The Lost City

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Tiger looked at Pig and Pig looked at Tiger. Neither man knew the other’s name, and that was how it had always been done. Neither knew where the other lived and neither wanted to know. They were not bloody-thirsty, undisciplined gangsters but highly-trained public servants with a job to do. It might be a dirty job, but someone had to do it, and that someone was Tiger and his associates.

Unlike Tiger, Pig was nearing retirement and looking forward to a generous pension which he planned to spend in Zhuhai with his wife. The prefecture-level city was in the subtropical south but the South China Sea kept the temperatures down. It was the perfect place to retire. Just one more job to do and he would punch out and leave the Ministry behind for the rest of his life.

“Who?” was all Pig said. A visit from Tiger could mean only thing and it wasn’t to play wŭzĭqí.

Tiger said nothing but slid the manila folder across the table.

Pig glanced from the folder back to Tiger and then back down before gently lifting the cover. He raised his eyebrows and then sucked in his lips. “I see.”

“Zhou wants it done in a hurry.”

“Zhou can take a shit in a hurry,” Pig said. “A job like this takes time and careful planning.”

Tiger nodded. He was thinking the same thing.

“Who else have you in mind?”

“Rat.”

“Inevitable, of course.”

“And Monkey.”

Pig nodded his head and after taking another lingering glance inside the folder closed it back up. “He’ll have to be watched.”

“I can handle him.”

Pig nodded. “She’s aged well. Seems a shame.”

“She’s got new friends now. Likes to play games in the West.”

Another tired nod. Tiger wondered if he was keeping the other man away from his bed.

“Where is she?”

“Rio de Janeiro. We don’t know why.”

“When do we go after her?”

“As soon as we get the others. Do you know where they are?”

“Rat is where he always is,” Pig said with a yawn, and pushed his chopsticks back into his soybean noodles. “I dread to think where we’ll find Monkey.” He deftly pulled out a string of the wheat noodles and twirled them around to gather more of the zhajiang sauce. Then he pinched some of the stir-fried beef and dipped it into the salty soybean paste before passing the whole bundle into his mouth.

“How’s the meat?” Tiger asked.

Pig wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded vehemently. “Delicious.”

The beef was always delicious here.

And Agent Dragonfly’s days were numbered.