The city was ablaze with color and light. Huge neon signs stretched two stories high. Every shop was open, their windows filled with Panasonic radios, Sony Walkmans, cameras, VCRs, and TVs. Every third doorway was an entrance to an underground bar or nightclub. Music blared. Attractive, saucer-faced Chinese women in tight, Chinese-style dresses beckoned with coy smiles. In addition to the noise and visual panoply, Marissa was bombarded with an array of smells: a potent combination of food, cooking oil, incense, and diesel exhaust.

Despite a press of people, Marissa and Tristan were able to talk as they walked, provided they stayed close enough.

“I’ve got an idea about contacting the Wing Sin Triad,” Tristan said as they waited for a traffic light.

“Wonderful,” Marissa said. “What is it?”

“The concierge!” Tristan said. “Those blokes are supposed to know everything in the city. If he knows where to eat, he probably knows the triads.” Tristan flashed a knowing smile.

Marissa rolled her eyes. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t a masterful suggestion.

“I have an idea, but not about contacting the triads,” Marissa said. “It might be helpful to visit one of the big hospitals in town. We can find out if TB is currently a problem here in the colony. We can even ask if they’ve seen any TB salpingitis.”

“Good thinking,” Tristan said.

Once they reached their hotel, Tristan insisted they go directly to the concierge’s desk. While they waited to speak with him, Marissa began to have second thoughts about questioning the concierge about the triads. She thought it would be like going to New York and asking to get in touch with the Mafia. Excusing herself, she stopped by the front desk for their passports, then went across the lobby to wait in a sitting area.

“Can I help you?” the concierge asked Tristan in impeccable English.

“I think so, mate,” Tristan said. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, then he bent forward. “I need some confidential information.”

The Chinese man leaned away from Tristan, eyeing him uneasily.

“I want to talk to somebody in the Wing Sin Triad,” Tristan said.

“I’ve never heard of it, sir,” the concierge said.

“Come on now,” Tristan said. He took twenty dollars from his pocket and put it on the desk. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Triads are illegal in Hong Kong,” the concierge said. He pushed the money back to Tristan.

“I don’t really care about their legal status,” Tristan said. “I just want to talk to somebody in the Wing Sin. I need some information. I’m willing to pay.”

“I beg your pardon,” the concierge said, “but I don’t know anything about triads.” He seemed nervous, even edgy.