Kenneth Hon Kong Bo, the Chief Superintendant and Kowloon East, took his job very seriously. He also believed in a good lunch, something that he could not always afford as far as time was concerned. He relished finding a new lunch venue, particularly if it involved a unique specialty. There were many such venues across town; some were happy to reserve lunches, others the very models of egalitarian cuisine and one had to queue no matter how important or hungry! Lunch was often best taken whilst out with a patrol –mixing with the boys and girls of the force, taking in their opinions over a table groaning with Hainan Chicken and sweet and sour pork, soup and tea, or buying a quick afternoon snack of sesame cakes in Mong Kok. In his mind his presence was a morale-boost. He had to be careful not to be too familiar, and not to accept familiarity, but his reputation preceded him and he was generally welcomed.
This simple habit had continued from the before his latest promotion. Even as a sergeant he occasionally brought lunch for some of his constables on patrol, particularly during the winter. In his last position as Chief Superintendant he was disappointed to be so tied to the desk and unable to accompany the boys and girls doing their work, particularly the younger constables fresh out of college. He liked their enthusiasm. He believed in it.
Today he had to write off lunch –actually, he had to make sure it wasn’t accountable. Ordinarily he would keep the receipts. Ordinarily he would ask his secretary Mavis to tot up his expenses sheet each month and after a cursory check would put his quick approval signature at the bottom of each page. His lowest drawer in his desk had a large leather wallet for all personal receipts and costs: when he drew it back, the pleasant, sharp smell of cured leather wafted upwards. He loved that smell. Each time.
As lunchtime approached he speeded up his work, selecting out the bigger files that could be covered in depth tomorrow morning and hurrying through the letters and staff revues, the inter-departmental documentation and last week’s crime reports to be read and approved –anything that had to be completed before the day was out.
The clock minute hand ticked noisily to 11.45. He closed the file he was reading, checked his wallet for dollars and his mobile for messages and calls, pushed back his chair and checked himself in the mirror: mid-fifties resulted in putting on a little more weight on than he’d anticipated. With a sigh, he puckered his cheeks, adjusted his peaked hat and straightened his jacket.
“Mavis!” he called through the partition and closed door to the invisible secretary. “Mavis, I’m going for lunch. No calls forwarded unless urgent.”
“Understood, sir.” she called back. He hadn’t made an appointment in the diary. “Anywhere nice? Where shall I say you are?”
“I’m taking a walk.”
Comments