David Rotenberg - The Shanghai Murders

It was the end of the workday and his Hu-ness never stayed past 3:00. They had been lucky and avoided Li Xiao, Wang Jun, and Shrug and Knock so that although they received some pretty strange looks they were not challenged. That is until they got up to his Hu-ness’s secretary’s office. Then the challenge was momentarily loud. Loud because the secretary screamed. Momentary because Fong grabbed her and stuffed almost an entire box of tissues into her face, before tying her to her swivel chair.

Even as he was doing it Amanda was getting the e-mail messages off the machine.

“Is this always so easy? Aren’t there security codes and stuff?”

“There are, but the machines here aren’t new. China’s been sold a stack of old machinery. Unused. But old. Old enough that the security features are rudimentary enough for me to dismantle.” As she finished she punched up a series of e-mail messages. There had been seventeen in the last twenty-four hours. Sixteen had been from the same address. She wrote it down.

Leaving the office they almost bumped straight into Shrug and Knock. Fong wouldn’t admit, even to himself, how much joy he got in cold-cocking his former assistant.

It was dark by the time they got back to the Equatorial. Amanda had to do some pretty fancy talking to get herself and Fong into the business centre a second time that day. “There is much demand for these services,” she was informed by the silk-bloused receptionist.

“May I see your supervisor?” Amanda said, smiling pleasantly. Within minutes of meeting the male supervisor, Fong and Amanda were being led into the interior of glass-walled office spaces. As the supervisor left them alone in the glassed-in office she turned to Fong and with a smile said, “It’s hard to say no to a tall blond.”

To which Fong responded straight-faced, “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

When Li Xiao got back to the office it didn’t take him long to identify the blond lady who had arrived with Fong. Wang Jun identified her in three words and a twohanded gesture. “Tall? Blond? Tits?” His hand gesture accompanied the last. Then he said, “She’s at the Equatorial.”

Loa Wei Fen used his most cultured voice on the phone. “Does the hotel have a computer centre?” He nodded at the reply and said “Thank you.” He hung up, took one last look at the dishevelled bed and slipped out of Amanda’s room, heading toward the computer centre in the lobby.

The eight-by-ten-foot glass enclosure in which Amanda and Fong were working was spartan but functional. Two chairs, a computer and printer setup, modem, and fax hookups. The computer once again was brand new but badly out of date. Someone had clearly pulled a fast one on the Chinese. Like the guy who sold Englishlanguage welcome signs to hundreds of Shanghai restaurants which read COME ON IN BIG BOY. That guy at least had a sense of humour.

Fong marvelled at the length of Amanda’s fingers as they raced across the keyboard. Suddenly her fingers stopped and hovered, poised over the keys.

“Problem?”

“I don’t think so . . .”

“What’s the but in your voice?”

“How’s my time?”

“Why?”

“There’s a fast but risky way and a slower but safer way. Your pick, copper.”

On the monitor the phrase SELECT FUNCTION was flashing.

“Fast. I’m not sure it’s possible to be in a riskier situation than we’re already in.”

The beautiful fingers moved from their poised position. Keys were struck and information about the source of the sixteen e-mail messages on Commissioner Hu’s computer began to emerge. Suddenly the screen began to blink.

“I’ve hit a trap.”

“A what?”

“There’s a request for a second password. If I don’t get it right the computer will report us back to the e-mail number that we’re searching.”

“Like a booby trap?”

“More like a snitch.”

“Could it be a fake?”

“Could be.”

“The first password you found was New Life, right?”

“Right.”

Fong thought for a moment and then said, “There is no second password. New Life in Shanghai is everything.”

Amanda hit the Enter key. The blinking stopped and addresses began to scroll. When they finally stopped, one was highlighted. As the address appeared, the fingers of Fong’s hand clenched so tightly on her shoulder that she winced in pain.

“What?” she almost yelled.

“That is the address?” he said, pointing at the highlighted line on the monitor.

“Yes. What is it, Fong?”

Fong’s voice cracked as he said, “It’s in the Pudong.” Completely at a loss as to what this reaction meant, Amanda replied, “That’s what it says. That industrial place across the river, right?”

In a faroff voice, his eyes clouding, he responded, “Right.” Then after a long pause he added, “I haven’t been to the Pudong in over four years.”

Before Amanda could respond the far wall of the glass room exploded. A pellet from the shotgun blast sliced through her cheek and then shattered the computer screen in front of her. A second and third blast rang out. The smell of cordite filled her nostrils. All she remembered was Fong grabbing her hand and yanking her out of the chair, glass flying everywhere. And shouting. And Fong pulling, pulling her through one shattered computer room after another. Then darkness.

Fong had actually seen the policeman’s image reflected in the computer screen, the Pudong address seemingly plastered across his forehead. He heard the first blast and saw the blood flower from Amanda’s cheek before the computer screen exploded into shards of glass and useless metal bits. Fong heard Li Xiao shouting at his men to stop firing. He also heard volley after volley of shots. One of the blasts must have shorted out the electric main line. In the darkness he and Amanda managed to slip into the shopping arcade and then run free out onto Hua Shan Road.

Loa Wei Fen had arrived at the business centre in the lobby just as the first shot was fired. He sized up the scene in a glance and realized that if Fong and the blond woman were to escape it would have to be through the shopping arcade. So he went into the food store at the far side of the complex and, munching on macadamia nuts, waited for them to appear.

When they did, he followed them. Tracking the bloodied twosome was not difficult.

Back in his hiding place Fong looked closely at Amanda’s wound. He had removed the glass shards from her hands and knees. The cuts bled but were not deep. However, the gash on her cheek had ripped the flesh clean down to the bone. She was pale but not in shock.

“Does it hurt?” he asked as his fingers gently touched the skin above the wound.

“No. Will it get infected?”

“Too early to tell.”

“I carry antibiotics, I’ve been taking them like vitamins since I arrived.”

“Don’t trust the food, huh?”

“If you get offended I’ll clock you one. I’ve heard the water in this town is pestilential.” She fished out a small vial of pills and held them out to Fong. For a moment he couldn’t open the childproof bottle but then he saw the arrows and aligned them. He ground a tablet to powder in his palm, and shook it carefully into the open wound on her face. When he finished she reached for the vial and popped a tablet in her mouth. “Damn.”

“What?”

“I can’t swallow it. I’ve got no spit.”

Without comment he gently tilted back her head. She parted her lips. His spittle tasted of old Kent cigarettes.

Fong knew that it was past midnight. In the city’s night glow he could make out Amanda’s face, her head nestled in his lap. Her body had retreated to the sanctity of sleep. He ran his fingers through her hair and marvelled at the lunacy of all this.