Free THE KING OF MACAU (The Jack Shepherd International Crime Novels) by Jake Needham Page B

and heavily built. He had long reddish-blond hair, a pale Nordic complexion, grey eyes, and a prominent nose. There was a boyish quality about his face, but I put his age at late thirties, maybe older.
    The man was silent for a minute or two, but then he cleared his throat. “You’re Jack Shepherd, aren’t you?”
    I don’t much like being recognized. It happens sometimes, but every time it does I feel awkward. I’ve had some prominent clients, probably too many, and I understand that has brought me a certain amount of notoriety. Still, being recognized embarrasses me.
    “You were Charlie Kitnarok’s lawyer.”
    I nodded without saying anything, hoping my lack of interest in talking about it showed.
    “I remember seeing your picture in the newspapers back when Thailand was going through all those troubles. That got a lot of coverage here.”
    I nodded again and remained silent.
    “I’m Harry Pine,” the man said, holding out his hand.
    I took it out of courtesy. What else was I going to do? We shook.
    “I don’t mean to bother you,” Pine said, “but it’s a real pleasure for me running into you like this. Look…can I get you another coffee or something?”
    “I’ve got a meeting soon,” I lied automatically. “Thanks anyway.”
    “But you don’t have to leave right this minute, do you?”
    Before I could answer, Pine scooted back his chair and stood up.
    “Okay, I’m getting us more coffee. You don’t want it, leave it. Black, right?”
    Pine didn’t even wait for me to answer. He headed straight for the counter.
    PINE RETURNED WITH TWO paper cups of coffee, put one in front of each of us, and sat back down.
    “You in Macau for very long?” he asked.
    “I’m not sure.”
    “You still live in Bangkok?”
    It looked to me like I was being drawn into a conversation in spite of myself. It was pretty much the sort of thing that happened all too often for my liking whenever I encountered another American in some exotic place. Why did people automatically adopt a tone of familiarity toward you because you both had been born in the same country? Age, education, occupation…none of that mattered. If you had been born in America, you were supposed to be delighted to meet another American almost anywhere. I wasn’t all that often delighted.
    “I live in Hong Kong now,” I said.
    “Is that so? So you come over to Macau a lot?”
    “Not really.”
    “I live here,” Pine went on, apparently oblivious to my lack of interest. “I’m in construction contract management. With all the casino and hotel projects going on in Macau, I’ve got enough work to last me a lifetime.”
    I nodded some more.
    “Yeah, it sounds boring as hell, doesn’t it? Spending all day hassling over the details of a construction contract? But I could tell you some stories. I really could. When you deal with construction management in this town you hear all the dirt.”
    “I can see how you might,” I said politely.
    “Yeah, right now Steve Wynn’s slugging it out with two big Chinese groups over expanding this casino and they’re both doing whatever they can to stab him in the back. Everyone’s involved. The Chinese government, the local government, the triads. Everyone.”
    That got my attention.
    “The triads?” I asked.
    “Oh yeah. No one wants to talk about it, but the triads have their hands in everything here.”
    “I’ve always heard the Chinese government has the triads under control.”
    “Bullshit, pardon my French. China uses the triads and the triads use China. Everybody here uses everybody else. It’s the way Macau works.” Pine chuckled. “Welcome to Macau. Disneyland with real bullets.”
    He pulled out his wallet, fished around in it, and extracted a business card. He held it out to me and I accepted it. What else could I do?
    Harry T. Pine
Construction Management
Contract Administration Specialist
JMG Limited
    At the bottom of the card there was a Macau email address and two local telephone