The Darkest Little Room Read Online Free PDF Page B

did not recognise the word at first.
    He simulated the action with his hand.
    â€˜You mean with a belt?’
    â€˜I mean like Christ on the scourging block before the Crucifixion. She bled. Her dress was torn to shreds like her skin. I had been looking for the toilet when I saw her. I followed her outside into the alley where she was emptying a slop bucket. She was … She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She cannot have been more than seventeen, if she was even so old. She was five foot five and waif thin. Her hair was as black as night – none of this red dye the girls use these days – and she had hazel eyes. Almost green. Like the Ma River.’
    For a time I said nothing. I looked back across the park.
    â€˜You have been to Thanh Hoa?’
    â€˜I have just come from there.’
    Then I thought how many of the bar girls these days wore blue and green contacts. It was the latest fashion. Even then there were genuine hazel-eyed girls from the highlands who were not her. I had photographed one for a travel magazine only a month or so ago.
    â€˜But her shoulders bled,’ said Hönicke. ‘And her ankles … I think she had been chained. She could barely stand. But she did stand. She just stood there shaking in the alley, shaking and staring back at me. She said nothing. Did not ask for anything. Did not plead or cry. She just stood there staring into my eyes. Then the manager opened the door behind me and grabbed me by the back of the neck.’
    At this Hönicke pulled open his collar and showed me a bright-red friction mark.
    â€˜He nearly choked me. He started making terrible accusations. Lies, you know.’
    â€˜Yes. Go on.’
    â€˜He threatened to kill me if I ever came back to his house again. Men like that do not make idle threats. I did not dare walk back down the outside alley.’
    â€˜Why not go to the police?’
    â€˜The police?’ he said, as though the absurdity of the thing was self-evident. ‘You must not go to the police. I mean, what good would that do?’
    I sighed. He was right.
    â€˜This happened last night?’
    â€˜Last night.’
    â€˜Did anyone else see the girl? Any other customers?’
    â€˜I do not know. But I have proof. I have a photograph. You see, I must take my camera everywhere for work – taking pictures of potential sites that the development company I work for might be interested in. The camera was in my pocket when I got up from the table. Before the manager saw me I took a photograph of the girl. I do not know why. I suppose it was instinct. So someone like you would believe me.’
    â€˜Can I see it?’
    Hönicke shook his head.
    â€˜That is the problem. I have lost it. Lost the whole camera. I hope to God I didn’t drop it when the manager grabbed me. But I am sure I put it back in my pocket. And besides, I would have heard it hit the ground. I woke up this morning and checked a map and tried to write down how I got to the place. Then I went for my camera and it was gone.’
    He handed me a piece of paper where he had sketched roads and written a couple of names.
    â€˜You do not have the exact address?’
    â€˜No.’
    I recognised the streets. District Four – the river end of Hai Ba Trung. There were a dozen ‘billiard parlours’ in the vicinity. It was very little to go on.
    â€˜You must look for Club 49.’
    â€˜Club 49?’
    â€˜Yes. The place is across a big river,’ he said. ‘You drive twenty minutes at least. You cross a giant bridge and then there is nothing. Only darkness and hovels along a dirt road. But you can see the city all around you. That big tower. You know the one – it is shaped like a sabre. But the road to the place is right near an empty part of the river. No boats. Maybe the same river I crossed. Maybe the Saigon. I don’t know. Then comes a church with neon-lit plaster saints in the yard. Then the