Hungry Ghost (35 page)

‘I love a big bang,’ he’d said as he slipped the carrier bag containing the bomb under the rear passenger seat of the general’s Mercedes. Not that Edmunds had told the investigators that when they got back to Langley. Edmunds was a team player – always had been, ever since he played college ball. Always would be.

The drinks arrived and Feinberg leant forward, sipping from the glass as it stood on the bar, like a lion drinking from a water-hole. Del began to rub Feinberg’s thigh and she whispered in his ear.

What the hell was Feinberg doing in Bangkok? It was too much of a coincidence to be drinking in the same bar; Feinberg must have been looking for him, even though he still had more than a week’s leave to go. He studied him as he drank. He was tall and stringy enough to be a marathon runner but not enough for basketball, with sharp features, a slightly pointed chin and an angular nose between hooded eyes that forever looked as if they hadn’t had enough sleep. Since he’d last seen him Feinberg had grown a Mexican-style moustache that drooped down either side of his thin, bloodless lips. It was wilting in the heat. Feinberg was wearing a white short-sleeved Lacoste shirt with green stripes, and jeans held up with a green and red Gucci belt. Edmunds looked past the younger man to a mirrored wall and saw himself. Christ, he looked old. His paunch was spilling over his trousers and though he still had a full head of hair it was all grey. It had been that way for a good ten years, but whereas before he could tell himself it was prematurely grey, now it was just grey. His face, like his body, was fleshier than Feinberg’s, the features all smoothed out by subcutaneous fat, though he had the same world-weary eyes. Edmunds’ was a temporary condition, though, the result of too much booze and too many late nights. A few days back in the States and he’d soon be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He sucked in his gut, which seemed to take a good five years off the age of his reflection but it was too much of an effort to hold it in and he exhaled with a mournful sigh. He realized that Feinberg was watching him in the mirror with a knowing grin on his face.

‘You’re putting on a bit, Jack,’ he said. ‘Stopped the old morning exercises, have we? Not keeping fit any more?’

‘You wanna step outside and find out just how fit I am?’ snapped Edmunds. ‘I can still take you out, and I don’t need a kilo of high explosive to do it.’

Feinberg raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Whoa, touchy, touchy,’ he said.

‘What do you want, Rick?’

‘Enough money to be comfortable, a loving wife, peace on earth. Just the normal sort of shit we all want,’ said Feinberg. ‘And a couple of hours with this pretty young thing.’

Edmunds felt a flare of irrational jealousy burst somewhere inside him. Del seemed to have forgotten he existed, though Need’s fingers were as insistent as ever.

‘What are you doing here, Rick?’ Edmunds pressed.

‘Just passing through,’ sighed Feinberg, his eyes on Del.

‘From where?’ Need’s nails bit into his thigh.

‘Langley.’

‘To where?’

‘Hong Kong.’

‘And?’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked. Need sighed deeply and Edmunds felt the warm breath from her nostrils on his neck.

‘I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me.’

Feinberg sniggered. ‘Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. You’re coming with me.’

‘I’m on leave, Rick. Rest and recreation.’

‘More recreation than rest, I’d think.’

‘I can’t argue with that. What’s the game plan?’ Need slid off her stool, resigned to the fact that she’d lost Edmunds’ attention. And his money. But it was still relatively early and there were plenty of customers in the bar. Del saw her go but decided to continue trying her luck with Feinberg.

‘A small problem that our masters want taken care of.’

‘Anyone we know?’

Feinberg turned to look at him at last. ‘Geoff Howells – a Brit. You know him?’

‘Doesn’t ring a bell. What did he do?’

‘Hey man, ours not to reason why, et cetera et cetera. Since when have we been interested in the whys and wherefores?’

‘Since I’m getting pulled off my well-earned leave,’ Edmunds smiled.

‘He killed one of our men in Hong Kong.’

‘Who?’

‘A chink. I’d never heard of him, a guy called Ng. A freelance.’

‘So why would a Brit kill one of our men?’

‘There you go, asking why again.’ He began toying with Del’s young breasts, fingering the nipples to make them hard. ‘We make love?’ she asked him. Feinberg grinned wolfishly and pinched her until she winced. ‘Never in a million years,’ he said. He continued to pinch until tears welled up in the girl’s eyes but she wouldn’t cry out, didn’t try to remove his hand.

‘Leave her be,’ said Edmunds.

‘You’re getting soft in your old age,’ said Feinberg, but he stopped hurting the girl. She rushed off to the toilet and Edmunds knew she would cry there, away from them. His heart went out to her. Maybe Feinberg was right, maybe he was getting soft.

‘Seems a bit strange, that’s all.’

‘Apparently he’s gone loopy. History of psychological problems. You sure you’ve never heard of him? I thought you knew everybody in this business, the length of time you’ve been around.’

‘I’m getting a bit fed up with all the cracks about my age,’ said Edmunds.

‘Hey, no offence meant.’

‘I bet. So, what do we know about this Howells?’

‘Full biog, pics, the works. No details of location but Hong Kong is locked up tighter than a frog’s arse. He’s not going anywhere.’

‘Sounds cool.’

‘Cool? Hey, nobody says cool anymore. Cool went out with flared trousers.’

Feinberg saw the anger in Edmunds’ eyes and immediately held up his hands. ‘For fuck’s sake, man, don’t be so goddamned sensitive.’

Edmunds laughed, finished his drink and got unsteadily to his feet. ‘I’m going back to the hotel. What time’s our flight?’

‘Just before noon. I’ll call you. I’m in the Sheraton as well.’

‘OK. You staying here?’

‘Sure. I’m going to have me that little girl there.’ He gestured at one of the dancers, a tall girl in knee-high boots with long hair tied back in a ponytail. ‘I’m going to make her do terrible things to me with that hair. I’m going to make her wrap it . . .’ Edmunds didn’t hear the rest, it was lost in the pounding music as he headed for the door. On the way he passed the toilets and saw Del leaning against the wall. Her eyes were red but she beamed when she saw Edmunds. ‘We make love?’ she asked hopefully. ‘I love you.’

Edmunds felt a wave of sadness wash over him, sadness mixed with guilt in about equal parts. He pulled out his wallet and thrust a couple of brown notes at her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and walked out into the hot night air, thick with the smell of spices and motor-cycle fumes.

The twelve triad leaders sitting around the circular table controlled the lion’s share of drugs, vice and illegal gambling in Hong Kong, as well as a good chunk of the colony’s legal business, but to Thomas Ng they looked like a group of pensioners being told about a forthcoming outing. They sat quietly, occasionally nodding or grunting, as Ng Wai-sun stood in front of the framed portrait of the fierce Kwan Kung god and put before them the events of the previous forty-eight hours. He spoke quietly, his voice steady as he looked each of the men in the eyes in turn.

They had all arrived in separate cars with their own bodyguards, but all had walked alone to the entrance of the house to be greeted by Ng Wai-sun. Some had worn expensive suits, some came in designer casual clothes and one, a man who appeared to be even older than Ng’s own father, had turned up in a traditional black silk Chinese suit with ivory toggles, and each had carried a small bag containing his robes of office. One by one they had gone upstairs to change and then taken their place at the table. Ng stood to the left side of the double doors, his arms folded across his chest, and Cheng stood at the right.

The old man told the triad leaders about the kidnapping of his grand-daughter by the gweilo, the abduction and assumed murder of his son, and how they now had a photograph of the man they believed was responsible. Then he paused and slowly looked from man to man before speaking again.

‘In days gone by triad often fought against triad in the battle for territory, and for profits, but we have put those days behind us. We have only a few years ahead of us before the Communists take over Hong Kong, and we know what that will mean.’ The elderly men nodded in unison. One cleared his throat noisily and looked around for somewhere to spit but decided against it. ‘In recent years we have learned the benefits of co-operation rather than confrontation, each maximizing the profits from his own territory and not wasting resources in conflict; the Sun Yee On in Tsim Sha Tsui, the 14K in Mong Kok, the Tan Yee in Wan Chai and Causeway Bay.’ He nodded to the respective leaders as he mentioned their triads.

‘Today I have to ask you for your consideration during this difficult time for me and for my family. We wish to conduct a search for this gweilo, and it is certain that the search will involve my men going into areas over which you have authority. I do not want our actions to be misunderstood, nor do I wish to cause you any offence; therefore I stand before you and ask your permission.’

He clasped his hands over his stomach and waited.

The Dragon Head of the Luen Ying Sh’e was the first to speak after slowly getting to his feet.

‘Ng Wai-sun, I offer you my condolences for the tragedy that has befallen your noble family, a tragedy that is all the more insidious coming as it did at the hands of a barbarian. I offer your men safe passage through Luen Ying Sh’e territory until you have found the man you speak of.’

He was followed by the man who had wanted to spit at the thought of the Communists; he too stood up and pledged his support. But Ng knew that the two were small fry, eager to please and to grant a boon to his father because they knew at some time the favour would be returned. Between them they probably controlled less than ten square miles, and most of that in the New Territories. Despite that Ng Wai-sun bowed to each of them and thanked them profusely. There was silence then, and the remaining triad leaders looked at each other, faces carved from stone, wondering who would be next to speak.

It was the Dragon Head of the Tan Yee who rose first, a bull of a man standing a head and a half taller than Ng Wai-sun and double his width. In his youth he had been one of the most feared of Tan Yee’s fighters, and had served a sentence for manslaughter in Stanley for hacking off the head of a Red Pole from a rival triad. It should have been a life sentence for murder but the triad had flown in a top London QC and killed two witnesses, one of them a police sergeant. Mok Shih-chieh had mellowed a bit since then, but not much. Despite his seventy years he still had a full head of hair, though every strand was now pure white, and though most of his muscle had long since run to fat, he was still an impressive sight in his red robes. Five years earlier he’d had half a lung removed and his breath rasped in his throat in time with the movement of his huge chest.

‘I echo the sentiments of those who have already spoken, Ng Wai-sun. And I agree with what you have said about our organizations, our families, using our resources wisely. No one here can deny that since we devoted ourselves to business and stopped petty squabbling we have all prospered.’

The men at the table grunted and nodded in agreement.

‘Despite one or two minor territorial disputes,’ – he gave a knowing look at one of the younger Dragon Heads, who bowed his head under the scrutiny, ‘we have concentrated on co-operation rather than confrontation.’ He paused and took deep wheezing breaths, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table for support. ‘I think the time has come for us to show that this co-operation can be extended even further. You are right, Ng Wai-sun, when you say that we have little time left in Hong Kong. Life will be different here in Hong Kong when the Communists take over. It will not be impossible, but it will be difficult. I myself am glad that I will not be here to see it.’

The men shook their heads at that, but it was generally known that the cancer had reappeared and that Mok Shih-chieh was refusing to have another operation.

‘You have shown us the advantages of moving into businesses overseas, Ng Wai-sun, though we have not all the benefit of such an able son as you have.’ He nodded at Thomas Ng who smiled, pleased and surprised at the recognition. ‘As we move out into the world, away from Hong Kong and the Communists, I think we should do so together, as business associates, rather than as competitors. We are, after all, Chinese, despite our differences. It should be us against the world, taking strength from each other. This is something that I am sure will happen the closer we get to 1997. But I wish tonight to take a step in that direction, to forge the bonds of co-operation. What I am offering, Ng Wai-sun, is not just unhindered passage through Tan Yee territory. I am offering help. The Tan Yee triad will help search for this barbarian, and if we find him we will deliver him to you. I make this pledge in the name of friendship, and trust that it will be accepted as such.’ He grunted and sat down heavily, his chair scraping along the floor.

Ng’s father bowed to the Tan Yee Dragon Head. ‘I am grateful for your assistance, Mok Shih-chieh.’ He nodded at Cheng who quietly opened the door and slipped out. ‘I accept your offer, and the spirit of friendship in which it is made. And I look forward to closer co-operation between our organizations.’

In quick succession the remainder of the Dragon Heads stood and pledged their help to Ng Wai-sun, and Cheng came back into the room as the last one was sitting down. Cheng had twelve bundles of colour photographs and he walked slowly around the table, placing a bundle in front of each of the Dragon Heads.

‘These are the best photographs we have of the gweilo,’ Ng’s father explained. ‘We know what he looks like and we know that he has not left Hong Kong, or at least he has not to the best of our knowledge left through the port or the Kai Tak. But we do not know his name, nor do we have any idea where he is. Master Cheng will be co-ordinating the search, and he can be reached here, any time, night or day.’