Hong Kong
The client's request was a little unusual. When Bob first told me, I thought he was kidding.
"They are serious. I know that because they have already wired $200,000 to our account." Bob liked to use the word "our" to refer to the business we were both in. I did not share his enthusiasm.
"There is no 'our', Bob. You know how much I dislike how that word sounded. It is as if we are in a relationship." I stepped out of bed and pulled back the blinds. The sun was peeking out of the morning clouds.
"Correction, the business has just received a transfusion of cash. They agreed to our usual arrangement, half up front, half after the job is completed." Bob liked to use the plural "they" to refer to the client, even it was just one person.
Bob and I had been business partners for the last five and the half years. He did the brain work. I was the muscle. We were successful because very few people could visualize an attractive white woman killing with her bare hands. This was as true in the Far East as anywhere else in the world.
Bob and I argued about many things, mostly about operational details and tactics. But we never disagreed about how we would split the money. When it's time to go separate ways, we agreed that it would be right down the middle.
We both knew the risks were substantial in this business. I did all the physical work. So the risk of injury or death if something went wrong fell squarely on my shoulders. If I were captured, it was understood that Bob would hire someone to rescue me. But if I died, Bob would pocket all the money.
Similarly, if Bob died, I would be the only heir of the secret account we had set up in the Bahamas. In quiet moments, Bob let me know he thought he was shouldering his fair share of the risks. After all, I was invisible to our clients, who never knew who carried out the hit. They only know Bob.
"The client does not want him to be killed. They only want him to be humiliated, in a way he would never forget." Bob wrapped his arms around me. He moved a few strands of my blonde hair behind my right ear. No matter high many times we've been in this hotel, the stunning Hong Kong skyline never failed to amaze us.
"What does the client want me to do to him?" I turned around and asked. Bob was naked except for his boxers. I had my black bra and faded blue jeans.
"They want you to lure him to a hotel room, force him to masturbate, and then swallow his own semen." Bob took out his Kindle Fire and clicked on a picture. The target was an Asian man in his fifties, overweight with a pot belly, with narrow eyes, fleshy face, and a double chin.
"Any information on how tall he is? It's hard to tell from the picture."
"He's about five foot six at most." Bob moved his index finger across the seven-inch screen, bringing up another picture of the target. This time, the target was standing next to Mr. Leung, the chief executive of Hong Kong. It looked like some kind of fund raising event.
"What has he done to deserve our services?" I had used the word 'our' accidentally. But he did not pick it up.
"He must have stepped on the toes of some very powerful people. Maybe he said something in public that he shouldn't have. Or maybe he embarrass someone but not giving them the proper respect." We usually do not ask any questions about motive. All the client had to have was the cash.
"You mean he did not give face to an important man in Hong Kong?"
"Yeah, face no good and no give, or whatever fucking way the locals would say." Bob did not like it that I spoke fluent Cantonese. My parents had given me an upbringing that was invaluable in this business.
"How am I supposed to get in touch with this man?" I pointed to the JPEG picture on Bob's new tablet.
With a flick of his hairy wrist, Bob brought up a picture of an office building. The Bank of China building, designed by the famous American architect I.M. Pei, was one of the most recognizable landmarks in Hong Kong.
"The target's name is Mr. Henry Chen. Tomorrow afternoon at four, you have an appointment to interview for the job of translator. Mr. Chen is fluent only in Cantonese and Mandarin. He is planning to travel to Arkansas next month for an important meeting with the largest retailer in the world."
"Am I the only candidate?"
"No. I hacked into his calendar and found out he will be interviewing four women. Two of them are brunettes, and one of them a redhead. You are the only one that is his type." Bob winked at me as he said that. It seemed that gentlemen preferred blondes, even in China.
"I show up at four, charm the hell out of him, let him take me out to dinner, have too many drinks, and then check into a hotel." We were used to rehearsing the steps the night before the action. Over planning did not work for us. There had to be room for improvisation.
"The client wants the action to be videotaped," Bob handed me a smart phone. "Save it under this file." Bob clicked on a folder marked "Confidential – do not delete!"
"So this is about blackmail in addition to humiliation?"
"I think so. Anyway, the client also wants me to travel with him to Arkansas. We are leaving first thing in the morning." He handed me my return tickets to the states. "I will meet you at the Dallas airport."
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The hotel phone screamed at five in the morning. It was Bob's wakeup call from the operator downstairs. We ordered room service before he left for the airport.
After a hot shower, I discovered that Bob had left a card under my pillow. It simply said happy birthday. My birthday was next week, on the day I would return to Dallas. Bob was sweet, and he was good in bed, but I never wanted the complications that came with a relationship.
I spent the rest of the morning shopping for the right outfit. It had to be both professional enough not to arouse any suspicions. But it also had to be sexy enough to catch Mr. Chen's eye.
The top was easy. I found a cream-colored blouse that was a little translucent. He would see a silhouette of my bra, and a peek of my cleavage if I leave the top button undone. With a dark jacket, I could shrug my shoulders and display just the right dosage of skin.
The pencil skirt was tougher to find. The typical Chinese woman was shorter than my five foot nine frame. I had a narrow waist, so the skirts I tried on came down to only mid-thigh, leaving six inches of bare skin above my knee, even when I was standing up. Factoring the three inch hike, the hem of the skirt would move dangerously close to my panty line when I sat, especially if Mr. Chen had a low chair in his office.
It took me until lunch to find the right skirt in an obscure corner of a shopping mall in Kowloon, a subway ride away from Hong Kong. I returned to the hotel, ordered room service again, and took a nap. An hour before the appointment, I showered again, dressed, and called downstairs to have a taxi ready for me.
Arriving ten minutes early, I rode the elevator to the sixty-ninth floor. There were security personnel and security cameras everywhere, but nobody stopped me to check my purse. Even if anyone did, I did not bring any weapons.
A petite woman greeted me at the lobby of the sixty-ninth floor. Within a minute, I was in the presence of Henry Chen. His eyes zeroed in on my legs as soon as I walked in.
"Please sit down." He waited for me to sink into the large chair opposite him before he sat down.
"I spent the first sixteen years of my life living in Hong Kong, so I speak fluent Cantonese and Mandarin." I spoke to him using Cantonese.
"Very impressive." He replied, also in Cantonese. "None of the other candidates today spoke as fluently as you." He switched to Mandarin.
"Thank you. I had the opportunity of total immersion. My parents were missionaries who believed in learning the local language to be effective." I switched to Mandarin as well.
"I have decided to offer you the job. What does it take to convince you to take the job?"
"Well, a girl has to eat. Are there any good restaurants around here?"
"Hong Kong has the best restaurants in the world? May I have the pleasure of buying you dinner?"
