Thai Horse

WHITE PALMS

In a warehouse below the mountain, Joe Lung sat back from a window, watching the house on the peak through powerful infrared binoculars. It was getting dark, but he had a clear view of the balcony in. the back of Cohen’s home. Suddenly he saw Hatcher appear at the railing of the balcony for a moment, then disappear from view.

‘There he is,’ he hissed with a combination of satisfaction and hatred.

There were six other men in the room besides Lung, all dressed in black sateen pants and black shirts. All but one of them stood quietly against the wall of the small office with their hands folded in front of them. The one who stood aside, whose name was Wan I-low, had helped case the house, and was obviously uncomfortable. Lung looked across the room at him.

‘You have a problem with this, Wan?’ Lung asked.

‘It is a fortress,’ Wan answered. It is thirty feet from the ground to the balcony in the back—’

‘I can see that,’ Lung snapped impatiently.

‘The front wall is eight feet high with electricity across the top. There are scanners in many places in the gardens. And the steel gates are—’

‘I will worry about getting us inside,’ Lung said, ‘You have anything else to cry about?’

Stung by the insult, Wan hesitated a moment. He was a tall man in his early twenties, with long, slender fingers and light skin, an athlete in excellent condition, and he was far from being a coward. ‘He is Tollie Fong’s mark,’ he said softly, staring at Lung.

Lung’s lips curled back in anger. ‘Hatcher is my mark. I have been waiting eight years for today. He killed four of our brothers in the triad, my brothers. He stole our merchandise. Do not tell me Hatcher is only the san wong’s mark.’

‘He killed Tollie Fong’s father,’ Wan replied. ‘I think we should wait for him to return before —‘

‘You do not have the insides for this, is that it?’ Lung said viciously. ‘You see this?’ He jerked up his black shirt. A long jagged scar stitched across his belly from side to side. ‘The bastard gwai- lo spilled my guts, but I have enough left to take him. I have a right to this kill, Wan. I am the san wong’s Number One here. When Tollie is gone, I say what we will do and what we will not do. You understand that?’

Wan did not reply. Embarrassed, he looked at the floor.

‘I tell you we are going to hit the house and kill them

Wan looked up, startled. ‘You mean to kill the Tsu Fi.’

‘Fuck the Tsu Fi!’ Lung said, his voice rising. ‘He is mei gwok, a gwai-lo just like Hatcher, He protects our blood enemy. I say get rid of this American Jew.’

The other men showed no emotion at all. They stood silently, inscrutably, while Lung and Wan How argued the wisdom of attacking Cohen’s home.

‘I disagree,’ said Wan. ‘We have no fight with the Tsu Fi. If we kill him, we will make many enemies.’

‘Enemies make us stronger,’ said Lung. ‘You are getting weak, man. Too much easy life. The hydrofoil back to Macao leaves every thirty minutes.’ He waved him away.

‘I have taken the oath,’ said Wan How. ‘If it is your decision to do this, I will do my part.’

Lung glared at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘Good,’ he said.

Lung turned back to the window and stared back up at the house. ‘Khan has been watching the house all day. The women are gone. There are five men besides Cohen and Hatcher. Three on the grounds in front, the gwai-lo and Sing inside. One man patrolling the back.’

There was a knock on the door.

‘Keye?’ he said to one of the other men.

‘Hai,’ the man answered and opened the door. Sergeant Varney entered the small office. Lung turned to him with a smile that was almost a sneer.

‘Well?’ he asked the British cop.

‘I made the call.’

‘And?’

‘I’m not sure Hatcher will come out with me,’ Varney said. ‘He is a very cautious man.’

‘Then we cannot take the risk. We will follow you inside the gates. It is the only way through the front. Four men in the front — I will take Keye and three others and go up the balcony at the rear.’

‘I can’t be in on the killing,’ Varney said hurriedly.

‘Of course not,’ Lung said with a shrug, still smiling.

‘And I’m going to have to put on a bit of a show. The man with me isn’t part of this. I have to make it look good,’ Varney went on.