Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (15 page)

“You mean dirty stuff,” Kong said.

Poon shrugged.

“Whatever,” he said. “We’re not going to have time to obey all the laws, or play nicey-nice with everybody, or leave it to unmotivated and underpaid civil servants. We need speed. We need someone who can cut through the crap and get the job done. A facilitator, if you will.”

“Why the rush? Do you think she’s still alive?”

Wu grabbed Kong’s arm.

“She’s alive,” he said. He pounded his heart. “I can feel her, in here.”

Kong nodded.

Okay.

Fine.

Who was he to argue?

“Once we find out who took her, there’s going to be some sanitation work to do.”

Kong studied the man.

“What makes you think I would do something like that?”

Poon smiled.

“Why? Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t say you were wrong.”

“Okay then,” Poon said. “We appreciate your help. To show our appreciation, you’re going to be paid well.”

Kong smiled.

“Sounds reasonable,” he said.

Poon handed him an envelope.

“Good faith money,” he said. “Discretion is of the utmost importance. I’m sure you appreciate that.”

Kong did.

“Be sure Brittany So Kwak doesn’t get hurt.”

Kong nodded.

“I would be most unpleased if she got hurt,” Poon added. Then he slapped Kong on the back. “You like the Predator? It’s a nice boat, huh? Slices right through the chop.”

“Yes it does.”

KONG WAS ALMOST OUT THE DOOR when Poon grabbed his arm and said, “One more thing. You’ll find Brittany to be a very attractive lady. She’s here to do a job, not to be screwed, so be sure you keep it that way.”

“Is she a girlfriend of yours?”

Poon laughed.

“All the women in Hong Kong are my girlfriends of mine, even the ones who don’t know it yet,” he said. “Maybe someday you’ll have real money and understand what I’m talking about.”

“I already have real money.”

Poon shook his head.

“What you have is Saturday night fun money,” he said. “But maybe things will get better for you. Who knows?”

Day Six—August 8

Saturday Morning

______________

THE MEATY, MEAN-LOOKING COP asked Prarie and Emmanuelle if they stayed at the Sea View Hotel last night and, when they said “Yes,” wanted to know if they saw or heard anything.

No.

Sorry.

He took a curious look at the way Emmanuelle clutched her purse, and said, “Okay, thanks.”

He never asked their names.

They took the MRT to Central where there were a billion people around in case the cops traced a phone signal. They turned on the dead man’s cell, copied everything in the memory—especially recent calls to and from—turned it off, and then did the same with the other two. They took the Star Ferry across the harbour, went to the far end of the boat, made sure no one was looking, and dropped all three of them over the side.

The deep choppy water swallowed them instantly.

“What about the gun?” Prarie asked.

Good question.

They had debated it all morning—it saved their lives once and gave them an edge for the future, but it also connected them to a murder and was illegal as hell.

Now it was time to decide
o
nce and for all.

“We have four bullets left,” Emmanuelle said. “You decide.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

They wiped it for prints one more time, made sure no eyes were on them, dropped it over the side and watched it disappear into the salty green water.

There.

Done.

“I feel a hundred times better,” Prarie said.

“Yeah,” Emmanuelle said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

THE KNIFE-WEILDING MANIAC who forced Prarie to shoot him last night turned out to be Pierre Durand, 37, from Paris, according to his wallet. The other two were Nicholas Lefebvre, 32, also from Paris, and Michael Chow, 25, from Hong Kong. “We need to figure out if they’re a group trying to find the paintings or the ones who took them in the first place,” Emmanuelle said.

“How do we do that?” Prarie asked.

Good question.

“As far as our two Paris boys go, I know a P.I. back home who isn’t above breaking into a flat or two if the money’s good enough,” Emmanuelle said. “The problem in this case, though, is that it’s so sensitive. If I tell this guy to look around for something connected to paintings, he might put two and two together, which wouldn’t be good.”

“You don’t think he can be trusted?”

Emmanuelle tilted her head.

“With normal stuff, yes, but with something this big, no one can be trusted,” she said. “Everyone becomes a player.”

Prarie considered it.

Then said, “Maybe we need to go back to Paris and do it ourselves.”

“You mean, break in?”

“Right.”

Emmanuelle shrugged.

“It’s a possibility but it’ll take time,” she said. “Maybe what I can do is keep it vague, so he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. I can just tell him to gather up papers and copy computer files, assuming there are computers, and then send it all to us.”

“What kind of papers?”

“The normal stuff—bank statements, phone records, et cetera. Even then, he might spot something he shouldn’t.” She cocked her head. “Yeah, I’ll do that and just hope it doesn’t come back to bite us. In the meantime, let’s concentrate on our Hong Kong friend.”

Michael Chow.

Day Six—August 8

Saturday Morning

______________

THE SIGHT OF D’ASIA’S FACE brought it all back—the rain, the blond-wig attacker, the body dump, and most of all the incredible passionate moments in the bedroom as the storm rattled the windows and lightning electrified the sky.

Moments that changed his life.

Inside the hotel room, d’Asia wrapped her arms around
Teffinger
’s waist and laid her head on his chest.

Safe.

Protected.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said. “If someone follows me, you could be in trouble.”

“How did you even know I was here?”
Teffinger
asked.

“I could feel you in the city and started calling hotels,” she said.

“You could feel me?”

She nodded.

“Don’t ask me to explain it,” she said. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.” She kissed him and said, “I can’t believe you came all this way.”

Teffinger
exhaled.

“I didn’t think I’d find you,” he said.

“Technically you didn’t,” she said. “I found you.”

Teffinger
rolled his eyes.

“So you’re a better detective than me? Is that what you’re saying?”

She smiled.

“Yes, but don’t worry, you’re still young—you’ll improve. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll show you some of my tricks.” She ran a finger in tingly circles around his bellybutton. Then she grabbed the towel and yanked it off. “One of us is naked,” she said.

“That’s an uneven situation,”
Teffinger
said.

“It is.”

“It upsets the balance of the universe.”

“It does.”

“That’s not good.”

“So how are you going to fix it?”

EVERY MOLECULE IN HIS BODY screamed for him to throw the woman on the bed and rock her world like no one ever had, even him.

But it wasn’t that simple.

Fan Rae pulled at him, hard and forcefully. Just a couple of hours ago, she asked him to move in. Also just a couple of hours ago, he said yes. He didn’t know exactly what that meant as far as a commitment went, but did know that it meant something. And he knew for certain that sleeping with d’Asia would be a violation of whatever that something was.

Damn it.

He picked the towel off the floor and wrapped it around his waist as d’Asia watched with confusion.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said. “I do, more than you can even believe.”

She raised her arms, put her hands around his neck and brought her mouth close to his, so close that the warmth of her breath filled his world. She rubbed her stomach against his and said, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like me anymore?”

Teffinger
exhaled.

“Let’s talk,” he said.

OVER THE NEXT HALF HOUR, he learned a few things. After returning to Hong Kong, d’Asia went into hiding, deep hiding, while a P.I. she hired by the name of Sammy Tsng tried to figure out what was going on.

So far he didn’t know squat.

He had however worked hard and used up the retainer.

Now he needed more money.

“I never stopped thinking about you
Nick
,” d’Asia said, “not for a moment. I almost jumped on a plane to Denver fifty different times but each time I reminded myself that I’d ruined your life enough.”

Teffinger
put his finger to her lips.

“Nothing was your fault,” he said. “I think I know who’s trying to kill you—or at least one of them—I don’t know how many there are.”

She studied him
.

Then she said, “You’re actually serious.”

He nodded.

“Dead.”

“You know who’s trying to kill me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Weird, isn’t it? I couldn’t find you, but did find out who’s after you.”

“Well, spit it out,” she said. “Who is it?”

HE STARTED AT THE BEGINNING.

Rather than reporting the incident to the Lakewood P.D., he dumped the woman with the wig near some railroad tracks in Denver after d’Asia ran out of the house. That way he’d have jurisdiction over the case and would get cooperation from the Hong Kong authorities when he came here. He’d been working with a detective named Fan Rae Fan since he arrived.

“We sort of developed a thing,” he said.

“You’ve only been here a few days.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And is thing serious?”

Teffinger
raked his hair back with his fingers. It immediately flopped back down over his forehead.

“This thing is on a path of self-destruction,” he said, “because she’s involved with the people who are trying to kill you, although I don’t know exactly how. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

With that, he told her the story of the conversation he overhead at
Hei Yewan
, and how he tried to follow the mystery woman.

“Describe this woman,” she said.

He did.

She listened, s
olemnly.

“Do you know her?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I might if I saw her, but not by that description,” she said. “So what do we do?”

Easy.

She would stay in hiding.

Teffinger
would stick by Fan Rae and wait for the mystery woman to surface.

“Are you going to be sleeping with this detective—this Fan Rae Fan?”

Teffinger
shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“Meaning you might?”

“Right, I guess so.”

She cocked her head. “You know something? I had you all wrong.”

“What does that mean.”

“It means that Fan Rae Fan is the enemy,” she said. “Staying close to the enemy to get information is one thing. Sleeping with the enemy is something entirely different.”

Teffinger
considered it.

He couldn’t argue
b
ut he also knew that he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t sleep with Fan Rae.

She was in his blood, f
or better or worse.

He had fallen for the wrong woman.

He knew it.

He still couldn’t do anything about it.

“How can I trust you if you’re sleeping with the enemy?” d’Asia asked.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you. You know that.”

She studied him, headed to the door and said, “I need to think this through.”

Then she was gone
, a
gain.