Nick Carter - The Defector

The boy pulling the rickshaw trotted without effort through the streets of Kowloon, his thin, tight-muscled legs showing the strength needed for his job. To anyone watching the passenger, he was a typical American tourist. He sat back in his seat smoking a gold-tipped cigarette, his thick glasses looking first to one side of the street, then the other.

The streets were a bit warmer than the harbor had been. Ancient buildings and fragile-looking houses blocked most of the wind. But the moisture still hung in low, thick clouds waiting for release. Because traffic was light, the rickshaw made good time and soon stopped in front of a dingy door with a large neon sign blinking Bar Wonderful over it. Nick paid the boy five Hong Kong dollars and gestured for him to wait. He went into the bar.

Nine steps led down from the door to the bar itself. It was small. Besides the bar, there were four tables, all filled. The tables ringed a tiny open space where a lovely girl sang in a low, sexy voice. A colored cartwheel turned slowly in front of the spotlight, softly flooding the girl in blue, then red, then yellow, then green. It seemed to change with the type of song she sang. She looked best in red.

The rest of the place was dark except for occasional grimy lamps. The bar was crowded, and in one quick glance Nick knew he was the only non-Oriental in there. He took a position at the end of the bar, where he could see anyone coming in or out of the door. There were three bar girls, two already had their marks, the third circulated, sitting first on one lap, then another, allowing herself to be fondled. Nick was about to get the bartender’s attention when he noticed his heavily built follower.

The man emerged through a beaded curtain from a small private table. He was dressed in a business suit instead of the coolie outfit. But the changing of clothes had been hasty. His tie was crooked, and part of his shirt-front hung outside his pants. He was sweating. He kept wiping his forehead and mouth with a white handkerchief. He looked casually around the room, then his eyes locked onto Nick’s. His flabby jowls broke into a polite smile, and he came straight for Killmaster.

Hugo dropped to Nick’s hand. He quickly scanned the bar, looking for the smaller man. The girl finished her song and bowed to a sparse crackle of applause. She started speaking in Chinese to the audience. Blue light was splashing over her as the bartender came from Nick’s right. In front of him, the heavy man was four steps away. The bartender asked in Chinese what he was drinking. Nick delayed his reply, keeping his eyes on the man approaching him. The combo started playing, and the girl swung into another song. This one was lively. The cartwheel turned faster, the colors flashing over her, blending into a bright blur. Nick was poised on the balls of his feet, ready. The bartender shrugged and turned away. There was no sign of the smaller man. The heavier one took the last step, bringing him face-to-face with Nick. The polite smile remained on his face. He stuck out his pudgy right hand in a friendly gesture.

“Mr. Wilson, I am believing,” he said. “Allow me to be introducing myself. I am Chin Ossa. May I speak at you?”

“You may,” Nick replied softly, quickly replacing Hugo and taking the outstretched hand.

Chin Ossa gestured toward the beaded curtain. “It is more privately in there.”

“After you,” Nick said, bowing slightly.

Ossa led the way through the curtain to the table and two chairs. A thin, wiry man leaned against the far wall.

He wasn’t the small man who had followed Nick. When he saw Killmaster, he moved away from the wall.

Ossa said, “Please, Mr. Wilson, to allow my friend to be searching you.”

The man approached Nick and stopped as if undecided. He reached his hand out toward Nick’s chest. Nick gently pushed the hand away.

“Please, Mr. Wilson,” Ossa whined. “We must be searching you.”

“Not tonight,” Nick answered smiling slightly.

The man attempted once again to reach for Nick’s chest.

Still smiling, Nick said, “Tell your friend that if he touches me I’ll be forced to break his wrists.”

“Oh, no!” Ossa cried. “We do not wish for any violence.” He wiped sweat from his face with the handkerchief. In Cantonese he told the man to leave.

Flashes of colored light sprayed across the room. In the center of the table a candle burned in a wax-filled purple vase. The man silently left the room just as the girl wound up her song.

Chin Ossa sat heavily on one of the creaking wooden chairs. He wiped his face with the handkerchief again and waved toward the other chair for Nick.

Killmaster didn’t like the arrangement. The chair offered him had its back to the beaded curtain. His own back would be a nice target. Instead, he moved the chair away from the table to the side wall where he could see both the curtain and Chin Ossa; then he sat down.

Ossa flashed him a nervous, polite smile. “You Americans, always full of caution and violence.”

Nick removed his glasses and began cleaning them. “You were saying you wished to speak with me.”

Ossa leaned on the table. His voice took the tone of conspiracy. “Mr. Wilson, there is no need for us to be bouncing around the bush, right?”

“Right,” Nick answered. He replaced his glasses, lit one of his cigarettes. He didn’t offer one to Ossa. This would hardly be a friendly discussion.

“We are both of us knowing,” Ossa went on, “that you are in Hong Kong to see your friend Professor Loo.”

“Maybe.”

Sweat ran down Ossa’s nose and dropped to the table. He wiped his face again. “There is to be no maybe about it. We have followed you, we know who you are.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”

“Of course.” Ossa leaned back in the chair looking pleased with himself. “You are working for the capitalists on the same project as Professor Loo.”

“Of course,” Nick said.

Ossa swallowed hard. “It is my saddest of duties to inform you that Professor Loo is no longer in Hong Kong.”

“Really?” Nick feigned mild shock. He didn’t believe anything this man said.

“Yes. Last night Professor Loo has been en route to China.” Ossa waited to let the statement sink in. Then he said, “It is shameful that you have wasted a trip here, but there is no further need for you to remain in Hong Kong. We will, of course, be reimbursing you for any spending you have done in coming over.”

“That would be swell,” Nick said. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out.

Ossa frowned. His eyes squinted and he looked at Nick suspiciously. “This is not a thing to be making jokes about. Am I to think you are not believing me?”

Nick stood. “Of course I believe you. 1 can see by looking at you what a good honest fellow you are. But if it’s just the same to you, I think I’ll stay in Hong Kong and do a little poking around on my own.”

Ossa’s sweating face reddened. His lips tightened. He struck his fist on the table. “There will be no poking around!”

Nick turned to leave the room.

“Wait!” Ossa cried.

At the curtain Killmaster stopped and turned.

The heavy man smiled weakly, rubbing the handkerchief violently over his face and neck. “Please to be forgiving my outburst. As a man I am not well. Please sit, sit.” His pudgy hand indicated the chair against the wall.

“I’ll be leaving,” Nick said.

“Please,” Ossa whined. “I have an offer I wish to be making you.”

“What kind of offer?” Nick made no move toward the chair. Instead he took one side step so his back was against the wall.

Ossa gave up on getting Nick back to the chair. “You helped Professor Loo to work on the compound, no?”