Femme Fatale Read online

  ‘Thank you for thinking of me.’

  ‘My pleasure. Do I get a discount?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thought not.’

  ‘So what d’you make of Mr Sheng?’

  ‘Well, first of all, as a gweilo, you’ll be fed several metric tons of bullshit. They’ll tell you stuff without telling you stuff. As far as you’re concerned, he’s Mr Sheng, though that may not actually be his real name. He’s almost certainly senior in some way, otherwise he wouldn’t have been talking to you about stuff like this.’

  ‘Is The Blue Lantern his restaurant? Is that a front for something?’

  ‘Very unlikely. Very unlikely it’s his restaurant, I mean, though it could be. He just wanted somewhere to have a meeting and probably told all the staff to take a hike while he did some business. That’s another thing: calling the restaurant The Blue Lantern. That’s pretty blatant. That’s pretty ballsy. That’s a Triad thing, so they probably have a finger in it somewhere.’

  ‘What d’you mean blatant?’

  ‘Nowadays, Triad initiation is called Hanging the Blue Lantern. It used to be a tradition to hang a blue lantern outside the house of someone who’d recently died. When you get initiated into the Triads, it’s like your old life has died and your new Triad life is starting. They like that kind of thing, that kind of symbolism. Blue Lanterns is also a term for uninitiated Triad members. Kind of associates. The important guys have a number, Blue Lanterns don’t.’

  A waitress appears, takes our plates and asks us if we’d like a dessert. Their specials today are hot Italian doughnuts with a dark chocolate sauce and Panino al Gelato Limone. Neither of us fancy a dessert.

  ‘Can we get some drinks through you?’ asks Doug.

  ‘Of course,’ she says, and takes Doug’s order.

  ‘D’you want to get a bottle of wine, too, Mr Beckett?’

  ‘You’ve got to stop calling me that, Doug. Daniel will be fine. Sure.’ I turn to the waitress and smile. I realise I’m feeling rather pissed: last night’s booze is still in my system and I didn’t get to the gym. ‘Could we have a bottle of anything cold, white, fizzy and French, please? Something that doesn’t taste of anything.’

  The waitress flashes us both a megawatt grin and sashays off. I stare absentmindedly at her bottom. I imagine my hands on her hips.

  ‘The other thing was finding your wallet,’ continues Doug. ‘The moment that girl got back to safety, she’d have told someone what had happened. Sheng or someone like him would have sent a little team out to that car park to see if they could find anything. The guys who attacked her don’t know how lucky they were. They must have managed to stagger off to hospital before whoever it was turned up to investigate.’

  ‘So what happens if I fuck up, Doug? Will they try and kill me?’

  ‘Kill you? Oh no. They owe you. They won’t like it, but they owe you. Very honourable in their own way. That girl. Mr Sheng’s grand-niece? Well, maybe. Terms like niece or nephew or uncle or whatever are used a lot more fluidly in Chinese society. Maybe she was the daughter of a relative. Maybe the daughter of an employee or ‘associate’. Who knows? She gets badly assaulted or killed, they’ll waste time on retribution and it fucks up business. Plus, they don’t like women being beaten. I’m saying they. Do I mean we? I feel a bit drunk. Anyway, as far as they know, you put your life at risk. You took on three big tough guys to save the honour of a girl. I mean, we know that was probably a walk in the park carrying a candy floss and a fuckin’ balloon for you, but they don’t.’

  He starts laughing. The waitress places my double vodka and soda and Doug’s Absolut Royal Fuck on the table in front of us. I wish it was the evening. It feels like the evening.

  ‘The girl, Li-Fen, gave me this pack of Chinese candies she’d made,’ I say, pushing the Pret bag across the table. ‘There was a thousand in cash hidden in the bottom.’

  ‘Really? Wow. You could have thrown the box away by accident! That doesn’t surprise me, though. As I said, they won’t like it that they owe you, but that will have taken a bit of the pain away for them, giving you that. It was kind of that was the least they could do at short notice, yeah? They still owe you, though. That’s a big debt there. That girl. Wow. Can I?’

  Doug points to the candies in the Pret bag.

  I nod. ‘Help yourself. So the guy I’ve got to find: twenty-eight years old, good-looking, works out. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. He’s not answering his phone and no one’s in his flat. What would you make of him?’

  ‘What was the word that Sheng used, did you say? A facilitator?’

  ‘That’s right. And he brings about outcomes, whatever the hell that means. Sheng said this guy checked in with him every day without fail.’

  ‘Ah – I might be going on my own prejudices here, you know, but I reckon this guy is probably some sort of enforcer and a senior one at that. If he’d been a victim of some kind of inter-lodge rivalry, they’d have sorted it out themselves. They’d know about it. It would get to them through the grapevine within a matter of hours, if not sooner. They’d get a message saying look what we’ve done to your boy. They have really good communications and have informers everywhere, but, you know, something like that, the other guys would want to brag about it, rub salt in the wound.

  ‘So this is something else. This fellow would be a real hard fuck, you know? The terms change, but they used to call a guy like this a Red Pole. Maybe they still do. A senior enforcer for the clan. A very dangerous man indeed. Someone gets the better of him and it would worry them bigtime. Also, he’d be an expensive asset to lose. The training just for starters, you know? Plus all the stuff he’s got in his head. It could be that he brings in money in some way – collecting payments, stuff like that. Or he goes around doing God knows what to people. Hard to say.’

  Our bottle of wine arrives. The waitress shows the label to Doug, who shrugs slightly and waves a hand to indicate that she should open it. I notice she’s not wearing a bra. I look at the name tag on her shirt. Her name is Machara.

  ‘So he’s gone out of his comfort zone and has somehow got into hot water,’ I say.

  ‘Possible. You can only guess, really. It could be a timing thing. There may be something going on where his presence is vital, so they’ve pulled out all the stops to find out what happened to him. That would include the girl, Miss Chow.’

  I pour us out a glass of wine each. ‘Seems reasonable. So where does Caroline Chow fit into all of this?’

  ‘You know what her name means? Her Chinese name, I mean? It may not be her real name, but I’ll tell you anyway.’ He loosens his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt. ‘Fan Mei. Fan means lethal. Mei means gorgeous. Lethal and gorgeous. Sound about right?’

  ‘Is she a Red Pole, too?’

  ‘Hm. Could be. Could be. Hard to say.’ He tilts his hand from side to side, palm down. ‘You said she sounded like she’d had elocution lessons. Would you say she was Chinese? I mean, would you say she was from China?’

  ‘I really couldn’t tell. You sound like you’re from London. She didn’t sound like you. I heard her speaking Cantonese to Mr Sheng. Sounded pretty authentic to me. But she was accentless when she spoke English. I would say her English was pretty good. Some phrases and words she used were a bit unusual, like it was her second or even third language.’

  ‘I’m just guessing here, but I’ll take a chance and say she’s probably from Hong Kong,’ says Doug. ‘I’m not an expert on all of this. What I know is common knowledge for someone from my background. I don’t know what their position is with women nowadays. I don’t know if they hire from outside the clan, but they did it with you, so…’

  ‘OK. Why is she here?’

  ‘Well, there could be a couple of reasons for her presence. They’ll sometimes bring in people from Hong Kong to sort out disputes between one lodge and another. Someone who’s an objective referee.’ He laughs nervously. ‘That’s a terrible description!’

  He t
akes a big gulp of his wine and coughs. Something’s bothering him.

  ‘But we don’t think that’s what this is, do we?’ I say, watching his face carefully. ‘A dispute? One lodge against another?’

  ‘No, I guess not. I guess not.’ He leans forwards. ‘These are very dangerous people, man. Very dangerous. You can’t imagine. You mustn’t mention me at all. You mustn’t tell them who gave you all this background stuff.’

  ‘They’ll get nothing out of me. You said there could be a couple of reasons for her presence. Sorting out disputes was one. What’s the other one?’

  ‘Don’t think I’m being dramatic. Sometimes they’ll import assassins. Someone who’ll come in, do the job and get the next plane out.’

  I nod my head. ‘OK. You fancy a dessert now?’

  ‘I think I’ll have the doughnuts with the chocolate sauce.’

  7

  CITY OF WILLOWS

  When I get back to Exeter Street, I make a coffee, fire up the computer, lie in a hot bath and try to allow the intelligence I obtained from Doug Teng to embed itself in my brain and turn into something useful and case-solving. But it doesn’t.

  The most interesting thing (to me, anyway), is the fact that Caroline Chow may have been flown in from Hong Kong to deal with whatever happened or didn’t happen to Rikki Tuan. Assassin or not (and I’m keeping an open mind about that), the most likely scenario is that someone assumed he’d got involved in some sort of ‘dispute’ between Mr Sheng’s lodge and another. They may have feared that he’d been kidnapped, murdered or who knows what.

  There must have been some urgency to this, presumably due to Rikki’s importance, because it looks as though Caroline hopped on the next flight over. That is, of course, assuming that Doug’s assessment was correct and she actually is from Hong Kong. This is something I can find out this evening.

  So Caroline gets here and it turns out there’s nothing on the grapevine that suggests Rikki may have got into trouble in the London Chinese sphere, so the best she can do is act as a kind of consultant to me. Well, that’ll certainly be useful as I have absolutely no way into this case at all. Not yet, anyway.

  I get out of the bath, wrap a towel around my waist, make another coffee and sit in front of the computer. I know I should be looking up something, but I’m really not quite sure what. I take Rikki’s photographs out of the envelope and stare at them for a while. After what Doug said, that gym-toned body makes a little more sense. If he beats the crap out of people for a living maybe all the working out isn’t vanity after all.

  I take a closer look at the head and shoulders shot. I look at his eyes. I remember reading something a long time ago about one eye showing you the person behind the mask. Was it the left or right? I place my hand over his left eye and look at the right one. It seems normal – cocky and slightly humorous. When I move my hand and cover the right eye, however, the picture changes. His left eye is cold and utterly without humour. Is this the real Rikki? Is this all bullshit?

  I have a sip of coffee and eat one of Li-Fen’s miniature almond cookies. I type in ‘female Triad assassins’ and look at what comes up. As I suspected, exactly nothing. There are lots of them in movies and computer games, but nothing factual. I didn’t really think that there would be a list with names, addresses and recent photographs, but I thought it would be worth a try.

  I click on ‘images’ to see what comes up. Generally, it’s long-haired, shapely Oriental women in chunky black leather fetish clothing holding samurai swords and black pistols. Well, that ticks some of the boxes, at least.

  I close my eyes and think of Caroline. She certainly seemed fit enough and I remember the outline of a six-pack through the semi-transparent bodysuit she was wearing. But if she is some sort of enforcer, some sort of Red Pole, then I must be seeing her off-duty uniform. She’s much too smartly dressed, way too conspicuous, far too well-groomed. Just those fingernails alone…

  I can’t help myself; I try to imagine what she’d look like naked and the image my brain conjures up is a pleasing one, an exciting one: slim, petite, supple, small-breasted. Somehow I know she’d be a ravenous lover.

  She’s certainly an exquisite-looking woman and despite her confidence and cockiness has a feminine fragility that I’d like to push to its limits. I wonder if her flirtatiousness is genuine or just an act. I wonder what her real agenda is, if she has one. Hopefully, I’ll find out tonight.

  *

  I get to the De Hems pub in Macclesfield Street at around ten past seven. This is across the road from the Moon Tiger Restaurant and I want to, if at all possible, see Caroline arriving for our seven-thirty date. I have to be a little suspicious of her now, and a little bit careful, and I want to see if she arrives alone. I order a vodka and sit by the window.

  I look up at the first floor where we’re meant to be meeting. There’s no sign that this is a restaurant, but there are a couple of circular stickers on the windows with Hanzi characters which I can’t read. They’d be just about visible from the street, but unless you understood what they said you wouldn’t assume there was a restaurant up there.

  There’s a door to the left of the Moon Tiger, which I assume is the way upstairs. This is a three-storey building, though I can’t make out what’s going on in the upper floors. Some have curtains, some don’t. Maybe they’re flats. Actually this would be quite a cool place to live, right on the edge of Chinatown and around the corner from Shaftesbury Avenue. If you liked Chinese food and the theatre you’d be in heaven.

  A bunch of three young guys walk by, all laughing at something and talking animatedly. They keep turning and glancing behind them. One of them falls over his own feet. I take a look at my watch: seven twenty-five. I can somehow guess what they’re looking at.

  She looks fabulous. She’s wearing a bright red ruched mini dress with a plunging V neckline that stops about six inches beneath her breasts and tantalisingly reveals their modest swell. I have no doubt that this was the detail that was getting all the attention from those guys.

  To complete the look, she has on a pair of gold sandals with four inch-heels, a matching gold bangle on her left wrist and a black clutch bag in her right hand. Ostentatious club wear for sure, but it suits her figure and her style. I take a look from left to right. A lot of people are looking at her, but it doesn’t seem as if she has any company, intentional or otherwise.

  She approaches the door next to the restaurant on the ground floor and presses a button. I can hear the buzz that lets her in from here. I don’t want to keep her waiting, so I finish off my drink and go outside. I stand on the street for about thirty seconds, seeing if anything or anyone catches my attention. Nothing. I cross over the road, walk up to the door and press the button.

  Once I’m inside, I take the stairs two at a time until I’m facing another door. There’s a discreet sign in the centre, reading: ‘City of Willows Authentic Chinese Cuisine. Please ring bell for entry.’ I ring and I’m buzzed in. This place is obviously exclusive enough for them not to want clientele wandering in off the street.

  I’d somehow expected the décor to be redolent of a Chinese restaurant, but I’m faced with a new-looking, minimalist, modern cocktail bar that looks like most of the upmarket ones in central London, with pinpoint lights aimed at the multitude of bottles at the back. There’s a door to the left which presumably leads into the restaurant.

  Caroline is sitting at the bar. When she sees me she smiles, gets up, puts her hands on my shoulders and we quickly kiss each other’s cheeks as if we’re not whatever we both are. As if we’re a normal couple on a date or something conventional like that. She’s wearing a different perfume from this morning. I don’t recognise it, but it’s explosively sensual: tangerine, musk, vanilla and that’s just for starters. It’s simultaneously intoxicating and unsettling. It’s one of the many smells you want coming from a woman when you’re making love to her.

  ‘You look great, Miss Chow.’

  ‘You don’t look so bad yours
elf, Mr Beckett. Shall we order some drinks?’

  We sit at the bar. I take a look at the cocktail menu and decide I’ll have a Moscow Mule, just for the hell of it. Caroline orders a Revolver. The barman smiles: he can’t take his eyes off her, though he’s trying very, very hard. I admire his restraint.

  ‘I’ve got to ask you – what’s that perfume you’re wearing?’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘It’s extraordinary.’

  ‘Musc Ravageur. Made by Maurice Roucel.’ She grins mischievously. ‘You think it makes me sexy and mysterious?’

  ‘Without a doubt.’

  In fact, it makes me want to grab her and take her right now, but I’m too civilised for that sort of thing. A portly besuited Chinese guy of about sixty walks over, rubbing his hands together. He says something in Cantonese to Caroline, who fires something back at him in the same language, while pointing at me. I can tell she’s turned on the charm and flashes him her prettiest smile. I hear the word ‘Sheng’. He looks suddenly serious and replies in hushed tones. He bows at me and shakes my hand.

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you, sir. I hope you will enjoying your evening here with us and will enjoy our food.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure I will.’

  I wait until he disappears into the restaurant before speaking to Caroline again.

  ‘What was all that about?’

  ‘That was Mr Huang. He owns The City of Willows. He said you will always be welcome in his restaurant and you will never have to pay as long as you live.’

  ‘Because of…’

  ‘Yes.’

  She turns around on her seat to face me, crossing her legs. In a mini dress like that the effect is stimulating, to put it mildly. I try to avert my gaze from her well-toned legs but end up staring at her cleavage. She notices, tilts her head downwards and flashes me a coy smile, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.