The Vig (McGill And Gropper Thrillers Book 4) - Andrew Davie

The Vig (McGill And Gropper Thrillers Book 4) by Andrew Davie

Book excerpt

Gropper was on the sidewalk outside of a ramen shop and across the street from Lloyd’s Bar in Tsim Sha Tsui. He covertly watched Kwun in the reflection in the window. Kwun had dyed blonde hair in a pompadour and wore a black leather jacket, the favored look of a rockabilly musician from a bygone era. Kwun closed the door of his car and dragged a comb through his hair. Some women walked by, and Kwun called out to them. Gropper couldn’t hear what was said due to the traffic. However, the women paused, answered Kwun, and continued to walk away. One of them looked back over her shoulder. Kwun had a reputation as a ladies’ man, and as far as Gropper was concerned, this helped confirm it.

Kwun watched the girls disappear. Afterward, he made his way to the bar. Going to Lloyd’s every Friday night had become a ritual. Kwun would have two glasses of wine and review his business transactions from the week.

The bar was heavily fortified, so Kwun never had to worry about anything. Kwun would usually stay for an hour, and then he would head home. Gropper had analyzed the schedule and decided this would be the best place to handle business. It would be difficult, but if Gropper was successful, it would leave everyone in utter confusion, and practically ensure Gropper’s escape. Gropper waited another minute after Kwun had gone inside before he crossed the street himself. Inside, the bar was quiet. It was a classy place, postmodern, and dimly lit. Against the right wall were shelves with rows of liquor bottles. The wine cellar was downstairs. Tables for two to four people were scattered throughout the room.

Kwun sat by himself at a table near the back. A notepad and a glass of red wine were the only items visible on his table. Two other patrons sat at various points between the entrance and the back. Each of them worked for the syndicate. One of them was reading a book, and another listened to music and mouthed along with the words. The bartender was the only person in the place who didn’t appear to be connected.

Kwun himself would be another story. Even though he was higher up in the organization, and certainly above getting his hands dirty, he enjoyed mixing it up. He was easily enraged, which suited Gropper’s plan nicely. Gropper opened the door and strode in as if he was inebriated but trying with all his energy to look completely sober.

“I’m sorry,” the bartender began to say to Gropper, “this is a private club.”

The bartender made a gesture that suggested Gropper should stop and turn around.

“I just want one drink,” Gropper said.

Gropper had already started walking toward the back with the confidence of someone who would be able to talk his way into having a drink, even if this was a private club. Once the bartender realized Gropper wasn’t going to listen, the bartender barked a quick command to the muscle.

Both men immediately lifted their heads and stood simultaneously to address the problem. Gropper, however, had already made it to the rear of the establishment. He stumbled a little to give off the proper impression and banged into the corner of Kwun’s table. It was enough of a shot to knock the wine glass onto its side and splash the contents on Kwun’s notebook.

Immediately, Gropper began to apologize and grabbed at a place setting on a nearby table. The bartender started yelling at the two others who, though they clearly could have destroyed the bartender, took his abuse without comment. They moved quickly to grab the interloper when Kwun put his hand up to stop them.

Kwun finished assessing the damage and looked at Gropper. “Why don’t we talk about this?” he asked calmly.

“Thank you; that would be great,” Gropper said. He handed a napkin to Kwun, who blotted at his shirt and pants. Gropper took a seat at the table and continued to apologize without stopping for a breath. His words came on in a stream of consciousness barrage. However, almost as soon as Gropper had sat down at the table, Kwun walked toward the rear of the place. Gropper stood, followed, and continued his apology.

“I mean, I’d be happy to buy you another round. Just let me know what you were drinking,” Gropper said, and hurried so he could keep up with the man.

Together they snaked through a storage room full of boxes of booze toward a door that led to the back alley. Kwun opened the door and walked outside. Gropper followed.

“Or, if you wanted something else?” Gropper continued to say when they made it outside.

There weren’t any cameras. Management had assumed no one would be stupid enough to deface or burglarize their property. So, they had forgone installing any protective measures. Except for tonight’s accident, it had been a long time before there had been any trouble at all.

“What are you thinking?” Gropper asked.

Kwun had stopped walking and still looked in the opposite direction. Gropper couldn’t see his face.

“Let me see,” Kwun said. He turned around quickly and hit Gropper.

Gropper fell to the ground. “Jesus!” Gropper yelled.

Since he was a boy, Kwun had studied and trained in various disciplines, but his instructors had always remarked about his inability to control his temper. It had been the sole reason he’d been disqualified from almost all the tournaments in which he had competed. It was also what had made him such a brutal enforcer.

Kwun grabbed Gropper under the armpits and lifted him. Gropper swayed from side to side. Blood flowed from his nose and upper lip where he had been struck. Then, just as suddenly, he stopped swaying and became rigid. On his way outside, Gropper had swiped a saltshaker from one of the tables and kept it in his palm. He had taken the punch from Kwun and sold it as if his attacker had connected and done some real damage.

When Gropper was certain Kwun had bought it, Gropper gave up the ruse. He positioned the saltshaker so the domed top protruded from between his middle and ring fingers. Gropper delivered a textbook blow. He felt the resistance as the saltshaker pierced Kwun’s eye.

Kwun fell to the ground almost immediately, and his body began to spasm. There was no scream or sounds other than Kwun’s limbs flailing. Gropper removed the saltshaker from Kwun’s ocular cavity and deposited it in a plastic bag he’d had in his pocket. Once it was secure, he walked from the alley to the street corner and then the metro station. He threw the plastic bag with the saltshaker into the trash can.

It was still early enough for crowds to be on the platform, so he blended in with them, and boarded the train when it arrived.

***

The office was large and decorated in very severe tones of gray. Trophies of the heads of various animals adorned the walls and a large mural rested on the far wall, which depicted some sort of glorious sword battle from hundreds of years previous. The office was a converted apartment in the Mid-Levels of Hong Kong, close to the world’s longest escalator.

The desk was massive, more like a conference table. Behind it sat a man who seemed to be engulfed by his chair. His hair was slicked back, and he had an ease about him. However, lurking just beneath the surface, Gropper sensed the man had an enormous capacity for violence.

Behind the man stood another, adorned in a track suit with a split eyebrow. At five-five the man wasn’t outwardly intimidating, but he looked like he knew how to handle himself in a physical confrontation. He also didn’t exude calmness anywhere close to the man in the chair: Edgar Chen.

Chen may have been fifty or seventy. He was in relatively good shape. He had all his hair, which had remained black without the use of products. Though the capacity for violence never disappeared, Gropper could not get a read on Chen. The man had incredible control.

Chen reached into a desk drawer, removed an envelope and a cigarette from a gold case and lit the tip with a weatherproof lighter. He took a drag and slid the envelope toward Gropper.

Gropper thumbed through the money without taking it from the envelope. Satisfied it was all there, he put it in his jacket pocket. Chen placed his cigarette in an ashtray near a decanter of what Gropper could only imagine was expensive Scotch.