Kowloon Tong by Paul Theroux Page B

nowhere else."
    Bunt said, "You
are
threatening me."
    "I am telling your fortune," Mr. Hung said.
    That stopped Bunt cold. Now he wished, twisting his hands, that he had a drink.
    "If you don't accept a substantial profit now in hard currency, you will receive less next year in yuan. Either way you will sell—willingly now, or next year under pressure. It is not a choice. It is merely a matter of time. The rice is cooked."
    "I think you're bluffing. How do I know you're a high official?"
    "Instead of asking whether you know me, consider how much I know about you," Mr. Hung said. "I know of your relationship with Mei-ping and the Filipino girl. Wendell is a so-called Eurasian."
    "What's that got to do with anything?"
    Hung said, "I am showing you that I am well acquainted. I also know that you have a separate bank account that even your mother is not aware of. I know the balance in it. I know that you have mislabeled some of your goods—"
    "Everyone does that," Bunt said, hoping to stop him.
    "And you have kept the proceeds, which means an irregularity on your tax returns. British tax returns, of course. But next year they will be Chinese tax returns. In China embezzling is a crime against the people. Embezzlers are given a short trial and then shot in the back of the head. Shall I go on?"
    "Don't bother."
    "Next year you will be begging to sell."
    Mr. Hung had almost convinced him. Bunt was terrified by what the man knew.
    Bunt said, "Next year you won't make a profit."
    "Neither will you," Mr. Hung said. "Do you see why it is so necessary that we become partners?"
    "I don't want to be your partner. I don't like you. In fact, I hate you," Bunt said. "You're a spotty bottom."
    Now Bunt was certain that Mr. Hung was smiling. "That is irrelevant," he said. "You probably don't like your employees either. But they do their work, so you pay them."
    It was what Bunt had often felt, it was something his mother had said out loud. How did Mr. Hung know it?
    "A woman you have sex with is one that you need, not one that you love," Mr. Hung said.
    Again it was like a glimpse into his heart, and Bunt was ashamed and fearful.
    "I am telling you that you need me," Mr. Hung said.
    "You need me too!"
    Mr. Hung jerked his head sideways at Bunt's shout, and his face caught a bit of light from the dance floor. His smile, the worst feature of his face, rattled Bunt badly.
    "Think of yourself."
    It was what everyone said. But this man was different. For the first time Bunt was hearing this solemn truth from a Chinese person who claimed to be a government official.
    "You have no future here."
    Bunt was not wholly convinced. But something else took hold of him, the certainty that next year and in the future there would be more men like this—smiling, pestering, threatening, insinuating, and enforcing the law, all the new clauses about subversion and disloyalty. This was the future of Hong Kong, a Chinese system of threats and bribes and crookery, whispers of dire consequences in disreputable places like this. And it would be like the old system, except that he would not be a U.K. citizen in a British colony anymore, he would be a U.K. citizen in a Chinese Special Administrative Region. He would be the ultimate
gweilo.
    Bunt stared across the table in this shadowy booth. In the uncertain light of the Pussy Cat, Hung's face had the malign expression of the devil goddess in the red box by the door, the mama-san's shrine, with a bright fruit in a bowl as an offering. Next year there would be more diabolical men like Mr. Hung, and he knew he would hate them all. He would want out.
    He said, "I'll have to ask my mother."
    "Your mother has already agreed to the terms."
    Hung was right about her, too.
    Bunt hurried out of the Pussy Cat. He would not have minded being seen with a prostitute, but he did not want to be seen leaving with Mr. Hung.
    Monty did not seem surprised when Bunt told him of his decision. They used the conference room of