The man surveyed him and grinned evilly.
‘So he’s taken to boys now. I’ll wait. Get out of my sight. Just keep out of the way, and you won’t get hurt.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ng eyed the gun and then regarded the man’s drink flushed face. ‘Before I go, can I give you a drink, sir?’
The man sat down heavily in one of the lounging-chairs that faced the front door.
‘Yeah, pansy boy… Scotch.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ng went to the liquor-cabinet and made a heavy Scotch and soda and added ice. ‘Is this how you like it, sir?’
The man took the glass, sipped the drink and nodded.
‘Know why I am here, you little cocksucker?’
‘No, sir.’
‘That bastard Kling killed my brother. So I’ve come here to put four slugs into his stinking belly. Now get the hell out of here!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ng bowed and walked silently into the kitchen.
The thickset man relaxed in the chair and looked around the apartment.
‘This motherfucker sure knows how to live,’ he thought. ‘Okay this is the end of his road. As soon as he walks in I’ll give it to him.’ He finished the drink and with a vicious movement, threw the glass across the room to smash against the wall. ‘It’ll be great to see his face when he sees me!’
He sat there for some twenty minutes, then he heard the soft whine of the rising elevator. He stiffened, leaning forward his gun aimed at the door.
A key rattled in the lock, and Kling, relaxed after a good dinner, walked in.
‘Hold it, creep!’ the man snarled, his gun steady. ‘You killed my brother! Now it’s your turn!’
Kling was impervious to shock, He moved further into the room and kicked the front door shut with his heel.
‘Hello, Lui,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t get excited.’ He eyed the gun in the man’s hand. ‘This is something we could talk about.’
Lui knew how dangerous Kling was. He grinned.
‘No talking, bastard. Here’s yours, and may you burn in hell.’
As the gun came up, Kling, knowing he was helpless, braced himself.
Lui couldn’t resist the temptation to gloat.
‘You never gave my brother a chance. He didn’t even know what had hit him. I…’
Fingers that felt like steel hooks gripped his wrist. He felt an agonizing pain shoot up his arm that made him yell out. The gun dropped from his paralysed fingers. He felt his arm twist. The steel hooks dug into a nerve which sent pain raving through him. There was no resistance in him. He was dimly aware that his arm was breaking and he screamed.
Kling stood motionless, watching.
Ng had crept into the room, silent as a shadow and had come up behind Lui.
Kling made a little grimace as he heard a bone snap. Lui dropped back in the chair, only half conscious, moaning.
Ng picked up Lui’s gun. He looked at Kling who was staring with amazement, knowing this slight Vietnamese had saved his life.
‘May I kill him, sir?’ Ng asked.
Kling’s eyes widened with surprise.
‘Do you want to kill him, kid?’
‘Yes, sir. He insulted me.’
‘Well, for God’s sake! He’ll have to go so if you want to, go ahead. But wait, kid, not here. We don’t want a mess in our nice apartment, do we?’
‘No, sir. I thought the garage.’
‘That’s it. Let’s take him down.’
Lui was dimly aware of being dragged out of the apartment and into the elevator. Every nerve in his body seemed on fire. He kept moaning, now sightless with pain.
They dragged him into the vast underground garage which housed some three hundred cars.
‘This’ll do, kid,’ Kling said, shoving Lui against a parked car.
‘Yes, sir.’
Kling, still slightly bewildered, asked, ‘You killed anyone before, kid?’
Ng drew Lui’s gun from his hip pocket.
‘Yes, sir. Life in Saigon was hard. To learn to survive, I was forced to take care of myself.’ He stepped up to Lui who was struggling to stand upright.
Fascinated, Kling watched Ng put the gun barrel close to Lui’s temple and pull the trigger. The bang of the gun echoed around the garage. He watched Lui’s head jerk back and the thickset body fall.
‘Nice shooting, kid,’ he said. ‘Give me the gun.’
Ng handed the gun to Kling who cleaned it with his handkerchief, then, kneeling by the dead body, he put the gun in Lui’s limp hand.
‘That’s it, kid. Now let’s go to bed.’
‘Yes, sir. Would you like a drink or coffee?’
Kling burst out laughing.
‘Kid! You are really something! You saved my life. That’s something I won’t forget.’
‘You saved my life too, sir,’ Ng said quietly. ‘That’s something I’ll never forget.’
As they rode up in the elevator to the apartment, Kling said, ‘What did you do to him?’
‘Oh, that? A body is full of nerves. You must know where to touch them. Pain paralyses.’
Kling blew out his cheeks.
‘So that creep insulted you?’
‘Yes, sir. He cast filth on you and on me.’
Kling scratched the back of his neck.
‘So you had to kill him, huh?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The elevator doors opened and they entered the apartment.
‘A drink or coffee, sir?’
‘No. Go to bed, kid, and thanks.’
Ng bowed.
‘Good-night, sir,’ and he went away.
Kling walked to the big picture window and stared down at the heavy traffic far below.
He realized he had not only found a valuable house-boy, but an invaluable partner as cold-blooded and as ruthless as he was himself.
Completely relaxed, Ng Vee lay in his comfortable little bed, staring up at the diffused light on the ceiling from his bedside lamp.
His mind went back eight years when he had lived in the uncertain jungle days of Saigon.
He thought of his mother who had sat all day in the broiling sun on the edge of the kerb, surrounded by various tins containing Vietnamese food, a tiny brazier burning to heat the food when asked for.
Passing peasants, carrying their heavy loads often stopped to eat her food. Often she had as many as ten old, sweaty men squatting in a circle around her. They gave her a few coins in return for a couple of mouthfuls of her food.
When finally she returned to their one tiny room, she was fortunate if she had earned the equivalent of four US dollars. She always retained the scrapings from her various cans for Ng and herself.
At that time, Ng was thirteen years of age, working desperately hard at his studies, guided by the US priest. In the evenings, he would run to the small office of Dr Chi Wu, an aging acupuncture specialist who once had had a thriving practice, but now, because of his shaky hands, was losing his patients.
Chi Wu was eighty-nine years of age: a tiny, wizened man with a long white beard. Ng kept his office and cupboard-like surgery clean.
Chi Wu was lonely and garrulous, and he liked Ng. He often talked to him about his science and, seeing the boy’s interest, he expanded, showing Ng the various detailed charts of the human body where the veins and the nerve ends were located.
‘There is so much unnecessary bloodshed,’ the old man told him. ‘A man desires to kill another. What does he do? He uses a gun or a knife. If he had my knowledge he would only have to squeeze this vein or that vein and the man would be dead. In the same way, if a man deserves to be punished, if someone pressed this hidden nerve end, he would experience enormous pain.’ He kept pointing to the chart as he talked.
Seeing the polite disbelief on Ng’s face, he went on, ‘Give me your hand.’
Ng did as he was told.
‘Here’s a nerve here,’ Chi Wu said, pointing. ‘Now I will very gently press it… so…’
Ng felt a sharp tingle of pain shoot up his arm and to his brain, bad enough to make him flinch.