The Sky Might Fall (Harry Vee, PI) Read online

  The Sky Might Fall

  A Harry Vee Novel

  by

  Michael Young

  Copyright 2011, Michael Young

  All characters and situations are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  The Sky Might Fall

  1

  If anyone was going to put Harry out of his misery, it might as well be now. He opened his eyes when he heard the tiny click of the lock on his front door. He was lying on his couch, still fully clothed, all in black. In front of him was a low table with an empty bottle of duty-free scotch, a heavy, empty glass tumbler, and an ashtray that had overflowed, ash and brown cigarillo butts spread across the surface.

  That was all the furniture in the room. He thought about getting to his feet, but his head hurt, a lot. The front door crashed open, and footsteps rumbled down the short hallway. Two heavies in suits entered the room.

  They stopped when they saw him lying there, looking back up at them from the couch. It seemed to unnerve them. The first one spoke. “Harry Vee?”

  “Who should I say is asking?”

  “Get up Harry, you’ve got a date.”

  “Well, it’s a bit short notice. Why don’t you wait while I check my diary?” Harry watched them standing above him. They hadn’t expected this, clearly. The second one was getting impatient.

  “Don’t give us any trouble, Harry. Get up, let’s go.”

  Harry chuckled to himself, but stopped because it hurt his head. This was giving them trouble? He started to swing his legs off the couch. Waves of nausea washed through him. “I’m afraid I might have to take a rain check, boys. Seem to have picked up something of a bug.”

  The second heavy took a step forward. He looked like he could handle himself. “Easy way or hard way, Harry, it’s all the same to me.”

  Harry started to stand and stumbled, putting out a hand for support. The heavy instinctively grabbed his wrist, and in a second Harry had locked his arm behind his back, shoving him towards the wall. He went for the other guy, but was far too slow. A scarred fist crashed into his jaw, slamming him down onto the small table, sending the bottle of scotch skittling across the room.

  Harry grabbed at the glass for a weapon, but froze as he found an automatic pistol in his face. The heavy looked down at him with a sneering grin. “Time to go, Harry. Now.”

  *

  Downstairs and in the back of their car Harry pulled his black leather coat tighter around him against the frozen air of deep winter in Korea. The snow was heaped against the side of the road, and more was falling in heavy flakes against the windscreen. The car splashed through the slush as they turned towards central Seoul. Harry dabbed a damp towel against his split lip.

  Why did he always do these things? At least he had managed to neck a mouthful of aspirin on the way out. He looked up to see where they were going. The suburbs of southern Seoul flashed past his window in endless fields of cold, drab apartment buildings. There were already lights dotted across the faces of the buildings, the dark, heavy clouds increasing the gloom of early evening. Outside, the snow was getting heavier, and the thug in the driver’s seat started the windscreen wipers.

  Harry placed the cool damp towel across his forehead. It felt like someone was trying to bang a nail in behind his temples.

  Finally the car slowed as they came to the heavy evening traffic of Itaewon. Itaewon was popular with foreigners, especially being so close to the main American forces base, and so everything popular with foreigners got put in the same district. The traditional Korean furniture stores, specially overpriced for tourists, were closed up for the day, while the bars were just getting started.

  Indian and Thai restaurant signs reflected off the slick, wet pavements, and four-foot piles of snow were dotted regularly along the side of the road. Pedestrians pulled themselves in against the cold as they weaved between the roadside stalls and in and out of cafes, holding hot coffee cups to warm their hands.

  The car slid through the wet slush on the road, down the gentle slope, and a little way after the landmark hotel on the main strip, turned off to the quieter backstreets of the south side.

  They stopped outside an undistinguished building of cafes, bars, karaoke rooms and billiard halls. Harry pulled his coat tight around him. The wind was icy and the temperature was dropping fast as the night came in. The two heavies bundled him into the building, and into the mirrored lift, where Harry checked his lip. It had almost stopped bleeding. On the fourteenth floor, he found himself outside an undoubtedly expensive French restaurant. One of the heavies spoke quietly with the maitre d’, but the muscle-bound pair stayed outside as a waiter guided Harry to a table set for two next to the plate glass windows.

  Since he had to wait, and since he was being so inconvenienced, Harry ordered the restaurant’s most expensive bottle of scotch. He was quite disappointed to find it was only a Johnnie Walker special edition, but consoled himself with the thought that at least it would be horrendously overpriced. Taking a small box from his pocket, Harry took out a short, brown cigarillo, held a match to it, and blew the smoke out onto the window, watching how it curled against the cold glass.

  The view from the window stretched across Seoul to the north, the lights of the city occasionally snuffed out by the dark shadows of parks, palaces and mountains. The red and green lights from Namsan Tower loomed high over the centre of the view, while beyond it was the brightest glow, from Seoul city centre. Fourteen floors below him, Harry followed the crowds of Itaewon as they gathered at a crossing, the cloud of steam hovering above them as from a herd of cows. They piled up on each other, and stampeded across the road when the lights changed, only to start gathering again immediately.

  “Hello Harry.” His ‘date’ strode over from the door and sat down opposite him. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m glad to see you’ve been enjoying my hospitality.”

  Harry said nothing as she accepted a glass off the waiter, and poured herself a large scotch over ice. She was tall in her heels, with long straight black hair. Her silk business suit was curt and expensive. Her accent was New York. The large, deep brown eyes now looking Harry up and down felt almost as cold as the air outside. Harry had a feeling she was good at getting what she wanted.

  She took a large sip from her glass. Her eyes never left his. “Harry Vee. English. Went to Cambridge, twice. Never graduated.”

  “But I certainly got an education out of it.”

  “Private investigator. Lived in Paris for three years, Berlin for two. Then you came to Asia. Hong Kong.”

  “Paris was fun, Berlin not so much.”

  “Seven years in Hong Kong. You uncover industrial spies, you find missing people, you track down stolen artwork. You find a lot of things. Then you leave. One year later here we are in Seoul.”

  Harry took a long drag on his cigarillo, and blew the smoke up over his head. “Here we are indeed,” he said. “But you seem to have me at a disadvantage, Miss…”

  “Lee. Jessica Lee. I represent some very rich people in Hong Kong, people who are interested in the services you offer.”

  “Except I’m not offering. I’m not interested.”

  “These people would like to give you an awful lot of money, Harry.”

  “I have Nigerian bankers who want to do that. Still not interested.”

  “I can be very persuasive, Harry. I know your usual rates. They’ll pay double, plus expenses of course. There’s a very important person they would like you to find.”

  “I’m retired.”

  “You returned yesterday from Tokyo, where you have spent the last three weeks employed by Sumitomo Electronics.”

 
“Returned yesterday, retired this morning.”

  “You’re being difficult. I was told this about you. Why are you so difficult, Harry?”

  “Are you religious?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Then I guess we can’t blame god.”

  Jessica Lee ignored him. “The girl is 16 years old. She is the daughter of a very rich businessman, who would very much appreciate her safe return.”

  “Why me?” Harry was tired. He didn’t need this. Japan had been rough. He needed a holiday. He especially didn’t need to go back to Hong Kong anytime soon. And for the first time since he had left Hong Kong, it wasn’t as if he needed the money.

  “Two reasons, Harry. First, because you’re the best at what you do, and this is a very important matter that needs to be concluded as soon as possible.” She smiled at him. “And second, because you owe Mr Huang a favour.”

  The name caught Harry’s attention. He drained his scotch. Her eyes never left his. “Why would David Huang want to hire me to find his girl? Last thing I heard, I wasn’t exactly his favourite person.”

  “He’s calmed down since then, trust me. Anyway, it’s not his own daughter, but a close friend, a business partner. If the partner’s happy, Mr Huang is happy. If Mr Huang is happy, then so are you. This is your way back into Hong Kong, without getting your legs broken.” The sweet smile she aimed at Harry was less than convincing.

  “And what if I refuse?”

  “Then Mr Huang would still be very angry with you. Very angry indeed. And now we know where you live.” Harry glanced over to the door, where he knew the heavies were still waiting outside. He didn’t need the details spelled out for him. “I told you I could be persuasive Harry. That’s why they pay me. And they’ll pay you for this because nobody has a better chance of finding the girl quickly.” She poured Harry a large scotch, and filled her own glass. “You are going back to Hong Kong, Harry. Tomorrow. You will find the girl. I’d bet your legs on it.”

  *

  The next morning, Harry woke on the couch again. Again he was still fully clothed. As he sat up, his head still hurt. On the small table by the couch there was a half empty bottle of scotch, and this time two glasses. There was also an envelope marked Korean Air. He turned as Jessica Lee came out of the door leading to the kitchen. She was rubbing a towel through her damp hair, with a coffee in the other hand.

  “Your flight is in two hours,” she said, indicating the ticket. “Your hotel is in there, too. The car will be downstairs. Don’t be late.” Dropping the towel on the floor, she gathered up her jacket from by the doorway and slipped into her heels. “I’ll see you in Hong Kong,” she said, and left, taking the coffee cup with her.

  Harry slowly stood, grabbed a coffee from the kitchen and went through to the bedroom. It still contained a bed, but, as with the rest of the room, the bed was buried under piles of clothes, large bags, boxes, papers and a hundred other things. Throwing a camera tripod out of the way, Harry grabbed a plain leather sports bag and started to fill it. It wouldn’t take him long to pack. Thirty minutes later the car and the heavies were waiting for him outside his apartment, as Jessica had promised. With a “Morning chaps,” that sounded far cheerier than he felt, he threw his bag to one and got into the backseat for the drive to the airport.

  Over the rest of the bottle of scotch, and more, Jessica Lee had filled in some of the details. The girl, Anita Fong, had been missing for seven days. The police had turned up nothing. There had been no ransom. She had simply disappeared after leaving school.

  It wasn’t a lot to go on, so Harry took out his small laptop, his only other luggage apart from the sports bag, and e-mailed ahead to a few old friends he still had in Kowloon, to see what they could find out. Maybe ‘friends’ was not exactly the right word. They didn’t come cheap, but then, Harry wasn’t paying. Most of his friends were filed under ‘Other Expenses’.

  It wasn’t long before Harry could see planes flying low and climbing steeply, taking off from the airport he had only landed at himself two days ago, and then they were pulling up outside International Departures. One of the heavies threw Harry’s bag hard into his chest. Harry caught it with a smile, slung it over his shoulder, and joined the milling crowds and queues inside. He was going back to Hong Kong.

  2

  Harry didn’t like flying. Partly it was the boredom, and partly it was the stale air. Mostly it was the people. In an airplane, the only place to escape the annoying banalities of overheard conversation was in a bottle, but after the last two days, even Harry didn’t feel like going there this early. He tried to close his eyes but never got close to sleep.

  Hong Kong was grey and overcast as they approached, and a fine mist of rain greeted Harry as he exited the airport. At least it was warm, especially compared to a Korean winter. He settled into a taxi and gave the address of a hotel in Kowloon City. Jessica Lee had left the business card of a more expensive, five star hotel, but Harry would rather be in a place he knew. Besides, he didn’t like too much luxury. It made him feel, and look, so much shabbier in comparison.

  The traffic was heavy, and the taxi poked its way slowly between lanes. Watching the city gradually building itself around him gave Harry his usual strange sensations about Hong Kong. The new, moneyed, parts tightly crammed into the negative spaces between the old crumbling apartments. So much of it was shiny and expensive and new, and so much of it looked like a heavy rain would wash the dirty, stained, old buildings down into the gutter, clearing space for more, newer, shinier buildings. The traffic increased as the taxi crept into downtown Kowloon, and the sky began to be obscured by a mass of wires and signage, for restaurants, bars, massage, tailors, and a lot more in Chinese letters that Harry couldn’t read. There may be an impressive skyline across the bay, but deep inside the city he felt comfortably buried beneath the mass of building, commerce and re-building. It gave a reassuring anonymity.

  The hotel was in a typical, slim, dirty, rain and soot-stained old building, squeezed into a backstreet of deepest Kowloon, and close to the bay. It put him close to the centre of everything. Inside was more luxurious. The recently refitted building tried to give the impression of class. At least, as much as they could in the tight, narrow building.

  Checking into his room, he threw his bag on the bed and took out his duty-free scotch. The room was small but clean. A double bed, wardrobe, and single desk and chair took up almost all the floor space. Harry went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full, then sat at the desk, poured himself a large drink, and lit a cigarillo from his pocket. Looking out the window through the blue-grey smoke, he saw a few restaurant signs were starting to light up the early evening. Steam was just beginning to creep from the bathroom when his phone started buzzing. He had a message. It said “Sorry you don’t like our hotel. Meeting with Mr Fong. 11am. Enjoy your evening. JL”

  *

  Harry met Steven Chang later that night in a cheap noodle place on the corner, close to his hotel. It was brightly lit with ducks hanging in the window, cheap noodle soup and a bad-tempered waitress. Chang was a useful contact from Harry’s days in Hong Kong. He was younger than Harry, casually dressed and with steel frame glasses that he would play with or wipe clean every time he had to stop and think. He was rubbing them in his shirt now.

  Harry skipped the niceties. “Tell me about the father, Mr Fong.”

  Steven Chang’s business was to keep tabs on everyone and everything that moved in Hong Kong: the police, the politicians, and the gangsters. Often those categories blurred into one another. But nobody had any influence in Hong Kong without Chang knowing all about their business.

  “Kenny Fong. Import and export. Was a regular nobody till his business started taking off about 10 years ago. Now he’s one of the big players. Third largest private-owned export figures in Hong Kong.”

  “So what happened to the business? Mafia connections?”

  “That’s what it looks like. He’s friendly enough with several of
the big players. He pops into the casinos, and is in the same yachting club as David Huang and his crew. They play golf together. Speaking of Huang, I heard he wasn’t best pleased with you when you left.”

  “Well now he’s hired me to find this girl. So I guess we’re back on nodding terms.”

  “Something about some photographs?”

  “Yeah. I was hired to follow a politician’s wife. Turned out the guy she was meeting in seedy motels was Huang’s son.”

  “Tony Huang?”

  “Yeah. He was running for office at the time. Ruined his political career.”

  “I wondered why he disappeared. No wonder Huang’s pissed at you. Well, that’s the circles Fong moves in these days. But which came first is the question, the money or the friends? Police went through Fong’s Export Co with a fine comb a few years ago. Didn’t turn anything up. But he seems to have a big partner in the US.”

  “Who?” asked Harry.

  “I knew you’d ask. No-one knows, Harry, no-one knows. A front company, pretty well disconnected from whoever’s behind it.”

  Outside, a light shower slipped from the heavy sky. Neon colours shone back off the wet road. “Tell me about her, Anita Fong,” said Harry.

  “She’s sixteen. Mother died when she was little, car crash. Private school…good grades…no record. She’s a schoolgirl, Harry, what do you want?”

  “You’ve got nothing else on her?”

  “Uh, she got sick recently. That’s it.”

  Harry asked, “What was wrong with her?”

  “Blood infection. She missed a couple of weeks of school, nothing too serious. She was seeing a specialist downtown once a week. Listen, she was a regular schoolgirl. Nobody noticed her until she went missing, and certainly not her father from what I hear.”