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“You can’t go to any of our sites,” said Aileen.
“I’ll go bush with Bo. A week, ten days, but that’s it. Whatever’s happening then, I’m coming back to work.”
Aileen looked relieved, and Pete was pacified. Will pulled his phone out and called Bo. They’d go visit Bo’s village, like he’d always wanted him to do. It was remote, difficult to get to, and the last place anyone with a camera or a recording device would look for him. It would give him time to think, clear his head properly of distractions and get his focus back on. Because when the dust settled there’d be a new plan, and there’d be no running.
20. Captured
“Never give a sword to a man who can't dance.” — Confucius
Bo brought the four-wheel drive and a face full of little boy on a big adventure to the parking garage under Pete’s apartment at 4am. He’d packed it with camping gear, groceries and a bag full of Will’s knockabout clothing. Will spied a fishing rod and Bo’s harp, and in the face of the older man’s excitement, felt his anxiety start to settle like the silk over the steel of a harp string.
He ditched Pete’s dressing gown for jeans with the knees ripped out of them, a t-shirt and hiking boots.
Let the hacks stand in the sun all day waiting to see if he’d show. He’d be kilometres away, working the kinks out of his neck, the flex out of his business strategy, and the girl out of his senses.
“Fifteen minutes at the temple and then out of here,” he said, as Bo slammed the tailgate shut.
Bo looked momentarily unhappy about that. “I’ll keep the engine running.”
Will grinned. “Deal.”
The temple on Wen Miao Street was the closest thing Will had to a spiritual home. Yet strictly speaking it wasn’t even a temple because Confucius was a secular leader, not a god. But his philosophy of personal and government morality, correctness in relationships, justice and sincerity appealed to the pragmatist in Will. Since basing himself in Shanghai he’d started coming here to be still, to reflect and to think. Something about the quiet, the contained purposefulness of the people who visited, and the sheer oriental novelty of it helped him stay focused.
He only wanted a quick visit before they kicked the city. To light a stick of incense, to watch the favours tied to the big rubber plant flutter in the pre-dawn light. He liked to think people who left their wishes, written on paper inked with Confucius’ image and tied in red ribbon to the tree, got what they needed in life. Good marks in an exam, a promotion at work, a financial windfall, a much wished for pregnancy.
He’d been blessed with so much more than he needed, and on a day when that fact was clouded by trouble, he needed the reminder. He wasn’t religious, but Confucius was a cool dude, a scholar and a businessman, and Will could relate to his philosophy of order and peace, compassion and loving others. That, and he’d read Confucius copped a beating as a kid, so the bearded one felt like his people.
He watched the favours flutter in the breeze. He breathed in the sweet incense, and kept an eye on his watch. Bo would do more than quote real and made up Confucianism’s at him if he was late.
At 4.30am, exactly fifteen minutes after Bo dropped him outside the big red doors of the Da Cheng gate with their bronze dragon knockers, he made his way back to the street. But no Bo, no dragon sized car with its throaty purr. He looked about. This was odd, but maybe Bo had forgotten something he thought they needed. There was no one about and the light was still grey so it wasn’t a problem to wait. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled. Bo’s phone rang out.
Will had known Bo for ten years. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d not picked up before the fourth ring. Even in the middle of the night. Even when it was least expected. A prickle of doubt made him clench his jaw. But the man would jump off the Lupu Bridge before he’d do anything to inconvenience Will.
He shook his head. Bo was probably scouring the city for somewhere to get good coffee at his hour. He turned to go back into the temple and a man appeared on his right. He gave a polite nod and the man nodded back, but instead of keeping a respectful distance, the man started towards him.
It’d taken Will a while to get used to the difference in the concept of personal space in Asia. Back home arms-length away was crowding. In Shanghai, someone would try to build an apartment block in that space. Still, it was annoying to find the only other person on the street wanted to walk right beside him.
At the gate he hesitated, dropped back to let the other man go ahead. The man hesitated too. He had busy eyes, darting around. He had one hand shoved inside a coat it was too warm to be wearing.
Will sensed the danger when it was almost too late to do anything about it. This bloke was a pickpocket
or a standover man, and Will was his designated victim. Ironic. He looked like a bum this morning. He hadn’t shaved. He wasn’t carrying a wallet or wearing jewellery. Not even a Shanghai cutthroat would be interested in his old Tag.
He put both hands up to show he wasn’t a threat. To show he was onto the game. He said, “What do you want? I don’t have any money,” in Shanghainese, repeating it in Cantonese.
He was aware of a movement behind him. Another man, more than one? This was a beat down. Where the fuck was Bo?
The first man revealed the shortened wooden Kung Fu practice sword he was carrying. The Chinese urban equivalent of a sawn-off shotgun. At least it wasn’t a blade. There were definitely three men. Was this random, or did they know who he was? All he needed was a TV news crew to pull up and yesterday’s scandal would be the warm-up to today’s disaster.
He had a decision to make. Buying his way out of trouble wasn’t possible unless Bo showed up in the next ten seconds. Talking himself out of trouble was even less likely when it was three to one. He hadn’t been in a physical fight for years. The smart thing to do would be to take the beating and hope they got bored quickly or Bo arrived to scare them off. But if they’d gotten to Bo first, he could end up being thoroughly hurt here. There were two other options. Make a run for it, and hope he was faster, or take the fight to them.
He was fit and they might not expect him to attack first. The odds weren’t great but his adrenaline was pumping, and he’d never been a fan of running from trouble. Thug number one had the sword, he had no idea what weapons thugs two and three had, but it was time to find out.
He turned his lifted hands into closed fists in front of his face and spun about. He got in several quick punches but copped a solid kick to the ribs. One man was down, holding his jaw, blood streaming from his nose. That evened things up considerably. But still no Bo.
Will shifted till he had the temple doors at his back, no more surprises. Whatever they were going to throw, he’d see it coming. He’d managed to catch them out by attacking first but he’d spent the advantage, now it was a matter of trying to defend himself from serious injury.
When he saw the van pull up, saw two more men get out, he had time to think Hong Kong might not have been such a bad idea before they had him on his knees. He felt the rib flex, heard the crack, lost his breath, no pain yet, but it would come; one eye was bloodied shut but he still saw the black hood before they bagged his head.
