God, but fire escapes are scary. I clung to the windowsill.
“I’ve found out about you and those women, Lovejoy—”
Nothing for it. I crawled out of the window and down to the next floor. Lifting the window I found myself in a corridor below the royal suite. I hurried along and fled down the staircase, flight after bloody flight. The foyer loomed. I flung myself through.
“Lovejoy!” somebody called from a crowd. “Dwoorlink!”
A taxi was pulling out by the fountains. I ran after it, gasping, wrenched the door open, bawling, “Quick, quick!”
We shot off, tires squealing. I fell into the seat.
“Where?” the driver said, enjoying my panic.
Yes, where? I had two airline tickets on me. Ong’s one to London, plus one to America.
Titch had only said to leave Hong Kong, not where to. And home meant Big John Sheehan’s unrighteous anger. I fumbled in my pocket. Astonishingly, there was Ling Ling’s lovely jade pendant, the sort I’d promised Phyllis. How on earth had it got there?
Not so penniless after all.
Tough luck, Phyllis.
“America,” I told the driver. “Fast as you like.”
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