for a nice Eurasian girl like you.’
Once he got outside he checked his watch. It was one a.m. He stopped just round the corner from the Polaris Centre and pulled out a list of places he had to visit and decided where he would start. Tonight he was on a mission to cover as many hostess bars, karaoke bars and general ‘girly’ bars as he could get through. He wasn’t doing them in any particular order. They just had to have one thing in common – they had to have foreign girls working in them.
It was as he paused to push up his shirtsleeves and sling his Armani jacket over his shoulder that he felt a cooling breeze pass over him and prickle the hairs on his arms. He turned his eyes towards the starry sky and sighed gratefully. Thank God for that – clear – no rain . Summer’s one hundred per cent humidity and searing heat were coming to an end at last: the ‘cool season’ was on its way.
He took a diversion to the waterfront. It wouldn’t hurt him to take a few minutes out from his bar trawling. He needed to pace himself, keep himself fresh and alert. A bit of cool sea air would help him focus. He loved the water: it had a centring effect on him. Luckily, in Hong Kong it was never far away.
He rested his hands on the waist-high harbour wall. Dipping his head forward, he pushed against the cold stone to stretch the muscles in his neck and upper back. Releasing his stretches, he sighed heavily and took a few deep breaths. Lifting his weary head, he looked across the bay to mainland Kowloon. In the day the skyscrapers stood like gold-capped teeth crammed together, strong and immovable – the mouth of the harbour. At night they were transformed into illuminated beacons of delicate beauty. They shone their laser lights heavenward into the fuzzy-edged, tarmac-black sky, and bled pure primary colour into the deep still water of Hong Kong’s harbour.
Mann inhaled deeply and smiled to himself. He never got tired of Hong Kong; never got bored. Six years ago, in 1997, he had stood on this spot and gazed across this harbour and wondered how Hong Kong would survive the Handover and in what form. On that wet night Old Man China marched in at midnight. Britannia sailed home with a very wet Prince of Wales on board, plus the whole distraught Patten family. Old Man China had stood over his decadent daughter and stripped her of her colonial make-up. He had issued a new set of house rules, none of which was aimed at giving more freedom. He had allowed the triads to spread more freely than ever and he had made the police’s job a lot harder. There was still no witness protection scheme in place, so no one wanted to testify, and when they did manage to bring someone to court they did not have the power to seize their assets. How was that ever going to work? But, fundamentally, Hong Kong was the same wild girl she’d always been. She was strong, pushy, and a little dirty. Whereas the rest of Asia was famous for its nubile maidens lying on their backs saying ‘take me’, Hong Kong was renowned for being a gaudy old whore, opening her legs wide, saying, ‘It’ll cost you but there’s plenty of room.’
Mann wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else. He would live and die in Hong Kong’s arms. Which probably wouldn’t be difficult or take very long, the way that he was going. He knew it was a fault in him. He was too reckless. He had no conception of self-preservation – he recognised that. He never thought twice about a situation; he was always the first man in. But then, he hadn’t found a reason not to risk his life, and he didn’t want to find one either. The day his father was murdered, Mann’s dreams became distant memories. From boy to man in those few seconds. The boy died; while the man emerged damaged and burdened. His life, from that day forward, was spent trying to make recompense for that day.
28
Mann looked around – a few courting couples, small groups of overawed tourists enjoying the skyline – nothing
Once he got outside he checked his watch. It was one a.m. He stopped just round the corner from the Polaris Centre and pulled out a list of places he had to visit and decided where he would start. Tonight he was on a mission to cover as many hostess bars, karaoke bars and general ‘girly’ bars as he could get through. He wasn’t doing them in any particular order. They just had to have one thing in common – they had to have foreign girls working in them.
It was as he paused to push up his shirtsleeves and sling his Armani jacket over his shoulder that he felt a cooling breeze pass over him and prickle the hairs on his arms. He turned his eyes towards the starry sky and sighed gratefully. Thank God for that – clear – no rain . Summer’s one hundred per cent humidity and searing heat were coming to an end at last: the ‘cool season’ was on its way.
He took a diversion to the waterfront. It wouldn’t hurt him to take a few minutes out from his bar trawling. He needed to pace himself, keep himself fresh and alert. A bit of cool sea air would help him focus. He loved the water: it had a centring effect on him. Luckily, in Hong Kong it was never far away.
He rested his hands on the waist-high harbour wall. Dipping his head forward, he pushed against the cold stone to stretch the muscles in his neck and upper back. Releasing his stretches, he sighed heavily and took a few deep breaths. Lifting his weary head, he looked across the bay to mainland Kowloon. In the day the skyscrapers stood like gold-capped teeth crammed together, strong and immovable – the mouth of the harbour. At night they were transformed into illuminated beacons of delicate beauty. They shone their laser lights heavenward into the fuzzy-edged, tarmac-black sky, and bled pure primary colour into the deep still water of Hong Kong’s harbour.
Mann inhaled deeply and smiled to himself. He never got tired of Hong Kong; never got bored. Six years ago, in 1997, he had stood on this spot and gazed across this harbour and wondered how Hong Kong would survive the Handover and in what form. On that wet night Old Man China marched in at midnight. Britannia sailed home with a very wet Prince of Wales on board, plus the whole distraught Patten family. Old Man China had stood over his decadent daughter and stripped her of her colonial make-up. He had issued a new set of house rules, none of which was aimed at giving more freedom. He had allowed the triads to spread more freely than ever and he had made the police’s job a lot harder. There was still no witness protection scheme in place, so no one wanted to testify, and when they did manage to bring someone to court they did not have the power to seize their assets. How was that ever going to work? But, fundamentally, Hong Kong was the same wild girl she’d always been. She was strong, pushy, and a little dirty. Whereas the rest of Asia was famous for its nubile maidens lying on their backs saying ‘take me’, Hong Kong was renowned for being a gaudy old whore, opening her legs wide, saying, ‘It’ll cost you but there’s plenty of room.’
Mann wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else. He would live and die in Hong Kong’s arms. Which probably wouldn’t be difficult or take very long, the way that he was going. He knew it was a fault in him. He was too reckless. He had no conception of self-preservation – he recognised that. He never thought twice about a situation; he was always the first man in. But then, he hadn’t found a reason not to risk his life, and he didn’t want to find one either. The day his father was murdered, Mann’s dreams became distant memories. From boy to man in those few seconds. The boy died; while the man emerged damaged and burdened. His life, from that day forward, was spent trying to make recompense for that day.
28
Mann looked around – a few courting couples, small groups of overawed tourists enjoying the skyline – nothing
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