Blue Lantern by Gil Hogg Page B

afternoon. The mess was panelled in dark wood, and had dusty cases displaying the tarnished trophies won by the station in competitions with others. A head table and two long tables were occupied by a sprinkling of diners; stewards in green cotton jackets moved through an odour of cabbage soup.
    At the entrance they met Assistant Superintendent Freddie Hudson. For his age, forty-seven, Hudson was in a relatively junior position. Brodie had identified him as one of a breed of expatriates who disliked Hong Kong, but couldn’t face life in inevitably reduced circumstances in England; he clung to a well paid but minor post. Hudson was in reality a clerk who dealt with the needs of commissioned officers. He was silver-haired with pale, bulbous features moulded randomly, like uncooked pastry. But Hudson, unlike some of his colleagues, was not boorish toward his juniors.
    â€œCome and join me in a drink,” he said, indicating seats at the bar in a courtly way. He seemed to like drinking with the younger fry. He had a certain gaiety and took his work casually. He had arranged the Mongkok end of Sherwin’s posting, and welcomed him. He ordered pints of lager for Brodie and Sherwin, a double pink gin for himself, and started to talk about dissident groups in the Colony.
    â€œI think there might be trouble.”
    â€œWhat kind?” Brodie asked.
    â€œWho can say? The odd riot. A few bombs.”
    â€œWho are these dissidents?”
    â€œThe Rickshaw Boy’s Association worrying about the price of sandals, for all I know.”
    â€œIt doesn’t sound much.”
    â€œIt’s going to affect you lads.”
    â€œHow?” Brodie asked.
    Hudson grinned to himself, and toked heavily on a cigarette. “Further duties, my friend.”
    â€œMore work, great. When do I sleep?”
    But Brodie couldn’t get Hudson to go beyond the flippant, and left him nursing his secret. “Paul and I are going over to the yacht club after lunch.”
    â€œYou’re members?” Hudson asked twirling his empty gin glass, and signalling for service.
    â€œNo, we’re going to join.”
    Hudson looked at them sceptically. “Quite right. Get away from police scum.”
    Sherwin put his empty glass on the bar and went to sit down. Hudson detained Brodie with a hand on his arm.
    â€œMike, while we’re talking about sailing. The Manila race. You’re on for that?”
    It was Hudson who had introduced Brodie to Harold Evans, the Treasury official who owned the yacht. Brodie had begun to take the crewing proposal more seriously since Helen had agreed to come. He had already told Evans, who was keen to have a doctor on board, about Helen. The race had been an interesting idea at first, but now it was beginning to have a number of justifications.
    â€œDead keen. I’ll be taking my leave then, and … I could see a bit of the Phillipines.”
    â€œOK, you need to get practice on the boat. Come out during the weekend. With my wife, and a few others. Get away from the police crowd, you know?”
    Brodie assented, and left Hudson with the others at the bar. Sherwin was seated with Parker and a couple of his Special Branch cronies. Brodie helped himself to a salad from the buffet and joined them.
    â€œHow’s the case going, Paul?” Parker asked.
    â€œSo-so.”
    â€œI heard it was likely to be thrown out.”
    â€œIf you know so much, why ask?”
    â€œLet’s leave the case, Don,” Brodie said.
    â€œIt’s certainly a bad subject for the digestion,” Parker snorted, and the Special Branch pair guffawed.
    â€œWhat about you, Mike. I hear you’ve been cleaning up the town.”
    â€œYou hear everything don’t you?” Brodie replied, troubled that his policing had attracted wider notice than Flinn’s in-tray.
    Parker darted his eyes from one to the other of them, and fingered the tight knot of his club tie. “Pretty