Midnight Never Comes pc-4 Read online

  He unbuttoned his coat, sliding his hand inside searching for his cigarette case and his fingers touched the butt of the Walther. He pulled it out and examined it quickly, a slight frown on his face. Technically speaking he would be committing an offence from now on simply by continuing to keep it without a permit.

  He held it out over the dark water for a moment and then changed his mind and slipped it back into its pocket. When he found his cigarette case, it was empty and he continued along the wet pavement, turning the corner into an old square surrounded by decaying Georgian houses.

  There was a Chinese restaurant on the other side, a ten-foot dragon in red neon glittering through the rain and he crossed towards it, opened the door and went in.

  It was a long, rather narrow room obviously constructed from the ground floor of the house with the internal walls taken out. It was scrupulously clean and decorated in a vaguely Eastern manner, probably to please the clientele.

  There was only one customer, a Chinese of at least sixty with a bald head and round, enigmatic face. He couldn't have been more than five feet in height, but was incredibly fat and, in spite of his immaculate tan gaberdine suit, bore a distinct resemblance to a small bronze statue of Buddha which stood in a niche at the back of the room, an incense candle burning before it. He was consuming a large plate of chopped raw fish and vegetables with the aid of a very Western fork and ignored Chavasse completely.

  The Chinese girl behind the bar had a flower in her dark hair and wore a cheongsam in heavy black silk brocade embroidered with a red dragon that was twin to the one outside.

  'I'm sorry, sir, we close at midnight.'

  'Any chance of a quick drink?'

  'I'm afraid we only have a table licence.'

  She was very beautiful. Her skin had that creamy look peculiar to Asian women and her lips an extra fullness that gave her a distinctly sensual air. For some strange reason Chavasse felt like reaching out to touch her. He took a grip on himself, started to turn away and then the red dragon seemed to come alive, writhing across the dark dress like some living thing and the walls moved in on him. He lurched against the bar and was aware of her voice faintly in his ear.

  Once in the Aegean, diving from a sponge boat off Kyros he had run out of air at sixty feet and, surfacing, had experienced that same sensation of drifting up from the dark places into light, struggling to draw air into tortured lungs.

  The fat man was at his side, supporting him effortlessly with a grip of surprising strength. Chavasse sank into a chair. Again, there was that strange sensation of not being able to draw enough air into his lungs. He took several deep breaths and managed a smile.

  'Sorry about this. I've been ill for rather a long time. I haven't been up for long. Probably walked too far.'

  The expression on the fat man's face didn't alter and the woman said quickly in Chinese. 'All right, uncle, I'll handle this. Finish your meal.'

  'Do you think they will come now?' the fat man said.

  She shrugged. 'I don't know. I'll leave the door open for a little while longer. We will see.' The fat man moved away and she smiled down at Chavasse. 'You must excuse my uncle. He speaks little English.'

  'That's all right. If I could just sit here for a minute.'

  'Coffee?' the girl said. 'Black coffee and perhaps a double brandy?'

  'Just try me.'

  She went behind the bar and took down a bottle of brandy and a glass. At that moment a car drew up outside. She paused, frowning slightly, and peered through the window. Steps sounded on the pavement. She turned and nodded quickly to the fat man.

  'They are here,' she said simply in Chinese.

  As she came round the end of the bar the door opened and four men entered. The leader was at least six feet tall with a hard raw-boned face and restless blue eyes. He wore a three-quarter length car coat in cavalry twill, the fur collar pulled up around his neck.

  He grinned pleasantly. 'Here we are again then,' he said in a soft Irish voice. 'Got it ready for me, dear?'

  'You are wasting your time, Mr. McGuire,' the girl said. 'There is nothing for you here.'

  His three companions were typical young layabouts dressed in the height of current fashion, hair carefully curled over their collars. One of them was an albino with transparent eyelashes that gave him an unpleasant, tainted look.

  'Now don't give us any trouble, darlin',' he said. 'We've been good to you. Twenty quid a week for a place like this? I think you're getting off lightly.'

  She shook her head. 'Not one penny.'

  McGuire sighed heavily and plucked the bottle of brandy from her hand in a sudden quick gesture, tossing it over his shoulder to splinter the mirror at the back of the bar.

  'That's just for an opener,' he said. 'Now you, Terry.'

  The albino struck like a snake, his hand clawing at the high collar of the silken dress, ripping it savagely to the waist, baring one perfect honey-coloured breast. He pulled her close, cupping the breast in one hand and giggled.

  'It's lucky for you I'm not that kind of boy, darlin'.'

  The fat man was already on his feet and Chavasse kicked a chair across to block his way. 'Stay out of this, uncle,' he said quickly in Chinese.

  In the moment of astonished silence which followed, the four men turned quickly to face him. McGuire was still smiling. 'What have we got here, then, a hero?'

  'Let her go,' Chavasse said and the voice seemed to come from somewhere outside him so that he had difficulty in recognising it as his own.

  The albino giggled and when he bared his teeth, they seemed very white against the full red lips and something snapped inside Chavasse, rising up into his throat like bile, threatening to choke him. It was as if all the frustrations of the day, all the pain and anger of six months of ill-health, of hospitals and endless operations had been waiting for this moment to explode in one white hot spasm of anger.

  He pulled out the Walther and fired blindly, shattering another section of the mirror behind the bar. 'I said let her go!'

  The albino sent the girl staggering across the room with a quick shove, his face turning the colour of his hair. 'Look at his hand,' he said in a whisper. 'It's shaking all over the place. Let's get out of here for Christ's sake.'

  McGuire had stopped smiling, but there was no fear on his face. He stood there, hands thrust deep into his pockets, his eyes never leaving Chavasse who was trembling so violently that he had difficulty in holding the gun steady.

  'Just stay where you are, all of you,' he said. 'I wouldn't like to guarantee what might happen if this thing goes off again.' He nodded to McGuire. 'You-throw your wallet across here.'

  McGuire didn't even hesitate. He pulled out his wallet and tossed it on to the table. Chavasse picked it up with his left hand and opened it. It was stuffed with notes.

  'How much is there here?'

  'A couple of centuries,' McGuire said calmly. 'Maybe a little more.'

  'That should take care of the damage. Anything over can go to the widows and orphans.' Chavasse glanced across at the woman and said in Chinese, 'Do you want the police in on this?'

  She shook her head. 'No-no police.'

  The kitchen door had opened behind her and two waiters and a cook stood there, all Chinese. The waiters were armed with carving knives and the cook carried a meat cleaver.

  'You better get out while you still can,' Chavasse told McGuire. 'You made a bad mistake. These people have their own ways of dealing with scum like you.'

  McGuire smiled pleasantly. 'I'll remember you, friend.' He nodded to the others and went out quickly. The door banged behind them and a moment later, the car drove rapidly away across the square. Chavasse put the Walther back in his pocket and leaned on the table, all strength going out of him in a long sigh. He looked up at the girl and grinned tiredly.

  'I think I could do with that brandy now if it's all right with you.'

  And she was angry, that was the strange thing about it. She turned on her heel and pushed past the wa
iters into the kitchen. Chavasse glanced at the fat man, eyebrows raised.

  'What did I do wrong?'

  'It is nothing,' the fat man said. 'She is upset. But please-your brandy.'

  He went behind the bar, found a fresh bottle and two glasses and came back to the table. 'You spoke to me in Cantonese. You have visited my country often?'

  'You could say that,' Chavasse said. 'Mainly Hong Kong.'

  'But this is fascinating. I am myself from Hong Kong and so is my niece.' He held out his hand. 'My name is Yuan Tao.'

  'Paul Chavasse.' He took the glass of brandy that Yuan Tao held out to him. 'Presumably that bunch have been here before?'

  'I understand so although I only flew in yesterday myself. I believe they have been pressing their demands here and elsewhere for some weeks now.'

  The two waiters and the cook had disappeared and now the girl returned, wearing ski pants and a Norwegian sweater. She still looked angry and her cheeks were touched with colour.

  She ignored her uncle and glared at Chavasse. 'Who are you? What do you want here?'

  Yuan Tao cut in, his voice sharp with authority. 'This is no way to speak, girl. We owe Mr. Chavasse a great deal.'

  'We owe him nothing. He has ruined everything.' She was really very angry indeed. 'Is it just a coincidence that he walks in here at such a moment?'

  'Strangely enough it was just that,' Chavasse said mildly. 'Life's full of them.'

  'And what kind of man carries a gun in London?' she demanded. 'Only another criminal.'

  'Would a criminal have asked you if you wished for the police?' Yuan Tao said.

  Chavasse was tired and there was a slight ache somewhere behind his right eye. He swallowed the rest of his brandy and put the glass down firmly. 'It's been fun, but I think I'd better be going.'

  The girl had opened her mouth to speak again and paused, her eyes widening in astonishment. He ignored her and grinned at Yuan Tao. 'Give my love to Hong Kong.'

  He crossed to the door, opened it and was outside before either of them could reply. He buttoned his coat and a gust of wind kicked rain into his face in an oddly menacing manner as he moved into the night across the square. The girl's attitude didn't matter-nothing mattered any more. Already, what had happened at the restaurant seemed like some strange dream, elusive, unreal.

  He was tired-God, how he was tired and the pavement seemed to move beneath his feet as he turned the corner and found himself in a street that ran parallel to the Thames, iron railings on one side, gaunt shuttered warehouses on the other.

  He moved across and stood at the railings, staring into the fog and somewhere a foghorn sounded as a ship moved down into the Pool. He heard nothing and yet some instinct made him turn. He was too late. An arm slid across his neck, tightening like a band of steel, momentarily cutting off his supply of air. The albino appeared in front of him, his face a dirty yellow mask in the light of the street lamp. Chavasse was aware of the man's hands moving over his body, and he stepped back holding the Walther.

  'Here we are again then, darlin',' he said and something glowed deep in his eyes.

  A black saloon pulled in at the kerb. Chavasse acted. His left foot swung up sharply catching the albino on the right hand. He gave a cry of pain and the Walther soared through the railings and disappeared into the darkness of the river. In the same moment, Chavasse jerked his head back giving the man who held him a sharp blow across the bridge of the nose. The man gave a cry of pain, releasing his hold and Chavasse stumbled around the rear of the saloon and ran for his life.

  He plunged into the fog, his feet splashing in the rain-filled gutter and there was a cry of rage behind him. A moment later he heard the engine of the saloon start up.

  He could taste blood in his mouth and his heart was pounding and then he turned a corner and found himself faced with high iron gates leading on to a deserted wharf and secured by a chain and padlock.

  As he turned, the car braked to a halt a yard or two away and they all seemed to come out together. The one in the lead carried a short iron bar and as he swung Chavasse ducked and the bar clanged against the gate. A foot caught him in the side and he lost his balance.

  He rolled desperately over to avoid the swinging kicks and then he was jerked to his feet, two of them pinning his arms securely, ramming his back against the gate.

  McGuire stood at the side of the saloon with the albino, lighting a cigarette. He shook his head. 'You asked for this, friend, you really did. Okay, Terry, slice him up good.'

  The albino stopped smiling. His hand came out of the pocket of his raincoat holding an old fashioned cut-throat razor. He opened it slowly and as he started forward, saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  The blade of the razor flashed dully in the light of the lamp above the gate and somewhere a cry echoed flatly on the damp air, a strange, frightening sound, shattering the night with the force of a physical blow. The albino swung round and Yuan Tao walked out of the rain into the light.

  He wore no coat and the jacket of the expensive gaberdine suit was soaked by the heavy rain and somehow, he seemed different. This was no ordinary man. Chavasse knew that in an instant. And that strange cry-he had heard it before somewhere or something very much like it. The fighting shout common to all Asian martial arts from karate to kendo.

  McGuire laughed harshly. 'Put him out of his misery, Charlie, for Christ's sake.'

  The man with the iron bar released Chavasse. He darted round the car and ran at Yuan Tao, the bar swinging down viciously. The Chinaman actually took the blow on his left forearm with no apparent ill-effect. In the same moment, his right fist moved in a short forward jab that was unlike any boxing stroke Chavasse had ever seen. It landed high on his assailant's cheek, the bone splintered and the man spun round and fell on his face.

  McGuire gave a growl of rage. He went round the car on the run and kicked Yuan Tao squarely in the stomach with all his force. What happened then would have seemed unbelievable if Chavasse hadn't seen it with his own eyes. The Irishman seemed to rebound backwards and amazingly, Yuan Tao moved in after him. As McGuire straightened, the little Chinaman hit him twice and the Irishman catapulted over the bonnet of the car and sprawled on his back moaning.

  Yuan Tao moved round the car slowly, the same calm expression on his face, and the man who still held Chavasse gave a sudden cry of fear, released his grip and took to his heels.

  The albino giggled horribly and held out the razor in front of him. 'Come on, fatty, let's be having you,' he said.

  'What about me then, Terry?' Chavasse said and as the albino swung round, he put every last ounce of strength he had into one beautiful back-handed chop with the edge of his hand that caught him across the side of the neck.

  The albino writhed in agony on the pavement and Chavasse hung on to the railings to stop himself falling down. Beyond the car, a shooting brake had turned the corner and the two waiters and the cook from the restaurant were already walking towards the dock gates, bringing the fourth man with them.

  'I'd tell them to leave him in one piece if I were you,' Chavasse said to Yuan Tao. 'You'll need him to drive this little lot away.'

  'A good point,' the fat man said. 'Are you all right?'

  'Only just,' Chavasse grinned. 'I don't know what it was you used just now, but I'm beginning to understand why your niece was annoyed with me at the restaurant. Presumably you were just waiting for McGuire and his boys to show up.'

  Yuan Tao smiled. 'I have flown in specially from Hong Kong just for that pleasure, my friend. Su-yin cabled for my help the moment these pigs first introduced themselves. I do not think they will bother us again although I intend to stay for a month or two to make sure.'

  'I should imagine they'll take the point.'

  By this time the three Chinese had arrived with the fourth man. Yuan Tao spoke to them rapidly in a low voice and then returned to Chavasse. 'And now we can leave. They will deal with things here. Su-yin is waiting in her car.'

  Ch
avasse was aware of a strange feeling of elation. It was as if he had come alive again for the first time in months. As they approached the shooting brake, Su-yin got out and came to meet them.

  She ignored her uncle and looked searchingly at Chavasse. 'You are all right?'

  'Nothing that a drink and a hot bath won't cure.'

  She put a hand on his arm. 'I am sorry for what I said earlier.'

  'Nothing to be sorry about.'

  At that moment a scream echoed through the rain. She turned to Yuan Tao, a frown on her face. 'What was that?'

  'The little worm, the one with white hair. I was not pleased with the way he insulted you. I told them to cut off his right ear.'

  Su-yin's face didn't alter. 'I see.' She smiled at Chavasse. 'We will go now. Conversation can come later.'

  'If you have studied judo or karate at all, you will have heard of kiai, the power that makes a man perform apparent miracles of strength and force. Only the greatest of masters may acquire this and only after many years of discipline, both mental and physical.'

  Yuan Tao squatted against the wall of the tiled bathroom dressed in an old terry towelling robe and peered through the steam at Chavasse who half-floated, submerged to his neck in water so hot that sweat broke from his face in great drops.

  He nodded. 'Once in Japan I was taken to meet a master of ninjutsu, an old man of eighty, a Zen priest as a matter of fact. He had arms like sticks and weighed perhaps eight stone. The man who took me was a judo black belt and in a demonstration, he repeatedly attacked the old man who remained seated.'

  'What happened?'

  'Incredible as it may seem, the old man threw him effortlessly. He told me later that the power sprang from the seat of reflex control, what they called the tanden or second brain. Apparently the development of this faculty had nothing to do with physical exercising, but had been the result of many years spent in fasting and meditation.'

  'That is true. All this is but a Japanese development of the ancient Chinese art of Shaolin Temple Boxing. We are told that it first came from India with Zen Buddhism in the sixth century and was developed by the monks of Shaolin Temple in Honan Province.'