in a small anteroom no larger than a
clothes closet. Through the door he could see into the Tsu Fi’s office, which was not much larger. Obviously the old man did not go in for show.
The Tsu Fi sat with his back to the window behind a simple mahogany desk, which was empty except for an abacus on one side and an old-fashioned black cradle phone. A single chair sat in front of the table. Sunlight shimmered around his chair and dust hung heavily in its bright beams. There was a teak strongbox in one corner and a small table with a tea set on it in the opposite side of the room. That was it.
The Tsu Fi looked ancient, although he was erect and his eyes glittered. His skin was totally free of wrinkles and almost transparent, like waxed paper holding together his delicate bones. His hair was pure white and close-cropped and he was clean-shaven. He stared at Cohen for several seconds before raising his hand and motioning him into the room with a single stroke of a forefinger. Cohen approached the table and held out his hand.
‘Jam Robert Cohen,’ he said in perfect mandarin.
The Tsu Fi ignored Cohen’s hand and instead held his own out at a very precise angle in the beams of sunlight that sliced through the dust. He studied the shadow on the floor.
‘At least you are punctual,’ he said in a high-pitched voice and motioned Cohen to the empty chair.
The Tsu Fi folded his hands on his desk and said, ‘So?’
Cohen cleared his throat. He had practiced what he wanted to say and he leaned back, trying to be comfortable in a chair that defied comfort, and began, ‘I have information I think can be useful to both of us. It has come to me that a man in business here is going to be murdered. His wife will pay for the killing.’
The old man stared at him without a flicker of a muscle, his eyes boring straight into Cohen’s.
‘The man is inept and lazy. He drinks too much and cheats on his wife. Her father started the business. He is dead now. The company is in deep trouble. But if this man dies, then she inherits his stock and control of the company. With him out of the way, she will be free to hire new people and reorganize.
Their assets are very strong. As I see it, two things can happen. Either the company will get back on its feet, or a consortium will take it over.’
‘Is there not a third possibility?’ the Tsu Fi asked.
‘You mean bankruptcy? Unlikely. This woman has her own resources. I doubt that she would go to this extreme unless she had a plan for getting the company back together.’
‘What does this mean to me?’ the old man asked.
Cohen, smiling, leaned forward. ‘Us?’ he suggested.
‘I have no interest in this paper market of yours, American. It is a Westerner’s game I do not play.’
‘I understand it,’ Cohen said assertively. ‘Tsu Fi, if we wait until this stock dips down — say, eight points — then put, say, half a million in, the stock should rise sharply when the reorganization begins.’
‘And how long would that take?’
‘Six months, maybe seven.’
‘And what do you think it will go to?’
‘I estimate it should go up at least twenty points.’
The Tsu Fi’s fingers raced across his abacus.
‘Two, two and a half million in six months,’ Cohen went on, although he realized the Tsu Fi was already ahead of him.
‘I would stay on top of it every day and sell at the perfect moment,’ Cohen continued.
‘And what do you want?’
Cohen leaned forward, eyes aglow. ‘Half the profit,’ he said confidently.
The Tsu Fi glared at him. There was a minute of silence before he slowly shook his head. ‘No_’
‘All right, a third, then,’ Cohen quickly countered. ‘You make two million, I make six hundred thousand. I’ll round it off. Half a million.’
‘You give up a hundred thousand dollars very easily,’ the Tsu Fi said.
‘It is easy to give up money one does not yet have,’ Cohen answered.
