Year of the Dragon (37 page)

He had reached Carol’s room - when he stared from the number on the message to the number on the door, the two numbers matched. Raising his knuckles, he rapped once – softly - as promised.

No answer. Although he put his ear to the door, he could hear no movement inside, so he rapped again, slightly harder this time.

Still no answer. Turning, he gazed back toward the elevator banks, and tried to will his feet to take him there. But they refused. What to do?

He rapped solidly three times, and on the third knock Carol pulled the door open.

“Oh,” she said, “it’s you. Come in.”

SHE WAS dressed in sweater and skirt and wore oversized horn-rimmed glasses, a surprise. He had never seen her in glasses before. He glanced past her into the lamplight at the end of the sofa: papers and clippings littered the cushion, the floor. He had interrupted her studying. Studying what?

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“When I do the show I wear contacts. Oh, I’m so glad to see
you.”
She made the “you” echo. He had noted this before, her ability to make an individual word sound as intimate as a caress. The whole weight of her body seemed behind it. It surrounded him like arms in an embrace.

Powers forgot about the evidence trying to find its way through to him, the pool of light behind her, the strewn sofa and floor. He kissed her mouth, her ears, the point of her chin. The only evidence that counted was her presence here in Hong Kong. She had come 13,000 miles to be with him - any jury would say the same - this famous, rich, beautiful woman who could have anyone, but wanted him. He was terrifically pleased with her and impressed with himself.

“I’ve been here two days,” Carol said. “I was beginning to

be afraid I would miss you completely.”

Holding her by one hand, he walked half around her, looking her over. “Two days? Why didn’t you - but there was no message.”

“I know. My mistake. I wanted to surprise you. What a silly idea. Surprises are for children. I should have realized.”

It was quite a long speech. The grinning Powers hardly heard or understood it. He could not stop looking at her.

But at last his attention reverted to the evidentiary litter.

“What are you studying?”

She picked up the Triad booklet and handed it to him. “The Chinese Mafia. Would you like to know how the Triads induct young girls into a life of prostitution? Ask me how.”

“Chinese Mafia?”

Powers held the booklet. He examined both covers. He peered down at the headlines on the floor. It was like studying the faces of playing cards, and finding them different from those he was used to. It raised questions. What kind of game do you play with cards like this?

He had two immediate reactions, disappointment - she hadn’t come all this way just to see him - and alarm.

“What do the Triads have to do with you?”

“It’s for a piece I’m doing. I’m mixing business with pleasure. Am I glad to see
you.”

But this time the word didn’t echo. “Business?”

“Sure. I wanted to come to see you, but I saw no reason why the network shouldn’t pay for the trip.”

Powers’ fatuous grin was beginning to dry out on his face. It began to feel caked on, like a mud pack.

“What’s this piece all about?”

“About the emergence of a Chinese Mafia in Chinatown, about the gangs, the tongs - and how the root of the problem is here in Hong Kong. It’s a good story. Don’t you think?”

Powers sat down. There was more to this than one interview with Cirillo. “Please tell me more. “There was no smile on Carol’s face now, either. As she sat down on the sofa facing him, she looked thoughtful.

“I mean,” said Powers, “Your story parallels my investigation. When it airs will it compromise my investigation? That’s what I ask myself.” And what about compromising his career?

Carol shook her head firmly. “That won’t happen.”

“The network will want to run it. Right away. Suppose my investigation isn’t concluded by then? Do you think the network will hold back for that reason? I don’t.”

Carol carefully set the Triad booklet down on the end table. “I don’t see where my story compromises your investigation in any way.”

“Well, I think it might.”

“Listen, in New York I interviewed a lot of people. I mean, it’s my story. I did a lot of work on it. It’s not exclusively yours. I mean, you don’t own it.”

“It’s a criminal investigation.”

“I don’t see what you are getting so upset about,” said Carol.

“How did you get on to it in the first place?”

“You told me about it, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. And where did I tell you about it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Yes you do. It was in bed. Don’t you think that when you use bedroom talk, you violate a confidence?”

“This is my story. I earned the right to it. I got machine-gunned in a restaurant, and after that I did the work.”

“How bad is this thing?” said Powers. “Who did you go to see in Chinatown, before you came here?”

“I tried to see Mr. Koy, but-

“Koy? Who told you about Koy?”

“You didn’t, that’s one sure thing. You can’t blame that on bedroom talk. I found out about Koy on my own.”

Powers had begun to feel frantic. He was being crowded by several disasters at once. “All you’ve done is warned Koy that he’s the subject of an investigation.”

“I haven’t warned him of anything of the sort. I haven’t seen him yet. I’m going to try to see him here Monday or Tuesday.”

“Don’t you go near Koy,” shouted Powers. “If he finds out he’s being investigated, you’re liable to wind up in the South China Sea.”

Carol tried for a jaunty laugh. “You’re exaggerating now, he wouldn’t dare. My network-”

“Your network wouldn’t be able to do a goddamn thing about it. They wouldn’t know where to start looking. That’s what the word disappear means. No trace. For all they would know, you ran off to India or somewhere with one of your many lovers to contemplate your karma.”

“I don’t have many lovers.”

“Oh no?”

“Is that what’s bothering you? Are you jealous? For someone who’s jealous, you don’t behave very possessively toward me, if you want my opinion.”

“I’m not jealous. You took information you learned in bed and you’re using it against me. If that’s not a betrayal I don’t know what is. Who have you interviewed here in Hong Kong?”

“Well, the police commissioner yesterday-”

“You didn’t go to the police. Oh God.”

“Sure. Why not? Didn’t you? Who else was I supposed to go to?”

“This is the most corrupt police department in the world. Some constable will tell Koy - has probably already told Koy. They’d sell him the information if nothing else. It isn’t enough you want to get yourself killed. You want to get me knocked off too. Jesus Christ, how could you?”

“I didn’t know,” said Carol in a small voice.

“And what about my wife?” cried Powers. “What about my marriage?” He was pacing and fuming. “Have you thought about me at all? Have you considered what my wife is going to think when she sees you presenting this story on television? Her husband goes off to Hong Kong, and you go off to Hong Kong, and we come back with the same ‘story,’ as you call it. Do you think she’s stupid? Do you think she can’t put two and two together?”

“If you want to know the truth,” Carol shouted, “I couldn’t care less what your wife thinks.”

“I know,” said Powers. “I know.” His voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “If you ruin my marriage, I’ll never speak to you again. If you ruin this investigation, same thing. My whole career rides on this investigation. Don’t you realize that? Did it never occur to you?”

“I intended to talk to you before I did anything here. I just couldn’t find you in time, that’s all,” said Carol. “I still say it’s my story as much as yours. I earned the right to it. Where are you going?”

Powers strode toward the door. He yanked it open. “I’m going somewhere to try and think this thing out.”

“You go out that door, and-”

“Right,” said Powers, and stepped out into the hall and slammed the door shut behind him.

Waiting for the elevator he stood with knuckles pressed into his temples on both sides, pressed hard. He wanted to scream or to weep, but did not do either. There was still a chance this wouldn’t get back to Koy. There was still a chance it wouldn’t get back to Eleanor. Not much chance in either case, but some. He knew he would get little sleep this night.

HIS PHONE had just rung, waking him up. The sun came through the glass doors and stung his eyes.

“Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No.”

“How about meeting me in the coffee shop? We’ll have breakfast together.”

Silence.

“Look,” said Carol, “I’m sorry about last night. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop in thirty minutes, okay?”

After a pause he heard himself say: “Okay, thirty minutes.”

When she came into the coffee shop her face, in the early morning light, looked doughy. She can’t have slept much either, thought Powers. His anger and fear had passed in the night. This morning the story did seem as much hers as his. As she said, she had been machine-gunned; this did seem to give her certain rights. She had not set out to hurt him, and perhaps had not done so. Law enforcement was no exact science. One learned to be fatalistic about it. Cases seldom went according to plan. Carol might even have supplied the pressure to break this one wide open. It was possible, or so he told himself.

At any rate, she seemed contrite, and this pleased him. What’s done was done. He didn’t want to fight with her. Their lives were bound together, were as inextricably intertwined as coarse-fibered rope - you could not pick the strands apart no matter how you tried. They belonged together, at least today. And by sticking close to her he could keep her from going near Koy.

“What are you doing today?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Today is Sunday.”

“We could go sightseeing.”

“I did a lot of thinking in the night,” she said. “From now on we’ll just be friends, okay? I’m not going to go to bed with you anymore.”

“More coffee?” said Powers, and poured it out. It was amazing - she surprised him constantly.

“Because I’m just not in love with you anymore,” said Carol. She was buttering a piece of toast. “It’s over.”

“Fine,” he said. “You’re not in love with me anymore.” He was amused - this was the way teenagers talked.

“I’ve already been sightseeing.”

“We could go shopping.”

“Yes, we could go shopping,” conceded Carol. “I haven’t done any shopping yet.

They nodded at each other. They flashed each other tentative smiles, the way teenagers did, and Powers asked his teenaged question.

“How come you aren’t in love with me anymore?”

She responded briskly, as if she had feared he would never ask, as if she had rehearsed her lines in advance. She responded around mouthfuls of toast. She considered herself a special person, she said, and began enumerating her virtues. She was more intelligent, better looking, and more successful than other women. Any man ought to be proud to have her, and to consider himself lucky. She did not have to accept second-best at anything. She was also a woman who, when she loved a man, gave everything, held back nothing. She loved totally, and expected to be loved back in the same way. But Powers didn’t prize her enough, and as a result the flame of love had extinguished itself inside her. It had gone out.

She spoke of herself as if describing someone not present. She spoke matter-of-factly, and she did not sound immodest to Powers, since everything she said about herself was, to him, true. But he was distracted by the thought that he could never have spoken of himself this way, probably because he had been raised to hold modesty as one of the most admirable and also most manly of virtues. And partly because he simply did not think of himself in such terms anymore. Only young people were forever contemplating and measuring their virtues and their faults, because they were uncertain of where they stood in the world. Whereas Powers knew where he stood or at least imagined he did. He considered himself neither a good man nor a bad one. He did not think of himself often at all and, when he did, saw himself as one compelled by background, by training, and now to a large extent by inclination, to act in certain ways. If some woman - if Carol - chose to fall in love with him, this to Powers was startling. It was not something he had earned or deserved. It was purely and simply a miracle. Love was a miracle. And if he had been under the sway of Carol Cone for so long, it was partly because somehow such a miracle had taken place between them. It was this state of love between them, this miracle, that so captivated him. Of course the miracle was all bound up in the apparent perfection of the woman herself, but basically it was the miracle rather than the woman that he found so difficult to let go. He knew he had fallen in love for the last time. It would never happen to him again.

Carol, he realized, was still explaining why their relationship, being no longer satisfactory to her, had changed. She liked Powers very much, and was sure she always would. She was simply no longer in love with him. If he wished her to believe that his feelings toward her were stronger than she had supposed, then he should prove it. He should divorce his wife and marry her.

“Carol, that’s not what you want,” Powers said. “If I did that, you’d run a mile.” Having perceived a good deal in the last few minutes, he felt surprisingly calm. The miracle was either there or not there. Neither one of them could change that, whatever she might think or say. Her words, far from threatening him, only fascinated him more.