A Lotus For Miss Quon (20 page)

Jaffe raised the barrel of his gun, keeping the gun down by his side so the approaching man couldn't see it against the skyline, and when Khun was within five yards of him, he gently squeezed the trigger.

The firing pin came down on the cap, making a loud click, but the gun didn't fire. The three-year-old cartridge had betrayed Jaffe in his most urgent need.

Khun heard the sound and jumped aside, his breath whistling out of his open mouth. He saw a vast shape rise off the ground and come towards him in a lunging dive and he fired blindly.

The bullet scraped Jaffe's arm. He felt the burning pain but it didn't check his dive. Khun had no chance to fire directly at him again. Jaffe's arms encircled his bony legs and his shoulder thudded into his groin. Khun felt as if he had been charged by a bull. IIe felt himself being flung up in the air and he pulled the trigger of his gun, the bullet whizzing into the night sky, the flash of the gun momentarily blinding Jaffe.

The two men crashed down on the grass. The gun flew out of Khun's hand. He screamed out in terror as he felt an agonizing pain sweep through him. Jaffe struck him on the side of his head with his clenched fist and the little man, hopelessly outmatched, jerked upwards and then fell back ]imply.

Jaffe knelt over him, breathing heavily. His hands rested lightly on Khun's throat, ready to nip back a second scream. Khun mumbled something in Vietnamese which Jaffe couldn't understand. Then from his throat came a curious dry rattling sound, like the rustle of dry leaves. The sound made Jaffe's hair stand on end. Khun's head flopped sideways, and Jaffe knew he was dead.

He remained kneeling over the little man for some minutes too stunned to move, then finally he made an effort and stood up.

Another one dead! he thought. These little people are as brittle as matchsticks. I guess I must have broken his spine. Well, at least, this was in self defence. If I hadn't gone for him, he would have killed me.

Now what was he going to do? he asked himself. If they found this little man's body here, they might set a trap at the temple. Blackie was coming back the day after tomorrow. He would have to move him.

Walking stiffly, his mind jumping with alarm, he went back to his bicycle. He groped around for several seconds before he found his gun. He shoved it into his hip-pocket. The gun was no good, he told himself. It had been just luck that it had fired the first time. He couldn't trust it any more.

He straightened his bicycle and wheeled it over to where Khun lay. Without much trouble, he hoisted the dead man over his shoulder, then wheeling his machine, he started across the rough grass towards the main road.

Just before he reached the road, he came upon Khun's bicycle. He couldn't leave it where it was. Balancing the dead man over his shoulder, he started off again, wheeling the two machines, holding them in either hand. When he reached the road, he got on his bicycle and steering the other, he pedalled off down the road.

I only need to run into someone, he thought. That's all it needs to round off a hell of a lousy night.

But he didn't run into anyone. And after riding four or five miles, he dumped Khun's body in a ditch and the bicycle on top of him.

Before leaving, he took Khun's gun and cartridge belt.

As he rode back to Thudaumot, he hoped the police would think the little man's death was yet another Viet Minh outrage.

There was no movement in the street. Three rickshaws stood nearby along the kerb. The three rickshaw boys were sleeping in their vehicles. The neon lights that plastered the front of the club were out. They went out every night exactly at twelve. Looking up at the dark building, Blackie smiled to himself. In Hong Kong those lights would blaze until the early hours of the morning. There was no crippling curfew in Hong Kong.

He started towards the club, then paused as he saw a shadowy figure rise up out of a dark doorway and come towards him. He recognized the hard Mexican hat that Yo-Yo always wore and he frowned impatiently.

Yo-Yo sidled up to him."

"Good evening, Mr. Blackie," he said. "I wanted to speak to you."

"Some other time," Blackie said curtly. "It's late. See me tomorrow," and he walked across to the entrance of the club and fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

Yo-Yo followed him.

"It won't wait until tomorrow, Mr. Blackie. I wanted your advice. It's about the American, Jaffe."

Blackie restrained a start of alarm with an effort. His agile mind worked swiftly. What a fool he had been! He had for-gotten he had sent Yo-Yo to follow Nhan. This little rat knew where Jaffe was hiding! He must have read about the reward in the newspapers.

"Jaffe?" he said, looking over his shoulder at Yo-Yo, his fat face expressionless. "Who's Jaffe?"

"The American who was kidnapped, Mr. Blackie," Yo-Yo said, a derisive sneer in his voice.

Blackie hesitated, then he said, "You'd better come up," and he waved Yo-Yo to goon ahead.

As Blackie followed him up the stairs, his elation left him. If this little rat has put two and two together, he thought, and made it four, he can ruin the whole of our plans.

There was only one light on in the dance hall. It was over the cash desk where Yu-Ian was checking the cash. The desk was covered with money. She glanced up as the two men came in. Her head jerked up when she saw Yo-Yo.

Blackie didn't say anything to her. He continued across the floor to his office, followed by Yo-Yo who had paused for a moment to stare at the money on the desk.

In his office, Blackie sat down behind his desk. Yo-Yo stood in front of the desk, chewing on the thin leather strap that hung from his hat.

"Well? What is it?" Blackie said.

"They're offering 20,000 piastres for information about the American," Yo-Yo said. "I know he hasn't been kidnapped and I know where he is. I thought I'd better talk to you first before I claim the reward."

"What makes you think it's anything to do with me?" Yo-Yo picked at a food stain on his coat.

"Isn't it?" he said, not looking at Blackie. "He's the man I saw in the villa at Thudaumot. The man Nhan visited."

"How do you know?"

Yo-Yo looked up and his thick lips parted in a sneering grin.

"I know, Mr. Blackie. I thought I'd come to you first. You've always been good to me. I didn't want to get you into any trouble."

Blackie breathed heavily through his wide nostrils. He felt a cold clutch of fear at his heart, but his face remained expressionless.

"Why should I get into trouble?"

To give himself time to think, Blackie lit a cigarette. As he flicked out the match, he said, "It would be better if you didn't go to the police. I'm thinking of the girl. I don't let any of my girls get into trouble if I can help it."

Yo-Yo's grin widened.

"I know that, Mr. Blackie."

"Well, okay. You keep away from the police. Just keep quiet about this. Police informers aren't popular around here."

Yo-Yo nodded.

There was a pause, then Blackie went on, "It's time you settled down to a job of work. Come and see me tomorrow. I'll find something for you: something good," and he made a little flicking movement of dismissal.

Yo-Yo didn't move.

"How about the reward, Mr. Blackie?"

I'll have to give him the money, Blackie thought, but it won't stop there. As soon as he has spent it, he'll be back for more. I've got this little rat on my back now.

"The police won't pay you," he said. "They'll listen to you, but they won't pay you. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

"I think they would, Mr. Blackie," Yo-Yo said and a hard note came into his voice. "I want 20,000 piastres."

Blackie looked at him for a long moment, then he got to his feet.

"Wait here," he said, "and keep your hands off my things."

He went out closing the door after him. He crossed to a door leading to his living-quarters at the back of the club, ignoring Yu-lan who was looking anxiously at him from across the hall. He went to Charlie's bedroom and entered.

There was a flickering nightlight under a large photograph of Blackie's and Charlie's father that stood on a shelf on the wall. The nightlight provided enough light for

Blackie to see his brother sleeping in the bunk across the room.

As Blackie shut the door, Charlie opened his eyes and sat up.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

Quietly Blackie told him of his meeting with Jaffe.

"He has the diamonds," he said. "He has given me one more."

Charlie held out his hand and Blackie gave the screw of paper containing the diamond. Charlie examined the stone and nodded.

"This is another of mine," he said. "He agrees to the price?"

Yes."

"I fly to Phnom-Penh tomorrow morning."

"There is a complication," Blackie said and told Charlie about Yo-Yo.

"These things happen," Charlie said philosophically. "You must pay him. He'll come back for more, of course. When we have the diamonds we may have to do something about him, but not until we have the diamonds."

"That's what I thought. All right, I'll pay him."

"Do you think he'll go to the police after you have paid him? He might be tempted to try for the reward as well."

"No, he won't do that," Blackie said. "The police know too much about him. I don't think they would give him anything: he knows that as well as I do."

Charlie nodded. Then pay him."

As soon as she had got her three brothers off to school and before her uncle had got out of bed, she took a
pousse-pousse
to the Tomb of Marshal Le-van-Duyet. At the entrance she bought an assortment of vegetables and fruit as gift offerings. She entered the Temple and laid her gifts among the other gifts already on the long table.

She knelt and prayed for some time, and then calmer in mind, she bought two candles, lit them and fixed them to the already overcrowded candle rack.

Then kneeling, she picked up a quiver containing a number of strips of thin wood, each strip bearing a number. Very gently and carefully she began to shake the quiver in both hands until one strip of wood toppled out and fell on the stone floor. She looked at the number and noted it was 16. She went over to a numbered rack on the wall and drew from a pigeon-hole numbered 16 a strip of pink paper.

She took this strip of paper to an old man who was sitting at the entrance to the tomb. He was one of the five fortunetellers attached to the tomb. He read what was printed on the pink paper, then he stared at Nhan for some minutes. He was the best as well as the oldest fortuneteller at the Tomb and Nhan had great faith in him.

He told her that she must be very careful what she did during the next two days. These two days, he said, were the most critical of her life. After the two days, she would have no need of fear, but it would be better for her to return home and pray and keep on praying until the two days had elapsed.

Instead of returning home, Nhan caught the nine o'clock bus to Thudaumot. She felt an urgent need to be with Steve to feel his arms around her. He could, she felt, give her more comfort and more hope than prayer.

While the bus was leaving the Central Market for Thudaumot, Lieutenant Hambley was arriving at his office. He found on his desk a number of files and a request for a comprehensive report on the pilfering of stores belonging to the Embassy. The report and the files would keep him fully occupied for at least two days, and as he got down to work, he remembered that he was to have gone to the Tomb of Marshal Le-vanDuyet to talk to Nhan Lee Quon's uncle.

Well, I can't do everything, he told himself. I'll give her name to Ngoc-Linh and he can handle it.

It wasn't until eleven o'clock when his secretary brought him a cup of coffee that he paused in his work to telephone the Inspector.

"Your theory that Jaffe was a degenerate is so much baloney," Hambley said when the Inspector came on the line. "I have talked to his friends and there's no evidence at all that he was queer or that he chased girls. He had a regular girl. You'd better talk to her. She'll tell you there was nothing wrong with the guy."

The Inspector, listening, half closed his eyes with exasperation.

"If I could find the girl, Lieutenant," he said, controlling his irritation, "I would most certainly talk to her, but I don't know who she is and I can't find out who she is."

Hambley grinned to himself.

"You surprise me, Inspector. I had no trouble finding out who she is. I got her name from that Chinese tart you found Wade with. As easy as that."

The Inspector leaned forward, gripping the telephone. "Who is she?"

"She's a taxi-dancer at the Paradise Club," Hambley said. "Her name's Nhan Lee Quon. I don't know where she lives, but I do know her uncle is a fortune-teller at Marshal Levan-Duyet's tomb. He'll tell you where to find her."

The Inspector drew in a long breath.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, I will act on your suggestion," and he hung up.

For a long moment he sat still, staring in front of him, then he picked up the telephone and called Colonel Ondinh-Khuc. He told him he now knew who Jaffe's girl was.

"I will question her myself," the Colonel said, a grating note in his voice. "Arrest her quietly. Bring her to me immediately."

It didn't take the Inspector long to find Nhan's address. A register of all the taxi-dancers was kept at headquarters. The Inspector took two plain-clothes men with him and drove in his car to Nhan's home. Leaving the car at the corner of the street, he walked with one of his men to the apartment block.