After arriving at Ai Lin’s, I spent the next three days indoors drinking beer, smoking grass, and ignoring Lena’s attempts to convince me that prayer, not chemicals, was the way to deal with the loss of my apartment. I couldn’t tell her I was more worried about a stint in prison enduring nightly gang buggerings.

From a short piece on TV and an article in The South China Morning Post, I learned the fire in my apartment had caused no injuries or deaths and that nobody had been arrested in connection with it. Apparently it started 20 minutes before a police raid intended to crack a drug ring was to begin, suggesting Thomas and Inksy had somehow been tipped off and made good their escape after torching the apartment. According to the article, the police sought "three Caucasian men for questioning, one believed to be American, the other two British."

Only on Monday, when I could blend in with the rush hour crowd, did I dare venture out into the still-pissing rain. As I rode down the mid-levels escalator my neck and back felt stiff: Lena refused to sleep anywhere but in bed with Ai Lin, forcing me sleep on couch cushions laid on the floor. Happily, I’d left my spare suit at Ai Lin’s apartment, so I was at least presentable.

Since Axewell was in town I arrived at Hootens with even more dread than usual. In the JV area the staff manned their PCs, and, with a chill, I spotted Axewell in his office talking to Fanny Ma and a woman whose back was to me. Axewell frowned and gestured me over. As I weaved through the cubicles Fanny and the woman turned toward me; she was none other than Alicia Wemming-Smith. "Hey guys," I said, opening the door. "Awful weather, huh?"

"Why are you late?" Axewell asked, pushing his grimed spectacles up on his nose.

"It’s before nine. I’m early."

"Don’t you think the manager should open the office for business?"

"Well, I usually do."

"Don’t lie, Stratton. Where were you last Thursday and Friday?"

I stepped in and pulled a chair towards me.

"What are you doing?" He said. "I’m having a meeting with Fanny and Alicia. Did I invite you to join us? Where were you Thursday and Friday?"

Stung, I stepped back and shrugged. "I was meeting clients, so I stayed in town"

"Nonsense, this office is perfectly located. I want people out on sales calls and closing business. I think it’s perfectly located."

"I never had any problems," said Alicia.

Fuck you, bitch.

"Okay," Axewell continued, "we’ll assume Thursday and Friday were ill spent, and I’m still not getting your sales forecasts." He gestured outside. "Assemble the staff for the meeting. We’ll be along shortly."

Everybody, even the techie, eyed me as I walked over. They had seen me summarily dismissed, like an errant servant.

"Chop chop!" I said. "Meeting time, let’s go."

Everybody rose except Judas, who was playing minesweeper.

"C’mon Judas, let’s get moving."

She ignored me.

"Judas, didn’t you hear me?"

"Busy."

I leaned down to her ear and hissed, "Get into the fucking conference room."

She slammed her chair back into my ankle, stood up, and stomped off. Over in the office I saw Axewell, Alicia, and Fanny had seen the whole episode. Axewell gestured toward me, said something, shook his head. The other two nodded.

Limping slightly (Judas had really banged me) I went down to the canteen for some of the caffeinated swill that passed for Hootens coffee. There was a queue, so Axewell, Alicia, and Fanny arrived a the meeting before me. They stood in a semi-circle facing the whiteboard. The staff sat at the far end of the table – Simon, Judas, Sharon and Sheena were grinning, but Kok Heng was frowning and avoided looking me in the eye.

"Who the bloody hell wrote this?" demanded Axewell, pointing at the whiteboard.

I nearly dropped my cup, written on the whiteboard was:

On the other half was my upside-down organization chart with clients at the top, Kit Matthews at the bottom.

"Permanent marker, cannot erase," said a voice beside me. I turned and recognized the secretary who sat outside the conference room. "I tell her already," she gestured at Judas, who rolled her eyes.

"What the bloody hell is this?" said Axewell. "Bloody hell! Who wrote this? Did you write this rubbish, Stratton?"

"Well, I…"

"What is this about pay cuts? I’ve not been consulted about pay cuts. Who authorized pay cuts? And this organization chart," Axewell paused to throw his chewed pen at the board, "makes no bloody sense! Do you think you’re senior to me, Stratton? Do you think you’re senior to Kit Matthews? How did you come up with these preposterous ideas?"

"Peter, cutting pay was your idea. I was just –"

"No!" Axewell punched the whiteboard. "I never, never authorized a pay cut!"

"He cut us ten percent," said Judas.

Disgusted, Axewell shook his head and faced the staff: "People, this pay cut was completely unauthorized. I knew nothing about it, and I personally guarantee your compensation will remain unchanged."

"Bullshit!" I said. "You told me-"

"Are you calling me a liar?" said Axewell. "Where is your proof? Do you have anything in writing?"

Fuck, we’d only spoken of the pay cut. My hand tightened around my coffee. I wanted to throw it in his face.

Axewell turned back to the white board, "And what does Kok-Heng have to do with this?"

"I acting DSM," said Kok Heng nervously.

"DSM? What the bloody hell is a DSM?"

"Deputy sales manager," grunted Judas.

Axewell turned to Kok Heng. "What was your title before this false, bogus, unauthorized promotion?"

"Account Manager," muttered Kok Heng.

"Well then, you’re still an account Manager, and you’ve never been otherwise, so you can drop any pretense of being a manager this very second. DSM? Preposterous!"

"What about extra pay? " said Kok Heng "Jake promised me the money we saved from pay cut."

The staff stirred, Judas punched the table.

"You’re compensation is completely unchanged. And as for this pay cut, there is no pay cut. Haven’t you been listening? Or are you as poor a listener as Stratton?"

Alicia smiled thinly through all this, but Fanny Ma grinned openly, clutching her red folder against her side. Only Axewell, Kok Heng and myself were not smiling.

Axewell collected his pen from the floor, wiped it against his khakis, and returned it to his mouth. He gnawed it angrily and said, "Stratton, I’m simply appalled a this horrifying insubordination. Go stand outside, I want to speak with the staff in private. I’ll summon you when I’m ready."

I couldn’t move; my feet seemed glued to the spot. Simon stifled a laugh. I desperately wanted to say something, but disbelief had overwhelmed me. How could I have been so stupid? First believing he would help Carsolita, and now this pay cut business.

"Go on," said Axewell. "You’ll be summoned when I’m ready."

I walked from the room, deeply aware of the eyes burning into my back. The secretary, who I’d quite forgotten, followed me. Fanny Ma closed the door behind us. "Whiteboard cleaning come from your budget," said the secretary. "Okay ah? Understand?"

"Fuck off."

She retreated quickly.

I stared across the sea of cubicles; through the door I heard Axewell speaking, but his voice was muffled. Presently I wandered back to my desk, collapsed in my chair, and took a swig of coffee. It tasted like shit, and I didn’t really need the caffeine anymore so I binned it. A few cubicles away, one of the dour Dutch technicians was up a ladder messing with a C. Network camera. The camera above my desk stared directly at me, but at least I could be sure Axewell wasn’t watching.

If not for my cunt ex-fiancé’s betraying me, I would have walked out of the building at that very moment, to hell with the money from United American. But betrayed me she had, so there was nothing for it but to suffer along until I got Phil’s signature. Then it was adios and a night sailing to the Philippines. I was yet again fantasizing about what I’d do to Imelda when Sheena, buck-teeth jutting, appeared around the corner and nervously approached. "Peter want you come."

"Tell that cunt to fuck off."

Her eyes widened, and she decided repeating herself was the safest bet, "Peter want you come."

I slumped back in my chair.

"Come now."

Back in the conference room, the staff sat at one end of the table, Axewell, Fanny, and Alicia at the other, with a no man’s land of empty chairs between the two groups. I sat down beside Fanny. As I did so I caught Kok Heng’s hot glare; the vein (or was it a nerve?) in his neck pulsed as if readying to explode; his face boiled red with blood. Axewell, who had regained his composure, was carefully writing in his organizer. "Jake," he said. "What prospects do you have in your pipeline?"

Unfortunately, only one company came to mind. "United American is the big one."

"How much?"

"Uh, a lot, like a few hundred thousand US, but it’s pretty indefinite, I think it will take some time."

Axewell made a careful note, and began chewing his pen again.

"Who are you dealing with there?" said Alicia.

"The librarian."

"Hang about," said Axewell. "Isn’t United American your account, Alicia?"

"Yes, Simon and I are dealing with the librarian’s boss, Phil Cane. He’s the real decision maker. It’s mostly Simon’s lead, actually."

"Jake, why are you talking to the subordinate and Simon the more senior person? Shouldn’t this be reversed? I don’t understand. Alicia, Simon, has Jake ever discussed this account with you?"

They shook their heads, but I was immensely relieved that neither mentioned my proposal to Phil; the secretive bastard had probably kept it from them. Still, I was furious at myself for being stupid enough to mention United American in the first place. What the hell had I been thinking?

Axewell turned to me, "Jake, I don’t understand, what is the situation at this account?"

"Well, I have a pretty good relationship with Ai Lin, and I know her boss too, so, yeah, things are moving along fine, but like I said, nothing definite yet. I’ll keep at it."

"But Jake, I see nothing to suggest you’re coordinating this sale, and yet you sit just feet away from Alicia and Simon. I know you have a problem listening, but this lack of communication shows the joint venture in a very compromising light. United American must joke about our lack of coordination." He threw the pen onto the table.

"I doubt they joke about it," I said. "It’s not really that funny."

Axewell stared at me through his grimy lenses before scribbling in his book. "Alicia, you are now fully responsible for United American and you will report all progress directly to me. Jake, you will on-pass all your United American call reports to Alicia. You’re no longer to have anything to do with this account – except with my express permission."

"I need a few weeks to transfer things."

Axewell glared. "Nonsense."

"No, I’ll need to meet Ai Lin and make sure she knows what’s happening. I can’t just dump everything on her." I shrugged toward Alicia.

Axewell leaned back, sighed, and said, "You have one week. What else are you working on?"

"A number of things, a few big regional deals – once with Icered.com, one with Bre-X Minerals."

"I deal with those accounts," said Alicia, flashing her green eyes at Axewell.

"Jake, have you made any effort to coordinate with Alicia?"

"No, she’s never in the office – ask them."

"I will not tolerate your playing subordinates off against each other!"

Alicia smiled at me.

"Anyway," Axewell went on, "we can discuss Jake’s accounts later because it doesn’t seem there is a great deal to discuss, but there is something, team, urgent that we need to deal with, and that’s the Kit Matthews visit next week. He will arrive Sunday and you should feel very, very honored that he plans to spend Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday in Hong Kong. While he is here he wants to meet top-level decision makers, four a day if possible, which should be easily facilitated given our numbers. I would like these meetings scheduled and confirmed by the close of business Thursday. Any questions?"

The staff exchanged nervous glances. Twelve high-level meetings was a lot for one month, let alone three days, and especially since only a week remained before Matthews’s arrival. Simon raised a tentative hand.

"Yes, Simon," Axewell said. "Don’t just raise your hand, speak up. We’re all adults here, open communication is vital."

Red-faced, Simon said, "What is high-level? Librarians?"

"Good question. Did everybody hear that? Simon wants to know what a high-level meeting is. Can anybody tell me what a high-level meeting is? A high-level executive? "

Silence.

"Very well, high-level meetings involve CEO’s, senior vice presidents, and managing directors – categorically not librarians. Is this clear?"

The staff looked even more agitated: they likely spent their days wandering around town hobnobbing with low-level nobodies. I doubted any of them had ever met a managing director, let alone a CEO.

"Excellent," said Axewell. "I’m sure next week will be very productive. Remember, twelve meetings by the close of business Thursday. Okay then, today I’m going to meet everyone individually to see how well CW interactive has been mastered. I’ll sit down with you, Jake, at three. So make sure you’re in the office at that time. Thank you everyone. Sheena, I’ll meet with you first, please stay behind."

Rather than walk with the team, I turned in the opposite direction and found a restroom, where I went into a stall to collect my thoughts. I wanted to call Ai Lin to see if there were any new developments on the Phil front (Why had I been so stupid to mention to United American in the meeting?), but over the weekend I’d pestered her constantly whenever Lena was out of earshot, and I’d see her that night anyway. At least Alicia seemed unaware of the special United American contract; the discovery of that could get me terminated immediately. And happily Fanny Ma had yet to break into All Asia News Base, so Axewell’s suspicions were yet unconfirmed, regardless of his hatred for me.

While I sat thinking several guys used the bathroom. They either noisily urinated or noisily defecated (there was a partiality toward watery bowels, perhaps it was the canteen food), and then, before exiting, some washed their hands but most didn’t. When I thought I was alone, I flushed (out of habit: I’d not even lowered my trousers) and then exited the stall, and there, leaning against a sink, was Kok Heng.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He thrust his chin at me.

I went to a sink and washed my hands. He didn’t turn to face me, but in the mirror I saw the vein racing in his neck. "Pretty rough meeting, huh?" I said.

"I humiliated! I loose face!"

"Wasn’t exactly easy on me, chief."

Kok Heng whirled and seized my arm. "Jake! You must talk to Peter. I must be DSM! I must get fifty percent bonus, because of you, because of promotion, I go buy apartment, but without extra compensation I cannot afford the mortgage."

I tore my arm away. "Why the fuck did you buy an apartment? You knew you were still on probation."

"I trusted you! But you lie!"

"Bullshit, it’s Axewell who fucked everything up."

Two older gweilos in tailored suits (senior consultants, no doubt) entered having a conversation, but fell silent when they saw us.

"We’re going outside," I brushed passed Kok Heng, who had the sense to keep quiet and follow me out to the front portico, where we found no smokers – the first good thing that had happened that day. It was raining furiously. We stood a few feet apart; Kok Heng raised a hand to acne-ridden cheek and began squeezing a large red pimple. "Give me four weeks," I said.

"But I must know now. I cannot wait four weeks lah!"

"You have to give me four weeks. Trust me, I know how Peter operates, and if you give me four weeks, the promotion, and the compensation, is yours. Just fucking trust me – if you don’t, you’ll get nothing."

Kok Heng looked up at me hopefully. "You promise? Can I trust you, Jake? I just buy apartment. You must help me."

"Okay, okay, I will. But before then, just go back to being an account manager. Okay?"

"But I can talk to Peter-lah. I’m meeting him at one-thirty and I…"

"No you’re not. You’re going home and playing sick. I’ll deal with Peter."

"But him and I are both businessman. We can negotiate…"

"No you won’t. Here, take this taxi." A cab had pulled up. In it a Chinese bird with a great mane of black hair was leaning forward, paying the driver.

"I’ll tell Peter you were sick. If you seriously want this promotion, you’ll listen to me. Call my mobile tomorrow before you come in."

I opened the door for the woman, who climbed out, smiled at us, and trotted inside on high heels.

Kok Heng grabbed my lapel. "If I don’t get promotion, I make life very difficult for you."

"Thanks, Kok Heng. That really makes me want to fucking help you."

Kok Heng let go of my lapel, and without another word climbed in the cab and slammed the door.

Just in case the lying bastard - I didn’t buy his rubbish about an buying an apartment: he was always going on about hating Hong Kong - had second thoughts, I watched the cab drive around the flooded driveway, wait for several eighteen wheelers to pass, and then turn into the street. Just as I turned to go inside, however, I was mortified to observe, turning into the driveway, several police cars and a big white police van.

Trying to look casual, I strolled back into the building and then bolted to the elevator bank, thrusting my hands into my pockets to make sure I wasn’t carrying any gear. Could they bust me if I didn’t have anything on me? Would they believe me if I told them I’d been unaware of Thomas’s drugs business? How many years would I get for narcotics? Arson?

Out of habit, I rode the elevator to the third floor, where I ran through the cubicles and hallways, until, quite by accident, for I was too panicked to really think, I came upon a fire escape. Perfect. I shoved open the door and had just started down the stairs when I heard a walkie-talkie burst forth in Cantonese. I peered over the railing to see a half-dozen men wearing black berets and green uniforms on the landing below me. Cut off. I jerked my head back and returned to the 3^rd floor.

There was no point trying the other fire escapes: if the cops had blocked one, they would have blocked them all, and they had enough men to do it: I had seen at least three patrol cars, and the van had been full of men. It was even likely they had sealed the fire escapes before the motorcade arrived. What to do? Climb to the roof and jump to the next building? Find a box cutter and take a hostage? Fuck it, I returned to the men’s room, sat down in a stall, lowered my trousers, and waited.

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