Page 70 of The Killer’s Mark

‘I don’t think they’re stupid enough to mount something in the middle of Carlisle, but Highwood’s pretty isolated.’

‘Agreed. You want overt or covert surveillance?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘Covert it is then. Having a scrap with a bunch of Bruce Lee wannabes will let the boys vent some of that pent-up anger.’

‘Who you gonna use?’

‘Best you don’t know,’ Towler said. ‘But rest assured they’re fucking animals. Half of them still eat with their feet.’

‘You’re like an urban poet,’ Esmerée said.

They discussed some arrangements, but most of it was left unsaid. Towler would do what he thought best.

‘Cheers, Matt. Speak soon.’

Towler said, ‘Wizard.’

Chapter 57

The Chinese restaurant had its own car park. It was empty. Poe didn’t bother with a bay; he parked in the middle. Somewhere he couldn’t be rushed. The restaurant was a sandstone brick building, a far cry from the reds and golds of Newcastle’s Chinatown but it fitted in with Hexham’s old-fashioned market town vibe. The interior was washed in darkness. Poe and Esmerée got out of the car. Poe walked to the restaurant’s back door. The service entrance. Tried the handle. It was locked. He was about to knock when it opened. It was the old man from the Szechuan Palace. He beckoned Poe and Esmerée inside. Shut the door behind them.

He gestured for them to follow him.

A table had been set up in the middle of the restaurant floor. Candles. A pot of tea. Four cups. The old man pulled out a seat for Esmerée. Did the same for Poe. He took a seat for himself then picked up the pot.

‘Green tea,’ he said. ‘Perfect for someone who has finished the Royal Banquet. Aids digestion.’

‘It was a lovely meal,’ Poe said. ‘Thank you.’

‘This is a bitter tea, young lady. Would you like me to add some honey?’

‘I hate the stuff,’ Esmerée said. ‘My mom sickened me to it. She loved that shit. Absolutely loved it. Put it on her toast and everything.’

‘I’ll cancel the beehive I’ve ordered for your birthday,’ Poe told her.

‘You understand why I couldn’t talk in the Szechuan Palace?’ the old man said.

Poe noticed his accent had completely disappeared. No more bloody this and bloody that.

‘I do,’ he said. ‘The triads might not be welcome in your restaurant, but they do exist. There’s no point antagonising them.’

‘And you understand why I bought you lunch?’

‘I do now. It was to give you time to arrange this meeting.’ Poe pointed at the fourth cup. ‘I assume someone is joining us? Perhaps someone who’s checking we weren’t followed?’

‘Your business card says “gumshoe”, Mr Poe,’ the old man said. ‘But you still act and talk like a police officer.’

‘You’ve researched me?’

He nodded.

‘Then you know.’

The old man offered Poe his hand. Poe took it. It was dry, leathery and strong. ‘My name is Xiang.’

‘And mine is Washington, but everyone calls me Poe.’