Now he was screwed. William would be calling within the hour and Scrimple had nothing to trade with.
And he was starting to get worried about Nari. Where the hell was she? Had someone followed him after all, worked out their connection and gone after her for the money? For all he knew there was no bag in the safe anymore and Nari was lying in some gutter with a bullet in her head.
It was a possibility, he thought, but it wouldn’t be William and Chisin or they wouldn’t be putting all the pressure on him. Perhaps there were other people involved? If it was stolen money the rightful owners might be after it. He didn’t think it was William’s money. It had sounded more somehow like it was an opportunity they were exploiting. Was it Bottle’s money or was it perhaps money Bottle had stolen? He wouldn’t put that past the old man.
Scrimple was in the McDonalds again, hiding at the back behind a table of lobster-red men who’d spent too much time on the beach without shirts or suntan lotion.
One thing that had been bothering him for a while was that the amount of money was really not that large. Certainly ten million Baht was a decent windfall for a man like him. It was a fortune for a poor Thai farmer struggling to feed his family. But for a hard-bitten gangster like William, it was pocket money.
It was just over two hundred and fifty thousand American dollars. You could buy a nice flat in Pattaya or Bangkok with that money but it was hardly enough to retire on. Why would William and his men have such a damn hard-on for that amount of cash? Maybe they thought it was more?
Scrimple swirled the dregs of his coffee around in the bottom of the polystyrene cup and pondered that question.
He needed a place to hide out. He needed help from someone whom he could really trust. There wasn’t a long list of names that came to mind. Most of his friends were casual acquaintances: drinking buddies, business associates or girls who briefly entered his life for a few days and then exited again with a few more Baht in their purses.
Maybe he should go back up to Bangkok. There were more options there and it was a bigger place to hide in. He dismissed the idea because he had to know where Nari was and get hold of his bag. For now he had to stay here and avoid William and Chisin.
He stared at his mobile phone. They had tracked him down to the nearest cell tower. They would always be able to work out roughly where he was. He had to turn the thing off and take the battery out. He had to get another SIM card with a new number.
On every street you could find a mobile phone shop. Scrimple left the McDonalds and found a small place where he bought a new SIM card, a cheap Nokia phone and a top-up card, with two hundred Baht. He went back to the McDonalds and drank another cup of coffee while he set up the new SIM card. He put the new SIM card in his old phone and transferred all his phone numbers onto the new SIM card, then loaded that card back into the new phone and wrote down its number. He put his old SIM card back into the old phone. He’d heard or seen somewhere that they could still track you unless the battery was out. He didn’t really believe that but, just in case, he took the battery pack out.
He returned to the travel agency and asked the girls if they’d heard from Khun Nari. They shook their heads. He gave them the new number and asked them to call it if their boss got in touch.
The roads and shops were getting livelier. Tourists were filling up the red and white striped deck chairs on Jomtien beach. He crossed the road and stepped on to the white sand. He found a cluster of empty deck chairs and walked over. The attendant followed him instantly and charged him fifty Baht for the use of the chair.
Scrimple sat down and a moment later a boy was asking him if he wanted beer, coke, whiskey? The lad produced two cold Singhas from his ice box and Scrimple handed over a hundred Baht. He took a long swig of the amber liquid and stared out over the Gulf of Thailand, wondering what had suddenly happened to his nice, quiet, boring life.
* * * *
He must have nodded off for a while because when he opened his eyes the beach was busier and the sun was dominating the cloudless sky.
Someone was sitting in the deck chair next to him. Despite the breeze coming off the sea he could smell the pleasant scent of an expensive perfume. It was the girl Pim, the one he’d met last night before the bodies came. She was wearing large sunglasses and a floral dress that seemed too decent for the sand around them.
“You snore very loud,” she said, with a smile.
“I snore when I’m very tired,” he replied warily, unsure what she was doing here.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Of course not.” He waited for her to explain herself.
“I was walking along from my room and saw you coming here earlier,” she said, “I had to go to some shops and then saw you were still sitting here so I thought I come and say hello. But you were fast asleep.”
Scrimple could not see her eyes behind the shades. He could only watch her mouth. And it seemed a nice mouth. But her presence made him nervous.
“It’s Scrimple, isn’t it? That was your name?”
“Yes, you’ve got a good memory.”
She laughed. “I’d hope I could remember something from last night.”
“We only spoke for a short time.”
“You seemed like a nice guy.”
“That’s not what a lot of people are thinking at the moment,” he said wistfully.
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. Personal problems.”
Pim reached over and picked up a can of mango juice. She took a few draughts from the straw then gave him a smile again.
“Yes, you look unhappy and very hung-over.”
“Where are your friends?” Scrimple asked.
She shook her head. “They went back to Bangkok already.”
“And what are your plans for today?”
She laughed. “Nothing much. Pick up drunk, sad men on Jomtien beach?”
“You don’t really want to know too much about me. I can tell you that.” He shifted in his deck chair, turning further towards her. His back and legs had become cramped. He studied her for a moment, not sure at all what it was all about. She was too cheerful, too nice and given his circumstances there was something wrong about it all.
Pim said, “You need a shave and some more hours sleep. Do you want to invite me out for dinner tonight?”
He hesitated. There was just a slight chance that she was genuine. A bit barmy and full of self-confidence but perhaps just a nice, well-educated girl who enjoyed talking with strangers. He nodded slowly.
“I’m not really sure. I’ve got some problems I need to take care of. I’m waiting for a friend and can’t contact him at the moment. Can you give me your phone number and I’ll call a bit later?”
“Sure,” she said and pulled out one of the top of the range Nokias. He punched her number into his new phone then said, “I’ve run out of load so I can’t call. My number is…” He gave her the old number, of the phone that was now turned off.
“I’m going to go and have a spa,” Pim said and stood up, slinging a large leather hand-bag over her shoulder. “If you want to have dinner, Hugo’s up the road is one of my favorite places.”
“Hugo’s,” Scrimple repeated.
“Get some rest, Scrimple. Hope to see you again.” She waved at him, then tripped off, weaving through the cohorts of deckchairs. He watched her go and thought she had a nice bottom under the floral dress.
* * * *
Half an hour later he walked back to Nari’s travel agency to check if she’d turned up yet. The two girls said she’d called and left a message that she would be in touch with Scrimple later. She’d gone up to Bangkok for some urgent business.
He was pleased to hear that nothing had happened to her but confused that she’d not called him on his new number. And why had she suddenly gone up to Bangkok? She knew he might want to take the bag out of the safe. It was a bit odd. There was something about it that made him nervous. Then he caught himself and thought he was being paranoid about everything. William and Chisin had dented his self-confidence and now he was being startled by shadows.
The girls could give him no further information so he left. He walked for a while until he saw a half-empty tuk-tuk coming along. He waved it down and rode it all the way to the main junction near Walking Street. There was a Starbucks around the corner and once he got there he ordered a Vento Latte and a sandwich then turned on his old mobile phone.
Once the signal was connected it picked up a message immediately. Scrimple opened it, recognizing the number as the same one that had been used by William before. The message was brief and all in capitals: CALL NOW DON’T FUCK WITH US.
He rang the number.
“Where are you?” William said without preamble.
“Around town,” Scrimple said.
“Where is the briefcase with the money?”
“I have it with me.”
“Good. Where do you want to meet?”
“Nowhere. Fuck your mother’s smelly cunt. I’m going to the police with this.” Scrimple hit the “End” button, turned the phone off and took the battery out of the back. He smiled grimly at his false courage, took a long final swig of his coffee and left the place.
A motorbike taxi brought him all the way back up to the Big C shopping center. There were some massage places there and he chose one of the large, anonymous ones frequented by bus-loads of mainland Chinese or Korean tourists. The reception hall was vast, decorated with imitation Greek statues and gilt-edged mirrors and sprinkled with sofas where customers could wait for their friends or have a drink before they went upstairs.
“How much for two hours massage?” he said.
“You want traditional, oil or body?”
“Traditional is fine.”
“Six hundred.”
“Okay, but I want a private room.”
The girl smiled. “No problem. We not so busy. Too early.”
He was led up to the third floor and a chubby girl with a spotty face washed his feet carefully then led him to a dark cubicle with wooden partitions and a curtain on the front. A baggy cotton shirt and trousers were folded on a mattress that lay on the floor. Scrimple placed his overnight bag in the corner and got changed, taking off his baseball hat and sunglasses first. He figured that if the police came to look for him here there was no point in running any more.
Before he lay down, he tried calling Nari with his new phone, only getting her voicemail. He left a message again to call him urgently. A few minutes later the massage girl arrived. She was neither pretty nor plain but had a small, compact body dressed in a simple grey uniform. She gave him a warm up-country smile, asked if he could understand Thai.
When he said nit nay—a little—she laughed and told him that he was very bum boi—fat—and began kneading his right leg while vacantly staring at the far wall.
Within ten minutes Scrimple had fallen fast asleep again.
* * * *
It was a kick in the thigh that woke him up. He’d been lost to the world, the massage taking all the tension out of every muscle in his body.
Somebody kicked him again and he sat up with a loud yell of pain.
“Sei lan jai,” a Chinese voice said, “hei san”. The light had been turned on and Scrimple stared up at the ugly missing teeth of Chisin. The massage girl was gone and by the curtain was William, this time without his Armani sunglasses. His mouth was set in a severe line.
“How the hell—”
“Shut up, shit head,” William barked at Scrimple. Chisin was searching through Scrimple’s clothes and had grabbed the overnight bag, ripping open its zip and tossing out its contents.
“It’s not here. Where is the money?” William demanded.
Scrimple was clutching his leg which had gone dead from the two hard kicks it had taken. He was trying to think fast now but his brain was sluggish having just been pulled out of a dreamless sleep. For the moment he just shrugged, then tried to leverage himself up onto his feet by pushing against the wall.
Chisin flung the empty overnight bag at him. Scrimple ducked and got an arm in front of his face in time to avoid getting hit.
“Where have you put the money?” William asked again.
“Nowhere you can find it,” Scrimple said spitefully.
William stared at him for a few seconds while Chisin seemed to growl. “You still haven’t got it, have you?” William said. “This is no game. We don’t give a fuck about you. Remember your two dead friends?”
Scrimple slowly shook his head and tried to put a smile on his face.
“You come with us, Scrimple,” William said. “We beat it out of you, until you tell us where you put the money.” He barked a long sentence at Chisin who picked up the overnight bag and tossed over Scrimple’s shirt and trousers. “I am tired of you fucking me around,” William added and turned to walk away.
Under the watchful gaze of Chisin, Scrimple put on his clothes. He wondered if either of them had a gun and if they were prepared to use it in such a public place. He didn’t fancy his chances much against them even without any weapons. Chisin looked like a thug schooled in the art of various styles of street Kung Fu and William was without doubt a master at some form of martial art. Scrimple had never bothered with any of that. He’d fired a revolver in anger a few times and once had even hit his target. But that was many years ago and in another country.
William stood in the corridor, watching him carefully. A few girls were huddled by the staircase but they didn’t want to get involved. Chisin prodded Scrimple to move forward and in this fashion they walked in single file to the lift which they took down to the ground floor.
“How did you find me here?” Scrimple asked as the lift moved slowly downwards. “I turned my phone off. How could you track me?”
William laughed. “We can’t track you through your phone. Chisin put a tracker bug in your overnight bag when we went to your condo and could not find you.” The lift doors pinged open. “It’s accurate to a hundred meters. We know exactly where you’ve been.”
The thought shocked Scrimple. Did they know about Nari and the travel agency then?
“We know you’ve been in Jomtien all the time so the briefcase must be there. Right?” William said.
Scrimple said, “Fuck you.”
As they were going out the front door, William turned and with a sudden movement clipped Scrimple on the side of the head. He staggered, stars bursting around his eyes then recovered his balance as Chisin shoved him from behind and bundled him into the back of the same black Lexus.
Another Chinese man was sitting in the driver’s seat, bringing the engine to life. As the doors shut, he accelerated out of the car park and Scrimple rolled around on the back seat.
* * * *
They drove for twenty minutes until they reached a house surrounded by a ten foot high wall topped with barbed wire. Electronic gates opened slowly as Scrimple watched with apprehension. He wasn’t sure what to expect but he suspected the worst. William was a killer, Scrimple had plenty of evidence of that. The man wouldn’t mess around once his patience had run out.
And Scrimple had been trying his patience.
As they had been driving Scrimple had thought about opening the doors but he assumed they were locked from the inside with the child-proof lock and in any case the car had been going too fast most of the time. They had stopped at a few traffic lights and he wistfully looked at the door handles. Chisin, sitting next to him, stared at him solemnly, as if daring him to have a go. Scrimple glared back at him because it was all he could do. There was not much fight left in him at the moment. He'd been outmaneuvered one time too many.
Behind the gate was a large garden, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a five-car garage and an elegant mansion that spoke of money.
William opened the door on Scrimple's side and told him to get out.
“Where are we here?”
“Shut your mouth, gwai-lo. You talk when we want to hear from you.”
Scrimple shrugged and slid out of his seat. A gardener was working on the grass but didn’t look over, while a man sat on a wooden stool by the gate. He had a short-barreled automatic weapon slung over his shoulder and was smoking a cigarette. He looked like an extra from a gangster movie.
Chisin and William grabbed Scrimple by an arm each and propelled him forward towards the front door. It was opened by another man who had a revolver in a shoulder holster. There was an exchange of Cantonese which Scrimple couldn’t follow and then he was pushed into a front room that had a few wooden chairs and what appeared to be a mahjong table.
“Sit and wait,” William said.
“Whatever,” Scrimple replied. He took one of the chairs, turned it around and sat on it resting his arms on the back. Chisin came in and leaned against the door, grinning. Earlier in the car they had taken his phones and wallet off him.
“You. I fuck you over, hey gwai-lo,” the Chinese man said, pointing at Scrimple. He raised two fists to show what he meant.
“Dui lei lo mo. ge chau hai,” Scrimple told him.
“You speakie good Chinesie,” the other man laughed.
“Puk gai,” Scrimple swore and Chisin laughed even more. They stared at each other for a minute or two then Scrimple gave up and looked out of the window. The armed man at the door had stood up and was walking towards the house.
It was about half an hour later that William came back. He was accompanied by a Chinese woman whom Scrimple guessed to be in her sixties. She had an extravagantly permed hair-do, a dumpy figure and wore lots of make-up intended to give her a few more years. Her eyes were small and reminded him of a pig all dressed up with nowhere to go.
The woman stood slightly behind William and frowned at Scrimple. “Why you give us all this trouble?” she said with a strong Hong Kong accent.
Scrimple rolled his eyes. “Me, give you trouble? Two of my best friends have been murdered by these bastards and all that for a few piddly million Baht. Tell me you’re joking.”
“It’s not about a few million Baht, you stupid foreigner,” the woman said. “You have the money still or you spent it on fucking dirty Thai girls?”
“I’d have to be very fast to spend that kind of money on beer and girls.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s in a safe place but I can’t get to it because the person who has the key has disappeared.”
“Someone stole it from you?”
“Not exactly. I’m waiting for the person to come back.”
“Back from where?”
“I have no idea. I can’t find her and she won’t answer her phone.”
The woman expressed her disgust with a sudden exhalation of air. “A girl stole it from you.”
“I don’t think she’s stolen it.”
“You are stupid, just like William told me.” She turned around and left the room.
Scrimple sat for another hour with Chisin watching him and then someone came and handed them both bottles of drinking water. Scrimple stood up, took a swig from the bottle and paced the room.
William came back an hour later and took Chisin outside. Scrimple heard a fast conversation between them outside the door then Chisin came back in again. He smiled crookedly at Scrimple and said, “You can be free.”
Then he stepped forward and sucker punched Scrimple on the side of the face. A second blow followed the first one, landing on the other side of the face and as Scrimple was tumbling down to the floor he was kicked hard in the crotch. It didn’t catch his testicles, thankfully, but hammered into the top of his thigh.
Chisin laughed like a demented bear.
Fifteen minutes later they had dumped Scrimple back on the main road and he was standing in a daze of pain. He didn’t think any teeth were loose but his entire jaw felt bruised and all he could do was limp along because his thigh was still partially numb.