Off to the right was a roulette table with more than a dozen Chinese crowded around it, and there were two fully-occupied blackjack tables beyond it.

  The men were busy watching the screens and the women were caught up in their mahjong games so Ray got halfway along the bar before anyone realised there was a non-Chinese in the room. One of the barmen shouted at a heavy in a black suit who was standing by the roulette table croupier. The heavy came over. He was a few inches shorter than Ray but looked like he could handle himself. ‘This is for members only,’ grunted the heavy.

  Ray smiled easily. ‘I’m only passing through,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Teddy Kang.’

  The man frowned. ‘You know Teddy?’

  ‘Yeah, I know Teddy.’

  The man scowled. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Don’t fuck me around, where is he?’

  The man grabbed Ray’s arm and tried to pull him towards the door but Ray stood rooted to the spot. The man tried harder but Ray was a good deal heavier and stronger and he didn’t budge. Ray grinned then he moved, so quickly that before the man had any idea what had happened his right arm was wedged up behind his back and he was being frogmarched to the toilets. Ray kept the hold on with his right hand and opened the toilet door with his left. He pushed the man inside and bolted the door. There was a line of urinals, a small sink with a paper towel dispenser above it, and one foul-smelling unoccupied stall. The man struggled but Ray yanked his arm up higher until he went still, then he put his foot behind the man’s right knee and pushed him down to the floor. The man yelped in pain but his cries were silenced when Ray pushed his head into the toilet and pressed the flush button. Water gushed around the man’s head and he struggled frantically but Ray’s grip was too strong. ‘Where’s Teddy Kang?’ shouted Ray. He pulled the man’s head up. ‘Where the fuck is Teddy Kang?’

  The man gasped for breath and Ray pushed his head down into the water again and held him there for twenty seconds or so, ignoring the banging on the door.

  Ray pulled the man’s head out of the toilet bowl again. The toilet had stopped flushing and the cistern was refilling. ‘I can do this all fucking day,’ said Ray. ‘Now where is Teddy Kang?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ spluttered the man. ‘Not seen him all day.’

  ‘Is he with CK Lee?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘What about Sammy Wu? Where does Sammy Wu live?’

  The man hesitated and Ray shoved his head back into the toilet and hit the flush button. The man struggled but Ray kept his face pressed into the water for a full thirty seconds before pulling him out. The man coughed and spluttered and then gasped for breath.

  ‘Where’s Sammy Wu?’

  ‘At home. Teddy worked him over pretty bad.’

  ‘Where’s home?’

  ‘Camden.’

  ‘Where in Camden?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the man. Ray started to push his head back into the toilet but the man struggled. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, and gave Ray the address.

  Ray grabbed the man by his collar and yanked him to his feet. ‘Thanks for your help,’ said Ray, then slammed the man’s dripping wet head against the tiled wall and let him slump to the floor.

  He unlocked the door and pulled it open, then cursed when he saw the four Chinese heavies waiting for him. They were all wearing ill-fitting suits and cheap shoes but unlike Jimmy Chen their stances suggested they could handle themselves. ‘I’m done here,’ said Ray. ‘Just let me on my way.’

  The four heavies didn’t move. From the look of the way they were standing, three were right-handed and one was a leftie. The leftie looked as if he favoured kicking to punching, and the man closest to him had his forward hand open telegraphing his intention to grab. The customers who weren’t sitting at the tables had moved to the far end of the room, like sheep huddling away from dogs.

  Ray reached into his jacket and pulled out his Glock. ‘I’m going,’ he said. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

  He stepped to the side, moving towards the exit. The four heavies moved with him, their eyes watchful.

  ‘Easy does it,’ said Ray. The leftie started bobbing from side to side as if he was about to attack so Ray pointed the gun at his chest. ‘Take it easy, mate,’ said Ray. ‘I’ve never seen a kung fu move yet could block a bullet.’

  A heavy had taken the opportunity to move closer and he warned him off with his gun. ‘I’m going,’ he said. ‘No harm done.’

  One of the heavies said something in Chinese and spat on the floor.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Ray. ‘But I’m the one with the gun so you’re just going to have to get over it.’

  The heavy to his left also said something and they all started to move towards him. Ray moved his gun from side to side, trying to cover them all. ‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Which one of you wants a bullet in the balls?’ he said, still moving towards the door. He had his game face on but it was clear that they weren’t buying it. And he knew why, if he did pull the trigger then the shots would be heard outside in the street and he was the intruder, he was the one with a weapon. If the cops arrived, he’d be the one hauled off to jail. But even before the cops could get there the ones that he hadn’t managed to shoot would beat him to a pulp.

  He continued to back towards the door, his finger on the trigger. ‘Let’s just call this a day, shall we? No hard feelings? Live and let live?’

  Another heavy had appeared from a side room. He was big, his shoulders straining the material of his cheap black suit. He had a black metal tube in his right hand and he flicked it out and it extended to two feet of metal. He walked confidently towards Ray, swinging the baton back and forth. Ray pointed the Glock at the man’s chest but that didn’t seem to faze him in the least. He barked something in Chinese and the leftie answered, then grinned savagely.

  Ray’s mind raced while his face stayed a blank mask. There were fifteen rounds in the clip, enough to put three bullets in each of the heavies, but being responsible for a massacre in a Chinese gambling den meant his future would be bleak to say the least. He kept the gun moving from side to side, figuring that none of them would want to be the first to take a bullet. But once he pulled the trigger it would all move into overdrive, he was sure of that.

  He couldn’t risk a look over his shoulder but he knew that he had about ten feet to go before he reached the door. At least in the hallway outside he’d have more of a chance of fighting them off because they’d have to come at him in single file.

  The big guy was holding the baton above his head and Ray was considering the merits of firing a warning shot when a bottle of Sing Tao beer arced through the air and slammed into his shoulder. Froth sprayed across his face, temporarily blinding him, and when his eyes cleared the guy with baton was lashing out. Ray jumped back but the baton caught the barrel of the Glock and sent it clattering to the floor.

  The heavy to Ray’s right kicked at his groin but Ray grabbed his ankle with his left hand and smacked him in the mouth with his right fist, sending him crashing into the wall. A second heavy threw a punch at Ray’s face but it was slow and Ray had all the time in the world to pivot on his back leg, grab the wrist and then twist it up and around so that man had no choice but to go with it. That left him with his face looking down and his right arm up in the air. Ray brought his knee up and felt the man’s nose crack and splinter. He let go of the arm and jumped back, hands close to his head.

  The big heavy with the baton swung it around and despite his bulk he was fast so all Ray could do was use his hands to block the arm. The blow knocked him back but as he moved he managed to backfist the man in the face, smashing his nose. Blood spurted down his chin but other than that the blow didn’t seem to affect him. He raised his baton again and Ray dropped and punched him several times in the solar plexus, putting all his weight behind the punches. The man grunted but stood his ground. Ray threw a final punch, this time at the man’s groin, and finally he had the satisfaction of hearing the man scream in pain.

  Ray straightened up but as he did a foot caught him the small of the back and he fell against the big man. The big man grabbed him in a bear-hug and began to squeeze. The man snarled in Ray’s face and Ray smelled stale garlic and onions. Ray drew back his head then smashed his forehead down on the man’s already broken nose. The man released his grip on Ray and Ray chopped him hard across the throat before turning around just in time to catch the leftie mid-way through a vicious kick that would have felled him if it had landed. Ray had just enough time to twist away from the kick then he swept the other man’s leg away from him. The man seemed to freeze for a second, parallel to the floor, then gravity kicked in and he hit the ground hard. Ray kicked him in the side then headed for the door. As he grabbed for the door handle he remembered the Glock but he took a quick look over his shoulder and realised there was no way he could get to it.

  He pulled open the door and ran into the hallway and down the stairs. He heard the thud of feet behind him so he stopped, turned, and punched his pursuer twice in the stomach. The man’s breath exploded from his lungs and Ray pushed him back. As the man hit the stairs Ray turned and continued to run down, taking the stairs two at a time. He threw open the door to the street and almost fell on to the pavement. Shoppers turned to look at him and he straightened up and forced a smile. There were more footsteps behind him. Ray turned again just in time to confront the last of the heavies who had produced a knife and was charging towards him, his face contorted with rage. Ray waited until the last second then pulled the door hard, smashing it into the man’s shoulder and sending him crashing against the wall. Ray pushed the door open then kicked the man between the legs with so much force that the man flew through the air and crashed into the stairs. Ray pulled the door closed and walked away, breathing slowly and evenly.

  A West Indian parking warden was standing by the BMW, tapping on his hand-held terminal. ‘You can’t park here,’ said the warden.

  ‘Yeah, but I did, didn’t I?’ said Ray. He had scraped the knuckles of his right hand and he licked them as the warden printed out a ticket and held it out. ‘You know where you can shove that,’ said Ray, pulling open the door and climbing in.

  The warden pulled up a windscreen wiper and shoved the ticket under it. ‘Doesn’t matter whether you take it or not, you have to pay,’ said the traffic warden.

  Ray scowled at him and drove off. The parking ticket wasn’t a problem. He never paid them, or speeding tickets. The car wasn’t registered in his name. It was taxed and insured through a shell company. He never held onto a car for more than three months and he bought and sold them for cash through a dealer he knew in Battersea. This one he’d be dumping by the end of the day, no matter how things played out.

  CHAPTER 26

  At twelve noon on the dot, McNamara brought the practice to an end with a long blow on his whistle. ‘Hit the showers, guys,’ he shouted. ‘We’re leaving at twelve-thirty sharp.’

  Gabe ran to the changing rooms and pulled open his locker door. He grabbed at his phone. One missed call, from Ray. He stabbed at the screen and listened to the brief message that Ray had left, then called him back. McNamara came into the changing rooms as the phone was ringing out and he pointed an accusatory finger at him. ‘That’s five hundred quid, Gabe. You know the rules.’

  ‘Joe, this is important.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said the coach. ‘No phones in the changing rooms. Manager’s rules.’

  ‘It’s a stupid rule,’ said Gabe.

  ‘Take it up with the boss,’ said McNamara. ‘Me, I think he’s right. Now’s the time to be focussed on the game.’

  Gabe put his phone back in the locker. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Gabe opened his mouth and was about to give McNamara a piece of his mind, but then he got a grip on himself and forced a smile. There was no point in antagonising the coach and he was right, they were the manager’s rules. ‘Just feeling the pressure, Joe. I’ve never been captain before.’ He took off his boots and put them in his kitbag, then sat down and ran his hands through his hair.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ said McNamara. ‘The guys look up to you. The role could have been yours irrespective of Eric going walkabout.’

  Gabe nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I mean it, Gabe. You’ve always been an asset to this team, not just as a bloody good player but as a calming influence for the younger lads as well. They listen to you. They respect you.’

  Gabe looked up and smiled, and this time he meant it. ‘Thanks, Joe.’

  McNamara patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’m not blowing smoke up your arse, Gabe. I mean it.’ He jerked a thumb at the showers. ‘Now get showered and we’ll be on our way.’

  McNamara went over to talk to Second Assistant Coach Martin Jessop, a grey-haired former England winger who was the longest serving member of the coaching staff. The two men stood by the door and there was no way that Gabe could take out his phone without them seeing him, so he stripped off his kit, grabbed a towel and headed to the showers.

  CHAPTER 27

  Teddy Kang and Billy Huang were sitting on a low grey leather sofa, their feet up on a marble coffee table as they watched the large screen TV mounted above an ornate fireplace. They had helped themselves to a bottle of brandy and two balloon glasses, taking care to choose a bottle from inside the drinks cabinet rather than one of the expensive brands on display. They weren’t expecting CK Lee to return any time soon and they figured they had earned a drink.

  On the screen, two former footballers were discussing the upcoming Chelsea match against a backdrop of the stadium. Huang waved his glass at the screen. ‘Did you put a bet on?’

  Kang grinned. ‘Be stupid not to. You?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘You weren’t sure? How could you not be sure? You know who’s going to win.’ He shrugged. ‘Up to you.’ There was a bowl of shelled peanuts on the table and Kang leaned over and grabbed a handful.

  ‘What happens afterwards,’ asked Huang.

  ‘Kang frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Huang gestured up at the ceiling. ‘When the game’s over. What happens to them?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s up to CK.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll want us to kill them?’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

  ‘I think he’ll want us to kill them.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Kang. He looked across at Huang. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘I’ve never killed a woman or a kid.’

  Kang looked at the television and sipped his brandy. ‘It’s no different to killing a man. Killing’s killing. Same as eating. Do you care how old the cow was when you eat a steak? Meat’s meat.’

  They sat in silence for more than a minute, watching the television and sipping their brandy, before Huang spoke again. ‘Have you?’

  Kang kept his eyes on the screen. ‘Have I what?’

  ‘Killed a woman? Or a kid?’

  Kang held his hand out, showing Huang the two tattoos. ‘The seven I killed in China. One was a woman. One was a boy.’ He shrugged and took back his hand. ‘It was no big thing.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Kang sighed. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Because I want to know what it’s like.’

  Kang sipped his brandy again. He kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke. ‘It was about a year before I left Shenzhen. Someone had stolen money from Yung Jaw-Lung. A couple of million Hong Kong dollars. He knew it was one of three men who worked for him. But he didn’t know which one it was. So we worked them over, for days. No one talked. The one who’d done it knew that if he confessed, he was dead. So no one confessed. No matter what we did to them. And we did a lot.’ He took another drink before continuing, in a low, dull monotone. ‘So Yung Jaw-Lung tells us to get their wives and children. They had one each. One child policy. Two had sons, one had a daughter. We lined the wives up and Yung Jaw-Lung tells the men that if one of them doesn’t confess, all three of the women will die. But if the culprit confessed, all three women would be spared.’ He shrugged. ‘No one confessed.’

  ‘So you killed them?’

  ‘I killed one of them. There were three red poles. I was the youngest, still making a name for myself.’

  ‘And how did you kill her?’

  Kang made a throat-cutting gesture with his hand.

  ‘And the kids?’ asked Huang, fiddling with his jade ring. Kang recognised it as a sign of nervousness. Huang always played with the ring when he had something on his mind.

  Kang shrugged. ‘Yung Jaw-Lung had us line the kids up in front of the men. He told them the same thing. If the culprit confessed, the kids would live. If he didn’t.’ He shrugged.

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘No confessions. So the kids died.’

  ‘You used the knife again?’

  Kang nodded. ‘One clean cut.’

  ‘And that didn’t worry you?’

  Kang shrugged, his eyes still on the screen. ‘Meat’s meat.’

  The two men drank in silence for a while, but Huang had more questions. ‘So who stole the money?’

 

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