The Trophy Taker (16 page)

Mann took the MTR back to the Island. It was quicker than the ferry and there was something refreshing about it. So different from London or Paris, where you descended into darkness and depression that made so many want to finally seek that last resort and jump under an approaching train. In Hong Kong, after descending from the infernal noise, heat and crowds above, you found bliss: cool, air-conditioned, clean, white-walled, wide passageways, and hardly any people. Bliss …

He got out at Wanchai and cut across Johnson Road to the Bond Bar.

‘All right, Sam? How’s business? Plenty of punters?’ he asked as he came down the steps.

‘Very good, sir, and yours? Plenty of bodies?’ Sam grinned.

‘Word’s out, huh? Thought it wouldn’t take long. Enough bodies to keep me busy, thanks, Sam. Is Kim working tonight?’ he asked as he stepped inside.

‘Kim’s gone, Inspector.’

‘Gone where?’

‘She said she’d found a better job. Left today. She brought me this. Look …’ He extended his arm, and beneath the red satin sleeve was a diamond-encrusted fake Rolex. ‘It’s a really good one – keeps perfect time.’

‘That’s nice. Where did she go?’

‘Sorry, Inspector, she wouldn’t say.’

Mann went inside. There was a new girl at Kim’s station. She was auburn-haired, pretty, with a small muscular frame, pert breasts and nipples like pencil tips. She was dressed in lace knickers. Mann was just about to go over for a chat when he caught Honey Ryder looking at him from across the room. She was entertaining a couple of Chinese middle management who were escorting some visiting Americans and showing them a good time on the company account.

He made his way across to her. She looked up and beamed her beguiling gap-toothed smile at him as he approached. She’d exchanged the French knickers for a black thong and a laced red and black corset that ended beneath her small round breasts, pushing them up and emphasising them perfectly – like pink tennis balls. The corset would have looked tacky on anyone else, but on Honey it just looked like she’d been rifling through her mum’s ‘Saturday night’ drawer and was about to get found out any minute. There was always something about Honey that begged to be spanked.

‘Good evening, Johnny. The usual?’ she asked, wiggling like a child wanting the toilet.

‘Thanks, Honey. How’s things? I see you’ve got your convent outfit on.’ He perched on the suede-covered stool.

She giggled shrilly and spun away to make his drink. She dropped the ice noisily into his glass and overfilled it before spinning back round to face him.

‘Everything’s super, thanks, Johnny,’ she said, flicking her long fringe away from her eyes with a shake of the head.

He had forgotten how pretty Honey was: her green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. She
looked
and
was
still a little girl, not woman enough for Mann. Whenever possible he tried to avoid the ‘fuckedup little girl’ ruined by some man or other –
probably
her father
– who was still trying to make herself into a beguiling child to get love, even from strangers.

She leaned towards him and Mann wondered if she had freckles everywhere.

‘But I’m sure you want to know something else,’ she said, setting his drink down.

‘You’re right, Honey.’ Mann glanced towards Kim’s station. ‘Just curious. Where did she go? Did she say?’

Honey tilted her head to one side and twiddled with her hair, rocking back and forth on her heels. ‘She said you wouldn’t like it if you knew, Johnny. She said I wasn’t to tell you. But …’ She stopped rocking and sat up straight. ‘She’s not here and I am.’ She giggled, then looked up at him from beneath her fringe. ‘Remember that, Johnny. When you get lonely, you can always give me a call. I’ll bring my teddy bear and we can sleep over.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Honey. I will certainly do that, and tell Teddy to wear stockings.’

She giggled again.

‘Where did she go, Honey?’

Honey rolled her eyes. ‘All right, you win. She went to work for some bloke – I don’t know who. She was offered a lucrative job, in-house somewhere.’

‘Where?’

‘All she said was that she didn’t actually know where it was going to be, that it might not even be in Hong Kong. She said she’d call as soon as she could. But she hasn’t.’ Honey pursed her lips into a tight, small smile and cocked her head to one side. ‘And you know how it is, Johnny …’ She wiggled again – playful and eager. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. Here’s my number in case you’ve lost it. And remember – any time, don’t hesitate, Teddy and I will be waiting.’

Mann walked back up to join Johnson Road, one of the main roads leading down to Causeway Bay. It was heaving. Every square inch was in motion. Intrusive neon flooded the street with false light and created day when it was night … Sam was having his usual banter with a few loud-mouthed tourists. Around the corner a scuffle was breaking out. Mann almost ignored it. There were plenty of coppers around patrolling the streets, they would deal with it in a minute. He
almost
turned and walked away, until he heard a familiar sound:

‘Hey, banana boy?’

The three men from the Havana Bar were walking his way. Mann turned and smiled. ‘Come for your lesson, boys?’

‘We heard you were some martial arts expert. We were in the Marines. We reckon we’re a match for you, banana boy …’

They fanned out – the two baldies to Mann’s right, the small one to his left.

Mann moved towards the passageway at the side of the Bond Bar, where the rubbish was dumped from the restaurants that backed onto it. He held up both his hands in a peace gesture then he stepped forward and put his arm around the shoulder of Ugly Fuck.

‘I can see you just want to have a good time: get drunk, get laid. Let me tell you where’s the best place to go for that.’

The big guy grunted his agreement. He was the most used to fighting and the most keen to avoid it when he could. Mann looked past him to the other two and saw Chip on his Shoulder nod, roll his eyes Mann’s way, and reach for a knife pouch he had hidden in his waistband.

Mann gripped Ugly Fuck hard and swung him round. The man took a heavy blow to the side of his head, delivered by Musclebound and meant for Mann. Ugly Fuck staggered back, hit the wall behind and sank into the piles of rotting veg waiting for collection. The punch had off-balanced Musclebound and Mann was right in thinking he didn’t have the speed in his feet to get out of trouble. While Mann’s left hand delivered a punch to Musclebound’s throat, his right hand snapped Chip on his Shoulder’s wrist. There was a sickening crack and a bestial scream as the smaller man dropped the knife and staggered off clutching his arm.

Mann walked away. ‘Hope you enjoyed your lesson, boys,’ he said over his shoulder.

Chan sat in the back of his car. He was early. He wanted to be there first. He had set up the meeting on mutual territory. It was in a small restaurant in Kowloon. It would be easy to guard. Privacy was paramount.

His driver drove past once. Chan peered inside. It looked dead. He had instructed the owner to shut it for the evening.

He drove past the restaurant again. The owner had closed it, as instructed. The place looked empty – dark. He saw the owner come nervously to the door of his restaurant and make last-minute checks to ensure all was as it should be. This was a big moment for him. It was a big moment for all of them. Chan was about to carve his own name in the triad world. He knew he wasn’t going to get promotion from his role of legal advisor, Paper Fan, to Incense Master and Deputy Mountain Master. They were dead men’s shoes and he couldn’t wait for that. So, if he couldn’t kill them off, he would spread sideways within the Wo Shing Shing and create his own society. He would use the cloak of the Wo Shing Shing to hold the men’s allegiance to him. CK would know nothing about it. Their loyalty would be to Chan. When he had collected enough powerful allies he would be in a position to oust his father-in-law. The promises of wealth and power would be enough to convert several prominent Chinese officials.

Chan parked up. He left the driver in the car and took three men with him. One of them was his secondin-command – Stevie Ho. Stevie held the rank of Grass Sandal. His role was one of collector of debts, organiser of meetings. He was a stocky man, taller than average, with a goatee beard and a bald head. He had sustained an injury across the right eye, and one side of his face didn’t match the other. He was an ex-policeman.

Stevie had joined the force at the same time as Johnny Mann. They were cadets together. After he graduated, Stevie was given the opportunity to go undercover and infiltrate the triad gangs. He’d accepted it gladly, and before three years was up Stevie was a fully fledged member of the Wo Shing Shing. The temptations proved too much. It was a common problem with undercover work. There was no middle road to walk. The other two men with them, Chan’s bodyguards, were ordinary members, the lowest ranking in the triad world.

The restaurant owner met them at the door. Bowing continuously, he stood back to let them pass.

‘Show us the room where it is to take place,’ said Stevie, and shook his hand with the secret handshake.

The owner led them through to the back room. It was barely lit and clouded with the pungent smell of incense. In the centre of the room an altar was laid out, with two brass single-stemmed candlesticks, three red stones, a brass bowl for burning paper, a jug of wine and five wine cups, a pot of tea and three tea bowls, and a small thin-bladed knife. To the right of the room, on the wall, was a mock gateway, above which was a piece of yellow paper.

‘Good,’ said Stevie, and nodded his approval in the direction of the owner, who bowed repeatedly and wiped the sweat from his head with his apron.

Stevie and the others were all dressed in simple cotton suits. He handed Chan his robes – a red Buddhist-style monk’s garment. The restaurant owner announced the arrival of the new recruit. Stevie went out to meet him and led him in. He was a short man, in his late sixties, wearing glasses. He had thinning hair and a large round head. He was an important minister in the Fujian Province in China.

The man stood at the doorway and opened his shirt to reveal a bare chest. Then he removed his shoes and stood barefoot. It was tradition that he should make himself appear poor and dishevelled. In his hand he carried a yellow piece of paper, on which he had written his name and his pledge to Chan and the Wo Shing Shing.

Stevie led him forward and stopped beneath the symbolic gateway of the east lodge, over which was hung the sheet of yellow paper.

‘Swear to your identity,’ Chan said.

‘I swear I am Sun Yat-sen.’

Chan took the man’s hand and shook it with the new secret handshake that he must use. His index outstretched to press into Sun Yat-sen’s palm, his middle and fourth finger tucked away, and with his little finger he tapped the outside of the minister’s hand three times. The two bodyguards picked up the swords and held them aloft to form an arch. This would represent the mountain of knives which had been part of the triad initiation since the beginning. After leading the minister beneath the archway, Stevie lit the two candles on the altar and handed the minister three red stones, which he held in his hands as he began to read the thirty-three oaths.

I shall not disclose the secrets of this society, not even
to my parents, brothers or my wife. I shall never disclose
the secrets for money. I will be killed by a myriad of
swords if I do so
.

I will offer financial assistance to sworn brothers who
are in trouble. If I break this oath I will be killed by five
thunderbolts
.

I must not give support to outsiders if so doing is against
the interests of any of my sworn brothers. If I do not keep
this oath I will be killed by a myriad of swords
.

If I should change my mind and deny my membership
of this society I will be killed by a myriad of swords
.

And so on.

The oaths done, Stevie handed Sun Yat-sen a small bowl of cleansing tea, which he drank. Then Stevie filled the bowl with wine and picked up the small knife from the altar and handed it to the minister. Sun Yatsen pricked his middle finger and squeezed two drops of blood into the wine. He sipped the wine first, then he handed it to Stevie, who took a sip before passing it to every man in the room to drink from, ending with Chan. Each man sipped from the cup so that the oath of secrecy was shared. Then Stevie smashed the cup on the floor. He handed the list of oaths and the yellow paper, on which was written the man’s name and his pledge, to Chan. Chan burnt them in the bowl on the altar. Chan then took a new cup of wine and spilled his own blood into it before addressing the minister:

‘From this moment on your old life is finished. You are reborn in this room as a triad brother. Together we will make this society the most wealthy and the most powerful ever known in the world. I will give to you the opportunity to realise your dreams. You will have your heart’s desire – whatever it may be. In exchange I expect your absolute loyalty to me. Until death we are joined.’

He passed the cup around. Each man repeated the oath:
Till death we are joined
.

The next morning Johnny Mann arrived at Headquarters as Max was leaving, having just finished giving his statement to Ng when Mann passed him on the stairs. Police stations were obviously not his favourite places, and ‘rat out of a barrel’ came to mind as Mann watched Max’s small wiry frame slip elusively past the men in the hallway and disappear.

Only Ng was in the office, deep in files. The room was sweltering. The men’s three desks were set out along each of the three walls; the door and a filing cabinet took up most of the fourth. There was so little space in the centre of the room that the three men’s chairs clashed if they all chose to stand at the same time. Their office was originally part of a fine Georgian room with high ceilings, ornate coving and a marble fireplace. It had been subdivided and partitioned to create several smaller rooms. That meant that the only Georgian feature left in there was one large sash window.

As soon as he entered, Mann stripped off his jacket and threw it over a chair. Ng looked up and nodded his greeting, deep in thought.

Mann went around behind his desk to pull the blind down. The sun was blasting in –
thank God for the
breeze
. He opened the window as far as it would go. His eyes were dark-rimmed, aching with tiredness. Just as he allowed the blind to slip through his fingers he caught his reflection in the window and thought of Helen. She’d have told him to get some sleep, that he was getting the look of a trapped animal about him. She’d have made him close his eyes, sit down, whilst she rubbed his shoulders and soothed his brow. She always showed him how much she cared, always told him how much she loved him. He wished he’d been able to return that love in the way she wanted. Wherever she was, he hoped she knew that he missed her.

He scanned down towards the harbour and felt the presence of the sea. His eyes closed for a second; he was calm again. He smiled to himself, and in his head he saw Helen smile back. Then he saw Georgina. He snapped his eyes open. Shrimp came in, grinned at Mann and headed for his desk. Shrimp’s desk was the most untidy – littered with files, sticky drinks cans and hair products. Ng’s was the tidiest – everything in neat, chronological piles. Mann’s desk was as empty as he could make it – he hated clutter. Mann looked over Ng’s shoulder. Ng had started writing up the interview he’d had with Max.

‘Any good?’ Mann asked.

Ng saved his work and looked up. ‘Max, or Fong Man Tak is his real name, has been a taxi driver for thirty years. He says he doesn’t really know the girls, he just gives them lifts. Lucy always does all the talking. His English isn’t brilliant – so that part must be true. But he’s nervous, shifty, couldn’t look me in the eye. I don’t know what it is he’s guilty of, but he’s done something he doesn’t want us finding out about. Somehow I don’t think it’s murder. He’s not young any more, either, can’t see he’d be able to do it. He’s shorter than most of these women, and he’s slighter. Bernadette must be at least twice his size. He’s much smarter than I thought, though.’

‘Any form? What’s his history?’

‘He has no previous. Never married. He lives with his father and brother. The brother works for the Ho Young Dim Sum manufacturer. His father is Doctor Fong. He was a well-known medical practitioner. The family had money once.’

‘What happened?’

‘The practice went into decline after the death of Max’s mother. The old man remarried but the business collapsed, and then the new wife seems to have disappeared. He has family connections, though.’ Ng looked up and grinned. ‘You’re going to like this. The doctor’s first wife was Chan’s mother’s sister. That makes Max and Chan cousins.’

‘It also makes Max a fully paid-up member of the Wo Shing Shing, whether he likes it or not. I wonder what he has had to do for them? Shrimp – go and find out all you can about any new developments in the New Territories. Our women are co-connected with the area somehow. The Butcher knows it well. He always dumps the bodies out there. Maybe he has some business concerns there. Find out if anybody’s been buying up land, Shrimp. Any new business going on.’

Shrimp reappeared two minutes later, popping his head around the door.

‘That was quick,’ said Mann.

‘Just to let you know, boss, the Super’s on his way back.’ Shrimp disappeared again.

Superintendent White came straight in – he didn’t knock.

‘Have you seen these headlines?’ He threw the
South
China Morning Post
onto Mann’s desk. B
UTCHER CARVES
HIS WAY THROUGH
H
ONG
K
ONG
…

‘They even know what the investigation is called. They’ve got some facts spot on. Some of it is rubbish designed to cause panic. They’re even suggesting that people shouldn’t come to the region right now. No woman is safe, it says. Bloody hell, Mann! We’d better sort it fast. Get hold of the papers and put out a statement telling people there’s absolutely no need to panic.’

‘You mean unless you happen to be young and white and female?’

‘You know what I bloody mean. Tell them we need the public’s co-operation on this. Tell them we need to know if anyone’s acting suspiciously, that kind of thing. It seems we have no choice. We may as well throw it open, get people involved. Now let’s get something positive to tell them.’