Red Phoenix

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John sounded close to the end of his patience. ‘I could really use you down here, Emma. The Generals are being particularly difficult; there are some major problems in the Northern Heavens because I never go there any more. It’s like taking the battery out of a toy or something. No energy up there. All the trees are dying.’

‘We’re going to Temple Street, John. I’m needed to guard.’

‘It will be very busy, you won’t be at much risk from demons.’

‘It’s not just demons I’m worried about. You know the sort of stuff that goes on down there.’

He sounded amused. ‘That’s just an excuse and you know it.’

‘Simone needs me.’

‘All right, you’re out of it just this once. But next time they’re giving me hell you’re coming to help me out. You can’t avoid this forever, it will be your responsibility too. Okay?’

‘Yes, my Lord. And speak English.’

‘Damn,’ he said softly, and hung up.

I sat in the back of the big car with Charlie and Simone. Michael rode shotgun next to Leo. Temple Street market was in Kowloon, across the harbour in Yau Ma Tei district.

Leo drove us down the hill between the highrises of Wan Chai and into Causeway Bay. The road flanked the north shore of the island, four lanes each way. At Causeway Bay we entered the Cross-Harbour Tunnel. Two more lanes merged with the existing four, then everybody had to take turns to enter the two tunnel lanes. Leo inched through the traffic and poked the nose of the Mercedes into the next lane to grab his space; it wouldn’t be handed to him. Anybody who sat back and waited for someone to politely let them into a lane could quite easily become a target of road rage. Everybody pushed; but as John had said, there was method in the madness.

As soon as we entered the tunnel the traffic accelerated to the speed limit. We shot through the autopay toll gate on the other side and we were in Kowloon.

The scenery opened up on Kowloon side. There was more room to move here, but all the buildings were still highrises. The expressway continued north and we exited at Mong Kok onto Nathan Road, the main thoroughfare through Kowloon. People packed the sidewalks and the shops were all open, their lights blazing. Typical Saturday night in Hong Kong.

The Mercedes’ windows fogged up on the outside from the humidity and Leo used the wipers to clear them. He didn’t even have the air conditioning on terribly cold. The humidity was close on a hundred per cent, and the temperature was still blistering.

‘If it’s too much for you, let me know, Charlie,’ I said. ‘The temperature doesn’t vary much from day to night. It’s still awfully hot.’

‘I’ll make it,’ Charlie said cheerfully. ‘There are still some things I need to buy.’

‘If you can’t do it, just say so. I’ll go out later and collect anything you want,’ Leo said.

Charlie’s voice softened. ‘Thanks, Leo. I think just a cold electrolyte drink when we get there, and I should be okay.’

‘Pocari Sweat,’ Simone said.

‘What, Simone?’

‘Pocari Sweat,’ Simone repeated patiently.

‘Japanese electrolyte drink,’ I said, and waited for it.

‘They have a drink called sweat?’

‘Actually it’s not too bad,’ I said.

‘I have to try some,’ Charlie said with enthusiasm.

We entered Shanghai Street. Temple Street was next, but the road was blocked for the market. We parked in a large car park at the entrance to Temple Street.

Fortune tellers lined the narrow road to the car park. They worked from small folding tables with folding stools, their spaces on the pavement carefully marked by the government. Large banners hung above the tables describing their skills, some in both English and Chinese. Some read heads and faces. Others read palms. Some used tortoise shells and the Yi Ching; John would have been horrified. A large number of people wandered from stall to stall and sat to have their fortunes told. Charlie watched, fascinated.

Leo carefully eased the car up the ramp into the car park and took a ticket from the gate. A few suspicious-looking young men loitered at the entrance and eyed us curiously, but a large black Mercedes was one of the most common types of car in Hong Kong.

‘Any of them demons, Simone?’ Leo said.

‘Nope,’ Simone said.

The car park started at the third floor after a very long ramp. We went left and up again.

‘Look, Charlie,’ I said. ‘This is an unusual building. The expressway goes right through the middle, at about the fourth floor.’

Charlie watched out the window as we went past the expressway. The road went in one side of the building and out the other. Leo drove up a ramp inside the car park to pass the road.

It was a long way up before we found a parking space; obviously a busy night in Temple Street. Leo gingerly edged the car backwards into the space. The space was so narrow he had to fold in the side mirrors to avoid the pillars.

‘Why does the road go through the building, Emma?’ Simone said.

‘The building was already here when they built the expressway,’ I said. ‘It would have cost a lot of money to knock it down, so they just put the road right through.’

‘What’s it like to drive through the building?’ Charlie said.

‘Like a little tunnel. You don’t even realise you’ve been through the building until you’re out the other side.’ I opened the door to help Simone out. ‘Let’s go and see how much Hello Kitty stuff Simone can buy in one night.’

Charlie was obviously not impressed when we entered the lift; it was filthy and smelled of urine. The buttons were black with dirt. At the ground floor the lift stopped with a lurching jerk, and Simone squeaked and grabbed my hand.

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘This lift always does that.’

‘You come here often?’ Charlie said.

‘Not really. I used to come here to buy toys for my relatives in Australia, but I saw them at the beginning of this year, so they’ll be happy for a while.’

The smell of urine was even stronger when we left the lift; the building had public toilets on the ground floor outside the car park entrance. We hurried past.

A middle-aged Chinese couple sang Chinese opera under a makeshift marquee across the road. A trio of musicians on Chinese instruments accompanied them. A small crowd of passers-by had gathered to watch them.

‘Sounds like someone’s torturing a cat,’ I whispered to Leo.

Leo bent to speak into my ear. ‘I like it. But then again, I hate cats.’

During the day, Temple Street was a normal Kowloon thoroughfare, lined with shops on both sides. In the evening, stalls were set up, leaving a narrow passageway down the middle. The large number of people moving between the stalls caused a crush.

Leo walked in front of us and cut a swathe through the crowd. Michael brought up the rear, very serious and professional.

‘Mind your bag, Charlie,’ I said quietly. ‘There’s a lot of pickpockets here, targeting the wealthy tourists. This is something of a gang centre.’

Charlie nodded. ‘Don’t worry, Emma, I’ve been on the Tube in London.’

Charlie passed the stalls selling T-shirts printed on the spot, and didn’t bother with any of the flashing mobile phone accessories. She bought some small cheap toys for her nieces and nephews, but didn’t want any laser pointers. She hurried Simone past the stall selling luridly coloured sex toys and the stall with the suspicious-looking movies. But she stopped at a stall selling ties.

Leo stood behind us, folded his arms and glowered. A magic space appeared around us as people avoided him. He was having a great time.

Charlie selected a number of outrageously inappropriate ties from the hangers.

‘Who are they for?’ I said. ‘Check the illustrations before you buy them — some are really crude and offensive.’

‘I know exactly what I’m doing,’ Charlie said with a small, evil smile. ‘I have a cousin in his late twenties. He loves these disgusting ties and always asks me to buy some for him when I’m here.’

‘Typical.’

Michael looked unhappy, but remained completely professional as he helped Simone at the stall across the road. She bought two Hello Kitty bags, three T-shirts and a pair of Hello Kitty sunglasses, every single item pink. He helped her with the bargaining and then returned her to us.

Leo and I shared a look. He was impressed with Michael too.

At the end of the market we moved from the middle to the side of the street, between the back of the stalls and the closed shopfronts. There were fewer people and we could walk back to the car in relative peace.

We stopped to buy some Pocari Sweat at a small shop selling drinks.

‘It’s not bad,’ Charlie said. ‘Lemony.’

‘It’s horrible if it’s not cold,’ Simone said.

‘I wonder if I can buy it in London.’

‘Overseas it’s just called Pocari, they leave out the Sweat,’ I said. ‘You can probably buy it in Chinatown.’

‘But I won’t need it nearly as much back home,’ Charlie said.

We walked further and reached a dai pai dong, a small open-air restaurant specialising in fresh seafood. The restaurant had a number of flimsy folding tables on the pavement displaying plates of live seafood.

Charlie was fascinated. ‘What are those?’ she said, pointing at some shellfish that had six legs and large spiked claws. They were a pale creamy colour, with large abdomens and unusual triangular-shaped heads. Most were about ten centimetres long, but big ones were double that size.

Michael opened his mouth to answer but I stopped him with a raised hand. ‘They’re mantis prawns.’

‘That’s quite appropriate for them, really,’ Charlie said. ‘With those front claws and the heads like that, they do look like praying mantises.’ She saw Michael’s face. ‘What?’

‘Oh, go on, Michael,’ I said. ‘I can see you’re dying to tell her.’

Michael leaned closer to Charlie. ‘In Cantonese they’re called “pissing prawns”,’ he said with quiet satisfaction.

Charlie’s eyes went wide with delight. ‘No, really?’ She grinned broadly. ‘Why on earth are they called that?’

‘I have no idea,’ Michael said with a shrug, and suddenly he was the image of his father.

The car park shroff office was right next to the public toilets and the smell was still bad, so Leo sent us on ahead while he paid the ticket.

The lift lurched to a stop at the seventh floor, and Simone squeaked again and grabbed my hand. Michael made a soft sound of disdain.

The seventh floor was almost deserted; most of the shoppers had already gone home. Our car was one of only three left on the floor and the other two had a thick layer of dust on them, apparently abandoned.

I unlocked the car using the remote. ‘I’ll start the engine, Charlie, and run the air con so you can sit in there and cool off.’

‘Thanks, Emma,’ Charlie said, her voice weak.

Michael grabbed her shopping bag off her and she didn’t protest.

‘You should have said something,’ I said.

‘We’re finished anyway.’

Just as we reached the car I heard a shout and turned. A large group of young Chinese men charged around the corner of the car park towards us. Most of them were shirtless and covered with elaborate tattoos. Many had dyed hair, blond and red. They all carried machetes and choppers, the weapons of choice for Hong Kong gangsters.