Riding the Snake (1998) (24 page)

"I'm Johnny," he said in the same cultured English accent that characterized all educated speech in the Colony. "This place always amazes me." He continued, "That pipe there destroyed countless lives, but it's truly beautiful. Its inscription reads, 'The crisp air refreshes the mind, the evening wind delights the nose.' I rather fancy that. Many of the most dangerously seductive things in life are beautiful--from snakes and white tigers to opium pipes and, I daresay, even some women. The policeman's lament," he laughed.

"Thank you for helping us," Wheeler said, as Johnny edged to the threshold where he could command a clear view of the front entrance and see anybody attempting to enter the museum.

"Julian tells me you are interested in Wo Lap Ling," Johnny said, smiling, his manufactured lips stretching tight with the expression.

"That's right," Tanisha said. "We think he may be involved in the murder of Mr. Cassidy's brother, Prescott, and the death of Prescott's secretary, Angela Wong."

Johnny stood before them, his expression, through the scars, impossible to read. He finally nodded. "Willy Wo Lap Ling is a dodgy piece of work," he said. "Not an easy quarry . . . What say, Julie?"

Julian nodded. "Johnny and I had a go at pinning the tail on the blighter, but he had a severe kick. We lost two Constables on that play."

"You must have a big file on him," Wheeler said.

"He was born in Kowloon, in the Walled City," Johnny nodded. "He was a beggar boy operating in the biggest criminal groeery store on earth. There were no laws in the Walled City, due to a bungled agreement between Britain and China, where ownership was disputed."

"We know about that," Wheeler said, "but we think it's possible that Willy Wo Lap Ling has made a secret agreement with the Communists in Beijing. A deal to run, unopposed, for Chief Executive of the Colony in the mid-1998 election. We think that deal may be tied to criminal political bribes in the U
. S
., and my brother's and his secretary's murders."

"Hong Kong is full of misinformation," Johnny said. "Rumors are like homeless orphans hunting for shelter. They adapt themselves to fit any promising circumstance. It's best to rely only on provable evidence. Willy is a cagey one. As Julian said, we've tried to move on him more than once. We even picked up trusted aides and tried to roll them, but they were so scared, nobody flipped. With Willy, we were always a day or two after the fair. We'd show up at the jail and find our informant hanging from the over-beam in his cell. Tough bit of business that. The buggers would rather die than rat out Wo Lap Ling."

"What if there was a document describing his deal with Beijing?" Wheeler said. "Wouldn't that be provable evidence if we had it and could bring it to light? Wouldn't that end his chance of being Chief Executive of Hong Kong?"

"Probably so," Julian said, "and if Willy has made a deal with the Communists in Beijing, he probably would have it documented. Willy's not one to trust a handshake or any man's word on a deal."

"Where do you think he'd have it stored? We've been told he doesn't trust banks," Tanisha said.

"Most likely at Triad headquarters," Julian said, looking to Johnny Kwong for confirmation. Johnny nodded in agreement.

' Where's that?" Wheeler pressed.

"It's a temple," Julian said. "An old Buddhist temple, not used for religion anymore. But it would be impossible to get to it unobserved."

"The Chin Lo Triad Temple is in a huge park," Johnny added, "which I'm told is beautiful with cherry blossoms this time of year."

"And you haven't seen it?" Tanisha was surprised. "Can't you just get a warrant and go search it?"

"Hong Kong is not a Western city. A man with Guan-Xi can escape through influence," Johnny said softly.

"He lives in the Temple?" Wheeler asked.

"No," Julian answered, "he has an apartment in Hong Kong, but he would never keep anything of great value there. He would seek the security of the Triad safe."

"There must be a way to get in there," Tanisha said. "Nothing is impossible."

"Maybe not impossible but highly improbable," Julian theorized. "Believe me, we've given it a lot of thought but decided we'd be batting a poor wicket to try."

"Why?" Wheeler pressed.

"The Temple is in a park, surrounded on all sides by the Walled City of Kowloon," Johnny explained. "It is, in effect, a moat of corruption and evil that protects the Chin Lo headquarters. The Walled City has no maps. It is a dark, dangerous place. The alleyways that transect it are bloody and treacherous. Thieves and murderers will kill you for your shoes--or worse still, for being an Occidental or a cop. It's a maze of dead ends and banjo cul-de-sacs. Nobody but a resident could make it through that stinking, pitch-black maze to the Temple in the center of the Walled City."

"What about going in by air?" Tanisha asked.

"They'd hear a helicopter, and be gone, disappearing in a whit into the alleyways, with all the valuables. Willy has vanguards from the Triad's fierce fighting sections posted on the roof with powerful weapons. These men court death and fear no one. Believe me, the only way into the Temple is through the Walled City, and without a map, you'll get nowhere near. Even with one, you'd be risking everything."

They stood in silence for a long moment.

"What about Quincy Lee's map?" Julian finally asked the scarred Constable.

"We never could prove it out. Quincy was probably lying to save his skin."

"What's Quincy's map?" Wheeler asked, grasping at this faint hope.

"Lee Shu Lin, known as Quincy, was raised in that ghetto," Julian said. "He was a dope runner and bag boy for the Chin Lo. We busted him on narcotics when he was just fifteen. He panicked and rolled. We talked him into making Johnny a map of the Walled City in return for protection and a reduced sentence, but he committed suicide in jail before he completed it."

"Sounds like you get a lot of that around here," Tanisha said. "Don't you take their belts and shoelaces?"

"They find implements. The jail is a place of little courage. They would rather die than face Triad justice," Johnny said. "If Quincy's map is wrong, we could go in there with an army of police and be picked off in the dark, one at a time, while we wandered around helpless as blind children."

"What about Jackie Pullinger?" Julian suggested. "Show her the map maybe. She could confirm it and complete it."

Johnny smiled and shrugged. "Much has changed since we were partners. I went to see her in the hospital a year ago. She's ninety-five years old and crazy as a box a' birds. I can't trust that map, and nobody is talking. The rumor I have is that Henry Liu is the new Shan Chu of the Chin Lo. Willy has pulled way back, possibly to distance himself before the election. 'Limpy' Liu is even more violent than Willy. He will kill anybody who considers talking."

"I'd like to see Quincy's map," Tanisha said, "if you still have it. And I'd like to try to talk to Jackie Pullinger. If we can get a map, can't we originate a police raid and search the Temple?"

"If anybody could arrange that, Johnny can," Julian said, proudly. "Johnny has enough Guan-Xi to pull it off."

"I'd be grateful for the professional courtesy. One cop to another," she added.

"I can make you a photocopy of the map," Johnny finally said, "and you can go talk to Miss Pullinger. She was the only White person ever to live in the Walled City. They say she gave Wo Lap Ling his name, Willy, and taught him English. When he became a Triad leader, selling dope to other children, she vowed to get him. However, she's in the Colony hatch and not right in the head. You'd belong in there with her if you listen to anything that crazy old woman tells you now."

"We'd like to try," Wheeler concurred.

Johnny and Julian looked at each other. A silent message of some sort seemed to pass between them. "You'd be better served to just beetle off back to America and leave this be," Johnny said sadly. "But if you want to try, I guess we're good for another go. I'll get the map copied and meet you for dinner tonight, in Wan Chai, at the Black Swan.". Johnny looked at the watch on his scarred, bony wrist. "I've got to get back to court. See you at eight then." He walked out of the museum, leaving them standing there.

"If you've got a jiff, let me show you something," Julian said, and he led them out of the Narcotics Room of the Police Museum and into the Triad Room. He searched the photographs on the wall and finally found the one he wanted. He pointed to a picture of a burned apartment house. Next to it was a shot of a man scorched beyond recognition on a hospital stretcher. "That's Johnny Kwong, right after the fire. It was published in the Hong Kong paper two days later, and I recognized the ring on his right hand. Took me a week to find him. They had him in the Adventist Hospital in Hong Kong under a John Doe."

Wheeler looked closely at the picture. He thought he saw something. He leaned in closer. "What's that?" Wheeler asked. "It looks like a 1414 written on his forehead." It was exactly the same as Angie Wong.

"Westerners often think that. It looks like two fourteens, but it's not."

"What is it?" Tanisha said, leaning in with Wheeler, studying the three-year-old photo of the terribly burned face of Johnny Kwong.

"It's Hakow writing, an old Chinese dialect mandated obsolete by the Communists. But the language is still written and used by some peasants in the Walled City."

"What does it mean?" Wheeler asked.

"It's a promise and a curse," Julian said softly. "It means 'Certain death, certain death.' "

Chapter
21.

Bridge of Clouds

It was just after one in the afternoon when Wheeler and Tanisha finally arrived at St. Mary's Hospital for the elderly and infirm in the northern New Territories. The hospital was a small one-story main building with several wings jutting off on each side. Painted white and perched in the center of a rich green meadow, it looked like something out of The Sound of Music.

They parked their rented Mercedes in the circular drive and walked inside.

Behind the reception desk was a Chinese woman in a nun's habit working diligently over a sheaf of papers. She looked up, smiling as they approached.

"We're looking for Jackie Pullinger," Wheeler said.

"Oh," the nun replied. "You're from her Solicitor's office. We've been expecting you. I have the final tally all prepared. Her nephew is in there now, clearing out her bureau and bedside locker."

"He's doing what?" Tanisha asked, an alarm going off in her head. "Clearing the room?"

"Yes," the nun said softly. "Because as you know, Miss Pullinger has left us. She passed on, God rest her soul."

"When?" Wheeler asked.

"Just two days past. So 1 daresay, if we don't know that, we're not from her Solicitor's office, are we?" the nun surmised.

"That's like an attorney?" Wheeler asked, and the nun nodded. "No, we're not. Sorry to bother you," Wheeler said, and started to go.

Tanisha was still looking at the nun. "Could we talk to her nephew?"

"I suppose so, if he's still there. Miss Pullinger didn't have many belongings. He may have already toddled off."

"Where's her room?" Tanisha asked.

"It's outside, to the right. Number six. There's a wing with cottages." She pointed in the direction of the room, and they thanked her and left.

"Her nephew?" Tanisha said as they moved quickly down the path to the right. "Didn't Julian tell us just an hour ago that she came here in 1929 from England, that she lived her whole life alone in Kowloon, never leaving that ghetto? What fucking nephew?"

"Damn! You're right," Wheeler said.

They quickened their pace until they got to number six. They paused at the door and could hear dresser drawers opening and closing. Tanisha reached into her purse and took out a .25-caliber Glock that she'd brought with her from Los Angeles. A policeman could check a gun with airport security and retrieve it at the other end. The Glock was a short-barreled, highly inaccurate weapon whose chief virtue was that it was extremely light.

She silently turned the knob and pushed the door open. They could see a man with his back to them. He was dark-haired, medium-built, and was looking through a jewelry box, working quickly and quietly.

"What are you doing?" Tanisha said.

The man spun, his eyes glazed with fright. He saw the gun in Tanisha's hand, and although she hadn't pointed it at him, she was holding it at the ready by her side. The man was about twenty-five and Chinese. He was still holding the jewelry box. Suddenly he threw it at them and lunged across the room and out a side door that led onto a sunporch. As Wheeler bolted after him, he could feel the stitches in his right leg snap like buttons popping off a shirt. Pain from that week-old injury shot up his thigh. He kept going; in three strides, he was out the door, limping badly. He saw the young man vault the three-foot wall, heading toward the meadow and a stand of willow trees a hundred yards away. Wheeler hurdled the low wall, picking up precious yards with the more athletic maneuver, but his right leg almost buckled when he landed. He lurched on.

This is for Pres, his mind screamed. Go ... go . . . forget the pain!

He was close enough to launch a flying tackle off his good left leg. With his outstretched right hand, Wheeler managed to catch the fleeing man's ankle as he fell. The Chinese youth hit the ground hard, rolled, and all in one motion came up on both feet, balanced and ready for combat. Because of his leg, Wheeler was slower getting up, and as he rose, he caught a mouthful of shoe leather as the young man's foot swept his face, busting his mouth with a perfectly executed spin kick. Wheeler went down. Blood started to flow from his mouth. He got up again and limped toward the man, who hit him three times with karate-hardened knuckles. Wheeler, who had had combat training in the Marines, caught two of the shots on his forearms but ate the third. It rocked him back. His bad leg folded, he went down, and the man moved in to finish him.