Thai Horse

place?’

The name momentarily triggered Hatcher’s ch’uang tzu-chi, a brief flash of the elegant, uniquely beautiful Daphne Chien, who wore men’s Suits, owned a company that manufactured jeans, and was the daughter of a Malaysian beauty and a half-French, half-Chinese banker, a volatile combination.

‘Hell, I try not to think about her,’ Hatcher said, a white lie, for he was not ready to deal with that subject for the moment. Instead they talked about Los Boxes and past times, and they talked about the old Tsu Fi.

‘He died three years ago,’ Cohen said. ‘His ticker finally gave out. It was a helluva thing, Christian. He called me to the hospital, told me I put spice in his last few years. Only time I ever saw the old boy with tears in his eyes.’

‘How about that half-mill he owed you for the Rhodes trick?’ Hatcher asked with a smile.

‘That was the best part of it, Christian, the old boy was a class act to the end. There was this beat-up old strongbox in the corner of the office, didn’t even look like an antique. When I went to the hospital the night before he passed on, he gave me the keys to his office and then he gave me the key to that chest, said it was full of personal things, and when he died I could go through it and throw away what I didn’t want. So I did. Lo and behold, there was half a million dollars in gold coins in it’ — he held up a finger — ‘and a piece of silicon the size of your fingernail.’

‘Silicon?’

‘A computer chip. So I took it to a friend and mounted it on a computer board, and when I activated the program, it was like a diary. Phone numbers, names, background on most of the rich taipans on the island and a lot of Orientals

— all the secrets of Tsu Fi were there. Christian, next to that little piece of sand the half a million looked like a bucket of sand. I didn’t think the old Tsu Fi recognized the existence of computers.’

‘Which reminds me, how’re things upriver?’ Hatcher asked.

‘Changed,’ Cohen said. ‘I don’t go upriver anymore.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘Most of the old gang is gone.’

‘Hiekaya?’

‘Dead. And Ty San. Joe Cockroach. Jimmy Chow. All of them

‘What happened?’

‘They started scrambling. killing each other off., The only one who got out whole was Sam-Sam. Now he’s got this gunslinger working for him, an Iranian name of Batal. I hear he was with the SAVAK before the Shah split. A real mean one, Batal. There’s another killer up there who ran out of Haiti with Baby Doc Used to be with the Tontons. Calls himself Billy Death_’

‘What the hell are Iranians aid Tontons doing up there?’ Hatcher asked.

‘Dollars, I guess. They’re Sam-Sam’s newest guns,’ said China. ‘Sam-Sam lives mostly off tribute, knocks off the Chinese coming down from Shanghai or from out in the provinces, steals their goods, cuts their feet and hangs them off the mast as a warning to others.’

‘Were you worried maybe they’d dust you?’ Hatcher whispered.

‘Not really. They need me,’ said Cohen. ‘I still finance a lot of the action up there. Besides, I have a lot of friends, loyal friends. This isn’t Chicago, the triads tend to get along with each other — even the Chiu Chaos stay pretty much in their own backyard. One of the things I learned from the old Tsu Fi: Never eat the whole pie, always give a piece to the other guy.’ Cohen paused pensively for a moment, and added, ‘Now, you, on the other hand, you left footprints all over the place.

‘It was part of the job.’

‘Whatever it was, you made a lot of enemies, Christian. And I don’t flatter myself that this is a social visit, much as love you.’

It was not a criticism. Hatcher knew what Cohen meant. In the past there was always something one of them needed from the other.

Their conversation was cut short by the appearance of Sing, Cohen’s enormous Chinese bodyguard, who suddenly appeared quietly in the living room behind them. He cleared his throat to summon Cohen. Cohen went in the other room, talked in low tones for a minute or two, and came back. Sung Lo remained in the room. Cohen’s mood seemed darker.

‘A problem?’ Hatcher asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Cohen said seriously. ‘Are you in trouble, Christian?’

‘Why?’

‘Just curious.’

‘I may need a favor,’ Hatcher said finally.

‘Must be something going on for you to come back to Hong Kong,’ Cohen said. ‘You know Tollie Fong is the new san wong of the White Palms?’

Hatcher nodded.

‘They all think you’re dead. The minute Fong knows you’re here, he’ll try to kill you. If he misses, Joe Lung’ll have the whole damn White Palm Triad on your ass. They’ll follow you to the North Pole if they have to. We’re talking about family honor, blood oaths, saving face, the whole ticket. It would be better if you were left dead.’

‘I know the score.’