turned the gun on him.
“Stop right there!”
He hesitated, as if deciding, and then stopped.
The air was deathly silent.
No one said a word.
Not a sound came from anywhere, other than the air passing in and out of everyone’s lungs.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Day Five—August 7
Friday Night
______________
WEARING A SHORT BLACK DRESS and matching high heels, Fan Rae picked Teffinger up at the Fleming after dark and headed east on Hennessy Road towards the Wan Chai district. The garment rode up as she drove, dangerously high, and the smooth golden skin of her thighs occasionally flashed with a neon blue or green or yellow. Fan Rae must have caught him staring because she said, “I did what you wanted.”
“You mean the panties?”
She nodded.
“Lack thereof, to be precise,” she said. “Go ahead and check.”
He almost did, but said, “Later.”
“You’re such a tease.” She exhaled. “Hong Kong nights get me horny. They’re the best in the world. I’ve been to a lot of places—Bangkok, Tokyo, Rome, Paris—none of them compare.”
“Have you ever been to the United States?”
She shook her head.
“No interest,” she said.
Minutes later they were on Queens Road East, pulling into the parking lot of a standalone building with a neon sig n that said High Tide Bar .
“We’re here,” she said.
A LARGE NUMBER OF WOMEN were inside, all young, all beautiful, all professional flirts. From what Fan Rae told Teffinger earlier, most of the hostess girls in Hong Kong were now from the Philippines or Thailand. Their main function was to fawn over the men, get them drunk, feed them fruit, sing Karaoke, rub their legs and laugh heartily at anything that was even remotely funny.
They were adorable young women spending time with older, not-so-adorable guys.
For that, the men paid roughly $500 HKD per hour per girl.
Plus the bar tab.
Plus tips.
Many of the men were Chinese businessmen who came to close deals and show respect to their counterparts by spending money on them. In those situations, the girls were careful to not favor one man over another, as such would be an act of disrespect.
Then there were the westerners, expats and weary travelers, looking for a little company and hoping there would at least be an under-the-table handjob at the end of it all.
There wouldn’t be.
There was no sex, not in the club anyway.
Many of the women though wrote down their phone numbers for after-hours services, off-site.
One Girl, One Room.
That was the most popular form of prostitution in Hong Kong, meaning one woman with her own, private apartment.
No pimps.
No hotels.
The High Tide Bar, like most hostess bars, started life at a topless bar. Then there came a point when licenses were no longer given out. The topless bars eventually disappeared as they were traded or sold. Hostess bars sprang up in their stead as the next best thing.
TEFFINGER AND FAN RAE TOOK A BOOTH. A few minutes later, a classy woman named Sun An joined them. She was old enough that she was clearly not one of the girls but probably had been ten years ago.
“Would you like me to send a girl over?” she asked.
Fan Rae nodded.
“Yes, Syling Wu,” she said.
Sun Ah frowned.
“Syling has not shown up yet.”
“Is she scheduled?”
“She is.”
“When was she supposed to be here?”
Sun Ah looked at her watch.
“An hour ago.”
“Is she usually late?”
No.
Never.
Not even five minutes.
This was very unlike her.
“Did she call in?”
No.
She didn’t.
“We’ll wait for a little and see if she shows up,” Fan Rae said.
Sun Ah patted her hand and said, “Fine. In the meantime, would you like someone else to join you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you see one in particular that you’d like?”
Fan Rae looked at Teffinger and said, “You choose.”
Teffinger surveyed the landscape and said, “Who would Syling want here, if she shows up and joins us?”
“Probably her,” Sun Ah said,
“Stop right there!”
He hesitated, as if deciding, and then stopped.
The air was deathly silent.
No one said a word.
Not a sound came from anywhere, other than the air passing in and out of everyone’s lungs.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Day Five—August 7
Friday Night
______________
WEARING A SHORT BLACK DRESS and matching high heels, Fan Rae picked Teffinger up at the Fleming after dark and headed east on Hennessy Road towards the Wan Chai district. The garment rode up as she drove, dangerously high, and the smooth golden skin of her thighs occasionally flashed with a neon blue or green or yellow. Fan Rae must have caught him staring because she said, “I did what you wanted.”
“You mean the panties?”
She nodded.
“Lack thereof, to be precise,” she said. “Go ahead and check.”
He almost did, but said, “Later.”
“You’re such a tease.” She exhaled. “Hong Kong nights get me horny. They’re the best in the world. I’ve been to a lot of places—Bangkok, Tokyo, Rome, Paris—none of them compare.”
“Have you ever been to the United States?”
She shook her head.
“No interest,” she said.
Minutes later they were on Queens Road East, pulling into the parking lot of a standalone building with a neon sig n that said High Tide Bar .
“We’re here,” she said.
A LARGE NUMBER OF WOMEN were inside, all young, all beautiful, all professional flirts. From what Fan Rae told Teffinger earlier, most of the hostess girls in Hong Kong were now from the Philippines or Thailand. Their main function was to fawn over the men, get them drunk, feed them fruit, sing Karaoke, rub their legs and laugh heartily at anything that was even remotely funny.
They were adorable young women spending time with older, not-so-adorable guys.
For that, the men paid roughly $500 HKD per hour per girl.
Plus the bar tab.
Plus tips.
Many of the men were Chinese businessmen who came to close deals and show respect to their counterparts by spending money on them. In those situations, the girls were careful to not favor one man over another, as such would be an act of disrespect.
Then there were the westerners, expats and weary travelers, looking for a little company and hoping there would at least be an under-the-table handjob at the end of it all.
There wouldn’t be.
There was no sex, not in the club anyway.
Many of the women though wrote down their phone numbers for after-hours services, off-site.
One Girl, One Room.
That was the most popular form of prostitution in Hong Kong, meaning one woman with her own, private apartment.
No pimps.
No hotels.
The High Tide Bar, like most hostess bars, started life at a topless bar. Then there came a point when licenses were no longer given out. The topless bars eventually disappeared as they were traded or sold. Hostess bars sprang up in their stead as the next best thing.
TEFFINGER AND FAN RAE TOOK A BOOTH. A few minutes later, a classy woman named Sun An joined them. She was old enough that she was clearly not one of the girls but probably had been ten years ago.
“Would you like me to send a girl over?” she asked.
Fan Rae nodded.
“Yes, Syling Wu,” she said.
Sun Ah frowned.
“Syling has not shown up yet.”
“Is she scheduled?”
“She is.”
“When was she supposed to be here?”
Sun Ah looked at her watch.
“An hour ago.”
“Is she usually late?”
No.
Never.
Not even five minutes.
This was very unlike her.
“Did she call in?”
No.
She didn’t.
“We’ll wait for a little and see if she shows up,” Fan Rae said.
Sun Ah patted her hand and said, “Fine. In the meantime, would you like someone else to join you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Do you see one in particular that you’d like?”
Fan Rae looked at Teffinger and said, “You choose.”
Teffinger surveyed the landscape and said, “Who would Syling want here, if she shows up and joins us?”
“Probably her,” Sun Ah said,
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