Casanova (24 page)

I heard spoken Cantonese again and turned my head. Two men stood watching me. I recognised their faces from the pictures. They were Missouri’s men. The bigger man was the Red Pole from the casino meeting and the other man, with a scar through his eyebrow, was from the pictures of the boy leaving the house and getting into the Mercedes. I turned away and concentrated on my surroundings. I very quickly focused my mind. Coming round, roped to a chair with a couple of gorilla triads for company will do that to a man. I searched for an escape. There wasn’t one.

The room was underground. It didn’t have any windows. The air was stale and hot. It was a small cellar with a concrete floor and a low ceiling. In one corner was a boiler. The furnace glowed orange as it hungrily ate the gas. The only exit was a door in the opposite corner, accessed by a flight of narrow wooden steps. The light came from a single bulb hanging at the top of the steps far enough in from the door to allow it to open inwards. I noted all these facts in the time it took the Red Pole to walk over to me and ask, ‘where the girl, where Mosquito?’

That wasn’t what I expected. I hid my surprise. I was still trying to work out what had happened.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t she in the supermarket?’

Judging by his ugly frown, it wasn’t what he expected either. Either that or he didn’t understand me. We must have both looked confused because the smaller man then intervened.

‘Where Mosquito?’ he said.

He had a worse accent than his friend did. By way of impressing me with the importance of his question, he produced a large knife, which he pointed at my chest. I wondered if it was the same knife recently employed in cutting a deep triangle in Vong’s chest. The thought didn’t please me. He pushed the knifepoint against the bruise on my abdomen. I felt the skin break and saw my blood well up.

‘You tell,’ he said with badly pronounced menace.

I’d never been tortured before. I’d seen the aftermath, though; dead bodies, tethered and bloodied, their faces set in a grim death mask of agony and fear. Some that had died during torture, others with a single bullet wound to the head, given after they had broken and talked. I realised one of those two outcomes could easily become my fate.

Did I still have my K106? Then I remembered one of the men taking it from my jacket pocket in the supermarket. Who had been calling me? Had they brought it with them?

I stayed silent and stared him out. He pulled his knife away in frustration. The two men spoke together in Cantonese. I tested my ropes. They were too tight. They held me fast. My two captors finished their discussion and the older man went up the steps to the door. I tried to see out but his body blocked my view. I heard him speak to someone. There was a pause while he waited, and then he turned back into the room and behind him appeared a girl. She was about twelve years old. She entered apprehensively. The heavy door closed behind her. She looked up at the triad. He spoke to her in Cantonese for a minute or so, and then they both descended the steps. She looked at me and then looked away. The man spoke abruptly to her. With resignation, she looked back at me and she said, ‘They want to know where they can find the woman. She is known by the name Mosquito.’ Her English was almost flawless.

‘Is their English so bad that they need an interpreter?’ I asked.

She hesitated. Her eyes stayed fixed on my face, and then she nodded.

‘If you tell them and they find her they will release you,’ she said. ‘If not...’ Her voice trailed away. She didn’t want to say it.

I said it for her. ‘If not...they’ll torture me until I do tell them.’

The girl nodded. I could see she didn’t like being there. The younger triad spoke to her in Cantonese. She listened and then nodded.

‘Do not think anyone knows where you are,’ she said. ‘Your satellite phone has been destroyed. No one is tracking you. No one is coming to rescue you.’

I feared she was right. I just nodded.

The older triad spoke to her. She listened. She looked at me again and asked, ‘Will you tell them?’

I smiled at her.

‘What would you do?’ I asked.

Her eyes turned cold at the thought. I didn’t get an answer.

There must be as many ways to cause another person pain as there are imaginations to think them up. Fortunately, I didn’t have much of an imagination.

The older triad had forced the girl to ask me the question for a second time. She was waiting for my answer. We were all waiting for my answer.

‘Mosquito is staying in a hotel,’ I said.

The girl’s shoulders eased. She relayed what I had said in Cantonese to the two men.

‘There’s a problem though,’ I said.

‘What?’ she asked, with a frown that pushed her eyes almost closed.

‘She will know something has happened to me. That means she won’t return to the hotel, which means I don’t know where she is.’

The girl hesitated before translating. It was the older triad who replied.

‘He says to tell them the name of the hotel and the room number,’ she said and paused before adding, ‘and to pray they find her.’

I was sure Xing wouldn’t be at the hotel, so all it was going to do was buy me some time. If she was there...well, it wouldn’t be a fair fight, unless these two took a SWAT team with them, and even then I’d still bet on Xing. I didn’t have many choices. I could have given them the wrong information, but I didn’t. The girl was genuinely relieved. The two men showed no emotion. The older triad pushed the girl up the steps and the three of them left. I heard the key turn in the lock.

I was alone.

I pulled against the ropes again, trying to free myself but I couldn’t. I had to get out of that chair before they came back or I may never get out of it. My abdomen felt like an invisible fist was continually punching it and my throat was drier than a camel’s hoof. I ignored my physical discomforts and forced myself to focus. It was hot in the small room. I was sweating despite not wearing a shirt. I looked at the furnace and the gas flame glowed orange.

Then I had an idea.

I tested the chair. Fortunately, nothing fixed it to the floor. With difficulty, I managed to use my body weight to make gradual movements towards the boiler. The legs scraped over the rough concrete. I bucked and struggled. The wooden chair creaked and moved little by little. The temperature increased and sweat ran down my face. The furnace had a glass cover. To get to the flame I needed to open it. A catch held the glass cover closed. While I considered this problem, I began to doubt my plan to burn through the ropes was going to work. By positioning the chair and rocking it violently it was possible to hit the catch with the chair back. The catch spun free and the cover opened. The heat was extreme. I moved closer and lent over so the ropes angled towards the flame. I wanted it to work, but realised it was impossible. To burn through the ropes required an unworkable position, and anyway I couldn’t do it without burning myself at the same time. I bucked at the chair and moved away from the heat. For a moment I felt despair. My head fell. Then I forced myself to look up. I was determined to find another way.

It was then I heard the key turn in the lock. They couldn’t be back already, could they? The door opened inwards, just a few inches. Through the crack, I saw two small eyes staring at me. It was the girl. My hope lifted. I did my best to throw her a smile. The door didn’t open any further. I waited.

‘Hello,’ I said.

She didn’t move.

‘Hello,’ I repeated. I watched her eyes. They held many emotions.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. I saw the regret and then she closed the door and turned the key. She was gone.

I felt a wave of frustration. It turned to anger and the rage became physical. I bucked and rampaged in the chair. It was while my muscles were pumping like a sprinter chasing gold that I felt it. The chair creaked loudly and its structural integrity weakened significantly. Again, I had hope. The wooden chair joints could be broken. Perhaps there was a
Made in Hong Kong
sticker on it somewhere? I maintained my frenzied rocking, back and forth, back and forth. The chair continued to weaken but it didn’t break. I tested the ropes. They had loosened but not enough. I needed the help of something strong and solid. I forced the chair backwards until I was against the wall. While keeping my head forward, out of the way, I tipped the chair onto its back legs and then using my body weight, slammed the chair back against the wall. I repeated it several times. My only concern was the noise. Would it attract attention? I couldn’t worry about that. I kept doing it. After five or six more times it worked. The dovetail joints snapped, the chair back broke and the rope slackened enough for me to free myself.

I stood up and felt the elation of relief. It went away. I still had to escape the room and then the building, a building of which I had no knowledge. One-step at a time, first the room.

What time was it? They had taken my watch, the one Xing bought for me. I wanted it to be late enough for it to be dark. It could aid my escape.

I went up the wooden steps to the door. Good, the key was still in the lock. I couldn’t see much through the keyhole, as it was too dark. I found a thin splinter of wood from the broken chair and a rag from beside the boiler. It was a trick I’d seen done as a boy. The gap beneath the door was just enough. I flattened the rag and fed it through beneath the door ensuring I had positioned it correctly. Then, using the splinter of wood, I pushed the key out. It fell with a clonk and landed on the rag. I pulled the rag back in and picked up the key.

I was out of the boiler room. Next came the building. I wondered what building it was. I opened the boiler room door carefully; just enough to squeeze through and then I listened. It was dark. I was in what seemed to be a laundry room. It smelt of washing detergent, and a tumble dryer was humming in the corner. I closed and locked the door behind me. The more time I got the better. My eyes adjusted to the gloom, and I continued to listen. There was a window. It looked out onto a walled courtyard. A lock secured the window fast. I couldn’t see a key and I wondered whether it was alarmed. I decided to leave it and go to the door in the far wall instead. The handle turned, it was unlocked. I carefully peered through the crack. It led to a short hallway that opened onto a big L-shaped kitchen. The lights above the counters were on and it had the warm feel of an expensive home. I waited and listened. The kitchen must have an outside door, I thought. I went silently to the turn and then froze. Somebody was there. I heard a man’s voice. I dropped below the counter top and stole a glance. Sitting at a round kitchen table were two men. A light hung down above their heads. They were playing cards. I recognised one of them, and then I realised where I was. I was in Missouri’s house.

I didn’t have enough time, in that moment, to consider why Missouri had had me brought to his house instead of a deserted warehouse somewhere or an empty lock-up near the docks. Perhaps the way he saw the threat to his life had made him so nervous he only felt safe when he kept things close. There wasn’t anywhere closer than home.

The man sitting at the kitchen table playing cards, the one I’d recognised was Erico the donkey. He was still wearing his baseball cap. The other man I didn’t know but I’d lay odds he was one of Missouri’s hard men. He had hands that made the cards look tiny.

I briefly considered rushing them, even though I thought they would have guns. I wasn’t worried about overpowering them, but I was worried about the unknown. Who else was in the house? How many other men might there be? The noise could bring them running, and I wanted to escape, not find myself in a fight for my life.

I left them to their card game and returned to the laundry room. After all, it was only a few hours since a rubber bullet had hit me. Steel no doubt, but flesh and blood and all that. Anyway, a tactful retreat followed by a discreet escape was the clever play.

Back inside the laundry room, the dryer was still tumbling. I returned to the window. It was my only way out. First, though, I had to overcome the lock. The frame was sturdy, the large sealed unit probably toughened and the lock itself housed a deadbolt that sank deep beneath the sill. Without the key I was stuck. I reconsidered my options. There was only one. I went back to the kitchen.