Read Online White Devil - A Beatrix Rose Thriller: Hong Kong Stories Volume 1 (Beatrix Rose's Hong Kong Stories) by Mark Dawson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Dawson
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any sign of Beatrix. There was none. As he swivelled, looking left and right, he saw Fang Chun Ying’s bodyguards approach him. They stopped ten feet away. Ying was nowhere to be seen. One of the men brushed through the crowd and took the space on the rail next to him. He had a cigarette in his mouth, the tip flaring red as he drew down upon it.
“There is a place,” he said. “A brothel. It is in Tsim Sha Shui. The Venice. Do you know it?”
“I think so.”
“Donnie Qi has a girl there. He visits her every week.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BEATRIX TOOK the Tsuen Wan line to Mong Kok station. It was eleven when she passed out of the station exit and emerged onto the Tsim Sha Shui street outside. The atmosphere was hectic, a shifting morass of revellers piling into and out of the station. The street was lit by an onslaught of flashing neon that advertised the businesses nearby: the vast bars of Ned Kelly’s Last Stand and Bottoms Up, as well as tens of competing dives and nightclubs. She passed through a throng of gaai bin dong vendors, their brightly covered handbarrows loaded with an array of aromatic wares: skewered beef, curried fish balls, roasted chestnuts, congee, noodles and tofu. The barrows were lit by paraffin lamps, their warm amber glow filling the street and illuminating the faces of the vendors as they proclaimed why their food was better than the food offered by their rivals.
Beatrix had intercepted Chau as he had disembarked from the ferry. She told him to meet her in a bar that she had suggested and then followed fifty feet behind him to ensure that he was not followed. He had informed her of the opportunity to dispose of Donnie Qi and, after a moment of tactical consideration, she had determined that this was likely the best chance that they would get.
She ignored the mad display and followed the directions that Chau had given her. The Venice was on Portland Street, a popular thoroughfare that ran north to south, parallel to the main drag of Nathan Road. It extended through the districts of Yau Ma Tei and Mong Kok. It was a place where high commerce and base human nature existed cheek by jowl. It was dominated by a large business and retailing skyscraper complex, but gathered around it were massage parlours, karaoke joints, hostess bars, cheap restaurants and the brothels of its infamous red-light district. Girls paraded in windows in cheap lingerie. Signs in the windows promised a good time in Cantonese, Mandarin, English, and a host of other languages. Neon signs suspended above the crowds advertised half-naked girls, pouting open-mouthed at the camera, and the promise of live flesh.
Beatrix walked north, passed restaurants with names like Supreme Beef and Brisket and Yokohama Japanese. She passed the Portland Street Rest Garden on her left, crossed over Pitt Street, passed a 7-Eleven, the Sun Shine Centre and Galaxy Wifi, until she saw the brothel she was looking for. She paused on the other side of the street. She surveilled it discreetly, looking at its reflection in the window of the karaoke bar opposite. A large neon sign was affixed to the wall, with VENICE SAUNA written in flashing green next to a representation of a Roman arch. Chau had explained that it was owned by Fang Chun Ying, an outpost amid Donnie Qi’s territory. Donnie tolerated it. He patronised it to make a point that he was magnanimous.
She saw that the front door was wide open, with a large man just visible in the neon-tinged gloom inside. Triad security. The building was three storeys tall, with two covered windows on each floor. The street in both directions was busy with idling passers-by, plenty of them drunk and looking for a good time. She saw a loose group of men, their hair cut short in regulation buzz cuts, crew from the Nimitz looking for a good time with the Filipina women who worked the clubs. She walked on, the men staggering along the road to her left. She continued for five minutes,
“There is a place,” he said. “A brothel. It is in Tsim Sha Shui. The Venice. Do you know it?”
“I think so.”
“Donnie Qi has a girl there. He visits her every week.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BEATRIX TOOK the Tsuen Wan line to Mong Kok station. It was eleven when she passed out of the station exit and emerged onto the Tsim Sha Shui street outside. The atmosphere was hectic, a shifting morass of revellers piling into and out of the station. The street was lit by an onslaught of flashing neon that advertised the businesses nearby: the vast bars of Ned Kelly’s Last Stand and Bottoms Up, as well as tens of competing dives and nightclubs. She passed through a throng of gaai bin dong vendors, their brightly covered handbarrows loaded with an array of aromatic wares: skewered beef, curried fish balls, roasted chestnuts, congee, noodles and tofu. The barrows were lit by paraffin lamps, their warm amber glow filling the street and illuminating the faces of the vendors as they proclaimed why their food was better than the food offered by their rivals.
Beatrix had intercepted Chau as he had disembarked from the ferry. She told him to meet her in a bar that she had suggested and then followed fifty feet behind him to ensure that he was not followed. He had informed her of the opportunity to dispose of Donnie Qi and, after a moment of tactical consideration, she had determined that this was likely the best chance that they would get.
She ignored the mad display and followed the directions that Chau had given her. The Venice was on Portland Street, a popular thoroughfare that ran north to south, parallel to the main drag of Nathan Road. It extended through the districts of Yau Ma Tei and Mong Kok. It was a place where high commerce and base human nature existed cheek by jowl. It was dominated by a large business and retailing skyscraper complex, but gathered around it were massage parlours, karaoke joints, hostess bars, cheap restaurants and the brothels of its infamous red-light district. Girls paraded in windows in cheap lingerie. Signs in the windows promised a good time in Cantonese, Mandarin, English, and a host of other languages. Neon signs suspended above the crowds advertised half-naked girls, pouting open-mouthed at the camera, and the promise of live flesh.
Beatrix walked north, passed restaurants with names like Supreme Beef and Brisket and Yokohama Japanese. She passed the Portland Street Rest Garden on her left, crossed over Pitt Street, passed a 7-Eleven, the Sun Shine Centre and Galaxy Wifi, until she saw the brothel she was looking for. She paused on the other side of the street. She surveilled it discreetly, looking at its reflection in the window of the karaoke bar opposite. A large neon sign was affixed to the wall, with VENICE SAUNA written in flashing green next to a representation of a Roman arch. Chau had explained that it was owned by Fang Chun Ying, an outpost amid Donnie Qi’s territory. Donnie tolerated it. He patronised it to make a point that he was magnanimous.
She saw that the front door was wide open, with a large man just visible in the neon-tinged gloom inside. Triad security. The building was three storeys tall, with two covered windows on each floor. The street in both directions was busy with idling passers-by, plenty of them drunk and looking for a good time. She saw a loose group of men, their hair cut short in regulation buzz cuts, crew from the Nimitz looking for a good time with the Filipina women who worked the clubs. She walked on, the men staggering along the road to her left. She continued for five minutes,
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