The Solitary Man (42 page)

'Hey, Ed, did you ever come across a girl called Tsang Chauling while you were in Hong Kong?' asked Carver. Harris had spent two years working out of the DEA's Hong Kong office.

Harris bent down and helped himself to water. 'Doesn't ring a bell,' said Harris. 'I'm on line to Washington. Why don't you run her name through the computer?'

Carver screwed up his empty paper cup and tossed it into the trash can. He looked at his office door. It was still shut. 'Yeah,

why not?' he said. He followed Harris through to his office, closed the door and sat down on the edge of the desk as Harris tapped on the keyboard.

'You think she's bad?' asked Harris, his eyes on his VDU.

'No way,' said Carver. 'But she knows people.'

'Yeah. What makes you think that?'

Carver gave a half-shrug. He looked around for an ashtray. There wasn't one and he remembered that Harris was a non-smoker. 'Just a hunch,' he said. He held the cigarette vertically so that the ash wouldn't break off.

Harris sniffed and continued to tap away. He stopped and stared at the screen. His eyebrows went up and he clicked his tongue. 'Well, well, well.'

'What, what, what?'

Harris turned the VDU so that Carver could read the details on the screen. 'Your Miss Tsang is clean, but her father is a different kettle of drug dealer.'

'Her father?' Carver's eyes flicked across the screen.

'Tsang Chai-hin. Civic leader, one of the richest of the rich, chairman of half a dozen worthy causes, major shareholder in two of the biggest listed companies in Hong Kong, well connected in Beijing, and responsible for shipping something like two hundred tonnes of marijuana to the United States every year.'

Carver pulled a face as he scanned the file. 'Hearsay,' he said. 'He's never been indicted.'

'And whenever we search his ships, we find nothing. But you know as well as I do, that means nothing. The guy's so rich he can buy all the protection he needs. He's being watched, though. And you've got little Miss Tsang in your office? How about pumping her for information?'

'I don't think so,' said Carver.

'Is she pretty?'

'Definitely. A stunner.'

'How about just pumping her?' Harris laughed but Carver didn't think it was funny. He stood up and cupped his hand under the cigarette.

There was a knock on the door. Carver jumped and ash spilled on to the carpet. Harris got up and opened the door. It was Chauling.

Carver could feel his cheeks redden, even though he was sure she couldn't have heard what Harris had said.

'I've finished,' she said. 'My friend can help.'

'Friend?' asked Harris.

'It's personal,' lied Carver. The fewer people who knew what he and Chau-ling were up to, the safer his career would be.

HUTCH STRETCHED OUT HIS legs, taking care not to disturb Harrigan. He wiped his shirt sleeve across his forehead. He was dripping with sweat. 'What is this Ireland thing all about, anyway?' asked Hutch.

'It's a long story,' said Winter.

'How long to Fang did you say?' Twelve hours? We've got time.'

Winter snorted softly. He said nothing for a few seconds, then sighed mournfully. 'Things have changed a lot since you were in Parkhurst. It's all drugs now.'

'You were never into drugs. Straightforward armed robbery, I seem to remember.'

'No future in it. There's less cash around, and there were too many amateurs. Addicts trying to get the money for their next fix, holding up filling stations and pubs with knives and syringes and God knows what. It's not like it used to be.'

'But drugs, Billy? I never thought you'd get involved in drugs.'

'You wouldn't believe the money that's there to be made. I was bringing in marijuana from Holland, shipping it to Liverpool in containers. Three out of four shipments got through and each successful shipment was a ten-fold increase in our investment.'

lOur investment?'

'A few like-minded individuals, Hutch. No one that you'd know. We didn't even have to touch the stuff. We'd plan it, finance it, subcontract out the work and have buyers lined up in the UK. Jesus, the money poured in. It was almost embarrassing. Do you have any idea how much I'm worth these days, Hutch? Any idea at all?'

Hutch shrugged, but then realised that Winter wouldn't be able to see the gesture in the darkness. 'No,' he said.

'Twelve million,' said Winter, proudly. 'Twelve million quid. Not bad for a boy from Newcastle who failed his eleven-plus, huh?'

Hutch raised his eyebrows in surprise. Winter was right. Hutch had had no idea that he was so wealthy. If nothing else, it explained where the money had come from to pay for getting Harrigan out of prison.

'We were living in Spain, like gods. Anything we wanted we could have. The best food, the best booze, women - anything and everything. Five years we had, five great years, and then the authorities started getting heavy and we heard a whisper that they were going to start extradition proceedings, so we bailed out.'

'To Ireland?'

'We'd never done anything wrong there, and so long as we didn't break any of their laws, we were dead safe. We bought big houses, mine even had stables and a pool, and we held court in all the best clubs. The women were a bit rough but we could fly in all the girls we wanted.'

'Sounds perfect.'

Winter didn't appear to notice the sarcasm. 'It was. Until we had a visit from the Boys.'

'The Boys?'

'The Provos. The IRA. This was just before the ceasefire, remember, when they and the Unionists were still knocking each other off. I got dragged out of my bed by guys in ski masks and taken off to some shed where a Paddy with a big gun said that if I wanted to continue to live in Ireland, I'd have to pay a tax. Quarter of a million a year, they wanted. I paid it with a smile, Hutch. Small change. Peanuts. Bloody Paddys had no idea how much we were making. We all got visits, and we all paid up. Everything was hunky dory until the ceasefire and all the big boys had to find something else to do. Idle hands and all that. Some of them looked at my business and wanted a piece of it.'

Hutch frowned. 'I thought the IRA were anti-drugs? Don't they execute drug dealers?'

'The Organisation is, sure. But there are bad apples who are only THE SOLITARY MAN 347 in it for what they can get for themselves. They know better than to bring drugs into Ireland, but anywhere else is fair game. Besides, they took a sadistic pleasure in shipping drugs into England. They started with marijuana and ecstasy, and then they decided they wanted to get into the hard stuff. I had some connections, so I fixed up some meetings in Thailand. Ray here was up in Chiang Rai checking the first consignment when the shit hit the fan. Someone must have grassed. Anyway, Ray keeps his mouth shut and goes down for a fifty stretch. I get picked up by the men in ski masks again and told in no uncertain terms that it's down to me to get him out. His uncle's a big wheel in the Organisation.'

'So they threatened you and you threatened me.'

'You don't say no to the Provos, Hutch.'

They rode in silence for a while. It was stiflingly hot in the back of the truck and the battery-powered fan made little impression on the stale air. 'I would have helped anyway, you know,' said Hutch.

'I couldn't take the chance that you'd turn me down.'

'You didn't even try. We were mates, Billy. I owed you.'

'Hutch, the moment I told you what I wanted you started to scream blue murder.'

'Yeah, well, you were a bit of a shock after all these years. But you could have talked me into it. You didn't have to threaten my kid.'

'I'm sorry, old lad,' said Winter.

'Forget it,' said Hutch.

'I'll make it up to you, I promise,' said Winter. 'You won't lose out, you'll be able to start a new life when this is over, and you'll have all the money you could want.'

'What if this guy Zhou doesn't come through? Are you sure he can get us passports, stuff like that?'

Winter didn't say anything for a few seconds and Hutch wondered if he hadn't heard the question. When he did speak, Winter's voice was colder than it had been before. 'Remind me again, Hutch, when exactly did I tell you about Zhou?'

Hutch's heart pounded. He thanked his lucky stars that they were sitting in the dark because otherwise Winter would have seen the confusion written all over his face. 'Before I went into the prison. You said Zhou was going to get you and Ray out of the Golden Triangle.'

The silence was even longer this time, and if anything Winter's voice was several degrees colder. 'The thing of it is, old lad, I don't remember ever telling you Zhou's name.'

'Didn't you?' said Hutch, trying to keep his voice steady.

'It's not the sort of name I'd bandy about, if the truth be told.'

'So it must have been Ray. Yeah, I think it was when I told him you were going to get him out through Burma. For Christ's sake, Billy, what do you think? You roped me into this, remember? I'm the innocent bystander. What do you think, I'm some sort of grass? You think the cops are using me to get at you? You came to me, Billy. You fucked up my life. Who do I grass you to, Billy? Who can I talk to who won't put me behind bars for twenty years?'

Hutch flicked the flashlight on. Winter's face looked ghostly in the white light. His slicked-back hair glistened as if it had been oiled and his eyes were narrowed accusingly. He squinted into the light as he considered what Hutch had said. Suddenly he relaxed. He smiled and nodded. 'Yeah, you're right,' he said. 'You've got even more to lose than me.'

TIM CARVER WATCHED CHAU-LING hand over her gold American Express card. 'Is that her father's?' he asked Ricky Lim. Lim said nothing. 'Do you work for him, or for her?' said Carver. Again Lim didn't answer. 'I suppose being the strong, silent type is an advantage in your line of work.'

Lim turned to stare at Carver. His eyes were cold and hard and seemed to bore right through the DEA agent's head. Lim's thin, bloodless lips remained sealed as if they'd been glued together.

'Are you still carrying that toothpick?' Carver asked.

'It is an ice-pick,' said Lim.

Carver smiled innocently. 'Because if you were, it'd probably set off the metal detectors when we go to board the plane.' Lim's face fell.

Before he could react further, Chau-ling walked over brandishing THE SOLITARY MAN 349 three Thai Airways tickets. 'You're sure we can get a car in Chiang Mai?' she asked Carver.

Carver nodded. He took his ticket from her and examined it. It was in business class. 'Sure. And we can drive to Fang from there in about three hours.' He looked at his wristwatch. 'We should be there before dark.'

'Miss Tsang, I must speak with you,' said Lim in Chinese.

She looked at him, then nodded slowly. 'Mr Carver, could you leave us alone, please?'

As Carver walked away, Lim said, 'I am not happy about this, Miss Tsang.' 'If there was any other way, Ricky, believe me, I wouldn't be here, either.'

'Your father said--'

'My father said that you were to look after me,' Chauling interrupted. 'And you're doing that.'

'It could be dangerous. Your father would not approve.'

'First, I'm not doing anything dangerous, and you'll be with me, so what can happen? Secondly, we're not going to be there for more than twenty-four hours. One day, Ricky. You can take care of me for one day, can't you?' Lim chewed on his lip, unconvinced. Chau-ling smiled sympathetically. Lim's heart was in the right place, but she knew that he was no match for her intellectually and she felt almost sorry for him. She leaned forward conspiratorially. 'Look, Ricky, I could have given you the slip, you know? I could have just gone without telling you. Then what would my father have said?'

Lim sighed despondently. 'Very well, Miss Tsang. But please promise me that it will just be the one day.'

'I promise,' she said solemnly, looking at him straight in the eye the way she always did when she promised her father something. 'Now come on. Let's go or we'll miss our plane.'

Lim ran his hand over his jacket. He could feel the hardness of the ice-pick in its specially tailored pocket. 'I have to go to the bathroom first,' he said.

'Why, Ricky?' said Chau-ling. 'You're not afraid of flying, are you?'

Lim sighed mournfully. He didn't appreciate being teased.

BIRD WAS JOLTED OUT of a dreamless doze by the driver pounding his horn. To their left was a white-painted spirit house, bedecked with garlands of flowers, and the driver was using the horn to pay his respects to benefit from any good fortune that was to be had from the friendly spirits who lived there. Bird squinted at the milometer. They were almost halfway to Fang and were making good time. Bird looked across at the driver. He was staring ahead with wide eyes and his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the knuckles had whitened. An hour earlier they'd stopped so that the driver could go to the toilet at the roadside and Bird had seen him swallow a couple of tablets. Amphetamines probably. Bird hadn't said anything: it wasn't unusual for long-distance drivers to use amphetamines to keep going, and at least he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel.

They drove by vibrant-green rice fields, tended by farmers in straw hats, up to their knees in brackish water. Bird had come from a farming family, and he knew just how back-breaking the work was. His three brothers and four sisters had worked the small rice farm close to the border, trapped in the neverending cycle of planting and reaping with only the occasional bottle of Thai whisky to break the monotony. Bird still had calves that were scarred from countless mosquito bites that had gone septic because he had spent so much time standing in water. He had escaped to the city when he was twenty, following the two sisters who had become prostitutes in the tourist bars of Pat Pong. It had been six years before Bird went back to the family farm, and when he did it was with a gold Rolex on his wrist and enough money to replace his father's four water buffaloes with a new tractor. His family still worked the farm, but the old wooden house had been torn down and replaced with a two-storey concrete building that had an inside toilet and a colour television.