CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

Swept along by the strong hands and incessant jabbering of Kojo Selassie, Aiguo had little chance of escape. He had tried his best to slip away, but Selassie would have none of it. Throwing back his huge bald head as laughter boomed out with every excuse that Aiguo could muster.

"No, no, Aiguo my friend! I have travelled far today without a companion. You and I must share a drink. You can keep me company until cantankerous old Mr Liu shows up."

As they walked from the small delivery area at the rear of the park, where Selassie had left the security guard standing to attention and quaking in his boots; protecting his delivery, on pain of death if he moved, Aiguo desperately sought a way out of the mess he was caught up in.

He had always suspected something to be wrong with the Hangzhou Wildlife Sanctuary and it was only the desperate and jobless situation that he had found himself in, that had brought him to work here in the first place. But now that he knew the full extent of what was going on, he felt sick to the stomach.

The Hangzhou Wildlife Sanctuary, under the direction of Mr Liu, was using its legal status and privileged position, to farm and butcher tigers, both captive and wild; then sell on the various parts of the bodies, expertly butchered by Aiguo himself, in the name of medicine. Oh indeed, they did breed these highly endangered creatures and display them for the public to gawp at from behind rusted cages and high concrete walls. But not to save the species from extinction. It was to line their own pockets with cash. From what he had seen in the back of the lorry and from what he had heard during his two days of work at the park, Aiguo was certain that there was much more going on behind the scenes, and he didn't want to be a involved with or know about any of it.

Only one organisation in the whole of China could run illegal activities such as this. They were feared and avoided by everyone; tough and merciless men who used that fear, and violence, to achieve their goals. They were organised, ruthless and as ancient as China itself. Aiguo broke into a sweat just thinking about the triads.

He had not yet been inside the office of Mr Liu, but when Kojo Selassie bulled past the protesting secretary and entered, Aiguo could only stand gaping in the doorway. In stark contrast to the drab and run-down buildings of the rest of the park, Mr Liu's office was nothing short of opulent. It was spacious and exquisitely decorated with the finest of artwork and antique furniture. Kojo seemed at home and familiar in his surroundings and made his way directly to one corner of the room, where a small bar had been laid out in the style of an American diner. Tall shiny chrome stools sat beneath a wide wooden worktop, and behind it, the wall was covered with bottles of alcohol – optics attached and ready for service. In the centre sat a bulbous golden handle with a tap beneath it and Selassie was already pulling his second pint of beer before Aiguo recovered enough to respond.

"Aiguo! Pick your jaw up from the ground man! Come, take this drink and relax!"

In a daze, Aiguo walked over to him, pulled up a stool at the bar and accepted the glass of beer being thrust into his hands. Kojo picked up his own, clinked their glasses together, causing Aiguo's to spill onto his shaking hand, and downed it before Aiguo had even taken a sip. Kojo then poured himself another as the secretary bustled into the room.

"Mr Selassie, I'm very sorry but Mr Liu is not here yet. I would be grateful if you could wait outside until he arrives. He will be here shortly and I ..."

"Nonsense! If Mr Liu wants what I have to offer, then I'm sure he won't mind extending me the courtesy of a cool beverage while I wait! I have travelled across half of China to make this delivery personally! Mr Chang here has very kindly offered to keep me company until he arrives."

Kojo then commenced draining his glass of beer as the secretary shot Aiguo a look that would have soured milk. He was about to open his mouth to protest when the secretary cut him short.

"Then please make yourself comfortable along with Mr Chang . Mr Liu will be arriving shortly with business associates. I believe they have a meeting planned."

"Excellent!"

Kojo wiped the froth from his beard and fixed a wide grin to his face once more as the secretary left the room. But the door had only just closed when the smile turned to a grimace, as he made his way over to a set of armchairs at the far side of the room and indicated for Aiguo to follow.

In this section, the floor had been tiled with marble and two huge leather chairs sat either side of a tiger skin rug which had been laid out on the floor. At one point, it had been a Bengal Tiger of exceptional size. Its head was still intact and the teeth showing clearly; forever with a snarl of anger and defiance on its face. Aiguo stared down at it, picturing the magnificent animal it must have been before it was ruthlessly gunned down in its prime. He briefly wondered if it was Mr Liu who had placed the killing shot, before he quickly dismissed the notion.

Kojo Selassie must have been watching him and interrupted his thoughts, pointing a thick finger down at the rug.

"A magnificent specimen. It was the first of many I have sold to old Liu."

Aiguo looked up and it was Kojo's turn now to stare down at the rug by his feet. His eyes sparkled and a smile played on his face before he spoke again.

"We're in this game a long time, old Liu and I. Now these triad thugs come along and want their share for nothing! Well, the money they bring is one thing, but it cannot continue. There are only so many tigers in this world. I can't just magic them up!"

His eyes flicked back to Aiguo, and Kojo took a long deep breath, studying the man before him.

"What do you know about these things I speak of, Aiguo?"

"Very little. I am just a simple man."

"And so am I! But there is rich and simple, or there is poor and simple. Which would you rather be?"

Aiguo did not reply and averted his gaze from Kojo back down to the rug. That was a question he had been asking himself a lot lately and he was ashamed of the truthful answer.

"Have you met Meizhen Chen before? She is a vision of beauty, you will see, but as deadly as the tigers she so desperately craves. They say she commands hundreds of triad soldiers and has ordered the deaths of thousands of souls already in her short life. She will take your breath away!"

Aiguo wanted to scream. He wanted to tell Kojo Selassie that he had heard enough. He wanted to run from this awful place before Mr Liu arrived with a criminal and murderer, and before they discussed the business of farming and poaching tigers for profit. He didn't want to know any more. He wanted to return to his wife and children to live a simple life in peace.

But before he could say or do anything, the door swung open and in walked Mr Liu. Aiguo's heart sank. Behind his employer walked a woman of exceptional beauty. Her hair was long and black, flowing down to a thin waistline at the top of long slender legs. She wore a traditional Chinese dress of red which clung to the tight curves of her body as she moved. She was flanked on either side by hard and cruel looking men.

# # #

Less than twenty four hours since his friend had been murdered, Dan Harpur was back at the scene of the crime. He was angry and irritable, having spent the night drinking; much heavier drinking than usual, in a vain attempt to push the haunting images of Michael's death from his mind. He hadn't slept, he hadn't spoken to anyone and he had only stopped when there was nothing left to drink and the sun had eventually risen; heralding a new era in his life, a new low plunging him further into despair and depression.

When the police eventually responded to the shooting, arriving at the scene in a flurry of blue lights and sirens, they had found Dan cradling his friend on the floor of the shop; rocking back and forth in a repetitive fashion, eyes closed and oblivious to their commands. By that stage, Dan had already reached a comatose type state, blocking out reality and all the pain it had to offer.

Dan's initial account of events, written down by the investigators, would now be pored over by teams of detectives, who would scrutinise every word for its accuracy and truth. They would compare it to the accounts of others - witnesses, police, CCTV and eventually the suspects, if ever they were found. The whole process could take weeks, months or even years. He knew little of the police and their procedures, but as they shepherded him away from the shop and sealed it neatly up in crime scene tape, how long the investigation into Michael's death might take was hot on their lips.

Dan would deny the bastards who did this that time to escape. Procedure be damned. There was no way he was taking a back seat on this one.

He stood now, although somewhat unsteadily, at the edge of the tape, peering over it into the shop. He could see that Michael's body had been removed and a series of yellow evidence markers now traced the outline of where he had fallen. People in plain white coveralls with paper masks over their mouths swept the floor on their hands and knees, searching for evidence. Evidence? The men who killed Michael were Chinese, one so distinguishable that a blind man on a galloping horse could recognise him. He had told them so - but it seemed evidence was much more important.

Michael now lay on a stainless steel slab at the mortuary in Belfast, with a silly plastic identity tag tied to his toe. His wife and family would be coming to terms with the shock of what happened and be on their way to identify the body. Soon after that the pathologist would set to work with his scalpel and saws, to officially establish the "cause of death".

Dan did not require the pathologists report. In fact, he didn't even want to think about it. His friend had been gunned down in cold blood whilst trying to protect him - right before his eyes, by three triad gangsters. One with a dragon tattoo on his neck.

He moved position to look further into the shop and noticed that everything remained as it had been. He could see the jar that Michael had been sniffing, miraculously still stood on the shelf beside where he had fallen. It was one of the only items not to have been shattered or destroyed in the hail of bullets.

The two friends wouldn't be discussing it, as they probably should have, over a pint of Guinness in The Crown Bar tonight. Michael would no longer make him laugh with his stupid stories and politically incorrect impersonations of various people they had met during the day and over the years. Michael was gone.

As he stood there, swaying slightly, craning his neck for a better look into the shop, with nowhere else to go but back to his flat to continue drinking himself into oblivion, a policewoman approached from the far side of the tape. She stood in front of him, blocking his view and shaking her head.

"Move along please. This isn't entertainment."

Dan looked at her. He couldn't remember her face from the day before and she certainly didn't recognise him. A colleague walked over to join her, and with nothing to say and not wanting to engage, he turned away, but her parting comment cut him to the bone.

"Nothing better to do all day but watch professionals work. Bloody drunk!"

He paused, swallowing down anger and humiliation. He looked down at his shaking hands, then to the stains from drink and dirt on his unwashed clothing. He let a slow cold fury build up inside him. He closed his eyes and sucked in deep breaths of the brisk autumn air to calm himself.

What had he become? What would Michael say?

After a while, Dan shuffled over to Clements Café. Strong coffee might clear his head. Enough to think straight at least.