Authors: W.J. Stopforth
Fifteen minutes later Ryan walked into his apartment and threw his
keys on the hall table.
He felt tired. He pulled his shirt out of his jeans, and kicked his
shoes off making himself feel more comfortable.
Needing some background noise he reached for the TV remote and
punched the green
on
button, then
headed to the kitchen to make some much needed coffee.
Ryan considered everything that had happened that morning as he
prepared his coffee. He felt like he’d walked onto the set of a movie, the
whole event had been so unreal. It had been over in just a few minutes, but the
replay in Ryan’s head was now in slow motion. He kept getting flashes of the
old mans face, the sound of the gun and the sight of the dark blood slowly
spreading across the floor. Ryan shook away the thoughts.
John McIntyre had been surprisingly understanding with Ryan when he
called, considering the enormity of what it actually meant for the Bank and
it’s pristine record. John ordered
Ryan to take the rest of the day off. He would call him if the Police needed
any more information. Meanwhile John would handle the Bank’s Directors and the
media. Ryan wondered if RSG would pull his contract early, but then if he
thought about it rationally, the attempted breach was unsuccessful, the only
problem was the dead Chinese man. No one wanted a dead man on
their
hands, especially if you are a security company or a
bank.
Luckily for Ryan it was Friday and he had the luxury of the weekend
to get his head straight and then he’d be back to work as normal on Monday,
no big deal
, he thought.
Ryan finished making his coffee and headed back to the lounge. He
slumped his tired body into an armchair and picked up the remote control
increasing the volume in an attempt to block out all thoughts.
A young enthusiastic female news reporter stood with a large
microphone outside the front entrance of the Asia World Bank.
“Joining me live is Detective Inspector Lam to comment on this
mornings attempted robbery at the World Asia Bank, which resulted in the death
of an unknown gunman”. The reporter turned toward Lam as the cameraman panned
out to show the Detective and the reporter standing together. The yellow and
black police tape was still visible behind them, blocking off the bank’s main
entrance whilst the general public jostled for position behind a line of police
officers to get a better look.
“Detective Inspector Lam, Thank you for joining us. Hong Kong is
normally a very safe City. In fact in Hong Kong’s history there has never been
an attempted Bank robbery before. What can you tell us about this morning’s
events?”
The cameraman moved the camera and focused in on Detective Inspector
Sarah Lam. She looked uncomfortable, Ryan thought. She was professional looking
in her dark suit with her severe tied back hair, but her body language told him
that she was not a natural in front of the camera and was hating every minute
of it. He watched with interest now.
‘Thank you Kate”.
Lam offered a brief smile to the reporter. ”It is a highly unusual event for Hong
Kong and we are treating this case in isolation. We are still in the process of
identifying the gunman. We cannot confirm at this stage whether this was in
fact an attempted Bank robbery, but we have not ruled this out entirely.”
Lam said and then turned to face the camera directly.
“I would urge members of the public that have any information
regarding the shooting to come forward. The Bank has offered a substantial
financial reward for any information that would shed light on the identity of
the man in question as well as related information regarding the event this
morning.” Turning back to the young reporter Lam nodded signaling that she was
done. “Thank you detective Lam”. The cameraman zoomed back into the reporter as
she continued to repeat the same story again, whilst in the background, Ryan
could see Lam walking back toward the
bank and away from the camera and crowds.
Ryan shook his head. “Incredible”. He said out loud. Ryan lent back
in his chair and sipped his coffee,
they
don’t have the faintest idea where to start
, he thought.
In the background the news continued, this time from inside the
newsroom.
‘Protests erupted in Central again this morning after an
environmental bill was rejected. The controversial ‘Lights Out’ organization
have been publically lobbying local manufacturers to pay fines on environmental
waste dumped in unauthorized locations around Hong Kong and the New
Territories.
This is an ongoing campaign for the improvement of air pollution in
Hong Kong.
Their
normally high profile theatrical
protests have drawn negative support from Government officials and policy
makers over the last few months. However, their current ‘Lights Out’ campaign
enlisting major Banks, Retailers and Hotels to agree to actually switch off
their lights for eight minutes on the
eighth of August, in support of the Campaign, has started to draw Global
attention forcing officials to finally start listening.’
The TV projected still images of various dumpsites across the
territory, areas that Ryan didn’t recognize. In some of the shots it showed
industrial waste piled up high, sitting precariously on top of unkempt
landfills full to the brim with plastic, twisted metal, canisters with
hazardous signs, pools of black liquid sitting in puddles. All over flowing
into un-spoilt areas of the countryside.
Ryan hit the volume button to ‘mute’ drained his coffee and fished
into his pocket for his cigarettes.
His mobile phone rang. He picked it up to check the caller ID, lit
his cigarette and pressed the call button.
“Hi Rob’, Ryan answered in a tired voice, lazily blowing out the
cigarette smoke at the same time.
‘Ryan, I’ve just heard the news. The office is buzzing with the
story. I can’t believe what happened to you. How are you feeling? Why didn’t
you call me?’ The friendly familiar voice spoke quickly with concern and just a
trace of excitement. Ryan thought.
Ryan was happy to hear his friends voice and pleased to have a
distraction.
‘I’m fine, really I’m fine, still dazed a bit, it’s all completely surreal.’
Ryan paused not knowing how else to describe how he felt.
“ I know”, Rob interrupted, “Oh, hang on, another call’s coming
through. Listen, I have to take this. I’ll come over tonight at Eight. Take it
easy buddy.’
‘OK, but I’m not really in the.’ Click. Ryan heard the sound of the
phone being switched off before he could even finish his sentence. Ryan smiled
to himself and sighed at the thought of Rob. He was always in a hurry, like a
whirlwind, Ryan thought. He lay down on the couch and closed his tired eyes for
just a moment. Within seconds he was asleep, his breathing fitful and fast, his
cigarette burning slowly between the index and middle finger of his left hand.
The hot ash crumbled onto the floor next to him, whilst the smoke danced and spiraled,
twisting up toward the ceiling as he fell deeper into a troubled sleep.
The intercom buzzer pierced the silence waking Ryan with a start.
Blinking away the sleep, he sat upright and saw that his apartment was in pitch
dark with the exception of the brilliant glow from the silenced TV that
flickered, making shapes and shadows across his living room walls. He turned
his wristwatch toward the bright screen so that he could check the time. It was
exactly 8pm. Ryan stood up and made his way over to the intercom, switching on
lights as he went.
He pressed the button.
“Hello?”
‘
Mr
Harper’ I have
Mr
Black for you.’
Mr
Wu’s familiar voice crackled
through the speaker to Ryan.
‘Send him up, thank you
Mr
Wu’. Ryan said.
He put his door on latch, and walked back to his living room.
A few moments later Ryan heard the tell tale creak of the wooden
floorboard outside his front door, followed by the sound of the heavy Oak door
opening and footsteps entering his hallway.
“Come in Rob, I’m in the living room”. Ryan yelled in the direction
of the door.
Still in his work attire and carrying a black gym bag, Rob Black
entered looking every inch like the City banker that he was.
Sitting down heavily on the big leather armchair and dropping the bag
next to him on the floor, Rob loosened his tie with one hand and popped open
the top button of his shirt. He leaned back allowing his body to mold into soft
cushions. Without saying a word to his friend, Rob leaned over toward Ryan and
plucked his freshly lit cigarette from his fingers, and placed it straight to
his mouth. He took a long slow dramatic drag. To finish the theatrics, Rob
leaned his head back, and slowly released perfect smoke rings toward the
ceiling. Once he had finished blowing out the remainder of the smoke, he turned
his head and smiled broadly at Ryan.
‘What a day’. He said.
Rob Black was about 5’9 and portly. He had dark wavy hair and smiled
easily and often. No one would ever describe him as typically good looking, but
Rob always surprised Ryan with his success with women. He was smart with a
self-depreciating sense of humor. Most importantly, he was Ryan’s closest
friend in a City where friends became the only family you could have.
Rob had been at the bank for almost six years, an ex-pat from New
York, he was delighted when a new single playmate joined the ranks. Their motto
was always ‘
work hard, play hard’
and
they stuck to it as though their lives depended on it.
Within Ryan’s first week, he had found himself sitting next to Rob
during a compulsory and tedious, training day. They became friends from the
onset. Thrilled that Ryan was new to the City, Rob made it his sole duty to
become Ryan’s official tour guide. Before long Ryan knew all of the drinking
establishments spanning across the Island as well as Rob did. They would often
finish up their nights in Wan Chai, one of the darker districts of the social
scene. Sitting in the heart of the City, and famed for
it’s
strip clubs, happy hours and late night shows that once lured Sailors. Ryan and
Rob could frequently be found in a small smoky club, drinking whiskey,
surrounded by beautiful girls. The bars and back streets offered them a glimpse
into another time, a hint of the mysterious past of the Orient. Ryan often
imagined what it must have been like as a young Sailor coming in from the port,
excited about being in a tropical paradise, remembering the stories told whilst
at sea. Being greeted by an array of girls; all dressed in exquisite silk
Cheong Sam dresses. Not the demure kind like the traditional girls wore, with
just one small slit on one side, but the kind of dress that demanded attention.
The sleeves short and capped to show long slender olive arms with the dress
buttoned high into a mandarin collar, secured with individual fine silk knots.
The body of the fabric following the shape and contours of the figure beneath,
stopping demurely at the knees, but teasing the observer with high slits at the
sides revealing young firm tanned thighs. It was too much to resist for some
men. They would be lured easily with promises of drinks, dancing and more. Now
only snippets of the past were still visible, an old silk lantern here, a
secret covered doorway there, it felt a lot less glamorous and lot more seedy.
Neon strip lights flickered overhead, framing small door entrances with
brightly lit arrows pointing to hidden staircases. Ruby red velvet curtains,
that had seen better days, now hung heavily over windows, worn and faded with
the smell of old tobacco.
Mamma Sans
sitting on low stools with toothy grins offering pretty girls and massages,
dancing girls and drinks to anyone as they walked by. Rob and Ryan were fascinated by the
Tattoo parlors. Not brave enough to ever have one of their own, they would look
at the images that showed pictures of half naked bodies covered in intricate
tattoos of dragons and elaborate Chinese inscriptions that they couldn’t
understand. They spent many nights gracing the smoking lounges and the sleazy
and dingy back street clubs. It was a common end to their evening, tumbling out
of darkened nightclubs in fits of laughter over something that they would later
forget, squinting into the bright daylight and heading home to sleep.
‘I bought you a present, thought you might need something to calm you
down a bit.’ Rob leaned forwards and rummaged in his gym bag for a moment
before retrieving his gift. With a big smile he planted a bottle of 12-year old
Glen Fiddich Special Reserve on the glass coffee table between them.
“Perfect”, Ryan said with a smile as he stood up to fetch two glasses.
‘On the rocks or straight?’ He asked as he walked through to his kitchen.
‘Straight. Don’t ruin the amber nectar with ice.” Rob countered back,
horrified at the suggestion.
Ryan walked back through carrying two whiskey glasses. Rob was eager
to pour with the opened bottle waiting in his hand. They sat in silent
appreciation as he poured the dark amber liquid into the first glass, watching
it swirl in the bottom like liquid metal. He passed the glass to Ryan and then
filled his own.