Hungry Ghost

by Stephen Leather

  ‘I’m trying to work out if I need glasses or not.’

  ‘Headache again? It could be the airconditioning,’ said Tomkins.

  Dugan put the paper down on his cluttered desk. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I read an article somewhere that they put ions into the air, or take them out, or something. Or was that aerosols? What the fuck, who cares anyway. How are you getting on with the kite-flyer?’

  ‘Uphill all the bloody way. I’m still no nearer finding where the money went. Why?’

  Tomkins waved the file triumphantly. ‘Lee Lingling is her name, isn’t it?’

  Dugan said yes, brow furrowed. ‘You on to something?’

  ‘There can’t be too many Lee Linglings around. And I’ve just come across one who’s a director of a futures trading company that appears to be trading without any clients.’

  ‘Hardly surprising, considering the lack of interest in the futures market here. Hang Seng Index futures aren’t actually flavour of the month, are they?’

  ‘Yes, but this firm has been buying Standard and Poors 500 futures quite heavily, so much so that the authorities in New York asked us to take a look. And up crops little Lingling. Maybe that’s where she’s been putting her ill-gotten gains.’

  ‘She’s a greedy little cow if she has. If I’d been her I’d have salted it away in a Swiss bank account somewhere.’

  ‘Yeah, well, not everyone is as careful with their money as you, are they?’

  ‘Is that the file?’

  Tomkins nodded. ‘I need it though, so just photocopy anything you need.’ He threw it on to Dugan’s desk. ‘Let me have it back when you’ve finished.’

  He left the office, walking as he always did as if someone had grabbed him by the back of his belt and was jerking him up and down. His buttocks were clenched, as if he expected at any minute to be the victim of anal rape. Some of the guys called him God because he moved in such a mysterious way. Tomkins outranked Dugan, but they were the same age and had been in the force for the same length of time, so they tended to operate as equals unless Tomkins was in a particularly foul mood. Both men knew that if it wasn’t for Dugan’s brother-in-law their positions could easily have been reversed.

  Dugan massaged his temples with his knuckles. Thinking of Lee Lingling reminded him of Petal and he cursed himself again for not getting her office number. The phone rang and he grabbed for it, hoping it was Petal but not too disappointed to find it was his sister. He got a small glow of satisfaction when she told him that Sophie’s birthday party was being held at the Regent Hotel.

  ‘Seven o’clock,’ she said. ‘And I should have told you before, it’s a theme party.’

  ‘And the theme?’

  ‘Pirates,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, that’d be right,’ he said.

  ‘Behave, brother of mine.’

  ‘Or you’ll have my legs broken?’ said Dugan, laughing.

  ‘Are your phones tapped?’ she said. ‘Because I’d hate anyone to hear what I’m about to say to you.’

  ‘I’ll see you tonight, you can say it to my face.’

  ‘Be there or be square,’ she said, and hung up.

  Dugan had barely replaced the receiver before it rang again. It was Petal.

  ‘I overslept,’ said Dugan.

  ‘You had a hectic night,’ she laughed.

  ‘You should have woken me up,’ he said. ‘When you left.’

  ‘I didn’t have the heart to disturb you. You sleep like a small boy. Anyway, I’m just calling to see what time we’re going to Sophie’s party.’

  ‘That’s a coincidence, I’m just this minute off the phone with my sister. It’s at the Regent Hotel. How about I meet you there, just before seven – is that OK?’

  ‘Fine. It should be great fun, the pirate theme is a terrific idea.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Jill told me last night. I’m really looking forward to it.’

  Then she said she had to go and the line clicked off, almost in mid-conversation, as if someone had come near her and she didn’t want to be overheard. Maybe they didn’t like her making personal phone calls. He bent down over the files. The evening seemed an eternity away.

  Howells looked at his watch. Half past six. There was nothing he could do now until the following morning. He had a good working knowledge of the roads in the New Territories and the scuba gear had been tested. He stood at the window and looked across the harbour to the office blocks of Central. There were still lights in many of the windows, and behind the business district towered the mountains of Hong Kong island, dotted with the houses of the rich.

  Below the hotel, between the road and the bustling harbour, was a wide walkway that followed the water, dotted with courting couples and tourists taking the evening air. There were fishermen too, old men and teenagers, squatting by the water’s edge and throwing in baited lines. He saw one youngster yank in his line and pull up a small, struggling fish. Behind him stood an old man with a walking stick, which he was waving in the air in wide circles as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. At first glance Howells thought that perhaps he was just a senile old man throwing a fit, but as he watched he began to tune in to his rhythm. The stick was being used to block and to strike, and the old man was constantly moving his centre of gravity but was always in a stable position. He flowed from one position to another, and Howells saw the stick strike at head height, then down low as if tripping an attacker, then the man slowly spun around and used the stick in a scythe-like motion. It wasn’t a form of martial arts that Howells recognized, but he could sense the purpose of the movements and could differentiate the killing blows from the blocks. He began to mimic the man as he watched, pacing his breathing as he twisted and turned in time with the old master. It felt good.

  The adrenalin began to flow as he exercised, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay confined in the room all evening. He decided to go for a walk and left the hotel to stroll along the main road, towards the Star Ferry terminal. The pavements were so densely packed that he was constantly jostled and banged. He hated to be touched; it was bad enough that his personal space was constantly being invaded, but physical contact really put him on edge. At the first pedestrian crossing he came to he went over to the other side of the road where there seemed to be fewer people. He walked past a huge shopping complex, the New World Shopping Centre, the air filled with rattling chimes as the warm wind blew through a high-tech chrome sculpture. Cars were turning off the main road to drive up to the Regent Hotel on his left and Howells stopped to let them go.

  As the last car accelerated away he stepped into the road, and then a big Mercedes sounded its horn and turned the corner and he stood back on the pavement. His mouth dropped in surprise as he recognized Simon Ng sitting in the back seat, next to the little girl. He couldn’t see who else was in the back seat but he was sure it would be Jill Ng. The Mercedes drove up to the hotel, followed by a dark blue saloon car. Howells briskly walked after them and arrived as Simon Ng was helping his daughter out of the car. She was dressed as a pirate and was chattering excitedly, this time without pigtails, her hair loose around her face. A striking blonde woman in expensive clothes waited until a doorman in a gleaming white uniform opened the door for her before stepping out of the car. Jill Ng. The passenger in the front seat was the heavily built man he’d seen last time he followed the Merc, but he’d forsaken the leather bomber jacket for a dark green suit and a black velvet bow tie. The occupants of the saloon car also got out, three of them, young men who looked as if they could handle themselves. Howells could see that they weren’t carrying guns but he had no doubt that they’d have knives concealed under the expensive suits. Two of them walked into the hotel lobby and looked around as the little girl slipped her hand into Ng’s and tried to pull him along. He waited until one of the bodyguards turned and nodded before allowing her to drag him inside. Jill Ng walked with him and they were followed in by the other two men with watchful eyes
. One of them slipped the doorman a tip as the two cars drove off, and then looked at Howells as he too walked into the lobby. Howells knew they wouldn’t regard him as a threat – they’d be on the lookout for rival triads, not a gweilo.

  Howells’ mind was racing. All his planning had been based on catching Ng alone, and he knew it would be foolish to risk an attack when Ng had so many bodyguards around. But he also knew how often in the past he’d been able to take advantage of luck, to deviate from a set strategy because an opportunity presented itself. The group walked across the lobby, heading for a large white marble staircase. Howells walked at an angle to them as if heading for a newspaper counter to the left of the reception desk.

  He saw Jill Ng say something to her husband, who nodded and smiled and freed his hand from the small girl’s and came back down the stairs, heading for where Howells stood flicking through the newspapers. The bodyguards stood on the stairs and watched as Ng walked across the lobby. Howells dropped his left hand slightly and clenched and unclenched his hand, controlling his breathing. Yes or no? his mind screamed. The lack of a weapon didn’t worry him: a fist to the temple, or the side of the hand to the throat, or the neck, one blow would do it. He wanted to, God he wanted to, he could feel the bloodlust rising like a sexual urge. Why was Ng on his own, what was he doing? What were his bodyguards playing at?

  Ng reached the counter and spoke to the girl in Chinese. She pointed to a bank of phones and smiled and as Ng thanked her Howells stepped back, his mind screaming Yes! Yes! Now! He began to move his arm and then over Ng’s shoulder he saw two of the bodyguards coming up, concern on their faces; Howells relaxed, picked up a copy of the South China Morning Post and paid the girl for it.

  Ng’s bodyguards walked with him as he went over to the telephones. Howells took the paper and sat down on one of the large leather sofas where he had a view of the stairs and could also watch Ng make his call. Had the bodyguards simply slipped, or were they normally so careless? Maybe they were over-confident, or perhaps they’d relaxed once they’d checked that the lobby was clear. Either way, it was a good omen for what was to come. But God, how he would have loved to have done it there and then, to have taken Ng’s life with his bare hands and then slipped away.

  Ng finished his call and the three men went back up the stairs after Jill and the girl. Howells decided to stay put for a while. Over the next half an hour he saw a number of children dressed as pirates being escorted up the stairs by doting parents, and he realized that it must be a party of some sort. Perhaps it was Sophie Ng’s birthday, which would explain why she hadn’t gone to school. Another good omen for the following day. He decided not to push his luck and to go back to the Holiday Inn.

  Five minutes after Howells left the lobby of the Regent Hotel, Dugan arrived. He felt a complete and utter prat. The only item of clothing he could find that resembled a pirate’s stripy jumper was his rugby shirt, so he’d put that on along with the bottom of his black track suit and tucked the legs into an old pair of black cowboy boots. He’d ripped a piece of black card from a file in the office and back in his flat he’d cut it into the shape of an eye-patch and tied it around his head with string. Then he’d twisted a dishcloth around his head, but one look in the mirror showed him that he’d gone too far so he took it off. He was lucky, he’d caught a cab as soon as he stepped out of his tower block, but the driver kept giving him funny looks over his shoulder.

  He stood by a pillar and wished that the ground would swallow him up. Under his arm was the badly wrapped parcel from which protruded a thick, furry paw. Dugan loved his niece with all his heart, but even so he was beginning to have second thoughts. There was a reception to mark the opening of a new range of Dickson Poon boutiques in progress in the main ballroom, and a constant procession of dinner-jacketed businessmen and their glamorous wives and girlfriends walked past and up the huge staircase; it seemed as if every one looked at Dugan and smiled. A couple laughed out loud and one Chinese girl in a tight gold-coloured dress pointed at him and shrieked as if she’d seen a murder.

  He pressed closer to the pillar, but his brightly striped rugby shirt was not exactly conducive to camouflage. Every now and then parents arrived with little pirates in tow, but Dugan was dismayed to see that all the adults were wearing normal casual clothes. The children giggled and waved at him and the adults just giggled.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said a small voice to his left.

  He turned to see Petal, eyes wide and unbelieving, her small hands flat against her cheeks. ‘Oh my God, Patrick, is that you?’

  Her whole body began to shake with laughter and she bent forward at the waist, overcome with the funniness of it. Dugan was even more embarrassed.

  ‘I had sort of hoped that you’d be dressed as a pirate, too,’ he said glumly.

  Petal straightened up and there were tears streaming from her eyes. Her large, gold hooped earrings were swinging backwards and forwards as she laughed. She wiped the tears away with the backs of her hands, giggling and snuffling all the time, and fought to get herself under control but failed abysmally. She deteriorated into whoops of uncontrollable laughter, leant against the pillar for support and put her hands over her mouth, turning her head away from him and then looking back and creasing up again.

  Under normal circumstances Dugan would have been knocked out by Petal’s outfit, a white, slinky dress, demure at the front but cut deep behind so that it showed most of her shoulder blades and back. It made her hair seem even blacker than usual and it ended at her knees, emphasizing the curve of her legs and her petite feet. She looked absolutely beautiful, but she looked nothing like a pirate.

  ‘Patrick, you look fantastic,’ she said when the giggles had finally subsided.

  ‘Jill said it was a pirate party,’ said Dugan lamely.

  She began laughing again, her eyes moistening and her cheeks going red. ‘For the children, Patrick. For the children!’ She leant back against the pillar, her shoulder next to his and hugged herself as she laughed. She looked down, caught sight of the paw sticking out of the badly wrapped parcel and went into fits of laughter again.

  ‘I’m going,’ said Dugan, but she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said and held him close, her head up, asking to be kissed. Dugan kissed her softly, full on the lips as she stood on tiptoe. It made him feel a lot better. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and see Sophie.’

  They began to walk through the reception area when she suddenly stopped. She removed one of her gold earrings and helped Dugan attach it to his ear. She stepped back to admire her handiwork and with a straight face said it looked perfect, then she linked her arm through his and together they walked to the function room where the party was, guided by signs bearing a skull and crossbones with the words ‘Sophie’s Boarding Party’ underneath.

  Jill and Simon were standing at the double doors to greet the guests and Dugan saw with a heavy heart that they had also forsaken the pirate theme. Simon was wearing well-fitting slacks and a Dunhill shirt and Jill had on one of her favourite Chanel dresses and several ounces of gold jewellery.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ he growled. ‘Just don’t say anything.’

  Sophie was standing with a group of friends by a large table laden with food set into a mock-up of a pirate ship. She beamed when she caught sight of him.

  ‘Uncle Patrick!’ she screamed and came running over, her blonde hair streaming behind her. He picked her up with his free arm and hugged her. She put her arms around his neck and squeezed the breath from him. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘You look great! Come and see my friends.’

  She wriggled out of his grip and slid down his body. She was wearing a red and white silk shirt and black baggy trousers and she had a pink plastic sword thrust into a black leather belt with a big silver buckle. Around her neck was a diamond and gold necklace he hadn’t seen before.

  She saw him looking at it and fingered it. ‘It’s a birthday present from Daddy,’ s
he said. ‘Isn’t it nice?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. It must have cost a thousand times more than his dog. He held his parcel out to her. She grabbed it and ripped off the paper and gasped as she saw the toy.

  ‘Oh, Uncle Patrick, it’s lovely.’ She hugged it, rubbed her face against the fur and then held it at arm’s length to look at it. ‘It’s so cute, it’s my absolutely best present. Thank you.’

  Dugan felt better and he allowed her to take his hand and pull him over to her friends.

  ‘I’ll stay with the adults,’ Petal called after him.

  Dugan eventually managed to untangle himself from the mass of young pirates and made his way over to Jill, brandishing a plastic cutlass. She laughed and handed him a glass of lager. ‘Thirsty work, being a pirate?’ she said.

  Dugan drank deeply and grinned. ‘This is more fun than I thought it would be,’ he said. There was a line of foam along his moustache and Jill reached across and wiped it away with a napkin.

  The parents, mainly Chinese but with a sprinkling of Europeans, were standing by the impressive buffet while waiters hovered with trays of drinks, and the children were being entertained by a conjuror who kept producing green and yellow budgies from his clothing. He was dressed as a pirate, as had been the juggler who’d made the children gasp with his sword-juggling and rapier-swallowing. On a table next to the double doors was a display of small wooden chests each containing a parchment treasure map and a gold sovereign, going-home presents for the children.

  ‘Did you arrange all this?’ asked Dugan.

  Jill shook her head. ‘No, Simon found a designer to do it, some sort of professional party planner. You give him the theme you want and he does the rest. Do you fancy something special for your next birthday?’

  ‘Don’t even think about it. Where’s Petal?’

  She pointed over to the buffet. ‘There, with Simon. Pat, she’s delightful. Were did you find her?’

  He shrugged. ‘I guess she sort of found me. She is beautiful, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s lovely, but she’s so sweet as well. She seems so interested in everything and everybody, she’s completely different from the bimbos you normally go out with.’