Hiroshima Joe Read Online Free PDF

Francis Leung.
    ‘Come and see me again, Joseph. In a few weeks,’ said Leung as they parted. ‘Yes, and one more thing.’ He took a piece of paper from the henchman who had returned Sandingham’s jacket. ‘Take this. You know where. Ah Moy will see to you.’
    ‘How can I thank you, Francis?’ His voice was sincere and the Chinese knew it.
    ‘It doesn’t matter: don’t even try. For old time’s sake, Joseph. Take care.’
    Leung turned and left the room without looking back. In this fashion Sandingham was dismissed and promptly shown out to the alley. It was humid outside after the comfort of the air conditioning within and he was sweating before he reached the guard. He walked slowly, with unconcern, but not too slowly. Leung’s enemies were numerous, even in the closed criminal society of Kowloon City, and now they were certain to be Sandingham’s enemies as well.
    The guard remained in the shadows as he made his way towards the safety of Hong Kong proper. Within a few minutes, he was once more standing at a bus stop. A ragged queue formed behind him. Several old men joined the line, as well as two young women in cheong-sams and a few children who appeared to be unattached to any of the adults. They wore blue-and-white, sailor-type uniforms and carried school books under their arms. The bus was not long in coming.
    As it pulled up to the kerb, the queue characteristically broke up and the people crowded around the two entrances of the vehicle. In the crush, Sandingham not so much felt as sensed a hand feeling along the waist lining of his trousers. He had been an expert enough lifter himself to know the touch of another past-master at the game. Without looking down, he expanded his stomach muscles to trap the exploring fingers. That, he thought, would discourage them. What happened next was most unexpected.
    He was punched exceedingly hard between the shoulder-blades. The fingers thrust themselves into his trousers seeking not the money now but his private parts. That would mean a harsh crushing of his testicles, bending him into vulnerable agony.
    Sandingham whipped around swiftly. His agility surprised his two attackers who had evidently thought that this skinny European was an easy target.
    One of the assailants was a youth in his early teens and it was his hand plunging down Sandingham’s trousers. The other was one of the old men in the queue. He had delivered the two-handed blow and, had this man been in his prime, Sandingham thought, the punch would have laid him out.
    It took him a split second to decide what to do and then his reflexes took control. With a sharp cut upwards, he sank his knee into the youth’s stomach. He had aimed lower, but his attacker was too short for a solid crutch connection. The youth hissed and doubled up, his hand tearing free of Sandingham’s clothing. At the same time, Sandingham swung his fist hard at the old man’s shoulder. As he had anticipated the older attacker expected a blow to the head and ducked with the result that Sandingham’s fist caught him on the cheek, just above the lower jaw. He felt one of the old man’s teeth crack and heard a yelp like a dog having its tail stamped upon.
    The bus began to move off. Sandingham jumped on to the step and tugged on the sliding bars of the passenger gate. It would not budge: the conductor, at the other door, had a foot on the upright and this controlled both the front and rear entrances. With a vicious thrust, Sandingham rammed the gate open and gained the upper step. The conductor swore vehemently in Cantonese down the aisle of the bus and then fell silent when he saw that it was a European who had bruised his foot. None of the passengers paid any attention.
    Sandingham looked out the rear window. The youth was still doubled over, nursing his solar plexus; the old man had started after the bus but stopped when he realised it was gathering speed. He stood disconsolately in the gutter, shaking his fist. Tattooed on his