Part 18 (1/2)

I couldn't sleep on the plane back to London. I kept thinking of tankers full of water, plane-loads of has.h.i.+sh, suitcases of money, and honeymoon suites full of Chinese hookers.

'You've been away a long time,' said Judy as I fell through the door. 'You said you wouldn't be long.'

'I've been gone only a few days. It's a long way. And I've done a lot. I've been busy.'

'You're always busy, Howard. You don't change. Another friend of yours from prison has been calling here. Jim Hobbs. I suppose you'll be seeing him now.'

She was right on all counts. I promised myself I'd take her and Amber and Francesca to Hong Kong when I next went. They'd love it. Hobbs would be useful. He was a trustworthy and hard-working guy. Maybe he'd like to marry a Chinese hooker and earn his keep.

We visited my parents' home in Wales over Christmas. The offices of the Welsh Water Authority were nearby. I had spent about a week reading all there was to know about the bulk transport of water and had made an appointment to see Roy Webborn, the Authority's a.s.sistant Director of Finance. I told him I represented a syndicate of Far Eastern businessmen who were interested in purchasing giant tanker-loads of water and taking it to Saudi Arabia. Webborn explained that Welsh water wasn't yet available for bulk export, but there was plenty of it in the hills, and oil tankers were leaving Milford Haven carrying nothing but sea-water ballast. If any business interest was prepared to pay for the installation of bulk fresh-water loading facilities at Milford Haven, the Welsh Water Authority would pay for the pipes to take the water there from the hills and sell it cheaply. I said I'd see what I could do. He gave me a stack of laboratory test reports and impressive multilingual, multicoloured brochures.

January 1984 was cold. The British public were still listening to last year's big hits: Karma Chameleon Karma Chameleon, Red Red Wine Red Red Wine, and Uptown Girl Uptown Girl. Little was happening, so I was delighted to get a call from Ernie Combs.

'Hi. How you doing? I got good news for you. Frank's in Frankfurt with the contract. Can you see him right away?'

'Frank' was our code for money. 'Frankfurt' was code for Hong Kong. The contract was the instructions for whatever deal Ernie had decided to go for.

'Sure. Shall I call you when I get there?'

'I have a new number for you. It will answer ”LAPD”, but it's not the Los Angeles Police Department, it's a friend of mine called Flash. He's an electronic genius. Ask for me, and he'll put you through to whichever hotel I'm staying in. I live in hotels these days.'

This time I flew British Airways, again booking my ticket through Hong Kong International Travel Centre. Arriving in the early morning, I took a cab from Kai Tak airport to the Park Hotel, checked in and walked to Cable and Wireless to phone Ernie. He told me to contact his friend Bill, who was staying in the five-star luxury Mandarin Hotel on Hong Kong Island. I travelled over on the Star Ferry.

Bill was a heavily set US military type. He had been in the Special Forces in Vietnam and spoke fluent Russian. Ernie knew some strange people.

'There's exactly $1,250,000 in that suitcase. I counted it myself. My orders are to give it to you.'

'What am I meant to do with it?' I asked.

'I don't know. You mean you don't know? You guys are something else. It ain't like working for the Government, I can tell you.'

'Ernie give you any instructions for me, Bill?'

'Who is Ernie?'

'The guy who gave you the suitcase of money to give to me.'

'He was no Ernie. He was some gook who works in a bank a couple of blocks away. But you are for sure the guy I gotta give this money to. You're British, right? And I want you to take it right now. I'm fixing on getting me a couple of Chinese broads tonight, and I don't want all that cash cramping my style. It's heavy. I'll carry it downstairs for you. I'm on my way out anyway. You can get a cab.'

I stood outside the foyer of the Mandarin Hotel. There wasn't a cab in sight. Then suddenly an endless snake of red and white Hong Kong cabs came driving past at a snail's pace. The cab-drivers were yelling out of the windows, and their hands were continuously pressing the horns. It was a taxi strike, and the strikers had decided to block up Hong Kong's streets as part of their protest. No road traffic was moving. I was stuck. I could hardly lift the suitcase, let alone carry it to the Star Ferry. Luckily a Ma.s.s Transit Railway underground station, Central, was just on the corner. Sweating and heaving, I dragged the suitcase down the thronged steps to the lengthy ticket-machine queues. I couldn't get it over or through the turnstiles. My trousers got ripped in the attempt. A couple of Chinese schoolboys helped me carry it to the densely packed Tube train. I pulled the suitcase out at Tsim Sha Tsui station, and, on the point of collapse, reached the top of the station steps.

The strike had turned into a riot. Swarms of screaming Chinese were tearing around throwing missiles through shop windows and looting the wares. Piles of electronic machinery and cheap jewellery littered the pavements and disappeared in armfuls. People were robbing whatever they could. The contents of my suitcase were more valuable than the sum total of all the stolen goods I could see. I began panicking. My heart was racing, and I was so weak I simply could not budge the suitcase. I sat on it and watched the riot. Eventually, I found the strength to lift it and stumbled into the Park Hotel.

'I take your bag, Mr Marks,' said a diminutive Chinese porter, picking up the immense weight, putting it on his shoulders, and running down the corridor to the elevator. I went running after him. He put down the suitcase, smiled broadly as I gave him a 100-Hong-Kong-dollar tip, and ran away.

I collapsed on the bed, jet-lagged and exhausted. I'd smuggled in a few ready-rolled joints from London. One of them put me to sleep.

A couple of hours later, I woke surrounded by three room attendants.

'Ah! Mr Marks, you must close door. Maybe robber come. Today crazy day in Hong Kong.'

This was most irresponsible. I'd gone to sleep leaving a suitcase containing well over a million dollars in the middle of the floor with the door wide open while I fell unconscious puffing away at a large joint. I couldn't risk leaving the room, not even to go downstairs. I couldn't telephone Ernie from the hotel room. That would be uncool. It was still morning in London. Hobbs should be at the Soho office. I'd given him some odd jobs to do for Drinkbridge. It would be all right to phone there from the hotel.

'Jim, can you get the next flight to Hong Kong? Ask Balendo at Hong Kong International to give you a ticket on my account.'

'Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Howard.'

'Bring your birth certificate, Jim. You might be getting married.'

The Park Hotel was not Hong Kong's best-equipped hotel. There was a black-and-white television and some piped muzak. I had enough hash for only three joints. I put the suitcase in the wardrobe and smoked three joints. I telephoned April.

'Ahh, Marks, you back in Hong Kong. Me and Selena think you never come back. You go Bottoms Up tonight?'

'No, I have to stay in my room to receive telephone calls.'

'You want me and Selena come see you. No problem. Where you stay?'

'Park Hotel.'

'Where?'

'It's on Chatham Road. April, can you bring some ...?'

'I bring everything, Marks. See you.'

'Ahh, Marks, why you stay in this hotel, and in Room 526? This number bad luck for you,' said Selena.

'Fenshui all f.u.c.ked up,' agreed April. all f.u.c.ked up,' agreed April.

'What's fenshui fenshui?' I asked.

'It's what gwailu gwailu professor call ”geometric omen”,' said April. 'What you get depend on what you look at.' professor call ”geometric omen”,' said April. 'What you get depend on what you look at.'

'What's gwailu gwailu?'

'You are gwailu gwailu, Marks. It mean White devil.'

'So if the view sucks, you say the fenshui fenshui is not up to standard.' is not up to standard.'

'Not just view, Marks, orientation, too. This hotel very bad. Why you don't stay Shangri-La? It's very good hotel. My friend works there as a.s.sistant manager. I get you good deal. Cost same money as here. I arrange for you.'

'Okay. I just have to wait here until my friend comes from London tomorrow. Then I'll check into the Shangri-La.'

'Who is your friend, Marks?' asked Selena.

'He's called Jim Hobbs. He is coming to Hong Kong to get married.'

'Is he marrying gwailu gwailu or banana?' or banana?'

'What's a banana?'