James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

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?”

Hambley removed her hand. The touch of her cool fingers made his heart beat a little faster. She certainly was attractive, he was thinking. He wanted to stay.

“Some other time, baby,” he said regretfully and he smiled. “I’ve work to do.”

He half-opened the front door, paused and looked at her again. She stared steadily back at him; her black eyes were alight with suggested promises.

Slowly he closed the door and he leaned against it. “Well, maybe I could stay awhile.”

She turned and walked slowly across the room to a door. Hambley, his eyes on her heavy, rolling hips, followed her.

The food vendor whose name was Cheong-Su had a long wait before he finally stood before Inspector Ngoc-Linh, but he didn’t mind the wait. The activity in the big room fascinated him and there was the suspense of wondering if someone in this long queue waiting to give information would get the reward before his turn came.

When Cheong-Su came to rest before the Inspector, he said simply and firmly that he had come to claim the reward.

“What makes you think you are going to get it?” The Inspector asked, looking at the old man, his little eyes screwed up, a bitter expression on his tired face.

"I saw the American on Sunday night,” Cheong-Su said. “He was sitting in his car outside the Paradise Club. The time was after ten o’clock.”

The Inspector pricked up his ears. This was the first piece of information bearing on Jaffe’s last movements he had had during the five hours he had sat at the table.

“What was he doing?”

Cheong-Su blinked.

“He was sitting in his car.”

“What kind of car?”

“A small red car.”

“How long did he sit in the car?”

Cheong-Su blinked.

“Not long.”

“How long? Five minutes? Ten? A half an hour?”

“Maybe half an hour.”

“Then what happened?”

“The girl came and he got out of the car,” Cheong-Su said slowly, thinking hard. “He gave her some money and she went into the club. Then she came out and they got in the car and drove away.”

The Inspector shifted his eyes. He didn’t want the food vendor to see how excited he was.

“What girl?” he asked indifferently.

Cheong-Su shrugged his skinny shoulders.

“I don’t know… a girl.”

“You don’t know who she was?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen her before, entering and leaving the club?”

Again Cheong-Su shrugged his shoulders.

“Many girls enter and leave the club. I don’t look at girls any more.”

The Inspector could have strangled him. He said in a carefully-controlled voice, “The American gave her some money and she went into the club? How long was she there?”

“Not long.”

“Ten minutes? Half an hour?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

So she was a taxi-girl, the Inspector was thinking. The American gave her money to pay Blackie Lee his fee so they could go off together. Blackie Lee had been lying when he said he knew of no regular girl.

“You are sure you haven’t seen the girl before?”

“They all look alike. I might have seen her before.”

“Is that all you have to tell me?”

Cheong-Su looked indignant.

“What more do you want?” he demanded. “I have come for the reward.”

The Inspector signalled to the uniformed policeman who gave Cheong-Su a quick hard dig in the ribs with his white baton.

“Move on,” he said.

Cheong-Su’s eyes bulged.

“But the reward?” he spluttered. “Don’t I get anything?”

The policeman gave him a hard crack on his shin with the baton, making the old man hop and howl with pain. The waiting queue laughed delightedly to see the old man hopping and rubbing his shin. The baton fell again, this time on the old man’s skinny buttocks, and holding his seat in both hands, he bolted down the room and out through the exit.

The Inspector pushed back his chair and stood up. He signed to one of his men to take over. He had to see the Colonel at once. The Colonel might think it was time to pick up Blackie Lee and bring him in for special questioning. The Inspector’s face hardened when he thought of how Blackie had lied to him. He looked forward to meeting Blackie in the bleak tiled room set aside for special questioning. The fear that would be on that oily fat face, the Inspector told himself, would be worth seeing.

The subject of the Inspector’s thoughts had had a siesta and now went back to his office to see what was happening to his brother. He found Charlie smoking another cigar with his feet up on Blackie’s desk.

The two men looked at each other.

“Anything?” Blackie asked hopefully, sitting in his desk chair.

“I think so,” Charlie said. “But we’ll need more money. The money the diamonds will sell for won’t be enough. There is only one way to get him out: on the opium flight.”

Blackie lifted his hands helplessly. Why hadn’t he thought of that? he asked himself. So simple once you did think of it. That was the difference between Charlie and himself. Charlie had more brains: there was no doubt about that and because he had more brains he had horned in on two million American dollars.

“Who is doing the run now?” he asked. He hadn’t been in the opium racket now for a couple of years and he had lost touch. He knew Charlie still smuggled opium from Laos into Bangkok.

“Lee Watkins,” Charlie said. “He’s a newcomer. He hasn’t been long in the game, but he’s a good man. His father was English, his mother Chinese. He was a pilot with C.P.A. but he got fooling with an air hostess and they threw him out. He drifted into the Opium game. He’s earning big money. He won’t look at this job unless we pay him well.”

Blackie pulled a face.

“How much?”

“At least three thousand American dollars, then there will be other expenses to take care of. He will have to use a helicopter to get the American to Kratie. There’s no safe airstrip here for a plane to land. It’ll have to be a helicopter. It’ll cost around five thousand American dollars.”

Blackie whistled.

“Well, if he has the diamonds, he can pay. If he hasn’t got them, then it’s no good.”

Charlie chewed his cigar.

“He has them.” He thought for a moment, then, “When are you seeing him?”