“You’ll have to explain,” Tristan said.
“He is a 426,” Bentley said.
“That means he’s a red poll, which is an executioner for a triad. The executioner carries out all the triad’s dirty work, no matter the activity: loan-sharking, prostitution, gambling, smuggling, anything like that.”
Tristan looked back at Marissa to see if she’d heard what Bentley had to say. She rolled her eyes. She’d heard.
“We are going to the Stanley Restaurant to meet this Mr.
Yip,” Tristan said.
Bentley braked and pulled over to the side of the road. He put the car in Park and turned off the ignition. Then he turned around to look directly at Tristan.
“We have to talk,” he said.
For the next fifteen minutes, Tristan and Bentley renegotiated Bentley’s hourly rate. Going to a meeting with Mr. Yip was not something covered by his basic fee. Once the deal was settled,
Bentley started the car, and they again pulled out into the road.
“Do you know which triad Mr. Yip is with?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not supposed to talk specifically about the triads,” Bentley said.
“Okay,” Tristan said agreeably.
“I’ll name the triad I think he’s with and you nod. How’s that?”
Bentley considered for a moment, then agreed.
“Wing Sin,” Tristan said.
Bentley nodded.
Tristan sat back.
“Well,” he said.
“That confirms our suspicions.
Obviously Mr. Yip knows what we want to know. The question is whether he plans to tell us or not.”
“This whole business has an unnerving way of escalating,” Marissa said.
“Mr. Yip scared me the first time we met him. Now that I know who he is, I’m even more frightened.”
“There’s still time to change our minds,” Tristan said.
Marissa shook her head.
“We’ve come this far,” she said.
“I’m not giving up now.”
Stanley turned out to be an attractive, modern suburban town built on a peninsula with broad sandy beaches on either side. The vista out over the emerald sea was magnificent. The buildings themselves were less impressive, most being four-story, unimaginative, white concrete affairs.
Bentley pulled into a parking area along the shore line, then nosed the car around so that it was pointing out into the street.
He turned off the engine and nodded toward the building to the right.
“That’s Stanley Restaurant,” he said.
Marissa and Tristan inspected the restaurant. From the outside it was as nondescript as the other buildings in the town.
“You ready?” Tristan said.
Marissa nodded.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Bentley got out of the car and opened the rear door. Marissa and Tristan stepped out into the bright sunlight. Before they could take a step, doors opened on a number of other nearby cars, and a half dozen Chinese men got out. They were all dressed in business suits. Marissa and Tristan recognized three of them.
They were the men who’d kidnapped them the day before.
At first, Bentley reached for his gun, but he quickly reconsidered.
Several of the men had machine pistols in plain sight.
Thinking that her worst fears had materialized, Marissa froze in her tracks. She was amazed at the cool nonchalance the men exhibited in brandishing such firearms in public.
“Please remain where you are,” one man said as he strode forward. He reached into Bentley’s jacket and withdrew his pistol.
Then he spoke to Bentley in Cantonese. Bentley turned and got back into the Mercedes.
Turning his attention to Marissa and Tristan, he frisked them for weapons. Not finding any, he nodded toward the restaurant.
Marissa and Tristan started walking.
“Certainly helpful we brought Bentley,” Tristan said.
“Nice to know my money was so well spent.”
“They always seem to be a step ahead of us,” Marissa said.
The interior of the restaurant was simple but elegant, with antique-style wooden tables and peach-colored walls. Since it was still before twelve, there were no customers. Waiters were arranging the flatware and polishing the crystal.
A French maitre d’ in a tuxedo welcomed them and was about to ask them if they had a reservation when he recognized their escorts. Immediately he bowed and showed them to a small separate dining room one flight up.
Mr. Yip was sitting at a table. In front of him was his large ledger book as well as a cup of tea. He was dressed as before in a spotless white silk suit, Their escort spoke to Mr. Yip in Cantonese. Mr. Yip listened while he studied Marissa’s and Tristan’s faces. When his henchman had finished, he closed his ledger book and leaned forward on it with his elbows.