“He’s so thrilled, Lovejoy.” She accompanied me along the forecourt, a balustraded walk lined with bougainvillea and hibiscus. “He’s superb. You’ll not be disappointed.”
“I know that. And, Phyllis—thank you for not sending me packing just because… those bars. You’re kind.”
“Oh, I understand financial difficulties, Lovejoy. We can’t afford a car, haven’t taken home leave for years. I know how desperate…” She petered out and stood there, face down. I felt her agony. She was right. She did know how it was. I said a tentative so-long in the lanterned darkness.
“You’ll get a taxi if you walk down towards Kennedy Town, Lovejoy. The number seven bus stopped an hour ago, I’m afraid. The typhoon warning.”
Eh? These daft local weather customs. The air hung balmy and still. “Right, love. Good night.” I paused. “If I… I see you elsewhere, is it all right if I say hello?”
A pause. “Very well, Lovejoy.”
I walked out of the villa’s small area onto Mount Davis Road and struck downhill towards the lights of Kennedy Town market. I was jubilant.
25
« ^ »
THAT same night Hong Kong taught me another lesson. It’s called a typhoon. Dai Fung, big wind. Believe me, it is all of that.
Steerforth wasn’t quite his usual self when we met by the Yaumatei Ferry. He looked hung over, lacking in zest. He started nervously when some children larked about with a ball.
“You okay, Steerforth?”
He gave me a bloodshot gaze. “Course. You? With all your high connections?”
So that was it. “Look. I didn’t ask to work for the Triad. You pay them squeeze too, mate. People who live in glass houses.”
“I’m warning you, Lovejoy. You’re in too deep.” He lit a cigarette and stared out over the silent harbor. The water was uncannily still, the oily glisten unspoiled by wakes. “If you cross the Triad, they’ll top me too.”
I examined him, curious. Normally he raised his game. Waiting for clients he’d be casual, at ease. When they appeared he was instant camp, loud, outrageous. “Surely you’re not at risk? There must be some way out for a bloke like you. With all your pals, tour operators, guides, women.”
“Not a chance, Lovejoy. Unless I bought myself out.” I shifted an inch or two along the rail. His exhaled smoke clouded him. “You don’t understand, Lovejoy.” He was in a morose mood. “My prospects were nil, umpteen deadbeat years, then a pension.
Suddenly it was the high life. Okay, a different woman every evening. All shapes, all ages. But wealthy enough to pay.” He coughed a bubbly reverberation that wafted a tunnel in his smoke. “Call it penny-shagging, the gigolo game, prostitution. Millions do.
But my clients lap me up, treat me like a king. There’s a waiting list for me, know that?
I’m top dog on all the dick brokers’ lists at the sea terminals. Champ at the fame game, me.”
“So what’s the problem, champ?”
He did his bloodshot inspection. “You, Lovejoy. You’re rocking the boat— my boat. I’ve enough to buy myself out. Another two years and I can retire. Then I’ll fix on one or two clients. Deep purses. Buy a villa somewhere, leave Hong Kong.”
“That’s your problem, eternal luxury?”
“Yes, if you ball it up, Lovejoy.” He looked away. “I’m not young anymore. Oh, I make up for it. Old bull and the young bull, y’know? I’m a smoothie, wine lists, waiters. I’m discreet. I can sus a client with a glance, know exactly what she wants. Satisfaction guaranteed. The things I’ve done’d turn your hair. Steerforth the magician.”
A sampan nudged along below the rail, the only vessel moving in the world. The ferries had all stopped running.
“Age fucks you up, Lovejoy. Some days I’m just so frigging tired. Laughter lines don’t vanish overnight. My jokes sound repetitive. Last night I’d have given anything just to sleep. Instead, it’s whoopee until four in the morning.” He shuddered. “A year or two and I’ll have to charge less. The Triad’ll demand a greater squeeze. I’ll grovel for clients. I’ve seen it happen to others, Lovejoy. And been delighted because I was the flavor of the month.”
“Cut out now while you’re ahead.”
He shook his head as if irritated at my stupidity. “There was a bloke called himself Lance Fanshawe. Supposed to have been a Guards officer. High connections back home. They say the women even bid for him on cruise ships —highest bid got him for the evening. Christ, the presents old Lance received! Like a film star. Then age struck.
It only took a year to fall from grace.”
“And you became…?”
“Top log, top dog.” He nodded at Tai Mo Shan, a mountain in the leaden sky. “He did it there. Service revolver. Gentleman to the last.”
“Silly sod,” I said, quickly adding when he glared, “God rest him. Your trouble is you’re obsessed with Ling Ling. Forget her. Settle for some other woman instead.”
He lit another cigarette from the stub. “How often does a man see a perfect woman, Lovejoy? Even God had to search for donkey’s years. All men crave her.”
“Not me, mate.” I felt as sad as he was. “I’d love her, natch. But look at me, for God’s sake. What perfect
