Read Dead Ringer for Free Online Page A
Authors: Allen Wyler
kicked it up to seventy-five grand?”
Leo’s face sobered. He just stood there like he wasn’t going to allow himself to get sucked into being the butt of a joke.
Ditto said, “I’m serious.”
Gerhard took a long pull of a Labatt’s. “Then hell, yeah. What you expect me to say?”
“See, here’s the thing. You know how we’re always short on bodies? Well, I’ve been thinking about a way to deal with that.”
“Yeah?”
“We don’t wait for them; we just take them. People no one will miss. You know, homeless, hookers, addicts. Who gives a shit about ’em? Follow?”
Gerhard took a pull. “Kill them, huh.” Making a statement out of a question.
Which convinced Ditto that Leo’s only issue was the money. “That’s right. That’s what I’m thinking.” Now it was out in the open, but if there was one person on this earth he could trust with a proposition like this, it was Leo.
Gerhard nodded slowly, thinking it over. “But there’s a problem.”
Uh-oh . “Yeah?”
“Seventy-five’s a little on the low side for that kinda work.”
Ditto breathed a sigh of relief. “What’s a more realistic figure?”
“Ninety, thereabouts.”
Ditto had already done the math. Even at ninety it was a steal. He held out his hand. “Deal.”
6
H UTONG R ESTAURANT , H ONG K ONG
“Y OUR DRINK, SIR .” A waiter wearing white gloves and a tux held out a round black lacquer tray to Lucas with a traditional martini glass perfectly centered. A spiraled lemon rind floated in Bombay Sapphire, one end hooked over the rim, looking like it was right out of an Architectural Digest advertisement.
“Thank you.” Lucas sampled the drink. Perfect. Exactly what he needed. Especially after today. Man, what a bitch it’d been.
Once he’d recovered from the initial shock of seeing that guy that looked like his friend, he’d gone on to do the demonstration, but only after Wong exchanged that head with another one, which turned out to be a female with her hair clipped off too. From the natural color of the roots and the lack of lines around the eyes and mouth, he guessed her to be mid-twenties. Which also seemed so depressing. How could a woman so young be dead? It caused him worry again about his son Josh. Was he okay?
Now he was supposed to be chatting up the other surgeons but couldn’t bring himself to do it. They seemed to sense this and left him alone, standing in small clusters, chatting and munching serious-looking hors d’oeuvres served by an attractive Chinese woman in an embroidered red silk dress with a mandarin collar and provocative slit up the side to show a littleleg. With her killer smile and long legs, she wove effortlessly through the group.
With the start of the morning session delayed an hour, they’d finished later than scheduled, so Wong had shepherded the group here directly from the hospital, giving Lucas just one chance to call home with his cell phone, only to get no answer. How frustrating. He checked his watch and calculated how much longer until the party might be over so he could go back to his room. Hopefully, dinner would be mercifully short.
He took another sip of the martini and attempted to distract himself by looking more closely at the restaurant. Impressive. The society had reserved a separate dining area of the Hutong, a restaurant renowned for its bird’s-eye view of Hong Kong from the twenty-eighth floor of One Peking in Tsim Sha Tsui. Nice place. And in a better frame of mind, he’d certainly would’ve enjoyed the guest of honor role. But not after this morning.
Drink in hand, he stepped to the floor-to-ceiling windows to peer down on Hong Kong Island and Victoria Harbour where two Star Ferries passed each other in opposite directions. He checked his watch again, trying to convert to Seattle time, vaguely aware of a fifteen-hour difference.
A familiar voice asked, “You feel better now?” Wong stood next to him, teacup in one hand, saucer in the other.
Lucas
Leo’s face sobered. He just stood there like he wasn’t going to allow himself to get sucked into being the butt of a joke.
Ditto said, “I’m serious.”
Gerhard took a long pull of a Labatt’s. “Then hell, yeah. What you expect me to say?”
“See, here’s the thing. You know how we’re always short on bodies? Well, I’ve been thinking about a way to deal with that.”
“Yeah?”
“We don’t wait for them; we just take them. People no one will miss. You know, homeless, hookers, addicts. Who gives a shit about ’em? Follow?”
Gerhard took a pull. “Kill them, huh.” Making a statement out of a question.
Which convinced Ditto that Leo’s only issue was the money. “That’s right. That’s what I’m thinking.” Now it was out in the open, but if there was one person on this earth he could trust with a proposition like this, it was Leo.
Gerhard nodded slowly, thinking it over. “But there’s a problem.”
Uh-oh . “Yeah?”
“Seventy-five’s a little on the low side for that kinda work.”
Ditto breathed a sigh of relief. “What’s a more realistic figure?”
“Ninety, thereabouts.”
Ditto had already done the math. Even at ninety it was a steal. He held out his hand. “Deal.”
6
H UTONG R ESTAURANT , H ONG K ONG
“Y OUR DRINK, SIR .” A waiter wearing white gloves and a tux held out a round black lacquer tray to Lucas with a traditional martini glass perfectly centered. A spiraled lemon rind floated in Bombay Sapphire, one end hooked over the rim, looking like it was right out of an Architectural Digest advertisement.
“Thank you.” Lucas sampled the drink. Perfect. Exactly what he needed. Especially after today. Man, what a bitch it’d been.
Once he’d recovered from the initial shock of seeing that guy that looked like his friend, he’d gone on to do the demonstration, but only after Wong exchanged that head with another one, which turned out to be a female with her hair clipped off too. From the natural color of the roots and the lack of lines around the eyes and mouth, he guessed her to be mid-twenties. Which also seemed so depressing. How could a woman so young be dead? It caused him worry again about his son Josh. Was he okay?
Now he was supposed to be chatting up the other surgeons but couldn’t bring himself to do it. They seemed to sense this and left him alone, standing in small clusters, chatting and munching serious-looking hors d’oeuvres served by an attractive Chinese woman in an embroidered red silk dress with a mandarin collar and provocative slit up the side to show a littleleg. With her killer smile and long legs, she wove effortlessly through the group.
With the start of the morning session delayed an hour, they’d finished later than scheduled, so Wong had shepherded the group here directly from the hospital, giving Lucas just one chance to call home with his cell phone, only to get no answer. How frustrating. He checked his watch and calculated how much longer until the party might be over so he could go back to his room. Hopefully, dinner would be mercifully short.
He took another sip of the martini and attempted to distract himself by looking more closely at the restaurant. Impressive. The society had reserved a separate dining area of the Hutong, a restaurant renowned for its bird’s-eye view of Hong Kong from the twenty-eighth floor of One Peking in Tsim Sha Tsui. Nice place. And in a better frame of mind, he’d certainly would’ve enjoyed the guest of honor role. But not after this morning.
Drink in hand, he stepped to the floor-to-ceiling windows to peer down on Hong Kong Island and Victoria Harbour where two Star Ferries passed each other in opposite directions. He checked his watch again, trying to convert to Seattle time, vaguely aware of a fifteen-hour difference.
A familiar voice asked, “You feel better now?” Wong stood next to him, teacup in one hand, saucer in the other.
Lucas