The Charlie Cobb Series

Chapter 14

14

I cough to get Mandy's attention. "Sorry to interrupt the tender moment."

She looks at me and sighs. “Never heard of knocking?”

I shake my head in disgust. “Cigs and happy endings. Couldn’t even last a day."

Mandy takes the cigarette out of her mouth. She blows a plume of it my way. “What am I supposed to do? Tell Mr Chung no? It’s why these sad sacks come in here.”

“Hey,” the man on the table says, eyes open.

“Not you, sweetheart,” Mandy says between drags. “You just relax.”

The man closes his eyes. The smile returning to his face.

“Anyway, you can’t talk,” Mandy says. “What have you done this time?”

“Don’t know what you’re on about."

“Come on, Charlie. Why else are you here if not to hide out?” She looks at my suit. “I heard the sirens. You skip out on court again?”

I don’t have a comeback. She’s got me nailed.

“Ah, the truth comes out," she says. "Mr Pot and Kettle.”

“That's where you're wrong,” I say, “f*****g did the right thing, didn’t I?”

Mandy laughs, cig hanging from her lips. “You? The right thing?”

“It’s true,” I say.

“Um, do you mind?” Mandy’s client says, propping himself up on his elbows. “I’ve paid good money for this."

“Sorry, love," Mandy says, speeding up the job. Towel jerking up and down.

“Ugh, this is sick,” the kid says.

“Who’s the young lad?” Mandy asks. “Long lost son? You’ve got enough of ‘em.”

“For the thousandth time Mand, I don’t sleep around.”

Mandy narrows her eyes at me as she brings the fat man to a climax. The kid turns his back and sticks his fingers in his ears. The guy on the table looks at me as he shoots his boots.

The kid's right. This is sick.

Mandy stubs out her cigarette and drops the latex glove in a bin. The guy pulls his crumpled office clothes on. Mandy dumps the towels in a wicker laundry bin in the corner. She rinses her hands, lights him a smoke and he leaves.

“So what’s up?” she asks, resting her rear end against the massage table.

“You hear about the thing at the Renaissance Hotel?" I ask.

“Yeah, it’s been on the news. Why?”

I look at the kid.

“This is the witness?” she asks.

“Saved his life,” I say, surprised by the swell of pride I get in my chest.

“You knocked me out and kidnapped me,” the kid says.

I shrug. “You say potato."

“So what happened?” she asks.

“Better you don’t know,” I say. “Is Chung around?”

“Next door,” Mandy says leading us out of the room. She closes the door and hurries back down the corridor, past reception. She walks halfway up the stairs. Sticks her head out on street level, both ways. Pulls the steel door shut and locks a bolt in place at the top and bottom. She walks back up the corridor. “We were closing anyway,” she says. “Come on.”

Mandy leads us towards the back office. Just before, there’s a white panel in the wall. Mandy pushes it open and beckons us through. I shove the kid into the dark, tight space ahead of us. I have to bend double to fit through. But a few metres on, Mandy leads us through another door into a bright, noisy kitchen. Clattering pans and kitchen hands laughing and shouting in what I guess is Chinese.

Mandy pushes through a pair of white swing doors with porthole windows. There’s a buffer zone from the smells and sounds of the kitchen. Two more swing doors ahead of us painted black.

Mandy leads us into a place I’m familiar with, just not from the server’s entrance. The Dancing Dragon. An intimate bar and restaurant. Traditional, China-red lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Matching red art on the wall, with black Chinese writing.

It’s the early hours of the morning already, so the place is empty.

Paul Chung is a second generation immigrant. Beijing-born but with a Manchester accent. He sits at a table with a couple of other men in their fifties. Except he looks younger. Jet black hair and a face free of creases. He wears a charcoal t-shirt under a designer black suit. He chows down with his buddies on a banquet in the centre of a large, circular table.

“What is it with you bosses?” I say. “You're always stuffing your faces.”

“That's not true," Chung says, setting down a bowl of noodles and a set of chopsticks. "Sometimes we drink and gamble." He stands and shakes my hand. “Good to see you, friend.” He looks at Mandy, stood beside me. “You still here?”

“Had a couple of late-nighters,” she says.

“Well take a seat. Eat something.” Chung clicks his fingers and a young male waiter on standby glides over and pulls out a chair. Mandy sits down and loses herself in the menu.

Chung is one of the nice guys. Okay, he may have the odd bloke bumped off, cut in half, or dissolved in a tank of acid. But he does it quick and quiet. With a courteous smile, you know? Manners don’t cost anything. That’s what I always say. He looks at me, then at the kid. “So what’s going on, Breaker? I didn’t call you, so there must be something up.”

“Job went t**s up,” I say.

“Let me guess. Rudenko.”

“How'd you know?”

“Word spreads fast.”

Chung speaks to his two mates. Something in Chinese. They get up and move down a couple of tables, taking their food with them.

“Here,” Chung says, offering us a seat.

We sit down. The waiters approach with plates, bowls and chopsticks. I ask for a couple of forks and spoons. I spin the centre of the table round and scoop some sticky rice into a bowl. Sweet and sour chicken on top.

I turn to the kid. “What do you want?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing."

I guess he’s not in the mood.

“Listen,” I say, “if you don’t eat something, it’s a sign of disrespect. And that man across from you is the head of the China Town mafia.”

He looks at Chung. Chung plays along, raising an eyebrow. Giving the kid the look.

The kid swallows hard. “Maybe just a little,” he says, putting a solitary salt and pepper prawn on his plate. He nibbles at it as me and Chung talk.

“So what can I do for you?" Chung asks.

“I was hoping for some protection."

“Shouldn’t it be the other way round?"

“Not for me. For the kid,” I say.

Chung dabs his mouth with a napkin. “You know I can’t do that.”

“You owe me,” I say, gobbling up the chicken.

“And if there’s anything else you need, I’ll be happy to oblige. But I’ve got the community to think about. We can’t afford another war here and I haven’t got the manpower. You know how it is.”

This is where flying solo can hurt you. If I was one of Chung’s guys, he wouldn’t hesitate to tool up.

“Thought I’d ask,” I say, as a waiter brings over a dish fresh from the kitchen for Mandy.

Chung tears a bun in two and mops up some sauce. “Look, we’ll lock the doors. You can lie low here for the rest of the night. But if anyone comes knocking, no guarantees.”

“Thanks, Paul. It’ll give me time to think,” I say, as the kid loads up his plate and bowl from the centre of the table.

“This stuff’s good,” he says through a beard of noodles.

“Best food in China Town,” Mandy says.

Chung smiles. “There’s always time for a good meal." He stands up from the table. Dumps his napkin. Shakes my hand. “Good luck, Breaker.”

Chung shouts some instructions to the staff before leaving the restaurant with his pals.

“I should call my mum,” the kid says.

“Uh-uh,” I say. “You’re not calling anyone. In fact, give me your phone.”

“No,” the kid says.

I grab him by the front of his hoodie. “Give it ‘ere.”

“Charlie,” Mandy says. “Leave the poor lad alone. He’s been through enough.”

I let the kid go. Why do I still let her tell me what to do? I’ve gotta stop letting her boss me around.

I pour out three glasses of water from a large glass jug. The staff come out of the kitchen. Coats on, ready for home. They say goodnight and disappear, leaving only a few lights on in the restaurant.

I push a glass over to the kid. “There’s one thing I don’t get about you,” I say. “You’re from the estates, right? You know how things work. Why testify?”

The kid chews his food, like he’s thinking about it. “It was the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do would have been to keep your trap shut.”

“How bloody noble, Charlie,” Mandy says, rolling her eyes.

“It would have been,” I say. “I bet the guy they shot was a lowlife anyway.”

“I didn’t say nothing at first,” the kid says. “But I couldn’t sleep at night. I felt better after I agreed to do it.”

“And how do you feel now?” I ask.

The kid puts down his fork. Takes a drink. Turns it back on me. “Why did you do what you did? In the hotel?”

Truth is, I’m still trying to figure that one out. As I’m about to speak, his phone rings. He pulls it out of a jeans pocket.

“Don’t answer it,” I’m about to say. But too late.

I snatch the phone off the kid before he can talk. Put it on speaker. My free hand over the kid’s mouth.

“Danny?” a man says on the other end of the line. “It’s Detective Price.”

I take my hand from the kid’s mouth. “You know him?” I whisper.

“The head of the witness protection unit,” the kid says.

“Danny? Are you there?”

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Who am I talking to?” Price asks back.

“Never mind that,” I say. “What do you want?” I check my watch. “You’ve got ten seconds to spit it.”

“Is Danny there with you? Is he okay?”

“Seven seconds.”

“I’m here,” the kid says. “I’m safe.”

“Where are you now?” the detective asks.

“I’m asking the questions here,” I say.

“Look, we just want the boy back safe. I take it you’re the other man who broke into the hotel suite?”

“I might be,” I say, checking my watch again.

“Then I assume you mean no harm to Danny.”

“What do you think, Sherlock?”

“Well, I can take him off your hands for you. Give him the protection he needs.”

“You talking about a handover?”

“Just me," Price says. "There’s a mole in my unit and half the force is in Rudenko’s pocket.”

“Yeah, I put ‘em there,” I say.

“Then you name the time and place. I’ll come alone.”

I think fast. I look at the kid. He nods. Can’t wait to get away from me. Well I can’t wait to get rid of him either. “Okay,” I say. “Meet us in one hour. There’s a multi-storey behind Portland Tower.”

I cut the detective off before he can say another word. I check my watch. I think we beat the clock. No doubt someone was tracing the call.

“Right, best eat up then,” I say, scooping more chicken and rice into my bowl. “Looks like you’re off the hook.”