world, said, "Huh." God, he was magnificent. He glittered, he glowed, he shimmered. A vision of light from his mirror-spangled singlet to his mirror-spangled shorts and polished knees, he turned slowly in the doorway cascading light and hope and determination. His lo pan was no second-rate piece of baked clay: it was gold, carried low in a tooled leather holster.
Constable Lim said in a whisper, "Wow . . ."
"Huh." Tight-lipped, hard-faced, taciturn, the Master Feng Shui Man, narrowing his already very narrow eyes, said in a rasp to the wall, in some secret magic language, "Go ahead. Make my day." (It had to be that. What else could it have been?)
Constable Lim said in a gasp, "Whoosh!"
The wall said, "AARRGGHH! Wah! HAAAA!" The entire wall, lit up by a sheet of lightning at the window, vibrating, said in a sound that pealed like the clappers of doom, "BOOOOMM!"
O'Yee shrieked to the Master Feng Shui Man as the door flew open again, this time, the Master Feng Shui Man not coming in, but going out, "Herk! Herk! Herk!" It wasn't the phones. It wasn't a Heavy Breather. It was him .
O'Yee, finally, desperately, as his last word on the subject, said, shaking all over, "— Herk! "
Auden, grabbing for the falling money, losing it, sending it up again into the air in a cascade as the crowds toiled up the hill with their hands outstretched and their eyes full of pillage, yelled down to Spencer, "Ow-wah!"
He saw the bullet lying on the step near his foot. It was a .177 round ball from an air rifle. He saw the hungry hordes coming for the money. He saw—
He saw—
He saw . . .
Phillip John Auden in today's extraordinary race from Marathon to Mount Olympus, in the Errol Flynn-John Wayne Self-Respect Stakes at 8:45 A.M. also ran . . .
All that was left were just the last few final syllables before the movie ran out, the lights came up, and all the people staring goggle-eyed at the flickering images of heat and dust, drama and passion went home. He rubbed at his arse.
Auden, still rubbing, said softly, "Aw . . ."
"Aw, Gee . . . !"
If he could have, he would have sat down on the step and wept with disappointment.
4
T here had been no sexual assault. They had merely been killed. In the emptied-out kiosk, the government vet, Dr. Hoosier, closing the sternum-to-groin autopsy incision on the dog with number eight thread, said softly to Constable Lee watching him, " 'Thou met'st with things dying . . . I with things new-born.'" It was from Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale . He had seen it the last time he was at home in Toronto.
The dead creatures were everywhere in the room. The counter flap was open, but it did not dispel the smell.
The man obviously did not understand English. He looked down at Hoosier working on the ground with his instruments and had no expression on his face at all.
The man Feiffer had had the same look. There was only the faintest tightening of the muscles at the corner of Lee's mouth.
Hoosier, finishing the suturing and sliding the dog to one side to gut one of the peacocks, said quietly, " I am a feather for each wind that blows.'" That was also from The Winter's Tale .
He saw Lee redden a little.
Hoosier asked, looking up, "Do you speak English, Constable?"
He did. He wore a flash on the shoulder of his khaki uniform to show he had passed a course and spoke it fluently.
Lee said, "No." He looked down at all the dead things on the floor.
He stood watching, unchanging, unmoving, with no expression on his face at all.
He was the modern equivalent of Nam-mo-lo, the sorcerer ancient Chinese fishermen employed to keep their boats safe from evil spirits and influences. He was the Double Flag Man, the fishing junks' registration documents issuer. He provided the Communist flags and registration papers the Hong Kong junks used in Communist Chinese territorial waters and the Hong Kong flags and documents they used when they left them. He provided the Hong Kong flags and documents the Communists flew in
Constable Lim said in a whisper, "Wow . . ."
"Huh." Tight-lipped, hard-faced, taciturn, the Master Feng Shui Man, narrowing his already very narrow eyes, said in a rasp to the wall, in some secret magic language, "Go ahead. Make my day." (It had to be that. What else could it have been?)
Constable Lim said in a gasp, "Whoosh!"
The wall said, "AARRGGHH! Wah! HAAAA!" The entire wall, lit up by a sheet of lightning at the window, vibrating, said in a sound that pealed like the clappers of doom, "BOOOOMM!"
O'Yee shrieked to the Master Feng Shui Man as the door flew open again, this time, the Master Feng Shui Man not coming in, but going out, "Herk! Herk! Herk!" It wasn't the phones. It wasn't a Heavy Breather. It was him .
O'Yee, finally, desperately, as his last word on the subject, said, shaking all over, "— Herk! "
Auden, grabbing for the falling money, losing it, sending it up again into the air in a cascade as the crowds toiled up the hill with their hands outstretched and their eyes full of pillage, yelled down to Spencer, "Ow-wah!"
He saw the bullet lying on the step near his foot. It was a .177 round ball from an air rifle. He saw the hungry hordes coming for the money. He saw—
He saw—
He saw . . .
Phillip John Auden in today's extraordinary race from Marathon to Mount Olympus, in the Errol Flynn-John Wayne Self-Respect Stakes at 8:45 A.M. also ran . . .
All that was left were just the last few final syllables before the movie ran out, the lights came up, and all the people staring goggle-eyed at the flickering images of heat and dust, drama and passion went home. He rubbed at his arse.
Auden, still rubbing, said softly, "Aw . . ."
"Aw, Gee . . . !"
If he could have, he would have sat down on the step and wept with disappointment.
4
T here had been no sexual assault. They had merely been killed. In the emptied-out kiosk, the government vet, Dr. Hoosier, closing the sternum-to-groin autopsy incision on the dog with number eight thread, said softly to Constable Lee watching him, " 'Thou met'st with things dying . . . I with things new-born.'" It was from Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale . He had seen it the last time he was at home in Toronto.
The dead creatures were everywhere in the room. The counter flap was open, but it did not dispel the smell.
The man obviously did not understand English. He looked down at Hoosier working on the ground with his instruments and had no expression on his face at all.
The man Feiffer had had the same look. There was only the faintest tightening of the muscles at the corner of Lee's mouth.
Hoosier, finishing the suturing and sliding the dog to one side to gut one of the peacocks, said quietly, " I am a feather for each wind that blows.'" That was also from The Winter's Tale .
He saw Lee redden a little.
Hoosier asked, looking up, "Do you speak English, Constable?"
He did. He wore a flash on the shoulder of his khaki uniform to show he had passed a course and spoke it fluently.
Lee said, "No." He looked down at all the dead things on the floor.
He stood watching, unchanging, unmoving, with no expression on his face at all.
He was the modern equivalent of Nam-mo-lo, the sorcerer ancient Chinese fishermen employed to keep their boats safe from evil spirits and influences. He was the Double Flag Man, the fishing junks' registration documents issuer. He provided the Communist flags and registration papers the Hong Kong junks used in Communist Chinese territorial waters and the Hong Kong flags and documents they used when they left them. He provided the Hong Kong flags and documents the Communists flew in
Similar Books
