Part 42 (1/2)
”What?”
Reaction time was everything. Under normal circ.u.mstances one had only one's training to rely on. And one had to hope one's own training was the better. But there were times of extreme peril when that kind of thinking was inadequate, when one needed an edge.
It had been Simbal's experience that the only advantage to be sought in such times was that of surprise. The body responded instinctively to motion, so this had to be discounted. The mind was the target. The mind had to be frozen that infinitesimal instant so that the impulses to the nerves and muscles were delayed the fraction needed to gain the advantage.
The words were not entirely out of Simbal's mouth when he was already pus.h.i.+ng his body on its way. One, two, three strides and then leap, you b.l.o.o.d.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d, leap into poor Maria's torso, knocking her and Bennett backward.
The three of them tumbling to the deck, everything happening in a blur, bad luck handcuffing him, the edge of Bennett's cowboy boot rising in reflex, catching Simbal over the right eye, the Magnum discharging, Maria's chest exploding.
Bennett charging while Simbal was still recovering, the muzzle of the Magnum landing alongside Simbal's nose, making breathing impossible, the nerves in his face going numb.
Simbal fighting back now out of pure instinct, the organism, in terror for its own life, cared nothing but to wrest control of the gun from Bennett. It had seen what one hollow-nosed bullet had done to a human being and it wanted nothing more to do with the working end of the Magnum.
Still on the dock, the Cuban had his pistol out. He could see Maria but he did not know how badly she had been hit. The shots had stayedhim from leaping onto the cigarette. The three of them were so entangled that he feared his intervention would get Maria or Simbal shot.
A knee in Bennett's groin brought the pistol down far enough for Simbal's b.l.o.o.d.y fingers to slip over its slick metal surface. Simbal chopped blindly down, made another grab for the Magnum. It flipped over the side, making a heavy splash.
Bennett used his ham fists, locking the fingers together, bringing the combination down like a cudgel on the back of Simbal's neck. That was the end of it. Simbal had absorbed too much in too little time to recover. He went down in a heap and Bennett kicked him savagely once, twice.
Fumbled in a locker, drew out a Mack 10, trained the mini machine pistol on the Cuban who had started forward with the sound of the Magnum going into the water. ”Sorry about the skirt, brother,” Bennett said. ”But you've only to blame this s.h.i.+t-for-brains for that.” He let off a quick burst as the Cuban made an abortive move. ”You're not as stupid as this one here,” Bennett said. ”So throw down the gun.”
With one eye on Gato de Rosa, Bennett undid the mooring lines, then started the engines. A rumbling, liquid roar and he guided the black cigarette out of the dock.
When he deemed it far enough he put the boat into neutral, went back along the deck to where Simbal and Maria lay unmoving. Bennett reached out and lifted Simbal onto his shoulder. With an animal grunt he threw him overboard, said to no one in particular, ”Don't pollute this rat-infested place too much.” He spat into the place where the body had sunk.
Back at the helm, he turned the wheel hard over and, in a thick plume of phosph.o.r.escent spray, was gone.
The Star House in Causeway Bay was the kind of restaurant Bliss usually avoided. Great multifaceted crystal chandeliers floated above circular tables for eight or ten people. Ornate carved dragons rippled in lurid bas-relief along the gilt-flecked walls, and columns in the form of crimson-and-emerald phoenixes studded the interior.
In all it was the kind of out-of-the-way place that tourists flocked to simply because it wasn't in the Hong Kong Tourist a.s.sociation guidebook and, because of its rather awesome decor, was believed to be frequented by the locals ”who really know good food.”
The two or three times Bliss had come here the food had been solidly mediocre. But this time was different. Each dish put before them was sparklingly fresh and absolutely delicious. When she commented on this, Big Oysters Pok laughed and said, ”They all say that, everyone I take here. I like to see the looks on their faces when they walk in and when they take their first bite of faahn. The answer's quite uncomplicated. The chef is my brother-in-law. He cherishes my sister like no one else in the world. Therefore, he says, he owes me everything.”
”How is that?”
”My parents are dead,” Big Oyster Pok said.
”I see,” As the head of the family, it was up to him to approve of the marriage. Obviously he had.
Tonight he was Big Oysters Pok, not Fung the Skeleton: pale oyster-gray linen suit, pin-striped s.h.i.+rt with a pastel blue background, midnight-blue raw silk tie. He was very dapper, difficult to recognize as the muscular, barebacked smuggler she had met earlier in the day.
He said something amusing and Bliss laughed. He nodded his head, smiling almost shyly. He found himself liking her. She was unlike any woman he had ever met. She had the mind of a man and that intrigued him. He saw no weakness in her, only a shrewdness that made her flexible.
Occasionally Big Oysters Pok had run across the new breed of West-em woman, tough as steel and about as appetizing. In pus.h.i.+ng themselves into what was essentially a male arena they had hardened their souls. Male strengththe pattern which they followed with slavish devotionhad made them inflexible because they had mistaken an essential quality of this nature. One learned strength in business by watching the work of the ocean against the rocks along the beach. The sea endured while the stones, over time, became smaller and smaller.
Bliss was so unlike these new Western mistresses of corporate ent.i.ties it was startling. It was unlike himso untraditional!to find such strength in a female attractive. Yet he did.
Across the table, Bliss was not unaware of his change in att.i.tude but she was unable to address herself fully to the s.h.i.+ft. Part of her had slipped into da-hei, her qi strung out across the bosom of the South China Sea. Moonlight dappled the waves; the whine of powerful diesels far off yet carried in the water along with the long, drawn-out notes of the whales conversing pack to pack.
Annoyed at being drawn away from her mission, she made an effort to turn her back on da-hei. If she was to get the name of the woman who followed Jake, who knew of his appointment with Zilin, she knew she would need all her concentration. Big Oysters Pok was not just another smuggler of the tears of the poppy. He was a complex man.
She needed to know what his quid pro quo was going to be for the information she soughtbefore he asked his price. That was the only way to deal with such a shrewd businessman.
”You seem to change personalities as easily as you change clothes,” she said.
Big Oysters Pok smiled. ”It is only a modest quality, not even a talent really. If I live many lives, I can have many loves.”
So that is what he wants, Bliss thought. Me.
”I imagine it can be dangerous as well,” she said. ”Being so many people brings complications, doesn't it?”
He shrugged. ”Perhaps that is one of the reasons I pursue such lives. Like smuggling there is a high degree of risk. I find that life has no meaning without such an element. Like Sichuan peppers, risk imparts an undeniable piquancy that is instantly identifiable.”
”You could put a revolver to your head and play Russian roulette,” Bliss said.
Big Oysters Pok laughed. ”I've done that as well. On a bet. Or a dare. I got one of my boats that way. Very easy.” He laughed again.
”About the woman who stole this opal,” Bliss said.
Big Oysters Pok looked at her. ”Do I get it back?”
She slid it across the table.
Big Oysters Pok said, ”She was my mistress. Until I found out that she was meeting a Communist agent from the mainland.”
”She was a Communist spy?”
”Yes.”
Her eyes losing focus, night turning to day, the moonlight s.h.i.+mmering, a pathway leading her on, da-hei engulfing her, Not now! I'm almost there! The strange calling of the sea creatures blending into the pathway of light, intensifying the illumination until it transmogrified into a voice, calling to her a Coming, he's coming Who's coming?
He's coming, coming now Big Oysters Pok turning his head, chopsticks clattering off the edge of the plate as he let them go. Big Oysters Pok trying to rise as Bliss sat enraptured by the ethereal voices in da-hei. Big Oysters Pok opening his mouth, saying, ”Dew neh loh moh on y”
Then the explosions, one! two! three! four! five! six! as the bullets landed.
Out in the night the fires were burning. In the Outback. Behind Ian McKenna's eyes. The green-headed fly tap-tap-tapping on the convex surface of the b.u.g.g.e.red boy's milky eye. Staring blindly up at the winking stars. In the desert. In the death of innocence, in time out of mind. When Ian McKenna went mad.
The string had been pulled then but his mind refused to believe it, to accept any responsibility for its own agonizing predicament. Rather it was the magic, the magic of the sparking fires ringing the Outback, the runic chanting that had ensorcelled him.
The wogs, McKenna had decided. It was the b.l.o.o.d.y wogs who wanted him dead, who insisted that he pay for his sin, his crime against nature. Aborigine or Chinese, it no longer mattered to McKenna. One and the other was blended in his mind in a kind of hideous amalgam, a larger-than-life figure that sought to humble him, to take from him his superiority, his very manhood.
The mind twisted by such torment sought the nearest target, the one who had most recently humbled it.
Big Oysters Pok.
Ian McKenna had been searching for Big Oysters Pok in every dive in Wan chai. Then someone in the Pink Teacup had reminded him that Pok invariably ate dinner at the Star House in Causeway Bay.
McKenna had walked in, his red-brimmed eyes staring wildly. He was quite mad but since they considered all gwai loh mad, the Chinese scurrying back and forth along the crowded aisles with food-laden trays held high paid him no attention. Even when he approached Big Oysters Pok's table at full speed.
Until he pulled out the Magnum .357 and, squeezing the trigger six times, emptied it.