Trophy Taker

by Lee Weeks

  At the end of the road, concrete steps dropped down to a narrow semicircle of yellow sandy beach. They turned right at the top of the steps and past a beach café – with cheap metal chairs and spindly-legged tables, still covered in the rings of congealed beer from the night before. Chan walked on ahead. Georgina halted. She watched a family – the only people on the beach: grandmother, proud young parents and a chubby little girl who had fat pink cheeks and black plaits that swung back and forth as she ran from parent to parent.

  Georgina looked at the sea with longing. She wanted to walk into the static mass of cool blue. She wanted to feel the rough sand ease her itching skin and the cold water fill her ears, creeping over her hot scalp and easing her throbbing head. She longed to slip out of her skin and swim away and keep swimming forever. But, at the same time, she saw the shark nets and wondered what lay beneath. She shivered, turned her back on the sea and followed Chan.

  Chan or the sharks? Not much of a choice.

  105

  Chan was in a hurry to get undercover. He’d taken an inordinate amount of risks lately. He knew if he wasn’t married to the boss’s daughter he’d be dead by now. As it was, he couldn’t rely on it much longer. He hadn’t seen his wife in days. He’d heard she had moved back into Daddy’s. She must be waiting to see the outcome – hedging her bets. Chan wasn’t surprised. There was always something distant about her – something he could never reach. But he had destroyed his chance of promotion within the Wo Shing Shing. He knew it, it had been written all over CK’s face.

  He’d have to wait till the old man died. But that could be speeded up, especially with his new friends on board. He’d go to Negros as soon as his transportation turned up, but not to hide. He would use the time to build up his strength and his allies. He had made many in Club Sixty-Eight. So many rich old perverts were very grateful to Chan for having fulfilled their twisted dreams. They would not forget him. Plus, in case they contemplated it, he had a copy of each of the films to serve as a memory jogger.

  When the time was right he’d launch a takeover of the Wo Shing Shing. His wife could divorce him and remarry. They were never more than a business arrangement anyway. And she had proved barren like the rest of them. He would take Georgina – not only would he need some company in his new home, he had taken a liking to her in Club Sixty-Eight. Even though she wasn’t willing, she was compliant, and that made a refreshing change from the usual greedy whores. And when he grew tired of her she could disappear as easily as the others. Perhaps she would even bear him a child …

  They reached a little chalet not far from the sea. It was a single-storey basic holiday beach let: concrete floors, bare stone walls, barred windows. Chan unlocked the door and pushed Georgina inside. It was then that she turned and noticed Chan’s men – four dark suits. They didn’t come closer than nodding distance. Georgina saw them for a second and then they were gone.

  Chan locked the door behind them and put the doorkey in his jacket pocket. He placed his briefcase onto the low coffee table directly in front of the door in the lounge area and threw his jacket over the back of the rattan sofa. The chalet hadn’t been properly aired for weeks and was unbearably hot. He began opening all the doors and windows.

  ‘Bathroom, bedroom, kitchen,’ he announced like an estate agent as he marched briskly through the small chalet, opening the rusted-up metal windows as he went.

  Georgina stood just inside the front door, by the coffee table. As he re-emerged from the bedroom he caught her looking at his jacket.

  ‘Don’t even think of stepping outside, let alone trying to run away. I have armed men surrounding the chalet. They will shoot you and anyone else that I tell them to.’ He picked up a newly starched cellophane-wrapped packet of bedding from the breakfast counter and threw it at her. ‘Make the bed up, have a shower and get some sleep. I have to make some phone calls.’

  Inside the bedroom was a small double bed and one scruffy wardrobe with its door hanging on by a rusty hinge. It was full of old metal hangers.

  Georgina placed the packet of bedding down, sat heavily on the bed and pressed her bare feet onto the cold tile floor. She lay back and looked at the ceiling. A breeze trickled in and did its best to disperse the build-up of heat in the small room; it touched Georgina’s face as it passed and she turned her head to see where it was coming from. Through the bars of the window she could see the small side-street leading to the beach and hear a bike’s bells and the people chatting. She could smell the sea. Not a bad place to die, she thought. Then, with an enormous effort, she stood up and steadied herself against the wall. She flicked the sheets out of the packet and laid them loosely across the bed. She longed to lie down but she knew she wouldn’t be able to lie still – her body was shaking with a fever, her skin crawling. Before she slept she needed a shower to cool her. Moving silently past Chan, who was sitting at the lounge table shouting his instructions down the phone, she passed the kitchen and went into the bathroom.

  She held her hand against the stone shower wall for support and stood for several minutes, head bowed, eyes closed, beneath the lukewarm water as the hard jet blasted her face and shoulders. Then she soaped her body. Lathering up the small white deposit of soap, she scrubbed her skin hard. After ten minutes she turned the water off and stood, eyes shut, feeling the water cool on her skin. Shivering, she reached for a towel. Chan was suddenly there, and he handed her one. She tried to cover herself.

  ‘Don’t bother. I’ve seen it before – remember?’ He watched her as she dried herself. ‘Poor baby.’ He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, nuzzling into her moist neck. ‘Are you in pain?’ Georgina was shaking so much that she was barely able to keep upright. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, licking the drops of water from her neck. ‘Daddy is going to look after you from now on. I’m getting you something. It’s on its way. You’ll feel better soon.’

  Georgina said nothing. Clutching the towel to her, she waited for him to leave. He stood watching her for a few minutes, delighting in her humiliation, then he closed the door and went back to his phone calls.

  Georgina leaned against the wall. Her naked body shook with anguish as she began to cry, silently. She pressed the towel to her mouth and bit into it so that she would not make a sound. She cried for the frustration of it all, and with so much sorrow. She wanted to smash the wall down with her fists, to kick and scream. She wanted someone to help her. She was sick and she was frightened. She wanted to be rescued. She wanted Johnny Mann.

  106

  She finished drying and went back past Chan to lie down. She felt his eyes follow her but he was busy on the phone. She crawled into bed. The cool cotton sheet soothed her sensitive skin and calmed her torn flesh where she’d been scratching. All day she lay on the bed, drifting in and out of sleep. She had fitful, horror-filled dreams when she slept, and crazed, pain-filled minutes when she awoke. All her senses were heightened. She listened, wide-eyed, to a beetle scuttle back and forth across the stone floor. She smelt the sea and the hot sand as it drifted in through the bars of the window. She watched the shadows dip and fall on the grey, pockmarked walls of the bare room, and she drifted in no man’s land.

  After a particularly long doze she awoke to find that the room was dark and there were voices coming from the lounge. Chan was talking to several other men. They argued back and forth. The bedroom door opened and Chan came into the room. Georgina watched him. Just her eyes followed his movements. He didn’t look at her. He hadn’t come to see her. He had come to pace and to gather his thoughts. He smoked a cigarette. It lit up his face and reflected in his dark eyes. Georgina watched him in the gloom of the evening. He didn’t look at her. He didn’t notice her at all. She was just a ghost in the corner of the room, silent, observing. She thought about how it would feel to kill him.

  107

  Ten p.m. Mann sat opposite Max in the interview room. Max looked dishevelled and exhausted. Shrimp leant against the far wall.

  Shrimp
had brought Mann some fresh black coffee, although he needed very little more wiring – he hadn’t slept for three days. He was going to get more out of Max, one way or another. He had a hunch that if anyone would know where Chan would run, Max would. Max had spent years catering to Chan’s subversive tastes. He must know more about him than even he realised.

  Mann’s eyes were on the clock on the wall to his right. He was waiting for fifteen minutes to pass. He sipped his coffee and sat back in his chair and looked at the clock. Max went to get a cigarette from his packet on the table. Mann flicked the packet away; it landed in the corner of the room. Max looked at Li, whose feet it had landed at. Li stared back, unblinking. Every few minutes Max lifted his eyes towards Mann, waiting for the interview to begin and for it to be over with; waiting to be allowed to return to the seclusion of his cell. Mann tapped his pen on the tabletop as he watched Max sweat. Fifteen minutes was up.

  ‘Okay, Max, that’s fifteen minutes off your brother’s life.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘That’s right. Every minute you waste my time in here comes off your brother’s life.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Now, that may not seem like a big deal to you, Max – after all, you are going to die anyway.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You and your brother are to stand trial on the mainland. You know what that means, don’t you, Max? It means they are going to shoot you. So, maybe you think – okay, at least my brother and I will be shot together? You and your brother, side by side against the firing squad? Well, you will have to stand next to his corpse for fifteen minutes now. Want to make it a day standing next your dead brother? Want to watch the fly infesta tion begin while you’re waiting to die?’

  Max swung his head from side to side, confused.

  ‘Then tell me what I want to know.’

  ‘I do not know any more. I have nothing more to tell you.’

  Mann looked at the clock. ‘Twenty-two minutes. Buzzzzz. It doesn’t take long for flies to start laying eggs. They start laying in wet places: eyes, nose, mouth.’

  Max looked at Li for help. Mann slammed his hand on the table. Max shrieked and turned back.

  ‘No one can help you, Max.’

  Mann sat back and drank the rest of his coffee. He rolled the coffee cup in his hands.

  ‘The thing is, you deserve to die for your part in all of this, but you’re not the only one. Chan deserves it too. Nothing can make a difference to you dying or not, now, Max. Chan can’t cut your life any shorter than it is.’

  ‘What about my old father?’

  ‘How much longer do you think he’s going to last now without his sons to look after him? He’s as good as dead anyway. You did that – you, your brother, and Chan.’

  Max started to whimper. Mann nodded towards Li, who picked up the packet of cigarettes and threw it over. Mann got one out, lit it, and placed it in Max’s shaking fingers.

  ‘The thing is, Max, after they have shot you and your brother full of holes, Chan will drink a toast to you. You will be dead and he will have escaped justice. Is that what you want? The man who reneged on his promise to your family? The man who used you and your brother? He walks free and leaves you both to carry all the guilt for him. That’s all right with you, is it? Chan cares less about what happens to you than he does about, say, Georgina.’

  Max looked up.

  ‘Remember Georgina, Max?’

  ‘One of the nicest Gwaipohs I ever met.’ Max shook his head miserably and looked accusingly at Mann. ‘Good manners, always polite. Not like some.’

  ‘I’m not a Gweilo, Max – remember that. I may look like one, but inside I am all Chinese. Chan has her and he will kill her. Do you want that?’

  Max shook his head – large despondent swings that took him seconds to complete.

  ‘There is still time to help Georgina,’ Mann persisted. ‘Do one good thing in your miserable life before you die … Now tell me … where would he take her, Max?’

  Max looked at Mann. Looked away; looked back.

  ‘Where, Max?’

  ‘Find Miss Mad-arh-lin?’

  ‘Yes, Max. Find Miss Georgina. Try and right some of the wrongs you and your brother have done.’

  Max looked at the floor, then back at Mann. He spluttered something.

  ‘What, Max?’

  Max repeated it. This time he looked at Mann as he did so. ‘Maybe Cheung Chau. He has a cottage there.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Once, he stayed there for a week. He got ill. He rang me. I had to deliver some herbs from my father. I had to give him acupuncture. I went there.’

  ‘Do you remember where it was on the island?’

  ‘Straight across from the ferry, near the beach, a chalet. I don’t remember anything else.’

  108

  ‘How are we getting there?’ Li asked as he appeared, carrying a backpack.

  ‘I have the keys to a boat.’ Mann held up a set of keys. A gold tag hung from them with the initials DW on it. Li looked at him. ‘It’s a friend’s.’

  They drove down to the Hong Kong Yacht Club. Mann flashed his badge at the gates and they were ushered through. They headed towards the marina, parked up and walked along the line of expensive boats until they reached the mooring. Gently lapping against the side of the jetty, a white, fibreglass, twenty-one-foot Sea Ray Cruiser was waiting patiently for her first outing.

  ‘He must be a very good friend – to just give you the keys,’ said Li.

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Can you drive it?’

  ‘More or less. Stop asking questions now, Shrimp, and get in. Find a knob with BLOWER written on it.’ Mann switched the battery on, en route to the helm.

  ‘This one, boss?’

  ‘Yeah. Hit that one.’ Mann turned the key and put the throttle into reverse. ‘Cast off, Shrimp.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Undo the rope that’s stopping us from going anywhere.’

  ‘Okay, boss. Awesome!’

  Mann turned the boat and headed for the islands. The waters were quiet: the large ships were laid up for the night, all the ferries finished. Their small boat cut through the still water effortlessly as it glided between the huge ships like a cleaner fish on patrol.

  Li pulled out a pair of board shorts and a surfer’s T-shirt from the backpack.

  ‘Where are you going to put your gun, and how many more outfits have you got in that locker of yours?’

  ‘Just a few.’ Li came to join Mann at the helm. ‘Got my handgun where I keep my board wax. What’s the plan, boss?’

  ‘We avoid using guns if we can. We don’t want to attract attention. If possible we want to get the girl, get Chan, and get out. Fast and slick.’

  ‘Awesome!’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s the plan, but I’m not sure how we are going to achieve it yet. And another thing, Shrimp – Chan will be guarded by his most loyal. They are the men who killed Kim, back at Sixty-Eight. They don’t take prisoners and neither will we. Are you okay with that?’

  ‘More than that, boss – I am trained in empty-handed combat – I won’t let you down.’

  Mann looked Shrimp up and down and resisted the urge to smile. Li had finished his outfit off with a peak cap.

  ‘I can believe it. Good man.’

  ‘Boss, if you’re not carrying a gun, what are you packing?’

  ‘These…’ Mann opened his jacket to reveal a custom-made knife belt with three pockets for throwing stars.

  ‘What the heck! I’ve never seen some of those before.’

  ‘Over the years I have confiscated various weapons from triad members, and some of them I’ve had customised. I’ll show you what they do later.’

  109

  Chan came into the room and threw a small package onto the bed. He reached into his pocket and took out a hundred-dollar bill and a lighter and threw them down with it.

  ‘You’ll have to chase it. There are no needles here. Now take
it and shut up. No more screaming.’

  He left.

  Georgina shuffled forward into a corner of light at the end of the bed, and laid the ingredients out in a line in front of her. So neatly did the packet contain its dusty block of China White that its corners unfolded like an origami puzzle. There would be enough in there to have several hits. She knew how to do it. She’d watched the amah who came to clean her room take it on the days when she’d lain on her bunk staring at the walls. She’d seen the ritual it involved.

  She picked up the foil, and stretched it gently on her thigh. She needed to smooth out the creases so that the liquid heroin would not snag and fizzle to nothing too quickly, or run a ragged path and be too difficult to chase. She tapped out a small amount of heroin onto the smooth sheet of foil before setting it carefully to one side. She picked up the hundred-dollar bill and rolled it into a tight tube between her fingers, and then picked up the lighter and paused.

  Her thoughts went to Ka Lei. If she took the heroin there would be no going back, no point in being rescued. She would be back, spinning in the rain with her Ka Lei. It would mean that she had accepted her fate and that she was prepared to die one way or another – by Chan’s hand or by her own. But it would be so nice to feel better for a while. She placed the note in her mouth, flicked the lighter and picked up the foil. It would take no more than a few minutes to go into her bloodstream, then she would be back in the no-feeling zone. Back among the living dead – untouchable – unreachable. She would be lost forever.

  She paused. Ka Lei would not have wanted her to do it. She would have expected her to stay strong, to weather it. It wouldn’t be long now before she would feel better – the withdrawal couldn’t last forever.