Singapore Sling Shot (37 page)

I reached out and grabbed her pert right nipple with my left hand and laid the blade of the knife on the swell of her breast beside it.

“Before you say a word, consider this,” I paused and touched the edge of the blade to the edge of her nipple. Yes, it was cruel and sexist and all that shit, but I needed the correct answer and fast. Would I have cut her? I don't think so, but there must always be a first, I guess. “I will know if you lie and if you do, you will lose a nipple. If you lie again you will lose your life.”

It was then I knew for a fact that she wasn't going to lie as the acrid smell of urine filled the bedroom.

“Thomas Lu,” she blurted. “I did this for Mr Lu.”

“He pays you to work for him?”

“Yes, little things. Sometimes…like today he has me follow people.”

“He obviously gave you a good description to work with.”

“Yes!”

I had to figure that Kaylin had described me to Lu in some detail and he had given Miss Blue that description.

“You told him you lost me?”

“Yes. He was very angry.”

“Your police bosses would be very interested to know of your relationship with Mr Lu,” I suggested. I released her nipple and removed the knife from her breast, slipping it back into the sheath built into my boot. I made a show of pulling down the cuff of my jeans. The pantomime was simply to reinforce the fact that we were done. I now had the power. I didn't need a weapon. I literally and figuratively had her career and maybe her life in my hands at this instant in time.

“Please.” Miss Blue's huge eyes blinked in terror. “That would mean prison. Being a policewoman in prison would be my death.”

“Perhaps we can come to an understanding,” I said as I stood and looked down at her. Bondage has never been my thing. I rolled Miss Blue onto her side and undid the knot in the scarf. It was too pretty to be cut. That done, I handed her the towel. “Dry yourself off, find some clothes and we'll put you back in Mr Lu's good books and get me out of his sights.”

Thomas Lu flipped shut his cellphone and settled back into the Bentley's luxurious leather seats. Things were getting better. First the girl had lost the man David Crewe. Then she had found him again. He had been coming out of the Singapore Airlines office on Orchard. Going inside, she had used her warrant card as leverage. Lucy Pang had discovered that David Crewe was booked on a late afternoon flight to Sydney the following day.

“Mr Crewe,” Thomas Lu murmured, “I think you have just saved your own life.” With the man booked to leave Singapore, he, Thomas Lu, had no more to fear from Sami Somsak's assassin. Now he could concentrate on getting a share of the Intella Island project for himself, and he had plans for that. There was nothing like the threat of scandal to bring reluctant colleagues on side, and he had the means of creating considerable scandal. Thomas Lu flipped open his cellphone again and selected a number from his address book. The phone range twice before it was answered.

“Mr Lu!'

“Yes, Kaylin. I'm sorry, my dear, I was a little hasty during our last conversation. How would you like to come and work for me, in my home? I have a feeling that there is much we could do for each other.”

“Yes, Mr Lu, yes!”

“Good. You know the address. Please come as soon as you can, we have things to discuss.”

“I will be there within the hour.”

“Thank you, Kaylin.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Thomas Lu hung up his phone. He was smiling. He had a plan. He would use the woman's insatiable appetite to his own advantage. He had no interest in the female of the species in any sexual manner. However, to use her and her eager body to help him achieve his ends, that was another matter. He would arrange it so that she had every partner she could handle and more, including the chairman of the Intella syndicate, Morris Boon Meng. Lu well knew that Meng, on the surface at least, was a long-married, straight-laced pillar of the community. Behind the façade, however, Lu had proof that the chairman had a soft spot or, Lu chuckled, a hard rod for a particular type of woman. That woman was epitomised by Kaylin, who would enjoy playing totally uninhibited sex games with other women and any number of men while he watched and eventually joined in.

The young policewoman and I had parted company as co-conspirators and almost friends. To sweeten the pot, I gave her a hundred dollars and told her to buy a new bed cover. She had made coffee for us and told me what little she actually knew about Thomas Lu. It was apparent that she had no idea of the extent of his villainy. She had just been asked, through another cop, if she were interested in doing a little moonlighting, basically as a private eye for a wealthy businessman. Always in need of extra cash, she had agreed, and until this very day she had done nothing that could even be remotely termed as illegal, other than accepting cash for trailing people and reporting back to Lu or his people.

Of course, moonlighting is an absolute no-no as far as her employers were concerned. To be caught out doing it, especially for someone like Thomas Lu, would be instant dismissal at least and perhaps a prison term. I assured Miss Blue that this was the end of it. I also suggested that she forget all about Thomas Lu. She took that on board and saw me to the lift. I caught a cab down on Cantonment Road and headed for the Newton Circus hawker centre.

I was late for my lunch with Sami, but that didn't matter in the scheme of things. Over our meal, I told him of my eventful morning. He approved of what I had done. I gave him Lucy Pang's mobile number. There would maybe come a time when he would need her services himself.

“We are on schedule,” Sami said as he demolished yet another fish head curry. He had a thing for them, no doubt. I stuck with Soon Wah's fishball noodles and a side dish of cockles and sausage. I was hungry! Somewhere along the way, I had missed out on breakfast.

“Any sign of that bitch Kaylin?”

“No. I've got eyes out and about, but no one has found anything out. She's gone to ground,” Sami replied, sipping at his water. I had the inevitable bottle of Tiger. I joined him in a silent toast. Somewhere, some day, Kaylin would put her head above the parapet and Sami or I or one of ours would be waiting to take it off.

After lunch, Sami went on his solitary way, a little old man lugging along his battered little suitcase. He told me he was going back to Nassim Hill. I realised that I hadn't even asked him exactly where his bolthole was and he hadn't offered to tell me. That was the way he worked. As I watched him go out of sight, I decided that he really deserved an Oscar for his performance.

I decided to walk to the apartment. I felt confident that Lu had called off his hounds. Why risk another incident when I was scheduled to get out of his patch in a day's time?

On the way back, I came across a mock Irish pub in a shopping block. I sat on the terrace over a beer and a cigarette and watched the traffic roll on by for a while before heading on down to Cairnhill Rise.

I didn't bother doing the subterfuge number of going underground when I arrived at the complex. I think I was a little too relaxed or I would have seen it coming. I was about fifty metres from the entrance to the apartment complex when a large white sedan swept into the kerb beside me and stopped sharply with a squeal of rubber. I was totally out in the open. The nearest cover was metres away. Lost in a fucking daydream, I was toast if this was one of Lu's moves.

47

“Mr Swann, a word?'

The voice was smooth but strong. The fact that this guy knew my real name was enough to anchor me to the spot. I turned towards the white sedan. It was a medium-sized Mercedes. The tyres needed blackening and the wheel trims deserved a polish. Funny the inconsequential things you notice when your life is potentially on the line. The speaker was in the rear seat, the tinted window was down but no gun was pointed my way yet. Okay, I was still alive, and the speaker wasn't Lu. Was this the moment the Singapore police department got their man? Or was I about to die here on the streets of one of Singapore's most illustrious enclaves at the hands of an old adversary?

The man leaned forward so his face was framed in the car window. There was still no weapon pointing at me. He held both of his hands up for me to see. They were empty. I stepped closer to the car. The front passenger door began to open. I put the sole of my boot on it and forced it shut.

“Everyone stays inside the car!”

“As he says. Stay inside,” the speaker ordered, then he turned back to me. I knew the man although I had never met him. There was a wicked scar across his forehead. He was smiling at me, a pearly white smile against his swarthy complexion.

“Mr Marco Mendez?” I ventured. The man in the car removed his sunglasses as he nodded.

“Yes, Mr Swann. Would you agree to sit with me for a moment or two? I have something to discuss with you.”

I checked out the rest of the car. There was a man in front, the guy who had started to get out, doubtless to frisk me or for some other purpose. Beside the minder was the driver, a nervous-looking local. Marco Mendez was alone in the rear seat. I nodded and reached for the door handle. Marco moved across. “Go around a large block, driver,” he said. “We need ten minutes to talk.”

Given the Mendez brothers' reputation for violence, I hitched the cuff of my left leg as I sat, just in case I had to pull my blade in a hurry. The car cruised away from the kerb.

“You know my name.” I stated.

“We have done some research,” Marco responded. “We looked closely at Mr Somsak and his friends.”

“Sizing up the opposition?” I suggested. Marco Mendez laughed.

“Exactly, and that was before we decided that to go up against Mr Somsak, especially on his own territory, would be extremely stupid and doomed to failure. Just as Mr Somsak coming up against us in our own country would be equally foolhardy.” Marco paused, his hand slid into his jacket. I tensed, mentally planning to block the hand with my right, while driving the edge of my left into his Adam's apple. The Colombian shook his head, reading my thoughts.

“Cigars, Mr Swann, Quai D'Orsay from Cuba. I favour their panatellas. Do join me.” Mendez took a leather cigar case from his inside pocket. He removed the end of the case and slid two long, thin cigars part way out. I took one and peeled off the wrapping. Marco did likewise and lit up for the both of us using a diamond-encrusted lighter. He then leaned back in his seat, intent no doubt on enjoying his cigar. I did likewise. What the hell, a good cigar is a good cigar, no matter who gives it to you.

“Delicious, don't you think?” Marco blew out a stream of the sweet smoke as I savoured my first hit. There was no doubt the Colombian drug lord had taste, at least when it came to cigars. “You are a very dangerous and resourceful man, Mr Swann. I congratulate you on having stayed alive for so long in a very dangerous occupation.”

“I'm retired now,” I said taking another larger bite of the expensive smoke. “I agree, delicious!”

“Yes, Mr Swann, it is a premium cigar.” Mendez chuckled. “But as for your retirement, that makes me smile. You will never retire, as I will never retire. That is the sort of people we are.”

“Maybe,” I replied noncommittally. “Why are you here?”

“We heard about the bomb, naturally. We know that Mr Somsak has left Singapore and that Thomas Lu is still alive. I have come here to take care of the man who killed my brother.” Marco sent another plume of smoke into the air. “We need him dead. It is a matter of family honour.”

I sat in silence for a moment. Marco was looking at me. I made a decision and removed my cell from my pocket. I tapped out Sami's number. He answered within seconds. It wasn't the old man's voice.

“Yes, Daniel?”

“I am in a car with Marco Mendez. He and Carlos are concerned that you are not in Singapore and that Lu is still alive. Perhaps you would like to reassure him that everything is proceeding as it should.” I handed the phone to the Colombian drug lord.

The conversation was a long one and one-sided, with Sami doing all of the talking. When the call reached its conclusion, Marco handed the phone back. He was smiling and nodding.

“Mr Somsak is a very clever operator. I look forward to witnessing tomorrow night's performance.”

I had no idea exactly what “performance” that was. At this moment in time, Marco Mendez obviously knew more than I did about what was going to take place. I glanced outside the car. We had completed the long block and were pulling up back outside the apartment.

“Just one word of caution for Mr Somsak, please. It is not a threat, Mr Swann.” Mendez used his cigar as a pointer to emphasize his point. “Lu must die tomorrow night as planned. If he doesn't, we will immediately take whatever measures necessary to kill him. The bomb at your cemetery will perhaps be a firecracker compared to what we are prepared to do to remove him if Mr Somsak fails.”

I opened the door and sat for a moment. “I have heard that some of your, shall we say, terminations, have been quite spectacular. Not subtle to be sure, but definitely spectacular.”

Marco Mendez laughed. It was a big laugh. “Yes, Mr Swann, we do it big to send a clear message to our enemies. Our messages usually get through, in most cases anyway. Your Mr Somsak likes to be a little more, as you said, subtle. Each to his own.”

“Indeed, Mr Mendez. Each to his own! Enjoy the show,” I added, stabbing right out there into the dark as I got out of the car.

“We'll be waiting,” came the response through the closing door.

With that, Marco Mendez disappeared into the evening traffic and I went up to the penthouse to ponder the day's happenings and try and guess what Sami had in mind for the following night. The fact was plain enough: if we screwed up, Singapore was going to see the biggest bang since WW2, and that would not be pretty.