The Jade Figurine Read Free Page A

shook my head. “Not my brand.”
    He shrugged lightly, extracted one from the box. He put it between his soft lips and lit it with a thin gold lighter encrusted with tiny jade stones. Through bluish smoke he said, “It is my information that you are a former airplane pilot, Mr. Connell, one not averse to transporting unauthorized cargo for a proper price.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “This is, of course, the reason Monsieur La Croix spoke with you.”
    “Is it?”
    “He wished you to transport him from Singapore, correct?”
    “No.”
    “Of course he did.”
    “Were you there? I don’t fly any more, Van Rijk.”
    “Did you agree to his proposal?”
    “There wasn’t any proposal.”
    “How much did he offer you?”
    “Nothing at all.”
    “What was his destination?”
    “If he had one, he didn’t confide it to me.”
    Van Rijk made a sucking sound on his cigarette, and we sat looking at each other like a pair of old enemies. Pretty soon he said, “I have become rather bored with this game of verbal chess, Mr. Connell. You would be most wise to tell me what I wish to know.”
    He was beginning to get on my nerves. “I don’t have to tell you a goddam thing,” I said, keeping my voice equable. “I don’t know who the hell you are, and I don’t really care much. I do know that I don’t like you or your manner or your implications. Do I make myself clear?”
    I watched his eyes change. They were no longer liquidy, and they were no longer mild. He didn’t look quite as soft as he had before. “I am not a patient man,” he said softly. “When I have lost what little forbearance I possess, I am also not a very pleasant man. Ordinarily I abhor violence in any form, but there are instances when I find it to be the only alternative.”
    “So that’s the way you want to play it” I put my hands flat on the table and leaned toward him. “All right, Van Rijk,” I said. “You’ve made your point, now I’ll make mine. I’m not going anywhere with you, if that’s what you had in mind. I’m sure your two bodyguards or whatever they are are armed to the teeth, but I doubt if you’d have them shoot anybody in a crowded bazaar like this one. In fact, I doubt if you’d want to make any trouble at all. So you’ve got about thirty seconds before I push your fat face in where you sit. Those two would get into it, too, and I think you know what that would mean. Would you care to spend some time in a city penjara for street brawling, Van Rijk?”
    Anger blotched his pink cheeks. The other two were poised on the balls of their feet now, watching me with their flat eyes. They were waiting for some sign from Van Rijk.
    But I had judged him accurately. Abruptly, he stood. “There will be another time, Mr. Connell,” he said; the words dripped vitriol. “When the streets are not so crowded, and when the sunlight is not so bright.”
    “Piss off, fat boy,” I said.
    Van Rijk pivoted and stalked away between the closely set tables. The other two were at his heels. The three of them disappeared into the waterfront confusion.
    I sat there for a time, thinking. I was a little bothered by Van Rijk’s threats, but they could have been a bluff and I decided I had handled the situation as well as could be expected. I was also a little curious about Van Rijk, and about his relationship with La Croix—but not enough to pursue the situation. I didn’t want, and could not afford, to let myself become involved in anything.
    I got on my feet and put it out of my mind. It was, I thought, time for another iced beer.

Chapter Three
    T HE OLD CATHAY Bar, on Jalan Barat, is one of Singapore’s many enigmas.
    It is an ancient, single-story building with an unpretentious façade that gives it the distinctive look of a Chinatown tenement. Its barnlike interior is perpetually hot and stifling, even at night, and the smell of joss—perfumed incense—permeates the smoke-died air. There are scarred wooden tables scattered