I decided to attend the luncheon at the Shangri-La. It was my last chance to show Matthews I knew my shit, and show him that despite any Triad threats I was committed to the strategic objectives of the joint-fucking-venture. To ensure things went smoothly, I snorted a few lines before I left home; if I’d gone clean I would have been catatonic with paranoia. I topped up with 2 lines in the lobby toilet and headed up to the 36^th floor; it was 1:30pm, one hour late. In my veins flowed limitless confidence.

At the entrance, Sharon, Sheena, and Judas manned a registration table. Instead of her faded bell-bottoms, the fucking-dyke Judas wore a baggy men’s suit with a collar and necktie; her hair was gelled into sea-urchin like ball of spikes. Through the door dozens of people stood talking in groups; way in back, I spotted the back of Matthews’s head; he was in a large group that included Ai Lin and Alicia.

"Hey girls, great turnout, huh?" I said.

Sharon and Sheena nodded nervously, but Judas glared. "Peter say you no coming today."

"What?"

"He say to throw away Jake Stratton name tag, you no coming."

"That’s bullshit, is he here?"

"At Hootens with Fanny." Grinning, she added: "You have meeting there at four."

It was good Axewell wasn’t about, but I still had a strong urge to punch Judas. I squared my shoulders and strode past. "You cannot go in!" said Judas loudly.

I ignored her. The people in the room – they were all Hootens clients I’d never bothered to meet – moved nervously out of my way after furtive looks. I waved at Kok Heng and Simon (both looked surprised) and went directly to Matthews. He was talking energetically and Alicia’s alarmed look somehow didn’t alert him to my approach.

"Hey, Kit." I slapped him on the back. "Great turnout, huh?"

"You’re not supposed to be here."

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Kit. Hi everybody." I nodded around. Alicia smiled thinly, but Ai Lin looked away. The rest of them were Chinese librarian types; one of them was young and fairly cute, so I winked at her.

"A drink, sir," said a waiter

His tray only held soft drinks and orange juice. "No beer?" I said.

"You want beer, sir?"

"Yeah, what do you have on tap?"

"San Miguel and Carlsberg."

"San Miguel from the Philippines? Or the local stuff?"

"Philippines, sir."

"San Miguel then, thanks."

"Right away, sir."

I turned back to the group, who had listened with interest to this exchange. I noted that everyone nursed a soft drink or an orange juice. Fuck it: one drink wouldn’t hurt me.

"There’s something white under your nose," said Alicia.

"Ah, must be some of my cold medicine," I said, wiping with my finger, resisting the temptation too run it along my gums.

Kit grimaced. "Did everyone get enough to eat?" he asked the group. "That’s one thing I’ve discovered about you Chinese, you sure love to eat."

"Yes," said one, "but it would be better if you saved money on food and cut prices for service instead."

Everyone laughed, but Matthews went pale.

"So the food was okay?" said Matthews impatiently. "Like I said, I know how everyone out here likes to eat."

Everyone laughed again, but nervously. "America has bigger portions," said a skinny guy.

"That’s why we’re all so fat," I said. "The portions are enormous over there, and all anybody ever does is sit watching TV. People need to get out and exercise."

No one said anything. I noticed a women in the group was short and intensely obese; she looked quite angry and avoided my gaze. The arrival of my beer gave me a chance to look away.

"Thank you all for coming today," said Alicia.

"Congratulations on your promotion," the pretty one said to her.

Several in the group echoed this, except Ai Lin, who frowned at the carpet.

"Thank you," said Alicia. And then, with a sharp glance at me she said: "I’m really happy to be sales manager."

"And don’t forget you can call or email me even though I’m in New York," said Matthews. "I’m really excited about the future of Hong Kong, no matter what anybody says, and the energy here is tremendous, so I’ll see you all when I’m back in town."

Turning to me, he whispered, "We’re sharing a cab back to Hootens."

"Yeah, we have that..."

He walked off before I finished; I was left staring at his retreating back Somebody said something to me. "What?" I jerked my head back.

"What do you do at joint venture?" the skinny guy asked me.

"I’m Alicia’s boss," I said.

"We’ll see about that," said Alicia, annoyed. She turned and walked off to join Kit.

"Jake!" Ai Lin whispered. "Can I have a minute with you?"

"Sure."

We went over to the big window that formed one wall. Although partial to views, I was so coked up I’d not noticed it upon entering. Not that there was much to see; rain clouds obscured everything.

"You’ve been taking coke, haven’t you? Are you fucking crazy?"

"Like I’d come in here without it? I’d be paranoid as fuck if I hadn’t taken some. Only a few lines, babe. Only a few lines."

She glanced nervously at the rapidly thinning crowd. "They’re going to fire you and we’ll loose everything. During lunch that bitch Alicia gave a speech about her new job, the job she took from you. What are we going to do? If you’re fired, we can’t do our deal and Phil might get suspicious and fire me."

Before I could reply Kok Heng stepped up. His considerable acne had worsened since I’d last seen him. "Why you avoid me?" he said.

"What? Hey, do you know Ai Lin from United American? She’s a big client of ours."

He flashed his rotten teeth at her and turned back to me.

"Peter tell me I never get promotion-lah. I thought you say…"

He stopped because Matthews strode up, eyes bulging like they had on the ride to Pok Lee. "Excuse us," he said, "Jake and I are leaving."

"I’ll call you next week about that big flat fee," I said to Ai Lin, mainly for Matthews’s benefit. I winked at Kok Heng and followed Matthews. When I passed Simon he gave me an enormous grin, and outside Sharon, Sheena, and Judas giggled - nothing like a boss’s travails to boost corporate morale.

The elevator stopped at almost every floor and filled with passengers, forcing Matthews and I against opposite walls; he stared at the numbers marching slowly down, avoiding my eyes. Downstairs we had to wait on line for a cab. "Hey, what’s this about Alicia?" I said. "Did I get a promotion too? I was a bit surprised to hear about her new title. What’s going on?"

He clenched his jaw but remained silent.

"Kit, buddy, why didn’t I hear about this?" I was getting nervous; no doubt the coke was wearing off. "Very un-Ebbers not to tell me about this, you know."

He was about to reply when a cab pulled up. We got in, I told the driver where to go.

"Hong Kong taxi," said the driver. "You show?"

"Of course."

"What the fuck is all this about?" said Matthews. "Why doesn’t he just take us there?"

"He usually stays on Hong Kong island. He doesn’t know Kowloon."

We pulled out into the rain, it was very hot in the taxi.

"Can you turn on the air conditioner?" Matthews tapped the driver’s shoulder.

"Wah?" the driver twisted around, squinting trough thick spectacles.

"Air conditioner, air conditioner," said Matthews. "It’s very hot. Can you understand English? VERY HOT. Hey! Keep your eyes on the fucking road!"

"Wah?"

"Let me get my fucking translation program again," Matthews popped open his briefcase. I felt a chill: inside the briefcase was the red folder.

I leaned forward between the front seats and tapped the air vents.

"No working!" said the driver.

"Aircon’s broken," I said.

Matthews slammed his briefcase shut and thrust it into the front seat. He then tore his jacket off and dumped it atop the briefcase. "I hate this fucking city," he said. "The people are stupid, it’s too crowded, nothing works, the food’s disgusting, and since I’ve been here it’s done noting but fucking rain."

"The weather isn’t always like this," I said slowly. "November and December…"

"Shut the fuck up!"

So I did. We rode in silence and heat through the cross-harbor tunnel. Finally, on the highway through Kowloon, Matthews spoke: "Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what you’ve lied about and exactly what you’ve told the truth about."

"Lies? What do you mean?"

"I’m talking about this All Asia triad thing – everyone I’ve spoken to here says it sounds ridiculous."

"Why would I lie?"

"Well, mister, you lied about Ebbers. It’s a disgrace that a…a criminal like you has the gall to drag that fine, prestigious name into your disgusting, filthy gutter. You won’t be able to get a job as a homeless person when I’m through with you – and that’s a promise."

"Kit! I never lied about Ebbers."

"The fuck you didn’t! I had human resources check. Ebbers has never heard of anybody named Jake Stratton. I can’t believe this wasn’t caught before. You lied about having an MBA, and everyone, including me, thinks you’re lying about triads to cover up your embezzlement."

"But why am I here if I have all that money?" I said. "Why am I not off in…"

"Because you probably want to embezzle more; you probably think you can get away with it. Don’t you? Isn’t that right? Well?"

"Kit! Think of what you’re saying. I went to Ebbers, and the triads are after me, and I need your help. I’m not sure why Ebbers said I didn’t go there, because I did, and I can prove it. Perhaps the triads got in touch with Hootens and made them say that, but I promise…"

Matthews went off like a Bomb. I could barely understand his words, and had to look away out the window, anywhere but at his shining, enraged eyes, but this made it worse because I sensed he was about to seize my throat…"You lied and you are going to pay, mister!" …tears formed in my eyes and I thought of the gun in my desk…"You’re going to be penniless forever when I’m through with you! You’ll end up rummaging for tin cans in fucking dumpsters, Stratton!" … the driver, terrified, kept glancing back; he was going very fast, and the car lurched back and forth…"And after the joint venture sues you, and you’re in prison, Ebbers will sue you for every fucking cent you earned lying about having a bogus fucking MBA!" …we sped by our exit.

I turned and grabbed his hand; I couldn’t take his eyes so I had to look down at the seat between us. "Kit, Kit…please don’t do this…I didn’t lie about anything. Please, I’m so sorry, I…"

He jerked his hand away and wiped it on his trousers. "You useless idiot! Peter was right about you, but I tell you, you think he’s tough, wait until I fucking start with you. You’re going to be in a world of pain, mister…a world of pain."

I buried my face in my hands. Rain pounded the roof.

"Why aren’t we fucking there yet?" snapped Matthews. "I don’t remember it taking this long."

"We missed the exit," I muttered.

"What? Speak up!"

"We missed the exit."

"Jesus Christ!" Matthews punched the back of the driver’s seat. "You missed our fucking exit! Fucking retard!"

"Wah!"

Metallic crashes jolted the car and the windshield shattered; a yellow construction barricade flew past my side, scraping the car. The brakes screeched and we stopped abruptly, throwing Matthews and I into the backs of the fronts seats.

In shock, I leaned back. It was silent but for the cars passing. Up front, our driver hunched over the steering wheel, blood dripping into his lap. Then he raised his head, moaning. Part of the windscreen fell into the car and rainwater poured through the hole.

"I can’t fucking believe this!" screamed Matthews. "Jesus fucking Christ!" Seizing his briefcase and jacket, he opened the door and started climbing out.

"Fuck!" he yelled, and started to reverse back in, but he was far too slow to avoid the golden blur that slammed him into the back of the driver’s seat and ripped the door off with a metallic shriek.

"Wah!" The driver whirled around, squinting. He’d lost his glasses, and blood from a cut in his forehead covered his face. He’d be okay: head wounds always bleed a lot, and since he was moving he wasn’t paralyzed. Lucky him. Kit looked lucky too, although a bit uncomfortable. His right leg was outside, his left inside, and his hand still held his briefcase and his jacket. His torso was up against the driver’s seat and angled away from me, offering a prime view of his corporate ass.

"Kit," I poked the small of his back. "You okay?"

No response. In the other lane cars drove slowly by; the passengers, mouths agape, stared down at Matthews. I thought this odd, but then, on the rim of the door with its torn metal hinges, I saw the blood. It had also splattered the back of the driver’s seat, dousing a pocket of credit card brochures. And leaning forward over Matthews’s back I saw a vermillion stream, inches wide, flowing richly along the pavement, painting red the tires of the passing cars. Suddenly the driver, screaming, jumped out and ran off.

Fuck. All alone. What to do with a major wound? Get it above the heart and apply direct pressure. Yes, that was it. It occurred to me that saving Kit’s life would pay rich dividends indeed. Oh yes, seize control of the situation, save the CEO’s life and a promotion – not to mention the United American deal - would be mine. Okay, think…use the jacket to staunch the wound, but first get him upright. I tugged at his waistband and the lower part of his shirt. He came up surprisingly easily – so far so good - but this was because he had no head, only a blood-pumping stump.

I let the body flop back down and jumped out into the rain; breathing hard, I leaned over the guardrail. On the sidewalk below people walked about as if nothing was amiss. An old man drinking tea in a brightly-lit restaurant looked up curiously, and then smiled at a woman who brought him a steaming bowl of soup.

Back down the highway, a half-dozen yellow construction barricades lay twisted in our lane; beyond them, impatient drivers barged into the other lane to get by and farther back horns blared in anger. In the other direction the highway was clear; there was no sign of our driver, and no sign of whatever it was that had guillotined Matthews.

Nausea gave way to relief. I despised people like Matthews. People committed to growing their personal power, to dominating others, to getting their way at all costs. Such people give money, that happy fountain of so much pleasure, the bad name it doesn’t deserve. Perhaps this world is Hell, with the tycoons and the chief executives the demons sent to torment us.

And indeed it was hellish, standing their in the rain, with all the horns going off. I decided to go home. I started walking but after a dozen steps I went back for the briefcase. Matthews’s fingers were tight around the handle, but I pried them open and took both the case and the jacket. A wallet bulged in his pocket; I took this also. Before long I came to an exit ramp and got down to street level. I was extremely tense, so at the first coffee shop I found I guzzled a large Carlsberg.

I ordered another and started looking through Matthews’s things. In his wallet were US$187, HK$650 and dozens of credit cards. I pocketed the money and shoved the wallet into the jacket, where I found business cards – some of his own, and some of the clients’ - and his red pen, a Mont Blanc, which I also pocketed.

The briefcase wasn’t locked. I took out the red folder and flipped through it, but the names of the accounts brought back painful memories of my days with All Asia News Base, so I put it aside. There was little else aside from his collapsible keyboard, his PDA, and his mobile phone – all tucked neatly into pockets; it looked as if the briefcase was a custom job. Not much of a haul, really, but the money would come in handy, and I could sell the PDA and the keyboard. I also needed a new phone after tossing the old one into the fish pond at Pok Lee.

I turned on the PDA. As soon as it lit up it prompted me to attach the telephone. I did so and it dialed a number in the states. In no time I was staring at a long list of email. There were dozens of them; I didn’t recognize the senders of most, but Axewell had sent several, including one with the subject heading Jake Stratton Termination/Legal Action.

I opened it.

What a wanker. Why write liaise when he could have written talk. And why write initiate implementation when he could have written get started? And it seemed odd the last paragraph hadn’t included something like I look forward to licking your feet before you use you big, long CEO cock to plough my tight British ass. But badly written as it was, my fate was clear.

But was it? I stared out in the rain for some minutes before I hit the Reply tab and, slowly and carefully, started typing.

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