Dragon Head - A Beatrix Rose Thriller: Hong Kong Stories Volume 1 (Beatrix Rose's Hong Kong Stories Book 3) by Mark Dawson Page B
Authors: Mark Dawson
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high.”
She stood. She felt a blast of shame. She didn’t want to admit what she had been doing, and that all she could think about was going back to do it again.
“You are leaving?”
“My money?”
“Here.” He nodded to the bag at his feet.
She reached down and took it. She didn’t bother to check it was all there.
“Thank you, Chau.”
“For what?”
“For this. And for helping me with Grace. I appreciate that. You didn’t have to do it.”
“You can’t just leave me!” he protested pitifully. “Ying will kill me.”
“Then go ,” she repeated. “Go to China. Go anywhere but here.” She put out her hand and, after a moment of hesitation, he took it. “Goodbye, Chau.”
She turned her back on him and walked away.
CHAPTER TEN
TIME PASSED. Beatrix visited the Hua-yan jian every evening. Sometimes she would stay for an hour and other times she would stay all night.
Each pipe removed her from her worries and anxieties. But when she awoke, they were all there again as if they had never been away. They developed. Like cancers, they mutated and spread. Her memories, far from being erased, became malignant reminders of her failures.
She found that, as she cared less and less about herself, she cared more about what had happened to Grace. She was unable to forget what had happened to the girl. The look in her eyes, when she had taken her from the brothel, haunted her dreams. Even the depth of her narcotic slumber was unable to cloak it from her. She remembered Grace’s tears as she had left her outside her aunt’s house. She remembered her thought, fully realised now, that the girl had been robbed of her childhood. Beatrix’s anger, never completely extinguished, had flickered back into life. She could control the flame with each new pipe. But as soon as she revived, it was like a gust of pure oxygen had been directed onto the restive embers and it flared again.
And then, one day, she found that she had diverted from her usual path to the den so that she was in Wan Chai, on Lockhart Road, opposite the Nine Dragons. It was incredibly foolish of her—she had no weapon, for a start—but she had been drawn there, and was unable to resist. She bought a ball cap and a pair of sunglasses and put them on. There was a karaoke bar opposite the club. The place had an open façade and she had taken a seat there, nursing a drink for thirty minutes as she watched the comings and goings on the other side of the street.
The idiocy of what she was doing finally dawned on her, and she had just scattered enough change on the table to cover the check when a car drew up alongside the club and Fang Chun Ying stepped out. She angled her head away and watched through the big mirror that was fixed on the wall behind the bar. He was with two of his lieutenants, a broad smile on his face as if he was without a care.
She waited until he had descended the stairs into the club, collected her bag and left the bar.
She took out her phone, opened a browser window and navigated to the Facebook page that she and Chau used to communicate with one another.
She stopped so that she could type.
—MEET ME. SAME PLACE AS LAST TIME. 9PM.
#
CHAU WAS waiting at the same picnic table in Sun Yat Sen Park, wearing the same ridiculously garish Hawaiian shirt that he had been wearing before. He was looking in the other direction, out into the harbour, and she took a moment to stop at one of the street vendors so that she could buy him a packet of fried grasshoppers. She paid the vendor and took the food to the table.
“Chau,” she said.
He started with alarm. “Beatrix, I did not see you.”
“Because you always have your eyes closed,” she said.
“I did not think we would meet again.”
“I’ve had a change of heart. Here. Peace offering.”
She gave him the fried grasshoppers.
“Thank you,” he said, but he left them untouched. “What is it, Beatrix? I am confused.”
“You didn’t leave.”
“I think about
She stood. She felt a blast of shame. She didn’t want to admit what she had been doing, and that all she could think about was going back to do it again.
“You are leaving?”
“My money?”
“Here.” He nodded to the bag at his feet.
She reached down and took it. She didn’t bother to check it was all there.
“Thank you, Chau.”
“For what?”
“For this. And for helping me with Grace. I appreciate that. You didn’t have to do it.”
“You can’t just leave me!” he protested pitifully. “Ying will kill me.”
“Then go ,” she repeated. “Go to China. Go anywhere but here.” She put out her hand and, after a moment of hesitation, he took it. “Goodbye, Chau.”
She turned her back on him and walked away.
CHAPTER TEN
TIME PASSED. Beatrix visited the Hua-yan jian every evening. Sometimes she would stay for an hour and other times she would stay all night.
Each pipe removed her from her worries and anxieties. But when she awoke, they were all there again as if they had never been away. They developed. Like cancers, they mutated and spread. Her memories, far from being erased, became malignant reminders of her failures.
She found that, as she cared less and less about herself, she cared more about what had happened to Grace. She was unable to forget what had happened to the girl. The look in her eyes, when she had taken her from the brothel, haunted her dreams. Even the depth of her narcotic slumber was unable to cloak it from her. She remembered Grace’s tears as she had left her outside her aunt’s house. She remembered her thought, fully realised now, that the girl had been robbed of her childhood. Beatrix’s anger, never completely extinguished, had flickered back into life. She could control the flame with each new pipe. But as soon as she revived, it was like a gust of pure oxygen had been directed onto the restive embers and it flared again.
And then, one day, she found that she had diverted from her usual path to the den so that she was in Wan Chai, on Lockhart Road, opposite the Nine Dragons. It was incredibly foolish of her—she had no weapon, for a start—but she had been drawn there, and was unable to resist. She bought a ball cap and a pair of sunglasses and put them on. There was a karaoke bar opposite the club. The place had an open façade and she had taken a seat there, nursing a drink for thirty minutes as she watched the comings and goings on the other side of the street.
The idiocy of what she was doing finally dawned on her, and she had just scattered enough change on the table to cover the check when a car drew up alongside the club and Fang Chun Ying stepped out. She angled her head away and watched through the big mirror that was fixed on the wall behind the bar. He was with two of his lieutenants, a broad smile on his face as if he was without a care.
She waited until he had descended the stairs into the club, collected her bag and left the bar.
She took out her phone, opened a browser window and navigated to the Facebook page that she and Chau used to communicate with one another.
She stopped so that she could type.
—MEET ME. SAME PLACE AS LAST TIME. 9PM.
#
CHAU WAS waiting at the same picnic table in Sun Yat Sen Park, wearing the same ridiculously garish Hawaiian shirt that he had been wearing before. He was looking in the other direction, out into the harbour, and she took a moment to stop at one of the street vendors so that she could buy him a packet of fried grasshoppers. She paid the vendor and took the food to the table.
“Chau,” she said.
He started with alarm. “Beatrix, I did not see you.”
“Because you always have your eyes closed,” she said.
“I did not think we would meet again.”
“I’ve had a change of heart. Here. Peace offering.”
She gave him the fried grasshoppers.
“Thank you,” he said, but he left them untouched. “What is it, Beatrix? I am confused.”
“You didn’t leave.”
“I think about
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