There was a slight pause. Garry looked quickly at Fennel's flushed face and then at Gaye who smiled, completely relaxed.
'That is nice of you, Mr. Fennel, but excuse me. If I'm going to get up so early, I need my sleep.' She got to her feet. 'Good night. See you all in the morning,' and she made her way, followed by male stares, out of the restaurant.
Fennel sat back in his chair, his face pale, his eyes burning. 'Some brush-off,' he snarled. 'Who the hell does she think she is?'
Ken got to his feet.
'I'll fix the bill and then I'm going to bed,' and he walked over to the cash desk.
Garry said quietly, 'Take it easy. The girl's tired. If you want to go somewhere I'll come with you.'
Fennel didn't appear to hear. He sat there, his eyes slightly mad, his face now getting back some colour. He got heavily to his feet and walked out of the restaurant and to the lift. He was shaking with frustrated rage.
All right, you bitch, he was thinking as the lift doors swung open. I'll fix you! Just let me get you alone for ten minutes and I'll fix you so goddamn fast you won't know what's hit you.
He reached his room, slammed the door shut and tore off his clothes. He threw himself down on the bed, his nails biting into the palms of his hands, sweat running down his heavy jowls.
For more than an hour, his lewd mind enacted the things he would do to her when he had her alone, but after a while, the erotic thoughts became exhausted and his mind began to return to normal.
He suddenly remembered what Shalik had said: You
How had Shalik found out about the three killings?
Fennel moved uneasily on the bed. He reached for a cigarette, lit it and stared across the room, lit by the revolving sign across the way.
He was suddenly back in Hong Kong, coming off a junk at Wanchai's Fenwick Street pier. He had been on a smuggling trip with three of his Chinese friends. They had unloaded a cargo of opium at Chu Lu Kok Island without any trouble and Fennel had $3,000 in his hip pocket. He was due to fly back to England in ten hours. After being cooped up in the stinking junk for six days, he was in need of a woman.
His Chinese friends had told him where to go. He had walked along Gloucester Road amid rickshaws, the fast moving traffic, the fruit vendors and the crowds of noisy Chinese until he had come to the brothel, recommended.
The Chinese girl was small, compact with heavy buttocks which Fennel liked, but she was as animated as a side of beef. She acted merely as a receptacle for his lust and when the unsatisfactory union was over, Fennel, with half a bottle of whisky inside him, dulling his senses, slept, but Fennel only ever slept slightly below the level of unconsciousness. He had always led a dangerous life and had trained himself never to become entirely unconscious, no matter how much he drank. He came awake to find the girl, still naked, her ivory skin lighted by the street light
Coming through the uncurtained window, helping herself from his well stuffed wallet.
Fennel was off the bed and had hit her before he was fully awake. His fist smashed into her face, snapping her head back and she went down, his money falling from her small hand, her eyes rolling back.
Fennel snarled at her, then began to collect the money. It was only when he had thrown on his clothes and had stuffed his wallet into his hip pocket that he realized something was wrong. He bent over the still body and a chill crawled up his spine. He lifted her head by her thick hair and grimaced as the head rolled horribly on the shoulders. His savage, violent blow had broken her neck.
He looked at his watch. He had two hours before he took off for London. He left the room, shutting the door and walked down the stairs to where an old Chinaman was seated at the desk to check clients in and out. He knew he would have to pay for his freedom.
'I'm leaving by junk in twenty minutes,' he lied. 'The whore's dead. What's it going to cost?'
The yellow wrinkled face showed nothing: a parchment map of old age.
'One thousand dollars,' the old man said. 'I have to call the police in an hour,'
Fennel showed his teeth in a savage snarl.
'Old man, I could wring your neck . . . that's too much.'
The Chinaman lifted his shoulders.
