Zero Minus Ten

They control maybe 80 per cent of world’s drug traffic. You think Central America is bad? They are peanuts compared to Triads.”

“Where do the drugs come from?”

“From China, Thailand, Laos, Burma. Many places. Golden Triangle in Yunnan Province is major source.”

Bond nodded. “What will happen to Triads once China takes over Hong Kong?”

Woo grinned. “There are some in Hong Kong who believe Triads will become more powerful after takeover, not only because they are so ingrained in our culture, but because they will find reason to reach back to their beginnings as political activists.”

“They’re anti-Communist, then?”

“Most definitely. If China decides to change Hong Kong completely and destroy democratic freedoms we have here, Triads will be first to oppose them. And they will be formidable foes. Other possibility is that they will corrupt China and continue as they are.”

“Triads are outlawed in China, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but they exist. Hong Kong, though, is centre of all Triad activity in entire world.”

“The analogy would be as Sicily is to the Mafia?”

“I suppose so, yes. You know, Triads are illegal in Hong Kong, too. Just being a member is illegal. If you possess any Triad materials you can go to jail, uh huh? That is why they are so secret.”

“I think I’d better see some Triads first hand, T.Y. Where is this nightclub?”

“In Tsim Sha Tsui East. Kowloon. The Zipper. Big fancy nightclub, very popular. Very expensive. Japanese businessmen especially like it. They have very beautiful girls working there.”

“Are they prisoners of the Triads as well?”

“Some might be,” Woo said.

Bond stood up. “Enough talk. Let’s go. When we get there, T.Y., I want to go in alone. I’m curious to see how a gweilo is treated there.”

During the Vietnam War, Lockhart Road in the Wanchai District of Hong Kong was immortalized as the haven for servicemen on R & R. This nightlife had diversified into other areas and was no longer completely isolated in Wanchai. Tsim Sha Tsui, one of the premier tourist areas of Kowloon, provided some of the flavour of the rowdy old days. It was virtually the Times Square of Hong Kong. There was a mixture of British-style pubs, hostess clubs, karaoke bars, and noisy disco bars. There was the famous Bottoms Up club, a tame topless bar featuring waitresses who looked as if they’d been there since the place opened in the early seventies. There was the Adam’s Apple, where half-naked hostesses pretended to make scintillating conversation while one drank. Hong Kong had something that appealed to the best and the worst in everyone. In theory, strip clubs as such were illegal in Hong Kong—if girls removed their clothes, they did it privately out of public view.

Bond found the Zipper easily. It was a huge place, spanning an entire block of Tsim Sha Tsui East, an area of Kowloon that had more recently developed into an expensive tourist trap. Other high-class nightclubs, such as the Club B Boss and the China City Club, were also in the vicinity. By 6:00 p.m., even before the sun had set, the brightly coloured neon of the area rivalled anything in Las Vegas. There was a buzz of excitement in the air, and he could understand how the area had achieved such a glamorous reputation.

Bond casually approached the front door of the Zipper. Two Indian men wearing turbans stood outside the door. He heard loud American soft rock. The Zipper was a hostess club, which meant that patrons could “buy” time with a hostess. She could sit and have a drink with him, dance with him, talk with him … whatever they happened to arrange. What went on in private rooms was negotiated. Uninitiated visitors were often taken advantage of and overcharged. Simply having a drink with a hostess could be very expensive. Prostitution itself was not illegal in Hong Kong. Brothels and streetwalking were against the law, but straightforward solicitations and private arrangements between adults were legal.

He stepped inside and paid a cover charge of 500 Hong Kong dollars, which included the first two drinks. Four lovely Chinese women in cheongsams sang out in English, “Welcome!” Then he entered a dark red room. It was large enough to feature a dance floor in the centre, and had at least fifty tables and/or divan-coffee table combinations scattered around its perimeter. The music was loud and a little irritating. A Chinese man flanked by three gorgeous women was on the dance floor, lip-synching an American rock tune in the karaoke style. The place was not crowded, but it was very early in the evening. From what he could see, the hostesses were of various nationalities, and were all young and attractive. There were a few Japanese businessmen snuggling with hostesses on divans. Two or three Caucasian men were sitting at tables with female companions. The place was devoid of any other clientele, but according to Woo, the club would be jam-packed by 9:00 p.m.

Bond walked to the far side of the room and sat down at a table. He could see the entire club from this vantage point, including the archway leading to the front lobby. T.Y. had said that if Li Xu Nan showed up at all, it would be in the early evening. Bond would just have to spend some money and wait and see. Within seconds, a lovely Chinese hostess approached his table. She, too, was wearing a cheongsam, high heels, and a smile. She sat down next to Bond and pulled her chair very close to his. Before she said a word, her bare leg emerged from the slit in the dress and pressed against his.

“Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“James,” Bond said, returning her smile. He couldn’t help feeling a bit ridiculous in this situation. He played along, pretending to be the British tourist looking for a good time.

“Well, James,” she said, “would you like a companion this evening?”

Surprisingly, her accent sounded American.

“Perhaps,” Bond said. “Where are you from?”

“If you want to continue talking, it’s 240 Hong Kong dollars for a drink and a quarter of an hour,” she said with a straight face. Then she smiled again. “You’re very handsome.”

Bond said, “All right, I’d like a vodka martini. Please shake it—don’t stir it. And get whatever you’d like.” He paid her the cash.

The girl squeezed his arm. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

He watched her walk towards the bar. She was probably in her late twenties, Bond thought; perhaps a bit older than some of the other girls he saw soliciting business in the place. She had straight black shoulder-length hair, was unusually tall, and had long, wonderful legs. She returned, set down the drinks, and then sat beside him in extremely close proximity once again.

“I’m back,” she said dreamily.

“I see that,” Bond said. “What’s your name?”

“Veronica. What’s yours?”

“I said it was James.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me that,” she said, then laughed. “Sorry, I’m a little out of it.”

“Veronica” was either a little drunk or high on something else.

“Where are you from?” Bond asked again.

“Oh, you’re wondering about the way I talk,” she said. “I spent twelve years in California, living with my aunt and uncle. I went to grade school, middle school, and high school there. But I was born here in Hong Kong, and I’ll probably die here in Hong Kong.”

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “I can’t get out. I’m a Hong Kong citizen. You’re English, aren’t you? Why won’t your country let us go there?”

Bond nodded and said, “It is pretty shameful, isn’t it? England has watched over you for a hundred and fifty years and now she’s turning her back on you. I know … I know.”

“What are you doing in Hong Kong?” she asked, taking a sip from some kind of frozen daiquiri.

“I’m a journalist. I’m here to cover the handover next week.”

“I see. You live in England?”

“Jamaica, actually, though I’m originally from England.”

“Wow, Jamaica. I’ve never been there.”

“Most people think it’s not what it used to be. It’s fairly dangerous in some areas. I happen to love it, though.”

She ran her fingers along his chin and looked at him seductively. Her brown almond eyes were lovely. There was intelligence behind them, and Bond felt sorry for her. He wondered if she knew Li Xu Nan, and if she was a