James Chase - A Lotus for Miss Quon

Two murders! Charlie thought, and he felt sweat start out on his body.

He visualized the scene. Jaffe and the girl walking ahead; he following them. He would draw the gun and he would shoot Jaffe in the back. Jaffe would fall. He might not be killed, but at least he would be harmless. What would the girl do? She might run away. It would be dark. If she started to run before he could swing the gun in her direction, she could get away. Then he would be in trouble.

As if he were reading his thoughts, Blackie said gently, “She is in love with the American. When he falls, she will go to him. It’ll be an easy second shot, Charlie.”

“You seem to have thought of everything,” Charlie said, a note of bitterness coming into his voice. “There was a time when I did the thinking for the family.”

Blackie didn’t say anything. Everything depended now on whether Charlie would do this thing. He himself flinched from murder. He knew Charlie had one murder on his hands already. He knew he could never bring himself to shoot Jaffe and Nhan. That was another difference between Charlie and himself: there was a ruthless streak in Charlie that Blackie envied.

They were within sight of the airport now.

“The arrangement,” Charlie said, “is too one-sided. You take no risks, Blackie. I have to do all the work and take all the risks. When the bodies are found, Watkins will guess I killed them. He might try to blackmail me.”

“You in your turn can blackmail him,” Blackie said. “He could get ten years for running opium into Bangkok. You don’t have to worry about Watkins.”

“There’s the driver of the car.”

“Arrange with Watkins to use one of his men. You won’t have to worry about him.”

Charlie shrugged. Ile was ready to accept the plan, but he was putting up a show of opposition to open the way to strike a better bargain.

“If I am to do all this,” he said, “we must have a new financial settlement. You can’t expect to have half the money when you take no risks. I think I should have three-quarters and you a quarter.”

Blackie had been expecting his brother to ask for more money, but three-quarters was, of course, absurd.

“We are going to be partners, Charlie,” he said. “We want to use the money to start a dance club in Hong Kong, profitable to both of us. I agree you should have more money, but three-quarters is unreasonable. I suggest you should have fifty thousand dollars from the capital, then the rest to be split evenly.”

“Let us say a hundred thousand,” Charlie said, “and a 60 - 40 share in the profits of the club.”

Blackie hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders. He would have demanded even better terms than these if he had to do what Charlie was going to do.

“All right,” he said. “I agree to that.”

Charlie nodded. He was satisfied.

As Blackie pulled up at the Departure entrance of the airport, Charlie said, “I will be back tomorrow morning. Don’t forget the gun.”

Blackie didn’t wait to see him off. He drove back to Saigon, unaware that he had been followed to the airport and was now being followed on his return by the two Security Police detectives. They saw Blackie enter the club, then one of them went off to telephone to the Inspector while the other waited in the car which he had parked a few yards from the entrance of the club.

The detective didn’t notice Yo-Yo who squatted under a tree, flicking his toy up and down on its string while he watched the detective.

Yo-Yo had seen the two men drive off after Blackie and his brother. He had seen Blackie return alone, still followed by the two detectives. The situation interested him, and after considering it for some minutes, he straightened up and walked over to the club. He went in, climbed the stairs and entered the dance hall.

He crossed the dance floor and went into Blackie’s office without knocking. He shut the door and leaned against it.

Blackie was sipping from a glass of tea. He looked up. His face became expressionless when he saw Yo-Yo.

“What is it?”

“I have some information to sell,” Yo-Yo said. “It’ll cost you five thousand piastres, but it’s cheap at the price.”

“What information?”

“I’ll have the money first.”

“You can get out,” Blackie said, putting down his glass of tea, “before I throw you out.”

Yo-Yo giggled.

“It’s to do with the police and you, Mr. Blackie. It’s important.”

Blackie felt a sudden chill around his heart. He didn’t hesitate for long. He took out his wallet and counted out five thousand piastres and threw them across the desk at Yo-Yo.

“What is it?”

Yo-Yo picked up the notes.

“Two Security Police detectives are following you,” he said. “They followed you when you left this morning with Mr. Charlie. They were following you when you returned. They are sitting outside now in their car: the black Citroen.”

Blackie sat for some moments staring at Yo-Yo, then with a visible effort, he said, “The next time you come in here knock on the door. Now get out.”

Yo-Yo looked at the money in his dirty hand and then he winked at Blackie.

“Some have good luck, some bad. I’m sorry for you, Mr. Blackie,” and he went out.

As soon as the door had shut, Blackie got quickly to his feet and went to the window. Cautiously, he peered through the closet shutters. He could see the Citroen down in the street. He couldn’t see who was sitting in it, but whoever it was was smoking. He could see a spiral of tobacco smoke drifting out of the open window of the car.

What did it mean? he asked himself. Why were they watching him? Did they suspect he was in touch with Jaffe? Or were they watching him in the hope he would lead them to Nhan? Or was it something that had nothing to do with Jaffe?

He moved away from the window, taking out his handkerchief to wipe his sweating face. Cold panic crawled up his spine. If it hadn’t been for that little rat, Yo-Yo, he would have gone out in another ten minutes to collect the gun and the silencer. If they had caught him with that, he would have gone away for two years.

He went slowly over to his desk and sat down. He had better remain in his office, he told himself. Yu-lan could collect the gun. He thought with envy of Charlie, safe in the Dakota taking him to Phnom-Penh. Should he warn Charlie the police were on the watch? He hesitated, then decided to wait a little while. Maybe this had nothing to do with Jaffe. Maybe someone had talked about the little currency deal he had engineered a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps that was why the police were watching him.

He got up and went to a cupboard and poured himself out a stiff drink of whisky, then he returned to his desk and wrote a hurried note. He took from his wallet several notes which he put in the envelope together with the letter he had written, sealed the envelope and addressed it.

Then he went out into the dance hall where Yu-lan was arranging flowers.

“Take this letter to Fat Wo,” Blackie said to her. “Take shopping basket with you. Buy some fruit and vegetables. Fat Wo will give you a parcel. Put the parcel under the fruit and vegetables and then come back here.”

“What is in the parcel?” Yu-lan asked, her eyes anxious.

“It is no affair of yours,” Blackie said. “Go at once. The matter is very urgent.”

Yu-lan hesitated, then seeing he was in no mood to tolerate disobedience, she went away to fetch the shopping basket.

Blackie returned to his office. He finished the whisky and felt less nervous. He stood at the window watching Yu-lan as she walked briskly down the street to Fat Wo’s restaurant. No one followed her. The man in the Citroen continued to smoke. Blackie waited by the window. Twenty minutes later, he saw Yu-lan returning, the shopping basket loaded with vegetables. He met her at the door of the club as she came in.