Текст книги "Kiss & Die"

Автор книги: Lee Weeks

Соавторы: Lee Weeks
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 24 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 9 страниц]

Chapter 16

Ruby closed the door behind her. She hummed to herself as she took off her disguise and unbuttoned the front of her uniform. She opened the cupboard and placed her wig back on its stand. She went into the bathroom and switched on the light. She removed her make-up meticulously. She stood looking at herself. She turned her head from side to side to examine her face from all angles. She saw a blank canvas. Ruby was lucky to have good bone structure. Her skin was light. Her features were regular, nondescript. Only her eyes gave away her roots but that too she could disguise with make-up if she wanted to. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared into the mirror at her reflection. She asked herself: who did Ruby want to be? She wanted to be the person she once was: the child full of hope, the girl with dreams still intact. She wanted to turn back the clock and decide her own destiny. There had been a time when she was happy. A long time ago when she had sat on her mother’s lap and her mother had brushed her hair and sung to her. She had felt loved. But that was before it all went wrong. That was before it happened. Ruby had believed in love once. She had trusted a man. She had been betrayed.

She glanced towards the locked door. She loved the feeling of knowing he was waiting for her, of knowing he was all hers. She undid the last few buttons and slipped the dress from her shoulders, then glanced at the clock on the wall. She had time. She would use him one more time before the end. She heard a noise. She paused as she slid her knickers to the floor. She held her breath as she listened and then she grinned in the darkness of the room that never saw the light of day.

She picked up one of her dolls and tipped it upside down. It cried one long realistic cry like a baby. Ruby held it to her breast and cooed to it as she pressed her nipple into its plastic mouth. ‘Come on, baby. Mummy wants to feed you.’ Ruby’s nipple grew hard as she brushed it against the doll’s cheek. She stopped to listen; he was calling her. He was in a lot of pain. She felt her stomach tighten. She felt her pulse quicken as her imagination took her down that delicious dark road of torture and sex. This was Ruby’s favourite place now. It was all she ever thought about, all she had left.

‘Coming, my love.’

Ruby picked up a small handheld saw and pulled back the curtain and opened the door, saw in one hand, baby doll in the other. The room was pitch black, sweltering hot. She switched on the electric light – one bulb hung down from the ceiling. The white on the walls gave off an eerie sheen. There were hooks hanging down from the ceiling. In the centre of the room the man lay naked on a plastic mattress. His arms were tied to a chain above his head. His legs were tied together and chained to the floor. The room had a toilet in the corner, a wash basin, a hose for washing and a drain in the floor that had once been enclosed behind a small screen. Ruby had removed it. The room was tiled completely with white tiles. Most of the Mansions’ guest rooms had white tiles. It made them easier to keep clean. It meant the bedbugs and cockroaches had fewer places to hide. For Ruby it meant that she could hose off the blood easily.

Steve was strapped into the bonds waiting for her. Naked, his body now stripped down to its bare functions. Ruby put down the saw and finished injecting the penis. He was sweating. Of course he was, the heat in the room was 40° C. His chest hair had turned black as it stuck in wet rivulets and waves across his skin. It was hot in the room because there was no air con. She only switched the air con unit on afterwards. He was breathing deeply. He was scared but his cock was raging. She had injected four doses into the shaft’s base. It would keep it hard long after he was begging her to end his life.

Steve stared at her. His chest rose and fell. He tried to talk but the black rubber ball gag filled his mouth. Ruby set the doll down, propped up against the wall, level with the man’s head.

‘There, you can watch Daddy now.’

Ruby knelt beside him and covered his cock with the hard plastic sheath. She taped it down. Then she stood and went over to the sink, bent down and picked up a weapon, a metal whip. In the confined spaces of the room she had to be careful not to hurt herself when she wielded it. She stood in the corner of the room by the door and lifted it above her head and brought it down across his body. He squealed in pain and twisted his body, trying to get away from the strokes. The wounds opened up before her eyes. The razors were so sharp that at first they slid through his flesh invisibly and then the delay and they split open. Now his body was bleeding onto the plastic mattress, the blood making its way down onto the tiled floor. He was frantic now.

‘You see, baby, Daddy didn’t come back for us, did he? And so Daddy has to be punished.’ She struck him again, three more times across his legs, his chest. His flesh flew out in slithers. The doll’s face was dripping with his blood. ‘Daddy said he was single. Daddy said he loved us but Daddy was a liar, wasn’t he?’

Ruby picked up the saw and pressed the button to start the motor. Unearthly noises escaped from the man’s gagged mouth as he shook his head and pleaded with his eyes. Ruby took off the plastic sheath from his cock, straddled him and eased herself on him. She rocked, forgetting the saw in her hand that bounced and sang. It came to rest on the ball gag and slid back and forth across his face. Ruby didn’t see it – she was coming close to orgasm. Only when she had finished did she remember that she had the saw in her hand. She looked at him and laughed. It had taken off most of his face.

She looked at the doll, its bright blue eyes still sparkling, the blood dripping from its face. Its mouth open in a sweet chuckle. ‘Now that’s not very nice, is it, baby? You mustn’t laugh at Daddy.’

Chapter 17

Ng took one look at Mann when he walked back into the office that evening. He’d come straight from CK’s.

‘Don’t bother taking your jacket off, it’s late. We’re going. That’s enough work for you. I’m taking you home.’

Mia appeared in the doorway. ‘Any news on the girl’s identity?’

‘Not yet,’ answered Ng.

‘Mann…did you see CK?’

‘Yes, I saw him and I arranged to see him again tomorrow night. He’s going to show me the world he thinks I belong in.’ Mann shook his head.

Mia looked at Ng. ‘Ng’s right. You need some time out. Let Ng take you home. Grab an hour’s rest. I’ll see you in three hours. Now go.’

Mann started to protest but gave in. He wasn’t going to win an argument with Mia and he knew she was right. This was no time to be slack.

Mann sat beside Ng in the passenger seat of his brand new Mazda and laid his head back on the leather headrest. The car was Ng’s pride and joy, but then Ng didn’t have to spend his money on his family or a mortgage. He’d inherited a flat from his parents, in what was once a slummy part of town – now the chicest address in Wanchai.

Mann watched the neon whiz by. He didn’t know if he was drunk or just so tired that his world was spinning. He caught Ng looking across at him as he rested his head on the back of the seat, his eyes half closed.

‘A couple of hours’ sleep, something to eat, a few coffees, you’ll be sorted,’ Ng said.

‘Yeah.’ Mann looked out of the window. ‘Somehow I think it’s going to take more than that, Ng.’

The two fell silent. Ng switched on the radio and then switched it off. He had something he wanted to say.

‘I don’t think you should be the one to talk with CK or Victoria Chan. You’re vulnerable right now. I see it in you. All the years we have known one another I have watched you struggle with things but I have never seen you so withdrawn. It’s as if you don’t exist in this life sometimes. You are not listening. You are not hearing what is said. I see your eyes always on the horizon, Mann. But the way is in the heart, not in the sky. Be kind to yourself right now. Stop punishing yourself and accept some help. I will take over talking to CK.’

Mann looked across at his old friend and he smiled. ‘Thanks, Ng. You’re a good friend. But somehow I don’t see that working. I have something they want. I have my father’s inheritance. I have to use it to bring them down if I can.’

They parked up in his space outside his tower block and walked to the entrance. ‘Fuck it – they’ve just changed the code,’ he said to Ng, who was patient as ever. ‘I’ve forgotten what it is.’ He waved at the security guard. The old man behind the desk grinned at Mann and nodded enthusiastically as he came over to let them in.

‘Hello, sir. You forget your number? No problem,’ he said, letting them through the gate. ‘Your cleaner was here earlier, sir.’

‘My cleaner?’ Mann shook his head to try to clear it. ‘Okay.’ He hadn’t asked her to come; maybe she was just bringing back his laundry.

They took the lift up to the fortieth floor.

‘Jesus, what kind of cleaner is she?’ Ng stood in the doorway. ‘This place looks like a student’s bedroom and it smells like a brewery.’ He stood amidst the remnants of meals left untouched and copious amounts of empty bottles. The louvre blinds were closed, the air in the room was dark and rank. Ng stepped over the piles of papers and document folders mixed up with the mess. He stood in the middle of the small lounge and surveyed the carnage.

‘What’s going on, Genghis?’ Ng had called Mann that ever since he had first seen him as a wild-eyed, wild-haired youth, joining the police force to change the world, full of anger and mistrust, his world shattered from the death of his father. He was older now but he was just the same inside.

Mann shook his head, threw some things off the armchair and plonked himself in it. His face was blotchy and his eyes were darker than ever, hooded and haunted. He reached forwards, tapped a Marlboro out of its packet and lit it.

Ng went to snatch the packet away. ‘You quit, remember?’ But a look from Mann and he thought better of it. Instead he began tidying, picking up the scattered papers and piling them on top of one another.

Mann drew on the cigarette.

‘What are these papers?’

‘These are my father’s life.’

Ng looked around at the mountains of paperwork. ‘All this?’

Mann nodded. ‘These files have been like reading a diary for me. They document his life in business. Over there, behind you…’ Ng turned to see that the piles, seemingly indistinguishable from one another, were actually in messy groups on the lounge floor, ‘…that was when my father started out in business. It was a small business, he made some clever moves. By the time he was twenty-one he had bought his first property. He expanded, bought up a few rival companies, made a good profit but it obviously wasn’t enough for him. To your left…’ Ng turned; there was a large triple pile of papers stacked next to one another, ‘…that represents ten years when he made money slowly, steadily, ticked along, some years were good, some bad, until…scan the pile just by your right foot, the biggest piles, this group stretched across the floor. That’s when he decided to get some help. That’s when he turned a corner and suddenly he expanded his business so fast his feet didn’t touch the ground. He had money pouring in. That’s was the year he became a Triad. I haven’t sorted through all of these yet. There is still a load to collect from the solicitors.’

‘What about that pile?’ Ng turned and pointed to a pile left just behind the door of the flat.

Mann stopped, stared. ‘I didn’t make that pile.’

Chapter 18

Mann threaded his way through the thousands of people who had come to watch the first race of the season at Happy Valley race course. The noise of thousands of excited Chinese was deafening. He put a few hundred dollars on a horse called Last Chance. Horseracing was the only legitimate form of gambling allowed in Hong Kong. More money could be taken in one night in Happy Valley than a whole year at a fixture in the West.

Mann looked upwards towards the private members’ boxes. People looked down from their balconies and watched the races like Roman dignitaries standing in their amphitheatre, giving their thumbs up or down to the contestants. The race course was an oasis of green surrounded by skyscrapers and tower blocks.

Mann headed upwards through the stands. He had an appointment. He watched the screen as he made his way up. The race began. His horse, Last Chance, was tenth out of the stalls.

He took the lift up to the top floor, the private landing. He showed his ID. He walked on past the bowing hostess, her cheongsam in CK’s colours: black and gold. CK was well known at Happy Valley. He had invested big money in horses. It was a great way to launder money. The private viewing room was in the centre of the stadium, prime position to look down on the races below.

‘Good evening, Inspector. Thank you for accepting my invitation to meet here. The first race of the season is always the most exciting.’ CK stepped forward to greet him. ‘People have contained their eagerness for two months, not a small feat in Hong Kong. I see you have already placed your bet.’ He pointed to the slip in Mann’s hand and then looked up at the large screen that ran along one whole wall of the room. Above it flashed a continuously updated message as to each horse’s position in the race. Last Chance was now sixth. CK spoke to the elfin-faced waitress hovering with a tray of champagne and she bowed, walked backwards and left to fetch his order for Mann’s drink.

‘Yes. Have you got one running?’ Mann looked around the room. Beside him were twenty or so guests, top Triads and their officers, all trying not to stare at Mann and CK as they talked. Mann realized he was being given a rare honour of favouritism that most of these men had probably never seen.

‘Asian Gold.’

Mann looked at the screen. ‘The favourite and in the lead. Foregone conclusion then?’

CK acknowledged Mann’s compliment but made it clear he didn’t take it seriously.

‘And you, Inspector?’ He looked at Mann’s ticket. ‘You have backed Last Hope? When will you stop backing the underdog?’

Mann smiled. ‘I see it as an opportunity. I don’t see the underdog. It’s called Last Chance. There’s a difference.’

‘Walk with me.’ CK led Mann out to the private balcony above the track where they stood alone to watch the race.

The track was lit up like day. The thunder of hooves echoed around the auditorium. The screams of the people became one massive roar. Last Chance was coming up on the outside. Asian Gold was hanging on to first place. The jockey’s whip was flying around its head. A huge scream of dismay went up in unison, a gasp of disbelief. Asian Gold had fallen. Last Chance was in second place. He was gaining on the lead. His head nosed in front. He was ten metres away from the finishing line. He was a nose ahead when he seemed to slow just before he hit the line. He came second. The crowd’s roar dropped to a rumbling silence as they stood and watched the team of vets and medics run across to where Asian Gold lay. The jockey was up and on his feet. There was a few minutes’ wait and then the sound of a shot echoed through the auditorium.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mann said to CK.

‘One more beautiful creature lost to this world. But I must also apologize. The jockey on Last Chance is one that I bought some time ago. He held him back at the end.’ He turned to Mann, the merest hint of agitation in the hard line of his mouth. ‘We will dine.’

The balcony door opened. The jockey who had ridden Asian Gold stood before them, still looking shaky from his ordeal. He was holding his arm. He had hurt himself in the fall. From below came the strange sound of sadness as Asian Gold’s carcass was winched up and onto the back of a transporter.

‘But first I would ask you to excuse me for a few minutes.’

The slight Irish jockey stood with his head bowed. The elfin-faced hostess appeared to escort Mann to his table in the restaurant.

As he entered the last of the customers was being escorted out. The place was being cleared. Three of the customers were glued to the window, their hands over their mouths in horror. Mann saw why. The restaurant overlooked the racetrack. The young Irish jockey in black and gold had fallen from CK’s balcony. His body was being transported away at the same time as the horse.

‘Sorry to keep you,’ CK said as he entered the now empty restaurant and took up a seat opposite Mann at the window table. ‘The death of a horse must be investigated. Everyone involved in the event must take some responsibility.’

‘I see the jockey took it hard.’

‘Ah, yes.’ CK glanced out of the window and realized that Mann must have had a good view of the events. ‘I tried to console him but he was very distraught. He was dedicated. He lived for that horse.’

CK waited as the waiter placed his napkin across his lap.

‘This is not the best restaurant in Hong Kong of course. But I like the traditional decor, the views; I like its atmosphere. I like the silence.’ Now there was just the sound of twenty waiters with nothing to do but cater to two men’s needs as they walked softly over the stone floor and wound their way between the heavy rosewood furniture.

The waitress was a pretty girl from the mainland, traditional beauty: slight in figure, delicate, child-like, dressed in a chic coolie outfit. She spoke to them in Mandarin. CK kept his eyes on her as she waited to take their order. Mann ordered his usual – large Zubrowka vodka, ice, twist of lime. CK ordered a bourbon straight. The waitress didn’t need to take a food order. The chef was ordered to prepare everything on the menu. They would never eat it all but in Hong Kong waste equalled wealth. Duck heads arrived for them to pick at. CK watched the waitress walk away before he turned back to Mann. Mann smiled. He was oddly amused by CK’s lechery. It was the first time he had seen a weakness for the flesh in CK.

CK studied Mann. ‘I am pleased that you reconsidered your position and accepted my invitation, Inspector.’

‘My father has left me no choice. There are some things that I will have to deal with. There are decisions that will have to be made whether I like it or not. I think there are some companies with which I can be involved and not harm my integrity.’ As Mann said the words he had rehearsed in his head they sounded strangely true and he felt oddly calmer for having said them. Now he was really worried.

‘I am glad that you have finally begun to see reason. There is no escaping one’s destiny.’

CK paused and waited until the young waitress was out of earshot. He stopped picking at the duck eyes and replaced his chopsticks on their holder. ‘I can help you. I will make you an offer that I believe will be perfect for us both. You get to keep your integrity, I get the rewards I feel I deserve. After all, I have been looking after a portion of your father’s assets for years. This is a deal for your ears only.’ CK paused.

They were interrupted by the owner of the restaurant who came over and whispered something in CK’s ear. The waiter hastily laid another place beside CK. CK nodded his agreement and picked the napkin from his lap as he prepared to stand.

‘We have a guest.’

Mann looked behind him to see a Chinese woman walking towards them. She was taller than average, more athletic looking. She had curves. She was elegant, in her mid-thirties, perfectly groomed, sharp features, with her hair pinned high on her head, her fringe short, blunt. She was twinset and pearls, pencil skirt, box jacket, conservative. But then Mann took a look at her shoes, patent leather, black, five-inch heels. He heard the rustle beneath the skirt. Mann didn’t need an introduction, he knew her. She was CK’s daughter and the widow of his one-time best friend, Chan, now one more drifting set of bones in the South China Sea. She was CK’s only legitimate child; his other was a younger daughter, borne by a concubine and still at school in England.

When Mann was tracking Chan he had made a study of Victoria. He knew what size dresses she wore, which perfume she liked, where she played tennis, which lunch venue she preferred when she was entertaining her friends. Mann also knew that Victoria Chan married beneath her. She was privately educated in England. She had gone to Oxford and studied English. This was a woman who had juggled Chinese and Western cultures, had tried to catch the balls and then realized she hadn’t been passed any. This was the woman who had done what her father ordered, but along the way she had compromised herself. He stood as she approached. She looked from CK to Mann, where her eyes stayed as she walked towards them.

Mann knew what she must be thinking: Let’s get a good look at the man who killed my husband.