Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller) (5 page)

Emmanuelle nodded
, u
nderstanding.

“Which way did he go?”

Prarie pointed and said, “The same way the cab just went.”

“And that’s the way he came from, right?”

Good question.

“Yes,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Because I remember now, that he turned the car around after he took me out.”

“Okay, good.”

“I didn’t remember that until just now,” Prarie said.

“Okay, what happened next?”

“Well, I took off the hood after I got to a hundred,” Prarie said. “I looked in the direction the car had gone and couldn’t see it. It had already disappeared. I was alone. Then I started walking that way, the same way as the car.”

“What did you do with the hood?”

Prarie shrugged.

“I don’t remember.”

They searched the area and found it in the weeds
, p
lus the rope.

Emmanuelle put them both in her purse.

“Okay, so you started walking that way, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what?”

“Eventually, I came to that gas station at the crossroads we passed about three or four kilometers back. The guy there called a cab for me. I took it back to campus, packed a bag and headed for the airport.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it,” Prarie said. “That’s all there is to it.”

THEY HEADED UP THE ROAD.

The sun beat down relentlessly through a humid haze.

“Where the hell are all the cars?” Emmanuelle asked.

“There aren’t any,” Prarie said. “Welcome to my life.”

Emmanuelle chuckled.

“Your life sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

A kilometer passed, a hot
sweaty one.

“I’d give a hundred euros for a ride right now,” Emmanuelle said.

“That’s weird that you said that,” Prarie said, “because that was the exact thing I was thinking when I was here last time, when a car came up the road going the opposite way. The guy didn’t even have the decency to stop and see if I was okay.”

“Jerk,” Emmanuelle said.

“Exactly.”

They walked for another ten minutes, not talking, dealing with the heat.

Then Emmanuelle said, “If I was a man driving out here and saw a woman walking by herself, particularly a blond foreigner, I think I’d be inclined to stop and see what was going on.”

“You’d think.”

“Maybe he didn’t stop because he already knew what was going on.”

Prarie tilted her head.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that maybe he already knew who you were because he was the one who dropped you off,” Emmanuelle said.

“I don’t see the connection.”

“Think about it,” Emmanuelle said. “If it was him, he wouldn’t stop and pretend it wasn’t him, because you’d recognize his voice. He’d just keep driving, which is exactly what he did.”

That made sense
, t
o a point.

“But why would he double back?”

“Easy,” Emmanuelle said. “The quickest way back to where he was going was that way.”

“That doesn’t make sense. If that’s the way he wanted to go, why wouldn’t he have just gone that way to begin with?”

“Because he didn’t want you to know which way he was really headed. He didn’t want you to know that the place you were being kept was somewhere down that road.”

Prarie wiped sweat off her forehead.

“The heat’s frying your brain,” she said.

Emmanuelle ignored the remark and said, “Did you get a look at him?”

“Who? The driver?”

“Right.”

“Yeah, for about a tenth of a second, from the side, while he was speeding and I was wiping sweat out of my was eyes and cursing him for not stopping.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him?”

“Are you kidding? No way.”

“Do you remember what color the car was?”

“No.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“I remember I would have given him a hundred euros,” Prarie said. “That’s it.”

“Okay.”

“Sorry.”

Day Four—August 6

Thursday Morning

______________

KONG’S PHONE RANG THURSDAY MORNING and the voice of Jack Poon came through. Kong pulled up the image of a short underweight man who owned more of Hong Kong that any other human being, not even counting the Macau casino. Poon didn’t call often, but when he did Kong listened and listened hard, not just because of the man’s wealth and power but because he also owned Ra, which Kong managed.

“Do you know how to parachute?” Poon asked.

Parachute?

What the hell?

“I did it once,” Kong said.

“Did you live?”

“To the best of my recollection.”

Poon chuckled.

“Good. I’d like to meet with you. Do you have time?”

Kong did.

He did indeed.

A FIFTEEN-METER PREDATOR picked him up an hour later at the marina and sliced through choppy seas at a breakneck pace to Macau, sixty kilometers to the west, where a black Bentley was waiting for him. Fifteen minutes later he was in the penthouse suite of the Cotai Storm Hotel & Casino—one of several places Poon called home.

Poon slapped Kong on the arm and said, “My man Kong. Thanks for coming.”

“No problem.”

“How’s the club?”

“The club is fine. You should come down some time.”

“I will, when I can break free. Right now, I want to talk to you about something. Do you feeling like making some money?”

Kong nodded.

“
Always.
”

“Follow me,” Poon said. “I want you to meet someone.”

They went to the ma
s
ter bedroom, which was in semi-darkness. Sprawled out on the bed was a beautiful young woman, about 22, deeply unconscious on her back with her legs spread, wearing only a white thong.

Poon walked over, stuck his hand between the woman’s legs and rubbed her.

She didn’t move, n
ot a muscle.

“This is Fion,” Poon said. “I rent her by the day. She won’t come to for another five or six hours. You want to play with her?”

Kong shook his head.

“She looks fun,” he said, “but that’s really not my thing.”

“It wasn’t mine either,” Poon said. “Don’t ever get too much money. It twists you.”

THEY WENT TO THE GAME ROOM and Poon put a pinball machine in action. While working the flippers, he looked up and said, “If you can beat me two out of three, I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”

Kong nodded.

“Fair enough.”

Day Four—August 6

Thursday Morning

______________

FAN RAE FAN stared at
Teffinger
when he walked into her office, not saying anything, just taking him in. He did the same—he had no choice, he really couldn’t form words, not quite yet. She reminded him a lot of d’Asia, but was slightly taller and even more stunning, if that was possible. Her hair was long, straight and pitch-black. Until this moment, he thought he came to Hong Kong not just to help d’Asia, but to get her into his life.

Now he was confused, j
ust like that.

Wham.

“You must be
Nick
Teffinger
,” the woman said. Her English was remarkably good, with just a trace of Asian overlay.

“Guilty.”

“Someone named
Sydney
Heatherwood
called me this morning,” she said. “She told me the secret.”

“The secret?”

“Right. The secret is the coffee. Too little, and things aren’t right with you. Too much, and more of the same. The secret is to get the perfect balance.”

Teffinger
smiled.

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he said. “What else did she tell you?”

Fan Rae pulled an imaginary zipper across her lips.

“Nothing I can repeat but don’t worry, I only believe half of it.”

“Which half? The good one or the bad one?”

“That remains to be seen,” she said. “Follow me.”

They got coffee from a small kitchenette down the hall.

That gave him a chance to see how she walked.

He wasn’t disappointed.

As soon as they got back to her office, the phone rang. She talked in quick Cantonese and increasingly wrinkled her brow.

“Got a homicide,” she said. “You want to tag along or wait until I get back?”

“I’ll tag.”

THEY GOT INTO A SMALL SILVER VEHICLE and pointed the nose east into thick traffic.

“I ran the prints of your Denver victim and didn’t get any matches,” Fan Rae said. “I also showed her photo around. No one recognizes her and no matches are popping up in the database.”

“So you have no idea who she is?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Tell me again why you think she’s from Hong Kong.”

“We found Hong Kong dollars in her pocket.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

“By the way, thanks for all your trouble, I really appreciate it.”

She nodded
, u
nderstanding.

“You can’t find the killer until you know who the victim is,” she said.

“Still, thanks.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER they were at a secluded beach. Two uniforms directed them to a body. The
victim turned out to be a g-punk
woman in her mid-twenties, with black hair, heavy black makeup, multiple piercings and a tongue stud.

She was staked out in the sand.

Naked.

Tight.

Nothing was around her.

No clothes.

No purse.

No nothing.

Only her.

Her throat was slit.

Deep.

But that wasn’t the weird part.

The weird part was her stomach.

Someone had carved
markings
into her flesh. From the flow of the blood, it was obviously done while she was still alive.
Teffinger
swallowed and momentarily got distracted by the waves crashing on the sand.

Fan Rae said, “That’s a K’ung chia symbol. It means bad or evil or vicious.”

“Meaning her?”

“No,” she said. “No, not her. It refers to the carver.”

Day Four—August 6

Thursday Afternoon

______________

THE MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER at the gas station gave Prarie a long sideways look as if he’d seen her before, but said nothing. She and Emmanuelle made their way back to the hotel, showered, rented a VW Passat and drove from one art gallery to another. “I want to commission a Monet replica,” Emmanuelle said. “Do you know anyone who does that kind of work?”

“No.”

That was the standard answer.

No.

No, no, no.

Until they stopped at a gallery in the low rent district in northern Kowloon. There, a bald man with thick black glasses named Quon said, “How good of a replica are you looking for?”

“A perfect one.”

“A perfect one?”

“Right, a
s in identical.
”

“That would be difficult with a Monet,” Quon said. “The colors are layered—you’re talking paint on paint on paint. Plus you’d have to age it.”

“I know.”

“Something like that would be pricey.”

“Does that mean you know someone?”

The man laughed.

“Me? No, but there are rumors—,” he said. “I can make some phone calls, if you want. There would be a charge for that, of course, and there aren’t any guarantees.”

She gave him a $1,000 HKD.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.

Outside, Prarie said, “I don’t trust that guy.”

“Good. That will keep you alive.”

EMMANUELLE FIRED UP THE ENGINE and said, “Let’s get back to the hotel and take a nap. It’s going to be a long night.”

Prarie pictured it and frowned.