THE NEXT MORNING, RAYMOND WOKE UP ON THE couch, body hot and hemorrhaging sweat. The curtains were open, and the sun blazing through the naked French window was frying him like a bug under a magnifying glass.
A blinding pain shot through his skull when he tried to sit up. He clutched his head, glaring at the source of his present misery: an empty scotch bottle by his feet. His brain wandered in a fog, slowly recalling events from the day before that had culminated in profound inebriation.
Suddenly, he stood up.
The police. Wu.
A few minutes later, he was racing through the front door, one arm inserted in his shirtsleeve, the other sleeve hanging loose. He finished dressing himself in the lift. On the ground floor, he walked briskly through the lobby, waving to the concierge hunched behind the desk.
After exiting the building, he joined the street that would have been splattered with his remains had he jumped the previous night. It ran halfway up Victoria Peak, snaking west toward the city as it followed the contours of the hill. Lanky condos rose sharply on either side before leveling off to long, squat blocks with a string of small businesses on the ground floor: estate agents, maid agencies, convenience stores.
Raymond walked briskly along the narrow pavement, skirting pools created by dripping air conditioners. A woman was approaching him: a Filipino amah, walking a grey poodle. The leash was spooled in one of her hands, and the other hand clutched a rolled-up newspaper for scooping up dog shit. Her face was obscured by a pale-green surgical mask. When she saw Raymond, she crossed to the footpath on the other side of the road.
He turned and looked at her, then shrugged and carried on. A short while later, he entered the humming mouth of the Central–Mid-Levels escalator: a series of walkways that dipped sharply between the skinny residential blocks of Mid-Levels, flew over the shops and bars of Soho, and deposited commuters in the business district. The system was encased in a long glass tube with metal ribs, which caused Raymond to liken the journey to being ingested by a snake: eaten at one end, shat out the other.
It was before ten a.m. The escalator was going down. He stood on a step and held on to the handrail, head lowered to avoid looking at the overhead cameras.
Adjacent to the escalator was a set of stairs. An overweight family of four was laboring up the steps, the father in front, followed by two boys and then the mother trailing behind. All four of them stopped at the same time and wiped their foreheads. Sweat dripped from their noses onto their masks. They were wearing masks, all of them.
Raymond turned around, continuing to stare as he passed them. A few moments later, he stepped off the escalator and emerged onto the street near Soho Square. He stood and gaped.
The torrent of humanity at the busy five-way junction was foaming with masked faces: office workers in business shirts, laborers in undershirts, women in short dresses, women in suits, women haggling at fruit stalls, old ladies pushing scrap-laden trolleys, old men snoozing in the shade of the overpass, millionaires and chauffeurs, shopkeepers and waiters, illegally parked truck drivers, jaywalkers. Just about everyone’s face was obscured by a piece of fabric, tied behind their ears.
Raymond blinked to confirm that he wasn’t in the midst of a bizarre apocalyptic dream. Then he darted to a nearby cafe. The customers, most of whom looked like tourists, were all glued to the plasma screen on the wall. Plates of breakfast on the tables lay untouched, coffee cups steaming away. The TV was turned to the news.
“DEADLY VIRUS HITS HONG KONG,” the caption ran over the picture of a glum-looking anchorwoman in a grey suit. The sound was turned up.
“Panic is spreading in the city following reports of a lethal virus outbreak. Over one hundred patients with pneumonia-like symptoms have been admitted to Prince of Wales Hospital, all of whom are believed to live in the same housing estate in Kowloon Bay. The authorities have quarantined the estate in a bid to stem the spread of infection. Schools have been ordered to close in the area. Anyone with a high fever has been asked to report to a hospital immediately. But experts are saying that it might be too late to contain the virus, which seems to be more infectious than avian flu …”
Raymond raced out of the cafe before the bulletin finished. On the pavement, he waved to a taxi, beseeching it to stop, but the driver ignored him. He craned his neck, looking up and down the street in search of another cab. Not a single red-and-silver chassis in sight. He broke into a run, using the full stretch of his long legs to propel his body forward. At the bottom of the hill, he stopped at a pharmacy on Queen’s Road. Less than ten minutes later, he entered the gates of Central Station, his face behind a mask to blend in with the crowd.
A train was waiting on the platform. He jumped through the closing doors, bumping into a man, who glared at the physical contact and moved away.
The empty platform rushed away in the window as the train gathered speed. Raymond clung to a pole for support. The metal was cold in his hand. Soon they were in the black of the tunnel. Without doors between compartments, the train was a long cave of brushed chrome that constantly shifted shape. Bodies swayed this way and that as the train snaked through the subterranean passage. Masks erased faces, so all Raymond saw were eyes: discs in anxious shades of brown and black, looking here and there but never at each other.
Then all of a sudden, a sneeze a few meters away, an explosion of biological ordnance. Bodies in the immediate vicinity moved hurriedly to avoid the infinitesimal shrapnel of germs. Faces turned so pale that they blended with the masks that covered them. Raymond had never seen terror like this, not even on the eve of a grade-eight typhoon.
The train stopped. Doors opened. Doors closed. The train moved. The panic eased, but the fear remained, hands gripping handlebars tightly, eyes gazing anxiously at the transit map above the door. The red light on the map indicated they were under Victoria Harbour, somewhere between Admiralty and Tsim Sha Tsui. There wasn’t a soul there that couldn’t wait to get out of the fast-moving germ trap. Raymond was glad he was wearing a mask for another reason: it was concealing a smile.
Thank God I didn’t jump.
TRAFFIC ON CANTON Road had thinned to a trickle of cars. Raymond entered the mall, deserted like the street outside. The sound of his footsteps racing down the corridor drowned out the pipe music. He arrived at the office through a side door. Lim Wei was talking to someone on the phone. As soon as he saw Raymond, he muttered something and hung up.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” He frowned.
“We need to have a meeting. Where’s Yau?” Raymond asked, ignoring the disapproving tone.
“Yau quit. Said he’d had enough. Frankly, I feel the same.”
“Quit? Now? Are you out of your mind?” Raymond cried. “Have you seen the panic out there? All you have to do is sneeze and people think they’re going to die. We’ll never get a better opportunity to sell our product.”
“Are you involved with gangsters?”
Raymond gaped. “What? Where did you hear that nonsense? That journalist? How can you believe her? After all she’s tried to do to us.” His voice was high with feigned indignation. “Forget her. Forget the police. Forget everything that happened yesterday. Today’s a beautiful day. Today, we’ve discovered an oil well in our backyard. It’s gushing in high fountains, and you want to walk away just because of some lies that bitch wrote? Don’t do this to yourself, Lim Wei. Don’t do it.” Despite his efforts to keep calm, desperation had entered his voice.
Lim Wei picked up the phone.
“Who’re you calling?”
“The lawyer said I should turn you in.”
Raymond’s heart seized.
“So you’re trying to cut yourself a deal? Go ahead,” he said calmly. “Make the call. When they arrest me, I’ll tell them everything: how this was actually your idea and you asked me to run it, because you thought I was a better front man.”
Lim Wei slammed down the phone. “That’s a bloody lie.”
“Truth is nothing but a lie well sold. And let’s face it, Lim Wei, you’re a man of many strengths, but selling isn’t one of them. Trust me, I’ll have no problem convincing them about my version of the story. Especially when it’s your pretty little autograph on all important documents, not mine. And if the police don’t buy it, don’t you worry”—Raymond looked under his fingernails, then looked up—“It’ll be easy to convince my gangster buddies. Boy. I don’t think they’ll like hearing you lost their money.”
Lim Wei blanched. Raymond smiled. There was something undeniably thrilling about making a man twice your size shake in his boots.
“You’re a cunt,” Lim Wei hissed.
“So are you, Lim Wei. So are you. Only I’m better at it than you are.”
“What about the staff?” Lim Wei snorted. “Half of them want to quit. The other half are scared shitless. Are you going to threaten them, too?”
“Of course not. That’s your job.”
IN THE CONFINES of the waiting area, fifty-odd staff members gathered in a close huddle as if posing for a company photo. Except no one was smiling.
A trail of whispers greeted Raymond when he arrived. He walked past frowning faces, avoiding eye contact with anyone. He hated crowds. Unlike individuals, they were hard to manipulate. To control them, you needed to be big or loud, and he was neither. So he left it to Lim Wei, who was both.
The murmurings in the room ceased when Lim Wei stepped forward and cleared his throat.
“A lot’s happened in the last twenty-four hours,” he addressed the gathering in a somber voice. “I’m sure you want to know what’s going on. That’s why we’ve taken the extraordinary step of convening this all-staff meeting, to answer your questions. Set your doubts to rest. But before that, our chief would like to say a few words.”
He turned to Raymond, gesturing for him to speak.
Raymond looked at him, confused. What are you doing? This is your job, Raymond said with his eyes. Lim Wei responded with a sly smile. That’s when it struck Raymond:
Faced with no choice, he stepped forward to speak. He could sense a change in the mood as he took over from Lim Wei. Faces hardening, mouths curling openly with contempt. He’d lost their respect after running away like a common criminal the day before, he realized. But he needed to put that behind him.
He straightened his back and expanded his chest in an attempt to pump some authority into his posture.
“There’s an old saying: envy is the greatest measure of success,” he said. “When you do well, people want to bring you down. They spread nasty lies. Accuse you of all sorts of things. That newspaper article you saw yesterday was a prime example. The journalist who wrote it hates us because we didn’t give her a job. So forget about her. Forget about that article. That’s history. Let’s talk about the future. Let’s talk about—”
“Why were the police here?” someone in the front row interrupted.
Before he could answer, another question was hurled at him.
“Why were you running away if you were innocent?”
He turned to answer that but was overwhelmed by a machine-gun fire of questions, strafing him from all directions.
“Are you involved with gangsters?”
“What about customers wanting their money back?”
“Is it true that we’re bankrupt?”
“Are we closing down?”
“Closing down? I haven’t been paid yet.”
“I’m not risking the virus for this shit.”
“Yeah, me too. Pay us now.”
“Pay us now. Pay us now. Pay us now. Pay us now …”
They chanted in unison, clapping hands, thumping feet. Raymond looked on helplessly as the meeting descended into a farce. Finally, he turned to Lim Wei, who was watching the proceedings, looking smug.
“You made your point. Now can you please take over?” Raymond pleaded.
Lim Wei nodded. Next moment, his voice shook the branch. “SHUT UP. SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU.”
“What’s the matter with you assholes?” Lim Wei shouted to a room full of bowed heads. “I thought you were smart. I thought you wanted to make money, better your lives. Seems I was wrong. The boss wants to talk to you about a golden opportunity, and all you can do is whine like a bunch of sissies. Pay us now. Pay us now …” he mocked. “What the fuck’s that about? If you want to be like that, there’s the door. Get out. Right now. Forget getting paid; I’m going to fuck each one of you in the ass for breaking your contract. So, who wants to leave?”
Not a muscle moved in the room. A pack of hyenas a few moments earlier, now a litter of cowering pups. Raymond nodded in admiration.
“Now the boss is going to talk. Unless you have something useful to say, keep your goddamn mouths shut. Understood?”
“They say the virus out there attacks the lungs,” Raymond said. “But I say it’s going to infect the brain first. With panic. When the body count goes up, so will the fear. We’re looking at the opportunity of a lifetime to market our product. But like all opportunities, you need to seize it with both hands. Give me the next few weeks of your life. In return, I’ll make you all rich. Fifteen percent.”
The mention of the figure evoked a trail of gasps. Even Lim Wei looked astonished.
“Yes. Fifteen percent,” Raymond repeated. “If this goes as well as I think it will, some of you will be making hundreds of thousands. Maybe even millions. But we have to act now.”
Murmurs of excitement broke out in the room. A man in the front row gingerly raised his hand. Lim Wei moved to silence him, but Raymond gestured for him to speak up.
“I agree the virus is a great marketing opportunity, but we can also die from it,” said the man.
“Don’t worry, we’re going to make the premises completely germ-free. Surfaces will be cleaned and disinfected every hour. While in the office, each one of you will be required to wear masks and gloves, and maintain social distancing. We’ll take your temperature regularly. If you feel remotely unwell, you’ll be sent home. We’re going to take over the hotel upstairs. That’s where you’ll be sleeping after work, to eliminate your chances of catching the virus on public transport. All meals and drinks will be catered.”
“But what if a sick customer comes to the bank?” the man asked.
“Customers won’t be coming here. We’re going to encourage them to bank online or phone in. That way, they don’t have to risk coming out and catching the virus, either.”
The man nodded, looking satisfied with the answer. Raymond scanned the audience for more questions. But there weren’t any. The room buzzed with a new energy, everyone keen to just get on with it.
Lim Wei clapped his hands twice. “Okay, let’s get to work. Let’s make some money.”
The crowd dissipated back to their seats. Lim Wei and Raymond didn’t exchange words till they were behind a closed door in the back office.
“Fifteen percent. That’s rather generous,” Lim Wei remarked.
Raymond shrugged. “If I’m asking them to take a risk, I have to make it worth their while.”
“You need to make it worth my while, too. I want Yau’s share plus another ten percent.”
“Better. Much better.” Raymond smiled. “When I’m down, I don’t mind people using it to their financial advantage, but I can’t stand being betrayed. Yau’s share plus five percent. Now, how soon can we get a commercial on air?”