All Blood is Red

by Michael Young

  Julia stood up. For a second or two it seemed she couldn’t find a voice. “Now? Where are you going?”

  “I have to go,” he repeated. He went into the kitchen and picked up the briefcase.

  “Where? We only have two hours.”

  “Listen to me,” he pressed the briefcase into her hands. “Take this to the car park at one. I’ll meet you there in my own car. If you have any problems, just call me.”

  Don walked out to the Corolla, drove off towards the tunnel for Kowloon. Saturday morning traffic held him up but he’d seen it worse. Half an hour later he was on Argyle Street near Mong Kok Station. Here, the streets were crammed with cars and vans. Motorcycles zipped through the spaces in between. The pavements and side roads were crowded with shoppers passing through the various markets in the area.

  Don parked as close as he could then pushed his way through Ladies Market. On a Saturday it was packed, even this early. He had a hard job to make his way past the clothes and soft toy and knock-off bag stands to the building he wanted.

  Like his own apartment building it was commercial on the lower floors, but the residential section towered over the busy streets below.

  It took him a while to find the entrance. He’d only been here once, and that when he was drunk. Eventually Don found his way in – a narrow doorway between shoe shops – and took the lift to the seventh floor. He remembered the apartment number, after all. He paused at the door.

  Was this really a good idea? What was he going to say?

  Before he could change his mind a buzzer sounded inside and it was his finger on the button. There was a moment of stillness for him to hope and then the sound of feet padding heavily across the floor. The door opened a crack and a woman peered out.

  “Hello Jeannie.”

  72

  “Hello Jeannie.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds, not quite comprehending, or believing, what she was seeing. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I might ask you the same question.”

  “Oh don’t even try it, Don. You haven’t been around for weeks.”

  Two weeks, actually. Not so long. “And how long have you been staying around here?”

  Another pause. Defensively, “Long enough, I guess.” Then she remembered how angry she was with him. “But you can’t fucking talk. You just disappeared, and no-one’s seen or heard from you. So you can just disappear again.”

  She tried to close the door but Don stuck his big foot in the gap. “Ease up, Jeannie. I’m not here for trouble.”

  She slammed the door against his shoe in frustration, but gave up and turned back inside. “Well what do you want? Hurry up and then fuck off, I’ve got to work in a couple of hours.”

  He knew she wouldn’t be working now until the four o’clock shift, but didn’t say anything as he followed her inside. She was wearing a new cotton bathrobe. Not new, someone else’s. A man’s. “Where’s Michael?”

  The apartment was one room with a bed in one corner and a kitchen in the other. A TV, a low table, a wardrobe. One door, leading to a bathroom. Jeannie was putting water into a small kettle. “He’s not here.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “How the hell should I know? He said he had something to do.”

  Don had been here once a couple of months ago, with Jonny after an afternoon session at the Keller. They’d picked up Michael and gone somewhere. He didn’t remember where. “What are you doing with a guy like that, Jeannie?”

  She spun on her heel, kettle in hand. “Don’t you fucking dare, Don. You’ve got no right.”

  Maybe he should wait until she’d put the kettle on the stove. Don looked around awkwardly. He saw Jeannie’s underwear – black, traditional, sexy – laid out on the bed. “You don’t even know what he does.”

  She put the kettle on and spooned some instant coffee into a mug. “I don’t even know what you do anymore. But you know what? I don’t even care.”

  “Come on Jeannie. We both know that’s not true.

  The mug flew across the room and shattered against the wall behind him, scattering brown coffee granules and white shards of china over the floor and the TV. “You arrogant shit.” She stormed up to him, her face a picture of fury, “Michael kept me satisfied when you couldn’t. You’re just a fucking loser, Donnie, so you can crawl back to whichever loser whore you’ve shacked up with.”

  His hand moved before he even knew it. Jeannie held the side of her face as it reddened, shocked by his violence.

  It started as the tiniest whisper: “Get out!”

  Don was shocked himself. He’d never hit a woman before. He hadn’t intended to. It wasn’t right, everybody knew that. It just wasn’t right. “Jeannie, I didn’t…”

  “Get out!”

  There was no saving this. Nothing left to do, or say. He couldn’t take it back.

  “Get out!” Louder, the rage growing. Don walked towards the door. A final scream of indignant anger, “Get! Out!” and he pulled the door shut just in time as the whole coffee jar burst against it, followed by he didn’t know what else, crashing and banging between Jeannie’s screams.

  73

  Shoppers in the market barged into Don as he tried to fight his way through to where he was parked. He looked at the palm of his hand in a daze. He didn’t know why he had done it, it had just happened. And it happened too fast. He couldn’t have stopped it. Finally reaching his car he sat in it for a while.

  “What the fuck, Don. What the fuck.”

  Jeannie had always known how to make him mad and this time she had pressed all the wrong buttons. He was stressed already, it hadn’t taken much. He threw his head back and tried to breathe deeply. Time to focus. He had things to do. He tried to clear his head. It didn’t achieve much. Why the hell had he done that? Why did he even go there? It was never going to end well.

  Couldn’t be helped now. He had to put it behind him. He’d feel better when the deal was done. Then he could sort his life out, relax, clear his head out. He had a lot of shit in there that needed sorting, but it would be easier with some money behind him.

  In his pocket. One hundred and twenty Hong Kong Dollars. All that remained to him, everything he had, was enough to buy a couple of packets of Lights. Well, maybe that was what he should do then.

  Don stepped out into the street. He entered the small store on the corner. Two minutes later he was sat back in the car with four packets of Marlboro Lights on the passenger seat, a handful of coppers in his pocket. He ripped open a packet, lit one, wound his window down a fraction for the smoke. The clock on the dashboard said twelve fifteen, but he knew it was at least twenty minutes fast. It always had been.

  “Here we go then, Don. Let’s go and make a deal.”

  74

  Don was thirty-five minutes early as he pulled up in the car park. It was just a wide-open concrete space, packed at this time on a Saturday. Like most old areas of Hong Kong, Kowloon Bay was only partly gentrified. New buildings and shopping complexes gleamed next to those that looked like they would fall down before anyone ever got a wrecking ball near them. And when they did fall down a new one would spring up in no time in the exact shape of the space left on the ground. New was an inversion of old, the white shapes left between the black marks on the map. No space was ever wasted, not around here. Away to the east were new apartment builds, for the middle classes who didn’t want to live in the smoky centre of Kowloon. Further south was mixed: commercial, residential, industrial, shithole shanties that were just waiting to be torn down. And this area he was in was whatever they had space to build.

  He sat in his car, chain smoking the last of his money. He couldn’t even afford the ticket to get out of the car park. Shit. He hadn’t thought of that. Watching the shoppers returning to or leaving their cars, he wondered what the next step would be. The phone sat silent and still beside him. He wondered if Julia would show up with the tablets. She had to, didn’t she? They were worth nothing without a b
uyer. She had no other way to reach that two-faced bastard Michael. She had the goods, he had the phone. They needed each other.

  He used the butt of his cigarette to light another before dropping it out the window. His chest felt heavy. Been smoking too much. It was all the stress of the situation. Give up tomorrow. Cigarettes, anyway. Nothing but fat cigars, from now on.

  He felt guilty about Jeannie but what could he do? That was all over, now. Let Michael have her, find out how much fun she was to have around twenty-four fucking seven. Crazy, and drunk, always going on. He was well out of that, no doubt. No doubts at all. Michael would be leaving soon anyway, once the deal was made. So this was his new job? International buyer for some mysterious mega-rich antiques collector. Didn’t sound so bad. Don wouldn’t have minded a gig like that for himself. But better still would be taking the money.

  At ten minutes to one the bright red MG crawled past in front of him. Julia didn’t see him, intent as she was on finding a space. His Corolla didn’t exactly stand out, around here. The MG did. Not on the island, where Porsche and Ferrari and Mercedes and Lexus were common. But anywhere in Kowloon it was a beacon. Especially in that colour. That had already proved useful once.

  He watched her pull into a parking space thirty yards away, two rows further over, got out to stroll toward her as casual as he could manage. There was no breeze. Even in the open air the car park smelled of fumes, oil, rubber, the asphalt grimy with years of use. He flicked his half-smoked cigarette away and knocked on Julia’s window. She nearly jumped out of her skin. When she saw who it was the window buzzed smoothly down.

  “Have you got the briefcase?”

  “Of course.” She nodded over her shoulder and Don peered through the window to see it lodged behind the seats. “Have you got the phone?”

  He patted his pocket. “Right here.” Julia was gripping the steering wheel hard to stop her hands from shaking. She was nervous. The last deal hadn’t exactly gone smoothly, for her. “Don’t worry.” He sounded almost confident, even to himself. Then, “I need some change for the car park.”

  She reached for her handbag in the passenger footwell, gave him a handful of change from her coin purse. Her fingers were quivering.

  “Do what I say and everything will be fine. I’ll let you know when he rings.”

  Don strode back to his car. He took another cigarette from the seat next to him, surprised to see the tremble in his own big, scarred, ugly hands. “Shit. Calm down Don, just calm down.” He threw the cigarette onto the passenger seat, gripped the steering wheel ready to drive, ready to get this over with.

  The minutes ticked by slowly. Five minutes, then four. He felt the cool breeze getting up through his open window. The sky was clear and blue.

  Three minutes. He picked up the cigarette again, lighting it with shaky fingers. A family of four walked happily across the front of his car, loaded with shopping bags. They didn’t even notice him. They didn’t know what was about to happen.

  Two minutes. He tossed the cigarette through the window, took both phones from his pocket. Searching across the parked cars, he saw the sun glinting off the red roof of the MG. The sun, the Sun. What had Mr Sun said? ‘All bets are off.’

  One minute. Try and breathe, deep and slow, deep and slow.

  At exactly one o’clock, the phone rang. He pressed the button and held it to his ear. “Are you at the car park?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No.” No, Michael. No problems at all.

  “Listen carefully. Head south to Yau Tong station, near the Eastern Tunnel. After the station take the first right. You’ll see Yip Shul Industries. It’s an old empty warehouse. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “Yip Shul Industries. No problem.” He was already on the other phone, texting the directions to Julia. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  “There’s one more thing. I’ve had a better offer.”

  75

  “What do you mean? By who?”

  “I’ve been offered the tablets for only eight million dollars. Two million cheaper.”

  What? Had Julia crossed him? That two-faced bitch. “We had a deal. Ten million.”

  “I’m happy to save money for my employer, but I’m a fair man. Our deal still stands, if you get here with the tablets. I leave that little problem between you and the other gentleman.” The phone clicked off.

  Gentleman? Who the fuck? The penny dropped at the same time he saw him. Sun was standing next to the MG. Don couldn’t see for parked cars but it looked like he was taking the briefcase from Julia, through the window of her car. Then Sun walked back towards where Don had parked, nervously looking around, left and right. Of course, Sun hadn’t seen him yet.

  As he came out from behind an SUV on the end of the line, Don saw that he did indeed have the briefcase, as well as some kind of gun, an automatic pistol. He slipped the piece inside the pocket of his cardigan but it was too big to fit. Sun shifted the briefcase under his arm to hide the gun, turned toward where Don was parked.

  There was no time to think. He twisted the key in the ignition and gunned the engine, checked left and right. Nobody else around, the family had moved on. It had to be now. Now or never. Don hit the accelerator and twisted the wheel in his hands. The tyres squealed on the tarmac as he tore from his parking space, scraping the car next to him, aimed at Mr Sun.

  Sun looked up at the noise, the sudden movement. He seemed to stare directly at Don but there was no time for him to do anything about it. No time for him to react or dodge. In less than half a second Sun and the briefcase were bouncing all over the bonnet, onto the windscreen. Don hit the brakes and the body flew at the screech of rubber, to land and roll on the hard road in front of him.

  For a moment Don couldn’t even breathe. The body was face down on the ground. At any second, Don expected to see Sun rise again, stand up, look at him through the windscreen. He could hear screaming from a distance.

  “Move Don. Fucking go, fucking move!”

  He threw the door open, rushed to the prone Mr Sun. There was no movement, no sign of life.

  “Thought it was gonna be easy did you, you fucker?” There was a little blood on his face. Don checked the pockets for the gun, but it was missing. Looking around, he spotted it ten feet away, half under another car. The briefcase was on the opposite side of the lane.

  Forget the gun. He ran to the briefcase and checked it. Still closed and locked. He sprinted back to his own car, conscious of the shouts from behind him, threw the briefcase in the back, sat back in his seat.

  Mr Sun’s body lay in front of him. Could he? The guy might still be alive. It would be easier for Don if he could be sure that Sun was dead. Be sure that he was out of the way, that he couldn’t cause any more trouble.

  But no, he couldn’t. He shifted into reverse. Looking over his shoulder he scattered the bystanders that were starting to gather, spun the wheel hard to the right. First gear and hit the accelerator. The exit was straight in front of him. He slowed at the barrier, fumbling with his ticket and the change in his pocket.

  “Come on Don. Got to get out of here.”

  Finally the automatic barrier lifted. Don screeched into a left turn, cutting up a van that had to brake hard. He sped to the next curve in the road, and the next. He was out, he was clear, and he had the briefcase.

  76

  Don slowed the car as he approached a set of lights. He was away from the car park. The police would surely be on their way but there was no point in speeding or running red lights, getting himself noticed.

  The lights changed quickly. In a minute he was up on the elevated expressway heading south. He merged with the traffic, checking nervously over his shoulder, in his mirrors. No sign of police yet. What if the car park had cameras? Nothing he could do about that now. One thing at a time. He had to get to the meet.

  He tried to drive carefully, but at the same time completed and sent his text to Julia, giving her directions, telling her
to wait outside until he gave her a signal. No point trying to double-cross her now, it was too late to come up with another plan. But she’d have to find her own way out of the mess at the car park.

  To the right of the expressway the waters of Victoria Harbour sparkled in the afternoon sun. Further over lay the Island, buildings along the water’s edge and then the green wooded slopes in the centre. He tried to focus his mind on driving, but it wasn’t easy. The road turned inland and threaded through a forest of 50-storey apartment complexes. He took the next exit – he wasn’t exactly sure where the station was but didn’t want to get caught in the traffic headed for the Eastern Tunnel which was just up ahead – and then he was buried beneath those same apartments. On into the industrial areas beyond, following road signs.

  He pulled over at the turning Michael had mentioned. People lived behind the station but on this side were factories and construction companies, dredging companies and junk yards, all the way to the water’s edge. And plenty of brownfield, space reduced to rubble as the factories moved to the mainland and the money moved to finance, invisible exports instead of visible ones. Seemed this area wasn’t doing too well.

  Leaning across to the glove compartment he took out the pearl-handled revolver. Still four bullets in the chambers. He slipped it into his jacket pocket. Might as well go in with a little back up, but what could go wrong from here? A sudden thought made him panic. He pulled the briefcase from the backseat and opened it up – zero zero one. The three tablets were resting in the foam. Okay, just one last step. It was the final round and he was winning on points. Keep a calm head, Don.

  He started driving again. The street headed back to the water. Up ahead he could see cranes at the small docks. He had to drive slow to check the names. Most of them had large Chinese signs with the English name of the company much smaller underneath, if there was any English at all. The signs were all heavily weathered and faded, many with large FOR SALE or SOLD signs pasted over the top.