Zero Minus Ten

EIGHT

PRIVATE DANCER

ZERO MINUS EIGHT: 23 JUNE 1997, 2:00 P.M.

James Bond slept until just before noon. He exercised, then ate a hearty brunch in one of the hotel’s several restaurants, the Mandarin Grill. The Grill sported green decor on the walls, mirrors on rectangular columns, and a couple of large aquariums. Bond knew that the concept of feng shui, the art and science of positioning man-made structures in harmony with the vital cosmic energy coursing through the earth, was taken seriously in the East. Sometimes entire buildings had to be adjusted slightly in accordance with instructions from professional feng shui masters. Fish tanks were in abundance in restaurants, as these improved the feng shui. It was obvious that the Mandarin Grill was one of Hong Kong’s most carefully planned restaurants. Like the Man Wah, it was pleasantly subdued and quiet—the perfect place to collect his thoughts. Bond had ordered scrambled eggs and toast, with freshly squeezed orange juice and now felt refreshed and alert.

Standing outside the Man Mo Temple in the Sheung Wan, or Western District, of the island, Bond marvelled at the city around him. The people, mostly Chinese, seemed oblivious to the historic event that would occur in eight days. Everyone went about their business completely ignoring the huge dragon to the north that was breathing down their necks. But Bond wondered what would happen to some of Hong Kong’s famous landmarks, such as the temple in front of him. Following the tourists, Bond stepped inside. The rich interior altar contained polished brass and pewter ritual vessels and a pair of shining brass deer symbolizing longevity and wealth. Brass statues of the Eight Immortals stood in front of the altar, each representing the different conditions of life: male, female, lord, peasant, age, youth, poverty, and wealth. A smaller room to the right contained images of Buddhist deities like Kwan Yum, Wong Tai Sin, and Kwan Ti, the god Mo himself. The temple was dedicated to two deities, Man and Mo, the first being the god of literature who controlled the destinies of mandarins and civil servants; the latter being the god of martial arts and war, who was the guardian deity of the Hong Kong Police but was favoured just as much by the underworld. All day long, worshippers dropped in for a fast communication with the gods. Bond stood fascinated watching people use the chim. These numbered bamboo sticks were used to answer important questions concerning business, family or fortune. The narrow canister was shaken until a stick fell out; its number then used to predict the outcome. Of course, one could always try again if the answer wasn’t favourable!

“You have question to ask gods, Ling Ling Chat? ”

Bond turned toward the whisper and saw T.Y. Woo’s smiling face. He was right on time.

Bond whispered in reply, “T.Y., I’m not sure the gods would appreciate the questions I have. And I probably wouldn’t like the answers, either. Come on.”

Bond and Woo left the temple and walked down Ladder Street from Hollywood Road. It was typical of the steep lanes paved with stone slabs for the convenience of sedan-chair bearers. They stepped down to Upper Lascar Row, which had once housed foreign seamen known as lascars. The lane was lined with renowned bric-a-brac and antiques dealers. Also called “Cat Street,” it got the nickname from the accompanying brothels.

Woo led him to a four-storey building with a red façade surrounding picture windows. The legend “Woo Antiques and Curios Shop” was set into the façade, and the windows revealed a clutter of expensive antiques and objets d’art. Two angry Chinese dragon-lions stood on either side of the single door, symbolically guarding the shop from evil.

“This is where J.J. and I live,” Woo said. “This is safe house.” Bond followed him inside and found J.J. polishing an antique bronze opium pipe. He looked up and nodded with a grin, then went back to work. The place was crammed with everything from inexpensive knick-knacks to fine jade figurines and ivory objets d’art. He led Bond to the back of the store and showed him the code to be punched into a numbered button pad on the wall. This unlocked a door, which revealed a set of stairs leading up to a large four-bedroomed flat. Bond would never have guessed such a large space could exist within the narrow building he had seen from the outside.

Woo poured two glasses of cold Tsingtao beer, and they sat down at a table near the kitchen.

“I want to meet the Triad Dragon Head today, T.Y.,” Bond said.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Will not be easy. Li Xu Nan very private man. Sometimes he can be found at one of his clubs, like I told you. He goes to Zipper a lot.”

“What are my chances of finding him there today?”

“Fifty-fifty,” Woo said. “Either he is there or he is not, uh huh?”

“T.Y., do you think the Triad is really involved in all this? What do you think about Thackeray’s behaviour last night?”

Woo shrugged. “Thackeray is hiding something. Maybe this press conference tomorrow will tell all. As for Triad, we know they somehow got into EurAsia’s shipping business.”

“Tell me more about them?”

“Triad members believe they are on the right side of law and honour. You know, the original Triad was founded after seventeenthcentury overthrow of Ming dynasty by Manchus? Their motto was ‘Restore Ming, Overthrow Ch’ing.’ The name came from primal triad of Heaven, Earth, and Man. Members were like your Robin Hoods, taking wealth from rich and giving to poor. Triads originally were symbols of nationalism. Sun Yat-sen was Triad.” Woo sighed. “Today they have degenerated into criminal underground. They put squeeze on many businesses. They control prostitution and illegal immigration. One of their big enterprises is emigrating young girls to West with promise of freedom and prosperity. In reality, girls become prisoners in brothels and are forced to work their way out of enslavement for several years before they are finally set free. Their largest business is drugs. They control maybe 80 per cent of world’s drug traffic. You think Central America is bad? They are peanuts compared to Triads.”

“Where do the drugs come from?”

“From China, Thailand, Laos, Burma. Many places. Golden Triangle in Yunnan Province is major source.”

Bond nodded. “What will happen to Triads once China takes over Hong Kong?”

Woo grinned. “There are some in Hong Kong who believe Triads will become more powerful after takeover, not only because they are so ingrained in our culture, but because they will find reason to reach back to their beginnings as political activists.”

“They’re anti-Communist, then?”

“Most definitely. If China decides to change Hong Kong completely and destroy democratic freedoms we have here, Triads will be first to oppose them. And they will be formidable foes. Other possibility is that they will corrupt China and continue as they are.”

“Triads are outlawed in China, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but they exist. Hong Kong, though, is centre of all Triad activity in entire world.”

“The analogy would be as Sicily is to the Mafia?”

“I suppose so, yes. You know, Triads are illegal in Hong Kong, too. Just being a member is illegal. If you possess any Triad materials you can go to jail, uh huh? That is why they are so secret.”

“I think I’d better see some Triads first hand, T.Y. Where is this nightclub?”

“In Tsim Sha Tsui East. Kowloon. The Zipper. Big fancy nightclub, very popular. Very expensive. Japanese businessmen especially like it. They have very beautiful girls working there.”

“Are they prisoners of the Triads as well?”

“Some might be,” Woo said.

Bond stood up. “Enough talk. Let’s go. When we get there, T.Y., I want to go in alone. I’m curious to see how a gweilo is treated there.”

During the Vietnam War, Lockhart Road in the Wanchai District of Hong Kong was immortalized as the haven for servicemen on R & R. This nightlife had diversified into other areas and was no longer completely isolated in Wanchai. Tsim Sha Tsui, one of the premier tourist areas of Kowloon, provided some of the flavour of the rowdy old days. It was virtually the Times Square of Hong Kong. There was a mixture of British-style pubs, hostess clubs, karaoke bars, and noisy disco bars. There was the famous Bottoms Up club, a tame topless bar featuring waitresses who looked as if they’d been there since the place opened in the early seventies. There was the Adam’s Apple, where half-naked hostesses pretended to make scintillating conversation while one drank. Hong Kong had something that appealed to the best and the worst in everyone. In theory, strip clubs as such were illegal in Hong Kong—if girls removed their clothes, they did it privately out of public view.

Bond found the Zipper easily. It was a huge place, spanning an entire block of Tsim Sha Tsui East, an area of Kowloon that had more recently developed into an expensive tourist trap. Other high-class nightclubs, such as the Club B Boss and the China City Club, were also in the vicinity. By 6:00 p.m., even before the sun had set, the brightly coloured neon of the area rivalled anything in Las Vegas. There was a buzz of excitement in the air, and he could understand how the area had achieved such a glamorous reputation.

Bond casually approached the front door of the Zipper. Two Indian men wearing turbans stood outside the door. He heard loud American soft rock. The Zipper was a hostess club, which meant that patrons could “buy” time with a hostess. She could sit and have a drink with him, dance with him, talk with him … whatever they happened to arrange. What went on in private rooms was negotiated. Uninitiated visitors were often taken advantage of and overcharged. Simply having a drink with a hostess could be very expensive. Prostitution itself was not illegal in Hong Kong. Brothels and streetwalking were against the law, but straightforward solicitations and private arrangements between adults were legal.

He stepped inside and paid a cover charge of 500 Hong Kong dollars, which included the first two drinks. Four lovely Chinese women in cheongsams sang out in English, “Welcome!” Then he entered a dark red room. It was large enough to feature a dance floor in the centre, and had at least fifty tables and/or divan-coffee table combinations scattered around its perimeter. The music was loud and a little irritating. A Chinese man flanked by three gorgeous women was on the dance floor, lip-synching an American rock tune in the karaoke style. The place was not crowded, but it was very early in the evening. From what he could see, the hostesses were of various nationalities, and were all young and attractive. There were a few Japanese businessmen snuggling with hostesses on divans. Two or three Caucasian men were sitting at tables with female companions. The place was devoid of any other clientele, but according to Woo, the club would be jam-packed by 9:00 p.m.

Bond walked to the far side of the room and sat down at a table. He could see the entire club from this vantage point, including the archway leading to the front lobby. T.Y. had said that if Li Xu Nan showed up at all, it would be in the early evening. Bond would just have to spend some money and wait and see. Within seconds, a lovely Chinese hostess approached his table. She, too, was wearing a cheongsam, high heels, and a smile. She sat down next to Bond and pulled her chair very close to his. Before she said a word, her bare leg emerged from the slit in the dress and pressed against his.

“Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“James,” Bond said, returning her smile. He couldn’t help feeling a bit ridiculous in this situation. He played along, pretending to be the British tourist looking for a good time.

“Well, James,” she said, “would you like a companion this evening?”

Surprisingly, her accent sounded American.

“Perhaps,” Bond said. “Where are you from?”

“If you want to continue talking, it’s 240 Hong Kong dollars for a drink and a quarter of an hour,” she said with a straight face. Then she smiled again. “You’re very handsome.”

Bond said, “All right, I’d like a vodka martini. Please shake it—don’t stir it. And get whatever you’d like.” He paid her the cash.

The girl squeezed his arm. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”

He watched her walk towards the bar. She was probably in her late twenties, Bond thought; perhaps a bit older than some of the other girls he saw soliciting business in the place. She had straight black shoulder-length hair, was unusually tall, and had long, wonderful legs. She returned, set down the drinks, and then sat beside him in extremely close proximity once again.

“I’m back,” she said dreamily.

“I see that,” Bond said. “What’s your name?”

“Veronica. What’s yours?”

“I said it was James.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me that,” she said, then laughed. “Sorry, I’m a little out of it.”

“Veronica” was either a little drunk or high on something else.

“Where are you from?” Bond asked again.

“Oh, you’re wondering about the way I talk,” she said. “I spent twelve years in California, living with my aunt and uncle. I went to grade school, middle school, and high school there. But I was born here in Hong Kong, and I’ll probably die here in Hong Kong.”

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “I can’t get out. I’m a Hong Kong citizen. You’re English, aren’t you? Why won’t your country let us go there?”

Bond nodded and said, “It is pretty shameful, isn’t it? England has watched over you for a hundred and fifty years and now she’s turning her back on you. I know … I know.”

“What are you doing in Hong Kong?” she asked, taking a sip from some kind of frozen daiquiri.

“I’m a journalist. I’m here to cover the handover next week.”

“I see. You live in England?”

“Jamaica, actually, though I’m originally from England.”

“Wow, Jamaica. I’ve never been there.”

“Most people think it’s not what it used to be. It’s fairly dangerous in some areas. I happen to love it, though.”

She ran her fingers along his chin and looked at him seductively. Her brown almond eyes were lovely. There was intelligence behind them, and Bond felt sorry for her. He wondered if she knew Li Xu Nan, and if she was a member of the Triad. It was highly likely. Woo had told him that most of the girls who worked as hostesses were prostitutes involved with these organizations. The Triads “protected” them, even though they blatantly exploited them.

“Veronica,” Bond said. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

She smirked. “What do you think?”

“I thought so. Listen, can I interview you about the changeover? I’d love to have the perspective of a woman like you.”

She laughed. “What, your paper will print the views of a nightclub hostess?”

“Why not? You’re as much a Hong Kong citizen as a wealthy banker.”

“Don’t count on that,” she replied. “Wealthy bankers can buy their way out of the colony. Many already have. Thousands of people have managed to leave over the past few years. With what’s happened in the last couple of weeks, people who had decided to stay are now considering getting out. There is a lot of fear in the air.”

“Fear of China?”

“Yes,” she said. “You know that troops are lining up across the border from the New Territories?”

Bond nodded.

“Everyone is afraid that on July the first, the troops will pour in and take command of the city. There is going to be some violence.”

“China has promised that Hong Kong will remain as it is for at least fifty years,” Bond reminded her.

She scoffed. “Do you really believe that? Does the world believe that? They’ve already demanded changes in our governmental structure. The Legislative Council will be disbanded, you wait and see. They won’t have any power. There will be a crackdown on places like this. Anything that appeals to the vices of westerners will be banned—I know it will happen.”

“But Hong Kong is Asia’s cash cow,” Bond said. “China cannot ignore that. They need Hong Kong. I honestly believe that they would lose face if they changed Hong Kong drastically.”

Bond was a little surprised to find himself having an intelligent conversation about politics with a nightclub hostess. She was not only articulate, but had eyes that could melt him if he allowed them to.

“Hey, listen,” she said, “would you like a private dance? We can go back to one of those rooms. We’d have complete privacy.”

“Maybe later,” he said. “I’m enjoying our conversation.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You’re not like most men who come in here. Usually by now their hands are all over me.”

Bond gave her a slight bow and said dryly, “I’m an English gentleman.”

She laughed. “I can see that. You’re also very handsome … James.” She leaned closer and whispered in his ear “And I’d like to see what’s in your pants, James.”

It was a typical crude solicitation from this type of woman. For some reason, though, when she said it to Bond he became aroused. The girl was extremely sexy. He chalked it up to her genuine intelligence, usually conspicuously lacking in bar girls.

“Aren’t I one of those gweilo who are treated with such disdain?” he asked.

“I lived in America for a few years, remember? I like gweilo. ”

“How much drinking have you done today?” he asked her.

“This is my third drink, James,” she said. “Why, do I seem drunk?”

“You seem a little high on something.”

She shrugged and sniffed, unwittingly revealing what her vice might be. “A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do to get through the working day, you know?” For a moment, she stared into her empty glass. Bond said nothing.

“I tell you what,” she said, “I’m going to re-fill our drinks, all right?”

Bond said, “Fine.” He gave her some more cash. She ran her fingers through his hair as she stood up, then sauntered back to the bar. He needed to ask her about Triads. Would she talk? She might open up to him if he played his cards right.

When she came back with new drinks, Bond asked her, “Would you leave Hong Kong if you could?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t want to live in a Communist country!”

“Can’t you go back to your relatives in California? Take up residence with them?”

She shook her head. “They aren’t there anymore. They were killed in an automobile accident. Besides, my mother is here. She’s sick. I have to take care of her.”

“If you had the right papers for the two of you, you would get out?”

“Of course!”

“Is that why you’re with a Triad?”

She blinked. “What did you say?”

“You are with a Triad, right?” he said. “Aren’t most women who work in places like this members of Triads?”

“You’ve been watching too many Chow Yun-Fat movies,” she said, obviously attempting to gloss over the truth.

“Come on, Veronica,” he said. “The Triads are acting as lifeboats for people opposed to living in a Communist country. I know they are illegally helping people to emigrate to other countries. You believe they will get you out, or at the very least protect you from … whatever. Am I right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Veronica, you can trust me. I know you’re vowed to secrecy, but you have nothing to worry about. I already know everything about it, you see. I know that Mr. Li Xu Nan is the Cho Kun of the Dragon Wing Society.”

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe what Bond had just said. She was stunned and afraid.

“Veronica, it’s all right,” Bond said earnestly. “Really.”

“Sunni,” she said.

“What?”

“That’s my real name. I shouldn’t be telling you this. I could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Sunni?”

She nodded. “Sunni Pei.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

She leaned closer again. “How about that private dance now?” She was attempting to change the subject and get back to business.

“Not yet, Sunni. I promise I’ll pay you for a dance in a few minutes. But first I need a favour.”

“I don’t know …”

“I want to meet Mr. Li.”

She shook her head almost violently. “That’s impossible. No one meets the Cho Kun.”

Bond was right. She did know him.

“Doesn’t he come here every now and then? Will he come in here today?”

“I don’t know … look, I don’t know who you’re talking about, anyway.” She suddenly seemed very frightened. She looked around, hoping no one was near enough to hear what they were saying.

“Why not?” Bond asked. “Li Xu Nan is just another businessman.”

Her jaw dropped. “Stop it! Be quiet!” she exclaimed in a whisper.

“You know him, don’t you?”

“No,” she said. “I know who he is, that’s all. He comes in most afternoons. How do you know he’s a Dragon Head?”

“I’m in the media,” Bond said. “I have my sources.”

She was shaking with fear now. Bond was afraid he might have gone too far, too soon.

“Look, Sunni,” he said. “It’s all right. You won’t get into trouble. I want to interview him for my newspaper. I want to get his views on the handover and how it will affect his businesses. He can remain anonymous—it doesn’t matter to me—all my headline has to read is: Triad Leader Speaks Out. It’ll make a great story!”

“He will never admit being Cho Kun. Any association with a Triad is illegal in Hong Kong.”

“I know that. I don’t expect him to admit a thing.”

“I don’t know how I can help …”

“Just point him out to me when he comes in.”

“He might not come in today.”

“Well, I shall be here every day until he does. Now … how about that dance?”

When he said that, she smiled again. “You want to go to a private room?”

Bond nodded.

“It will cost you 1400 Hong Kong dollars.”

“I’m sure it will be worth every penny,” he said.

Sunni seemed to forget the subject of their earlier conversation. She stood up, took hold of his hand, and led him to one side of the club and into a small room. She shut the door and gestured for him to sit on a chair against the wall. She took his money and tucked it into a small purse she placed on the floor.

“Just relax and enjoy the show,” she said. She punched a button on a tape deck set into the wall. Music with a beat filled the room.

Sunni Pei then began a slow, sensuous dance in front of Bond. She stared into his eyes the entire time, smiling every now and then. She moved well. She might have had professional dance training, but didn’t need it for what she was doing. All she needed was sex appeal and attitude, and Sunni Pei had plenty of both.

Bond watched her, captivated. Never having gone in much for strippers, he admitted to himself that she was something special. Her beauty was extraordinary, though once again it was the intellect behind her seduction that made her so appealing. He found that he wasn’t playing the British tourist in search of a good time anymore. He was really enjoying this.

Sunni deftly undid her cheongsam and removed it. Underneath she had on nothing but a black satin bra and matching bikini panties. Her navel was pierced with a small, thin gold ring. She slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders, unsnapped it and tossed it into Bond’s lap. She laughed. Her breasts were the size of apples, firm and natural. Her nipples were erect; she frankly enjoyed playing the exhibitionist. A few beats later, she pulled her black panties down and lifted one long leg out of them. She stepped gracefully out of them, then stood over Bond. Her legs spread wide, she straddled his lap and moved her breasts within inches of his face. He could smell her sweet skin, which was lightly damp with sweat, and Bond felt an urge to touch her.

She brought her face up close to Bond’s, and blew lightly around his left ear. Her lips touched his, giving him a light kiss. “You’re not supposed to touch me,” she whispered, “but I’ll let you anyway.”

Not refusing the invitation, Bond reached up with both hands and softly ran his palms and fingertips over her back. He felt goosepimples rise on her shoulders. Her skin was unbelievably soft and smooth. He pulled her to a sitting position on his lap. She began to run her fingers through his hair and along the back of his neck; he did the same with his own hands on her body. Her eyes never left his.

When his hands found her breasts, she gave a slight purr, then she pressed her mouth on his. They kissed, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths with curiosity and delight. She pushed her pelvis forward into his and felt his hardness there. He wanted her, but this was not the time or place. For the time being, though, he allowed the “dance” to work its wonders on him and take him along the river of fantasy that was her primary intention. She seemed to be displaying sincere affection for him. Sometimes these girls were so good at what they did that it was difficult to tell if they were acting or not. Bond’s instincts told him that she was honestly interested in him. She was having a good time, too.

When the music ended, Sunni gave him one last quick kiss on the lips, then stood up. She found her underclothes and put them back on. Bond sat there, a little dazed. This woman would be a powerhouse in bed, he thought.

“Did you like that?” she finally asked.

“Quite,” Bond said. “Thank you.”

She held out her hand. He took it and stood up. “Come on, let’s go back out … unless you want another dance?”

Bond smiled. “Another time, Sunni.”

“Better call me Veronica,” she warned.

“All right.”

She put the cheongsam back on, then they went back into the club and resumed sitting at their table.

“Can I refill your drink?” she asked. Bond told her yes. As she got up, she whispered, “Don’t look now, but your man is sitting over there near the bar.”

Sunni walked towards the bar and Bond glanced over. Three or four tables were set inside a small section surrounded by a rail, apparently a “reserved” VIP area. At one of these tables sat a Chinese man in a business suit. On either side of him were two larger men in suits—the bodyguards.

From this distance, it was difficult to tell how old Li Xu Nan was. He appeared to be fairly young, perhaps in his early- to mid-thirties. He was sipping a drink and conversing with one of the hostesses.

Sunni brought back another martini and sat down.

“So that’s Mr. Li,” Bond said. “He seems young.”

Sunni shrugged. “What did you expect? An ageing don like in the Mafia?”

The door to the nightclub opened and three men entered. It wasn’t until they entered the private section, removed their hats, and sat down at Li’s table that Bond recognized them. Or rather, he recognized two of them.

All three men had white hair and pinkish-white skin. They all wore sunglasses. They were the albino Chinese he had seen in Macau! Now that was interesting!

“Do you know those three men?” Bond asked.

Sunni glanced over at them. “No. They’re strange, aren’t they? Albino brothers, it looks like.”

“That’s unusual in this part of the world, isn’t it?”

“I should say so.” She turned back to him. “Sure you don’t want another dance?”

“Later, Sunn—Veronica.” Bond’s attention was focused on Li and his visitors. He appeared to be giving them instructions of some kind. Who were these three men? Members of the Dragon Wing Society? Musclemen? Even though their backs were to him, Bond was able to discern some visual differences. They were each of different builds and weights. He thought of them as Tom, Dick, and Harry. Tom was the heaviest, probably about 240 pounds. Dick was Bond’s size—tall and slim. Harry was smaller in stature and the most animated.

After a few minutes, the three albinos nodded, stood, and left the nightclub. Li remained sitting at the table with his two bodyguards.

Bond removed a business card and pen from his pocket. He wrote a message on the back.

“Sunni,” he said, “please deliver this to Mr. Li.” He handed her 1000 Hong Kong dollars. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me this evening.” He gave her another 2000 dollars. “And this is for the dance.”

She looked at the money in disbelief. “James, thank you! You don’t …”

“Hush,” he said. “You’re wonderful. You’re beautiful and a pleasure to talk to. I hope to see you again soon.”

She nodded and said, “I do, too.” She kissed him on the cheek, stood up and walked slowly to Li Xu Nan’s table with Bond’s card in hand.