that’s up to them.
Five minutes passed without an order being taken, and then a covey of waiters arrived at the table. They have an assortment of dishes, and a magnum of Cristal Champagne in a gold and silver ice bucket.
“Do you have still Tipperary Water?” I asked the sommelier. A bottle arrived moments later in its own miniature ice bucket.
The Peking duck with wafer-thin pancakes, spring onions and plum sauce was delicious. I ate my fill of duck and drank every drop of my water; I rarely leave anything behind on a plate or in a glass. Uncle Sui, Eddie and Gerry only picked at the food on their plates, and the magnum of Cristal remains untouched.
“Your accommodation, is it suitable? Good?” asked Uncle Sui, while looking directly across the table at me for the first time since we sat down. He didn’t wait for an answer, or maybe it’s that he answered his own question.
“Finn Flynn stays here as my guest. The hotel, they understand this?” This question was addressed to Limp-wristed Eddie, and he answered in a Chinese dialect I’ve never heard before. “English, speak English. Don’t be rude to our guests,” Uncle barked at Eddie, with a withering glare.
“Oh yes, yes, the hotel, they understand,” grovelled Eddie, ignoring Uncle Sui’s rebuking like a whipped puppy dog.
No bill has been presented, but that exchange seems to have concluded our lunch. The manager and head chef reappeared to enquire if we’ve enjoyed our meal…even though they can see the untouched plates of food and the unopened bottle of expensive Champagne still standing in the ice bucket. They didn’t seem to notice that I’d eaten all before me, and drank my water. Uncle Sui permitted a faint, fleeting smile to cross his lips, which appears to have satisfied them.
The restaurant manager accompanied us in the lift down to the lobby. As Uncle Sui walked towards the exit he was discreetly surrounded by six immaculately groomed, athletic-looking young men who appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t look back, and there was no gesture of farewell.
Gerry and I lounged on the comfortable couches that litter the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental, Hong Kong. Seeing Uncle Sui leave, I thought to meself: there’s a pleasant old gentleman, possibly lacking a little in the subtleties of European manners, but agreeable enough ….
“So Finn, you look bushed pal, but could you stay awake long enough for a little get-together talk? Could you, buddy?” Gerry asked.
“Sorry Gerry. I’m whacked mo chara . Later, OK?”
“Get some shut-eye Finn. Uncle wants me to kinda look out for you, one gweilo to another. You know? We’ll have plenty of time to cover the bases later, but for now, ciao!”
So, he confirmed it…kind of. Gerry’s Italian American, not Israeli.
I have one thing to do before hitting that huge bed – or ollmhór leaba in my adopted mother tongue – upstairs in my suite.…Gary Cooke, an art student I knew back in the Brighton days, has a brother working as a newspaper reporter in Hong Kong. Gary gave me his brother’s home phone number and told me to be sure to ring him. I decided to give it a try, to see if I can rustle up some contacts of my own. I’m a touch wary about the contacts I’ve just met – too much too soon, if you get my meaning. I rang the number but there’s no answer; I suppose he’s out at work.
I slipped between the sheets of my giant bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
8
MACAU
I’m relieved that Finn Flynn wasn’t up for the get-to-know-you powwow I suggested. I have urgent business to attend to in Macau.
A Ruskie cruise ship arrived today for a three-day stopover, and that means suckers. Some of the passengers will be looking for passports and other papers to get them eternally-the-fuck-out-of-Mother Russia, so they can live in some asshole place like Liechtenstein – where no one will ask how come they’re so goddamn rich. I have to get to these idioti before someone else
Five minutes passed without an order being taken, and then a covey of waiters arrived at the table. They have an assortment of dishes, and a magnum of Cristal Champagne in a gold and silver ice bucket.
“Do you have still Tipperary Water?” I asked the sommelier. A bottle arrived moments later in its own miniature ice bucket.
The Peking duck with wafer-thin pancakes, spring onions and plum sauce was delicious. I ate my fill of duck and drank every drop of my water; I rarely leave anything behind on a plate or in a glass. Uncle Sui, Eddie and Gerry only picked at the food on their plates, and the magnum of Cristal remains untouched.
“Your accommodation, is it suitable? Good?” asked Uncle Sui, while looking directly across the table at me for the first time since we sat down. He didn’t wait for an answer, or maybe it’s that he answered his own question.
“Finn Flynn stays here as my guest. The hotel, they understand this?” This question was addressed to Limp-wristed Eddie, and he answered in a Chinese dialect I’ve never heard before. “English, speak English. Don’t be rude to our guests,” Uncle barked at Eddie, with a withering glare.
“Oh yes, yes, the hotel, they understand,” grovelled Eddie, ignoring Uncle Sui’s rebuking like a whipped puppy dog.
No bill has been presented, but that exchange seems to have concluded our lunch. The manager and head chef reappeared to enquire if we’ve enjoyed our meal…even though they can see the untouched plates of food and the unopened bottle of expensive Champagne still standing in the ice bucket. They didn’t seem to notice that I’d eaten all before me, and drank my water. Uncle Sui permitted a faint, fleeting smile to cross his lips, which appears to have satisfied them.
The restaurant manager accompanied us in the lift down to the lobby. As Uncle Sui walked towards the exit he was discreetly surrounded by six immaculately groomed, athletic-looking young men who appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t look back, and there was no gesture of farewell.
Gerry and I lounged on the comfortable couches that litter the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental, Hong Kong. Seeing Uncle Sui leave, I thought to meself: there’s a pleasant old gentleman, possibly lacking a little in the subtleties of European manners, but agreeable enough ….
“So Finn, you look bushed pal, but could you stay awake long enough for a little get-together talk? Could you, buddy?” Gerry asked.
“Sorry Gerry. I’m whacked mo chara . Later, OK?”
“Get some shut-eye Finn. Uncle wants me to kinda look out for you, one gweilo to another. You know? We’ll have plenty of time to cover the bases later, but for now, ciao!”
So, he confirmed it…kind of. Gerry’s Italian American, not Israeli.
I have one thing to do before hitting that huge bed – or ollmhór leaba in my adopted mother tongue – upstairs in my suite.…Gary Cooke, an art student I knew back in the Brighton days, has a brother working as a newspaper reporter in Hong Kong. Gary gave me his brother’s home phone number and told me to be sure to ring him. I decided to give it a try, to see if I can rustle up some contacts of my own. I’m a touch wary about the contacts I’ve just met – too much too soon, if you get my meaning. I rang the number but there’s no answer; I suppose he’s out at work.
I slipped between the sheets of my giant bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
8
MACAU
I’m relieved that Finn Flynn wasn’t up for the get-to-know-you powwow I suggested. I have urgent business to attend to in Macau.
A Ruskie cruise ship arrived today for a three-day stopover, and that means suckers. Some of the passengers will be looking for passports and other papers to get them eternally-the-fuck-out-of-Mother Russia, so they can live in some asshole place like Liechtenstein – where no one will ask how come they’re so goddamn rich. I have to get to these idioti before someone else
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