Dragon Head - A Beatrix Rose Thriller: Hong Kong Stories Volume 1 (Beatrix Rose's Hong Kong Stories Book 3) (4 page)

BEATRIX SAT in the rear seat at ninety degrees to Gao, but close enough to reach out and touch him should she need to. She regarded him and carried out a quick assessment. He was angry and confused. Beatrix could sympathise. He had lost money at the roulette wheel and now his plans for the rest of the evening had taken an unexpected turn for the worse.

He jabbered angrily at her in Cantonese.

Beatrix ignored him.

Chau accelerated and the automatic locks clicked, securing the doors from anyone outside the vehicle. Keeping the gun trained on Gao’s head, Beatrix turned and looked back through the rear window. She saw the chauffeur on the side of the road, shaking his fist at them. The two doormen were next to him, one of them with a cell phone pressed to his ear. They needed to move quickly. They would report the hijack to the police and a car as ostentatious as this would be easy to find, even in a city that was as flush with excess as Hong Kong.

They rushed by the parking lot. Beatrix craned her neck around and saw the crippled Discovery. It was crawling onto the road, all four tyres completely flat. The guards were out of the game.

Beatrix would have been more confident if she had been driving, but she couldn’t have trusted Chau to keep Gao under control. This could only be a two-person job, and he had to be the driver. She needed him to follow through.

Gao spat out another burst of invective that Beatrix was unable to translate. She didn’t need to. She could guess what it comprised: indignation, threats, bluster. She knew Gao’s type. He was an important man, used to getting his own way. This would be an outrageous imposition. Perhaps he thought that he could shout and threaten his way out of it? If he did, he was mistaken. Next, he would try to buy his way out, asking her how much she wanted. That wouldn’t work, either.

He fired another volley of abuse at her and, when that had no effect, he tried to raise himself out of his seat. Beatrix was ready for that. She turned her hand ninety degrees, reached across the cabin and drove the butt of the Glock into his nose. He fell back onto the seat again. Blood ran out of his right nostril onto his upper lip. He reached up with his fingers and dabbed at it. She turned her wrist again so that the barrel was pointing straight at his head and put her left finger to her lips.
Quiet
. He looked at her with newfound fear and was silent.

The Hummer was too big and the traffic too dense for Chau to drive quickly. He proceeded with care instead, following Jaffe Road onto the tangle of on and off ramps that gave access and egress to the main highway that ran east to west across the island. He picked up speed a little, passing the Wan Chai Sports Ground, the Royal Yacht Club and the Police Officers’ Club. Eventually, they reached the docks and Chau turned off just before North Point Ferry Pier. He swung onto Wharf Road, passing beneath the thicket of cranes that serviced the freighters that delivered and collected goods from the port.

Beatrix turned to Gao. “I’m sorry about this. I would have made an appointment, but things are urgent and I doubt that you would have taken it.”

He replied with another flurry of furious Cantonese.

“English, please. I know you speak it.”

He glared at her, but switched languages. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do.”

“Then you know that this will get you killed?”

She held up the gun again. “You’re in no position to make threats. And it’s rude, especially when I’m here to help you.”

“To
help
me?”

“You’ll agree in a minute.”

“Who
are
you?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is what I want to show you, and what it means for your immediate future.”

His eyes flashed. “What do you mean?”

“Here. Look.”

She took out the cell phone that she bought earlier and tossed it onto the seat next to him. The video was queued up and ready to play. She watched his face as he looked down at the screen. His expression was of irritated curiosity to start with, but, as he looked at the still image, he must have remembered where it had been shot and what the footage might contain. His eyes widened and she saw him swallow.

“Play it.”

He didn’t look away as he pressed his finger to the screen. The soundtrack was tinny through the phone’s cheap speakers, but more than clear enough for the nature of the transaction to be audible. Gao stared at the screen, unable to take his eyes away. He watched it for twenty seconds before he pressed his finger to the screen again to stop it and handed it back to her as if it was suddenly scalding his fingers.

“You’ve seen that before, haven’t you?”

He looked out of the window, his jaw clenching and unclenching. His skin had a blotchy funereal pallor.

He didn’t answer.

“I’m guessing it was emailed to you. The girl—what was her name?”

“Liling.”

“That’s right. And Liling tried to blackmail you with it, didn’t she?”

He folded his hands in his lap and looked down at the floor of the limo.

“Look at me,” she said. He did, and she proffered the Glock. “If you don’t answer my questions, I’ll shoot you in the knee. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“What did she do?”

“She emailed it to me and said that it would be sent to the press if I didn’t pay her. One million US. That was her price.”

“And?”

“And if I had paid her, what good would that do me? She would still have the video. She would come back for more and I would be in the same situation again. I am a family man. My company relies on family values.
Chinese
values. This would be…it would be very destructive. My companies would suffer. Jobs would be lost.”

“And so you told your triad friends.”

He nodded. “She brought it on herself,” he said, as if that was justification enough for what Beatrix now knew must have happened to Grace’s sister.

“They killed her?”

He looked away.

Beatrix slapped him with her left hand. “Answer the question.”

“They said that they would make the problem go away. They said it was finished.”

“But she didn’t have the video on her.”

“No. But they said that they would be able to find it.”

She laughed without humour. “They tried.”

“You knew Liling? She gave it to you?”

She held up the gun again. “See this? It means I’m asking the questions.”

“So, what is this?
You
are going to blackmail me now? How much do you want?”

“I don’t want money.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Just your help. You are a very wealthy and influential man, Mr. Gao. Well connected in the Hong Kong underworld. Would that be a fair assessment?”

He shrugged uncomfortably.

“I am afraid I have a dispute with someone from the underworld. His name is Mr. Ying. You know Mr. Ying, I believe. He is responsible for the
whores
you enjoy so much.” She used his word, loading it with bile and daring him to look away from her. He did, and she slapped him again. “Liling used to work for him. You
do
know Ying, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said bitterly.

“He was the man you went to for help?”

“Yes.”

“And he killed Liling.”

Quieter, “Yes.”

She took the phone and held it up. “Did you ever wonder how this was filmed?”

She could see the penny drop. For a smart man, he was remarkably slow on the uptake.

“It wasn’t Liling. Ying filmed this to use against you in the future. Liling tried to take advantage of it, but he is responsible for it. He is not your friend, Mr. Gao.”

“And you are?”

“No. But Mr. Ying has something that I want. I have something that he wants. Unfortunately, what I want is worth more to me than what this footage is worth to him, and he knows that. I do not have the advantage. He has asked me to do something that I am not prepared to do. But if I don’t do it, he will hurt someone who has already suffered enough. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be caught up in all of this.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“I want Mr. Ying out of the way. I imagine that’s something you would like, too?”

He gave a small nod, as if even the act of acknowledging it was treacherous and dangerous.

“I can make that happen, Mr. Gao. But to do that, I need help to get to him. That’s where you come in.”

“What help?”

“Mr. Ying is a
Dai Lo
.”

“Yes?”

“And I need to speak to the Dragon Head.”

He spoke fearfully. “Mr. Yeung?”

It was the first time that she had heard the name. Even Chau didn’t know the identity of the boss.

“I need to talk to him. Urgently. You need to make that happen.”

BEATRIX WAITED in the hotel room.

She changed into trousers and a T-shirt.

She made preparations for what she hoped would come next.

She looked at the practicalities of getting across the border.

She packed a bag with the things that she would need, then she distracted herself with two hours in the mall, buying the things that she thought that Grace might need.

She bought train tickets in soft sleeper class, a four-berth cabin for them to share.

Chau delivered the fake passports that she had requested: a British one for her and a Chinese one for the girl. Hong Kong was not treated as part of the mainland for immigration purposes, so her passport had been stamped with a Chinese entry visa. It would allow her to stay in China for three months. Grace’s passport would allow her to stay indefinitely. They both looked authentic, and she was confident that they would get them safely out of Hong Kong.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, maintained the Glock and counted out her ammunition. Two magazines. Twenty rounds. She hoped that would be enough.

She stared at her watch. Time passed. She stared at her phone, willing it to ring. It didn’t. She paced the room. Hours passed. She exercised, pumping out a thousand sit-ups and another thousand crunches until she was covered in sweat. She stared at the phone. She checked that it was charged. Still nothing.

The deadline came and went.

HER TELEPHONE finally rang two hours after the deadline had expired.

“Hello?”

“Who is this?”

“I am a friend of Mr. Gao.”

His English was accented just a little. She didn’t recognise the voice. “Mr. Yeung?”

“Never mind who I am.”

It didn’t matter, and she didn’t care. “You know where the girl is?”

“I do.”

She wanted to tell him that he was late, that he should have called hours ago, that the delay might have cost Grace her innocence, but there was no profit in doing any of that. She bit her lip between her teeth and then said, her voice hard as iron, “Where?”

“Mr. Ying has many brothels in Kowloon. I understand you visited one before Mr. Qi’s untimely demise?”

“Get to the point. Which brothel is it?”

“It is on Jordan Road. Find Jaguar Shoes. It is a front. The brothel is above. The girl is held on the third floor.”

“How well guarded is it?”

“Reasonably well. But not so well that it would be an impediment for someone such as you.”

The man had a slightly supercilious tone, and laughter danced at the edges of his words.

“I don’t know who you are, but, if you are lying to me, I’ll find Gao again. Before I kill him, I’ll make him tell me who you are. And then I’ll kill you.”

“I am not lying. We have been watching you. I have no doubt you mean what you say, and I believe that you would try to do it, too. We respect someone with the dedication to do what they promise they will do. Good luck in Kowloon, although I do not believe you will need it.”

The line went dead.

Beatrix took her Glock and spare magazines and hurried to the door.

BEATRIX RODE the MTR to Jordan Station. She was carrying her bag and the bag that she had packed for Grace. It was eight in the evening by the time she emerged at street level, and the area was bathed in neon. Jordan Street was a narrow canyon, with tall buildings on either side making it feel claustrophobic. The walls were disfigured by air-conditioning units and enormous hoardings. Lines of red flags were strung overhead and lanterns were suspended between the lamp posts. Glowing signs advertised FOOT REFLEXOLOGY and CITY HAIRDRESSING. Scores of handwritten notices written on Day-Glo cards were plastered onto the facades of the shops. They advertised girls from Russia, China, Hong Kong and Thailand. Prices were scrawled next to the nationalities. There were karaoke bars, saunas and massage parlours. Grocery shops offered racks of postcards. Pedestrians idled, some walking down the middle of the street. Traffic growled and horns sounded. Crashing dance music played from the open doorway of a mobile phone shop. The night was close and oppressively hot, the air full of smog that clotted her nostrils and stung the back of her throat. Overhead, the sky was a mass of blacks and purples and, in the distance, a peal of thunder sounded.

A storm was coming.

Beatrix paused outside the shoe shop. A shutter obscured the window, but a door next to it was open. A fluorescent arrow pointed into the shop, promising “Free Preview. Many Different Countries/Girls. Taste Excitement. Less 50%.” The doorway was obscured by a curtain of multicoloured beads. The unit next door was more brazen yet. Three bored women sat on the floor in cheap lingerie. A red light flickered overhead.

She scouted up and down the street. There was no other way inside. Music pulsed. A gaggle of drunken
gweilos
staggered down the middle of the street, drawing the ire of the taxi driver whose cab they were blocking. He leaned on his horn. They swore colourfully in return.

Thunder boomed again, closer this time, and the first fat gobbets of rain splashed onto the asphalt.

Beatrix was sick with trepidation. There was a tightness in her muscles that she recognised: the anticipation of violence. Ying’s deadline had passed four hours ago. She returned to the doorway. There was no point in being subtle, and she was in no mood. She didn’t know whether she was too late. Grace might not have the luxury of subtlety.