Liot Literary

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Hong Kong Escapade

As I stood in the empty room of the pub, enveloped in the silence and soft light, I heard a voice ask me, "Please, just give me one more night."

The voice came from the shadows. I peered into the area from where it came. A petite woman stepped out where I could see her better. Attractive in a yellow patterned cheongsam I put her age as early thirties. Her black hair tied up in a chignon, she could have graced a Chinese ballet. A yellow evening bag matching her dress hung from her shoulder.

I was looking for the gents’ rest room in this Hong Kong pub.

“I’m sorry?” I said somewhat flummoxed by her question. She didn’t give me the impression she was propositioning me for a ‘good time’.

“Oh! You not them.” She grabbed a .32 pistol from her bag and pointed it at me.

“Whoa!” I said putting my hands up and with a considerable increase in my desire to use the facilities.

“What you doing in here?”

“I’m looking for the toilet.” I kept my hands in the air.

“Who are you?”

“Harry MacIntosh.”

“You English?”

“No, Scottish.”

“Who sent you in here?”

“Nobody sent me.”

“You with CIA?”

“No, CWA.”

“What’s that?”

“Co-operative Wholesale Society.”

“What?”

“I’m a buyer for them. I’m here to buy Christmas products for our stores.”

“It’s June.”

“We need to put the order in now to ensure delivery.”

“Is that code?”

“What?”

“Christmas products.”

“I don’t know what you mean. It’s Christmas products. You know, crackers, napkins, cheap toys.”

“I don’t believe you. Take your gun out, carefully, and put it on the table.”

“I don’t have a gun.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please may I go to the toilet?”

She stepped forward with the pistol still pointed at me. As she came close she put the barrel against my temple. Her free hand roamed over my torso. A woman’s hand doing that would normally interest me. The gun served as an anti-aphrodisiac.

“Like I said. I don’t have a gun.”

She stepped back with her gun levelled.

“You really not with CIA?”

“Really, I’m not.”

“MI6?”

“No.”

“You not agent?”

“I’m just a buyer for supermarkets.”

“If you tell truth you can help me.”

“Before we go any further I need to pee!”

She pointed her gun at a door. I could just make out the shape of a male silhouette sign.

I sucked in a breath hoping it wasn’t my last. Stepping over to the door she followed behind. I couldn’t see if she still pointed the gun at me but I knew it wise to believe so and not do anything stupid.

She followed me into the rest room.

Her presence didn’t help but I managed. Cool air came in through an open window above the urinal. I decided trying to climb out would get me shot in the backside and I would die with an embarrassing wound.

“Wash your hands,” she said.

A killer woman concerned about hygiene. Hmm.

“Do you have a car?” she said.

“No.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Weymouth.”

“I know it.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“CIA will kill me tonight if I don’t give them the information they want and then they’ll kill me anyway. Chinese Secret Police will kill me if I do. British Intelligence want to kidnap me for questioning.”

“My, you’re a popular girl.”

“What you mean? I not popular. People want to kill or kidnap me.”

“Sorry, British humour.”

“It not funny!”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

We came out of the rest room. I guessed she wanted me to get her out of the pub and back to my hotel. With the CIA, MI6, and Chinese Secret Police after her, I had no idea how I would accomplish it. And the woman was desperate enough to shoot me.

Two men came into the room.

They must have seen the woman with the gun because one of them in an American accent shouted, “Drop it.”

They both drew pistols.

“I not go with you. I not have what you want.” I could hear the pleading in her voice.

I knew nothing about what was going on. And I’m no hero. But that pleading really got to me. Here was a woman with two big guys threatening her. “Leave her alone!” I said and surprised myself with how bold it came out.

“Who are you?” said one of the Americans.

“None of your business,” I replied.

“MI6?” said the other American.

“CWA,” I said.

“What the hell is that?” said one of the Americans.

The door opened again. Three Chinese guys rushed in with pistols drawn.

The Americans dived behind a table. The Chinese ducked into crouching positions with guns drawn.

“Drop your weapons,” said a Chinese voice.

“Drop yours,” said an American.

The door burst open again. Two more guys piled in.

“I say, what the devil is going on?” said an upper-class English voice as the two newcomers drew pistols and dived for cover.

In the half light I saw a flash before I heard a bang. Grabbing the woman I dragged her back into the gents’ rest room. World War III sounded like it erupted in the pub room. The window above the urinals was just about big enough.

“Quick, out that way,” I said.

The woman looked at me and blinked. Then she shoved her pistol in her bag. I hoisted her up to the window, she pulled it wide and jumped out. I used a urinal as a step and followed.

Outside we were in an alley. Dead end one way and I could see bright lights and cars at the other. Pulling her along we raced to the light end where I flagged down a taxi.

“Weymouth Hotel,” I said to the driver before jumping in beside the woman.

Back safe in my hotel bedroom I opened the mini-bar and emptied a whisky miniature into a glass.

“Here, drink this and please don’t shoot me.”

She took the glass, and a ghost of a smile crossed those red lips.

“Well, it seems we are in deep doo doo,” I said.

“What is doo doo?”

“A lot of trouble.”

“Oh, you mean sh—.”

“Yes,” I interrupted.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

“There’s only one bed,” I said.

“It okay. You can sleep on floor.”

That left me in no doubt about the rest of the evening.

“What is your name?”

“Jing Li.”

“Does that mean something in English?”

“Quiet and joyful.”

“Your parents must have had a sense of humour.”

“What you mean?”

***

Next morning I padded across the room towards the bathroom with a pain in my lower back from sleeping on the floor.

She lay fast asleep in the bed with her hair no longer imprisoned in a chignon, now spread across the white pillow. Beautiful. Her yellow dress lay at the foot of the bed. I knew then she had me smitten.

I ordered breakfast from room service.

“Is there a bathrobe in there?” she said sitting up in bed.

“Yes.”

“Would you please get it for me?”

I’m not a voyeur. I could have had her walk across the room in whatever she was not wearing but I brought the robe and turned the other way while she put it on.

After breakfast I said: “So what now?”

“I have fake British passport. The people who are after me don’t know that. You can help me get to UK.”

“Why the UK?”

“I went to university there. I like it.”

“What exactly is it that these people want?”

“Me.”

“I know that, but why?”

“They think I have information about corruption in China which is linked to big business corruption in US and UK. So the Americans want the Chinese connection and to prevent the US corruption coming out. The Chinese want to expose the  American corruption and keep China’s secret, and the British want the Chinese and American connections so they can use it as leverage.”

“That’s a lot of corruption. How did you find out about it?”

“I don’t know any details, but they think I do. A reporter for a Hong Kong newspaper obtained it. Somebody shot him. I don’t know whether it was the Chinese, Americans or British. He told me he had some serious corruption evidence before he died but not what it was.”

“Was he your husband, boyfriend?”

“No, my brother.”

“Couldn’t you convince all these people that you don’t have the information?”

“I tried. But none of them would believe me. I was being followed tonight. That’s why I hid in that empty room.”

“Surely they wouldn’t kill you.”

“They killed my brother.”

***

All that was fifteen years ago. I managed to get her to the UK. We’re married now with three kids. Jing Li is now Susan Butterworth, and nobody is looking for her.

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