there was no way to get out of Curacao that made sense other than flying on Continental. She thought business class might be passable. It was — barely.

  The flight at least landed on time, and once she had cleared Customs she boarded a Qantas flight that would take her directly to Hong Kong. Business class was only a third occupied and Ava had no one sitting next to her. She declined dinner, drank three glasses of Pinot Grigio, and then slept for the next eight hours. When she awoke, she ate a bowl of noodles and then debated whether to go online to research Wong Changxing or watch a Gong Li film. She opted for Gong Li.

  The airline was screening both Raise the Red Lantern and To Live. She watched To Live first, quietly weeping three or four times during the movie. It was a powerful film, set in China during the tumultuous decades of the Cultural Revolution, that followed a land-owning couple and their descent into poverty. Li was at its core, her life a continuing tragedy that she bore with courage and tenacity. Ava couldn’t help but think of Wuhan as she watched. It wasn’t that long ago that it had been at the epicentre of the Cultural Revolution and women like Gong Li were going through hell.

  Ava had never seen a Chinese actress as good as Gong Li, and Raise the Red Lantern only confirmed her opinion. Set in the 1920s, the film told the story of a young woman who becomes the fourth wife of a wealthy Chinese man at the head of a powerful family. In Ava’s mind the story was timeless, and she never watched it without thinking about her mother. Her father didn’t house all his families in a compound, but not much else had changed in terms of the essential relationship between the man and the women.

  As the film ended, the plane began its slow descent over the South China Sea to Chek Lap Kok, the man-made island where Hong Kong’s airport was located. It was an overcast day and Ava couldn’t see the water below until they cleared the cloud cover. By then they were nearing land, and the ocean traffic was thick with fishing boats heading in and out, sampans that doubled as homes for families and their import/export businesses, and hundreds of ocean freighters sitting patiently offshore, waiting to be towed into Hong Kong Harbour to load or unload the containers stacked three and four high on deck. Kwai Chung Container Terminal was the largest port in Asia, and one of the largest in the world.

  Ava was fifteenth in line at Hong Kong Customs and Immigration, and she knew that meant she’d be cleared in fifteen minutes. One minute per arrival, that was the standard. Anyone who needed to be questioned was promptly shuffled off so the line wouldn’t be delayed.

  On most of her trips to Hong Kong, Uncle met her in the Kit Kat Koffee House, a Chinese newspaper or the racing form open in front of him, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. This time she walked into the cavernous arrivals hall to see Sonny, Uncle’s driver and bodyguard, standing directly under a sign that read MEETING PLACE. She imagined he had been there for a while.

  He was six foot two and weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds, with a layer of body fat that made him look a bit soft. Nothing could have been more deceptive. She had never seen anyone who could move more quickly or be as vicious as Sonny. Of all the men she had encountered he was one of the three whom she doubted she could best physically — the other two being Derek and Grandmaster Tang. Ava had once remarked to Uncle that Sonny seemed to lack imagination. Uncle said, “Imagination is the last thing you want in a man like Sonny. He is reliable and do
es exactly what he is told to do. That is all you should expect and ask for.”

  Sonny wasn’t accustomed to seeing Ava without Uncle, and he smiled shyly when he caught sight of her. Ava blinked. Seeing Sonny smile was a rarity. His dark brown eyes were normally watchful, alert, full of menace, and his brow was locked in a permanent scowl. She nodded at him and then watched in surprise as he put his hands together in front of his chest, bowed his head, and moved his hands up and down. It was a sign of respect, a greeting to a superior. Ava felt a surge of pride, and then slightly embarrassed.

  The Mercedes S-Class was parked directly outside the terminal in a no-parking zone. The only other vehicles there were police cars. Sonny waved at two policemen as Ava got into the car, and she heard him yell thanks to them for looking after it.

  She sat in the back, in Uncle’s usual spot. “Where are we going?” Sonny asked.

  “Ocean Terminal, Tsim Sha Tsui.”

  Sonny’s phone rang just as they started across the Tsing

  Ma Bridge, which linked Ma Wan Island to Tsing Yi, the northwest corner of urban Hong Kong. The bridge had been built to move cars and trains from the city to the airport. It was almost a kilometre and a half long, and double-decked. The top deck had six lanes for cars, while underneath were two sets of railway tracks. Ava looked down on Ma Wan Channel, which connected the South China Sea to Hong Kong’s harbour. It was a more than two-hundred-metre drop from the bridge to the water; the vessels that had looked so small from the plane didn’t look much bigger from the bridge.

  Sonny listened to the phone for a moment and then passed it to her. She didn’t have to guess who was calling.

  “How was your flight?”

  “Good. I slept a lot, and then I watched Gong Li.” Ava doubted that Uncle knew who she was.

  “We are leaving tonight at five thirty on Cathay. That will get us into Wuhan at seven thirty. Wong Changxing said there is some kind of formal dinner, so do not eat too much today.”

  “Dinner?”

  “It was already scheduled and we have been added to the guest list. I tried to beg off but I am finding he is a hard man to reason with.”

  What wealthy Chinese isn’t? she thought.

  “I had also booked us into a hotel and he cancelled the reservations when he found out. We are going to be guests at his house.”

  “Uncle, is that really a good — ”

  “I agreed,” he said, cutting short her protest. “It is a very large house — more than eighty rooms, I am told, more like a hotel. Besides, he said the reason for our visit is in the house.”

  “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

  “No.”

  And you didn’t ask, she thought, knowing that he respected the old-fashioned courtship that went with establishing new business. “What time do we need to leave for the airport?”

  “I told Sonny to pick me up here at three. You can come earlier if you want.”

  “Meet me for dim sum?”

  “I have a meeting.”

  “Okay, but I don’t need Sonny to wait for me while I shop. I’ll send him away. I’ll take a taxi to the airport when I’m done here.”

  “If you prefer, I can meet you in the Wing business lounge.”

  Hearing that name startled Ava. The last time she had been in the lounge, a former colleague of Uncle’s had informed him that a contract had been put out on Ava’s life. She was superstitious by nature. Still, it did remind her that the job had its peculiar challenges.

  (3)

  The Brooks Brothers store was on the third floor of the Ocean Terminal. It was early and the shop was quiet. Two salesgirls began to fuss over Ava the second she stepped inside. Over the past few years the level of service in Hong Kong stores had transformed remarkably. In the not-so-recent past it seemed that sales associates were hired for their ability to ignore customers, and they were sometimes surly when asked for help. The Hong Kong-based Giordano clothing chain had changed things by insisting that the staff smile and welcome people into their stores. The trend — and Ava thought Hong Kong had to be the trendiest city in the world — caught on, and now you couldn’t walk into a brand-name boutique without being smothered with attention.

  Ava had been dressing in Brooks Brothers for years. The crisp, tailored look fit the image she wanted to project as an accountant, as a serious professional. At five foot three and a hundred and fifteen pounds, she was lean and toned, but her breasts were large for a Chinese woman — she was among the small percentage who didn’t need to wear a padded bra. Her legs and bum were muscular from years of running and practising bak mei. She was almost perfectly proportioned, something she was grateful for. She had a particular aversion — even admitting it was odd — to women with long waists.

  Ava hated the idea of being thought of as a sex object. So while she was working she dressed as conservatively as she could. And when she wasn’t working, she wore Adidas training pants and Giordano T-shirts. Mimi often teased Ava, calling her preference for Brooks Brothers her “butch look.” But there was nothing remotely butch about Ava. When she put on a bit of makeup, let her black, silky hair hang loose or wore it swept up with one of her collection of clasps and hairpins, and slipped on a slim-fitting skirt with a pair of black leather Cole Haan heels, she turned heads — male and female.

  There were four Brooks Brothers stores in Hong Kong, but Ava knew from previous trips that this one was the largest and had the best selection of women’s clothing. She bought three button-down, no-iron tailored shirts with modified Italian collars and French cuffs, in pink, black, and white with blue pinstripes. She also purchased two pairs of black slacks, one cotton, the other linen. The slacks came in three styles; she opted for the Lucia fit, a clean look without pleats or cuffs.

  She was about to pay for the items when she spotted a pair of black alligator high heels. They were gorgeous: soft, supple, classic. Ava turned a shoe over to look at the price tag. They cost more than eight thousand Hong Kong dollars, over a thousand U.S. What the hell, she thought, I’ll expense them.

  It was almost noon when she walked out of the Ocean Terminal with her Brooks Brothers bags and another from Cole Haan with a pair of black leather pumps. She had two more shops to visit, but they were on Hong Kong Island, directly across Victoria Harbour from where she stood in Kowloon.

  Ava walked to the Tsim Sha Tsui terminal and boarded the Star Ferry. The passenger load was light and she was able to find a seat near the front. Kowloon was the primary entertainment and shopping district in the Territory, but Central District on Hong Kong Island was where its financial and business heart beat, and its skyline reflected that powerfully. Directly ahead of Ava was Hong Kong’s southern shoreline, a virtual wall of modern buildings and skyscrapers that ran for more than five kilometres. She could pick out the two International Commerce Centres, both over 450 metres high and among the ten tallest buildings in the world; the triangular peak of Central Plaza; the steel and glass angles of the Bank of China Tower; and The Center, sheathed entirely in steel and lit up at night in a varying spectrum of neon colours.

  The two shops she wanted to visit were a stationery store a few blocks north of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, and the Shanghai Tang flagship store on Pedder Street, only a few hundred metres farther. But as she exited the ferry, she felt hunger pangs. The Mandarin Oriental had a wonderful dim sum restaurant, Man Wah, on its twenty-fifth and top floor. It wasn’t quite noon, so she decided to eat now and beat the lunchtime mob.

  Man Wah was just getting busy and she managed to get a table near the back. Within ten minutes of her arrival there was a lineup out the door and down the hall. She ordered hot and sour soup, chicken feet, har gow, and baby bok choy in oyster sauce.

  As she poured herself a cup of jasmine tea, Ava noticed out of the corner of her eye a man several tables away staring at her. When she looked up at him, he turned away. There were four men at the table, all in their thirties and dressed in expensive suits, two of them wear
ing designer glasses. The one who had been staring at her looked vaguely familiar.

  Her soup arrived. She was picking up her spoon when she caught him staring at her again. For the next fifteen minutes they played what she thought was a ridiculous game of cat and mouse. She was about to walk over to his table when he stood up and walked towards her.

  “You’re Ava, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. “I may be.”

  “I’m Michael.”

  Ava looked into his face. It finally struck her. Beads of sweat began forming on her brow and her upper lip. She dabbed her forehead with her napkin as she tried to think of what to say.

  “Dad called me this morning from the ship. He said you had left and were coming through Hong Kong to Hubei. I just never thought I’d see you here.”

  “How did you know it was me?” she asked, still dazed.

  “Pictures. I’ve seen many pictures of you and Marian. You have very particular looks.”

  “Daddy has shown you pictures of us?”

  “For years.”

  “I never knew.”

  “I’m the oldest son, so if anything happened to our father then I would become head of the family. He wants me to take that responsibility seriously, and that means acknowledging and accepting half-sisters and half-brothers and aunties.”

  “He talks to you about us?”

  “Has he never spoken to you about us?”

  “Actually, he has. And to my mother. But he’s never shown me any pictures.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  Michael hovered by her table. He shared their father’s distinctive thick head of hair, which he wore slicked back. His face was lean and fine-boned, and his eyes were slightly rounder than Marcus’s — Jennie had told Ava once that Marcus’s first wife, Elizabeth, had some gweilo genes — but they had their father’s darkness, depth, and warmth. Michael wasn’t as tall as Marcus, but he had the same lean physique.