Femme Fatale Page 7

  ‘So. Have you got a girlfriend, Daniel?’

  ‘Me? No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Too busy. What about you, Caroline? Boyfriend?’

  She actually blushes. ‘No. No boyfriend. Too much work. Like you.’ She leans forwards so her mouth is about six inches from my ear and whispers. ‘As we are on a date, you can put your hand on my leg, if you like.’

  I almost laugh, about the same time as I’m wondering which planet she’s from. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  I rest my right hand on her thigh, about six inches up from her knee. Her skin is soft, and goose-pimples as soon as I touch it. She wriggles with pleasure and takes a sip from her cocktail.

  ‘This is what I call a proper date,’ she says. ‘Sipping cocktails while a good-looking guy has his hand on my leg. Say things to me like you would normally say to a girl when you were on a date.’

  This time, I can’t prevent myself from laughing. ‘Let me think.’ I look into her eyes with mock sincerity. ‘Caroline, you’re almost certainly the most beautiful woman in this bar.’

  This gets a laugh and as an added extra I get punched in the shoulder. But I notice she’s blushing again. I like her. She’s a cutie. ‘That’s no good! We are the only people in this bar!’ she says. ‘What sort of love-talk is that?’

  ‘Is it always this quiet here?’

  ‘It’s very quiet this evening. I made sure of it.’

  Just as I’m about to get her to elaborate, Mr Huang appears from somewhere. ‘Mr Beckett, Miss Chow. Your table is ready. Please come with me, and I hope you will have a delightful evening, the both of you.’

  I finish my drink and we follow him into the dining area, with me resting my hand on the small of Caroline’s back. There’s a long zip at the back of her dress which I visualise slowly pulling down. I can’t say I’m that surprised to discover that we’re the only patrons. The restaurant area is bigger than you might expect. I assume it must have expanded from Macclesfield Street into one of the adjacent buildings on Shaftesbury Avenue.

  Like the bar, it’s slick and modern, with dark Charles Rennie Mackintosh-inspired furniture and IKB/Ultramarine backlighting on the walls and ceiling. The only concession to Chinese culture is a row of three big red ceramic pots next to one of the walls, each with a different pictogram etched in white. Inside each of the pots is a scattering of tall, dried, black bamboo canes. There’s a saltwater aquarium at the back of the room and I can spot Black Longspine sea urchins, a dazzling variety of multi-coloured fish and a couple of blue starfish clamped to the side.

  Mr Huang directs us to a half circle booth set for two on the right-hand side of the room. We sit opposite each other. The curved sofa seat is in black leather and smells new. A smiling waiter materialises from somewhere and hands us the wine menu. Caroline takes a quick look and points to a two-hundred-pound bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal Brut.

  ‘Is this nice?’

  ‘OK if you like fizzy and expensive.’

  ‘Two bottles?’

  ‘Sure. What are you having?’

  ‘Oh!’ she giggles. ‘You are terrible.’

  ‘You have no idea.’

  I take a look at the food menu. Despite a long history of eating Chinese cuisine of varying quality, nothing on here is familiar to me. ‘I’ve never eaten Chinese food like this, Caroline. I’ll put myself in your hands.’

  ‘You want me to decide for both of us? I am so honoured. I will make sure you have the best.’

  She scans the menu and another waiter appears and stands by our table. Caroline speaks to him in rapid Cantonese while pointing at the menu. He nods and rolls his eyes in obvious appreciation of what she’s ordering, whatever it is.

  ‘So what are we having?’

  ‘I have ordered two starters which we can share. Pork stuffed snail shells with lemongrass and mushroom and chili corn cakes on one plate and chrysanthemum soup buns stuffed with thick crab soup, sprinkled with Chinese crystal sugar and powdered star anise on the other.’

  ‘And that’s just the starter?’

  She laughs. ‘You just wait. I’ve ordered two main courses, but we can split them between us, so we can both try a little bit of everything. It is what lovers do on a date.’

  ‘Are we lovers?’

  ‘I think we are already lovers, Daniel. As my grandmother used to say – it is in the stars.’

  ‘So what have you ordered?’

  ‘Steamed whole sea bass with siu haau sauce and sliced sea cucumber. Also goose with ginger and black fungus with four spice. There will be bowls of rice, three types of noodle and various vegetable. It will be too much for the both of us, but that is part of the fun.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  Our champagne arrives and the waiter pours us a glass each. Now to work.

  ‘So where are you from, Caroline?’

  There’s a miniscule pause before she answers, but it’s enough to tell me that she’s just checked herself.

  ‘I’m from Guangdong originally, Qingcheng district, but my family moved around because of my father’s work. We lived further north for a few years, in Zhengzhou, but then finally settled in Hong Kong. You like this dress, Daniel?’

  ‘It looks great. I still don’t believe you’re not a model.’

  She laughs and waves both hands at her chest. ‘You don’t think it’s too much as I’m not wearing a bra? This is one of those dresses where a bra would not work. It would look ridiculous, I think. I looked at myself in the mirror for an age before I came out. I wasn’t sure if it was too much, too impudent. I wasn’t sure if I was showing too much of my breasts. But then I decided it was OK. And anyway, I wanted to look sexy for you as we were going on a date.’

  ‘You do look sexy. You speak excellent English. Almost completely accentless. Most people in this country would find learning any of the Chinese dialects much too difficult.’

  ‘Oh yeah, well we all have lessons in English when we’re in school. I was pretty good at it. I was usually top of my class. Can I ask you something? Do you think my breasts are too small?’

  So this is how it’s going to go. I ask a question, she deflects it with some pre-prepared answer, then changes the subject to her breasts. She’s almost as cagey as me.

  ‘Too small? No.’

  ‘I thought all western guys like girls with big boobs.’

  ‘Size isn’t important.’

  ‘Mine aren’t too big, but they’re a good shape. They are a sexy shape. I know they are.’

  My mouth is dry, so I sip some champagne.

  Thankfully, the starters arrive and we eat in silence for a few minutes. The food is delicious. The chili corn cakes have a lethal spicy bite when they’re first in your mouth, but it soon disappears. Now’s the time to press her on the information she’s meant to be giving me.

  ‘Caroline – I’ve got to ask you some questions about Rikki Tuan.’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead. That what Mr Sheng said you should do. I am here to help.’

  I wait until she looks up so I can make eye contact with her. ‘What’s his job?’

  She looks away. ‘Oh, he does a lot of different things.’

  ‘Yes. I heard that from Mr Sheng. He called him a facilitator: someone who brings about outcomes. He called him an employee and then he called him an associate.’

  ‘Yeah. OK. Those sound about right.’ She drinks half a glass of her champagne and scoops out some of the pork/lemongrass/mushroom mix from a snail shell. ‘These are delicious, don’t you think?’

  ‘They’re marvellous. Listen, Caroline. I take it that you want to find Rikki, yes? It’s important to Mr Sheng and it’s important to you.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s important to me?’

  ‘I just know it is. I don’t know why and I don’t expect you to tell me. Unless you want to, that is. Let’s make an assumption. Rikki’s in trouble. It’s unusual for him to go missing like this. Something may have h
appened to him. He may be alive or he may be dead.’

  At the latter suggestion, she stops chewing and looks up, pushing the long black hair away from her face.

  ‘If I knew what it was he did for a living, it will give me an idea of the sort of people I might be encountering. If, for example, Rikki was the sort of guy that could look after himself, we might be looking for people who were bigger and tougher than he is. Or was. People who are more dangerous. You’ve got to be straight with me. All this prevarication isn’t helping anyone. It certainly won’t be helping Rikki.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Is Rikki a Triad enforcer?’

  She raises her eyebrows and smiles, though I can tell it’s difficult for her. ‘Was it that obvious to you? All of it?’

  ‘Yes it was,’ I lie. I’m certainly not going to tell her about my boozy tutorial with Doug Teng. She cuts a slice off one of the soup buns and chews for a while. She takes a few, rapid sips of champagne. I’m assuming that Mr Sheng told her to come clean if I asked.

  ‘My suspicion is,’ I continue, ‘that Rikki is a Red Pole, or something similar. Tell me what he did.’

  ‘I’ve never worked with him,’ she says, as if we’re talking about one of her colleagues in the theatre. ‘But I know what he was like. I know how he practised his work, I mean. He worked for Mr Sheng. I’m sure it won’t be giving too much away if I tell you that Mr Sheng is a Mountain Master. Do you know that term? Dragon Head is another term. That’s like the head of the gang, if you want to call it that. The head of the lodge. A Red Pole oversees other enforcers; at least that’s what usually happens. Rikki Tuan was a little different. He could have taken a back seat, but he enjoyed the work. He didn’t delegate as much as others do. He was hands on, if that’s the correct phrase. He loved it.’

  ‘Give me an example. Tell me about one of the jobs that Rikki involved himself in. Change the names and locations if you wish.’

  She glances at the pots of bamboo canes, as if she hadn’t noticed them before, and licks her lips. ‘Is this confidential like a priest or something? A doctor?’ she says. She’s smiling. For a second she’s back to her laughing, flirty self.

  ‘Of course it is. Believe me, there’s no one I can tell any of this to.’

  ‘About two years ago a rival lodge got into a dispute with Mr Sheng. They were mainly guys who came over from Hong Kong in the nineties. They were cocky. There’s a huge Triad-run counterfeiting industry going on in London. Did you know? Bank notes. Never coins. They were mainly involved with human trafficking at the time, so this was a new thing for them. They were greedy. Their boss had a meeting with Mr Sheng which Mr Sheng found very impolite.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Rikki paid them a visit with two of his lieutenants. Their boss had nine bodyguards with him in this place up near Barnet. You know Barnet? Rikki was very traditional. He liked to use the meat cleaver, but also carried a thirteen-inch combat hunting knife. Razor sharp. He and his guys broke into this place in the early hours of the morning. They hacked all the bodyguards and seven or eight other people to pieces in about five minutes. Then Rikki got hold of the boss. While the boss was still alive, Rikki used his hunting knife to carve all the skin off this guy’s head and stuff it down his throat. He kind of made him eat his own face. I don’t think he lasted too long, though. Blood loss. Shock. Whatever.’

  ‘Brings a new meaning to losing face.’

  She looks at me in astonishment for a second and then bursts out laughing. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. I must remember that.’

  ‘So this was a kind of message, was it?’

  ‘Oh yeah. A big meaningful message. You didn’t used to be a policeman, did you?’

  ‘No. So Rikki wasn’t the sort of person you messed with, to put it mildly.’

  ‘Yeah. I guess that’s true. Shall I get the waiter to clear our stuff away so we can get onto the main course?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She raises a hand and a waiter materialises instantly. I can’t work out where they’re coming from. I get an image in my head of Rikki carving the Sunday roast. I bet he’d be really good at it.

  8

  HOT DATE

  Well, that’s certainly given me a useful bit of background on Chan ‘Rikki’ Tuan. Perhaps a little more than I’d like to have heard. I think I can say with a fair amount of accuracy that Rikki is a dangerous psychopath. I look at Caroline’s face while the waiter clears away our plates and tidies the table. Is she involved in that type of violence, I wonder? I’m not going to press her about her position or function in all of this. Not yet, at least.

  The waiter places the sea bass and goose dishes in the centre of the table, while his colleague arranges the auxiliary dishes around it. We’re given sets of fresh chopsticks and fresh plates. The sea cucumber is cut in such a way that it resembles sliced aubergine. Caroline pours the last of the champagne and it’s instantly replaced with a fresh bottle in a fresh ice bucket. We spend about five minutes working out what is what and how much to put on each of our plates. Caroline does most of the work. She keeps looking up at me and smiling as she fills my plate. From what I can tell, she’s genuinely enjoying herself.

  It was worth the wait. This is certainly one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever eaten. The main courses are mouth-watering, but the sea cucumber is also surprisingly tasty. I’d seen this in the Chinese supermarkets in Gerard Street, but had no idea what to do with it. It isn’t too gelatinous and has been cooked with ginger and some other spices which I don’t recognise.

  Caroline looks up at me and smiles. ‘Good?’

  ‘It’s incredible. Really tasty. You made some fantastic choices here.’

  ‘Am I a hot date? Is that the phrase?’

  ‘Yeah. You’re a hot date alright.’

  She opens her clutch bag and pulls out a key ring. The charm attached to it is a gold pineapple wearing sunglasses. There’s a Yale and a mortice key attached, plus a car key and what looks like a safe box key. She places it next to my champagne glass.

  ‘Those are the keys to Rikki’s flat.’

  ‘Mr Sheng’s already given me one.’

  She shakes her head. ‘Did he give you the address?’

  ‘Thirty-two Slade Court, Great Titchfield Street. A little north of Oxford Street.’

  ‘That is not the address you want. Have you got a good memory? I’ll tell you the address.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Flat twenty-one, Fifth Floor, Frampton House, Ebury Street, London SW1. Got it?’

  ‘Belgravia.’

  ‘Yeah. A little more upmarket than Great Titchfield Street, huh?’

  ‘Why has he got two flats?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated. The W1 address is kind of owned by Mr Sheng. It kind of comes with the job. It’s fine for what it is, but maybe a bit workaday. Rikki didn’t want to tell Mr Sheng that it was not much to his taste, so he rents the Belgravia flat without anyone knowing.’

  ‘But you know.’

  She shrugs. ‘Well, it’s not a complete secret. Just from Mr Sheng and some of the senior people. It’s not a big thing. He just doesn’t like to offend them. If Rikki’s needed urgently he can still get to wherever it is pretty quickly. He just didn’t want to hurt Mr Sheng’s feelings.’

  ‘OK. Why does he need the place in Belgravia?’

  She chews a mouthful of the sea bass and shrugs a couple of times. She keeps glancing at the bamboo canes. I’m just going to take her away from the subject for a moment: give her time to relax. I don’t know why, but I sense this is all very stressful for her and I don’t want to spoil her evening, ridiculous as that might seem.

  ‘Those pots with the bamboo canes – what do those pictograms say?’

  She smiles. ‘From left to right? Good fortune, serenity and happiness. What do you think of the sea cucumber?’

  ‘It’s great. I’ve never had it before.’

  ‘Some people don’t like the texture.’
She takes a sip of champagne. ‘I’ve always liked it. There isn’t much taste, you know? On its own, I mean. But a skilled chef can work magic with spices and turn it into something really special. It’s very difficult to cook.’

  I can’t stop ogling her breasts. I wonder what it would be like to stroke those long arms. I can feel my mouth starting to water. I must seek help before it’s too late. She can tell where I’m looking and smiles to herself, closing her eyes briefly, as if giving me permission to stare for a little longer. I stare for a little longer, then I bring us back to the topic in hand, if I can remember what it is.

  ‘Mr Sheng told me that Rikki was enamoured of western ways. I got the impression that he was nonplussed with this.’

  ‘Rikki has a whole social world going for himself outside the Chinese community and outside his work. He hangs ’round with some crazy people. Not bad crazy people, just outlandish people, fashionable people, artistic people. All gweilo. They don’t know what he does. They have an idea he’s involved in crime, I guess, and I think that makes him interesting to them and a little exciting, but they have no idea what he is and what he gets up to. They just like him. He makes light of it. He can be very funny when he wants to be, very witty. Always makes you laugh if he’s in the mood. He can be the life and soul of the party. He’s a whimsical guy.’

  When he’s not busy hacking people to death with a meat cleaver or feeding someone their face. Well, at least I’m building up a picture of him, which is more than I had this morning.

  ‘And this flat in Belgravia is to entertain those people, those friends?’

  ‘Very good. Yeah. He wants to make an impression, I guess. It’s a much more expensive place, as I’m sure you’ve realised. He’s had it for about a year now. He didn’t talk about it much, but he did tell me that some of his friends found it difficult to park near Great Titchfield Street.’

  ‘Have you ever been there? Ebury Street, I mean?’

  ‘No. It’s just for him to hang out with his friends. He’s a great cook, you know? He likes to hold dinner parties. He likes cooking Thai and Italian. Indian sometimes. He’s good at it all.’