He went inside, closed the windows and put on his short grey suede jacket. This might be his last chance of unrestricted action for some time. So, taking the elevator, Bond went down into the hotel lobby and out into the night, walking briskly down the hill and turning left on a path that would take him into Chinatown.
Within ten minutes, he knew that someone was following him.
First it was just a feeling born of immense experience of such things. Around him, the nightlife seethed. Garish neon signs beckoned the unwary and, as he moved deeper into Chinatown, more sordid aspects of the city at night were blatantly displayed – girls for sale along the pavements, scantily dressed, watched over by shadowy figures who lurked in doorways or in full view leaning against buildings. At every intersection, he also caught sight of the dealers who did not have to hassle as much as the whores, for their clientèle was ready made. The market for crack cocaine, straight heroin, and even grass was secure. Sometimes a car would pull up near the kerbside, its occupant calling low to ask if he wanted some action. For ‘action’ read ‘crack’, ‘ice’, or even ‘speed’. The results of the dealers’ work could be seen everywhere in drawn faces, empty or wild eyes. The atmosphere took on a more dangerous, almost tangible, feel the further Bond went, fending off girls and dealers who approached him with monotonous regularity.
He turned left into an alleyway, took ten paces and then turned back, going on to the street again, glancing to his right as he did so. He saw, among the many people along the sidewalk, one man falter in his stride, eyes flicking from left to right as he recovered himself and carried on walking. Caucasian, Bond noted, mid-thirties, clean-shaven, well-built, around a hundred and forty pounds, brownish hair brushed straight back, casually dressed in well-cut jeans and a denim jacket with soft grey leather Sperry Topsider shoes. The jeans were probably Levi 501s and the glance to the left and right could mean that he was working with a team. Remember the shoes, Bond told himself. If it was a well-trained team they would change positions, even clothes, but they seldom had time to alter their shoes.
Bond quietly recited a couple of lines from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland—
‘Will you walk a little faster?’ said a whiting to a snail,
‘There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.’
Immediately, the tail became ‘Porpoise’ in his mind.
He took another left turn, literally walking around the block. When he came on to the main street again, Porpoise was still behind him. In spite of the dampness in the air it was a warm night and a thousand assorted aromas filled the street – cheap scents used by the whores mingled with cooking smells from the restaurants, then mixed with the odour of rotting food from the garbage cans and old boxes outside the now closed grocery stores. Mix well with the sweat of the crowd which ebbed and flowed around you and you had a concoction, Bond considered, that could be found only in a few cities of the world.
There was also noise and light. Son et lumière, he thought. The endless stream of slow-moving traffic, the sing-song call of street traders, the brazen advances of the girls and music blaring, overpowering, coming from almost every clip joint, club and store, while the neon, reds, vivid blues and whites, flashed and strobed. Instant inferno.
He glanced over his right shoulder, waiting for a dozen or so cars and taxis to throb past, each laden with the thumping heavy bass from its onboard stereo, before dodging the rest of the traffic and crossing the street. Porpoise was still there, further back on the opposite side of the road now, but preparing to cross.
On the corner a store blazing with lights announced that it sold rare and beautiful Chinese artifacts. The usual gaggle of female artifacts paced up and down in front of the store, offering themselves for more basic services. Bond snarled at one, who was dressed only in some unlikely garment which looked as though it had come from Fredericks of Hollywood, and entered the store.
Inside, long counters glittered with jade, ivory and semiprecious stones. Buddhas, miniature pagodas, delicate fretted work, oceans of it, were all overseen by attractive Chinese girls in elaborately decorated cheongsams or attractive silk pyjama suits.
Several people were either actively buying or seriously looking along the aisles, and the girls tried immediately for the hard sell, offering to show you the choicest pieces or the best bargains. Bond had to be firmly rude to three of them before they left him to his own browsing devices, which placed him near to the windows so that he was able surreptitiously to survey the street outside.
Porpoise appeared to be haggling with one of the street girls, but with one eye permanently cocked towards the store doorway; there was little else he could do, unless he brazened it out and came into the store itself.
Bond continued to look at the Oriental bric-à-brac, appearing to centre his attention on a statuette, a six-inch-high delicate girl in the robes of ancient China. One of the omnipresent assistants was quickly at his side.
‘You wish to buy? I make special price for you.’ She had all the grace of a butterfly, but the sales pitch of a rocket launcher.
‘You make very special price for me,’ Bond muttered aggressively, slipping one hand into the outer pocket of his jacket.
‘How special?’ the girl asked, almost flirtatiously.
Bond’s lips hardly moved. ‘I want nothing from this store. I also do not want to see anyone hurt. So you’ll take me to the back. To your store rooms . . .’ He saw the girl’s mouth begin to open as though she would scream. ‘No!’ he commanded sharply. ‘I’m not here to harm anyone. Just take me to the back of the store and show me the rear exit.’
‘Rear exit . . . ?’ the girl gasped.
‘Rear exit, quickly – or someone will get hurt. First it will be you. Understand?’
She had gone the colour of pewter under her make-up and, biting her lower lip, she nodded.
‘Good girl. Now, just smile and show me the way out. A very bad person is outside looking for me.’
She nodded again and said with a choke that he should follow her. As they walked towards the rear of the building a pair of heavy-set men approached, speaking in rapid Chinese – Cantonese, Bond thought, or one of its multitude of dialects. The girl spat back at them, the gist of what she said being obvious to all. ‘If you don’t want trouble, keep away.’
They passed through a beaded curtain which led to a long and high store room, and the girl pointed to a door at the far end. ‘You go through there. Out in street.’
Bond grabbed at her shoulder, pulling her close and sticking the forefinger of his right hand into her side. ‘Take me out,’ he grunted. ‘Quickly. Chop-chop, okay?’
Her eyes were wide with fear, but she gave a little nod and led him towards the door.
‘And nobody follow, okay?’ he grunted again when they reached the exit. ‘No alarms. No calling police. Just go on as normal, yes?’
‘Okay,’ she breathed, her hand on the doorknob.
‘Open up then and show me it’s safe.’
She obeyed quickly, her hand trembling. Such a waste, Bond thought. She was probably a nice, generous girl socially. He would not have been averse to spending an evening with her.
The door led to the street, and he made her look out to ensure there was nobody lurking in the shadows. When it seemed safe, Bond told her again that she should keep her mouth shut. ‘It would be very bad joss for me to have to return and alter that pretty face.’ Considering the lascivious thoughts that were going on in his head, Bond considered that he sounded pretty mean.