Dragon Head - A Beatrix Rose Thriller: Hong Kong Stories Volume 1 (Beatrix Rose's Hong Kong Stories Book 3) (9 page)

BEATRIX OPENED her eyes. She thought that she had heard something outside. She couldn’t see anything, not even the faintest sliver of light. She concentrated her attention on her hearing. She closed her eyes and held her breath.

There. A footstep?

She got her feet beneath her and pushed herself backwards until her shoulders were wedged up against the shelves on the far wall. Were they coming back again? She expected another beating. Her exposed ribs and head felt dreadfully vulnerable. She drew her knees up to her chest, trying to make herself as small a target as possible.

She strained her ears.

She couldn’t hear anything now.

Had she imagined it?

“Hello?” she called.

There it was again: the sound of a soft footstep.

“Hello?”

She heard the sound of metal tapping against metal and then the sound of the handle on the freezer door being turned. She gritted her teeth at the sound of the bottom of the door scraping against the floor as it was pushed open. Light spilled inside and she saw the silhouette of a man. She didn’t know what to expect. The odds were good that this was the start of another beating. The man who was now inside her cell was probably preparing to rain kicks on her defenceless body. Or was it to be something else? Perhaps the men would take turns to take advantage of their
gweilo
pet. Perhaps that was why there was just one man, and why he was quiet. The muscles in her shoulders tensed as she tested the cuffs again. They were solid, the bracelets cutting into her swollen flesh.

She was tempted to tell him to get it over with, but she wanted him to think that she was weak and beaten. She didn’t want to show anything that might suggest that she had any fight left in her.

The man drew closer.

When he spoke, it was little more than a whisper. “Suzy?”

“What do you want?”

“I have a message from Michael Yeung.”

He knelt down before her. Beatrix did not recognise him. He was dark haired and had furtive eyes.

“What message?”

“He want to help you.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He say Ying goes too far. Cannot be trusted. And Zhào Gao very angry with him.” He paused. “If I release you, what will you do?”

“I’ll kill him.”

“That is good. And then?”

“And then what?”

“What will you do after you kill Ying?”

“All my scores will be settled. I won’t do anything.”

“Mr. Yeung say he want to work with you.”

She didn’t reply.

“You do not want to?”

“You ever heard the expression ‘once bitten, twice shy’?”

“Mr. Yeung is not like Qi or Ying. He is professional.”

She coughed. She could feel blood in her mouth, so she spat it out onto the floor. “Good for him.”

“But you talk to him?”

“Fine.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder, gently impelling her to lean forward. She did, and then felt the hand between her shoulder blades and then down to her hands. Something cold and metallic brushed against the inside of her wrists. The man gave a small grunt of exertion, and then she heard the rattle of the chain as it was cleaved in two.

She looked beyond the man. The cell door was open. The corridor outside was lit by a strip light and she saw a flight of stairs, leading up to the ground floor.

“You must hurry. They will come back. We must be quick.”

The man put his arm around her shoulders and helped her to stand. She shrugged him off. She was bruised and tender, but nothing was broken. Her body was serviceable.

“Where is Ying?”

“He is at his club. Nine Dragons. We are watching him. We will tell you where he goes.”

The man bent down and picked up a bundle. He gave it to her. It was a dishcloth. She opened it. There was a Ruger LC9 Pro 9mm pistol inside.

She assessed her injuries again. She wasn’t going to be running any marathons soon, but she could walk and she could point a gun. It would be enough.

The man indicated the pistol. “Will this do?”

She nodded. “I’ll kill Ying for you on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“I said all my scores would be settled. That wasn’t quite true. I need you to help me settle one more.”

“Of course. What would we have to do?”

“Give me Jackie Chau.”

“Who?”

“The man who betrayed me.”

“I do not know this man.”

“Tell your boss if he wants to work with me, he needs to find him.”

FANG CHUN YING owned a lot of property across Hong Kong, but his favourite was the apartment in The Altitude, the new building that had recently been constructed on Shan Kwong Road in Happy Valley. It was on the fifteenth floor and offered panoramic views of the city, the bay and the lush greenery that clothed the hills of Kowloon that the locals called the Nine Dragons. It was a uniquely spacious apartment that had been created by buying two adjacent properties and knocking them through to create one especially large space. It was a short walk to the jockey club and it typically accommodated the rich
gweilo
workers who staffed the law and accountancy firms and banks in Central. It did not please Ying that the Westerners were the only ones who could afford the prime real estate, yet it gave him pleasure that it was not beyond him. It was a benchmark. Purchasing it was a validation, a sign that he had succeeded on their terms as well as his own.

His driver pulled up alongside the entrance. Ying had business to transact in the morning, and he told the man that he expected to see him at nine. The driver’s name was Chang, and he had known him since childhood. He trusted him completely. Chang bid him good night and waited in the car until Ying was safely inside the building.

He rode the elevator to the penthouse. The lift opened directly into the apartment.

He took off his jacket. He saw that it had been splattered with the woman’s blood. His mouth curled into a sneer of distaste. He went to the mirror and saw that he had her blood on his neck, too, and another splash on the inside of his wrist. He was hot, too, shining with malodorous sweat. It made him think of the woman. For someone with so fearful a reputation, it had not taken them long to reduce her to a snivelling mess on the floor. They would leave her to contemplate her end and then return to put her out of her misery tomorrow. Chau had guaranteed that he would make her disappear. He knew that Chau did good work. He had been impressed with his burgeoning reputation as he worked for Donnie Qi, and had admired the work that he had done for him.

He had admired Beatrix’s work, too. He had admired that even more. It was a shame that their relationship had come to such a sorry juncture. She was a very useful tool. It wasn’t easy to find someone as skilful and reliable as she had been. What had happened was unforgivably wasteful, but things were as they were. There was no sense in dwelling on the past.

He needed a shower to wash the sweat and the blood away. He went through into the bathroom and turned on the water. He went into his bedroom, undressed, wrapped a towel around his waist, and…

“Hello, Ying.”

He spun around.

A woman was sitting in the armchair that faced his bed. It was dark and difficult for him to make out the details of her face. But he recognised her voice, and knowing who she was filled him with fear.

He had a pistol on the dresser. He edged toward it.

“Don’t,” the woman said. She had a pistol aimed at him. There was only ten feet between them. She couldn’t miss.

“Beatrix. You got out.”

“Evidently.”

“How did you find me?”

“I have a new patron. Mr. Yeung. I think you know him.”

“Of course I know him,” He snapped.

“He is disappointed in you, Ying. I spoke to Zhào Gao. You were blackmailing a very important friend of Mr. Yeung’s. He was upset when he found out. He said your greed threatened triad business.”

“It was not like that. I will speak to him. I will explain.”

“He doesn’t want to speak to you. In fact, he asked me to get rid of you. It’ll be my first job for him.”

“I give you money. Lots of money. You take it and leave Hong Kong. I give you my word you will not be stopped.”

She got up. The light fell on her face and he saw just how badly they had worked her over. She was bruised, one eye was closed, and there was dried blood around her nostrils. She walked over to the sliding door that opened onto the balcony. It was already ajar, the wind rippling the thin gauzy curtains. She pulled the curtains aside and pulled the door until it was all the way open. Then she beckoned him to come to her.

He did as she asked.

“You want money?”

“Come onto the balcony with me, Ying. We can talk about it while I admire the view.”

He stepped out into the cool night air. The view really was something to be admired. He didn’t feel so good about it now.

“How much do you need?”

“I don’t want your money. Turn around,” she said.

“Why?”

She levelled the gun and stepped up, pressing the barrel between his eyes. “Turn around.”

He did and, before he could react, she had taken his right arm by the wrist and yanked it all the way up his back. The sudden pain was excruciating and, in an attempt to lessen it, he leaned over so that his torso was bent over the balustrade.

“Please…I tell you what you need.”

“Why don’t you tell me about Grace.”

“The girl?” He gulped the words out.

“Do you have a daughter, Mr. Ying?”

“Yes. Two daughters.”

“How old are they?”

“Ten and twelve.”

“You need to help me understand, then. If you have girls, ten and twelve, why did you do what you did to her?”

The words spilled out before he had a chance to consider them. “She is just daughter of whore. She end up whore herself one day. Why do you care?”

The pressure on his arm increased. “Say that one more time.”

“Say what?”

“Call her a whore. I dare you.”

He gritted his teeth against the pain. “I am sorry. Where is she? I will apologise to her.”

“She is a long way away, Mr. Ying. You’ll never see her again.”

She leaned her body against him so that she could increase the pressure on his arm. She pushed up. She felt strong. Full of muscle. The balustrade was like a fulcrum, his weight slowly tipping him over. He felt his feet rise above the floor, just the tips of his toes touching the concrete.

“Why did you do this, Ying? You knew what I would do. You brought this on yourself.”

“I help girl,” he begged. “Please. I give her money. I give you money, you give it to her, you do what you like with it. Please.”

“She doesn’t need your money.”

“Girls like that, you buy and you sell. I buy her happiness. Her sister was whore. She will underst—”

She leaned all the way forward, pushing up with both hands until Ying’s elbow popped. He screamed, a primal exclamation as unbearable pain flashed into his brain, but Beatrix did not relent. Instead, she clamped her right arm between his legs and heaved him so that he was balanced across the balustrade. He begged, looking down at the vast drop to the street below, but even as he did, he knew that she had never intended to spare him. She lowered her shoulder and pushed, tipping him all the way over the edge and out into the void. He fell, aware of the wind whipping around his flailing limbs and the roar of terror that he recognised, belatedly, as coming from his own throat.

His body slammed into a parked car, bounced ten feet into the air, and then came to rest in the ornamental gardens that he had once so admired. His body was arranged face up, a dozen bones broken, his vertebrae crushed. He gazed up at the ziggurat that stretched high above him, the distance that he had fallen. He tasted blood in his mouth and his breath wouldn’t come. He heard the wail of a car alarm and a woman’s horrified scream before everything coalesced into one long hiss of static. Darkness bled at the edges of his vision, then closed in, then swallowed him whole.

JACKIE CHAU LIKED to pretend that he was not an extravagant man. But when he was honest with himself, he would admit that he had a few vices, some of which could be expensive. He did like to treat himself. He could have flown economy, but the flight to Toronto was long and, since he could afford it, he had decided to go first class.

He had never flown first class before.

He was in the British Airways lounge. He had forsaken his usual garish dress for a suit and a white shirt that had been cut from reassuringly expensive cloth. He arrived an hour before his flight departed, took a drink in the bar, and allowed the gushing staff to pander over him.

He had heard about Ying’s death. His friend in the police had contacted him six hours ago. The story was that he had killed himself. They said that he had thrown himself off the balcony, but Chau didn’t believe that. Ying had no reason to kill himself. He had been murdered.

She
had murdered him.

It had to be her.

He had no interest in waiting around to find out.

He was hungry. He wanted something pleasant to eat before they took off. He sat down and looked through the menu. He ordered the sushi rice prepared with red vinegar in the traditional
edomae
style and the octopus with
daikon
pickle and wasabi. A discreet waiter appeared as soon as he rested the menu on the table and Chau gave the man his order. The waiter complimented him on his taste and left him with the wine menu. The sommelier arrived to make recommendations and Chau settled on a glass of champagne. The Bruno Paillard Nec Plus Ultra was the most expensive on the menu at HK$4,000, but he chose it. He had the money, and he felt like pushing the boat out. And, after all, he was celebrating a new beginning.

Canada.

The bottle arrived, the cork was popped and a glass poured for him. He sipped the champagne, letting the flavour dance across his tongue. It was exquisite.

He was enjoying a second sip as the waiter returned to the table.

“There is a telephone call for you, sir. A question about your luggage.”