The Doll Brokers (23 page)

Remembering that first visit now as they landed at Chek Lap Kok, all Ann could see was open space. The thrill of landing at
the old airport was gone. Another example of the city itself, how it had been transformed from something magical into just another port of call.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Jonathan said as they both stood when the seatbelt sign went out.

She shrugged, a wave of vertigo hitting her. It was always the same after this miserable flight. She could hardly wait to get her feet on solid ground.

They cleared customs, then Ann led the way to the transportation desk where a representative of their hotel was waiting. Fifteen minutes later they were relaxing in the back seat of a stretch Mercedes, hand towels provided by the driver, followed by bottles of water.

“Nice way to live,” Jonathan commented.

Ann smiled. “It's a service provided by most hotels here. Of course, we pay for the transportation, but the towels and water are free.”

“Aren't we being a little extravagant?”

“This is one place where extravagance rules. Besides, our only other options would be a cab driver who might not understand English, or the train with its irregular schedule and a stop far away from our hotel. Which would you prefer?”

He sighed. “I get your point.”

“Thank you,” Ann said. “Now—look outside.”

They were passing the high-rise apartment buildings of Lantau Island and more open space than Jonathan expected, including the distinctive area of Discovery Bay, and the road leading to Hong Kong's Disneyland.

Once through the Cheung Tsing Tunnel, they passed one of the world's largest container ports. “Almost one hundred thousand containers shipped daily,” Ann pointed out.

Then, fifteen minutes later, they entered the tourist area of Hong Kong known as Tsimshatsui, where space was not only at
a premium, but appeared nonexistent. Row after row of mid-rise apartment buildings, alongside office towers, hotels, restaurants and shops, all crammed together in some kind of weird urban grid.

Traffic slowed to a standstill. Horns honked. Thousands of pedestrians, dressed in everything from business attire to jeans, jammed the narrow sidewalks.

Jonathan caught Ann's expression and asked why she was smiling.

“You should see your face,” she told him. “Isn't it what you expected?”

He shrugged. “I didn't know what to expect. But it sure is crowded.”

“And it keeps getting worse, especially since 1997, when Hong Kong reverted from a British Colony to being controlled by the People's Republic of China. For the first time, the border has opened up to many Mainland Chinese, and they are flocking here in droves, monopolizing the tourist trade and sending prices, which were always high, skyrocketing.”

The Mercedes finally eased to a stop in front of the Grand Palace Hotel, one of the newest and most popular in Kowloon, a glass and steel monolith, rising thirty-five stories. They went inside and came face-to-face with an ultra-modern lobby—marble walls and ceiling with an almost infinite variety of sculptures and paintings—so crowded with visitors that Ann felt disoriented.

After they registered at the front desk, Jonathan asked is she'd like to jump in and start looking for Chow or if she'd prefer to rest for a while.

Ann shook her head. “No.”

“To which?”

“Both. I'd like to take a walk first, if you don't mind. Just tip the bellboy. He'll take our bags upstairs.”

T
heir hotel was located on one of the intricate side streets that populated this part of Hong Kong. Traveling through what felt to Jonathan like a maze—many of the streets intersected at the weirdest of angles—it took them a few minutes to reach Nathan Road.

They started north, squeezing their way through knots of people on the sidewalk. Ann's ears buzzed with conversations in Mandarin and Cantonese, French, German and Italian. She wasn't sure, but she thought she recognized Hindi and Arabic as well. Traffic snarled around them, belching fumes.

Jonathan nearly stepped in front of a car, when Ann tugged hard on his sleeve and pulled him back safely to the sidewalk “You must look in the opposite direction to back home,” she warned. “Always remember, cars have the right of way here, unless there is a traffic light, and even then you have to be careful.”

“Yeah.” He coughed. “And I bet they never heard of unleaded fuel, either. Man, I'm choking on their exhaust.”

“Get used to it,” Ann said. “Hong Kong's pollution keeps on getting worse.”

Jonathan paused. “Remind me again why we're not in our rooms relaxing?”

Because I'm afraid I'll end up in bed with you.
“Because you're generous and kind, and you're humoring me.”

“I don't humor my own mother.”

Suddenly, a diminutive East Indian fellow accosted Jonathan. “Make nice suit for you, sir,” he said, pulling on Jonathan's jacket. “How about tailored shirts? Can be ready in twenty-four hours. No problem, sir. We have the finest materials.”

Jonathan came to a full stop and began to apologize to the man, to explain that he really wasn't interested, when Ann more or less told the fellow to get lost.

When they were alone, Jonathan muttered that she shouldn't do that, treat people in such a rude manner.

“Okay,” she said, rather too easily.

Less than a minute later a twenty-something-year-old Chinese man was blocking their way, holding his wrist out. “Copy watch?” he asked. “Rolex? Cartier?”

Jonathan looked around for Ann but she had walked ahead. “Er … sorry,” he tried to say, but the man was being persistent. “Very cheap price. Okay? Also have Louis Vuitton purse. Gucci. Valentino…”

“Uh, no. I'm really not interested.” Jonathan tried to escape but the man wouldn't leave his side. Jonathan started a slow jog. The man finally gave up when he crossed onto the next block. But six or seven more offers came his way. Suits, shirts, purses and watches. The spiels were endless.

When he reached her side, Ann began to laugh. “Still want me to be polite?” she asked.

Jonathan just looked at her.

“These are professional shills,” she informed him, “paid by their bosses to snare tourist suckers like you. Everyone wants to make a fast buck in Hong Kong.”

Something in a storefront window caught Jonathan's eye and he turned towards it, came face to face with a smorgasbord of
opulence unlike anything he'd seen before: from row upon row of twenty-four-karat gold jewelry, to a display of brilliant diamond broaches, rings, and necklaces, to the most exclusive watches, resplendent in their showcases.

Every few steps produced a variety of the same, jewelry stores that intermingled with shops that featured designer eye glasses and the latest in electronics.

Finally, Ann had to tap Jonathan on the shoulder. “I didn't know you were a shopper.”

“Huh?” He came back to her as if fleeing a stupor. “I'm not.”

“Then why are you stopping at every shop window we pass?”

“I don't know. There's so much to see.”

“Well, you have a choice,” she said. “You can either enter one of these fine boutiques and buy me a little trinket, or we can continue our walk.”

He did not require further motivation.

Turning east, they left the modern part of Tsimshatsui behind. The streets narrowed and the congestion on the sidewalk clotted even more. The odors of raw fish, chicken, and meat saturated the air. Shops and food stalls were jammed together elbow-to-elbow.

“We should be scenting down Chow,” Jonathan complained, “not Moo Goo Gai Pan.”

“Can't we please just enjoy this?” The words rang false to her ears.

“I can't enjoy it. I've got too much on my mind.”

Me too
, she wanted to say, realizing she was wasting precious time. But she'd been on edge more and more lately. Something was combusting internally and it was dangerously close to the surface.

Crossing another street, they happened upon a small park, isolated and on its own. It seemed so out of place, it drew their attention. A handful of elderly women were going through the movements of Tai Chi. Ann paused to watch, fascinated by their
slow and deliberate steps, the women shifting their weight from one leg to the other, almost as if they were defying gravity.

One individual caught her eye, somewhere between seventy and seventy-five, wrinkled but still elegant, a Chinese version of Felicia. She was about to point this out to Jonathan when he abruptly joined the group of women. Soon, he began to mimic their movements, except it was no imitation, it was the real thing. And he was good. Ann caught the delicate turn of his artist's hands gently caressing the air. For a moment, time stopped. Yet again, Jonathan transformed before her eyes, and not for the first time in recent weeks, she felt something stir inside.

When he returned a few minutes later, she had an urge to take his hand, to touch him. Instead, she quickly led the way back to Nathan Road. A slight breeze had picked up and her hair blew across her face. It was hot and humid for November. “Now I'm ready to look for Chow,” she announced. “His office is in the Tung Ying Building.”

Much of the Tsimshatsui district was within walking distance, and they quickly reached their destination. They entered the lobby and rode the elevator to the fifth floor.

Edmund's office seemed unoccupied. There were no lights on inside. Jonathan rapped a closed fist hard against the opaque glass.

Ann grabbed his wrist. “You're going to break something.”

His fingers caught hers and Ann tugged away. “Will you stop?”

“Where the hell is he?” He looked at his watch. “It's barely four-thirty in the afternoon. There should be a secretary here,
someone
.”

He had a point. This time Ann did the knocking. Some movement caught her eye. She rattled the doorknob. Finally, a lock was unlatched. Her blood pressure seemed to spike. Until that moment, faced with seeing him, Ann hadn't realized how
insanely angry she was at Chow. But when the door opened, an elderly Chinese woman with a large beauty mark on her cheek peered back at her.

“Yes,” Ann started to explain in a slow and deliberate manner. “We … are … looking for Mr. Chow. Mr. Edmund Chow?”

The woman muttered something in Chinese. It was so rapid-fire, Ann felt as though she had done something wrong. Then the woman was gesticulating, words flying from her in a fury.

“Edmund Chow?” Ann repeated, taking a step back.

The barrage became worse. Ann tried to look past the woman, to see if anyone else might be in the office. There was no way she was going to leave without some answers.

Jonathan was about to push through the door when a man suddenly appeared. He was younger-looking than the woman, tall, with thinning black hair.

“There is no Chow here,” he said in perfect English.

Ann turned to Jonathan.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“I do not know anyone by that name.”

“This is his office,” Jonathan said.

“Sorry. No. You are mistaken.”

Ann stepped back, wondering if she had indeed made a mistake. 508. No, this was right. She'd been here on business many times before.

“You can see for yourself,” the man said, surprising her by stepping aside and ushering them into the office.

He flicked on the lights. Ann crossed the threshold, feeling vaguely spooked. The woman remained by the door, her angry stare poking at Ann's back.

Nothing was the same. The walls wore paper instead of paint. The furniture was new, sleek and expensive. Chow had kept the place littered with cheap folding chairs.

“What the hell!” Ann murmured aloud.

“We have been here for over ten years,” the man volunteered. “And I do not know any Edmund Chow.”

Ann dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. But when she looked again, nothing had changed. She took another step, then two, looking around for some piece of stationery, some toy sample … something that was as it should be.

“You might have the wrong place,” Jonathan said from behind her.

“The heck I do.”

Before either could resist, the woman took both their arms and propelled them out of the office and into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them.

“Where are you going?” Ann demanded when Jonathan hurried ahead and buzzed for the elevator.

“To check for his office number in the lobby.”

That would make utter sense, Ann thought, if she had been mistaken.

They rode the elevator to the lobby. Chow wasn't listed on the marquee. Ann pressed a hand to her forehead. “They're lying.”

“Come on, Ann, why would they do that?”

“I don't know. Why would someone plant cocaine in Patrick's briefcase? You tell me.”

She was rewarded when something dark settled in his eyes. Then he looked up as though he could see through five floors to Chow's office above. “That was too easy,” he said. “Too neat.”

Ann thought about it. The guy had just ushered them inside to prove his point … almost as though he'd expected them.

“When you called Chow yesterday,” Jonathan said, “was it the same number as always?”

“Yes.”

“I guess he could have moved and taken the phone number with him.”

Something hit her. “There were two separate phones on that desk upstairs.”

“When was the last time you were here at his office?”

“I don't know. Six months ago or thereabouts. Why?”

“Chow didn't disappear ten years ago, Ann. That guy said they'd been in the office for ten years. He offered it right up. We didn't even have to ask.” He paused. “The son of a bitch is lying. And I bet you I know why. How much money did you give Chow?”

Ann jerked, though on some level she'd known it all along. “The full million-five he asked for. He took our money for the doll. He took it and—and—”