"Is that it?" the man asked, staring back at him.
"You may go," Michael said, letting nothing of what he was feeling enter his voice. "YouVe done what was asked of you."
When the messenger had gone, Michael turned, facing Kustow, his shoulders hunched suddenly, his eyes miserable, the pretense of dignified defiance cast off. "That's it, then. The end of things. . ."
Kustow studied the note a moment, then looked back at him. "Is that what you want?"
"No. But what are our options? There was seventeen million in those four accounts. Without it. . ."
"Without it we start again. Trim things down. Reassess our priorities. Work out what we can do. WeVe still got my money."
"Two million. Where will that get us?"
"It'll get us started, that's what. As for the rest, we'll come up with something. We can borrow from the East Asian markets, maybe. Or from his major business rivals."
"But you said you didn't want to borrow. You said that that would make us vulnerable."
Kustow smiled. "True. But I said that before your father turned nasty on us." He handed Michael back the note, then put his arm about his shoulders. "Look at it this way, Michael. Your money would have given us a cushion—might have made the ride a little less bumpy—but it was never the main component of our strategy. Talent,
ability, innovative ideas, that's what this Company was going to be based on, and it still can be. But I can't do it alone, Michael. I need you. And you need me."
"But what about our plans . . . ?"
"As I said. We scale things down. Put a rein on our ambitions for a time." He shrugged. "Look, this'll set us back, I don't deny it, but it doesn't have to put an end to things, not unless you want it to. So what about it, Michael? Are you going to crawl back to him, your tail between your legs, after all weVe done and said, or are you going to spit in his eye and carry on?"
Michael glanced at Emily, then turned back, studying Kustow closely, his eyes recalling all they had been through those past few years. Gripping Kustow's arms firmly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said quietly. "We'll do it your way. If it fails we're no worse off, neh?"
"Not the tiniest bit. . ."
Again he nodded, a smile slowly returning to his lips. "Okay. Then let's do it. Let's spit in his eye."
IT was A DARK-LIT, shabby place that stank of cheap perfumes and sour liquor. The carpet underfoot was threadbare, the walls covered with inexpensive erotoprints. The girls, lined up against one of the walls, were in character; they too were cheap and worn, their faces overpainted, their bodies mere parodies of desire.
"Well?" said K'ang, turning to face Lehmann, a grin splitting his big face. "What do you want? It's my treat. I always bring my boys here, once a month. Gives them a break. A bit of fun."
Lehmann looked about him, letting no sign of the disgust he felt show in his face. "No," he said simply.
"Come on . . ." K'ang made to take him by the arm, then remembered how he felt about that and backed off. "You're sure ? I mean, if it's not your thing. If. . ."
The look on Lehmann's face warned him not to say what he was thinking. K'ang shrugged and turned back to the others.
"I'll have the fat one," said Ling Wo, K'ang's chief advisor.
"Which one?" said the Madam, coming across to him and winking.
She herself was grossly fat and, like her girls, wore little or nothing about her genitals, as if such crude display could make her more desirable. Ling Wo let her fondle him and leaned close to whisper in her ear.
"Have them both!" she said and laughed raucously, slapping his shoulder. "Shih K'ang here will pay, won't you, dear?"
K'ang laughed loudly and said, "Of course. Have both, Ling Wo!" But his eyes said something different, and Ling Wo chose between the girls.
Lehmann, watching, saw the Madam look from one man to the other, then turn to her girls and make a face.
One by one the others made their choices, K'ang's three advisors first, then Peck, the new man from the south who had joined, them only a week back.
Peck was an old acquaintance of Soucek's and had worked for K'ang A-yin years before. Now he was back, after some trouble with Security. He had come in as Lieutenant, to strengthen the tong. Or so the story went. To Lehmann it read otherwise. Peck had been brought in to counter him. To bring the odds back in K'ang's favor. Not that it mattered.
Then it was Soucek's turn.
"I'll pass this time, Shih K'ang."
K'ang laughed. "What do you mean, pass? Since when did you ever pass? You gone off girls or something?"
Soucek lifted his big, long head and met K'ang's eyes. "I'll pass, that's all."
K'ang went quiet. He looked from Soucek to Lehmann, then looked down at the floor. When he looked up again he was smiling, but his eyes, as ever, were cold. "You don't like the way I treat you, Jiri, is that it?"
Soucek shook his head. "You treat me fine, K'ang A-yin, but I just don't want it this time. Next time okay. But now . . ." His face was hard, expressionless.
K'ang looked across at the remaining girls, including the one he always had—the best of them, though it said little for her—and then smiled. "Okay. You sit here with Lehmann and chat, neh?" And at that he laughed. He turned to Lehmann. "Mind you, Stefan, you'd be better off fucking your brains out than trying to get a decent conversation out of Jiri there."
Then, laughing, the Madam on one arm, the girl on the other, he followed the others inside.
Lehmann waited a moment, then turned, looking across at Soucek. "Why didn't you go in?"
Soucek met Lehmann's eyes. "I was watching you. Seeing how you saw it." •
"And?"
"You don't like all this, do you?"
"What does it matter what I like? You're K'ang's man."
"That's not forever."
"Nothing's forever. But that isn't what you meant, is it?" ;,
Soucek was about to answer when the Madam came bursting in again. "You boys want anything? Drinks?"
Lehmann looked at her blankly, then, "Yes. Wine will do."
Soucek half-lidded his eyes, curious. He had never seen Lehmann touch alcohol before. The Madam left the room, then returned with two drinks, setting them down on a small table at the far end of the room.
"There. You'll be comfy over here."
Lehmann looked at her again, such hostility behind the blankness of his face that the Madam's smile faded momentarily, then came back stronger, as if to cover up the unease she felt in his presence. "If there's anything else you^need, just call."
They waited until she went, then sat, Lehmann with his back to the wall, Soucek facing him. The two drinks rested on the low table between them.
"Tell me about Peck," Lehmann said.
"Peck?" Soucek laughed coldly. "Peck is ying tzu."
Lehmann lowered his head slightly. He had heard of ying tzu— shadows—and their services. They were trained specialists, contracted out to gangland bosses. Like the chan shih they were a staple of the underworld here, though far more rare.
"That costs."
Soucek nodded and reached out to take his glass, but Lehmann put out a hand, stopping him. "Why are you telling me?"
"A warning."
Lehmann studied him carefully, his gaze penetrating. "Just that?"
Soucek smiled again, his thin-lipped mouth an ugly, lifeless thing. "No." He hesitated and then looked down. "Because you're strong."
"And K'ang isn't?"
Soucek looked up. "He's strong. In some ways. But you. . ." He shook his head.
Lehmann was silent a long time after that. Then he picked up his glass and sniffed at it. "I'm K'ang's man now."
Soucek watched him; saw him put the glass down untouched. "Now?"
Lehmann's eyes seemed to soften marginally, as if he was pleased that Soucek had understood him, but still he didn't smile. Soucek looked down at his glass and nodded to himself. In this as in all else from now on he would copy Lehmann. If Lehmann shunned women, he too would shun women. If Lehmann touched no drink, he too would do the same. For there was a secret in all this, he saw. A kind of strength. Macht, the others called it, in the old slang of these parts. Power.