by Chan Ho-Kei
Cop 7 and the other officer were by the Commissioner’s car, their faces split into wide smiles. Cop 7 was holding up his right hand, giving the thumbs up.
They’d done it.
6
AT 6.20 P.M., the bomb disposal experts arrived. It probably took a whole hour because they’d been sent to Murray House and Sha Tin in readiness. They looked at the device and confirmed that Cop 7 had defused it – it could be taken away without a controlled explosion. This wasn’t a particularly powerful bomb, but being next to the fuel tank, would have turned the car into a fireball.
Cop 7 and I were driven to Kowloon City Pier in a squad car, then brought back to Hong Kong Island on a Marine Police boat. In between, several high-ranking officers – I think they were high-ranking – kept coming up to us with questions, and we went over the whole sequence of events in vivid detail, including the conversation I’d overheard, Chang Tin-san’s arrest, the map we found in Mr Toh’s room, what happened at Number One Tea House, and how we guessed the truth on the ferry.
All the officers looked grumpy, as if they might throw a tantrum at any moment, but Cop 7 quietly told me that they were actually very happy with these results. There’d be some trouble, but once they arrested the criminals, the matter would be dealt with.
‘Of course, this was a serious security breach, and the Commissioner was very nearly killed. They’ll have to take some of the blame for that. Toh and his friends are in for a rough time when they’re caught,’ Cop 7 explained.
We arrived at Wan Chai station around half past seven, and I walked into the imposing building I’d refused to enter just hours before. The exterior was as forbidding as ever, the sandbags and barricades even more terrifying by night – it looked like a street in wartime.
Inside the station, we were taken to the centre of operations, where we told a plain-clothes detective the whole story yet again. Several white men in neat suits were also there – Cop 7 said they were from the Special Branch.
‘Can you identify the men in these photographs?’ said a detective, placing three pictures in front of me. ‘Are they Toh Tze-keung, Sum Chung and Chow Chun-hing?’
‘That’s definitely Mr Toh, and that’s Mr Sum. As for Master Chow, I’ve only ever heard his voice – I never saw his face.’
‘Chow Chun-hing lives on Ship Street. He used to run a car repair service, but it folded in the economic downturn some years ago. Informers have indicated he’s closely associated with leftist leaders – we’ve had our eyes on him for some time.’
Ship Street was only two or three minutes’ walk from Spring Garden Lane. And he was a car mechanic – he’d have found it easy to plant that bomb.
‘Don’t go home now. A team will be there soon to arrest Toh and Sum,’ warned Cop 7.
‘Will they be armed?’ I asked. ‘My landlords are good people – they’re innocent.’
‘I know. I’ll tell the officers – they won’t try anything.’
Fortunately Elder Brother was still away on business.
‘I should phone Mr Ho and tell him I’m spending the night with a friend.’
‘Hey, are you trying to tip off the gang?’ said a plain-clothes officer in an unfriendly tone.
‘If he was helping the bad guys, he wouldn’t have put his life at risk to expose this plot,’ Cop 7 replied. The other officer frowned, but didn’t bother me any more.
I told Mr Ho that Elder Brother and I would both be away that night. He grunted in acknowledgement, and that was that. A few hours later, a squad of uniformed officers would barge into the building, no doubt scaring him and his wife to death, but there was nothing to be done about it.
They put me in a corner of the room and told me to wait. I was to listen to Master Chow’s voice, to confirm he was the plotter I’d heard. A plain-clothes officer, the one who hadn’t been particularly friendly earlier, now asked me if I was hungry, then went down to the canteen to get me a plate of delicious spare ribs and rice. It had been a hard day, and I’d had some real scares, but lunch and dinner had been sumptuous – some silver lining! Every time Elder Brother came into some money, he’d treat me to a good meal. A shame I couldn’t return the favour now. But for all I knew, he’d think it was bad luck to eat police food, and be unable to choke it down.
A little after ten, Cop 7 came to visit me. He’d changed into uniform, and even had a helmet on. There also seemed to be more weaponry hanging from his belt than usual – they were preparing to move out. Cop 3 was there too, looking as mean as usual. I jumped when I saw him, but he gave me an unexpected smile and said, ‘Good boy – you did well.’
After they left, I dozed off on the long bench, until a commotion woke me at half past midnight.
‘You bastards! Going straight for the top, eh? How dare you target our Commissioner!’
‘Patriotism is no sin! Unrest is justified!’
The voice shouting slogans was high-pitched – Sum Chung. I remained on the bench, hidden from view by a stack of files on the table in front of me. I peeped through the cracks between piles of paper. The plain-clothes officer next to me, who was sorting through the documents, didn’t try to stop me. I thought he probably understood.
When I saw Sum Chung, I couldn’t help letting out a little gasp.
His face was covered in bruises and his right eye was badly swollen. There was no blood on his head, but his clothes were streaked with it – terrifying. I almost couldn’t recognize the man who tried every day to persuade me to join the union. Toh Sze-keung was with him, less badly bruised but still showing signs of a beating. He kept his head down and said nothing, dragging his left leg – I wondered if the police had broken it. Last of all was a plump, middle-aged man, like Sum Chung so badly beaten up he barely looked human. I couldn’t have said if this was Chow Chun-hing from the picture. They were all handcuffed, and each was accompanied by two or three officers, while a few in combat uniform stood to the side, Cop 7 among them.
‘Walk faster!’ An officer kicked the plump man.
‘Yellow-skinned dog,’ he yelled back, which earned him a couple of blows with a truncheon.
And now that he’d spoken, I was sure who he was. Turning to the officer beside me, I said, ‘That’s his voice, that’s Master Chow.’
The officer nodded and slipped away, whispering a few words to a man in a light-blue long-sleeved shirt who looked like his superior. The three plotters were locked up in separate cells – presumably their interrogation would continue. I didn’t dare imagine how much more suffering they still had to endure.
Cop 7 walked over to me. ‘Mr and Mrs Ho are a little shaken, but the team was very careful not to damage anything in your room,’ he smiled. ‘We took the map as evidence. So that’s the end of the case. You’ve been through a lot today.’
I was about to deny it politely, but I really had been through the wringer.
‘Attention!’ came a voice from the door.
The white officer from before strode into the room, with the same deputy by his side. Everyone stood and saluted. The superintendent looked more relaxed than before.
‘You’ve all done very well,’ the deputy translated. Then, turning to me, ‘Have you thought about joining the force? Superintendent Got was very impressed by your performance today. We need bright young men like you. Each applicant needs two people to vouch for him – but if you don’t have a boss or anyone like that, Superintendent Got will make an exception and personally give you a reference.’ So that was his name, I thought – though probably it was just that his English name started with a ‘guh’ sound.
‘Um, I’ll think about it. Thanks!’ I nodded.
‘Leave your details with the sergeant. When you want to apply, just come and have a word with him.’ The deputy gestured at a man of about forty standing behind him.
Superintendent Got praised Cop 7 again for thwarting such a major plot. Cop 7 responded respectfully, saying he was just doing his duty, and so forth. A whole lot of polite talk, in other words.
As
they spoke, a plain-clothes officer came up to them.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir. I need to talk to PC 4447.’
‘What is it?’ said Cop 7.
‘Toh Sze-keung is willing to make a full confession, but he’ll only talk to 4447.’
‘Me?’ Cop 7 looked alarmed.
‘Don’t fall into that trap,’ said the man who looked like he ran this room, the one in light blue. ‘He must have something up his sleeve. These scumbags deny everything, and we have our own methods of getting the truth out of them. You’re a uniform – best stay out of this.’
‘I... I understand, sir,’ Cop 7 replied.
I almost told him he was making a mistake, but swallowed the words.
The officer went back out, and I heard faint moaning and sobbing from the next room. Meanwhile, everyone around me was congratulating each other on the end of the case. The contrast between their celebrations and the suffering next door made the whole situation seem unreal.
We were truly living in an age of paradoxes.
I spent the night at the station. Someone offered to give me a lift home, but Mr Ho would surely get suspicious if I arrived home after midnight, when there was a curfew. Cop 7 found me a folding canvas bed and I passed a reasonably comfortable night in a corner. There were fewer mosquitoes than in my room.
I walked home from the station at seven in the morning. Back home, I pretended to be shocked at the news of Mr Toh and Mr Sum’s arrests. Mr Ho vividly described the whole process, a hair-raising saga. I thought if I did tell him about the previous day’s events, he’d surely spice it up even more, telling the whole neighbourhood a tale more fantastical than any radio serial.
Elder Brother came home and left again in a hurry. He must have been close to striking a deal – he seemed full of energy, despite having to do business on a Sunday.
As usual, I opened and minded the shop for Mr Ho, while he went off to drink tea with his friends. The radio news contained nothing of what we’d been through – it looked like the police were keeping the secret for now. It was hard to blame them – a serious matter like this had to be completely resolved. A headline like ‘Commissioner Escapes Car Bomb’ with no further context would cause chaos.
Cop 7 didn’t come by – another officer was on patrol. I thought he’d probably been given the day off.
Closing up the shop that evening, I began moving the candy and biscuit tins back inside. Mr Ho stayed behind the counter, fanning himself and humming an out-of-tune Cantonese opera aria.
Then, on the radio: ‘Breaking news. Two young children have been killed in an explosion on Ching Wah Street in North Point. The deceased are a brother and sister, aged four and eight, surname Wong. They lived near the site where the home-made bomb exploded. The police have promised to do everything they can to solve the inhumane crime. There are no government buildings on Ching Wah Street, and government spokesman has commented that it is hard to understand why leftists would choose to place a bomb in a residential district. He accused that it was a senseless act of evil by the communists...’
‘Terrible,’ said Mr Ho. ‘These leftists are going too far. Just imagine if China takes Hong Kong back – those fellows will become ministers. Us regular folk will be in trouble then.’
I didn’t answer Mr Ho, only shook my head and sighed. So that’s how it was.
The next morning, I saw Cop 7 again. He was just as before, striding along with a calm expression, appearing round the corner.
‘A Super Cola, please.’ He put down thirty cents.
I handed him a bottle and returned to my seat. Mr Ho was off drinking tea again, and I was alone in the shop.
‘Are you going to join the force?’ Cop 7 said after a long pause.
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘With Superintendent Got backing you, if you do join, you’ll be sure to rise quickly.’
‘If I have to be completely obedient to my superiors, I don’t want to join.’
Cop 7 looked at me strangely. ‘The police keep strict discipline. Duties of higher and lower ranks are very clear.’
I broke though Cop 7’s lecture. ‘You’ve heard the news? That brother and sister blown up in North Point?’
‘Hmm? Yes, I know, poor things. We haven’t found the killer yet.’
‘I know who did it.’
‘Huh?’ Cop 7 was staring at me. ‘Who?’
‘The man who killed those two little kids,’ I stared straight into his eyes, ‘was you.’
‘Me? What are you talking about?’
‘You didn’t place the bomb, but they died because of your ignorance and stubbornness,’ I said. ‘Toh Sze-keung wanted to speak to you, but that detective just said a couple of words and you didn’t dare to so much as fart. Mr Toh was trying to tell you about North Point.’
‘What... what do you mean?’
‘I told you, I overheard Master Chow telling Mr Toh and Mr Sum to set off from North Point and meet him at the rendezvous. They were empty-handed when they set off, but by the time they got to Number One Tea House, they were carrying explosives, which means they must have picked them up in North Point. I remember all those pencil marks around Ching Wah Street on the map. Master Chow might well have made them while showing it to Mr Toh and the others. You have to be very careful fetching bombs from their maker. I don’t mean in case they explode, but because of the risk of exposure. If the bomber were someone like Master Chow, already under police surveillance, they’d just need to follow him to get to the bomb-maker – and the leftists would lose one more precious skilled worker.’
I paused and looked at Cop 7, who was dumbstruck. ‘So I don’t believe they’d do anything as risky as meeting in person for the handover. The simplest method would be to agree on a place where the bomb-maker would leave the device for some foot soldier to pick up. Don’t you remember me saying, Master Chow said that in the following days, there’d be a second and third wave of attacks? Toh Sze-keung was trying to tell you this because once they were arrested, they had no way to stop the bomb-maker dropping off the second device as planned. With no one to pick it up, it ended up as a plaything for curious little children.’
‘Toh Sze-keung was trying to tell me this? Why me? He could have spoken to any of the officers there,’ cried Cop 7, his expression all wrong for his uniform.
‘The incident room is notorious for beating and torture. Do you think any of those fellows would have believed him? Mr Toh knew you were an upright person, with a good reputation in the neighbourhood, so he asked for you. But a few words from a superior, and you gave him up. You knew Mr Toh wasn’t like Mr Sum, he wasn’t a fanatic, just unfortunate. But you ignored your instincts to protect your job, and followed that order you disagreed with.’
‘I... I...’ Cop 7 struggled to find an answer.
‘For the sake of the “morale of the force”, you were willing to risk your life defusing the bomb in Car Number One. But yesterday, two innocent children lost their precious lives. Are you here to protect police symbols or the safety of ordinary folk? Are you loyal to the colonial government, or us Hongkongers?’ My voice remained level. ‘Why on earth did you want to be in the police force?’
Cop 7 said nothing. He put down the soda, even though he’d only had a couple of mouthfuls, and walked slowly away.
Watching him leave, I wondered if I’d gone too far. Who was I to speak so harshly to him? I decided that the following morning, I’d give him a soda by way of apology.
But the next morning, Cop 7 didn’t appear, nor the mornings after that.
Mr Ho had some connections in the force, so I asked if he knew why Cop 7 hadn’t turned up for some days now.
‘4447? Who? I don’t remember their numbers,’ said Mr Ho.
I struggled to recall the name I’d glimpsed on Cop 7’s ID. ‘Something like Kwan Chun-dok, Kwan Chun-jik...’
‘Ah Dok!’ said Mr Ho. ‘I heard he’d had some great achievement, and been transferred to Central, or maybe it was Tsim S
ha Tsui.’
So he’d been promoted. Well, never mind. That saved me the cost of a soda.
I’d let rip, scolding Cop 7, but actually I was no better than him. I hadn’t accused Mr Toh and the others in the interest of justice, or anything like that. I’d just been worried for myself and Elder Brother.
The way things were, nothing happened for a clear reason. It was already stressful living under the same roof as leftists, at constant risk of being tarred with the same brush. When I heard them plotting, I grew even more uneasy about what would happen if Elder Brother and I got mistaken for members of their gang.
Sometimes self-defence means striking the first blow, neutralizing Master Chow and company.
I’d started out only intending to help Cop 7 find his evidence, and not to get involved. As the saying goes, it’s easy to get things done when you know someone in the imperial court. With Cop 7 testifying that I was the whistleblower, it wouldn’t matter how much Mr Sum tried to blame me – Elder Brother and I would be spared. And I wasn’t worried the leftists would find out I’d accused them. The police wouldn’t release my name. They only wished there were more people like me.
But I was too easily swayed – a few words from Cop 7 and I obediently got in his car, running all over Kowloon and Hong Kong Island. I was an idiot who’d let them use me.
Two days later, Elder Brother arrived home in high spirits – he had something to talk over with me.
‘I closed the deal I’ve been working on. My commission’s three thousand dollars,’ he crowed.
‘My God, so much!’ I hadn’t realized his deals were so big-time.
‘No, the money isn’t so important, the main thing is I have a good relationship with this boss. He’s thinking of expanding his business empire and starting a new company – he’s recruiting right now. Me striking this deal is like a successful job interview – I’m in! It’s just to be a regular clerk, but who knows whether I’ll get to be a supervisor or manager in the future.’
‘Congratulations, Elder Brother!’ I almost said I’d passed my own ‘interview’, but he’d always hated the police.
