Super ordered it. Forget surfing—take up golf. And don’t bullshit me—I know you were working. You couldn’t resist it. Did you find out who’s buying up all the property on the trafficking routes out there? Are the rumours true that there is a new super group muscling in?
‘Yes, and you know who I found? A few old friends. One was the Colonel, that self-styled God of Angeles, and the other was Stevie Ho, our old Triad friend and paid-up member of the Wo Shing Shing. Whatever he’s planning it’s definitely something big. Some major money is involved; Stevie wouldn’t have the clout to do this on his own. He’s trying to set up bases on the island of Mindanao. Most of the trafficked girls come from the poorer villages in the south of the island. He’s after somewhere on the coast, make the trafficking easier and faster—get the girls to the next link in the chain. But he hasn’t just been to the south; he’s putting the frighteners all even so far as Boracay—that’s cocky.’
Ng handed Mann a file. ‘Stevie’s whereabouts in the last six months.’
Mann stopped, flipped it open and scanned it.
‘He’s been a busy boy, our Stevie.’
They drove from the airport across to Hong Kong Island.
‘Where we going?’
‘The bureau got moved to Central.’
‘Nice office?’
‘Not bad. Don’t see you enjoying it for long, though.’
Ng grinned his lopsided grin and chuckled. ‘The new Super hates you.’
‘Who is it anyway? Last I heard it was still to be decided. I hope it’s the acting super.’
‘It’s not—it’s Peter Wong.’
‘Shit! He really does hate me!’
‘Yeah. Told you. But as they say—it is better to know one’s enemies…’
‘Cut the crap, Confucius.’
They alighted on the seventh floor, straight into the reception area for the Organised Crime and Triad Bureau. A uniformed officer behind a desk checked their ID. Ng punched in a door code and led the way through to the department. Left, right, and left again down the rubber-studded corridors, past brand-new offices with polythene still on the door handles. The whole place smelt plastic. In the centre it opened out into a glass and chrome area with a rectangular bank of computers, surrounded by a glass screen. About fifty police officers were working at PCs and workstations. Smaller offices fanned out from the open-plan area.
‘Can’t they afford doors?’
Mann didn’t much care for the new premises—he loved the oak and brass of the old headquarters. They walked around to the far side and into one of the screened spaces—loosely termed an office. Inside were twelve workstations and PCs back to back, all occupied. He didn’t recognise any of the people there, then he saw someone he did know as the slight frame of Detective Li, aka Shrimp, walked in. An expert in computers and martial arts, the young man was also an experimental dresser. Today, a purple silk shirt was tucked neatly into drainpipe trousers. He beamed up from a face that looked as if it had been scrubbed with a wire brush. He shook Mann’s hand with an extra-firm grip that he’d been practising since the last time Mann had caught him out and nearly crushed his hand.
‘How’s it going, Shrimp?’
‘Awesome, boss.’
‘Huh!’ Ng rolled his eyes. ‘He’s lucky to still be here. He’s in trouble for letting you lead him astray.’
‘Is that true, Shrimp?’ Mann said as the three moved to the far end of the office so that they would not be overheard.
Shrimp shrugged and shook his head as he excused himself for a minute and walked away to fetch something.
Ng made sure no one was listening. ‘You nearly got him suspended after he was asked what he was doing on Cheung Chau when the man under investigation mysteriously disappeared.’
‘It was a tragic accident. He couldn’t swim—we weren’t to know that.’ A smile flickered up the side of Mann’s face.
Ng chuckled. ‘Yeah, justice comes in many forms.’
Shrimp reappeared and handed Mann a stack of mail.
‘You missed David White’s leaving do,’ said Ng.
‘Any good?’ Mann said as he scanned the mail then threw it all into a waste basket.
‘We had a great time…he didn’t show.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He’s gone to the UK. He left a message for you.’ Ng pulled out a note from his jacket pocket.
Mann smiled to himself as he read it—just like David White to do a runner before his own party. He never did do what people expected.
JM
I won’t be around to bail you out so try and keep out of trouble and don’t get yourself killed. Remember what I said—if you cross the line too often you can’t come back from the other side. Have given the cat to your mother. Watch who you trust, Mann. Hope to see you in London one day. Got to go—got to buy some slippers, apparently there’s a rush on.
DW
Ng came over and patted Mann on the back. He had that look on his face that Mann recognised: there was an in-joke going around and he was the butt of it.
‘You better not keep the new Super waiting.’ He grinned and glanced towards the neighbouring office. ‘We took bets in the department on how long before you get transferred again. That’s why we haven’t allocated you a desk.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ Mann put on his jacket and slipped his phone into the pocket.
‘He asked to see you the minute you got here,’ said Shrimp.
‘And there he is!’ Mann gestured towards a small figure in uniform, sitting behind a large desk. ‘All right, I’m gone.’
‘Let us know which intersection you get,’ Ng called after him. ‘We’ll come and wave at you.’
Mann gave Ng the finger and walked out.
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
The newly appointed Superintendent was young for the post—in his mid-forties. He was ten years older than Mann but he looked a lot more. Mann doubted whether he had ever looked healthy. He was an exam-taker—a pen-pusher. He had spent too many hours swotting in bad light.
Wong was a slight man with a round face that was dominated by square chrome-rimmed glasses. His hair was pressed flat with the straightest side parting and a touch of psoriasis. He tugged at his cuffs now to hide the eczema around his wrists where the shirt-sleeves rubbed. His desk was super neat, just a desk-tidy full of sharpened pencils and highlighters and a photo of his wife and two kids in a dark wood frame. They all looked just like him. It was a lucky promotion for him. Mann could see he was still savouring it. When Wong finally spoke he didn’t look at Mann, but carried on filling in the form in front of him.
‘Don’t think for one minute I want you here, Inspector Mann,’ he said, finally closing the file and pushing it to one side. ‘You’re a trouble-maker, a rule-breaker. In the end you make it hard for all of us. If I had a choice I wouldn’t have men like you in the force at all.’
He replaced his pen back in the desk-tidy, sat back in his chair and stared hard at Mann. Mann could out-stare most men—a thing he’d learned to perfect when dealing with triads.
‘But…it