The beach was empty, except for a huge mound where Fatty had once stood. The mound was him. Blood was welling beneath a sheet of flies on his face. A dinghy was already approaching the yacht, Dr. Chao incongruous beneath a sunshade in the stern while sailors rowed. Sun Sen and a matelot waited by the second boat.
“Excuse me a sec.” I retched and retched until my vision blurred and I fell down.
“Hurry, Lovejoy. Boat leaving.” Leung shed sunflower husks. Ong climbed aboard.
Me too? “What about this frigging carnage?”
“Enemies, bam-bam.” They were only waste.
We got into the dinghy and were rowed to the yacht. By the time I had stopped trembling we were rounding into Lamma Channel. Dr. Chao invited me to tea with Ling Ling “and a special friend” in the dining cabin. I declined.
38
« ^
WHERE are you going, Lovejoy?” She was sitting upright in bed. I’d got halfway to the door.
“Oh. Hello, love. Trying not to wake you.” I smiled my sincerest, inventing. “Er, just down to the lobby shops.”
“You’re not going to that Digga Dig? Because those bitches are up against a real American woman right here, and—”
“Didn’t I promise?” I waxed indignant. “I’ve ordered a little present in reception for you, Lorna.”
“Oh, darling. How sweet you are.” She beckoned, clutched me. “From now on just you remember it’s us two, capeesh? Once I clinch the merger for Brookers Gelman, I’ll be here permanently.”
“Great, love.” We’d already gone through this tiresome tirade but she was still misty.
“And you’ll be advisory consultant, darling.”
“Great, darling.” I declutched and headed for the door.
“Lovejoy. Where is Steerforth? Only, Mame’s—”
“Dunno, love. I’ll ask if there’s a message.”
And escaped thankfully. Where do women get their determination?
The Digga Dig was warming up for the evening. This was the first time I’d called since the terrible business three days ago. Chok and the other waiters were pleased to see me. Fourteen letters, three cables, and six presents had arrived for me. Nobody mentioned Steerforth’s mail. He’d vanished, and Hong Kong determinedly took no notice. I opened the missives, forgot the presents. Sundry Carmens, Olgas, Lavinias, and Marias made impassioned offers. From dates given, some troublers were already here. And, most ominous of all, a speculative note from Janie, of all people, saying she’d had a private detective trace me to the Digga Dig. She was at the Hilton. Gulp.
One bird from America included an air ticket to New York. I cheered up. Maybe they’d cash it for me, a rebate? I borrowed some notepaper, and scribbled the same sad message to each of the women threatening arrival. I put, “Dearest, I’m so sorry that I can’t see you right now, only I’ve fallen on hard times and I’m too ashamed. Perhaps in another few weeks, if you are still around… ? Love and cheers, Lovejoy.” It sounded just right, because women never want a penniless bloke.
Avoiding the temptation to see what had happened at Steerforth’s flat, I crossed to the Hong Kong side and lazily caught the tram, walking left and up Cleverly Street to my studio.
It was like old times. The panel where I’d concealed my killer copy had been invisibly repaired. The studio would need a good going over before it could be used again as a faker’s studio, of course. I locked up and walked into the Mologai, up towards Hollywood Road, with Cat Street on my right. The message had said six o’clock, plenty of time, so I paused and had a bowl of rice and vegetables between the jade stall and the phony coinmonger. I didn’t know how long this meeting with the ultimate boss would take and I get famished easily. A silent foki followed me, but I’d crashed the terror barrier.
Sixish, I was sitting on the curb by the temple. Traffic was diminishing. The old opium smokers were emerging opposite for the evening cool, sucking on their gigantic bamboo stems.
Listening, I heard him coming, his little poles going clack-clack above that familiar trundle.
“Wotcher, Titch,” I said, sarcastic. “All right for money?”
“Evening, Lovejoy.”
He did his braking trick, sparks flying from the wheels. “Are you?”
“Don’t you ever get out of breath, getting about like that?” I was curious.
“Good heavens, no. Second nature. We lepers adapt.”
“Aye. You manage all right, Titch.” I hesitated. “One thing. No offense intended with the nickname —”
“Please. I like it. Local color’s the best protection.”
“That why you don’t go about in a specially adapted Rolls?”
“Something like that.” He gave me quite a shy glance. “Sorry about Steerforth, but when he tried lifting that extra painting, obviously for his own gain, he deserved punishment. Of course the place was watched.” He anticipated my question and gave a lopsided shrug. “I ordered Dr. Chao to promise him immunity from harm if he divulged your message. He was then ordered to execute you. He’d done that sort of thing before for us.”
“Immunity? But your people topped him.”
“We lied to him, Lovejoy,” Titch said calmly. “One small point: How did you know Fatty had exceeded his permitted squeeze?”
