The Trophy Taker (32 page)

Chan came into the room and threw a small package onto the bed. He reached into his pocket and took out a hundred-dollar bill and a lighter and threw them down with it.

‘You’ll have to chase it. There are no needles here. Now take it and shut up. No more screaming.’

He left.

Georgina shuffled forward into a corner of light at the end of the bed, and laid the ingredients out in a line in front of her. So neatly did the packet contain its dusty block of China White that its corners unfolded like an origami puzzle. There would be enough in there to have several hits. She knew how to do it. She’d watched the amah who came to clean her room take it on the days when she’d lain on her bunk staring at the walls. She’d seen the ritual it involved.

She picked up the foil, and stretched it gently on her thigh. She needed to smooth out the creases so that the liquid heroin would not snag and fizzle to nothing too quickly, or run a ragged path and be too difficult to chase. She tapped out a small amount of heroin onto the smooth sheet of foil before setting it carefully to one side. She picked up the hundred-dollar bill and rolled it into a tight tube between her fingers, and then picked up the lighter and paused.

Her thoughts went to Ka Lei. If she took the heroin there would be no going back, no point in being rescued. She would be back, spinning in the rain with her Ka Lei. It would mean that she had accepted her fate and that she was prepared to die one way or another – by Chan’s hand or by her own. But it would be so nice to feel better for a while. She placed the note in her mouth, flicked the lighter and picked up the foil. It would take no more than a few minutes to go into her bloodstream, then she would be back in the no-feeling zone. Back among the living dead – untouchable – unreachable. She would be lost forever.

She paused. Ka Lei would not have wanted her to do it. She would have expected her to stay strong, to weather it. It wouldn’t be long now before she would feel better – the withdrawal couldn’t last forever.

She owed it to Kim, to Ka Lei. She owed it to herself to fight back.
Leeches
, Kim had said they were, and she had been right. Georgina was worth more.

She picked up the envelope and tiptoed over to the window. Taking the neatly folded packet between finger and thumb, she pushed her arm between the bars, as far as it would go, and shook the packet. The heroin flew away like ash – like death on the wind. It disappeared. She was damned if she’d give up the fight yet.

She stood for a few moments, leaning her head against the cool bars, then, turning her head away from the light, she listened. For a second she thought she heard someone call her name.

It was midnight when they docked. Mann and Li left the boat in moorings and headed inland. They stopped at the busiest-looking restaurant on the road that cut across the island to the beach. The bulk of clientele were sat at tables and chairs outside. Groups of foreigners with their rented girlfriends were noisily demonstrating their inability to hold their drink. Mann and Li went inside. Just a few elderly Chinese were enjoying a chat with the proprietor – the rest of the place was empty. It wouldn’t be long before they shut, and they were taking a rest at the end of their busy evening. Mann spotted the owners – a husband and wife team who looked like they’d been in business there for a long time and knew both the island and its people very well. If anyone knew of strangers arriving, they would.

Mann and Li sat at a central table and waited for the wife to amble over with the menus.

‘Menoo Engleesh?’ she asked, looking at Mann.

‘I’d prefer it in Cantonese. Unless, of course, you only speak English?’ answered Mann.

‘Ha ha!’ The rotund proprietress held her stomach with her small fat hands and laughed. She turned to share the joke with her husband and the other three old people sat with him at a table by the bar.

‘See! I told you I speak good English – this man didn’t think I could speak Chinese!’

The whole group fell about laughing.

‘Come and join us. Come!’ The proprietor made space around the table.

‘Is this your son?’ the proprietor asked Mann, pointing at Li as they sat down. Before Mann had time to answer, the wife spoke. ‘You need to loosen up, like your son…get your shorts on…you still young…enjoy yourself…you’re on holiday here on Cheung Chau.’

‘My son has aged me prematurely.’ Mann patted Li’s cheek. ‘That’s children for you.’

The fat proprietress tutted and giggled as she stood and went to fetch a bottle of rice wine, and returned with seven glasses. She poured them out and handed them round before disappearing again to return with an assortment of noodle dishes and rice bowls.

‘How long are you staying on Cheung Chau?’ she asked.

‘We really wanted to see about hiring a cottage by the beach. Do you know if any are free?’

One of the old women spoke up. ‘There is one that’s always free. I clean it, but the man who owns it doesn’t usually let it out.’

The proprietress stopped, midway through refilling Mann’s glass.

‘He’s here at the moment – your man. I saw him. He passed by here this morning.’

‘The man who owns the chalet? I wasn’t told to expect him.’ The cleaning woman looked bemused. ‘I am always informed when he’s coming. I open it up for him, get it ready. He’s only ever been here once before, mind you. He lets others use it sometimes – business friends – not very friendly types. Was it definitely him?’

‘Yes. He passed by this morning with a young woman – tall, beautiful. She looked so pale and tired, I felt sorry for her. I asked her if she wanted something to eat and drink but your man pulled her away – he was in such a hurry.’

‘Yes,’ her husband added. ‘And then more men arrived, dressed in suits. Must be his friends.’ The old people nodded knowingly to one another. ‘And one man arrived alone, just an hour ago. He passed by here – looked inside – did not stop.’

‘What did he look like – the man on his own?’ asked Mann, pushing his bowl aside having left a small amount inside to signify he was full.

‘He was tall – he had a small beard – bald headed, Chinese.’

‘Where is that chalet?’ asked Mann.

‘Down to the end, turn right, follow along to the first lot of chalets, it’s last on the left. But it’s no good if he’s there. You better look for somewhere else. Where will you stay tonight? You can sleep here. We have a room upstairs you can rent for a night.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind, but we will sleep on the boat. In fact, I’d better get my son to bed. He looks tired out. Come on, sonny!’ Li finished eating hastily.

‘But who shall we say wants to rent his chalet – if he asks?’ The fat old proprietress followed them out and stood with her hands on her hips – a mischievous look on her face.

‘There’s no need to mention anything.’ Mann peeled off three hundred-dollar bills and pressed them discreetly into the proprietress’s fat hands.

She smiled gratefully and inclined her head. ‘You know – your Eengleesh so bat, I can’t understand you. I think you never here.’

‘Do you know the man they’re talking about? The one who arrived on his own?’

‘Stevie Ho – he’s an old acquaintance.’

Mann and Li turned back towards the ferry terminal.

‘What’s his business here? Is it us?’

‘Yes. I would say so.’

‘Does he work for Chan?’

‘Yes, but his loyalties are split between CK and Chan.’

They turned left and then headed inland. Mann wanted to approach the chalet from the busy side of the island. If Chan was expecting trouble at all, he would expect it to come from the ferry side.

It was now two a.m. and as dark as the night could get. Except for a couple of die-hard bars where there were still a few girls and a bowl of rice to be bought, most of the restaurants were shut. The island had taken on a blanket of stillness. Just the gentle sound of the sea, the whisper of the breeze in the vegetation, and the vibrating-bellied cicadas whose noisy call disturbed the night air. Added to that, there was always the odd whoop of laughter and click-clack of mahjong pieces.

Mann and Li crept silently along the narrow streets that ran as a grid across the centre of the island. In the daytime these roads were filled with street vendors and market stalls, but now the smell of freshly steamed seafood was rapidly being replaced by the stench of the day’s prawn shells left too long in the sun. Two bleary-eyed bar girls sat on stools at one of the bars, head in hands – they had not quite given up hope of making some money. There was a group of tourists asleep at their table, who would remain there until the sun came up.

They turned from the main market square and zigzagged down the middle section of the island. Joining the cats and rats and dodging the piles of dumped rubbish, they made their way through the tiny alleyways that ran between the buildings, parallel to the beach. Between them and the ocean was a two-storey accommodation block, a few guesthouses and a couple of bars. They turned a corner and came out a hundred feet away from the last line of chalets.

Crouching in the darkness they heard the low voices of several men talking, and they could see lights emitting from the front of the single-storey chalet at the end of the line of holiday cottages. The only window they could see was the barred one that overlooked the lane.

It was then that Mann saw her. He watched Georgina empty something through the bars of the window and lean her head there for a few moments. Then he saw the outline of a man emerge from between Chan’s chalet and the next. He was returning from toilet relief, zipping up his fly. As he stepped out into the lane, another man joined him. There followed some discussion about food. The second man was taking orders. He was going to one of the all-night bars to get them something to eat.

Mann looked at Li and gestured towards the man taking the food order. Li nodded and crept backwards until he disappeared out of sight, to cut back along the way they had come and head the man off.

Silently, Mann opened his jacket. From a leather pocket he extracted a four-pointed throwing star measuring six inches in diameter. Made from steel, each of its four blades was razor-sharp and reinforced with steel rivets to give added precision, balance and performance. It was also, quite simply, a thing of great beauty.

Just as the two men finished their discussion, and one turned to go, Mann crossed the lane, keeping close to the chalet walls and sheltering beneath the vegetation around each building. He made his way to within twenty feet of where the man was standing and watched him reach inside his pocket for his cigarettes. Mann waited till the man tapped a cigarette from the packet, put it to his mouth and held up his lighter. He waited until the man brought the lighter in front of his face. Then he stood, drew his hand level with his chest, and, holding the star at the apex of one of the rivets, he balanced it between finger and thumb. Then, with one sharp, hard flick of the wrist he sent it spinning through the air. A second later the man’s lighter went out, there was a faint rattling sound, then a pause and a thud as his headless body dropped to the sand.

Mann’s eyes flicked towards the door. He heard voices – raised but not rowdy – four, probably five. They hadn’t heard him or they would have been out by now. Mann crouched across the lane from Georgina’s window and listened. It seemed like the conversation had sunk back down to conspiracy level.

He picked up a small amount of sand and threw it between the bars of her window. He threw some more and some more, pausing between each throw to see if she had heard.

She appeared at the window slowly, as if summoned there by some ghost on the wind. It took her a few seconds to make out the figure standing across the lane. He looked at her and smiled. She gripped the bars, gasped, and almost said his name. Mann held his finger to his lips and ducked down at her window. Reaching up, he squeezed her hand.

‘You okay?’ he mouthed.

She nodded and smiled. But he could see that she was not. Her face was skeletal, and as pale as the full moon – so sick and sad. She had lost so much weight that only her long, curly hair and her smile reassured him that she was still in there somewhere. She held tightly on to his hand. She didn’t want to let go. She jumped as Li reappeared and crouched by Mann’s side.

‘It’s all right, Georgina, this is Shrimp – Detective Li. Did it go all right?’ he asked Li.

Li nodded.

‘I saw your guy, Stevie Ho. The guy I was tailing stopped to talk with him. I heard him say there was no sign of us.’

‘He is walking a dangerous road.’ Mann’s eyes searched the darkness. He knew Stevie was bluffing. He wasn’t sure why yet. ‘Let’s hope he’s chosen the right path.’ He turned back to Georgina. ‘A man was sent for food; he’s not coming back – we are. As soon as you hear me knock, slide anything you have across the door, as quietly as you can – then, as fast as you can, get back over here by the window and get down.’

Mann pulled out a small handgun from inside his jacket and handed it to Georgina through the bars. ‘If you have to – shoot.’

‘I don’t know how to…’

‘Just point the trigger and squeeze. It’s all ready for you. Okay?’

She nodded – small, sharp, brave nods – and Mann’s heart went out to her. ‘Remember now, be ready – put anything across that doorway you can, and then get down quick.’

Mann signalled to Li to follow him.

‘You ready for this, Shrimp? There are five men in there, and one of them is Chan. You’ve seen the photos. You know what he looks like – leave him alive. I’m going to be the guy who went for food. You’re going to be the nasty surprise that came free with the order, okay?’

‘Got it, boss. Ready to rock and roll…’

Mann took off his jacket and revealed five throwing spikes that were strapped into a harness on his arm. Each one was a six-inch, hardened steel, needle-sharp, red-feathered dart – perfectly weighted for throwing accurately and penetrating deeply. He pulled out all five.

Li stood to one side while Mann knocked at the chalet door. There was a sudden hush from inside the chalet, then a man put his hand to the lever and opened the door a fraction. ‘Hello?’

Mann kicked the door wide open. The four men darted in different directions. The man who had opened the door was already dead. He had a throwing spike embedded into his left eye, the red feathers sticking out from the socket, shivering. He remained standing for a few seconds, eerily still, as if he hadn’t realised he was dead, before dropping to the floor.

The two men who had been sitting on the sofa lunged in either direction as they tried to reach their weapons in time, but they couldn’t. One had a throwing spike embedded in his heart and the other had one in his temple.

Li was over the sofa in one leap, and a kick to the fourth man’s throat sent him unconscious, slumped against the wall.

Mann looked around. Chan had gone.