‘I didn’t come here to fight,’ he said in Chinese to the ugly one. ‘I came here to make us all rich.’
The ugly man glared at him.
‘I’m Cohen,’ Cohen said.
The ugly man still glared at him.
Cohen made his way to the stacks of contraband goods, threading his way through the men and women, and flipped a corner of a bolt of Thai silk, felt it, and nodded.
‘Good stuff,’ he said, then turned to the ugly man. ‘This is what I want.’ He held up his fingers and counted. ‘I want cameras from Japan, good brands. I want stereos, Sony and Panasonic. I want Thai silk — not cheap — good stuff, like this, and madras from India.’ He flipped the corner back on the bolt. ‘I’ll buy green jade, no white — and don’t try to dye it on me, I can see right through that. Statues, idols, stuff like that from China, I’ll give you good price on all that, as much as you can bring down from Chin Chin land or over from Thailand.’
The ugly man stood with his hands on his hips, a cigar clenched in his teeth. Its tip glowed in the dark. Okay, thought Cohen, he’s got to show his balls here, push me around a little.
‘Who the hell you think you are?’ Ugly said.
‘I told you, I’m Cohen.’
The ugly man looked around at his men and they all laughed. There was some jabber between them and then the ugly man turned back to Cohen and said, ‘They think I ought to skin you alive and hang you to the side of my boat.’
Cohen threw his wallet on the table. ‘Kill me, all you get is ten Hong Kong dollars. I don’t think you got to be the
The white man whistled low through his teeth and shook his head very slowly.
The ugly man’s eyes flamed. He bit down hard on his cigar and his hand dropped over the stock of the Uzi.
‘You say I am stupid,
‘No no, I say I
‘I am fat already,’ the ugly man said proudly.
‘One is never too fat.’
‘You have a fast tongue.’
‘A man wouldn’t last long up here with a slow one.’ The ugly man liked that. He threw back his head, laughed heartily, and his men relaxed.
‘So how do you pay?’ the ugly man asked.
‘Hong Kong paper. You want American dollars or gold, you won’t do as well.’
‘And why should I do business with you?’ the pirate asked.
Cohen held up the gold coin between a thumb and forefinger. He twisted it in the beam of one of the lights. The coin twinkled in his hand. Sam-Sam walked very close and inspected the coin.
‘You come from the Tsu Fi?’ the ugly one asked. Cohen nodded. ‘I talk for the Tsu Fi. I got lots of dollars and there’s plenty more. None of that tea-and-crumpets shit like dealing with the British. You deal with me, it’s down and dirty, everybody makes a pound, no bullshit, no waste of time. And the big reason is I’ll take delivery upriver. I’ll make the Macao run myself and worry about customs. All you got to do is get the goods to me.’
The white man shifted slightly and said in English, ‘You got the balls of a Brahma bull.’
‘How did you know I speak the language?’ Cohen asked.
‘Boston accent.’
‘You got a good ear. Cohen’s the name.’
‘Hatcher,’ the man in khaki said in a flat, no-nonsense voice. It was not unfriendly, it was a voice that said, simply, Don’t mess with me. They shook hands. Hatcher had cold eyes that gave away nothing, and his smile came with an effort. Not a man to stand on the wrong side of, thought Cohen. Hatcher — Remember that name.
‘You’re not part of this bunch, surely,’ Cohen said.
‘Naw, just trying to make a buck like yourself.’
‘How do you think I’m doing?’
‘Sam-Sam hasn’t cut your throat yet, that’s a good sign. What’s that you showed him?’
‘Little down payment,’ Cohen said and winked.
‘Where’s the rest of your swag?’ Hatcher asked.
‘Downriver a ways,’ Cohen whispered. ‘Ten men and a chest of paper. I don’t like to show my hole card until the bets are all in.’
The ugly man had a short conference with several of his men, then came over to Cohen.
‘I’m Sam-Sam Sam,
Cohen smiled and winked at Hatcher.
‘Let’s do some dealing,’ he said to the ugly one.
