Diamond Head by Charles Knief

him or that Thompson was hunting him. We don’t know anything for sure. We only know that the police have been here and told my father that his youngest son is dead.”
    The old man leaned forward and said something in a voice so quiet I couldn’t hear the words or even make out the language. The young Choy nodded, his eyes vacant.
    â€œFather said it was fate that sent you to him the night he decided to do something about Garrick. He had asked for help and you suddenly appeared. You had been the solution to a previous problem and he saw you as the solution to his present dilemma. You were the solution to his problem as he was the solution to yours.”
    Chawlie spoke again. He spoke for a long time. Anthony Choy nodded and looked as if he were memorizing every word of what was being said to him. I had the impression it was not the first time he had heard it.
    â€œFather wishes to convey three things to you. First, he is grateful for your service, both past and present, and he wants to justly compensate you.” Choy pulled a thick sheaf of bills from his left coat pocket. “Father believes ten thousand dollars is adequate compensation.
    â€œSecond, Father wishes to assure you that he bears you no ill will for your part in the death of his son. It was fate. You were only the messenger and did not control the son who fled protection or the gun that killed him. Father understands that you
are working for another father, one who lost a daughter, and if the loss of a son can help another father’s loss, then it will not have been wasted. Father tells me that he understands the sorrow a father has for a lost child, even if that child is only a female.
    â€œThird, I am to tell you that Father wishes never to see you again. For any reason. You shall always wear the mark of his dead son. Had it not been for you, Garrick might still be alive. Father will always be grateful to you for what you did for him, but he will have you killed if you try to approach him again.
    â€œThese are all the things Father wanted me to say to you. You have one minute to leave this place.” He glanced down at his watch.
    I looked at the old man beside me. Chawlie was staring out into the night, refusing to shift his gaze toward me. There was no appeal. He’d arranged it so everybody lost. I’d only lost a friend. He’d lost both a friend and a son. And his son had lost his life. All in the dubious name of family honor.
    â€œTell Mr. Choy I am sorry for his loss,” I said. I got up and left the restaurant. There was nothing else to do.
    Once outside again I took a deep breath, inhaling fragrances as familiar as my own sweat. I believed Chawlie’s threat. I believed he would regret having me killed. But I knew he would do it as easily as he had arranged for the murder of his own son. I didn’t believe for a minute that Garrick Choy had escaped on his own. It was the only solution the old man could find to save the family’s honor. He had to let the young man escape and find his own way. If he died in the process, it was not Chawlie who had killed him. It was the Australian devil Thompson and that fool Caine.
    My feet began walking away from the river without a conscious decision on my part. I clutched the sheaf of hundred-dollar bills in my hand. I didn’t remember taking the money. I had no use for it. I walked east until I found the small cathedral on Fort Street. I thought a church, any church, was the best
place for the blood money. I entered the church, not knowing what I was looking for.
    An elderly priest sat in one of the pews, halfway down the center aisle, his head bowed. I didn’t feel as if I belonged there. I stuffed the money into the poor box and went back out into the warm, tropical night.
    Say a prayer for me, Father.

 
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    14
    T he little red light on my answering machine was blinking when I returned home. I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone