Fiction: Group 4
‘Swim? Do you swim?
Rahksa
?’ West asked the Afghans in Dari, their mother tongue. They
nodded, but some looked apprehensive.
Lee felt along the floor and pried loose a floorboard. The hatch was right there, a little trapdoor.
He threw it open. ‘Women and children first!’
As the last refugees dropped into the rancid, pitch-black water, the hitmen emptied an entire clip
of ammunition into the lock.
‘Come on!’ Lee pulled West with him into the water. It tasted salty and greasy, with the stench of
industrial pollution. He nearly gagged. The moment they swam out from under the boat, they headed up
towards the light.
Lee and West surfaced, sputtering. They shook the water from their eyes and looked at the ship.
Then they swam, with the refugees, to the other side of the Pearl River, where the city of Guangzhou still
loomed, neon lights flashing, cold and indifferent.
‘…and we would like to commend Chief Wu Wei-Pyong for his excellent handling of-‘
Lee switched off the TV. ‘What did I tell you?’ He smirked. ‘Chief wins either way.’
West shook his head. ‘Unbelievable. You’d think they’d give you some credit, but it’s as if this fat
bastard single-handedly rescued all twelve of those refugees. You’re not even mentioned!’
‘China, my friend. You get used to it.’
West smiled and shook hands with Lee. ‘It’s been my honour, Detective Lee.’
‘Likewise, Detective West.’
Richard West rose from his seat and tugged on his shirt. Then he set off towards the dry-cleaner’s,
where his trench coat was waiting. The river’s stink had better been washed off.
