Chapter Eleven - (Part 3 of 3)

"Ducky, for your info, my hubby is planning to hang up his gun and get a new lease on life," interposed Suet-foong. "Anyway, why would he want to kill you when all of us are friends?"

"You're right, I'm being absurd," answered Ducky, wiping away the sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief. "Perhaps I should explain myself. As tea is a very lucrative trade here, we would do anything, even murder, to get a bigger piece of the pie. I guess you're very well aware that when it comes to law and order, Beijing fares no better than Shanghai. Lately, the competition has become so intense that less than a month ago, the boss of Best Tea Company was assassinated. Then last week another one got smoked. Yesterday my associate was blown to pieces by dynamites hidden beneath his car. Someone in our fraternity has resorted to hiring a hit man called Mr. Clean to get rid of his rivals. Who knows, I might be the next victim. That's why I panicked when Ake mentioned his profession - it had a bad psychological effect on me."

Suet-foong who knew I am Mr. Clean was taken aback. I frowned; I did not like the idea of another liquidator misusing my namesake.

"How do you know the hit man is called Mr. Clean?" I asked.

"He left his calling card behind after each kill," replied Ducky. "He seems to be advertising himself for his services."

"Hmm ... interesting," I said, characteristically rubbing my chin in intrigue.

Our host then got up and bade goodbye - it was music to our ears. "Oh, before I forget, there are a couple of horses in the stable for your travelling convenience," he made it known to us when he shook our hands. "And if you wish to contact me, there's a telephone in the house. Ah Lan knows my number." We thanked him and escorted him to the door.

"Good day, my friends," he waved while walking back to his car with Cai Gan-toh, who, we were told by him, acted as his bodyguard too. "Have a pleasant stay in Beijing."

"We will, goodbye," said Suet-foong, returning his wave.

"And good riddance," I muttered, smiling a saintly smile.

When we were alone in our plush and spacious bedroom, my loving wife asked me in a cheeky kind of way: "Hey, Ake, how come you never told me about your protege?"

"That's because I don't have one," I replied, feeling quite upset - no, not with her, but with the impostor. "Damn! This is clearly a sham and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. My reputation is at stake here."

"For heaven's sake, stop making a big deal out of this issue. We made a promise to each other on the train that we would put our work on the back burner and just sit back, relax, and enjoy life in Beijing, remember?"

There was a pause. I gazed at her, my brain working overtime on a sharp rejoinder for her statement. But the effort proved futile. She knew perfectly well that I would never go back on my word.

"Goddammit!" I cussed in frustration.

"Well now, that's very eloquent," said Suet-foong sarcastically.

"What am I supposed to say - 'hallelujah'?"

"No, just say you like Beijing."

"Why?"

"Because I do," she replied. "Okay?"

"Okay."