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back. I got my first job on RTHK, the Government radio station, and spent a few years with TVB, the bigger of the two television stations here. I even spent a couple of months in public relations for my sins.’
    We burst out of the tunnel into the open air again, and cars started fighting for position now that they were freed from the constraints of the single file tunnel lanes. Towering above us was a tall white building with a convex façade, and atop in large blue letters was the word ‘Excelsior’.
    ‘I moved to the South China Morning Post about eight years ago as a feature writer, but knocked that on the head when the paper was taken over. Now I string for your paper and a couple in Australia. I do a monthly column that’s syndicated to half a dozen Scottish papers, and the odd radio report for the Beeb. And if I’m really desperate I do a bit of PR. There’s plenty of freelance work to make a decent enough living. Most of the papers just pay lineage, and there are plenty of slack periods when nothing much happens in Hong Kong, so I wish more papers were like yours and paid monthly retainers.’
    ‘Yeah, well I heard that our Foreign Desk has been told to review its costs,’ I said. Howard looked as if I’d stabbed him in the chest. ‘But that’s nothing new,’ I added, ‘they’re always threatening cutbacks. You know how it works.’ He didn’t look any happier.
    The taxi joined a queue waiting to pull in front of the main hotel entrance. The cars weren’t going anywhere so I reached for the door handle but it was locked and when I unlocked it the driver started jabbering and pointing to the road. I managed to get the door open but he pulled a lever under the dashboard and it slammed shut again.
    ‘I’m not going to sit here with the meter running, I don’t mind walking twenty feet,’ I said and put my shoulder against the door and pushed, but the little sod had managed to lock it again. Now he was shrieking and stabbing a bony finger at me and then pointing to the road again. The nail on the accosting digit was black and rotting and flecks of spittle splattered onto my face as he shouted.
    Howard put his hand on my shoulder. ‘He can’t let you out, laddie. We’re on a yellow line. If a policeman catches him he’ll be fined on the spot.’
    ‘Well why didn’t he tell me that?’ I asked, and even before the words left my mouth I realized how stupid that sounded. He had been telling me – in Chinese.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said and the driver grinned, showing me a mouthful of teeth every bit as black and rotten as the fingernail.
    We eventually reached the front of the queue and the door was opened by a turbaned Indian in a black and gold uniform. The lobby was nothing special, functional rather than inspiring, and packed with Chinese and American tourists with a sprinkling of British Airways crews. I signed in and the receptionist asked me if I had any luggage and I said no. She said she’d get someone to show me to the room and again I said no.
    ‘Just give me the key,’ I told her and she looked at me as if I’d stolen her puppy or her handbag or her virginity or whatever it was she prized most. I thought she was going to burst into tears but she held out the electronic key card. The room was on the nineteenth floor and Howard had already started to walk to the lift, dodging in and out of a minefield of suitcases. The lifts were like the lobby, clean and functional and packed with tourists, and we seemed to stop at every floor on the way up.
    The room was OK, one largish bed and one single, a phone on a table between them, middle of the range television, and a fridge. The bathroom was small with marble and red granite and it had another phone by the toilet but even so it was comfortable rather than luxurious.
    Howard stood by the door with his arms folded as I gave the room the once over. I’d obviously been given the executive package because there was a vase of carnations on the