All Blood is Red Read online

  I sit and watch the children play…

  The second-hand Corolla was one of the first things he bought when he got to Hong Kong. It was lucky he did, because soon after that he didn’t have much money left for anything else. He’d intended to trade up once he was settled. These days he could hardly afford to keep it on the road.

  Doing things I used to do,

  They think are new…

  He’d heard from a mutual friend in London about the guy who ran off with his money. Turns out he’d met a girl in Vegas, married her and settled down in small town Illinois. She had a place near the lake and a kid and he’d moved right in. Took a small boat out fishing on the weekends. Three months later the cunt was shot dead in a robbery gone wrong.

  I sit and watch, as tears go by…

  Funny how things work out. Now there was a girl in the States, he’d never met her, living off the cash he’d earned in the ring. Well, good luck to her. Don hoped she enjoyed it. She probably deserved a bit of luck, even if she had married a two-faced cheating little bastard. Living off other people’s money, how did anyone manage that? Don wouldn’t mind a go. But no, some people just had to live the hard life. He relaxed back into his seat, and sang along with Mick.

  I sit and watch, as tears go by…

  10

  Another couple of hours. Coffee was gone and the CD had long been quiet. He stepped out of the car and lit a Marlboro from his pocket, strolling along to stay awake and watch the restaurant from across the street. The Merc was still there, and the car park was full. Nine-thirty or so, a handsome young couple came out through the doors, headed for their car. A brand new soft-top Alfa Romeo, very nice. Ridiculously overpriced, out on this side of the world. A lot of imports were.

  Don started to wonder about Alexander Fong. What was he doing with the money? Maybe Sun had an idea, something that he wasn’t letting on about. Was it even any of Don’s business? A bit unfair, sneaking around after someone and taking pictures. Well, that’s life. Fong must’ve done something to deserve it. Don tried not to be a dick but he was in no position to preach. So long as he was getting paid, he didn’t give a fuck about other people’s problems. Fong had enough money to work things out. Time for Don to get a little of that money on his side, for a change. If Fong screwed up because he got greedy that was his look out.

  The Fongs emerged. Don dropped behind a parked car, spitting his cigarette into the gutter, the camera and the top of his head sticking out over the bonnet. They were with another couple. Middle aged, expensively dressed, a perfect match. Fong’s wife would’ve been the youngest there. Don reckoned she was about his own age, five or ten years younger than her husband and the other two.

  The lights outside the restaurant were bright so Don zoomed in and made sure he got plenty of pictures as the foursome said quick goodbyes. Alexander’s hand was on his wife’s back as they paired off and headed back to their respective cars. Don’s eyes wandered up from her ankles to that long neck and that face. She was whispering something in her husband’s ear, and he laughed with her as they got back into the car. Don ducked below his cover as the Merc headed back the way they had come followed by the other couple.

  As soon as they were clear, Don sprinted back to his car to follow. His phone was buzzing on the passenger seat. No time for that now. Speeding past the Italian place and round the corner, he soon caught up with the two cars and had to slow again. They weren’t going very fast. Maybe Alexander Fong, in the front car, had had a couple to drink and was being cautious. Don stayed a decent distance behind the second car, also a Mercedes. Pretty soon they were back at the Fong’s place, both cars squeezing in next to the roadster.

  He drove past the gate and watched through the railings as they disappeared into the house together. The two women were arm in arm and deep in conversation. Fong slapped the other guy on the shoulder as they ambled up the steps. Don snapped some pictures, but even with the porch light activated by their presence he thought it was too dark here without a flash. He doubted anything much would come out in the photos.

  Should he wait around for the couple to leave? Maybe this meeting was important, was exactly what Mr Sun wanted to know about?

  No, fuck that. This was just a Saturday night get together. Time for Don to get his own Saturday night started. He got back into his car and checked his phone. The missed call was from Jonny.

  Don knew what that meant. He turned the car around and headed downhill, back to the tunnel, back to Kowloon.

  11

  Back in TST, the Tsim Sha Tsui area straight across the bay, Don parked up in a multi-storey near the Keller. In the narrow streets he was crowded under tall buildings, restaurant signs, criss-crossing telephone and electricity wires. A little more relaxed than the open atmosphere of the posher parts of the Island. It was dirty, held a thousand smells, most of them bad. But it felt like solid city. Don knew where he stood in places like this, and his animal instinct told him he was safer on concrete. A million places to hide, a million people to blend in with. Not that Hong Kong was very dangerous, not compared to a night out in London. Even on a crowded, drunken Saturday night Don never felt any danger or malice from the crowds. It was just instincts, but they’d done all right for him in the past. And there was always some cunt with a bottle, somewhere.

  A couple of big chopper bikes were parked up outside the Keller, black with polished chrome reflecting pink neon. Don recognised one by the decal. A silver skull burning with black flames, in a silver circle. Andy, his sometime partner. Don liked working with Andy. He was pleasant company, knew a lot of people around Hong Kong, was hard as fucking nails.

  Sure enough, walking into the Keller, there was Andy just inside the door with another biker. They were both dressed in leathers with denim cut-offs.

  “Hey, Don my man. How’s it going?”

  “Alright mate. Not bad. How’s life in the clubs?” said Don. Andy was a short heavy Chinese guy, bald and with a ZZ Top beard that was starting to grey. He had a sunny Californian accent from his years in LA that didn’t quite match the grim, sullen face. His face was anything but cheery.

  “Still going on, you know. Say, I was talking to Mickey about you the other day. He said he was likely going to give you a call in another week or two, to come back in to work.”

  “That’d suit me just fine, mate.”

  “How are you getting by? If you need a little something, you know…”

  “Yeah, cheers mate but I got a short term thing going on right now. Thanks, though. I mean it.” Andy was a good sort. A really good friend if you were on his right side.

  “Well, just to give you a heads up, the Brothers Wang were in the other night.”

  “No worries, mate. Like I say, I got this little job going, so it’ll be sorted soon enough. You working later on?” HEAVEN, the nightclub they usually worked together, opened at ten but didn’t get going until twelve o’clock earliest.

  “Yeah, I’m heading off there now. Stay safe, okay?”

  As they left Don gave a casual nod to Andy’s mate, a grizzled old biker he’d seen around a few times, and turned into the main part of the pub. The Keller had a long curved wooden bar down the centre, with stools and a few tables down each side, more tables at the back. It was pretty busy, although it would be busier later. Don had to push his way through the crowd.

  He ordered a Pils from Rose - not her real name - the sour faced Philipino woman behind the bar. She had short hair and a tired look, and green flames coming down her left wrist below the cuff and up the left-hand side of her neck. The rest was covered by her blouse. The tattoo was the subject of much speculation among the regulars: both its origins and how far over her body it extended. But Rose had never let on about the first and nobody that Don knew had got her out of her clothes to find out the second.

  The German beer took five minutes to pour correctly, though Rose had a few started, so he looked around for Jonny. Saw him sat alone near the back, eyes glued to the TV on the wall.
Don ordered another – might as well get a round in. When they were done he manoeuvred through the crowds. Jonny pulled a chair up for him.

  Jonny was rough looking, older than Don, his scruffy straw-coloured hair starting to grey but his pale blue eyes still clear as they stared a thousand feet through you. No, not a thousand feet. His eyes focused on the very centre of your skull, three inches behind the eyes. Jonny took the beer without saying anything, still wearing his scuffed old leather jacket despite the warmth in the crowded bar. He was a mellow drinking partner, quiet. You just had to know the difference between quiet and silent. When Jonny went silent, that was time to send him home or get out the way. Only vodka or tequila picked him up and got his mouth moving much. Solid, too. Not big, but wiry and tough. Jonny was the guy that other tough guys looked at and recognised that inner dog. He had the crazy edge.

  They sipped their beers, chatted easily about the night before, filling in a few blanks for each other. Jonny spoke slowly. He liked to chew things over, never said a word without thinking about it first. Out of the blue he said, “Jeanie says you got a job.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. A one off. She tell you last night?”

  “No, I swung by her bar earlier. With Michael.”

  Don nodded. It couldn’t have been last night, Jeanie hadn’t known then.

  “Just following a guy around. Playing detective,” said Don.

  “Cheating husband?”

  “Cheating business partner, actually.”

  “Anyone I know, Sam Spade?”

  “I doubt it. Rich bastard on the island.” Jonny accepted the answer, sipped his beer. His line of work didn’t take in many rich guys. He collected for a loan shark, touring the dirtier parts of town and outlining the options people had when they got behind on payments: pay up, get a limb broken and then pay up, or take another loan to pay back the first one. It was a pretty dirty job, and Jonny didn’t like to talk about it. He didn’t like to talk about many things, especially things in his past. Don knew he was from small town Missouri, been in the US Army. Infantry. Honourable discharge, August 30th, 2001. Two weeks later he tried to sign up again but ended up going to Iraq as a private contractor. A few years later he washed up in Hong Kong. Don didn’t know quite why but he wasn’t about to ask. Maybe Jonny didn’t know why, either. The silence between them was comfortable, neither asked too many questions.

  “Hey Don, what do you think?”

  “What?” he realised Mrs Fong had slipped into his head again, the plum dress riding high up her silken legs.

  Jonny nodded up at the silent TV in the corner. It was showing baseball. “World Series. You’re a gambling man, any insider tips?”

  Don’s knowledge of baseball was right up there with his knowledge of nuclear physics. He knew it happened, but… “Sorry mate. Why don’t you ask me about the cricket?”

  “Okay, any tips on the cricket?”

  “Haven’t been paying much attention, to be honest.”

  “Well, that much is obvious. Something on your mind?”

  Yes. A tall Chinese woman with a beautiful face, who drives a red sports car and… “No, I guess I’m just tired.”

  A couple of beers later their familiar habit was disturbed by a loud gaggle of women. Typical forty-something barflies who didn’t let age get in the way of living and dressing like they had when they were twenty-something.

  They had already sunk a few. Jonny’s latest flame was among them. She draped her arm across his shoulders. This one had a pair of red roses tattooed inside her thigh, just above her knee, always wore skirts short enough to show them off. She was bitching to Jonny about some friend of hers, what x had said to y about z. One drink among the girls was enough to convince Don that he wasn’t up for another night out. He was tired, dirty, and the energy in their voices grated.

  Walking back to the car he got a call from Jeannie at work.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In the Keller.” He could tell by the echo she was having a smoke and a drink in the stockroom behind the bar.

  “Anybody there?”

  “Jonny and his girls.”

  “So you left.”

  “So I left.”

  “I’m finishing about two. I’ll come over later, then, shall I?”

  “If you like.”

  “Well don’t sound so fucking enthusiastic.”

  “No really, come over when you finish. That’ll be nice.”

  She hung up quickly. Great job, well done. Now she was even more pissed off.

  Back in the apartment he grabbed a clean glass tumbler from the pile Jeannie had left in the kitchen, a couple of pieces of ice from the freezer. A large whisky on the couch and Cary Grant in Technicolor, the perfect way to relax before he took a shower. He lit a cigarette – still hated not being able to smoke in bars – and sipped his whisky. Grace Kelly, too. Excellent.

  He jerked awake again as the closing credits rolled. Must have been sleepier than he thought. He had made some headway on the whisky and added some fresh butts to the ashtray. Even that smell couldn’t mask his own. He stood up slowly, stretching, shambled into the bathroom to stand under the showerhead for a while. He was still there when he heard Jeannie coming in.

  She opened the bathroom door and stood in the doorway, barefoot in the little black dress she often wore for work.

  “Hello, you,” she said.

  She was drunk. Fucking plastered, in fact. She stood there swaying, gazing up and down his body.

  “One of these days,” he said. “They’re going to fire you.”

  “No they’re not.” She unzipped the dress at the back and let it slip down over her shoulders. “I’m the fucking manager.”

  Traditional, black, lacy, sexy. Still in her underwear she walked in to join him under the water.

  “They can’t fire me,” she said as her mouth closed on his. The water ran over her head, she pulled away again, her face to the ceiling. Eyes closed, lipstick smudged, mascara running freely from her eyes. She pressed her body, wet underwear and all, hard against Don. He could smell the gin on her breath as she sucked on his lip.

  He led her to the couch before stripping her of the rest of her clothes. She couldn’t manage without help. He hoped to Christ she hadn’t driven from work.

  She pulled him between her legs, impatient. Her drunken limbs splayed all over the place, a stray arm knocking the whisky bottle off the coffee table. He grabbed her wrists roughly, holding them down above her head with one hand, shifting her leg with the other. The shower hadn’t woken her up. She was barely even conscious. With makeup smudged all over her face, she lay back, naked. Body wet and legs open, she waited for him. He leaned into her and gave her what she wanted, eyes closed, thinking of someone else.

  12

  Don woke up in his bed, for a change. Jeannie was next to him, half under the duvet. With the make-up still on her face she looked like she’d been beaten, red around her mouth and a black wash from her eyes. She looked older with the run mascara collected in her wrinkles. He gave her a gentle shove but she was still out cold. No wonder, the state she had been in last night.

  After a shower and breakfast, he was whistling the Rolling Stones as he walked out from the building. The first three floors were business, before the apartments started, and the entrance was a narrow doorway between a small jewellers and a shuttered up shop that used to be a music store. It had been open when he moved in, clinging to the days when people bought CDs, but hadn’t lasted much longer. Now it was space for tattered billposters.

  He dodged a bus as he crossed to the bakery on the other side before heading back down to the underground parking lot. He wasn’t going to go hungry today. The sun was bright as his car emerged from the dirty streets up onto the flyover, and he found himself tapping the opening drums of Paint It Black onto the steering wheel. Thirty minutes later he sat outside the Fong’s house
again with the window down for a little breeze. Both the Merc and the MG sat on the driveway. The visitors’ car was gone.

  After a while he got his camera out and started going through the pictures taken yesterday, studying the wife. Better get a hold of himself. He threw the camera onto the passenger seat, took out the Clingfilm wrapped sandwich and left that there too, and used the bakery bag to start clearing away some of the rubbish that had accumulated in the car. The bag was soon full but he found a bunch more CDs and swapped the Stones for Metallica’s Black Album. Hadn’t listened to that in years.

  Smoking outside his car, Enter Sandman drifted quietly through the open window. He studied the house through the railings. No movement. Nothing going on but the sun was bright. He felt happy, refreshed. This was turning out to be a pretty easy gig.

  Jeannie had still been asleep when he left. When this job was done he would take her out, daytrip or something. He could hardly afford Macau, but something nice. Temples, other islands, something like that. He sat back in the car and thought about the places they could go. Then he thought of Jonny and his girl.

  He couldn’t remember her name, Sadie or Sam or Sandy, but no-one stayed with Jonny more than a few months anyway. He was amazed that such a quiet guy could pick up so many loud, shrieking women. Jeannie wasn’t like that. She had a bit of class, when she tried. When she wasn’t too drunk.

  Jonny never put too much of himself into women, anyway. There was always one or another hanging about, but Jonny was all about his mates. That was the important thing. Remember who your friends are.

  The sun was hot through the windscreen. A great way to see how much dust had collected on the glass. Metallica became Oasis, and soon it was lunchtime. He made a start on his baguette, watching the yellowing leaves. In the dead space after Supersonic he heard a noise from the Fong’s house. A door, voices.

  He jumped out, grabbing the camera. Alexander Fong, casual smart, heaved a set of golf clubs in the back of his car. His wife stood in the doorway in a simple sleeveless red dress that came down to her knees. Don raised the camera, trying to get her in the shot, but the door was already closed. He got back in his car.