Things were not according to her expectations, Madam Tang thought. She wasn’t happy that William couldn’t be contacted and she made her displeasure felt by yelling at Chisin and the other men.
“What does Benny mean, he doesn’t know where he has gone? What is the problem with Benny? Is he stupid or something? Has he been taking too many pills to make his muscles bigger? Find William and tell him that I want to talk with him.” Madam Tang glared at the three men who were sitting at a low table playing cards. For good measure she picked up a dirty cup and flung it at Chisin’s head. He ducked and it shattered, leaving remnants of tea on the white wall.
“And what are you doing about the girl?” Madam Tang demanded, then turned and stamped out before anyone could answer.
The girl, Pim was still tied down on the bed and Tang went to visit her. Pim had wet herself from fear and there were bruises on her face and burn marks on her body where they had used cigarettes to cause pain. Tang wasn’t sure if any of the men had raped her. She was pretty enough in a skinny, modern way. Rape was always the ultimate terror when it came to frightening a girl. Tang understood that and so did the men who worked for her.
“Do you regret helping him yet?” Tang asked as she stood by the side of the bed. She looked at the ravaged, tear-stained face and the chafe marks on the wrists made by the handcuffs.
Pim tried to be defiant and shook her head weakly.
“What is this loyalty for an old useless man? I don’t understand it.” Tang was beginning to suspect the answer but she didn’t want to ask the question. It annoyed her too much and she didn’t like to even consider any of the possibilities. It was all too irritating and she could hardly contain the anger inside her at this moment.
“We know you lied to us. William didn’t find him. He wasn’t in that hotel room.” Tang laid a hand on Pim’s neck and squeezed gently, watching the terror in the girl’s eyes. “And that is not good for you at all. How could you lie to us? How stupid of you. Don’t you understand the consequences?” She squeezed some more and the girl wriggled on the bed trying to get free from the choking fingers. “Very stupid of you.”
Tang leant forward and put the entire weight of her body on top of the hand that held the neck. “Stupid girl,” she said softly.
There was a knock on the door and Chisin came in. His eyes flickered briefly over at what Tang was doing to the girl then he said, “Kornsak is here. He wants to talk with you, Madam.”
Tang frowned at him then she nodded and released her hold on the girl's neck.
“Where is he?”
“In the main room.”
Tang turned and smiled down at Pim. “Think about what I have said. You better help us find the old man or I have no more use for you. You will have your throat cut just like that other stupid little girl that William dumped at the apartment in Bangkok. You understand, don’t you?”
Pim stared at her with wide open eyes.
Madam Tang left the room and went to meet the Thai man who had come to visit her.
He wore a multi-colored Versace shirt and black Armani jeans that didn’t manage to contain a large belly which flowed over a cowboy style belt with a large silver buckle. Around his neck hung a thick gold chain with a Buddha medallion that was two inches in diameter.
Madam Tang tried to hide her distaste as she greeted him like an old friend.
“How is your family?” she asked and offered him a glass of the expensive malt whiskey she knew he favored.
“Good, good,” said Kornsak. He picked briefly at his teeth with the long fingernail from his pinkie. “My son finish university in America and my daughter is starting at Perth in Australia.” He looked at Madam Tang with his sly eyes. “It costs a lot of money to send children to school.”
“I don’t know,” she said dismissively. “I never had any children.” She went to sit down in the arm chair by the window and listened with distaste as he sipped the Glenfiddich noisily. “I didn’t know you were coming today. There is nothing I can give you.”
Kornsak looked disappointed. “You promised me the money two weeks ago.”
“There is no money. We can only get money when enough foreigners pay a deposit. They won’t pay any money because we don’t have the land ownership documents to show to their lawyers.”
Kornsak nodded as if he were bored by all the excuses. “I don’t care if your husband has run away with all the documents. That is your problem. You promised me ten million Baht if I changed the land use requirements.” He made a sucking noise with his teeth, as if there was still a piece of pork trapped between them.
“Are you threatening me, Khun Kornsak?” Tang said icily.
He shrugged and met her stare. “You Chinese come here to Thailand and think you know how to do business better than we do? If you don’t pay me the ten million in one week I will demand twelve million. You have to follow our rules. I am an important man here and I have done you a favor. It is normal to be paid for this kind of favor. Maybe you don’t understand the way it works here. I know in Hong Kong there are other customs.”
“You are a corrupt politician, Kornsak. We Chinese have four thousand years of experience understanding what that means.”
Kornsak waved the insult away with a movement of his free hand.
“You Chinese always talk about your history.”
“Half of Thailand was part of the Chinese empire eight hundred years ago,” Tang reminded him.
“Ten million by next week or I will go to the police and accuse you of trying to bribe me.”
Madam Tang glared at him, then stepped over to the door and called for Chisin.
“Get the money bag from the safe,” she instructed.
When Chisin came back five minutes later he was carrying a green Ralph Lauren traveling bag. Tang took it and pulled open the zip. She produced five stacks of used notes which were bundled with red elastic bands. She dumped them in Kornsak’s lap.
“There is five million. The rest I will give you next week. Now go away and make sure nothing will ruin our deal.”
Kornsak smiled. “I thought you said there was no money?”
“I own twenty-two commercial buildings in Hong Kong. Do you think ten million Baht makes any difference to me? It is not normally my habit to give away money that has not been earned yet. But a cockroach sometimes needs to be fed.”
The politician shrugged. “You better find your husband with the land deeds. This will be the biggest development project in Pattaya and it will be embarrassing if you have to delay or cancel it.” He put down the whiskey glass and picked up the bundles of cash Tang had dumped on his lap.
“Let me worry about my husband. That is my family problem.”
“Five million next week,” he said waving one of the bundles at her as he went to the door. Tang watched him leave the house and climb into his Toyota Land cruiser.
“When all this is finished here,” she said to Chisin, “I want you or William to kill him and then dump him at the Crocodile Farm.”
“That’s a good idea. His big gold Buddha won’t help him there,” Chisin said, chuckling.
“Have you found that idiot William yet?” Tang snapped at him.
* * * *
The Raffles Room was elegant and opulent. Scrimple felt strange in his borrowed blazer but it fitted well around his shoulders although the arms were a bit long.
The Thai maître d’ bowed to him. “Dining alone, sir?”
“I guess so.” For a moment he was reminded of mess nights he’d attended during his time in the police. They had more or less stopped the tradition after 1997. But in the earlier years these had been wild, raucous affairs with drunken men in white uniform jackets and bow ties telling each other outrageous stories while ladies in black gowns looked on with patient resignation. There had even been mess games where furniture was destroyed and bottles broken as indoor rugby and other sports were attempted that should have been practiced while sober and in the open air.
It was all a long time ago.
Scrimple was led to his table and handed a menu while a waiter unwrapped his serviette.
“All the fish is very good. And we have some fresh oysters just flown in.”
“Sounds great,” Scrimple replied. He glanced around the room. There were groups of two or three men, mostly older Thais but also Western men, well dressed, with an air of affluence. Nobody paid him any special attention.
He realized there were no women amongst the diners apart from the waiting staff, who moved quietly around the room with plates and bottles of wine.
While he was reading the menu and working out some of the French phrases the maître d’ suddenly appeared next to him again and handed over a cordless phone.
“Telephone call, sir.”
Scrimple took the handset.
“McAlistair here. So you got in okay then?”
“Yeah, great. It’s an amazing place.”
“Got to keep up the standards. I’m just around the corner so, if you feel like it, I can join you for dinner.”
“Sure. That would be great.”
“All right, ten minutes.”
Scrimple handed the cordless phone back to the manager and asked, “How come my mobile phone doesn’t get a connection here?”
The manager smiled smugly, not easy for a Thai, and said, “All mobile phone signals are blocked except in the business center. It is our club rule. More peaceful and relaxing for members.”
“Good idea. So if I want to check for any text messages...”
“You need to go to the business center and can get reception for your cell phone, sir.”
Scrimple nodded. “Nothing urgent.” He closed the wine list. “Can you bring me a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice?”
McAlistair arrived shortly afterwards. He hadn’t changed much since the last time they’d met. He was short and muscular from intense regular work-outs at the gym. His light brown jacket accentuated broad shoulders and tapered to a narrow waste while a relaxed smile sat on his handsome sun-tanned face. He gave Scrimple a firm handshake.
“You’re a member here then?” Scrimple said.
McAlistair nodded. “Sort of. A few years back I bought into the company that owns the place and I sit on the board that runs it. Not too onerous because we’ve hired the best management team money can buy.”
“Plenty of money around I suppose. Must be expensive to become a member.”
“It’s not cheap but money isn’t the main criteria for being accepted as a member.” McAlistair waved in greeting at a group of men who’d just come in for dinner.
“What is then?” Scrimple said.
“A certain gravitas. The right kind of person with the right kind of social position.” McAlistair winked and gave a self-deprecating laugh.
“So how did they allow an unemployed copper like you on the board of directors?”
“They know that I would break their legs if they didn’t.” McAlistair smiled as his fingers flicked through the wine list. “And my wife comes from an extremely well-connected family.”
“Ah, nepotism,” Scrimple said.
“Don’t knock it. Cronyism and nepotism are what make the world go around.”
“Tell me about it,” Scrimple said with an element of resignation.
“As long as you’re on the inside there’s nothing to complain about.” McAlistair tapped the wine list. “How about this Grand Cru. 1969, the year I was born? Must be good.”
They ordered oysters and grilled fish with mashed potatoes and drank two bottles of the Burgundy while talking about the old days and gossiping about people they’d known.
“Jedburgh’s on his way back from the Philippines,” said McAlistair after they had moved to the cigar room. They were drinking coffee and smoking half coronas. Scrimple had to work hard not to try and inhale. He was too used to cigarettes.
“How much time does he spend in Thailand?” Scrimple asked.
“Depends, maybe two weeks a month. He comes and goes. You can’t be sure where he is. Sometimes he stays in Hong Kong or his place in Singapore.”
“His business must be good.”
“He invested well and gets good returns.” McAlistair gave Scrimple a knowing smile through the blue fog floating around his face.
“That’s the secret, my boy. Investing well.”
“Easier said than done,” said Scrimple with just a touch of bitterness. “I thought the stock market had tanked and everybody was losing their shirt?”
“I wouldn’t really know,” McAlistair said, with a wink. “I don’t handle that side of things. The wife’s in charge.”
McAlistair’s wife was reputed to be gorgeous, accomplished and from one of the wealthiest families in the kingdom. Scrimple had never met her but he couldn’t help being jealous.
“How are the books doing?” he asked. “I see your name on the book shelves at the airports but I’m not really a reading person.”
“Not many people are. You can’t really make a living from writing trashy novels. Keeps me off the streets though. I write three hours a day and publish one novel a year. Every book sells a bit more than the last one.” McAlistair shrugged, then leant over to ask the girl attendant to get them two glasses of the usual Armagnac. Since leaving the Royal Hong Kong Police McAlistair had slowly been building himself a reputation as the author of edgy thrillers. He had no pretensions to writing literature. He wanted to sell popular fiction that entertained the masses.
“A successful author makes about twenty thousand dollars a year. My wife’s business interests earn that in a day. It’s a thankless vocation being a writer but it beats doing nothing and getting drunk for breakfast.” He held up the glass of Armagnac in a toast.
Scrimple studied McAlistair for a while, nodded as if he understood and then dropped his dead cigar in the ashtray and lit a Mild Seven instead. He knew McAlistair was understating his involvement in his wife’s commercial activities. And he also knew it was none of his business. He was grateful that men like McAlistair and Jedburgh were willing to help him with his dilemma.
“What did you reckon of Commissioner Bottle?” he asked.
“Never worked with him during my time but I heard he was hard as polar bear shit.”
“He was. But do you think he was bent?”
“What does bent mean? Did he bend the rules? Sure, we all did. Did he take backhanders to let some murderer walk free? I doubt it. But the rules weren’t as black and white then as they became later.”
“Tough to tell, isn’t it?” Scrimple said.
“Where is he now?”
“No idea. I don’t have any way of getting in touch with him. He was going to call me.”
“He’ll turn up. He’s the key to all this.”
Scrimple nodded slowly and looked at the ginger nicotine stains on his fingers. “I wish he’d just never turned up in the first place.”
McAlistair swirled his cognac slowly around the balloon glass and watched the golden liquid with pensive interest. “Sometimes there are events in life that are outside our control. There are things under heaven and earth, Horatio,” he said, leaving the rest of the quote unfinished.
Scrimple looked at him blankly and said, “Don’t get all spiritual on me, mate.”
“Hamlet, Scrimple.” McAlistair laughed gently. “You did go to school once, didn’t you?”
“I think we did King Lear for O-level English.”
McAlistair squinted into his glass. “We are to the gods like wanton flies, they kill us for their sport,” he quoted.
“Too much killing, too many flies,” Scrimple said under his breath and felt overwhelmed by an enormous sadness as the faces of the recent dead filed past him.
Later McAlistair helped him up the stairs and gave him a little push into his bedroom. A girl was there waiting for him. She wore a purple silk robe and gently took hold of Scrimple, ran him a bath, took off his clothes, soaped and cleaned him and put him to bed.
She asked him if he wanted anything to help him relax and he watched with detachment as she worked in vain to arouse him. For all her skills it was a hopeless task and he finally waved her away from his flaccid penis and apologized mournfully.
She gave him a kiss, tucked him into the crisp sheets and slid out of the room like a benign incubus.
* * * *
For a while he had no idea where he was and why the bed was so comfortable. Scrimple turned amongst the pillows and buried his head in the down-filled mounds. Then slowly he began waking up and realized where he was. He felt safe but he also felt a hangover hammering at the back of his head.
Cautiously he rolled out of the huge bed and found a bottle of mineral water in the fridge as well as his Tylenols. He took a glance at his watch and found it was only eight so he flopped back onto the mattress and pulled the sheets back over his face.
It had been a good dinner and McAlistair had been both fun and reassuring. Would he and Jedburgh really be able to sort things out for Scrimple? It was a question he didn’t want to ask himself because there was only one answer he could handle. He needed to believe that there was a solution to all this and that they could deliver it.
There were enough pillows in the bed to outfit a Hamburg whorehouse and he built a wall around himself and dozed off again for two hours until hunger roused him.
The hangover was gone, whisked away by some mysterious chemical magic. He was ravenous for bacon and eggs and orange juice and strong coffee and toast and thick cut marmalade.
Downstairs in the coffee shop he found it all, just as the doctor had ordered. The windows were slightly tinted, keeping the harsh sunlight out. Most of the guests were probably on the fairways or the tennis courts or swimming lengths but a few men sat quietly reading newspapers. Scrimple had a copy of The Daily Mail brought over and he read through the trivial news from England, half afraid there might be a small paragraph about the hunt for a murdering Englishman in Thailand, but there was nothing, which was a relief.
He asked for another round of white toast and the waiter brought it swiftly, then filled up the cup with more coffee.
This is the life, Scrimple thought. What do you have to do to become a member here and enjoy this kind of civilized comfort?
He would have to ask McAlistair if he could pull some strings. If things could be worked out. If he could stay in Thailand somehow and didn’t have to go into hiding in another country with a new identity. He spent a few moments chasing that thought around his head and then pushed it aside. It was an unpleasant image.
He thought of the money from Bottle which was tucked under his waistband. He patted it for good luck. Here he was alive, in an exclusive luxury club and under the protection of people who knew what they were doing. Even if William and Chisin were to turn up now, walking through the coffee shop doors with Uzis blazing, it would be all right. But that wasn’t going to happen. He knew it couldn’t happen. This place was safe.
For an instant Nari’s dead face popped up in front of him and he pushed it aside with all the mental strength he could summon and shoved his fork into the second poached egg on his plate.
Half an hour later he left the table and walked out to reception to ask where the business center was. He had to check his mobile phones in case there had been any calls or messages. He’d flicked through the morning’s Bangkok Post and The Nation and apart from two small paragraphs stating that the wanted Englishman was still on the run there had been nothing noteworthy. No story about Bottle or gun fights in hotels or dead bodies turning up. It sounded as if the old man might have got away from William after all. But how?
The Business Centre was all green carpet, dark leather and high tech computers. A series of small cubicles were labeled as “phone rooms” and two of them were occupied by Thai men making phone calls. One of them was yelling down the line at a subordinate, the other seemed to be whispering, as if he were explaining to his wife that he would be home late or not at all for a few days.
Scrimple took one of the cubicles and turned on the mobile for which Bottle and Jim had the number. It took a minute or so to get a signal. Finally all the bars were lit up on the display and immediately it beeped showing that two voicemails had been left.
One SMS message came in. “Hope you are okay mate.” It was from Jim. He replied: “Okay so far. Been getting some help. Keep you posted.”
Checking the voicemails Scrimple found that both of them had been left by Bottle. It was a relief that the old man sounded okay but at the same time he was angry that there was no way to get hold of him.
Bottle had said: “I’ve found you a passage out of the country as agreed but I've got some problems. I will call you at 1000 hrs. Make sure your phone is one.”
The second voicemail had simply said, “Turn your phone on. Will call at 1200 hrs.”
Scrimple looked at his watch and it was ten minutes to noon. He smiled wryly. If the fucker would just leave his own number...but he was too damn flighty for that. Then, he had reason to be. He knew what William and Chisin and his damned wife were capable of doing. Scrimple was sure that if those mad killers got hold of Bottle they would flay him alive and eat his balls with noodle soup.
The mobile was fully charged so he sat there and waited, looking at the display from time to time and dreaming of an empty beach somewhere.
Finally the phone rang, bang on time as the minute hand hit the twelve on his watch. Bottle had always been a fastidious man.
The old man’s voice came on the line. “Scrimple, where are you?” he said.
“In a safe place,” Scrimple replied. Both of them could play at being coy and not revealing where they were.
“I got you a passage out on a boat,” Bottle said.
“Thanks, I got the message. I didn’t think you would do it after you got the papers.”
“Who the hell do you think I am? We had a deal and I’m holding up my end,” Bottle said testily.
“I thought William might have found you. I saw him getting out of a car near the hotel but couldn’t get through on the phone to call you.”
“Nobody turned up. If he’d turned up he would have got a gutful of bullets from Poom. Do you want to take this passage?”
“Where do I have to go?”
“It’s near Pattaya, out of a small fishing port. You’ll stink of fish for weeks afterwards but you’ll be out of Thailand.”
“Bottle, there’s something I’m working on. I’m getting help from Bill Jedburgh who used to be in Force.”
There seemed to be a snort from down the other end of the line. “They’re cowboys, both of them. You should know that.”
“They’ve found me a safe place to hide out.”
“What can they do for you?”
“I’m not sure yet but they have some connections.”
There was a moment of silence at the other end while Bottle seemed to be considering. “I’ve got a problem. Maybe you and these cowboys could help me. Pim has gone missing. I haven’t heard from her and she’s not answering her phones.”
“Do you think William—”
“I know he has,” Bottle said bitterly. “He left a message on her voicemail for me saying that she was with them and if I wanted to see her again to get in touch and bring them the papers.”
“Bastards,” Scrimple said quietly.
“He said he’d cut her throat if I didn’t call within the day to arrange a meeting.” There was a hint of some suppressed anguish in the old man's voice.
Scrimple had an instant image of the dead girl in the apartment in Bangkok. The gaping throat wound, slashed from ear to ear like a second grinning mouth. He hadn’t been sure of Pim’s loyalties, it was all confusing, but he thought she was a nice girl and didn’t deserve William or Chisin doing that to her just to get the papers from Bottle.
He said, “What are you going to do? Is Pim important enough for you to give up the papers?”
“She’s important. I don’t want another dead girl on my hands. I have to stop this nonsense.” There was silence from Bottle until he said, “Bill Jedburgh is a vicious sod. I remember seeing his training reports while he was in the Special Duties Unit. Do you think he would help us spring the girl free from them? I’m willing to hand over the papers but I don’t trust them to let Pim or even me go. They’re too dangerous and William is unpredictable.”
“I can ask Bill and McAlistair when I see them. I’ve no idea where they are at the moment but they should be here later. Why don’t you come here and talk to them yourself? They’ll listen to you. I’m sure they’d be willing to help.”
“It’s an idea,” Bottle said pensively. “Between them, you and Poom we might have enough manpower to break her out. They must be keeping her at the house.”
“Where are you now?” Scrimple asked.
“Near Bangkok.”
“I’m at a place called the Bolthole,” Scrimple told him. “It’s a private club with golf courses and tennis courts. It’s between Pattaya and Rayong.”
“I’ve heard of the place. I’m not sure where it is but I’ll find it. Let me think about this idea.”
“Send me a message if you decide you’ll come. I need to turn the phone off. They have a device that cuts off mobile phone connections so they only work in the business center.”
“Okay,” Bottle said. “I’ll probably come. You talk to those lads about me. They know who I am. They know this is serious or I wouldn't be asking for their help.”