27

Mann arrived at Terminal Three at Heathrow airport. He was early. He wandered around the departure lounge thinking how much better it was in the Philippines where you could sit and get a relaxing massage whilst you waited and didn’t have to be subjected to slot machines and perfume counters. He restored his sanity by browsing books in Smiths, and now, with the latest Lee Child paperback in hand, he was looking over a black Ferrari 360 Modena that he

could

win if he wanted to part with twenty pounds for the ticket, but Mann wasn’t that kind of a gambler. He preferred to make his own luck.

He looked up and saw her striding purposefully towards him. She was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt that had a picture of a cowgirl lassoing a calf on the front. She was pink-cheeked and breathless. Her messed-up hair shone flaxen. She grinned at him but she looked slightly anxious.

She has no idea how attractive she is

, thought Mann, as he watched heads turn and she passed oblivious.

‘It’s all right, you’re not late,’ he said as she reached him, out of breath. ‘You don’t need to hurry.’

‘It’s not that…it’s just I wanted to ask you if you mind if…’

Alex came from behind the other side of the car with a lottery ticket in his hand.

‘Did Becky tell you? I’m coming too…’ He grinned—there was the challenge in his eyes again as he waited for Mann’s reaction. ‘Just so happens I have business in Hong Kong—I was about to fly out anyway. So I thought I’d tag along. That’s okay I presume?’

‘Of course.’ Mann glanced fleetingly at Becky. She smiled back but she didn’t look too sure. ‘Do you want me to organise somewhere for you to stay?’ Mann asked her.

‘Thanks,’ replied Becky, ‘that’s kind but we are booked into a hotel called the Metro—in Causeway Bay.’

‘It’s a good hotel. Close to the underground. Good choice.’ Alex wandered away from them. He looked like he had been seriously overdoing it, thought Mann. His face was sweaty and rubbery looking. He was too coked-up to maintain eye contact for long and he sniffed incessantly. He was back looking over the Ferrari and flirting with the promotions girl.

‘I’ll leave you to it then. See you in Hong Kong. I’ll ring you later, see how you’re settling in, okay?’

Mann walked away and resisted the temptation to glance back. He knew she’d be watching.

He slept most of the way back. When they landed he kept a discreet eye on them at Lantau Airport but basically he left them to it. They’d find their way perfectly well by themselves. But, hours later, back at his apartment he phoned Becky to make sure.

‘You okay? Is the hotel all right?’

‘Everything’s great, thanks, but I am ready for work whenever you say. Do you want me to meet you somewhere now?’

‘No, you’re all right, enjoy your evening. I have some personal stuff to do tonight; I’ll send a car for you in the morning.’

Mann put down his phone, poured himself a vodka and watched the sunset. He had a couple of hours to wait before he had to go to his appointment and he was restless. His flat always did that to him. It made him want to leave it. Not its fault—it was full of memories and a good few regrets. He looked around him at the sparsely furnished lounge—just one armchair, the telly and a small table. ‘Minimalist’ it had been called by someone—but it wasn’t minimalist it was minus its heart. It had been womanless since Helen had left. He rummaged through the pile of newly laundered clothes and found a fresh pair of jeans and a blue Armani shirt, then he headed into town, to Central district, to SoHo, the cobbled streets of the area south of Hollywood Road.

It was a lively area with a diversity of chic bars and restaurants all crammed together. In a world where he was neither Chinese nor English he fitted in Soho—Italians, Swedish, Spanish—foreigners of every description came there to find a little bit of home. It was a place of refuge for Mann. He always returned there when his spirits were low.

He sat in the supernatural, filmic surroundings of the Cantina, a bar dedicated to the whims of sci-fi buffs. The waitress brought him a large Zubrowka vodka on the rocks, with a dried seahorse wedged on the rim of the glass. He looked at the seahorse and frowned at her. She shrugged and walked off. Was he getting old or was the world just becoming a little too disrespectful of its living creatures?

He took the seahorse from its perch and placed it on the bar, next to the bowl of peanuts and his phone, which he had set to vibrate. He was one of a dozen others dotted around the Cantina, which had alcoves around its perimeter and a starry floor in its middle. As you walked across it, the stars twinkled brighter for a few seconds as if suspending you in space, then they disappeared and dropped you straight down a black hole—it was the perfect way to disorientate you when you’d had a few too many seahorses.

Mann looked over and raised his glass to the R2-D2 model robot who winked and chirruped back from the corner of the bar. ‘Cheers.’

A woman’s rich, deep laughter came from behind him.

‘You do know he’s not a real person?’

Mann smiled to himself and turned round.

‘He’s more real than a lot of people I deal with. How’s it going, Miriam?’

He kissed her cheek. Miriam was an Englishwoman in her late forties but she had a face that belonged in the

nineteen

forties: dark eyes, deep red lipstick and full mouth. There was a touch of Ava Gardner about her. She wore a tight-fitting sheath dress, belted in the middle—it showed off her great figure.

She rested her elbow on the bar beside him.

‘Hello Johnny. Where were you last week? You missed our

Star Wars

fancy dress party. I reserved you a costume and everything.’

‘Damn! Lost my chance to be Darth Vader then?’

‘No, had you down as Chewy.’ She winked at him.

That was one of the many things Mann liked about Miriam—she made him laugh. He had known her for ten years. He had first met her when he was investigating her husband’s death. He had been Japanese with Yakuza connections. The Yakuza often worked with the triads to achieve a common goal. Her husband had died during a bungled drug-smuggling deal. Miriam bought the Cantina with the money she got. She also inherited Yakuza protection that kept the local gangs at bay. She and Mann had been intermittent lovers for the last two years. An occasional lover was all Miriam needed or wanted. Both knew where they stood. But, in the last few weeks he had sought out her company often and she had gotten a bit too used to having him around.

‘Where did you go?’

She had that look on her face that said she was asking one question but really wanted the answer to another—was there another woman involved? Yet she knew she didn’t have the right to an honest answer. They had never laid claims on one another. She only wanted appeasing.

‘UK—on business.’

Happy, she ordered a drink and pulled up a stool next to him.

‘Some of my husband’s old friends came by whilst you were away. They wanted to warn me. They said there would be a turf war that would involve all the triad societies. They came to say that they would not be able to protect me if it happened. They were leaving it to a new society to sort out. Is it true, Mann? What’s going on?’

Mann’s phoned buzzed before he could answer. He excused himself and checked the screen. Then he slid off the stool and slipped on his jacket.

‘Sorry, Miriam, got to go. I’ll tell you all about it later.’

‘You only just got here and now you’re leaving me?’

‘I’ll pick you up on my way back though—about twelve.’

‘You’re a cocky sod!’