The cop yanked Ng’s arms behind his back, handcuffed him, then jerked him backwards, making him fall onto the sidewalk. Then he grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Ng’s head was turned towards the Toyota. All Ava could see in his face was confusion and fear.
“Are you ready to go?” Patrick said.
“Drive.”
He cut down a side street and into the alley. On what looked like a fire door someone had crudely painted ECKIE ' S. “Our exit,” Patrick said.
They got out of the truck and walked back to the front door. Ava felt a rush of adrenalin.
The club was badly lit, but she could make out a circular dance floor surrounded by booths. There was also a bar, two sets of curtains, and an exit. What little light there was, was trained on the dance floor. At best the booths were in semi-darkness.
“I can’t see a thing,” Ava said.
“There they are,” Patrick said, heading towards the booth closest to the bar. She trailed behind him, almost unconsciously trying to stay invisible.
Seto didn’t notice them. He was kissing Anna Choudray, his hand stuck down her blouse, fondling her right breast; the nipple was half exposed. Patrick paused and Ava wondered if he was enjoying the sex.
“Seto,” Patrick shouted, holding a badge in midair. “I need you and the woman to come with me.”
“What the fuck?”
Ava noted that this was voiced as a demand, not a question, and she knew that her hundred-thousand-dollar investment had been well spent.
“Just get up,” Patrick said.
“Or what?”
She could see Seto clearly now. He wore a black suit with a crisp white shirt. She figured he couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds. His eyes skittered left and right as if he was trying to figure out if this was a joke. “Don’t you know who I am?” he yelled.
“I know exactly who you are,” Patrick said. “Now you and the woman get up or I’ll come in there and help you.”
“Fuck you,” Seto said.
Patrick reared back and punched Anna on the side of the head, catching her on the ear and driving her into the back of the booth with an audible thump.
“ Fucccckkkk! ” Seto screamed. “Don’t you know who I am? Talk to General Swandas, for fuck’s sake. I’m with him. Call him. Call him.”
“This has gone several levels above the general,” Patrick said. “Now for the last time, get your skinny ass out of there and bring the woman with you.”
Seto looked at the gun Patrick was now holding in his girlfriend’s face. “You wouldn’t — ”
“You have five seconds.”
Seto slid sideways, bringing her with him.
“Turn around,” Patrick said.
Seto pulled the woman to her feet. She held her hand over her ear, tears flowing down her cheeks. Patrick handcuffed him first. When he put the cuffs on Anna, he had to wrench her hand away from her head. “Sorry to do this, but if your asshole boyfriend was more cooperative this would not have been necessary.”
“This is a mistake,” Seto insisted. “Call the general.”
“Here, you call him,” Patrick said, holding out his phone to Seto. “If he answers and agrees to help you, I’ll shoot both you and the woman right here.”
Seto’s face collapsed, his confidence gone, the fear visible in eyes that darted around the club looking for help — which wasn’t coming. “What do you want?” he said.
“In time, in good time,” Patrick said. “First we have to get you out of here.”
He led them to the fire door. Ava couldn’t help noticing that every eye in the club was focused somewhere else. It was as if they didn’t exist.
She had her kitbag in her hand. “Put them against the wall,” she said to Patrick when they were outside. She took out a roll of duct tape and wrapped it around their eyes. “Turn him around now,” she said. She tore off a small strip and sealed his mouth. “Okay, let’s go.”
Ava and Patrick helped them get into the back seat. Anna pressed herself against the window as if she were trying to get as far away from Seto as possible. She was sobbing so hard she was having difficulty catching her breath.
Ava reached back, grabbed the woman’s knee, and squeezed until she had her attention. “Listen to me. When we get to the house, you’re going to tell us the entry code and whatever information we need to get in the front door. I’m telling you this now so you have time to think about it and be prepared when I ask. I don’t want to ask twice.”
Anna didn’t reply.
Ava squeezed harder. “I need you to say yes.”
“Y-yes.”
To Ava the drive to the house seemed to take forever; she could only imagine how long it felt for Seto and the woman. Neither she nor Patrick spoke. They both knew how intimidating silence could be.
When they pulled up to the gate, Ava asked, “Anna, is there anyone in the house?”
“No.”
“Good. Now tell me the code.”
“Eighty-eight, eighty-eight, eight.”
“How Chinese,” Ava said.
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.
“Superstition. The number eight in Chinese is pronounced ba, and that sounds like the word for wealth. Two figure eights resemble the way “double joy” is written. Having an eight in your address, on your licence plate, or in your phone number is thought to bring good luck, and the more eights the better. Except, of course, for Seto in this instance,” Ava said as she punched in the numbers.
The gate swung open. Patrick parked the Toyota next to the Mercedes. “The house code?” Ava asked.
“The same as the gate,” Anna said.
They walked to the front door. Ava held the woman by the elbow and Patrick had a firm grip on the back of Seto’s suit jacket. The walkway was uneven, making the blindfolded pair stumble; Ava held her charge steady and Patrick yanked Seto straight.
The house was remarkable in at least one way: when they entered, Ava saw a staircase directly in front of her, running straight from the door to the second floor. For anyone Chinese it was an unthinkable design. It would take only a minimal understanding of feng shui to know that it would bring the worst possible luck to the owners of the house. She figured that Seto, or most probably the woman, had bought the house as is.
To the left of the unlucky staircase was a dining room furnished with six chairs and a naked table. No sideboard, no plants, no pictures. It looked as if the room had never been used. The rectangular room on the right was about forty square metres in area, and all it contained was a cheap-looking leather couch, two beanbag chairs, and a large LCD television.
Ava walked towards the kitchen at the back of the house, pushing Anna in front of her. The room held a glass table with three napkins on it and a bowl of fruit, plus a counter large enough for a double sink and a prep area on either side. There was a cutting board and a set of knives in one prep area and the other had a substantial spice rack and jars of flour, sugar, and cereal.
“Bring Seto back here,” she shouted to Patrick.
Seto scuffled into the kitchen. The house was air-conditioned but there were beads of sweat on his forehead. “Take off his jacket,” she said.
Patrick undid the handcuffs, removed the jacket, and then put the cuffs back on, adding a hard tug on Seto’s arms for good measure.
Ava set Seto on a chair, lifted his hands over the chair back, and pulled them down behind. She then knelt down and grabbed his ankles. She spread them until they were aligned with the chair legs and taped his ankles to them.
“Pass me the jacket,” she said to Patrick. She quickly went through the pockets, extracting a wallet.
“Now, where is his computer?”
“Upstairs,” the woman said.
“Let’s go,” Ava said. “Patrick, stay with Seto.”
There were four rooms on the second floor. Two were being used as bedrooms, one was empty, and the fourth was a makeshift office. Ava took Anna into the master bedroom, which was furnished with a king-size four-poster bed made of heavy mahogany and matching massive wooden dressers; one wall was entirely mirrored.