Ryker stopped so suddenly that Chee Wei almost ran into him.
“Okay, hold on,” Chee Wei said. “I’m gonna be picking shoe leather out of my teeth for weeks. I shouldn’t have said that. Dumb fuck thing to say. Forget it, will you?”
But Suzy was waiting to hear his reply, so Ryker gave her one. “The question is would I rather she sold her ass out on the street? The answer’s no. She’s better off here, doing tricks for a pair of queers more likely to mother her than do her harm.”
He stepped up to Suzy. Their eyes were almost level thanks to her boot heels. She was undeniably beautiful but her friend back there in the makeshift film studio had drawn his attention to Suzy’s age. Looks were deceiving; she could be young enough to be his daughter, which was the biggest turn off he could think of on such short notice.
“What else can you tell me?” he said.
“Her name is Zhu Xiaohui,” she said. “She has an apartment. It’s not far. She could be there. But if she knows someone is looking for her? Maybe she’ll stay with her sister.”
Ryker took out his notepad, flipped it open and offered it to her along with a pen.
CHAPTER 8
Shanghai, People’s Republic of China
There were advantages to owning a multinational corporation that dealt in advanced electronics, chief among which was the near guarantee of totally secure communications. Somewhere above the world a satellite owned wholly by Lin Industries looked down upon them and beamed encoded signals from continent to continent. New compression techniques meant that delay was almost non-existent and both parties could speak in real time without any irritating pauses. Sound quality was also enhanced, so that every nuance of tone and emotion came through clearly. They might as well be sitting in the same room, Chen Gui thought, as Lin Yubo’s voice lashed him from 6,000 miles away, and rightly so, considering what might easily have gone wrong and how much they could have lost in Japan, in terms of both wealth and face.
The tirade continued for nearly two minutes. Chen Gui feared his boss would faint because of lack of oxygen to the brain, but he went on without pause and apparently without the need to draw breath.
“-And that nephew of yours,” Lin Yubo said. “How much of this unnecessary confrontation with the Fujianese was his doing?”
Chen Gui resisted the temptation to blame it all on Chen Song. That might possibly lead to unfortunate and fatal repercussions. Chen Gui didn’t particularly like Chen Song’s mother, but she had a tongue that could cut through silk and a vindictive streak that was to be feared. She would never give him a moment’s peace if anything were to happen to her beloved son. Even though, if there was anyone on the Asian continent who deserved to suddenly disappear without trace, it was the incompetent wretch Chen Song whose foolishness had almost cost Chen Gui his reputation, his position, and his life.
“Many factors contributed to the situation, Lin Yubo,” Chen Gui said, pushing the temptation aside. “Some were beyond our control. Of course our people in Tokyo should have assessed what was happening, and reported this so we had more time to prepare an appropriate response. And the yakuza, aiyah. So much distrust there. They gave us no warning, even though they must have known something was amiss.” He waited for his boss to comment but the speakerphone was as silent as a tiger stalking its prey. Chen Gui wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and said, “Thankfully the matter has been resolved with only minimal loss. I was able to take steps to avoid the bumbling Fujianese peasants, and also inflict irreparable damage upon their Tokyo organization.”
Lin Yubo said, “What are you talking about?”
Chen Gui savored the moment. “Our limited resources in Tokyo had already been decimated by the time I arrived. While my nephew organized a retaliatory strike to distract and delay the Fujianese, I engaged the services of a professional. An outsider, who has no connection with us and cannot be traced.”
“You know my feelings concerning mercenaries.” Lin Yubo’s disapproving tone made Chen Gui imagine an executioner stepping up to a wooden chopping block, an ax gleaming in his hands.
“I have used this man before, Lin Yubo, and knew he could be trusted. Also, he was available immediately. He lives in Tokyo but is above suspicion. Neither the police nor the intelligence services have any interest in him, his cover is entirely legitimate. While the Fujianese foundered like fish out of water, he spirited us safely away from Japan. Nothing was left to chance. Then he initiated the second half of my plan, an assault against the Fujianese boss and his contingent. I have people in Tokyo now, retaking what was lost and reestablishing our trade links with yakuza. They are impressed by the way we handled ourselves. As you would expect of the Japanese they stood back and waited to see which side was stronger. Now they know. We have gained enormous face.”
“What if the Fujianese had also hired mercenaries? It would have been all-out war on the streets of Tokyo. The police would have closed the city down. No one would have profited from such madness.”
“I believe the Bai Hu would have triumphed regardless of the number of guns arrayed against him.”
“Bai Hu? White Tiger. That is his name? Absurd.”
“Merely a nickname, Lin Yubo. His methods are direct and swift. I engaged him to rid us of the tiresome leader of the Fujianese, who believed he could take over our trade with yakuza, and by nightfall the nuisance was no more. He never misses and he never fails.” Chen Gui basked in his own brilliance and wished Chen Song were here with him to hear Lin Yubo’s congratulations.
“One man did this? One man returned the Tokyo territory to you?”
“Yes, Lin Yubo. As I said, he is extremely competent, and resourceful. This is why I retained him in the first place.”
Chen Gui expected some sort of congratulation-was even thanks too much to hope for? — but Lin Yubo denied him even that small honor. “This White Tiger interests me. I may have need of his services. See that he is dispatched to San Francisco immediately. Make whatever financial arrangements are necessary. Inform me when he is on the plane.”
Chen Gui stared at the speakerphone. Several seconds passed before he realized that the click he’d heard was the sound of his boss hanging up.
He revised what had been said but could find no fault with his report, which gave him rightful credit in resolving what could have been a major setback. Did Lin Yubo not realize what they would have lost if the Fujianese had been allowed to triumph? More than just face. But now, with a startlingly rude show of abruptness, Lin Yubo had dismissed Chen Gui’s resourcefulness. Had he not ensured their position within Japan remained secure into the foreseeable future? And where was Lin Yubo while all this was happening? Concentrating on his business interests in San Francisco, in the United States. As if what went on in Asia was of secondary importance.
He made certain that the phone was switched off before he filled his lungs with air and bellowed, “Chen Song!”
The double doors opened almost instantly, proof that his nephew had been listening in, probably with his ear pressed against the lacquered wood. If not for the fact his private telephone was not linked to the internal extensions, Chen Gui was sure that Chen Song would have been hunched behind a pot plant in the hall, the telephone receiver cradled to his ear and his handkerchief over the mouthpiece, like some henchman flunkey in an old Charlie Chan film. Come to think of it, that was exactly what Chen Song was, a henchman flunkey. He would never amount to anything else. Any promise he might have shown before had been destroyed by his lamentable performance in Japan.
“Uncle. What did he say? Did you mention-?”