Read Online The Shanghai Murders - A Mystery of Love and Ivory by David Rotenberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Rotenberg
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was the famous open-air antiques market. This didn’t seem to fit. Besides, it was crowded there and he could lose his prey if he was unlucky. Quickly leaving his bicycle against a post he plunged into the crowd now fifteen yards behind the black man. Only Chomi’s height allowed Loa Wei Fen to follow him. But the African moved quickly and, as fortune would have it, a motorized three-wheeled cart pulled out in front of Loa Wei Fen. By the time it was cleared there was no sign of his quarry. Quickly Loa Wei Fen leapt onto a garbage bin at the side of one of the dumpling carts. Ignoring the screams of the vendor, he craned his neck but couldn’t see Chomi. Jumping down, he raced through the crowd and ducked into the first available building. He ran through a hallway crowded with beds and up a set of steps. On the first level, he raced down a corridor crowded with more mattresses and threw open the door leading to the front room. An old woman was there with her granddaughter on her lap. She screamed as Loa Wei Fen entered the room. He whirled on her and, in a breath, was an inch from her withered face. The move shocked her into silence. Loa Wei Fen stuck his head out the window and peered in both directions. The black man was nowhere to be seen.
Swiftly descending the steps, he made his way thoughtfully through the crowd. He quickly reviewed the day’s events. It had begun before dawn with the e-mail arrival of his new quarry’s picture, vital statistics, and addresses. He started his surveillance of the Zairian
Consulate at 7:15. The Zairian consul arrived at 9:50. Just past 11:00, the African emerged from the building and got into his chauffeur-driven Mercedes. Loa Wei Fen smiled.
Now he was racing through the crowd, oblivious to the anger and shouts of those he pushed past. At the foot of the flea market he crossed the street. Once there he looked both ways. There were alleys behind the buildings on both sides. He chose east and sped toward that alley.
About 250 yards down the alley sat Ngalto Chomi’s car. His Chinese driver was smoking a cigarette while waiting for his charge to come back from his afternoon diversion. Loa Wei Fen casually strolled down the alley, walking right past the car. Ten yards past the Mercedes and around a sharp bend in the alley he looked to his left, but he needn’t have. The smell of the opium cut into the afternoon air, a slight rancidness amid the heady aroma of life in the Old City.
Loa Wei Fen was pleased. As he left the alley, he noticed a squatting father holding his bare-bottomed young daughter under her knees and shaking her gently so that the last of her urine didn’t get on her legs. She was oblivious to people watching and sang a little tune as her father completed his task and then pulled up her pants. She hopped over the little puddle of pee and went to help her grandmother clean some vegetables in a small red plastic tub. The father stretched and then hawked a wad of phlegm onto the street. No one gave it a second glance. Evidently everyone found it as natural as . . . as peeing on the sidewalk. Loa Wei Fen liked the Old City too. It was a fine place for a murder.
Amanda Fallon had been told that the JAL flight from Chicago to Tokyo would take thirteen hours. She had no idea what thirteen hours on an airplane meant. Despite the fact that the plane was almost empty, thirteen hours was every one of thirteen hours. The first three hours were tedium incarnate. Flying over the Canadian prairies made even airplane food seem a pleasant diversion. But then just as she was about to drift off, the pilot announced that they were turning north and that their flight path would bring them over some of the wildest regions on earth. The plane in short order passed by Edmonton and entered the Canadian Northwest Territories. The terrain quickly moved from temperate desert cattle farms to a true wilderness. She stayed glued to the window once she caught her first glimpse of the mighty
Swiftly descending the steps, he made his way thoughtfully through the crowd. He quickly reviewed the day’s events. It had begun before dawn with the e-mail arrival of his new quarry’s picture, vital statistics, and addresses. He started his surveillance of the Zairian
Consulate at 7:15. The Zairian consul arrived at 9:50. Just past 11:00, the African emerged from the building and got into his chauffeur-driven Mercedes. Loa Wei Fen smiled.
Now he was racing through the crowd, oblivious to the anger and shouts of those he pushed past. At the foot of the flea market he crossed the street. Once there he looked both ways. There were alleys behind the buildings on both sides. He chose east and sped toward that alley.
About 250 yards down the alley sat Ngalto Chomi’s car. His Chinese driver was smoking a cigarette while waiting for his charge to come back from his afternoon diversion. Loa Wei Fen casually strolled down the alley, walking right past the car. Ten yards past the Mercedes and around a sharp bend in the alley he looked to his left, but he needn’t have. The smell of the opium cut into the afternoon air, a slight rancidness amid the heady aroma of life in the Old City.
Loa Wei Fen was pleased. As he left the alley, he noticed a squatting father holding his bare-bottomed young daughter under her knees and shaking her gently so that the last of her urine didn’t get on her legs. She was oblivious to people watching and sang a little tune as her father completed his task and then pulled up her pants. She hopped over the little puddle of pee and went to help her grandmother clean some vegetables in a small red plastic tub. The father stretched and then hawked a wad of phlegm onto the street. No one gave it a second glance. Evidently everyone found it as natural as . . . as peeing on the sidewalk. Loa Wei Fen liked the Old City too. It was a fine place for a murder.
Amanda Fallon had been told that the JAL flight from Chicago to Tokyo would take thirteen hours. She had no idea what thirteen hours on an airplane meant. Despite the fact that the plane was almost empty, thirteen hours was every one of thirteen hours. The first three hours were tedium incarnate. Flying over the Canadian prairies made even airplane food seem a pleasant diversion. But then just as she was about to drift off, the pilot announced that they were turning north and that their flight path would bring them over some of the wildest regions on earth. The plane in short order passed by Edmonton and entered the Canadian Northwest Territories. The terrain quickly moved from temperate desert cattle farms to a true wilderness. She stayed glued to the window once she caught her first glimpse of the mighty
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