The Trail to Buddha's Mirror - Don Winslow [44]
“Welcome to Kowloon,” Chin said. “The real Hong Kong.”
Neal sat down on the bed and began to go through the papers in his briefcase. “What does ‘Kowloon’ mean?”
“Nine dragons,” Chin answered as he lit up a Marlboro. He almost looked like a dragon himself, a big, dangerous beast puffing smoke. “The old people thought that the eight hills here were each dragons, and they were going to call the place Eight Dragons. Then the Sung Emperor came, and the Emperor is a dragon, so that made nine. Nine Dragons—Kowloon.”
“It looks pretty flat to me.”
“It is. Most of the hills were ‘dozed to make room.”
Neal took the brochure advertising Li Lan’s paintings from his briefcase and handed it to Chin. “Where is that address?”
“Is this the babe?”
“Yeah. Is it far from here?”
“Good looking. No, not far. Kansu Street is just up the Nathan Road. Yaumatei District. You get some sleep, then I’ll take you there.”
“I’m not tired.”
“She’s a painter?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe she’d like to paint my picture. What do you think?”
“I think you should tell me how to get to two-thirty-seven Kansu Street.”
The beggar across the street scored some coins from a young woman tourist. Chin offered the pack of cigarettes to Neal, who shook his head.
“I think,” Chin said, “that I better take you there.”
“Why? Is it a dangerous neighborhood?”
“It’s not the neighborhood, it’s the situation.”
“What situation?”
“You tell me.”
Neal got up and looked out the window. The beggar would have been tall if had been able to stand up. He was certainly thin. He moved by supporting himself on his hands as he swung his torso like a gymnast on the bars of the horse. The crowds of pedestrians surged around him, creating an eddy in the stream of traffic.
The situation is, Neal thought, that I’m a renegade from my own company, which may or may not join the CIA in wanting me dead. The situation is that this woman set me up, maybe even set me up to be killed. The situation is that somehow I’m in love with her anyway and I need to warn her that she’s in danger. The situation is that I have to find her to get some answers before I can get on with my life.
“The situation is,” Neal said without turning away from the window, “that I need to talk to the woman at two-thirty-seven Kansu Street. That’s the situation.”
“Mark told me to take care of you.”
“And you have.”
“He said there are people looking for you.”
“There are.”
“So you need protection.”
Neal turned back from the window. If I boot him, he thought, he’ll lose face with his cousin and with his own boys. Besides, this is his turf and I couldn’t lose him if I tried. All I can do is make it harder on each of us.
“I’ll need to speak with her alone,”Neal said.
“Sure.”
“Let’s go.”
One thing you have to say for Ben Chin, Neal thought: he’s organized. As soon as they hit the street, three teenage boys fell in behind them. They all had that lean and hungry look that Caesar was so worried about, and they all wore white shirts over shiny black trousers and loafers. They dropped their cigarettes as soon as they saw Chin, and wordlessly arranged themselves in a fan formation about thirty feet behind Chin and Neal. A bucktoothed boy, smaller and skinnier than the others, ranged ahead of them, rarely looking back but figuring out their intended path anyway.
“Who do we have to look out for?” Chin asked him. “White guys?”
“Probably.”
Chin grimaced, then said, “Okay, no problem.”
“You have a scout ahead of us.”
“You have a good eye.