James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

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!”