A Lotus for Miss Quon

1

THE reward of 20,000 piastres for any information concerning Jaffe’s last movements before he had been kidnapped led to chaotic scenes outside Security Headquarters.

Inspector Ngoc-Linh had expected this to happen. He knew every shiftless coolie, pousse-pousse boy, street-vendor and the like would come rushing forward with their stories, determined to earn the reward.

He knew he and his men would have to sift through hundreds of stories in the hope of gaining one little fact that might prove Jaffe was in hiding and not in the hands of the Viet Minh. The Inspector hoped too to get a lead on the girl Jaffe associated with. He gave instructions that no one was to be turned away. Everyone coming forward with information was to be interviewed.

A man who could have told him where Jaffe was hiding knew nothing about the offer of the reward for Yo-Yo had never learned to read and consequently never looked at a newspaper.

While the Inspector was probing and sifting the answers to his questions, Yo-Yo squatted outside the Paradise Club, his dirty, vicious face puckered in a perplexed frown.

He saw Charlie arrive. He had seen Charlie before and knew he lived in Hong Kong. He guessed Charlie had been sent for. He knew then for certain that something of great importance was going on. But how was he to find out what this something could be? He wondered if he should go to the taxi-dancer’s home and talk to her. He might persuade her to tell him why she had visited the American, but on second thought he saw that if he failed to frighten her into talking he would be in serious trouble with Blackie. The risk was too great.

So he sat in the shade, fidgeting with his yo-yo and waited. Not ten yards from him the food vendor was reading of the reward and wondering craftily what story he could tell the police that would convince them he was the man to receive the reward. He knew Jaffe. He had seen him often going in and out of the club, but he couldn’t remember if he had seen him on Sunday night. He vaguely remembered Jaffe had sat in his car outside the club but whether that was on Saturday or Sunday, the vendor couldn’t make up his mind.

He decided he might as well tell the police it was Sunday. They would be more impressed if he told them it was Sunday because, according to the newspaper, that was the day when Jaffe disappeared. As soon as the lunch-hour rush was over, he would go to the police and tell them about seeing Jaffe sitting in his car. Even if he didn’t get all the reward, surely they would give him something?

In the American Embassy, Lieutenant Hambley sat in his office, digging holes in his blotter with a paper-knife, a thoughtful, worried expression on his face.

He was waiting for Sam Wade to come in. He had telephoned for him as soon as he had got back to his office. Wade had said he would be along in a few minutes.

When he did come in, Hambley waved him to a chair.

“I’ve got myself snarled up in this Jaffe affair,” he said. You knew him pretty well, didn’t you?”

“I guess, but not all that well. We played golf together. He was a hell of a fine golfer. I never saw anyone hit a longer ball off the peg.”

“What sort of guy was he?”

“A regular fella. I liked him.”

Hambley dug more holes in his blotter.

“He wasn’t a queer, was he?”

Wade’s eyes opened wide.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “Jaffe a queer?

What kind of an idea is that?”

“There’s a rumour going around that he was,” Hambley said quietly. “It’s said he had an association with his house-boy.”

Wade looked disgusted.

“The guy who put that rumour around wants his backside kicked. What does he expect to get out of a foul lie like that?”

Hambley looked at Wade’s indignant face with interest.

“You’re as sure at that?” he asked.

“You’re damn right I am!” Wade said, his face flushed. “What’s all this about anyway?”

Hambley told him of the Inspector’s theory.

“Well, it’s a lie,” Wade said. “I know for a fact Jaffe had a regular girl. He never chased women. That story about why he borrowed my car is so much baloney!”

“Who was his girl, then?” Hambley asked.

“I don’t know. What’s it matter anyway? I do know she used to visit his place about three times a week. You know how you get to hear these things. My houseboy is always telling me who is sleeping with who. When you play golf with a guy, you get to know the kind of man he is. Jaffe was a sportsman: he was okay. I’m telling you.”

“I’d like to talk to this girl of his,” Hambley said. “How can I find her?”

Wade rubbed his fat jowels while he thought.

The most likely one who could tell you is that Chink I slept with on Sunday night: she’s a bitch and a thief,” and he gave Hambley the address.

Hambley reached for his service cap and slapped it on his head.

“Well, thanks,” he said, “I’ll go and see this Chinese girl.”

He looked at his watch. It was just after half past twelve. “You have been a help.”

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside Ann Fai Wah’s front door. He rang the bell and waited. After a two-minute wait, he rang again. He was just deciding that she had gone out, when the front door opened and the girl stood in the doorway, looking at him. Her almond-shaped eyes moved over him, taking in the details of his uniform before examining his face.

“Hambley: Military Police,” the Lieutenant said, saluting. “May I come in for a moment?”

She stepped back and made a little flicking movement with her long, beautiful fingers. She was wearing a dove-coloured Cheongsam slit either side to half-way up her thighs. Her long shapely legs were bare and the colour of old ivory. He could see the hard points of her breasts under the grey silk. He didn’t think she had on anything under the Cheongsam.

He walked into the sitting-room. On the table was the morning newspaper. By it a tray containing a cup and saucer, a coffee pot and a half-empty bottle of Remy Martin brandy.

Ann Fai Wah sat on the arm of a big leather lounging-chair and rested her arm along its back. Hambley had difficulty not to stare at her leg as the split skirt parted as she sat down.

“You want something?” the girl asked, lifting painted eyebrows.

Hambley pulled himself together.

“Have you read the paper yet?”

He leaned forward and tapped the headlines that shouted of Jaffe’s kidnapping.

“Hmmmm.”

She nodded, her slim fingers playing with a curl on the side of her neck.”Did you know Jaffe?”

She shook her head.

“He had a girl friend: a Vietnamese taxi-dancer. I’m trying to find her. Would you know who she is and where she lives?”

“Perhaps.”

Hambley shifted from one foot to the other. He found the black almond-shaped eyes extremely disconcerting. She was looking him over the way a farmer would examine a prize bull.

“What does that mean? Do you know her or don’t you?” She leaned forward to pick up a cigarette. Her breasts tightened their grey silk covering. She put the cigarette between her heavily-made-up lips and looked expectantly at him.

Hambley fumbled for his lighter, found it and had trouble to light it. It irritated him as he lit her cigarette to be aware that he was confused and acting like a teenager.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked, leaning back and releasing a long stream of tobacco smoke down her nostrils.

“We’re trying to check his last movements up to the time he was kidnapped,” Hambley explained. “We think his girl could help us.”

“If she could, she would have come forward, wouldn’t she?”

“Not necessarily. She might not want to get involved.”

Ann Fai Wah picked up the newspaper and glanced at it.

“I see there’s a reward. If I told you who she is, will I get the reward?”

“You might. Security Police are paying the reward. You’d have to talk to them.”

“I don’t want to talk to them. I prefer to talk to you. If you will give me 20,000 piastres, I will tell you who she is.”

"So you know?”

Again the painted eyebrows lifted.

"Perhaps.”

“I haven’t the authority to give you the money,” Hambley said. But I’ll put your claim forward through the proper channels. Who is she?”

Ann Fai Wah shrugged her shoulders.

“I forget. I’m sorry. Is that all? You must excuse me.”

“Look, baby,” Hambley said, suddenly becoming the tough cop, “you can please yourself about this but you either tell me or Security Police. You’ll tell one of us!”

Ann Fai Wah’s expression didn’t change, but her quick shrewd mind warned her of her danger. If this American told Security Police he thought she had information, she would be taken to Headquarters and questioned. She knew what happened to people who were reluctant to talk. She had no intention of having her back lacerated with a bamboo cane.

“And the reward?”

“I told you: I’ll put in a claim for you. I don’t promise you’ll get it, but I’ll do my best for you.”

She hesitated, looking at him, then seeing he was determined, she said, “Her name is Nhan Lee Quon. I don’t know where she lives. Her uncle tells fortunes at the Tomb of Marshal Le-van-Duyet.”

“Thanks,” Hambley said. “What’s the uncle look like?”

“He is a fat man with a beard.”

Hambley picked up his cap.

"I’ll go talk to him,” he said and started towards the door.

Ann Fai Wah crushed out her cigarette and sauntered to the door with him.

“You won’t forget the reward, Lieutenant?”

“I won’t forget.”

“Perhaps you will come and see me again one evening?” He grinned at her.

“I might at that.”

She took hold of the top button of his tunic and examined it. Her face was very close to his.

“Her uncle won’t be at the temple until three o’clock,” she said. “You have plenty of time. Perhaps you would like to stay a little while now?”

Hambley removed her hand. The touch of her cool fingers made his heart beat a little faster. She certainly was attractive, he was thinking. He wanted to stay.

“Some other time, baby,” he said regretfully and he smiled. “I’ve work to do.”

He half-opened the front door, paused and looked at her again. She stared steadily back at him; her black eyes were alight with suggested promises.

Slowly he closed the door and he leaned against it. “Well, maybe I could stay awhile.”

She turned and walked slowly across the room to a door. Hambley, his eyes on her heavy, rolling hips, followed her.

2

The food vendor whose name was Cheong-Su had a long wait before he finally stood before Inspector Ngoc-Linh, but he didn’t mind the wait. The activity in the big room fascinated him and there was the suspense of wondering if someone in this long queue waiting to give information would get the reward before his turn came.

When Cheong-Su came to rest before the Inspector, he said simply and firmly that he had come to claim the reward.

“What makes you think you are going to get it?” The Inspector asked, looking at the old man, his little eyes screwed up, a bitter expression on his tired face.

"I saw the American on Sunday night,” Cheong-Su said. “He was sitting in his car outside the Paradise Club. The time was after ten o’clock.”

The Inspector pricked up his ears. This was the first piece of information bearing on Jaffe’s last movements he had had during the five hours he had sat at the table.

“What was he doing?”

Cheong-Su blinked.

“He was sitting in his car.”

“What kind of car?”

“A small red car.”

“How long did he sit in the car?”

Cheong-Su blinked.

“Not long.”

“How long? Five minutes? Ten? A half an hour?”

“Maybe half an hour.”

“Then what happened?”

“The girl came and he got out of the car,” Cheong-Su said slowly, thinking hard. “He gave her some money and she went into the club. Then she came out and they got in the car and drove away.”

The Inspector shifted his eyes. He didn’t want the food vendor to see how excited he was.

“What girl?” he asked indifferently.

Cheong-Su shrugged his skinny shoulders.

“I don’t know… a girl.”

“You don’t know who she was?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen her before, entering and leaving the club?”

Again Cheong-Su shrugged his shoulders.

“Many girls enter and leave the club. I don’t look at girls any more.”

The Inspector could have strangled him. He said in a carefully-controlled voice, “The American gave her some money and she went into the club? How long was she there?”

“Not long.”

“Ten minutes? Half an hour?”

“Maybe five minutes.”

So she was a taxi-girl, the Inspector was thinking. The American gave her money to pay Blackie Lee his fee so they could go off together. Blackie Lee had been lying when he said he knew of no regular girl.

“You are sure you haven’t seen the girl before?”

“They all look alike. I might have seen her before.”

“Is that all you have to tell me?”

Cheong-Su looked indignant.

“What more do you want?” he demanded. “I have come for the reward.”

The Inspector signalled to the uniformed policeman who gave Cheong-Su a quick hard dig in the ribs with his white baton.

“Move on,” he said.

Cheong-Su’s eyes bulged.

“But the reward?” he spluttered. “Don’t I get anything?”

The policeman gave him a hard crack on his shin with the baton, making the old man hop and howl with pain. The waiting queue laughed delightedly to see the old man hopping and rubbing his shin. The baton fell again, this time on the old man’s skinny buttocks, and holding his seat in both hands, he bolted down the room and out through the exit.

The Inspector pushed back his chair and stood up. He signed to one of his men to take over. He had to see the Colonel at once. The Colonel might think it was time to pick up Blackie Lee and bring him in for special questioning. The Inspector’s face hardened when he thought of how Blackie had lied to him. He looked forward to meeting Blackie in the bleak tiled room set aside for special questioning. The fear that would be on that oily fat face, the Inspector told himself, would be worth seeing.

The subject of the Inspector’s thoughts had had a siesta and now went back to his office to see what was happening to his brother. He found Charlie smoking another cigar with his feet up on Blackie’s desk.

The two men looked at each other.

“Anything?” Blackie asked hopefully, sitting in his desk chair.

“I think so,” Charlie said. “But we’ll need more money. The money the diamonds will sell for won’t be enough. There is only one way to get him out: on the opium flight.”

Blackie lifted his hands helplessly. Why hadn’t he thought of that? he asked himself. So simple once you did think of it. That was the difference between Charlie and himself. Charlie had more brains: there was no doubt about that and because he had more brains he had horned in on two million American dollars.

“Who is doing the run now?” he asked. He hadn’t been in the opium racket now for a couple of years and he had lost touch. He knew Charlie still smuggled opium from Laos into Bangkok.

“Lee Watkins,” Charlie said. “He’s a newcomer. He hasn’t been long in the game, but he’s a good man. His father was English, his mother Chinese. He was a pilot with C.P.A. but he got fooling with an air hostess and they threw him out. He drifted into the Opium game. He’s earning big money. He won’t look at this job unless we pay him well.”

Blackie pulled a face.

“How much?”

“At least three thousand American dollars, then there will be other expenses to take care of. He will have to use a helicopter to get the American to Kratie. There’s no safe airstrip here for a plane to land. It’ll have to be a helicopter. It’ll cost around five thousand American dollars.”

Blackie whistled.

“Well, if he has the diamonds, he can pay. If he hasn’t got them, then it’s no good.”

Charlie chewed his cigar.

“He has them.” He thought for a moment, then, “When are you seeing him?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Better make it tonight. Find out if he’ll pay five thousand. If he offers you more diamonds, take them. Once he has agreed to the price, I’ll get in touch with Watkins. He’ll have to come to Phnom-Penh. I haven’t a visa for Laos.”

Blackie looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes past three.

“I’ll tell the girl to go to him at once and fix it.”

Charlie said, “He must be told you want more money. He might not bring the diamonds with him.”

Blackie nodded and went out.

In Colonel On-dinh-Khuc’s study, the Inspector was making his report.

“Blackie Lee was lying as I thought he was lying,” the Inspector said. “He knows who the girl is. I asked permission to bring this man in for special questioning.”

The Colonel pulled at his moustache. He had learned from the police at the airport that Charlie Lee had arrived. He had known Charlie in the past: he knew he was a trouble-maker with influence. If Blackie were picked up, Charlie would make trouble. The Colonel knew that Charlie supplied one of the leading members of the opposition group with opium. The Colonel had no doubt that Charlie would go to this man and demand an inquiry as to why his brother had been spirited away for special questioning.

“Not yet,” he said, “but have him watched. Put two of your best men onto him.”

“This man can tell you who the girl is,” the Inspector said. “I have questioned over two hundred people today without being able to find out who she is. Blackie Lee knows. If it is so important to find her, he can tell us.”

The Colonel stared coldly at him.

“You heard what I said - not yet. Have him watched.”

Shrugging his shoulders, the Inspector went to detail two of his men to watch Blackie: a trifle late for Blackie was by then returning from seeing Nhan, and she was hurrying to catch the five o’clock bus to Thudaumot.

Watched by Yo-Yo, Blackie parked his car and entered the club. YoYo was hungry. He looked around for Cheong-Su from whom he always bought his soup. The old man wasn’t in his usual place but Yo-Yo saw him coming down the street, his oven and soup tin balanced on a bamboo pole which he carried on his shoulder.

Cheong-Su took up his position on the edge of the kerb, and after rubbing his bruised shin and groaning to himself, he blew up his charcoal fire and set the soup tin on top of it.

Yo-Yo joined him.

The old man immediately launched into a whining angry complaint about the police and how they had swindled him out of the reward. YoYo had no idea what he was talking about and told him to shut up. But Cheong-Su felt his grievance too deeply to pay any attention to Yo-Yo’s lack of interest. While he stirred the soup, he continued to complain until the word “American’ awoke Yo-Yo’s interest.

“What are you talking about?” he snarled. “What American? What reward?”

Cheong-Su fetched out the crumpled newspaper and showed it to Yo-Yo.

Angrily, because he hated to have to admit he couldn’t read, Yo-Yo told him to read it to him, but three customers arrived at this moment for soup and Cheong-Su left Yo-Yo to stare at the unintelligible print, seething with vicious fury at his own illiteracy.

The supper rush-hour was now on and Yo-Yo had to wait. He listened to Cheong-Su’s account of his unfair treatment at Security Police Headquarters as the old man recounted it over and over again to every new customer who came along.

Could the American, Yo-Yo was thinking, who he had seen at the window of the villa at Thudaumot be the man the police were inquiring about? If he was, then the girl, Nhan, and Blackie Lee were involved. Surely this might be the opportunity to blackmail Blackie for which he had been looking.

He was so absorbed in listening to Cheong-Su recount his experiences for the twentieth time that he failed to notice Blackie leave the club. The time was now twenty minutes past seven. Before setting out for Thudaumot, Blackie wanted to call on a wealthy Chinese jeweller who he was sure would buy the two diamonds Jaffe had given him. It would be a long transaction. The jeweller would try to convince Blackie the stones were of little value. Before Blackie could squeeze three thousand American dollars from the jeweller several hours would be wasted in polite but bitter haggling. Blackie was making sure he had plenty of time before his meeeting with Jaffe at eleven o’clock.

When Yo-Yo finally got Cheong-Su to read him the newspaper account of Jaffe’s kidnapping, he felt pretty confident that Jaffe was the American he had seen at the window. His immediate reaction was to rush around to Security Police and claim the reward, but remembering Cheong-Su’s treatment, he decided first to talk to Blackie. It was possible Blackie might offer more than 20,000 piastres, but when he entered the club he found Blackie had gone.

Yu-lan who disliked Yo-Yo told him curtly to get out. Her husband, she said, wouldn’t be back that night. When he wanted Yo-Yo, he would send for him.

In the meantime Lieutenant Hambley had made no