The Sky Might Fall (Harry Vee, PI)

by Michael Young

  *

  Harry downed one whisky neat, and was pouring his second when Chang arrived.

  “Christ, Harry. You make friends real easy don’t you.”

  Harry ignored him, and added some ice to his drink while putting the rest in a cloth for his face. He checked his ribs, bruised but not broken, and turned the shower on in the bathroom while he told Chang what had happened.

  “Who do you think they were?” said Chang.

  “I don’t know. Professionals. Someone’s paying them good money. And whoever it is, they won’t be too happy at the way they messed up. Have you got any more addresses?”

  “Two more apartment blocks, both in north-east Kowloon, but no apartment number. The last IP goes back to Buchanen’s building. I suppose you also want me to track down Denmead again?”

  “Can you?” asked Harry.

  “Maybe, a bank card or cellphone, perhaps. But it’s gonna take some time,” said Chang, getting out his laptop. “Lucky for you, you have a very smart friend, huh?”

  “Yeah. Lucky, lucky me,” said Harry. His phone started ringing. It was Jessica Lee.

  *

  Even slightly cleaned up and with more ice on his face and chest, Harry wasn’t feeling much better. The car took him under the bay and then, on Hong Kong Island, under the peak through Aberdeen Tunnel. On the south side of the island they drove more slowly through the quiet, hilly districts of large houses, most with a new Ferrari or a Porsche showing through the highly ornate - and very secure - gates. This area was upmarket, even compared to the Fong house.

  The car stopped outside the yacht club. Harry left his ice packs to melt on the back seat and went inside, where a pair of suited heavies took him out back and directed him to a small launch. It didn’t take a detective to spot the bulge of the holsters beneath their jackets.

  Harry could see his destination. Anchored half a mile out was David Huang’s yacht. Getting into a party on the yacht was the goal for any up-and-coming young gangster, and more than a few politicians. An invitation to the luxury boat usually meant a big promotion, or, Harry had noticed on one or two occasions in the past, a disappearing act.

  Even in the black of night, Harry could pick out the jet-black yacht because it was lit up for a big event - spotlights, fairy lights, and fireworks overhead, and classical music floating across the bay. Nobody ever accused David Huang of subtlety.

  As Harry boarded the yacht, more security showed him to the large cockpit on the upper deck. Above them, the sky was covered by the small helipad that lay over the back half of the boat. The music, flute and violin, was too loud and tinny. All the accoutrements but none of the class, that was Huang.

  At the rear, open to the ocean, four girls in bikinis were lounging in the Jacuzzi, sipping champagne from tall flutes and giggling. Guests - local gangsters, local politicians, a couple of minor TV actors, a singer who was famous ten years ago and others - talked amongst themselves, sipping champagne and cocktails. The men were in tuxedos, the women, apart from the bikini girls, were more or less packed into expensive cocktail gowns and little black dresses.

  In a corner near the wheel stood the captain with a martini glass in his hand. He was an American that Harry had met before when he was investigating another yacht club member. Harry nodded at him, and the captain raised his drink at Harry, surprised to see him on board. In the opposite corner, sat alone on a high stool at a round bar, was Jessica Lee. She wore an elegant long black dress, strategically slit in several places, and subtle small black pearls in her ears and around her wrist. Harry looked her over appreciatively as he walked over and sat next to her.

  She didn’t turn around, but took a long sip of her drink. She knew that she had his attention already. Harry asked for two more of what she was drinking from the waiter in a white tux behind the bar. “Two scotch and sodas, coming up.”

  “Huang and Fong are downstairs. They’ll ask for you in a bit. I shall presume you have some positive news for them, shall I? People are very worried, Harry. Some of them didn’t agree with hiring you. Some think it may be time for more drastic action to be taken.”

  “I wish I’d known it was a formal occasion, I feel positively underdressed.” said Harry, sipping his drink. “Huang and Fong. They used to say that getting into one of these parties was a sign you’d made it in this town. Well, I guess I’ve hit the big time. But something tells me this isn’t your first time aboard.”

  Jessica turned and looked at him, noticing his new bruise for the first time. She raised a finger to the swollen cheek. She had drunk rather a few too many. He said, “And which one is it that you work for, Tweedledum or Tweedledee?”

  “Don’t fuck about Harry. Tweedledee is paying both our wages, and your friend Chang, who by-the-way is fucking expensive.”

  “That’s what I thought. But what exactly is Tweedldee’s interest in Tweedledum’s little girl. Helping out a friend is one thing, but the Huang that I know is a businessman. He doesn’t do sentiment unless it turns a profit. Actually, he just doesn’t do sentiment.”

  Her glazed eyes looked up into his, but he couldn’t read them. They were too dark. “Do your job, and keep your mouth shut, Harry. If you think you can help the girl, just do your job.”

  A waiter came over and spoke quietly into Jessica’s ear. She took Harry’s arm and guided him down to the lower deck. It was larger than above, with tables and sofas, but no sign of either Huang or Fong. The crowd here was much the same as above, with men trying to look rich and powerful and women popping out next to them. The watches, chains, and signet rings were big, and the diamonds and furs real.

  Jessica pointed out Mrs Huang on a sofa, clutching at a magnum of champagne and cackling drunkenly with a group of similar women. She had made damned certain she would have the biggest diamonds and the tiniest dress at the party. Harry settled, leaning against the long bar down one side. Jessica stood close next to him.

  At the far end of the room was a door, with a beefy security guard on each side. These two didn’t bother to hide their weapons, they each had an Uzi slung around their neck. In the corner, at a round table playing cards, Harry saw Huang’s son, Tony, with a few of his friends. They had certainly noticed him. Tony had a scar running down his cheek that hadn’t been there a year ago.

  “I see Tony’s picked up a new scar. I guess no political career means a return to the regular duties of a mafia boss’s son.”

  Jessica looked at Harry. “You didn’t know? That was Mr Huang senior’s idea of a punishment for the way Tony messed up over the politician’s wife. He invested a lot of time and money getting Tony a foothold in politics, and got pretty mad when he screwed his chance. You gave him that scar, with your pictures.”

  Harry smiled and raised his glass at the group. They didn’t smile back, but Harry drained his glass anyway and left it on the bar. The door at the far end opened, and Huang and Fong came into the room. Various guests ingratiatingly nodded or called greetings to them as they strode across the room towards Harry and Jessica. Fong was nervous, mopping at the sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief.

  David Huang was a big man. Like his wife, he had made sure his jewellery would be the biggest and shiniest at the party. Unlike the balding Fong, he had a full head of thick hair. It was silver, and matched his suit. It looked like he had spent a long time growing his tiny moustache. Before he started, he probably imagined he’d be a Chinese Omar Shariff, but things hadn’t quite worked out that way. His face was red, and he looked angry, but he put on a big, crooked smile as he walked up to Harry and Jessica. His gold caps shone. He nodded at Jessica, and spoke to Harry.

  “Welcome aboard my humble little boat. I hope your enjoying all my hospitality.” Harry couldn’t be sure, but he thought Huang’s eyes flashed at Jessica as he said this. “Please help yourself to anything; mi casa su casa.”

  “You’re a most gracious host, Mr Huang. I was just about to get another drink for Ms Lee and myself. Perhaps you would like to j
oin us.”

  Huang clapped his hands at the barman, and ordered champagne for the four of them. “And the party, Mr Vee, or should I call you Harry?” Harry said nothing. “And the party,” Huang went on, “tell me you have been enjoying the festivities.”

  “Indeed, Jessica and I were just complimenting the music. Mozart, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” said Huang. “Mozart is the best, is he not? And nothing but the best will do for me and my guests.”

  Jessica shot an angry look at Harry. Harry was pleased that she knew the difference between Mozart and Vivaldi, at least. He took his glass of champagne from the barman. “Of course, Mr Huang. But perhaps we could talk about business.”

  Huang put on a serious face. “Yes, Harry, you are right. Tell me that you have good news for poor Mr Fong.”

  Poor Mr Fong, sweating profusely, had already gulped down his champagne and was helping himself to another glass. He looked like he needed it.

  “It’s quite simple. The day she disappeared, Anita Fong met her boyfriend.”

  “Impossible!” It was the first words Kenny Fong had spoken. “There was no boyfriend. She was forbidden. I would have known about it.”

  Harry ignored him. Clearly David Huang was pulling all the strings. “She was met by a boy on a motorbike, and they disappeared. He certainly had help from some friends. I’m tracing the group as we speak.”

  “That’s excellent news, Harry, excellent news. But tell me, will it be soon? She’s a very sick girl, you know? You know she was seeing a specialist. Do you have a name? How close are you to finding her?”

  “I wouldn’t like to promise, but I’m making good progress. It should certainly be soon.”

  “Well I hope you will work quickly, Mr Vee, for the sake of the girl. I knew I could rely on a man with your…” he paused to find the right word, “A man with your reputation.” Harry was sure he was thinking back to a year ago, when he’d been vowing to break Harry’s legs if it was the last thing he did. “And now, I wouldn’t like to keep you from your work. Please enjoy my hospitality while you can, and then perhaps Jessica can take you back to your hotel. Please keep me informed, if you have any more news.”

  Harry promised to do so. Jessica finished her champagne and called the barman for more. As the two men moved off to mingle, Huang shot a dark, angry glare at Fong, who was still dabbing at his brow. The big smile flashed up again as soon as he reached his wife, a quick remark being returned with shrieking laughter from her group of friends.

  Harry turned to Jessica, “Everyone’s in quite a hurry to find this girl. She must be very sick.”

  Jessica said nothing, but stared into her fresh flute of champagne.

  *

  Back in the car, Jessica rested her head against Harry’s shoulder, spilling the drink she had brought with her. Back at the hotel, Harry helped her into the lift then directed her staggering into the room. Steven Chang was still at the desk, working on his laptop and drinking bottles of beer. Jessica fell out of her heels and onto the bed.

  Chang’s eyes never left the computer screen. “I see you won a prize at the fair. At least this time you got something apart from bruises for all your labour. Some of us have been doing some useful work, meanwhile.”

  “I hope you’ve got something. I’m beginning to get the feeling this case has got a time limit.”

  “Well, Harry, I would say that you are a very lucky man. Lucky with women,” he aimed a glance at Jessica, passed out on the bed, “lucky to walk off Huang’s boat with limbs unbroken, and lucky to have the smartest motherfucker in Hong Kong as your best friend.”

  “If I wanted a friend, I’d get a dog. You’re the closest I could find. What has the smartest motherfucker in Hong Kong found for me?”

  “The smartest motherfucker in Hong Kong has tracked down Jason Denmead’s cell number, traced it, and he happens to be at one of the addresses I told you about earlier. Not only that, but the smartest mo-fo in Hong Kong can tell you that a credit card of our friend Mr Buchanen was used at a supermarket in the same area last night, a number of hours after you returned here with his wallet.”

  “So you have the address?”

  “Just the building Harry. You wouldn’t want me to make it too easy, would you?”

  4

  Harry sat in a small park on the northern edge of Kowloon, practically in the shadow of the mountains. It was now early afternoon and he had been watching the nearby apartment building across the street since early morning. Chang reported that Jason Denmead’s phone was still inside the building, but Harry didn’t think Denmead would be showing his face in public for a while.

  The bench where he sat gave him a good view of the small car park and the main doors, but he had to move around occasionally to avoid arousing suspicion. He aimed a last puff of smoke to the clouds, tossed his cigarillo butt to the floor and ground it out under his heel.

  Finally, a tall curly-haired blonde girl pulled up in a battered old VW Polo. She looked around nervously, then walked up the steps and into the apartments. Harry waited until he saw her get into the lift alone, then ran up the steps, through the double glass doors, and ducked into the lift as the doors began to close. She made to scream, but Harry covered her mouth with one hand and with the other pointed the gun at her forehead. He checked the buttons; they were going up to fifteenth.

  Harry kept the gun barrel pressed into her head. “Now, I’m going to remove my hand, and you’re going to keep very quiet. Understand?” She nodded carefully, eyes filled with fear. Harry removed his hand from her mouth. “What’s your name?”

  “Sandra.” She was terrified. Whoever this group were, they weren’t used to the rough stuff.

  “What apartment are we going to Sandra?”

  “Fifteen twelve.”

  “And how many people are we going to find in there?”

  “One. I think.”

  “Jason Denmead?” Her eyes widened, but she nodded. They were passing the thirteenth floor. Harry moved round behind her, and stuck the gun hard into the small of her back, to remind her he was there. “Now, stay calm, and neither you nor Jason will get hurt. Understand?”

  She nodded again as the lift door opened. Harry let her guide the way to the apartment. She knocked on the door. Inside he heard movement, then Jason Denmead’s voice, “Sandra?”

  Harry dug the barrel of his gun harder into her liver. She managed to squeak out, “It’s me.” The door opened a crack. Harry pulled it wide open and pushed Sandra inside. As she collided with Denmead, Harry followed behind, pulling the door shut behind him, grabbing Sandra around the neck with one arm and pointing the gun in Denmead’s face. Denmead froze, and Sandra started to sob. Harry said, “Hello Jason.”

  Ten minutes later, Harry had them both sat on the sofa, in the small one room flat. He had double locked the front door, and checked the bathroom. There was no-one else there. Sandra had stopped crying, but Jason had once again gone very white. They both perched on the edge of the couch, hands on their knees. Harry put the gun back in his pocket.

  Jason Denmead said, “Where’s Andy?”

  “Buchanen?” Denmead nodded. “Not my work. I suspect our friends from last night.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I have no idea, but I would suggest a very good way of finding out is to hang around here. If I can find you, so can they. And I don’t think they’ll be asking nicely. Me? I’m asking nicely, so why doesn’t one of you tell me where I can find Anita Fong.” He looked at Sandra, but she fixed her eyes on the rug in front of her.

  Denmead spoke up, “Why should we trust you?”

  “Because I’m the good guy, and I’m trying to help Anita.”

  “She can’t go back to her father,” said Sandra, “She’s not safe with him.”

  “Tell me why.” said Harry.

  Sandra shook her head. “I don’t know what he’s done. Andy had an idea, but he never said.”

  “Andy was her boyfriend?”

&
nbsp; “Yeah, well kind of,” said Sandra. Denmead shot her a look, but she ignored him. “He got close to her because of her father. But he really did like her.” She looked up at Harry.

  “And you’ve been using Buchanen’s credit card to look after the girl. Only, now he’s disappeared. So, spell this out for me, because I’m not quite clear. Why are a bunch of amateur flying saucer nerds, no offence, interested in Fong?”

  Denmead seemed to give in, “He didn’t tell you? I’m not surprised. Fong is moving things to America. UFO parts. Andy found out.”

  Harry stayed quiet. He didn’t know how long to let them talk without saying anything. Sandra took up the story, “Andy was in China. He found crashed UFO parts being sold off on the black market.”

  Harry interrupted, “I really hope you’re going to tell me about the girl soon.”

  Denmead spoke up, “It’s true. Andy had a small piece, in his apartment. Spent his inheritance on it. He tried to buy some more, but most of it had already been shipped to Hong Kong, and besides, he didn’t have the money. That was when he contacted me, through my blog. We put the group together. And we think the parts went to Fong, who’s sending them to the States.”

  Harry sat there staring at them. They seemed convinced. Harry didn’t need to tell them otherwise, if they would take him to Anita. “So, let’s say it’s true. I don’t care. Why kidnap his daughter? Where does Anita fit into this?”

  Sandra spoke up, “We didn’t kidnap her; she wanted to come. Her father was doing something to her. Making her sick.”

  Harry said, “I think you’d better take me to her.”

  Sandra looked up at him, “What are you going to do?”

  “If we get there before our friends from last night, I’m going to save your lives. Just maybe Anita’s too.”

  *

  A short while later Sandra was driving them through the northern suburbs of Kowloon. They pulled up outside an apartment building. Harry’s phone rang as they got out of Sandra’s car. It was Chang.