Dead in Hong Kong (Nick Teffinger Thriller) by R.J. Jagger Page B

whether everything will be in English or Cantonese.”
    Prarie frowned.
    Neither of them spoke Cantonese, much less read it.
    Her hair was dry but felt like straw. She ran her fingers through it, headed for the shower and said, “I need to wash this salt off.”
    “Go for it. Hey, it’s nice to have you still alive.”
    “Likewise.”
     
    WHEN PRARIE GOT OUT, Emmanuelle was pacing.
    Something was wrong.
    “I called that number the gallery guy gave us,” Emmanuelle said. “The thousand dollar number.”
    “You mean the replica guy?”
    Right.
    Him.
    “He’s willing to meet.”
    “Good.”
    “He sounded weird,” Emmanuelle said.
    “Then forget him.”
    “We don’t have that luxury. We’re just going to need to be careful.”
    “When does he want to do it?”
    “Tonight. Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap or anything?”
    Prarie shook her head.
    “I’m too wound up,” she said. “But I need food in the worst way.”
    “Okay, but no swimming for thirty minutes.”
    Prarie rolled her eyes.
    “Not funny,” she said.
    “A little funny.”
    “Okay, maybe a little.”
     
    THEY WALKED UP NATHAN STREET and ended up in a noisy noodle place with wooden floors and sturdy tables and throngs of people jamming food into their mouths as if they were on ten-minute timers.
    They ordered.
    Thei r food showed up in two minutes, t asty and c heap.
    Prarie told Emmanuelle how she stayed under the water to avoid getting caught. “I was half ready to shoot him when your little episode over on the shore got him distracted. In a way, you saved my life.”
    Emmanuelle stared at her.
    “Shoot him with what?”
    “The gun—didn’t I tell you about that?”
    No.
    She didn’t.
    So she did.
    “What did you do with it?”
    “The gun?”
    “Right.”
    “I just left it there on the shore,” she said. “Why?”
    “Do you think it’s still there?”
    Prarie shrugged.
    “I don’t know. Probably—”
    “Let’s go get it.”
    Prarie shook her head. “Guns are illegal in Hong Kong,” she said. “If you get caught with one, you’re going to jail, period, end of sentence. And the jails here aren’t nice.”
    Emmanuelle chewed noodles and considered it.
    Then she said, “I’d rather have it than not, at least tonight. If things go okay with the replica guy, we’ll dump it afterwards.”
    Prarie shook her head.
    “We got the knives,” she said.
    Yes, t hey did.
    “Knives aren’t guns,” Emmanuelle said.
    Prarie studied the woman.
    “This guy really has you spooked,” she said.
    “No, I’m just being cautious.”
    Prarie rolled her eyes.
    “Spooked with a capital S.”
    Emmanuelle smiled.
    “Okay, spooked, but not with a capital.”
     
    THEY PAID THE BILL and then took the MRT to the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter. The r ock star was nowhere to be seen but the gun was, r ight where Prarie left it. Emmanuelle brushed the dirt off and stuck it in her purse.
    “Do you think it will still fire?” Prarie asked.
    Emmanuelle nodded.
    “It should, so long as the water didn’t get to the gunpowder.”
    “How do we know if that happened or not?”
    Emmanuelle looked around, saw no one close, stuck the tip of the barrel in the water and pulled the trigger. Water splashed into her face. She wiped it off with the back of her hand and said, “There’s our answer. We should clean it though so the salt doesn’t jam it up.”
    Prarie tilted her head, i mpressed.
    “You’re such an organized little criminal.”
    “Criminal hunter,” Emmanuelle said. “There’s a difference.”

Chapter Thirty-One
    Day Five—August 7
    Friday Afternoon
    ______________
     
    THE MYSTERY WOMAN walked east towards Central for five minutes and then hopped on a double-decker bus just as it took off. Teffinger looked for a cab, spotted one ten steps ahead and pounded on the passenger-side glass. Two people in the back recoiled to the opposite side. The driver shouted something and waved a fist.
    Shit!
    Then he ran a fter the bus