Текст книги "Kiss & Die"

Автор книги: Lee Weeks

Соавторы: Lee Weeks
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 24 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 9 страниц]

Chapter 22

‘Tailor, sirs? Copy watches? Copy bags?’ It was the middle of the day and the Indian touts were out in force. They swarmed around the pink-skinned tourists like flies on fresh meat.

The Mansions were at the harbour end of Nathan Road. Nathan Road was the place to get anything made or copied. It was nicknamed the Golden Mile: it glittered, it sparkled, even when it was real it looked fake. It was a great snapshot of Hong Kong. Twenty-foot-high neon signs flashed their adverts. Girls with thigh-high socks and mini skirts chased one another across the linear images. Music videos blared down next to ginseng sellers and noodle bars. The middle of the buildings bulged like saggy pot bellies over the road, weighted with fifty competing neon signs. The back streets were impassable by car.

Shrimp was waiting for him. Mann hadn’t any trouble spotting him – he had slicked his hair back Saturday Night Fever-style and was wearing a vintage black suit, purple shiny shirt, thin black tie.

‘Hello, Boss.’

Mann held him back as he went to walk up the steps. ‘Did you dress especially for this?’

‘Huh?’

‘Never mind.’ Mann smiled to himself.

Shrimp shook his head and followed Mann up the steps to the Mansions.

Within a few paces they were engulfed by the din and chaos of another world. They wound their way through making slow progress amongst the money changers and the touts for guesthouses. The place was like every type of bazaar or busy market, a snapshot of Africa, India, Asia. Together they set up their food stalls side by side blaring out their brand of music. The Mansions belonged to no country. It was its own world under the canopy of fluorescent lighting and overhead pipes. It had corridors like narrow hospital wards. By day the ground floor was crammed with shoppers and stalls selling goods from around the world, food stalls that offered goat and Halal food, all castes, all colours catered for and fed. But there was a tense, precarious harmony.

Mann steered Shrimp through and towards the second set of lifts on the left. ‘We’ll start on the third floor. I have a friend who might be able to help us narrow down the search.’

The lift coming back down was taking its time. They stared at the TV screen above the lift doors. The lift was stopping frequently; people were getting in but then getting out again and sending it on its way. Mann called the security guard over and pointed at the screen. The guard nodded, stepped forward and waited for the lift to arrive.

‘Out of the way, move.’ The security guard pushed the queue back.

The lift stopped; the door opened. A young black woman was unconscious in the corner. The guard stopped people getting in whilst he held the door open for Mann and Shrimp. They knelt beside her. Mann pressed his fore and index finger to the side of her neck.

‘She has a pulse, just.’

Shrimp felt inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim plastic pouch. He unclipped the top and opened it out. It had two syringes inside. He tore the plastic off one, pulled off its protective needle cover and pulled up her sleeve.

The queue started grumbling. There were now so many people waiting that single file had become treble. The security guard held his hand up for patience. In this city time meant money, whether you were dying or not. Shrimp injected into the muscle in her upper arm, her bicep. A few minutes later the colour began coming back to her face. She breathed deeply. She opened her eyes and looked at them. She knew instantly what had happened. She tried to stand.

‘You want to wait for an ambulance?’ Mann helped her up.

She shook her head. She staggered forward, leant on the side of the lift wall for just a few seconds and then lurched off towards the mall and was swallowed up by a thousand anonymous people.

‘What did you give her, an opiate blocker?’ asked Mann. They were joined in the lift by twenty others. Mann didn’t bother whispering; out of the nationalities in the lift probably just he and Shrimp spoke Cantonese. With them were three Africans, four Indians and some giggling Filipinas.

‘Yes. Naloxone. I got it when I was in the States. The other is epinephrine – adrenalin. If they’re still breathing you use one. If not, the other.’

They were crammed inside the lift with Africans, Indians and giggling Filipinas. Mann turned to see Shrimp staring at the Africans. They spoke English to one another because they came from different parts of Africa. They were stereotypical in their appearance, striking in their presence; they had ebony skin and bald heads and big muscular bodies. They brought a menacing presence to the area; they were mistrusted because of their colour, their size. Shrimp was still staring at them. Mann smiled to himself as he caught Shrimp looking at their feet. The Africans stopped talking. One of them followed Shrimp’s gaze to his feet and then waited till Shrimp’s eyes came back up to meet his.

Shrimp grinned, embarrassed. ‘Cool trainers.’

The African laughed, deep, guttural, but his eyes showed a menace, a mistrust.

The lift stopped at level three. A strip light flickered above their heads. A cockroach scuttled across the floor. The muted noise of the dishes clanging came from the direction of a kitchen to their right. The Indians got out and disappeared that way. The Africans and giggling Filipinas stayed put. Mann and Shrimp got out with the Indians. The smell of curry greeted them. The landing had three doors. Two were unmarked; the third had a glass panel and above it was a sign: The Delhi Grill golden on a red background.

‘Have you eaten here before, Boss?’ asked Shrimp.

‘Many times. I’m half British remember; we don’t go a week without a curry. But I haven’t been here for a couple of years…’ Mann didn’t finish that sentence. It should have ended: ‘…since Helen died.’

The restaurant door opened and a tall, robust-looking Indian with a turban on his head and a handlebar moustache stood waiting to greet customers as they alighted from the lift.

‘Hello PJ.’ The two men had known one another for seventeen years since Mann joined the police force and PJ took over the restaurant on the third floor of the Mansions.

PJ came forward to shake Mann’s hand. ‘Welcome back, Inspector. It’s good to see you again.’

‘This is Detective Li,’ Mann introduced Shrimp.

‘Pleased to meet you. Please come inside. Try our speciality of the house – seafood tandoori – freshly made.’

He opened the door onto a chaotic scene. The small space, once intended to be an apartment, was now converted and filled with long, bench-style tables crammed with diners.

Mann held up his hand to thank him. ‘We don’t have time to eat unfortunately, PJ.’

They looked around sharply as the restaurant door opened and a lad, who Mann recognized as PJ’s son, appeared. ‘Go back to work. Go back to work, lad, there’s no trouble here,’ PJ addressed him affectionately.

‘This is one of your sons, isn’t it? Mahmud? He has grown up. Last time I saw him he was a boy.’

PJ summoned him forward. Mann shook his hand. The lad had not inherited his father’s stature; he was slight like his mother had been. His face had an intensity: large brown eyes, eyebrows that met in the middle, a serious face but handsome in a way.

PJ nodded and beamed with pride. ‘Yes. I have high hopes for Mahmud.’ Mahmud looked embarrassed, shy, bright. ‘He will be a doctor some day, an accountant maybe. Who knows? He is such a clever lad. Now go, my son, back to work; otherwise we will have no money to pay for university.’ He laughed, happy and proud, as he ushered Mahmud back into the busy restaurant.

‘I hear you’ve had some trouble here, PJ,’ Mann said. ‘A young girl was murdered the night before last at a Triad initiation ceremony. She was Indian, possibly from the Mansions. We think her father is a tailor here. Have you heard anything?’

PJ looked nervous as he stepped out into the corridor and allowed the restaurant door to close behind him. The din died down and they were left with the heat and silence of the corridor. He wiped his face with his apron. He shook his head and gave a small nervous laugh as his eyes swept the vicinity. ‘It is better if you mind your own business in the Mansions.’ He leaned towards Mann and kept the smile on his face but he looked nervous. ‘It will fetch worse problems down on my head if I don’t. We have problems with the Dalits – the untouchables. We are not used to so many coming into Hong Kong. Now with them crossing over from India to China every day, hundreds more arrive and the Mansions is where they come. They bring with them conflict and it’s not just them, now we have the Africans too. I worry about the way things are here. The Mansions have become a place of fear. The Triads are taking our children from us. The new Indians are causing trouble. The Africans are killing one another and raping our women and no one is stopping them. They are time bombs waiting to go off. They are attracting unwelcome elements into the Mansions. Some people are using it to their advantage. I am afraid for our future here. There’s talk about us leaving – being forced out.’

‘Who is saying it?’

PJ shook his head and glanced nervously back into the restaurant. The youngest of his sons, Hafiz, walked past in view of the door. He was dark eyed, pale faced; he had the look of Asian skin that never sees the sun. He had the look of a user.

‘There have been names mentioned. I do not want to repeat them. It will only go badly for me but I want you to know, Inspector…’ he stared hard at Mann, ‘…that I will pay whatever it takes to stay here. I am sorry for the family of the young woman. If I can help I will.’

Shrimp stepped forward. ‘Mind if I take a look inside? I have never eaten in here. It’s got a great reputation.’

‘Please…please. Take a look.’ PJ opened the door wide for Shrimp to see inside. Hafiz turned and looked at Shrimp before he quickly disappeared to the kitchen.

‘Such a fab place. Love the décor. I’ll definitely be back.’

PJ bowed his head. ‘Thank you. You will get a good discount.’

As PJ disappeared back into the furore of the Delhi Grill, Mann caught a glimpse of Mahmud waiting for news from his father. He watched PJ shake his head, touch his shoulder affectionately and the boy glance Mann’s way. PJ pushed past Hafiz and dismissed him with a wave of the hand.

Mann and Shrimp waited for the lift down. ‘We need to keep pressure on. PJ’s is the best restaurant in the Mansions. If a deal has been made it will be with him.’ The lift didn’t look like coming. ‘Let’s take the stairs,’ said Mann. ‘See if we can help in the search for the girl’s family. The tailors are all on the first floor.’

The echo of voices filtered up from the floor below, the sound of an Indian woman singing and sitar music. They overtook a young woman on the stairs; she had stopped to check her phone for messages.

It was Ruby.

Chapter 23

Ruby knew they weren’t Africans as soon as she heard their footsteps on the stairs; they weren’t wearing trainers. She turned and looked at their feet as they approached. Expensive shoes. Ruby knew then that they didn’t belong in the Mansions. They were strangers. She kept her eyes down until they had passed. She was wearing a curly brunette wig and the same simple big-belted black mac that could be bought in any shop in Hong Kong: fashionable, chic but nondescript. In her oversized handbag she carried another wig and a change of shoes. They were the two things that would transform her. Also in the bag was the tool kit hidden inside the rolled cloth bundle.

As the two men turned to go down the next flight of stairs she glanced over the railings. She recognized Mann but not the other officer. She smiled to herself when she looked at Shrimp in his suit – there was something about a man in a suit. Ruby hung back until she could no longer hear their leather soles on the concrete stairwell. She knew once they got to the first floor they would be swallowed by the sari sellers, the samosa stalls and thousands of people and they would never notice her following them.

She walked past the lift and took the stairs. She didn’t go in the lift on her own. Even though now they had cameras; cameras could be hidden, covered, cameras could have their recordings wiped if you paid the right person. It was all about knowing what someone wanted in exchange. Some people wanted sex. Some people wanted money but they all wanted something.

She kept her head down as she slipped quickly past the Africans who hung about the stairwells and doorways. They sat on the steps and watched the world. They sat in groups and talked of home. They walked up to the mosque and talked of Allah. But they were warm-blooded men. They watched the women walk by. They watched Ruby.

Ruby came out onto the first floor. The place was chaotic. She looked around for Mann and the other officer. She eased her way through the crowds of people noisily negotiating the prices of a new shipment of clothes just arrived from the mainland. She headed towards the end where the tailors had their shops. There the touts took over. Fluorescent lights flickered above the heads as they assaulted unwary people with fake Louis Vuitton bags or copy Rolexes, promises of made to measure everything. They didn’t bother Ruby. She had her eyes on Mann and the one in a suit. She watched them making their way down the corridor asking about anyone who knew a young Indian girl who hadn’t been seen for forty-eight hours. In Mann’s hand he held a piece of the sari he had picked up next to the box with the girl’s body in it.

‘Getting warmer,’ Ruby said to herself as she watched them working their way. ‘Getting very warm…Boiling!’ she said after half an hour when they had stopped outside a tailors shop. Ruby stopped opposite, out of view, she was tucked behind the shelves in a small Indian supermarket. She smiled to herself, her heart beating fast. Her hands sweating as she pretended to browse through the DVDs. They were all porn. The old Indian who owned the supermarket stared at her, his eyes feasting. Ruby let him. She didn’t know him and he didn’t know her but they might one day have something each other wanted.

Ruby watched the Indian man sitting on the floor and sewing leather belts. It was Rajini’s father. Mann would be coming to him any minute. Rajini’s father looked up at Ruby and his eyes momentarily questioned. He wondered what she wanted and then Mann blocked her view of him. Ruby was watching Mann’s back. She wanted to hear the words being spoken but she couldn’t. She wanted to hear Mann ask him if he had a daughter, if she was missing. All Ruby heard were the gasps of panic in the belt maker’s voice. Ruby was content. She had done her job and a little more. She had been promoted to a Red Pole in the Triad ranks; the rank of an officer. She had shown her strength and proved she was worthy. It would be some time before any of the girls would show disrespect to her again. Rajini had been nothing to her, she meant nothing. Only the chosen could make it up the ladder. Ruby was one of the chosen. Rajini wasn’t, it was simple.

Ruby moved on further down the corridor and waited there, out of sight. She watched Mann call on his radio. A female officer came, they left. Ruby followed them as they made their way down the stairs to the ground floor and back out through the crowds. She stopped short of the entrance and engaged a money changer in some conversation. She watched them talking on the steps and then saw them go their separate ways. The sun had set outside. But Ruby’s day was just beginning. She walked past Shrimp as he stood on the steps and she followed Mann.

Chapter 24

As soon as he was sure the policemen had gone, PJ pulled Hafiz into a quiet corner of the restaurant.

‘You bring nothing but trouble on our heads. What is it the detective knows that you’re not telling me? Why was he here talking about a young woman’s death? Who was it?’

‘I don’t know, Dad.’ He pulled his arm back from PJ’s grip. ‘It has nothing to do with me.’

‘I’ve seen you hanging out with those kids. They’re a bad bunch. You’re just like them. You don’t care about working hard and making it, you only care about designer shoes and phones and you aren’t prepared to work for them. Nothing comes for free, my lad. If you have signed up to some Triad society the price will be big. These Mansions will be running with blood soon: Indian against Indian, child against child. You have no idea about what you’re involved in. If you had something to do with that poor girl getting killed I’ll have nothing more to do with you.’

Hafiz looked at his father, stony faced. ‘You’re always blaming me. It’s not always my fault, you know.’ He took off the serving napkin from over his arm and threw it down. ‘You know what? I’m not interested any more. I’m sick of working here for nothing. I don’t want this to be my life. I want more. I hope the Triads do take over. I hope this place does burn down.’

PJ went to strike him. His eldest son Ali appeared beside them and stepped between his father and Hafiz. ‘Don’t, Dad. I’ll see to it.’

PJ shook his head sadly. ‘I am glad your mother cannot listen to you talk. She would have put a stop to it better than me. She would have seen it coming the way she saw everything coming.’ PJ wiped his face with his serving cloth and looked close to tears. ‘If she were alive, she’d have put a stop to it all.’

From the kitchen a bell sounded for the third time. A meal was waiting to be taken out. Mahmud hurried past the door, laden with plates. ‘Thank goodness for the fact I have one son who believes in working hard.’

‘I’m going out,’ Hafiz said and he threw down his serving cloth as he left.

Ali looked at his father accusingly. ‘You should go easy on him. These days are difficult for Hafiz. He’s always chasing Mahmud’s tail.’

‘Yes and he’s never going to catch it or add up to him.’

‘We are all different, Dad, you should remember that. Nobody’s perfect, not even Mahmud.’

‘I know. I’m sorry but I’m worried for our future. You find out who that young girl who died was and if Hafiz had anything to do with it. You do the right thing, Ali. I want her family compensated.’

‘No, she’s not our caste.’

PJ looked at him, shocked. ‘You know the girl?’

‘Only the rumours. The kids talk, I listen. Her father is a leather worker, her mother cleans toilets. She sews in a tailors on the first floor. We must keep our heads down. That’s why it is important to get the right friends, Dad. We have to protect ourselves. Don’t talk to Inspector Mann. Let me do it. Don’t let Hafiz or Mahmud or anyone talk unless I am there. Victoria Chan warned us when she came to see us. She said things would start to go wrong here. Things would get so bad that they would push for the Mansions to be demolished. She told us to keep our heads down and we would be guaranteed a new restaurant after the refurb.’

‘But how do we know she’s telling the truth?’

‘We don’t. But we have no choice. She’s been good to us this last year. She’s proved herself to be a friend since Mother died. Say nothing, Dad. Do nothing to stop it.’

PJ looked at his son incredulously and he nodded, stern faced. It was that exact moment when the roles were reversed. When his son had grown old enough, wise enough, strong enough and knew more than his father.

Chapter 25

Mann and Shrimp stood talking on the steps of the Mansions.

‘Shrimp, take the girl’s parents to see her body and then come back here for me. Start asking some questions; loosen up some tongues. PJ was obviously nervous. We know Victoria Chan is stirring things up in there. Let’s try and tweak a few consciences and see if anyone wants to share some information about the Outcasts. Someone must know something.’

‘Yes, Boss.’

‘I’m meeting Tammy. I’ll see you back at the station.’

Mann passed the old Indian prostitute leaning against the railings on the corner of Mody Road, her foot up on the fire hydrant, folds of yellow chiffon tucked as trousers between her legs. When it came to sex, Hong Kong had something to cater for everyone’s taste. She’d been there for as long as Mann could remember. She played with the end of her thick black hair, woven into one plait that she wore on the side, gold bangles up her arms and rings through her earlobes. She shimmered in the sharp evening light after the deluge of rain.

He headed down into the subway to get away from the heat; the approaching storm had sent temperatures through the roof and humidity to 90 per cent. He walked in the cool of the long, straight, airy tunnels that took the echo of his shoes and bounced it around the clean walls, took voices and amplified them. The subway was an artery carrying the workers to all the vital organs of Hong Kong. It made him feel like running along the endless tunnels: white, stark, cooling on his head, tolerable on his tired eyes. But something jarred on his ears; from behind him came the click of a woman’s heels and the rustle of a mac. The heels grew louder. He turned to see a woman passing, her head down, her blond hair hanging down her back, thick, neat. She didn’t walk like a tourist: she wasn’t frantically looking at the exit signs in a panicked fashion. Mann watched her walk by. She had a good figure beneath her mac, small waist, long, slim calves. She walked quickly in her heels, black snakeskin with a matching handbag. It was a big bag, the new trend for women. Mann looked back to her hair. Nobody in Hong Kong had hair that colour; that amount of bleach would have destroyed it. If she wasn’t a foreigner then it was a wig. She passed him and disappeared into the crowds.

Mann exited at the harbour and joined a thousand others standing around watching the light display. Every evening at eight o’clock the biggest laser show in the world kicked off. It involved forty-four buildings, cost forty-four million Hong Kong dollars to create and lasted fourteen minutes at a time. Especially composed symphonic music exploded in time to pyrotechnics and laser beams from the rooftops of buildings around the harbour.

As Mann rounded the corner the breeze felt cool, it dried the sweat on his brow, the shirt on his back. He needed that sea air. He needed to clear his tired head. Now the swirling light beams were dancing across the harbour to the clashing of cymbals. He took a right past the statue of Bruce Lee and saw Tammy sitting on a bench, away from the crowd. People were standing nearby, having their photo taken with Bruce Lee. Colour and light exploded into the stormy evening sky.

‘Is everything all right, Tammy?’ Mann sat next to her.

‘Yes thanks, Boss. Good talk yesterday.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Mann sighed, looking away as he spoke. ‘That Lilly is a real troublemaker.’

‘I am getting very close to fixing up a date for my initiation, Boss.’

Mann rested his elbows on his knees as he listened; he stared at the ground and waited. Tammy was hesitating.

‘You all right about that, Tammy?’

‘But, Boss, there’s something else.’ Tammy hesitated. ‘Lilly says it’s common knowledge you’re on the take.’

Mann went silent. Colours shot up the side of buildings, searchlights filled the night sky. ‘Okay. I’ll deal with it.’

‘I asked if she’d seen the Indian girl die. She said she didn’t actually see it, that she was outside when it happened. She said they were told that they were all guilty of it. That if one was to be named they would all be named.’

‘It was all about binding them together then. The girl died to unite the others. It had to be graphic to convince the kids. Just saying it wasn’t enough.

‘You better try and stall the initiation, Tammy. We need to do more ground work. I’ve met Victoria Chan. She’s got a lot at stake. She’s going to be looking out for an informer. We need to make doubly sure before we go in. If I am being set up then we need to be one step ahead. Nothing is worth your life. These people won’t hesitate to take it. We’ll get the headmaster to say you’re ill. We’ll call it off temporarily until we are sure that you’re safe.’

‘All right, Boss.’

Mann watched her walk away, her head bowed, her skinny legs shuffling along in her sparkly cheap jeans and her new trainers. She was disappointed, he knew. To have put in so much work and come out with nothing.

He walked to the railings and gripped them as he stared out at the water. He thought about what Tammy had said. If the rumours were running rife about him being on the take it wasn’t going to help to be seen in company with CK or his daughter. He was leaving himself exposed. There was only his word that his intentions were good. His word didn’t seem to be counting for much at the moment. But it was too late to go back. He had been pushed across that line now and he had to use it or lose it. For a while he had to exist on the dark side.

Ahead of him was a party boat, bedecked with a string of coloured lights. The avenue of stars was still buzzing. The kids had been put to bed now, the couples were out. They perched on the railings like lines of seagulls in a seaside town. The girls sat on the top, the boys took their photos. They look so young, thought Mann. He didn’t think he was ever that young. He knew you had to be young to really fall in love, unconditionally. You had to be full of compromise, still finding who you are, still trying to change into someone better. If Mann could turn back the clock he would have chosen a different route for Helen but not for himself. He couldn’t give Helen what she wanted no matter how much she loved him. He had scar tissue over his heart that never healed; he wished that she’d never fallen in love with him. But the one thing he had promised himself was that he would keep hunting down the men who had met her along the road to death. He would never stop pursuing them. Mann had killed the one who finished her life but he had yet to find the others who tortured her, who did nothing to help her.

Now something nagged at him day and night. The memory of Helen had come back screaming at him. It wouldn’t give him peace.

Mann headed away from the river and called Mia en route.

‘Where is Tammy now?’ Mia sounded tense.

‘I have just told her to stall things, sit tight. I’m suspending Operation Schoolyard. She’s at risk.’

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. He knew what Mia would be doing. He could hear her sigh. She would have closed her eyes. She would have frowned. She would be disappointed but she would respect his judgement.

‘If you think so, Mann, then okay. But it means starting all over again, it took us so long to find Tammy and get her into the school.’

‘I know. But this is uncharted territory. We’ve never put a female officer in this kind of risk before. I’d rather back out now. She’s disappointed too.’

‘Of course, she will be: big risks, big rewards. Talking of big rewards, on your way back come via the car park and look in your space. Your new car got delivered.’

‘What new car?’

‘Well, judging by the keys I have in my hand I would say it’s a brand new Maserati in your space in the car park. Someone’s given you an expensive present.’

Mann turned the corner to see the woman with the blond hair walking quickly away.