A Lotus for Miss Quon Page 13

  Blackie listened, grunting in sympathy from time to time. They were still discussing Charlie’s affairs as they climbed the stairs to the club where Yu-Ian greeted Charlie affectionately.

  Lunch was ready and the three sat down and ate through eight courses of immaculately prepared food. Little was said during the meal and when it was finished the two brothers retired to Blackie’s office while Yu-Ian went to her room for a siesta. Charlie sat in the most comfortable chair while Blackie sat behind his desk. He offered a cigar which Charlie accepted.

  There was a short silence while Charlie lit the cigar, then he said, “There is something perhaps that I can do for you?”

  Blackie immediately got down to business. With admirable clarity, he told his brother Jaffe’s story. He gave his brother every scrap of information he had been able to gather without complicating the facts with his own thoughts or opinions.

  Charlie lay back in the armchair and puffed at his cigar, his face expressionless. As Blackie talked, Charlie very quickly realized the danger of this thing. Up to now, neither he nor Blackie had ever touched anything really dangerous: a little opium smuggling of course: several shady currency deals; a certain amount of refugee smuggling into Hong Kong, but nothing where they could find themselves facing an execution squad, and this thing that Blackie was dabbling in could very easily end before the levelled rifles of Security Police.

  Charlie had lived for many years in Saigon. He had left when the French had pulled out and President Diem had come to power. He had felt it his duty to provide a bolt-hole for his young brother in case of need, and he had settled in Hong Kong. But he understood the Vietnamese methods and mentality. He knew they would take the sternest measures against a Chinese if they found out he had helped a fugitive from justice to escape.

  Blackie said, “The American has money. He will pay fifteen thousand U.S. dollars if we can get him out. This is an acceptable sum. I thought five for you and ten for me would be a fair arrangement. What do you think?”

  “My life is worth a lot more than five thousand U.S. dollars,” Charlie said quietly.

  Blackie frowned. He was disappointed. He thought his brother would have jumped at such an offer.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is too dangerous,” Charlie said. “I am sorry, but I cannot consider the matter for a moment; it is much too dangerous.”

  Blackie understood how to deal with his brother. He took from his pocket the two diamonds that Jaffe had given him.

  “The American is willing to trust me,” he said. “He has given me these two diamonds. He tells me they are worth a thousand U.S. dollars. They will take care of our immediate expenses. When he reaches Hong Kong, he will pay us fifteen thousand U.S. dollars.” He put the two glittering dia. monds on his blotter.

  Charlie was an expert in all kinds of precious stones. He had once been a diamond cutter to a jeweller in Saigon, but unfortunately for him he had been caught stealing gold and that had put an end to his career in the jewellery trade.

  He picked up the two diamonds and studied them. Then he took a watchmaker’s glass from his pocket and screwed it into his eye and examined the stones very carefully. There was a long pause while Blackie watched him. Finally Charlie took the glass from his eye and put the diamonds back on the blotter.

  As he leaned hack in his armchair, he asked, “The American gave you these stones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did he get them from?”

  “From Hong Kong. He bought them for a girl, but changed his mind.”

  “How much did you say he told you they were worth?”

  Blackie frowned.

  “A thousand U.S. dollars.”

  “It would surprise you if I told you they are worth three thousand dollars?” Charlie said.

  Blackie’s eyes went dull. He slumped down in his chair while he stared at his brother.

  “The American didn’t buy these diamonds in Hong Kong,” Charlie went on. “He was lying to you.”

  “I don’t understand,” Blackie said. “Why did he give them to me if they are worth so much?”

  “Because he doesn’t know the value of them, and that means he didn’t buy them.”

  “I don’t understand,” Blackie said. “If he didn’t buy them how did he get them?”

  “He stole them,” Charlie said. “This is a very strange coincidence.” He pointed to the diamonds. “Six years ago, I cut those diamonds. Myself. My mark is on them.”

  “This is extraordinary,” Blackie said. “You are quite sure?”

  “Of course. I can tell you who the owner was of these diamonds. Do you remember General Nguyen Van Tho?”

  Blackie nodded.

  “He ordered a hundred and twenty diamonds from the firm I worked for and he paid cash for them. It was a secret deal, but I learned he had gone to another dealer and bought fifty much bigger and better stones. In all he bought two million American dollars worth of diamonds. He used the Army funds to buy the stones. He planned to leave the country but he left it too late. He was killed by a bomb, and the diamonds were never found. I think the American has found them!”

  The two men looked at each other. Blackie felt a trickle of sweat run down his face. Two million American dollars!

  “Of course!” he said. “Jaffe lived in the villa belonging to the General’s woman! The General must have hidden the stones there and Jaffe found them. That’s why he murdered his houseboy! The boy must have known Jaffe had found the diamonds!”

  Charlie continued to puff at his cigar, but his mind was active. Here at last, he was thinking, is the chance I have waited for. Two million dollars! The big money! At last!

  “Of course we don’t know he has the other diamonds,” Blackie said doubtfully. “He may have found only these two.”

  “And killed the boy for two diamonds?” Charlie shook his head. “No: he’s found them - all of them. You can be sure of that.”

  “I know where he is hiding,” Blackie said, lowering his voice. “It would be a simple matter to surprise him. I have several men who would take care of him.”

  Charlie lifted his head to stare at his brother.

  “Suppose you got the diamonds?” he said. “What would you do with them here?”

  “We would take them to Hong Kong,” Blackie said impatiently.

  “The last time I left Saigon, I was searched,” Charlie said gently. “They would search you too. Both of us are suspect. If we were caught with the diamonds, we would disappear. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Then what are we going to do?” Blackie said.

  “We are going to do what the American wants. We are going to get him out of the country. Naturally, he’ll take the diamonds with him. He will take all the risks. We will be in Hong Kong waiting for him. It is then when he arrives in Hong Kong that we take the diamonds from him. Do you agree?”

  “But you said just now you wouldn’t consider the matter,” Blackie reminded him.

  Charlie smiled.

  “For two million American dollars, there is nothing I would not consider. You can tell him we will get him out of the country.”

  “But how?”

  Charlie closed his eyes.

  “That is something I must think about. I am not as young as I used to be. A little sleep now would be beneficial. Will you see I am not disturbed?”

  Blackie got up and went to the door. He paused. There was a worried expression in his eyes.

  “The American won’t part with the diamonds easily,” he said. “He is a powerfully-built man.”

  Charlie settled himself comfortably in the chair.

  “We can’t expect to gain two million dollars without trouble,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me. I will take it into consideration.”

  A few minutes after Blackie had left the office, Charlie began to snore softly.

  Chapter Ten

  1

  THE reward of 20,000 piastres for any information concerning Jaffe’s la
st movements before he had been kidnapped led to chaotic scenes outside Security Headquarters.

  Inspector Ngoc-Linh had expected this to happen. He knew every shiftless coolie, pousse-pousse boy, street-vendor and the like would come rushing forward with their stories, determined to earn the reward.

  He knew he and his men would have to sift through hundreds of stories in the hope of gaining one little fact that might prove Jaffe was in hiding and not in the hands of the Viet Minh. The Inspector hoped too to get a lead on the girl Jaffe associated with. He gave instructions that no one was to be turned away. Everyone coming forward with information was to be interviewed.

  A man who could have told him where Jaffe was hiding knew nothing about the offer of the reward for Yo-Yo had never learned to read and consequently never looked at a newspaper.

  While the Inspector was probing and sifting the answers to his questions, Yo-Yo squatted outside the Paradise Club, his dirty, vicious face puckered in a perplexed frown.

  He saw Charlie arrive. He had seen Charlie before and knew he lived in Hong Kong. He guessed Charlie had been sent for. He knew then for certain that something of great importance was going on. But how was he to find out what this something could be? He wondered if he should go to the taxi-dancer’s home and talk to her. He might persuade her to tell him why she had visited the American, but on second thought he saw that if he failed to frighten her into talking he would be in serious trouble with Blackie. The risk was too great.

  So he sat in the shade, fidgeting with his yo-yo and waited. Not ten yards from him the food vendor was reading of the reward and wondering craftily what story he could tell the police that would convince them he was the man to receive the reward. He knew Jaffe. He had seen him often going in and out of the club, but he couldn’t remember if he had seen him on Sunday night. He vaguely remembered Jaffe had sat in his car outside the club but whether that was on Saturday or Sunday, the vendor couldn’t make up his mind.

  He decided he might as well tell the police it was Sunday. They would be more impressed if he told them it was Sunday because, according to the newspaper, that was the day when Jaffe disappeared. As soon as the lunch-hour rush was over, he would go to the police and tell them about seeing Jaffe sitting in his car. Even if he didn’t get all the reward, surely they would give him something?

  In the American Embassy, Lieutenant Hambley sat in his office, digging holes in his blotter with a paper-knife, a thoughtful, worried expression on his face.

  He was waiting for Sam Wade to come in. He had telephoned for him as soon as he had got back to his office. Wade had said he would be along in a few minutes.

  When he did come in, Hambley waved him to a chair.

  “I’ve got myself snarled up in this Jaffe affair,” he said. You knew him pretty well, didn’t you?”

  “I guess, but not all that well. We played golf together. He was a hell of a fine golfer. I never saw anyone hit a longer ball off the peg.”

  “What sort of guy was he?”

  “A regular fella. I liked him.”

  Hambley dug more holes in his blotter.

  “He wasn’t a queer, was he?”

  Wade’s eyes opened wide.

  “Are you kidding?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “Jaffe a queer?

  What kind of an idea is that?”

  “There’s a rumour going around that he was,” Hambley said quietly. “It’s said he had an association with his house-boy.”

  Wade looked disgusted.

  “The guy who put that rumour around wants his backside kicked. What does he expect to get out of a foul lie like that?”

  Hambley looked at Wade’s indignant face with interest.

  “You’re as sure at that?” he asked.

  “You’re damn right I am!” Wade said, his face flushed. “What’s all this about anyway?”

  Hambley told him of the Inspector’s theory.

  “Well, it’s a lie,” Wade said. “I know for a fact Jaffe had a regular girl. He never chased women. That story about why he borrowed my car is so much baloney!”

  “Who was his girl, then?” Hambley asked.

  “I don’t know. What’s it matter anyway? I do know she used to visit his place about three times a week. You know how you get to hear these things. My houseboy is always telling me who is sleeping with who. When you play golf with a guy, you get to know the kind of man he is. Jaffe was a sportsman: he was okay. I’m telling you.”

  “I’d like to talk to this girl of his,” Hambley said. “How can I find her?”

  Wade rubbed his fat jowels while he thought.

  The most likely one who could tell you is that Chink I slept with on Sunday night: she’s a bitch and a thief,” and he gave Hambley the address.

  Hambley reached for his service cap and slapped it on his head.

  “Well, thanks,” he said, “I’ll go and see this Chinese girl.”

  He looked at his watch. It was just after half past twelve. “You have been a help.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside Ann Fai Wah’s front door. He rang the bell and waited. After a two-minute wait, he rang again. He was just deciding that she had gone out, when the front door opened and the girl stood in the doorway, looking at him. Her almond-shaped eyes moved over him, taking in the details of his uniform before examining his face.

  “Hambley: Military Police,” the Lieutenant said, saluting. “May I come in for a moment?”

  She stepped back and made a little flicking movement with her long, beautiful fingers. She was wearing a dove-coloured Cheongsam slit either side to half-way up her thighs. Her long shapely legs were bare and the colour of old ivory. He could see the hard points of her breasts under the grey silk. He didn’t think she had on anything under the Cheongsam.

  He walked into the sitting-room. On the table was the morning newspaper. By it a tray containing a cup and saucer, a coffee pot and a half-empty bottle of Remy Martin brandy.

  Ann Fai Wah sat on the arm of a big leather lounging-chair and rested her arm along its back. Hambley had difficulty not to stare at her leg as the split skirt parted as she sat down.

  “You want something?” the girl asked, lifting painted eyebrows.

  Hambley pulled himself together.

  “Have you read the paper yet?”

  He leaned forward and tapped the headlines that shouted of Jaffe’s kidnapping.

  “Hmmmm.”

  She nodded, her slim fingers playing with a curl on the side of her neck.”Did you know Jaffe?”

  She shook her head.

  “He had a girl friend: a Vietnamese taxi-dancer. I’m trying to find her. Would you know who she is and where she lives?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Hambley shifted from one foot to the other. He found the black almond-shaped eyes extremely disconcerting. She was looking him over the way a farmer would examine a prize bull.

  “What does that mean? Do you know her or don’t you?” She leaned forward to pick up a cigarette. Her breasts tightened their grey silk covering. She put the cigarette between her heavily-made-up lips and looked expectantly at him.

  Hambley fumbled for his lighter, found it and had trouble to light it. It irritated him as he lit her cigarette to be aware that he was confused and acting like a teenager.

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked, leaning back and releasing a long stream of tobacco smoke down her nostrils.

  “We’re trying to check his last movements up to the time he was kidnapped,” Hambley explained. “We think his girl could help us.”

  “If she could, she would have come forward, wouldn’t she?”

  “Not necessarily. She might not want to get involved.”

  Ann Fai Wah picked up the newspaper and glanced at it.

  “I see there’s a reward. If I told you who she is, will I get the reward?”

  “You might. Security Police are paying the reward. You’d have to talk to them.”

  “I don’t want to talk to them.
I prefer to talk to you. If you will give me 20,000 piastres, I will tell you who she is.”

  "So you know?”

  Again the painted eyebrows lifted.

  "Perhaps.”

  “I haven’t the authority to give you the money,” Hambley said. But I’ll put your claim forward through the proper channels. Who is she?”

  Ann Fai Wah shrugged her shoulders.

  “I forget. I’m sorry. Is that all? You must excuse me.”

  “Look, baby,” Hambley said, suddenly becoming the tough cop, “you can please yourself about this but you either tell me or Security Police. You’ll tell one of us!”

  Ann Fai Wah’s expression didn’t change, but her quick shrewd mind warned her of her danger. If this American told Security Police he thought she had information, she would be taken to Headquarters and questioned. She knew what happened to people who were reluctant to talk. She had no intention of having her back lacerated with a bamboo cane.

  “And the reward?”

  “I told you: I’ll put in a claim for you. I don’t promise you’ll get it, but I’ll do my best for you.”

  She hesitated, looking at him, then seeing he was determined, she said, “Her name is Nhan Lee Quon. I don’t know where she lives. Her uncle tells fortunes at the Tomb of Marshal Le-van-Duyet.”

  “Thanks,” Hambley said. “What’s the uncle look like?”

  “He is a fat man with a beard.”

  Hambley picked up his cap.

  "I’ll go talk to him,” he said and started towards the door.

  Ann Fai Wah crushed out her cigarette and sauntered to the door with him.

  “You won’t forget the reward, Lieutenant?”

  “I won’t forget.”

  “Perhaps you will come and see me again one evening?” He grinned at her.

  “I might at that.”

  She took hold of the top button of his tunic and examined it. Her face was very close to his.

  “Her uncle won’t be at the temple until three o’clock,” she said. “You have plenty of time. Perhaps you would like to stay a little while now?”