Chasing Columbus

Kowloon District - Hong Kong

Kowloon District - Hong KongHe sat stony-faced in the small police office as the police officer called Jack Hwang went over the story again. A small man with a balding head and piercing eyes, Hwang looked at Guy impassively and repeated what he had told Guy’s mother. “The junk was stolen.”

“Anything else?” even to Guy, his responses were sounding increasingly short tempered. “His room is empty; everything is gone almost as if it was deliberate. Tell me Mr Tresanton, was your father depressed?” Guy shook his head vigorously. “Impossible! He was a man who dealt with other people’s depression!” he said hotly. “Don’t start thinking this was suicide, there is no way. I suggest you get out there and find him.”

“I need to know your recent movements,” replied Hwang sternly.

“What am I a suspect now? I don’t believe this.” Exasperated and sweating in the heat of the confined room, Guy fought the urge to lash out at the diminutive police officer regarding him sceptically across the desk. “My job is to check all possible options.” Hwang shrugged. “Then get after whoever stole that junk! Surely, you have fingerprints. They must be all over the deck!”

“You should co-operate Mr Tresanton. My job is to check all avenues. You are one of many suspects and your attitude needs to improve.”

“Are you threatening me?” Guy shook his head incredulously. “I don’t threaten people, Mr Tresanton. Just answer the questions and everything will be fine. Are there people who would want your father out of the way?” Hwang shifted in his chair and leant forward, as though inviting confidences. “Look, I have been to hell and back over the last two days and you sit there as if we are discussing an Agatha Christie film!” Guy spat. “Of course there isn’t anyone who, as you put it, ‘wants my father out of the way’! He is a psychologist, not a gangster!”

“Was there a large inheritance for you Mr. Tresanton?” Hwang’s monotone response cut through Guy’s rant. “Go to hell!” shouted Guy heading for the door and wandering into the hot noisy streets in a daze. In the space of a few short hours, he had lost his job, his father and now he was a chief suspect. Things couldn’t really get much worse.

Still smarting with anger from his confrontation with Hwang, Guy found an Irish bar he knew in Kowloon and started to drown his sorrows in pints of Guinness. Admitting to himself that alcohol was probably a bad idea, Guy felt the stress of the evening dissipate into a relaxed melancholy, as he talked to an Aussie whose view of the world bordered on anarchistic. Drink followed drink and suddenly Guy felt the world start spinning again.

He returned to brief consciousness to find himself in a dubious looking room lying stark naked face down on a grubby table with a young woman attacking his back with coarse hands. It started to take on a surreal air as he peered over his shoulder through an alcoholic haze; was he drugged again? Realising he was in a massage parlour he tried to relax as the girl professionally worked the knotted muscles in his shoulders. Concentrating on the journey her strong fingers made up and down his spine, he drifted back into unconsciousness grateful for the embrace of darkness.

Abruptly he stirred as a movement of cold air unsettled him. He opened his eyes, the world around him was spinning then floating and the girl was gone. His lustful thoughts about her readily dissolved as he blinked at the ephemeral shapes in front of him. “Dad!” he tried to shout as the familiar grey haired face of his father appeared out of the mist. The face ignored him; it seemed to turn with a wan smile as he shouted again and mouthed words towards him. “Remember what I taught you,” he thought he heard. “Dad, I thought you were…,” he stopped dead as he saw a shape behind his father. It looked like a dragon, which started to slowly materialise into an aged stern looking Chinese man. “He has seen too much.”

“He is a chosen one, he cannot be removed,” replied his father. Guy felt like a spectator at his own trial. “He must be removed,” repeated the Chinese man sternly. “Guy, go far away from here, and never return,” whispered his father urgently. Guy could not speak, he squirmed and tried to move his arms; was this reality or was he dreaming? He tried without success to move his arms; perhaps he was dead. Was this what death was like? “Be quiet old man,” scolded the Chinese man. Guy cried out in anguish, but no sound came out as his father started to fade away and then the police stormed into the room roughly pushing him off the table and against the cold wall.