ribs and Peking chicken. Cats strolled the steps.
On the main floor the Greek had created a shallow lake with a small version of the Tal Tak floating restaurant in one corner, its cuisine presided over by Wan Shu, one of Hong Kong’s finest chefs, its garish decks reached by small sampans which carried diners from the main promenade, a winding path where theatres offered karate, judo, and weaponry exhibitions, excerpts from Chinese opera, and puppet shows for the children. There were three night clubs and two other fine restaurants, a recreation of the Man Mo Temple, known as the Place of a Thousand Buddhas, a sixty-foot model of the Shinto Pagoda, an opium den, and a sampan ride through a tortuous series of tunnels under Ladder Street where like-real Arcurius played out some of the most dramatic moments from the turbulent history of Hong Kong. The main street terminated at one end at the gardens with their abundance of rare flowers and beautiful young Chinese guides, who would escort visitors through the enchanting maze, explaining the icons of Chinese mythology found in its grottoes and pavilions. As they ended the tour the guides recounted the legend of Kowloon, the Ninth Dragon, and his battle with T’un Hai, the two-headed snake of the Underworld. Throughout, DeLaroza had insisted on historical, mythological, and architectural integrity.
The grand opening, now only three days away, would attract all three major television networks, radio, magazine, and newspaper reporters from all over the world, leading politicians and British and Chinese dignitaries, all to be flown in on special junkets. Photographs and visitors had been barred from the amusement complex until opening night, for DeLaroza knew that the reaction would be much more excited if an aura of mystery were created about Pachinko So it had remained an enigma, a giant surprise package to be unwrapped the following Monday night.
What better time for Donald Hotchins to make his announcement?
Julius Lowenthal stood a few feet from DeLaroza, his eyes saucers of amazement as he stared down through the glass front of the soundproof control booth at Pachinko! DeLaroza turned to him, towering over the weary Washington lawyer.
‘Well, sir,’ DeLaroza said, ‘what do you think of our toy, eh?’
‘Toy?’ Lowenthal said incredulously.
DeLaroza chuckled. ‘Perhaps I should say “playground”. Until tonight no outsider has seen it. I have forbidden photographs and all but the most general description.’
Lowenthal shrugged his shoulders in an almost helpless gesture. ‘I, uh. . . I’ve lost my tongue,’ he said. ‘I’m speechle€s.’
‘You do not approve?’
‘Oh, my God, of course. It’s monumental. A monumental undertaking.’
DeLaroza took him lightly by the elbow and led him out of the booth and along the balcony towards Ladder Street.
‘I’m flattered that you let me take a look,’ Lowenthal said.
‘The least I could do,’ DeLaroza said. ‘Once again I must apologize for Donald’s absence. It is an old and personal political commitment. He will be back tomorrow and you two can get back to business.’
‘I’ve been around politics long enough to understand these things,’ Lowenthal said.
‘Good. Besides, this will give us a chance to know each other a little better, yes?’
‘Of course.’
But Lowenthal doubted it. He had been close to many rich and powerful men during his career but had never really known any of them well, for they were guarded people. Secrecy went with power and money — it was a thing he bad learned early on. But he had to admit that DeLaroza was perhaps the most shielded of all. There was nothing but the skimpiest of’ dossiers on DeLaroza. No pictures, no stories. Lowenthal knew that he had come to America sixteen years before and had become a naturalized citizen four years ago. He had managed Hotchins’s campaign finances almost from the beginning and done it impeccably. There was little else available. His holdings and personal worth were unknown, his companies privately held. If this was to be an opportunity for anyone to get to know anyone, it was DeLaroza who would find out about Lowenthal and Lowenthal knew it.
Oh, well, he thought, what’s to know about me? He had no secrets at all.
‘You’re taking quite a gamble,’ be said as they approached the long, winding steps of the Ladder Street bazaar.
‘I suppose so,’ DeLaroza said.
‘And if the public doesn’t bite?’
DeLaroza paused a moment, then said, ‘1 never consider failure. There is a Chinese proverb — The fish that fears it will be eaten becomes dinner for the shark.’
Lowenthal smiled. ‘And you don’t fear the shark?’
DeLaroza looked at him and smiled faintly. ‘No,’ be said, ‘I do not fear the shark.’
They turned into Ladder Street and tarted the long walk down to the main floor, DeLaroza stopping occasionally to chat with shopkeepers. Along the way, they passed two jugglers tossing fire sticks back and forth as though they were playing catch.
‘What’s the story behind the dragon and the snake?’ Lowenthal asked.
‘Ah, my favourite legend, although I must say there are many Oriental myths which stir the imagination. The guides in the garden explain it quite poetically. My chef has prepared for us a potpourri of the menu, a preview of its delights. I will have one of the young ladies tell you the story while we eat.’
At the foot of Ladder Street, an elderly Caucasian gentle. man with soft, gentle features and snow-white hair sat on a wall playing the violin. He nodded to DeLaroza as the two men passed him.
‘That is Mr. Reynolds,’ DeLaroza said. ‘He has journeyed all over China with a travelling band, played first chair in the Vienna Symphony, played ragtime music with the greats in New Orleans, and he once taught at the Boston Conservatory. I have known him for many, many years and I have no idea how old he is. He is not interested in age. For him, every day is a new experience. He is the leader of our Chinese band.’
