Read Online THE KING OF MACAU (The Jack Shepherd International Crime Novels) by Jake Needham - Free Book Online
Authors: Jake Needham
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into its design a natural recess in the rock of Barra Hill. It looked like a small, if extravagantly decorated, shed built in front of a cave.
There were no crowds of Chinese imploring the deities for riches at the Hall of Benevolence and, blessedly, no drifting clouds of incense. Apparently benevolence had nothing to do with accumulating riches. But then I already knew that.
I stood before the cave with the little shelter in front of it, not sure what to do next. The Hall of Benevolence was very small and a waist-high fence of wooden pickets blocked the only entry. I turned slowly through a full circle. There was no one else near me, and no one who appeared to be waiting for me. After the bedlam below, it was all remarkably peaceful and I rather liked that.
I sat down on a large grey boulder right in front of the Hall of Benevolence and glanced at my watch. Two minutes before noon.
Okay, I was here.
Now what?
NINE
THE MAN WATCHED WHILE Shepherd ate his ice cream. He was a few yards up a narrow street at the far end of Barra Square, leaning against a maroon Toyota van and pretending to talk on his phone. He moved his lips occasionally to make sure the picture was complete. Just one more Asian talking on a cell phone.
When Shepherd stood up, tossed away his ice cream wrapper, and started toward the temple gate, the man ambled into Barra Square behind him. His eyes quartered the area around Shepherd, looking for other people moving at a similar speed and in a similar direction. He found none. He didn’t expect to, but he was a careful man by nature and he was being even more careful under these circumstances than usual.
Shepherd strolled through the temple gate and started up the stone steps. The area was so crowded with Chinese tourists that now the man was able to move up very close to Shepherd without any concern that he would be spotted. One more Asian face in a crowd of hundreds wasn’t going to attract the slightest notice from a Caucasian. The man got very close. He was now no more than twenty feet behind and a little to one side of Shepherd. The man studied him as they climbed the stairs.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about Shepherd physically. Average height, average weight, average age. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties and his dark hair was a little long for a lawyer. He was wearing round, rimless sunglasses that didn’t look like they belonged to a lawyer either. Dressed as he was in a plain white long-sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled up over his elbows, khaki pants, and dark brown loafers, he looked less like a lawyer than he did an architect inspecting a project.
The day was hot and the man began to sweat as he climbed the steps. Where was the damn fog when you needed it? He liked Macau well enough, but it was too hot most of the year and the humidity broke his back sometimes. He didn’t spend any more time outdoors than he absolutely had to. Nobody did in Macau, except for a few crazy Americans he had seen jogging the streets in their expensive running shoes. If they could afford such nice shoes, couldn’t they afford to take a cab wherever they were going? He wiped at his damp forehead and studied Shepherd’s face.
His eyes were an unnerving shade of blue and they looked like they could pin you to a wall. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken, and the rest of his face had the same quality of hard wear. The man hadn’t expected Shepherd to seem so beaten up, but he looked tough, too, like an old boot that had been left out in the rain for a long time. He also looked like a man who had given as much as he had gotten. Maybe more.
The man was glad to see that Shepherd hadn’t turned out to be a fat guy in a blue suit. He needed an American lawyer, but he didn’t need a fat guy in a blue suit. He needed a fighter, a guy who could handle himself in a barroom brawl. Once he committed himself that was what this was going to be: a barroom brawl.
SHEPHERD
There were no crowds of Chinese imploring the deities for riches at the Hall of Benevolence and, blessedly, no drifting clouds of incense. Apparently benevolence had nothing to do with accumulating riches. But then I already knew that.
I stood before the cave with the little shelter in front of it, not sure what to do next. The Hall of Benevolence was very small and a waist-high fence of wooden pickets blocked the only entry. I turned slowly through a full circle. There was no one else near me, and no one who appeared to be waiting for me. After the bedlam below, it was all remarkably peaceful and I rather liked that.
I sat down on a large grey boulder right in front of the Hall of Benevolence and glanced at my watch. Two minutes before noon.
Okay, I was here.
Now what?
NINE
THE MAN WATCHED WHILE Shepherd ate his ice cream. He was a few yards up a narrow street at the far end of Barra Square, leaning against a maroon Toyota van and pretending to talk on his phone. He moved his lips occasionally to make sure the picture was complete. Just one more Asian talking on a cell phone.
When Shepherd stood up, tossed away his ice cream wrapper, and started toward the temple gate, the man ambled into Barra Square behind him. His eyes quartered the area around Shepherd, looking for other people moving at a similar speed and in a similar direction. He found none. He didn’t expect to, but he was a careful man by nature and he was being even more careful under these circumstances than usual.
Shepherd strolled through the temple gate and started up the stone steps. The area was so crowded with Chinese tourists that now the man was able to move up very close to Shepherd without any concern that he would be spotted. One more Asian face in a crowd of hundreds wasn’t going to attract the slightest notice from a Caucasian. The man got very close. He was now no more than twenty feet behind and a little to one side of Shepherd. The man studied him as they climbed the stairs.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about Shepherd physically. Average height, average weight, average age. He looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties and his dark hair was a little long for a lawyer. He was wearing round, rimless sunglasses that didn’t look like they belonged to a lawyer either. Dressed as he was in a plain white long-sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled up over his elbows, khaki pants, and dark brown loafers, he looked less like a lawyer than he did an architect inspecting a project.
The day was hot and the man began to sweat as he climbed the steps. Where was the damn fog when you needed it? He liked Macau well enough, but it was too hot most of the year and the humidity broke his back sometimes. He didn’t spend any more time outdoors than he absolutely had to. Nobody did in Macau, except for a few crazy Americans he had seen jogging the streets in their expensive running shoes. If they could afford such nice shoes, couldn’t they afford to take a cab wherever they were going? He wiped at his damp forehead and studied Shepherd’s face.
His eyes were an unnerving shade of blue and they looked like they could pin you to a wall. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken, and the rest of his face had the same quality of hard wear. The man hadn’t expected Shepherd to seem so beaten up, but he looked tough, too, like an old boot that had been left out in the rain for a long time. He also looked like a man who had given as much as he had gotten. Maybe more.
The man was glad to see that Shepherd hadn’t turned out to be a fat guy in a blue suit. He needed an American lawyer, but he didn’t need a fat guy in a blue suit. He needed a fighter, a guy who could handle himself in a barroom brawl. Once he committed himself that was what this was going to be: a barroom brawl.
SHEPHERD
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