The Doll Brokers Read online

  Traffic slowed to a standstill. Horns honked. Thousands of pedestrians, dressed in everything from business attire to jeans, jammed the narrow sidewalks.

  Jonathan caught Ann’s expression and asked why she was smiling.

  “You should see your face,” she told him. “Isn’t it what you expected?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to expect. But it sure is crowded.”

  “And it keeps getting worse, especially since 1997, when Hong Kong reverted from a British Colony to being controlled by the People’s Republic of China. For the first time, the border has opened up to many Mainland Chinese, and they are flocking here in droves, monopolizing the tourist trade and sending prices, which were always high, skyrocketing.”

  The Mercedes finally eased to a stop in front of the Grand Palace Hotel, one of the newest and most popular in Kowloon, a glass and steel monolith, rising thirty-five stories. They went inside and came face-to-face with an ultra-modern lobby—marble walls and ceiling with an almost infinite variety of sculptures and paintings—so crowded with visitors that Ann felt disoriented.

  After they registered at the front desk, Jonathan asked is she’d like to jump in and start looking for Chow or if she’d prefer to rest for a while.

  Ann shook her head. “No.”

  “To which?”

  “Both. I’d like to take a walk first, if you don’t mind. Just tip the bellboy. He’ll take our bags upstairs.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Their hotel was located on one of the intricate side streets that populated this part of Hong Kong. Traveling through what felt to Jonathan like a maze—many of the streets intersected at the weirdest of angles—it took them a few minutes to reach Nathan Road.

  They started north, squeezing their way through knots of people on the sidewalk. Ann’s ears buzzed with conversations in Mandarin and Cantonese, French, German and Italian. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she recognized Hindi and Arabic as well. Traffic snarled around them, belching fumes.

  Jonathan nearly stepped in front of a car, when Ann tugged hard on his sleeve and pulled him back safely to the sidewalk “You must look in the opposite direction to back home,” she warned. “Always remember, cars have the right of way here, unless there is a traffic light, and even then you have to be careful.”

  “Yeah.” He coughed. “And I bet they never heard of unleaded fuel, either. Man, I’m choking on their exhaust.”

  “Get used to it,” Ann said. “Hong Kong’s pollution keeps on getting worse.”

  Jonathan paused. “Remind me again why we’re not in our rooms relaxing?”

  Because I’m afraid I’ll end up in bed with you. “Because you’re generous and kind, and you’re humoring me.”

  “I don’t humor my own mother.”

  Suddenly, a diminutive East Indian fellow accosted Jonathan. “Make nice suit for you, sir,” he said, pulling on Jonathan’s jacket. “How about tailored shirts? Can be ready in twenty-four hours. No problem, sir. We have the finest materials.”

  Jonathan came to a full stop and began to apologize to the man, to explain that he really wasn’t interested, when Ann more or less told the fellow to get lost.

  When they were alone, Jonathan muttered that she shouldn’t do that, treat people in such a rude manner.

  “Okay,” she said, rather too easily.

  Less than a minute later a twenty-something-year-old Chinese man was blocking their way, holding his wrist out. “Copy watch?” he asked. “Rolex? Cartier?”

  Jonathan looked around for Ann but she had walked ahead. “Er … sorry,” he tried to say, but the man was being persistent. “Very cheap price. Okay? Also have Louis Vuitton purse. Gucci. Valentino…”

  “Uh, no. I’m really not interested.” Jonathan tried to escape but the man wouldn’t leave his side. Jonathan started a slow jog. The man finally gave up when he crossed onto the next block. But six or seven more offers came his way. Suits, shirts, purses and watches. The spiels were endless.

  When he reached her side, Ann began to laugh. “Still want me to be polite?” she asked.

  Jonathan just looked at her.

  “These are professional shills,” she informed him, “paid by their bosses to snare tourist suckers like you. Everyone wants to make a fast buck in Hong Kong.”

  Something in a storefront window caught Jonathan’s eye and he turned towards it, came face to face with a smorgasbord of opulence unlike anything he’d seen before: from row upon row of twenty-four-karat gold jewelry, to a display of brilliant diamond broaches, rings, and necklaces, to the most exclusive watches, resplendent in their showcases.

  Every few steps produced a variety of the same, jewelry stores that intermingled with shops that featured designer eye glasses and the latest in electronics.

  Finally, Ann had to tap Jonathan on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were a shopper.”

  “Huh?” He came back to her as if fleeing a stupor. “I’m not.”

  “Then why are you stopping at every shop window we pass?”

  “I don’t know. There’s so much to see.”

  “Well, you have a choice,” she said. “You can either enter one of these fine boutiques and buy me a little trinket, or we can continue our walk.”

  He did not require further motivation.

  Turning east, they left the modern part of Tsimshatsui behind. The streets narrowed and the congestion on the sidewalk clotted even more. The odors of raw fish, chicken, and meat saturated the air. Shops and food stalls were jammed together elbow-to-elbow.

  “We should be scenting down Chow,” Jonathan complained, “not Moo Goo Gai Pan.”

  “Can’t we please just enjoy this?” The words rang false to her ears.

  “I can’t enjoy it. I’ve got too much on my mind.”

  Me too, she wanted to say, realizing she was wasting precious time. But she’d been on edge more and more lately. Something was combusting internally and it was dangerously close to the surface.

  Crossing another street, they happened upon a small park, isolated and on its own. It seemed so out of place, it drew their attention. A handful of elderly women were going through the movements of Tai Chi. Ann paused to watch, fascinated by their slow and deliberate steps, the women shifting their weight from one leg to the other, almost as if they were defying gravity.

  One individual caught her eye, somewhere between seventy and seventy-five, wrinkled but still elegant, a Chinese version of Felicia. She was about to point this out to Jonathan when he abruptly joined the group of women. Soon, he began to mimic their movements, except it was no imitation, it was the real thing. And he was good. Ann caught the delicate turn of his artist’s hands gently caressing the air. For a moment, time stopped. Yet again, Jonathan transformed before her eyes, and not for the first time in recent weeks, she felt something stir inside.

  When he returned a few minutes later, she had an urge to take his hand, to touch him. Instead, she quickly led the way back to Nathan Road. A slight breeze had picked up and her hair blew across her face. It was hot and humid for November. “Now I’m ready to look for Chow,” she announced. “His office is in the Tung Ying Building.”

  Much of the Tsimshatsui district was within walking distance, and they quickly reached their destination. They entered the lobby and rode the elevator to the fifth floor.

  Edmund’s office seemed unoccupied. There were no lights on inside. Jonathan rapped a closed fist hard against the opaque glass.

  Ann grabbed his wrist. “You’re going to break something.”

  His fingers caught hers and Ann tugged away. “Will you stop?”

  “Where the hell is he?” He looked at his watch. “It’s barely four-thirty in the afternoon. There should be a secretary here, someone.”

  He had a point. This time Ann did the knocking. Some movement caught her eye. She rattled the doorknob. Finally, a lock was unlatched. Her blood pressure seemed to spike. Until that moment, faced with seeing him, Ann hadn’t realized how insa
nely angry she was at Chow. But when the door opened, an elderly Chinese woman with a large beauty mark on her cheek peered back at her.

  “Yes,” Ann started to explain in a slow and deliberate manner. “We … are … looking for Mr. Chow. Mr. Edmund Chow?”

  The woman muttered something in Chinese. It was so rapid-fire, Ann felt as though she had done something wrong. Then the woman was gesticulating, words flying from her in a fury.

  “Edmund Chow?” Ann repeated, taking a step back.

  The barrage became worse. Ann tried to look past the woman, to see if anyone else might be in the office. There was no way she was going to leave without some answers.

  Jonathan was about to push through the door when a man suddenly appeared. He was younger-looking than the woman, tall, with thinning black hair.

  “There is no Chow here,” he said in perfect English.

  Ann turned to Jonathan.

  “Where is he?” he asked.

  “I do not know anyone by that name.”

  “This is his office,” Jonathan said.

  “Sorry. No. You are mistaken.”

  Ann stepped back, wondering if she had indeed made a mistake. 508. No, this was right. She’d been here on business many times before.

  “You can see for yourself,” the man said, surprising her by stepping aside and ushering them into the office.

  He flicked on the lights. Ann crossed the threshold, feeling vaguely spooked. The woman remained by the door, her angry stare poking at Ann’s back.

  Nothing was the same. The walls wore paper instead of paint. The furniture was new, sleek and expensive. Chow had kept the place littered with cheap folding chairs.

  “What the hell!” Ann murmured aloud.

  “We have been here for over ten years,” the man volunteered. “And I do not know any Edmund Chow.”

  Ann dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. But when she looked again, nothing had changed. She took another step, then two, looking around for some piece of stationery, some toy sample … something that was as it should be.

  “You might have the wrong place,” Jonathan said from behind her.

  “The heck I do.”

  Before either could resist, the woman took both their arms and propelled them out of the office and into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them.

  “Where are you going?” Ann demanded when Jonathan hurried ahead and buzzed for the elevator.

  “To check for his office number in the lobby.”

  That would make utter sense, Ann thought, if she had been mistaken.

  They rode the elevator to the lobby. Chow wasn’t listed on the marquee. Ann pressed a hand to her forehead. “They’re lying.”

  “Come on, Ann, why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. Why would someone plant cocaine in Patrick’s briefcase? You tell me.”

  She was rewarded when something dark settled in his eyes. Then he looked up as though he could see through five floors to Chow’s office above. “That was too easy,” he said. “Too neat.”

  Ann thought about it. The guy had just ushered them inside to prove his point … almost as though he’d expected them.

  “When you called Chow yesterday,” Jonathan said, “was it the same number as always?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess he could have moved and taken the phone number with him.”

  Something hit her. “There were two separate phones on that desk upstairs.”

  “When was the last time you were here at his office?”

  “I don’t know. Six months ago or thereabouts. Why?”

  “Chow didn’t disappear ten years ago, Ann. That guy said they’d been in the office for ten years. He offered it right up. We didn’t even have to ask.” He paused. “The son of a bitch is lying. And I bet you I know why. How much money did you give Chow?”

  Ann jerked, though on some level she’d known it all along. “The full million-five he asked for. He took our money for the doll. He took it and—and—”

  Jonathan finished when she couldn’t bring herself to spit it out. “Rabbited.”

  “All those negotiations I went through with him. Second and third year percentages. He knew all the while that it was just bullshit. He’d have my million-five and be long gone.”

  “He paid those people upstairs to cover for him.”

  They turned together, ramming shoulders. Ann slapped at the elevator button. They rode in silence back up to the fifth floor. This time Jonathan shouted when he punched his fist against the door of number 508. “Open up, damn it. Now!”

  The man did, but he kept the door on a chain. “Go away.”

  Jonathan drove his weight against the door. There was a cracking, splintering sound as the metal tore free from the wood. The man leaped back, stumbling, hollering. Then Jonathan was on the man. He grabbed him by the lapels of his suit and lifted him just enough to drive him back against the wall.

  “How much?” he demanded.

  The man started shouting in Cantonese. Telling the woman to call the police, Ann was sure. She was nowhere to be seen now.

  “Hurry.” She barely recognized her own voice.

  Jonathan thumped the man against the wall again. “He pays you to tell anyone who asks that you’ve been here for years, doesn’t he? He pays you to let him leave his phone hooked up here! Tell me and I won’t hurt you.”

  “He’ll kill me.” This came out in wretched English.

  Ann grabbed Jonathan’s arm and pulled. “That’s answer enough.” She listened for police sirens. “Please. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I want to know where the bastard is.” He shook the man. “Where’s Chow?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “How do you get the money?”

  “He wires it into my account!”

  Jonathan abruptly let the man drop. He grabbed Ann’s hand and they fled the office.

  They were on Nathan Road when the first police vehicle careened onto the street, lights flashing a sickly blue. Ann instinctively tried to duck lower.

  “They don’t know who we are,” Jonathan said. “We’re not the only Americans visiting Hong Kong.”

  Her brain was chugging, trying to work. “We should change hotels,” she said. “We need to tangle our trail in case they make inquiries.”

  He surprised her with a bark of laughter. “You’ve got a criminal mind.” Then he caught her chin, turned her face toward him, and kissed her.

  She didn’t see it coming. Something exploded behind her eyes and stars rained in her head. She brought a fist up to hit him and heard herself moan instead.

  She was mortified by her reaction. But she didn’t stop him.

  The first lick of his tongue was fast, forbidden. Then his hands were in her hair and he held her steady for an assault. Again. Deeper. He tasted dark and dangerous, like everything she feared, but Ann still wanted more. From him, this man she’d hated, wanted, through almost half her lifetime. He broke away first.

  Ann stared at him, feeling drained and electric, dazed and alive. “If you ever do that again, I’ll kill you.”

  He smiled slightly, then moved in for another kiss.

  “I mean it!” She pushed him away.

  This time, he laughed.

  CHAPTER 37

  When they finally got back to their hotel and she reached her room, Ann swiftly entered and locked the door behind her. She moved tentatively to the foot of the bed and dropped there, looking around vacantly.

  There was a courtesy bar. The cabinet faced the room, a dark glass front threaded with pretty decorative wire. And just inside was a neat little bottle of Dewar’s. The sight of it made Ann jump to her feet. Just what she needed.

  When she tried the glass door, it rattled in its frame but didn’t give. She slid her palms over the counter beneath it. It couldn’t be locked—Hong Kong hotels never locked their mini-bars. Then again, this was a new hotel, with perhaps new rules. So where was the key to the damned thing?<
br />
  Ann pressed her hands to her cheeks and fell gently to her knees. She could feel herself coming undone.

  The contract for their doll was missing and Edmund had hit the highway with the company’s money. Her vice president of finance was up on conspiracy and drug peddling charges. Her dearest friend in the world was dying. And Jonathan Morhardt had just kissed her like he wanted more.

  A crazed laugh worked its way up in her throat. Ann dropped her hands and let it take her. She would handle all of it, she thought, but she wanted a drink first.

  “One step at a time,” she whispered aloud, pushing to her feet. She’d learned a long time ago that when things got amazingly out of hand, the only thing to do was prioritize.

  The problem with Baby Talk N Glow was that it was going to take days, perhaps weeks—along with the collective minds of many people—to unravel. She’d done what she could this afternoon.

  Patrick was in Frank Ketch’s hands now—there wasn’t much she could accomplish on that score, either.

  Only God could save Felicia.

  That left Jonathan for immediate consideration, and the Dewar’s. She went to the phone and called his room.

  “Do we have keys for these contraptions?” she demanded when he answered.

  “What contraptions might you be speaking of?”

  “Some sadist locked up the Scotch.”

  “Ah. That key. I have it.”

  “You have mine?”

  “I guess I forgot to hand it over.”

  “Thanks. Very thoughtful of you.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and we’ll have that drink together. I just want to jump in the shower first. I ordered room service. It’s coming to your door. I got you a steak. Sign for it.”

  Fury at the way he spoke to her, the way he took over, hit her first. Then a wave of helplessness, something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She understood instantly that there was nothing she could do to stop him. So she decided to get cranky. “I don’t want to eat in. I want to go out.”

  “Too late. The food’s already on its way. Besides, I’ve had enough of the great polluted outdoors for one day.”

  “I don’t eat red meat.”