James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

The firing pin came down on the cap, making a loud click, but the gun didn’t fire. The three-year-old cartridge had betrayed Jaffe in his most urgent need.

Khun heard the sound and jumped aside, his breath whistling out of his open mouth. He saw a vast shape rise off the ground and come towards him in a lunging dive and he fired blindly.

The bullet scraped Jaffe’s arm. He felt the burning pain but it didn’t check his dive. Khun had no chance to fire directly at him again. Jaffe’s arms encircled his bony legs and his shoulder thudded into his groin. Khun felt as if he had been charged by a bull. IIe felt himself being flung up in the air and he pulled the trigger of his gun, the bullet whizzing into the night sky, the flash of the gun momentarily blinding Jaffe.

The two men crashed down on the grass. The gun flew out of Khun’s hand. He screamed out in terror as he felt an agonizing pain sweep through him. Jaffe struck him on the side of his head with his clenched fist and the little man, hopelessly outmatched, jerked upwards and then fell back]imply.

Jaffe knelt over him, breathing heavily. His hands rested lightly on Khun’s throat, ready to nip back a second scream. Khun mumbled something in Vietnamese which Jaffe couldn’t understand. Then from his throat came a curious dry rattling sound, like the rustle of dry leaves. The sound made Jaffe’s hair stand on end. Khun’s head flopped sideways, and Jaffe knew he was dead.

He remained kneeling over the little man for some minutes too stunned to move, then finally he made an effort and stood up.

Another one dead! he thought. These little people are as brittle as matchsticks. I guess I must have broken his spine. Well, at least, this was in self defence. If I hadn’t gone for him, he would have killed me.

Now what was he going to do? he asked himself. If they found this little man’s body here, they might set a trap at the temple. Blackie was coming back the day after tomorrow. He would have to move him.

Walking stiffly, his mind jumping with alarm, he went back to his bicycle. He groped around for several seconds before he found his gun. He shoved it into his hip-pocket. The gun was no good, he told himself. It had been just luck that it had fired the first time. He couldn’t trust it any more.

He straightened his bicycle and wheeled it over to where Khun lay. Without much trouble, he hoisted the dead man over his shoulder, then wheeling his machine, he started across the rough grass towards the main road.

Just before he reached the road, he came upon Khun’s bicycle. He couldn’t leave it where it was. Balancing the dead man over his shoulder, he started off again, wheeling the two machines, holding them in either hand. When he reached the road, he got on his bicycle and steering the other, he pedalled off down the road.

I only need to run into someone, he thought. That’s all it needs to round off a hell of a lousy night.

But he didn’t run into anyone. And after riding four or five miles, he dumped Khun’s body in a ditch and the bicycle on top of him.

Before leaving, he took Khun’s gun and cartridge belt.

As he rode back to Thudaumot, he hoped the police would think the little man’s death was yet another Viet Minh outrage.

Blackie Lee arrived back at the club at twenty minutes to one a.m. He parked his car, got out and stood for a moment breathing in the hot used-up air.

There was no movement in the street. Three rickshaws stood nearby along the kerb. The three rickshaw boys were sleeping in their vehicles. The neon lights that plastered the front of the club were out. They went out every night exactly at twelve. Looking up at the dark building, Blackie smiled to himself. In Hong Kong those lights would blaze until the early hours of the morning. There was no crippling curfew in Hong Kong.

He started towards the club, then paused as he saw a shadowy figure rise up out of a dark doorway and come towards him. He recognized the hard Mexican hat that Yo-Yo always wore and he frowned impatiently.

Yo-Yo sidled up to him.”

“Good evening, Mr. Blackie,” he said. “I wanted to speak to you.”

“Some other time,” Blackie said curtly. “It’s late. See me tomorrow,” and he walked across to the entrance of the club and fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

Yo-Yo followed him.

“It won’t wait until tomorrow, Mr. Blackie. I wanted your advice. It’s about the American, Jaffe.”

Blackie restrained a start of alarm with an effort. His agile mind worked swiftly. What a fool he had been! He had for-gotten he had sent Yo-Yo to follow Nhan. This little rat knew where Jaffe was hiding! He must have read about the reward in the newspapers.

“Jaffe?” he said, looking over his shoulder at Yo-Yo, his fat face expressionless. “Who’s Jaffe?”

“The American who was kidnapped, Mr. Blackie,” Yo-Yo said, a derisive sneer in his voice.

Blackie hesitated, then he said, “You’d better come up,” and he waved Yo-Yo to goon ahead.

As Blackie followed him up the stairs, his elation left him. If this little rat has put two and two together, he thought, and made it four, he can ruin the whole of our plans.

There was only one light on in the dance hall. It was over the cash desk where Yu-Ian was checking the cash. The desk was covered with money. She glanced up as the two men came in. Her head jerked up when she saw Yo-Yo.

Blackie didn’t say anything to her. He continued across the floor to his office, followed by Yo-Yo who had paused for a moment to stare at the money on the desk.

In his office, Blackie sat down behind his desk. Yo-Yo stood in front of the desk, chewing on the thin leather strap that hung from his hat.

“Well? What is it?” Blackie said.

“They’re offering 20,000 piastres for information about the American,” Yo-Yo said. “I know he hasn’t been kidnapped and I know where he is. I thought I’d better talk to you first before I claim the reward.”

“What makes you think it’s anything to do with me?” Yo-Yo picked at a food stain on his coat.

“Isn’t it?” he said, not looking at Blackie. “He’s the man I saw in the villa at Thudaumot. The man Nhan visited.”

“How do you know?”

Yo-Yo looked up and his thick lips parted in a sneering grin.

“I know, Mr. Blackie. I thought I’d come to you first. You’ve always been good to me. I didn’t want to get you into any trouble.”

Blackie breathed heavily through his wide nostrils. He felt a cold clutch of fear at his heart, but his face remained expressionless.

“Why should I get into trouble?”

Yo-Yo shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t say anything.

To give himself time to think, Blackie lit a cigarette. As he flicked out the match, he said, “It would be better if you didn’t go to the police. I’m thinking of the girl. I don’t let any of my girls get into trouble if I can help it.”

Yo-Yo’s grin widened.

“I know that, Mr. Blackie.”

“Well, okay. You keep away from the police. Just keep quiet about this. Police informers aren’t popular around here.”

Yo-Yo nodded.

There was a pause, then Blackie went on, “It’s time you settled down to a job of work. Come and see me tomorrow. I’ll find something for you: something good,” and he made a little flicking movement of dismissal.

Yo-Yo didn’t move.

“How about the reward, Mr. Blackie?”

I’ll have to give him the money, Blackie thought, but it won’t stop there. As soon as he has spent it, he’ll be back for more. I’ve got this little rat on my back now.

“The police won’t pay you,” he said. “They’ll listen to you, but they won’t pay you. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”