Downhill and the Merc swung right to take the road across the top of Happy Valley, right again to head south through the Gap. It was busy enough to make tailing easy. The heat of the sun and the strong wind through his window was pleasant. So was the view across the wooded slopes and the deep green valley. On the southern side of the Island, almost at the water’s edge, they followed the coastal road through Repulse Bay. Large grey hotels and apartments crowded around the narrow strip of sand that met the southern seas. When they missed the turning for Stanley, Don no longer knew exactly where he was. Not that it mattered. There weren’t enough turnings off to confuse even him, and with cliffs to one side and the ocean to the other you always knew roughly which way you were headed.
Fong turned inland on the narrow country lanes, mountainside above and sheer drops below. Sometimes the road twisted about so that Don lost sight of the Merc. At other times the road was long and straight, carved through hillsides and rocky outcrops alike. Don had to slow right down and let Fong move off into the distance. There were fewer cars around here as they threaded their way past lakes and through what Don guessed was still the National Park. Soon enough they zigzagged down a final hillside and the Merc turned off onto a private road.
Don pulled up and looked at the sign on the gatepost. A country club. The entranceway split a golf course. Don decided he had plenty of time to waste so he drove on to see where the road took him. It continued into a sleepy village of brightly painted houses, many converted to restaurants for the tourist trade. He ended up in a car park overlooking the beach. It was a nice little place tucked into the tiny bay and he sat in his car, taking large mouthfuls of baguette and watching the waves lap up the sand.
The beach was mostly empty at this time of year, though plenty of Englishmen would have said it was still warm enough for a dip. He tried to call Jeannie, but she didn’t answer. Maybe she was working the lunch shift after all. With nothing else to do, he strolled into the village, bought a can of beer at a tiny store to finish off lunch. Nobody was around. He felt as sleepy as this little corner of the island.
13
Back to Fong’s house. Nothing else happened. Don had no more than a glimpse of the wife all day. At nine o’clock, he drove home. The apartment was silent and dark. Jeannie had left hours ago.
He turned on the TV for noise. Tried to call Jeannie after he finished eating, but again there was no answer. Must be working. He opened another beer.
14
Monday morning, Don was up early and outside the Fongs’ house. Alex Fong came out just after nine wearing a neat dark suit. His tie had diagonal stripes, dark red and silver. No sign of the wife. Fong made the fifteen-minute drive to the antique store, parking in a backstreet off the main road. He waited five minutes and rang Mr Sun.
“Mr Sun. It’s Don. Don Jacobs.”
Muffled voices in the background, and the sound of a door closing before the old man’s voice came back on the line. “Do you have something to report, Mr Jacobs?”
“Nothing interesting. He had dinner at a restaurant with his wife and another couple, popped by the Country Club to play golf.”
“You’ve seen the wife, then. She’s something else, wouldn’t you agree?”
Don pulled out the snapshot of her in his mind. Yeah, he’d agree. “Who is she?”
“Julia Lam. She was an actress until she met Alex.”
“Anything I might have heard of?”
“Strictly small-time. But your concern is with Mr Fong, of course.”
“Yeah, of course. He arrived at the shop ten minutes ago.” He wondered whether she’d done any movies, anything he might be able to track down.
“Yes, I’m with him. He’ll be here all day, Mr Jacobs, you needn’t worry about that. Come back about five. I’ll call you if he leaves any earlier.”
Just after four Don arrived at Jeannie’s hotel, off Nathan Road near Jordan. It was a large building set back from the main road, with pretensions higher than it could actually achieve. Leaving his car in the underground parking lot he took the lift up to the large, marbled reception, decked out with plastic flowers on every flat space. Seemingly random columns were scattered across the foyer to hold up the high ceiling.
The desk was busy with a coach load from the mainland. He walked round the back to the bar. Businessmen with a few tourists. Most of them were having after-lunch coffees, but a large group of Americans were on beers and mixed drinks. Some had moved on to Martinis. Jeannie was behind the bar in a curt, black business suit over a white blouse. She looked flustered.
One other girl was working in a cheesy black waistcoat and bow tie. The girl looked hot, bothered, rushed off her feet as she put together a tray of something-and-tonics, dropping in half a dozen lemon wedges. Don caught Jeannie’s eye, waited at the side until she had a free moment to talk to him. Soon she came over, wiping her hands on a long white towel.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Alright, Jeannie? Sorry, I can see you’re busy…”
“Yeah, I’m busy. What do you want?”
“I just need a favour. I need to borrow your car.”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Nothing. It’s downstairs, you can take it. I just need to borrow yours for a day or two.”
“What the fuck for?” She didn’t handle the stress of running a place like this very well. Behind her Don could see customers piling up at the bar, and the girl looking over in their direction, wondering when someone was going to lend her a hand.
“Look, I just need it for this job. Here.”
He held out his own set of keys.
She rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket.
“Fine. Just take it and fuck off.”
“Thanks, babe. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
He retreated quickly. Best to let her get back to work.
15
Don sat in Jeannie’s little blue Honda Fit, still messing about with his seat. He could never get comfortable in the tiny thing, and it was an automatic which he hated. Like driving a go-kart. Still, he thought it would be good to show up in something different. The Fongs might notice the same shitty Toyota behind them three days in a row. The Honda was a lot newer than his own car, but almost as messy inside. The camera and a tuna baguette sat on the passenger seat, along with sunglasses and packet of wet tissues that Jeannie had left there.
Four forty-five. Don presumed that Fong wouldn’t leave the shop before now, but he might have some time to wait. He flicked through Jeannie’s CDs: U2, Celine Dion, some OSTs and the Greatest Shitty Love Songs Ever 3. Crappy taste in music. Should have brought some of his own, but he hadn’t thought of it in time. He put in Achtung Baby and instantly had to turn the volume down as the guitar intro made the tiny speakers buzz. Maybe he should buy Jeannie some new music for Christmas.
Soon enough, he was singing along with Bono between mouthfuls of the sandwich he’d meant to save for later.
My heart is where it’s always been,
My head is somewhere in between,
Give me one more chance…
Christmas coming up in a few months and he still had debts to pay off. Still, there were a few good cards coming up, and a few quiet chats with some of the guys down the gym would give him an inside scoop. He should get down there and do some training himself. That was why he’d lost a few bets, hadn’t been in the gym recently to see the form of the local talent. Still, he’d had some bad luck. Kenny Lau to win in the third and he’d won in the first. That American who was leading until a blind uppercut in the final round nearly took his jaw off. A safe bet to get a little money back, but one lucky punch ruined that. Next thing he knew the debts were piling up. Well, he’d see Charlie Wang alright. Don had never skipped out on a debt, it was a point of honour. His dad had been the same. Much good it had done him.
I took the money, I spiked your drink,
You miss too much if you stop to think,
He took anot
her mouthful of tuna, wishing he had a better phone. He could look up Julia Lam on the internet and see what movies she’d done. Small-time, Mr Sun had said. Maybe some bit parts on TV, a bit of modelling.
You led me on with those innocent eyes,
That was when he saw Alexander Fong walk around the corner in his dark grey suit. He’d lost the tie by now, his collar undone a few buttons. A real handsome bugger. Fong could star in his own advertisement. A watch, or aftershave. Don started the car, waited for Fong to turn left on the main street before driving up and turning the same way.
He made sure to stay about three or four cars behind. He could see Fong’s head silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. Looking around, checking his mirror a lot. Maybe he’d spotted Don over the weekend? Maybe he was looking out for a shitty Toyota? He hung a little further back and allowed a couple of other cars to come between him and the Mercedes. Didn’t want to get careless now.
The traffic was heavy and it was easy to follow from a distance as they passed through the tunnel. Up onto the flyover and then down beneath the high old buildings of TST. As the traffic crawled along a dirty backstreet littered with flyers from the weekend - not far from the Keller - he watched the Mercedes pull over into a parking spot. The traffic stopped as the lights ahead turned red. Before Don could do anything about it, Alexander Fong stood in front of his car, barely five feet away, waiting for an opening to cross the street.
Don squirmed in his seat and tried to look away as Fong, jacket flapping, ducked behind a bus and across to the other side. As the traffic started moving again The Edge’s distinctive guitar chops started up. Don looked over his shoulder to see Fong enter a dirty little noodle restaurant.
He knew that place. Formica tables and cheap food. He’d been in there a few weeks ago with Jonny and Michael after some early brews in a new bar. He pulled into the next available parking spot, grabbed his baguette from the seat next to him. The tuna spilled out onto Jeannie’s sunglasses.
You’ve been living underground,
Eating from a can,
Shut the fuck up, Bono. What do you know about eating from a can?
You’ve been running away,
From what you don’t understand, look.
Don turned the stereo off and wiped up the tuna with the packet of wet tissues, dropping the used ones out of the window. He finished the baguette and grabbed a cup of coffee and a packet of Lights from across the road, smoked leaning on the roof of the car and keeping an eye on the restaurant door. Jeannie hated smoke in her car which seemed a bit picky when she smoked at least as much as he did. Still, he didn’t want to make her any angrier than she usually was these days. He wondered if she would be coming over later.
Don walked down to opposite the restaurant. Through the big plate glass windows he saw a few scattered diners. It would start getting busy in the next hour or so, but it was still a bit early for the evening rush. There were just a handful of early-leavers in office gear and some shoppers grabbing a bite before they headed home.
Don spotted Fong facing away from the window. His hair bobbed up and down to slurp from, presumably, a bowl of noodle soup. He took the chance to inspect the inside of the Mercedes. It was in immaculate condition, with barely a fingerprint, let alone the dust and grease smears and rubbish-strewn floor of Don’s heap. Or Jeannie’s for that matter. Only a couple of ring binders on the back seat and an air-freshener shaped like a pine tree hanging from the mirror would tell you that anybody had ever actually driven this car.
Don wandered casually back to the Honda. Wouldn’t do to get caught hanging around the man’s car. Sitting and sipping the hot coffee, he watched in the side mirror as Fong left the restaurant. Don started the engine, trailed his mark back up onto the flyover and the East Kowloon Corridor. The Merc missed the only other turn-off this side of the city and Don followed him into the old airport tunnel. How far was this bastard going? The traffic was still moving now, but it would be hell if he had to come back through TST anytime in the next hour or two. They turned up and out of the tunnel into Kowloon Bay then beyond to the south-east limits of Kowloon City, Don still four or five cars behind.
This wasn’t exactly the most salubrious of neighbourhoods. They passed old tenement blocks and crumbling shopping centres. He didn’t think he’d ever been out this far. There wasn’t a lot out here worth the effort. The sun was getting low. When it showed through the sea of enormous and uniformly squared off apartment buildings it cast an orange glow on everything that took the edge off the worst of the grime.
The Merc was slowing now, and Don had to make an effort to stay at a reasonable distance. Sometimes he turned onto a road just in time to see Fong’s car turning off it, as they snaked their way between the old buildings. As Don cruised to a junction he saw the Merc crawling along beside the pavement, next to a shithole of a park.
There was a small gang of Chinese kids there, teenage boys hanging tough. Drugs for the weekend? The Merc sped up a little until it reached a similar group of boys thirty yards further on. He couldn’t just sit here in the middle of the road so Don turned the little Honda into the new street and drove up beside the first gang. He wound down the window and a kid with bad skin approached the car, his scrawny arms poking out from a white vest, black hair oiled flat on his head. The kid leaned through the window and spoke first.
“You looking for some fun, mister?”
16
Don nearly swore out loud. So this was the fucking Hampstead Heath of Kowloon? No wonder none of his mates had ever suggested they come out this way. From the dashboard Don took the photo that Mr Sun had given him and held it up. “That guy in the first car. You ever see him before?” It seemed the right sort of question.
“Fuck off. You a fucking cop?” The kid backed away from the window.
“You fuck off you queer bastard.” Now he was causing a scene. That was no good. Don looked ahead to Fong’s car to see a tall good-looking kid with black hair down to his shoulders opening the passenger-side door. He was about nineteen, lean with tight muscles, wearing black jeans and a black vest. The vest seemed to be some kind of uniform, or maybe that was just the fashion.
The kids he had spoken to were backing off down the road, pointing at him. Still, he let Fong get a start before he started after him. This time he kept even more distance and lost him for a few seconds until he spotted the Merc down a side road.
They only drove for two minutes. Fong turned into an almost deserted car park. Don pulled into a space on the corner of his street and allowed the Merc to park up in the centre of the darkening hole in the district, his eyes never leaving it for a second. The car park was an overgrown plot filled with gravel and weeds. A couple of big trucks were parked up on the other side, half a dozen other cars scattered across the open ground. One or two looked abandoned. In fact, one was black and twisted from fire. Don waited another couple of minutes, fiddling with his camera. He managed to turn the flash on, but he knew it had a burst setting and that took him a while to find through the menus. There, he had it. He gave it a try and the flash filled the car as the thing took half a dozen shots quickly while he held the button down. That should do, now to get close enough.
He left his keys in the ignition, then thought better of it. He wanted a quick exit, but in a neighbourhood like this and with Jeannie’s car? Better not take any chances. Besides, that other gang of rent boys might have followed him. They surely knew where Fong had been heading.
The sun was over the horizon now, and although the sky was still glowing out west, the car park itself was black, only one streetlight on the edge casting a harsh glow over the inside. He used a couple of cars for cover, got to within twenty feet of the Merc. There was no light and no sign of movement from the inside.
He didn’t want to come from the side where he might be seen out the window. Neither did he want to appear in the rear mirrors in case anyone was watching, so he crouched as low as he could, camera ready in one hand, and approached d
iagonally from the back. The gravel crunched under his feet and he had to almost crawl, trying not to make any noise. It seemed that anyone within two hundred yards must know he was there.
Ten feet, slower still, five feet. Still nothing inside the car, no movement, no sound. His long legs ached as he kept as low as possible, inching the last couple of yards, then the camera was against the window and a series of flashes hit like lightning.
A burst of six pictures, and relief for his legs as Don stood – no point hiding now – and shot another burst. He almost expected the car to be empty but there was Fong, leaning across the car with his mouth still open, looking up at Don through the window. The boy sat in shock with his boxers around his knees and his hand reaching down Fong’s unzipped trousers.
That was when Fong shouted, and Don backed off quickly, still firing off the camera, the whole scene lit up in stop motion animation. The boy’s door opened and Don stood ready, expecting to be attacked. Instead the boy pulled his trousers up to his waist with one hand, his other shielding his face from the camera as he legged it toward the shadows at the back of the car park.
Don didn’t see Fong again. He just turned and ran, back to Jeannie’s car. Jumped in, started the engine. One last glance showed him that the Merc wasn’t moving. It still sat there alone in the centre of the car park, one door open, unmoved. Don fumbled for the stick, forgetting for a moment that he was in an automatic, then put it in drive and sped off back to the tunnel, back to Kowloon City.
17
He didn’t stop until the underground lot. Walked up the street, to the wine shop. The same girl in big red glasses gave him a bottle of Chivas Regal. Back in his apartment, sweating, breathing hard. He placed the camera on the coffee table and poured himself a large scotch, downed it neat. Then he poured another one, took a sip of that and lit a cigarette.
All Blood is Red Page 4
