Kiss and Die Page 15

  ‘Thank you, Flo, I will.’ He put it in his pocket.

  She went back to her work whilst they walked on down the passage. There were no lights on. The old woman needed none. There was no natural light in the closed-in corridor. Everywhere was white-tiled, linoleum floor. The fizzing smell of rotting food in the heat and humidity permeated everything. Ali wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

  A young Indian woman in her early twenties stepped out from one of the rooms. She had beautiful, turned-up, brown eyes, long lashes, light skin with smooth jet black hair hanging in a thick plait to her waist. Mann knew her.

  ‘My sister, Nina,’ said Ali. The young woman’s eyes fixed on Mann and she nodded in recognition. Her eyes lingered on Mann before they moved to Shrimp and he got a smile from her.

  Ali caught her smile. ‘Go to the market now,’ he said, sharply. ‘The cook is waiting to start marinating for the tandoori. And take Grandma back up to rest now. She spends too long sat in the doorway.’

  ‘No she doesn’t,’ Nina snapped back. ‘She needs to be out of the room when she is not sleeping. She needs to interact with people. She needs to be useful, to be still a part of the world.’ Nina scowled at her brother as she turned and slipped away, covering her hair in a beautiful shimmering veil of purple as she went.

  Mann smiled to himself. She was the real boss of the family; like so many other Indian families, they were matriarchal. He watched her turn and look back at them as she waited for the lift, her headdress pulled further over her face as she held it over her nose and mouth. Mann could see her eyes were still smiling in Shrimp’s direction.

  They turned and followed Ali along the corridor until he stopped and opened one of the doors. It was a bedroom with a tiny en-suite. The room was turned into an office: laptop, filing cabinet, table and chair, the bed pushed up against the left-hand side, white tiles on the wall the same as they were in all the guesthouse rooms. Ali shut the door behind him. He motioned for them to sit on the one chair and stool, whilst he sat on the bed. Ali switched on the air con, a noisy box cut into the window. A thin piece of old sheeting was cut around the air con box for a curtain.

  ‘Do you live here?’ asked Shrimp.

  Ali flicked his head towards the right. ‘Next door. I was born in these Mansions. This is my home; rough on the outside but it has a big heart. Or it used to be. We have nothing but trouble here now.’

  ‘Did you know the dead girl?’

  Ali shook his head. ‘There are so many here now. It’s the newcomers causing the trouble.’

  ‘Have you heard of the Outcasts?’

  ‘Sure. That’s all we hear about at the moment. Their graffiti is all up the walls. They call themselves the lone wolves, draw it on the walls. They look like kids, but when they get in a group they are more like animals.’

  ‘Have they threatened you?’

  Ali thought for a moment before he replied. ‘Not me, but my family. First we started getting offers to protect the restaurant for a cut of the takings. We paid them off like we always do. It’s part of life here. But last week a new group came in demanding money and making threats. “Give us the money or else we will torch the place.” That kind of thing.’ He looked at Mann. ‘It’s the one thing we all dread in the Mansions – fire. It’s not exactly the place you want to be if that happens. The restaurant is on the third floor. They start a fire there, the seventeen floors above have no chance.’

  ‘Did they speak to you?’

  ‘I wish. No, they waited until I wasn’t there. They spoke to my uncle. He works on the till. He’s an old man.’

  ‘What did he tell them?’

  ‘He told them to fuck off. Then they kicked the shit out of him. Indians in Hong Kong don’t get the fucking respect they deserve. When it was a colony it was different. We were all under the same British umbrella, so to speak. Indians had respect. But not now. The kids can’t get jobs. They go for interviews but they never get the work. It’s the same all over. You have to be able to speak and write Mandarin. Who the fuck can do that? We are pushed further from the mainstream Hong Kong business world. Now the young ones are coming up with no prospects. The Indian community is big on education, these are smart kids. They don’t want to work in the restaurants, become tailors, sell fake goods. They want to be lawyers, top businessmen. They are not getting the chance.’ Ali looked at Mann and realized he’d missed out a vital piece of information: ‘These were not your usual Chinese bullyboys – Triads. We get enough of them and we pay up when we have to. These were different.’ Mann waited. Ali lowered his voice. ‘These were just kids. Well, not just any kids; these were Indian kids turning on their own kind; newcomers, they are to blame for all the trouble.’

  ‘What about your brothers? What do they think?’

  Ali fidgeted. ‘My brothers? Mahmud is a bright lad – he will go far.’

  ‘And Hafiz?’ asked Mann.

  Ali hesitated. ‘Look, Hafiz is a bit wild. He is a good boy at heart. He gets a lot of flack from the old man. I hope he will be all right in the end. I hope, if things turn out well for the Mansions, if we get someone to invest in it, I hope that we will all be okay.’

  Ali was looking at Mann when he spoke. Mann didn’t answer. He was feeling claustrophobic in the tiny room. It was impossible to tell where ceiling began and wall ended. Large white tiles were everywhere. He’d seen a place like this in one of his nightmares.

  ‘Do you know a girl named Lilly Mendoza?’ asked Shrimp.

  ‘Yes, I know Lilly. We all do. She’s a little tramp but she has it hard. Her stepdad Rizal is a nasty piece of work. He will try it on with any of the women. He doesn’t care who they are. He has a bad streak a mile wide.’

  ‘Does he try it on with your sister?’ asked Shrimp.

  Ali looked shocked at the suggestion. ‘If he did I would kill him. And look, I’d like to help about the girl Rajini but I don’t know most of the Indians living here. We tend to stick to our own kind.’

  ‘The caste system?’

  Ali shrugged. ‘In a small way. No one wants to admit it but there’s no way I would marry someone from a lower class than my own. It just isn’t an option.’

  Mann and Shrimp left Ali in his office and waited for the lift.

  ‘What do you make of him, Shrimp?’

  ‘Fly boy. Likes his wealth on display. He’s a nice enough guy but he’s streetwise rather than clever. He thinks he’s being clever, telling us stuff he hopes will steer us away from his brothers. He’s protecting his family.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Mann gave Shrimp a sideways glance and a grin. ‘His sister Nina likes you, Shrimp. I think you should come back tomorrow, follow up some leads.’

  ‘Her family won’t like that.’ Shrimp gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Did you hear the way her brother talks? I reckon a Chinese guy would rank among the untouchables, don’t you?’

  Mann slapped him on the back. ‘Yeah, but your mission is to boldly go where no man has gone before.’

  Mann took out the hair ornament that Flo had given him. Her pewter and white hair was woven into a tight clasp. Helen’s image flashed into his head. It took his breath away. Mann saw her twisting at the end of a rope, a black hood over her head.

  ‘You all right, Boss?’ Shrimp was staring at Mann.

  Her body covered in blood. He saw the hand raised to whip her.

  Mann rubbed his face with his hands as if trying to erase the images in his head. ‘Yes. I’m all right, Shrimp. I just want to focus on work. Let’s go and find Rizal.’

  Chapter 44

  Mann and Shrimp walked back down to the ground floor where the Mansions’ arcades fanned out and ran parallel to the main hub. Around them was a dilapidated row of backpacker suppliers. They found Rizal playing dice amongst the knocked-off North Face backpacks. A young Filipina with bad skin and heavy features was sat on Rizal’s lap, her arm around his neck; she had on shorts and a top that pushed her small breasts into a cleavage. They stopped playing dice and looked
up as Mann and Shrimp approached. The girl kept her eyes on Mann whilst nuzzling at Rizal’s ear.

  Rizal was playing dice with two other Filipinos, one slick, expensive-looking glasses perched on his head, black trousers, shirt open to his waist, he looked like a musician from one of the many Filipino bands in Hong Kong. The other one was slobby with a badly stained, shiny red shirt, a manual worker, tough, strong.

  Rizal looked them up and down. He recognized what they were straight away. ‘The food is finished, sold out. Come back tomorrow.’ Then he turned to the others and grinned as he spoke under his breath in Filipino. The other two men laughed.

  Mann grinned back. ‘That’s okay. We’ll wait.’ Mann indicated that Shrimp should pull up a spare stool. There was only one. Shrimp dragged it over and sat next to Slick.

  ‘Wait for what?’ Rizal rolled his eyes at his friends and raised his voice an octave. ‘Huh? Wait for what? The Food Is Finished,’ he said as if they might not understand English.

  Mann pulled a stool out from under Slick. Slick fell on the floor, jumped to his feet and went to retaliate. Shrimp reached out to stop him.

  ‘You were ready to leave, weren’t you? We mean no harm, we come in peace.’ He nodded gravely and then grinned. ‘Now fuck off.’

  Mann resisted the urge to smile. He had seen Shrimp change over the years, grow to be a man. He had seen him come off the worse in some fights, and seen him pull it out of the bag. Now he was seeing him act as a hard man when inside he was still a little boy learning about life, boundaries, the universe. The older guy in the red shirt was still watching the scene unfold. Mann saw the knife in his belt. The girl got off Rizal’s lap and disappeared to pastures greener.

  Rizal leaned back to look Mann over. He wiped his hand on his dirty vest, a cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. ‘I told you, the food is finished. We are all out of pork. Come back tomorrow.’

  Slick, still seething, was obviously weighing Shrimp up to see if he could take him. He probably could, muscle for muscle – but then it wasn’t about how much muscle, just how you used it. Shrimp had yet to flesh out. Slick laughed at Rizal’s retort. Mann caught him mid-throat with the side of his hand. Slick clutched his throat and tried to breathe and then Mann slammed the flat of his hand between his shoulder blades. ‘Sorry – thought you got something stuck in your throat.’

  Slick fell onto his knees, choking.

  ‘Just trying to help. Shrimp here is an expert on all things. What do you say, Shrimp?’

  ‘He needs to go away somewhere quiet for a few hours and contemplate his life.’

  ‘Okay, I don’t want any trouble.’ Rizal told his friends to go. ‘What do you want?’ Rizal put his cigarette on the edge of the card table whilst he packed up his dice.

  ‘To tell you something for a start. Michelle’s in custody.’

  Rizal didn’t blink. He picked up his dice and put them in his pocket. ‘Whatever she did, ain’t got nothing to do with me. What was it this time? Stealing from a john?’

  ‘She’s on a possible murder charge.’

  ‘Huh?’ Rizal looked at Mann, his jaw dropped and then he burst out laughing. ‘Michelle? You have to be kidding. If she had it in her she’d have killed me a long time ago.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I said, but then someone pointed out you might have put her up to it which is why I’m here. We need some blood from you. We need to take your prints. I can take you in now or you can save us a job and go there yourself.’

  Rizal shook his head, rolled his eyes, irritated. ‘You ain’t got nuttin’ on me. If Michelle is banged up it has nothing to do with me. You wanna find Lilly, her daughter. I won’t have any curry to sell. How am I going to feed my kids? You should let her go. We have real live problems round this place. People die every fucking day here and no one cares. Just coz it’s some rich foreigner there’s fucking trouble.’

  ‘This new group of kids, the Outcasts, have you heard of them?’

  ‘I know them. Outcasts, lone wolves.’ Rizal snorted with derision. ‘Just a pack of mangy dogs. Just a bunch of ugly kids. That little bitch Lilly’s one of them. She’s always looking for trouble. Don’t worry. I’m going to teach her a lesson she won’t forget.’

  ‘Do you know who’s doing the recruiting?’

  Rizal locked his eyes on to Mann’s and then he looked away and shrugged. ‘I think it’s Chinese. I have seen some new faces in the Mansions, expensive suits, and expensive-looking women.’

  Mann heard footsteps coming along the corridor. He looked over at Shrimp. Shrimp had moved to the far side and was watching someone approach. Slick and a new man appeared; he was as broad as he was tall. A strong-looking fighter. They had the Filipino’s choice of weapon – the street knife: solid, long bladed. It was the art of Eskrima, the Filipino martial art. Its masters trained in street alleys, barefoot on broken glass, where space was limited and you had to kill quick and get away fast. Hands were used as weapons, blocking, breaking bones.

  Rizal looked pleased with himself. He jumped up and scurried to the back of the newcomers. One of them stepped forward, bare-chested, his scarred torso showing years of fighting. He was the oldest, around forty, strong and stocky.

  The fighter spoke. ‘The Mansions has its own set of rules. You come into our world, you play by them.’

  Mann looked across at Shrimp. He knew he was more than capable of beating them in a clean fight but this was anything but that. Shrimp had studied Muay Thai which was nothing like as dirty as this type of combat.

  Mann looked at the fighter and said, ‘Chain of the hand. Kadena de mano. No weapons.’

  The fighter nodded. He put his knife down.

  Mann looked at Shrimp, who was placing his beloved suit jacket carefully on a chair well out of the way of the action. He looked every bit the hero in his purple shirt and suit trousers. Mann was glad he’d worn his jeans and t-shirt. He undid his shuriken belt and placed it under his leather jacket, on the floor of the corridor, and then he beckoned the fighter forwards.

  The guy was agile. He was a short man but he had the traditional Filipino broad powerful shoulders, strong lean body. His hands were his weapon; they were lightning fast. He dealt Mann the first punch and followed up with three more before Mann got the message. He could already taste the blood in his mouth from two punches that had threatened to take out his teeth. Now he gauged not just the fighter’s range but also his preferred lead arm, his speed on his feet, and he gauged something even more vital. The fighter had a weapon concealed in his belt.

  From the corner of his eye Mann was aware of Shrimp. Shrimp was going in fast and furious. Mann knew why that would be – he wanted to inflict the most damage on his opponent and the least damage on his suit. Slick had not expected it. He did not have Shrimp’s athleticism. Shrimp was hitting Slick with moves that Mann hadn’t seen him use before. He turned in the air and dealt a jump sidekick that landed in the centre of Slick’s chest and sent him crashing back against the wall just as another hit him to the side of the head. His head was brought down onto Shrimp’s knee and Slick didn’t recover. Mann could hear him moaning as he dragged his body away and out of Shrimp’s reach.

  The fighter was flying around Mann with his arms in every direction like flick knives, looking for gaps in Mann’s defence. He rocked back and forth on his agile feet. Mann had seen enough. He let down his guard on his left side and waited for the punch. His opponent obliged with a left cross. When the fighter’s arm was full stretched, Mann caught his wrist and bent it back. He smashed the palm of his hand into the fighter’s knuckles and heard them crack. He dealt three fast blows, bent the wrist back, one, snapped it then he twisted the arm and smashed down, two, popping the elbow, then three, he punched down hard on the forearm to break it. Mann flipped him over, his broken arm behind his back, and locked his head. A knife dropped to the floor out of the fighter’s waistband. Mann picked it up and pressed it against the fighter’s throat.

  ‘Yeah…not now, old
man. I’m too busy to play.’ He looked up – Rizal had legged it. Shrimp went to go after him. ‘Leave him, Shrimp, we’ll find him when we want him. He has nowhere else to go.’

  Chapter 45

  Ruby was satisfied. She opened the vent above the cooker to let out the steam. She had an urge to clean. She had washed the white tiles, scrubbed the bed, she had cut up Steven Littlewood’s body, stripped the flesh from his bones and now they were sawn into manageable pieces and boiling on top of the stove.

  Ruby pushed her hair back from her face, she was sweating. She was naked. She had such a lot of work to do. Why were men always so messy? Did he have to get his blood everywhere? Ruby had worked for hours, cutting up his body. When she was finished she placed her dolls back on the shelves in the lounge. Some of them still had bits of flesh stuck in their hair. They had drops of blood on their faces but Ruby had decided she had better things to do than keep cleaning. Some things just didn’t matter any more. She mustn’t waste her precious time now.

  She was going down to the government hospital that morning. She had been there many times. Ruby walked along the corridors and no one noticed her. Sometimes she wore a nurse’s outfit. Sometimes she wore a white coat. Now she could give a decent injection. She could keep someone alive long after they wanted to die. Today she wanted to see if any of the babies there needed her.

  The government hospital. There weren’t enough beds. There wasn’t enough staff. They always needed another pair of hands.

  Ruby smiled at the good-looking young doctor as she made her way along the corridor. It was late afternoon. It was a good time for her to visit, between the doctor’s rounds. There were people asleep on the floor in the corridor. There weren’t enough beds. People lay on mattresses. Their relatives cared for them. Ruby stopped by a family: an old woman was being fed by her daughter. It was hospital congee; a watery rice soup. Ruby knelt down beside them.