White Tiger (16 page)

At the next intersection they were fractionally ahead of the Benz, two streets down and running parallel. Chee Wei whistled through his teeth as he spun the wheel and took them on an intercept course. He swerved around a delivery truck, slowed to allow a sedan to park at a meter, then he was off again. The Mercedes flashed past up ahead. A Chinese woman waiting to cross the street stared at Ryker, who judged her age at somewhere around two hundred and three. Stores and restaurants garishly proclaimed their identities in Chinese. Ryker considered making a wok the dog joke but thought better of it while Chee Wei was in combat pilot mode.

Chee Wei took a left, cruised down a narrowing street, squeezed by a delivery van and turned right into an alley, narrowly missing a man who had to take a long step to avoid a broken pelvis. He shook his fist in Ryker’s side mirror. The Crown Vic splashed through puddles, sending spray against the walls on either side. White sheets hung from washing lines above. Chee Wei hit the brakes and stopped just after a narrow alleyway that gave them a momentary glimpse of the back of a nondescript building, and the black Benz whose occupants were climbing out, the three Chinese and the Caucasian, a powerfully built man with a goatee and a crew cut. Chee Wei unlocked his belt, opened his door and climbed out. Ryker climbed out and joined him.

“They went inside,” Chee Wei said over his shoulder. “They look like rented apartments. Wonder who owns them? Might be able to tell us who lives there.”

Ryker said, “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown.” They both chuckled at the old joke. But there was a serious side to the saying, too. Trying to track down a Chinese landlord would prove nigh on impossible, Ryker knew, and for the landlord to be willing or able to supply the names of his tenants was even less likely. With apartments like these rent was paid in cash and no questions asked. Non-payment would result in immediate eviction, no argument accepted.

“So what do we do?” Chee Wei said. “Just wait here?”

“Unless you’ve got any better suggestions.” Ryker certainly didn’t. For all he knew, the Caucasian and the three Chinese were visiting a brothel.

A Chinese girl with blue highlights in her hair and wearing a black leather jacket and knee-length boots stepped out of a doorway near the corner of the building and walked quickly away, her head bowed as she cradled a cell phone to her ear.

“She’s hot,” Chee Wei said. “Why isn’t she calling my number?”

Ryker smiled but dismissed the girl from his thoughts, until she turned to look back toward the building and he saw the fear etched in her young-old face as she spoke rapidly into her cell phone. Her gaze flicked from the building onto Ryker and Chee Wei. She stared at them blankly for long seconds before she turned away and broke into a run.

“Got her,” Chee Wei said, running back up the alley like an Olympic sprinter. Ryker kept his eyes on the Mercedes and the building. And before he knew it, his thoughts turned to Valerie Lin. He wondered idly why he even bothered thinking of her; there was no chance that she would even deign to give him the time of day under normal circumstances. And he was convinced the last thing on her mind would be fucking the horny
white guy
who’d dropped by to tell her that her husband was dead.

Chee Wei reappeared with the blue-haired girl, who stopped struggling and shouting in Chinese when he shoved his badge into her face. Her eyes crossed in almost comical surprise. He had her cell phone. Ryker crossed the alleyway and repositioned himself so he could still watch the Mercedes, while listening to what they were saying.

“Talk English! Where do you think you are, a shit boat in Hong Kong harbor?”

“Big-shot cop!” she snarled back. “So what are you, third, fourth-generation cocksucker?” She threw Ryker a distasteful look. “Working for a white. You wash his laundry too?”

Chee Wei slapped her. She put a hand to her cheek and glared at him. “Who were you calling?” he demanded. She tried to snatch the phone out of his hand but he was too fast for her, jerking it away again and again, enjoying her rising anger. “Are you deaf? I said, who were you calling?”

“My girlfriend. She eats me out better than you ever could. Give me back my phone, I paid good money for it, it’s mine.”

“What’s your name?” Ryker said.

She stared at him, weighing him up. “Suzy.”

He didn’t believe her, but that didn’t matter. “Tell us what we want to know and you can leave, Suzy. We’re not busting you. We just want to know why these guys are here.”

“How should I know?” She tried to pull away from Chee Wei but he had a firm grip on her leather jacket. “Let me go. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Ryker held out his hand and Chee Wei gave him the phone. It was a different make from his but the menus were the same. He checked the last outgoing call. “Who’s going to answer if I press the button?”

“I called wrong number. They told me to fuck off, never call again.”

“You should be on television,” Chee Wei said. He let go of her and held up his hands, palms outward. “I didn’t want you to run away, that’s all.”

She rubbed her shoulder. “Big-shot cop. You like to treat girls rough? Hit them around?”

“Maybe I don’t like being called a cocksucker.”

Ryker offered her the phone. She hesitated, as if wary he’d play the same game as Chee Wei, but he let her take it. She slipped it into her purse. “Who did you call?” he asked.

He gave her time to consider the question. “They’re looking for a friend. She used to come here.”

“You tried to warn her?”

“She didn’t answer. I left a message.”

“You rent one of these apartments?” Chee Wei asked.

“No....”

“Then who does?”

“Just a couple of guys I know. We party sometimes.”

Ryker would have pressed her for more information but at that moment the big guy and the three Chinese emerged from the building and climbed back into the Mercedes. Ryker was torn between running for the car and following them, and going into the building to talk to whoever might be in there. He chose the latter, following his gut instinct that there was more to this than Suzy was prepared to reveal.

“They’ve gone,” he said. “You can go back inside now.”

“I got other things to do right now. Maybe later.”

Ryker took her gently by the arm and walked her to the building. She resisted at first, then gave in, realizing it wouldn’t do any good. Chee Wei followed them, grinning. The Mercedes was long gone. Suzy led the way along a short, dark hallway. Steps led up to the second floor. A door lay ajar. Lights were on inside. Suzy hesitated, then took a deep breath and called out, “Roger? You okay?”

“Who’s there?” a high-pitched voice said from inside the apartment. The door opened and a middle aged man with wavy blond hair stared blankly at Ryker and Chee Wei. He wore a beige silk shirt and held a bloody handkerchief to his nose. “Suzy, darling. We were wondering where you’d got to. One moment you were here…who are these friends of yours?”

“Cops,” Suzy said.

“You went and fetched the cavalry! How wonderful, even if it is too late. The Indians have withdrawn back to their reservation. We’re still alive, thank God. They didn’t even scalp us.”

Ryker showed his badge. “Detective Sergeant Ryker, S.F.P.D. This is Detective Fong. The four men who just left. Who are they, and what did they want?”

A crash of breaking glass came from inside. Ryker drew his Glock and pushed past Roger who spluttered in protest but couldn’t do or say anything to stop Ryker before he entered the apartment’s living room, which had been converted into a film set. Lights and reflectors surrounded a king-size bed. There were two digital cameras, one lying on the floor with its thin tripod legs bent. The other had been thrown onto the bed alongside a Chinese girl with pink highlights in her hair, who covered herself with a sheet and sobbed quietly, her face turned away from them. Electrical cables covered the floor. Every socket in the room was in use, as were the pendant light fittings whose bulbs had been removed to allow extension cables to hang down. A very suntanned man who could be anywhere from fifty to sixty-five years of age knelt on the floor, tears running down his face as he gingerly picked up broken pieces of glass from a lamp that had evidently toppled.

“For goodness sake Vincent, leave that alone, you’ll only hurt yourself,” Roger said. He stepped over cables and helped the suntanned man, Vincent, to stand. “These gentlemen are police officers.”

“Bloody hell, that’s what I call a quick response,” Vincent said. His accent was either Australian or New Zealander, Ryker couldn’t tell which.

“Now you’ve cut your hand, stupid,” Roger said. He applied his handkerchief to the wound. Ryker supposed it didn’t matter that the handkerchief was already stained with blood; he guessed that Roger and Vincent exchanged fluids on a regular basis. He put his gun away.

Chee Wei turned to look at Suzy, who folded her arms, leaned back against the door frame and jutted her chin out as if daring him to question what she did here. Ryker could imagine what the movie’s title might be.
Blue On Pink.
Or maybe
Pink On Blue.
Or maybe, hell,
Pink
In
Blue.
Thinking about it made his eyes water.

“We’re not Hollywood, God knows,” Roger said, “but we do our best.”

“So,” Vincent said, sitting down and holding his hand. “What are you going to do about those bastards? Walking in here as if they own the place. Smashing our stuff. Knocking poor Roger around. Aren’t you going to arrest them?”

“They were looking for someone,” Ryker said. “I want to know who.”

The pink-haired girl in the bed sat up, revealing creamy white breasts topped with dark nipples the size of silver dollars. The entire left side of her face was livid, as if she’d been slapped hard, or punched. She directed a stream of angry words at Suzy, who bowed her head and looked away. Ryker recalled passing a bathroom on the way in. Maybe Suzy had hid in there when the unexpected guests arrived, and ran out the door when they weren’t looking. Whatever, the pink-haired girl wasn’t pleased with her, and he didn’t need Chee Wei to translate.

“Cover yourself up, there’s a good girl,” Roger said. She scowled at him and pulled the sheet higher. “They thought she was Juicy Lucy, poor dear,” Roger told Ryker. “They became very upset when I told them she wasn’t here. Fortunately they believed me. It could have been much worse, I suppose.”

“Who,” Ryker said, feeling as if he’d slipped into a surreal dimension, “is Juicy Lucy?”

“Oops.” Roger covered his mouth with his hand, and giggled. “It’s just our little nickname. She’s a sweet girl really. Her real name is...and I’m not sneezing, before you say anything...Xiaohui. There, I think I’ve pronounced it correctly. Suzy darling, how did I do?”

Suzy looked anything but pleased. “What do you want with her?” Suzy asked Ryker. “Why did
they
come looking for her?” She sat down on the bed and put her arm around the pink-haired girl, who at first tried to shrug her off, but then allowed the contact.

“That’s a very good question,” Roger said. “Why indeed?”

“Get me a beer, Roj, will you?” Vincent said. “My hand’s killing me.”

“He says he was in the Australian S.A.S.,” Roger whispered to Ryker on his way to the adjoining kitchen. “Girl Guides, more like.”

“I heard that,” Vincent called after him. “You only had to say the word, Roj. I would have taken them out. All of them.”

“To dinner?” Roger called from the kitchen. He opened the fridge, took out a beer bottle and popped the cap with a practiced downward stroke, spilling not a single drop.

Suzy spoke softly to the pink-haired girl in Chinese and kissed her on the cheek. It took Ryker all his will power to tear his gaze away from them. “Do you know where this Xiaohui is?” he said, rolling his tongue around the unfamiliar syllables. “Did you tell them?”

“I’m afraid our Juicy Lucy has gone up in the world,” Roger said, passing the beer bottle to Vincent. “We don’t see much of her any more. Just a couple of months ago she lay on that very bed with her legs wide open. What was the name of that film, Vincent?”