“Yes.”
“Large amounts of money in brown and white envelopes at night.”
“What’s your point?”
“Is it drug money?” I blurted.
There was a pause, then laughter. “Is that what you think? That I’ve been giving my wife drug money?”
“I mean…the house…the furniture…the swimming pool…your wife doesn’t even work, I mean. How can you afford it?”
“She doesn’t have to work. The money I give to her is hers.”
I didn’t understand.
“It’s her money,” he said. “On my way back from work I withdraw money from her account, seal them in bank envelopes, which do come in brown and white, and give them to her. Our main bank branch is in Toronto.” There was laughter again, and then he said, “My wife is what?”
I thought hard. “She is a woman.”
“Yes, a woman. But…where am I from?”
“England.”
“Where do you think she’s from?”
I hope this wasn’t a trick question. “England.”
“Precisely, she’s from England, hence her English accent.”
He wasn’t making any sense.
“Have you heard of the House of York?”
I shook my head.
“My wife is Lady Amy Dowling of York,” he said boldly. “She’s royalty.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No. The money I give to her is from her estate.”
He was laughing hard. “Do you think I would buy an expensive house if I was laundering money? I work for the police. I would be caught the very next day.”
“The force knows your wife gets money from England?”
“Of course they do. How do you think I justify my lifestyle with a police officer’s salary?”
It was all a misunderstanding. We were two grown men, bound to chairs, laughing hysterically.
“So are you…like a prince or something?” I asked.
“No, no. I’m just an ordinary bloke.”
“Even if you were…I wasn’t going to call you, Your Highness.”
“Your Highness.” He started to laugh again. Hearing him, I started to laugh, too.
We stopped when our stomachs couldn’t take much more.
“How do we get out?” I said.
“I’m not sure,” he replied.
It was impossible for either of us to move without tipping over and falling on our sides. Even if one of us did manage to get closer to the other, there was no way we could gnaw at the ropes with our teeth.
As I was churning escape possibilities in my head, the metal door swung open. It was Kong.
Oh, shit.
He shut the door and moved toward me. Being ahead of Beadsworth, I knew I was first.
“Hey, Kong,” I said, trying to be brave. “I know what you’re thinking but I’m not into big muscular Chinese men.”
A fist shot out and hit me squarely on my left cheek. I jerked and fell sideways. It stung, as my cheek and my head smacked into the cement floor.
I closed my eyes and pretended to die. Maybe, he would go over me and attack Beadsworth instead. It doesn’t sound noble but I was in pain.
But that wouldn’t be. He grabbed me and sat me up again.
“Let him go,” I heard Beadsworth say.
I now had more respect for Beadsworth. He was willing to sacrifice himself.
But Kong wasn’t interested. He was going to have his fun with me.
This was the time I should do something heroic, but what? I couldn’t kick him, karate chop him or even head butt him. I could…spit at him. Yes, that would do it. My highly corrosive saliva, once aimed and fired accurately, would burn his eyes.
I began to gather all my fluids, even the reserves down my throat, for an aerial assault. After much snorting and sucking I was only able to manage enough for a spray.
Kong readied himself for another assault. I closed my eyes for the impact. He hit me straight at the top of my mouth. My chair and I toppled over and onto my back.
I opened my eyes and from my vertical position saw Beadsworth look away. My lip was cut and I was bleeding.
A shadow came over me and Kong once again sat me up. I was getting the feeling he would hit me, sit me up and then hit me again. How long was this going to go on? I think until he got bored or until I expired. The latter made more sense. He seemed to be interested in hitting me.
It stung when I licked my upper lip.
Kong cracked and rubbed his knuckles.
I was glad the joints in his fingers were getting stiff.
Perhaps his fingers wouldn’t be able to take much more and he would leave me alone. I couldn’t take many more hits-not from him, at least.
“Let him go,” I heard Beadsworth say again.
Kong merely glanced at Beadsworth. He flared his nostrils and he prepared for the finish.
Beadsworth tried again to get Kong’s attention but he was too focused on me.
I closed my eyes. Any second now the hammer would come down and leave me for dead.
There was a metallic screech. I opened my eyes. The metal door swung open and in came Ronald Garnett; holding a gun.
“Police,” Garnett bellowed.
Kong, with his fist still in the air, glanced at Garnett, and then turned his attention back to me.
Garnett moved toward us. “Release him,”
Kong let go of me and faced Garnett. Garnett was as tall and massive as Kong.
If both had decided to battle right now, my money would have been on Garnett, not because he was the good guy but because he had a gun.
Several more officers came down. It took four of them to handcuff Kong.
One officer came over. It was Officer Moro.
“You look terrible,” he said, cutting my restrains.
“Thanks,” I said. “I almost had him.”
“Sure you did.” He smiled.
“Get paramedics,” I heard Garnett say.
He came over.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Without saying a word I threw myself at him. “I love you, man. I take back all the rumours I spread about you.”
“What rumours?” he said pushing me aside like a rag doll. He went to Beadsworth.
“I’m fine,” Beadsworth said. “Officer Rupret kept the assailant preoccupied so that no harm came to me.”
Garnett looked at me with admiration.
I smiled weakly, before fainting.
