The man in the saffron robe was waiting for Somchai in the restaurant where they’d met the last time.
“He is very efficient, your reliable man who kills for money,” the monk said taking a small sip of tea.
“This time it was very fast,” Somchai agreed. He hadn’t expected Kornsak to be gone so quickly. He placed the rucksack on the floor next to the monk who had once been a general. “Here is the money that the Hong Kong man gave me for letting them go.”
“How much is it?” the monk asked with little interest.
“Five million Baht. It will help to pay for the assassin. Every Baht helps.”
The monk smiled mildly. “We don’t need the money but there is a justice that I like about a man paying for his own death.”
“It makes a nice circle,” Somchai said, nodding “and in his next life he will come back as an ant or a spider.”
“We still have so many problems with the colored shirts,” the Monk commented and took some of the rice and fish that had been laid out for them.
“It’s a long journey but if we don’t travel we will go nowhere,” Somchai said.
“You are a good man,” the monk said and patted the policeman on the hand in a gesture that was half blessing and half appreciation.
* * * *
Scrimple arrived in Hong Kong in the late afternoon. He took a red taxi to the Empire Hotel in Kimberley Road where the rooms were small and the rate was cheap.
He would have preferred to stay in Wanchai but there was a trade fair on and the hotels were all full and his company had a deal with the Empire because it was just around the corner from their office.
He’d called the Ferguson woman and explained to her that everything had been cleared up and he’d been the victim of a frame-up. He’d faxed her the letter on official Royal Thai Police letterhead which explained that he was no longer wanted in connection with several crimes that had been committed and to the best of their knowledge he was innocent.
His boss had sounded doubtful at first but finally became less frosty and agreed that it would be best to meet in Hong Kong and talk it all through. She wanted to hear the full story before she could make any recommendations to London.
He dropped his bag on the bed and brushed his teeth and sprayed some deodorant under his arms because he was too lazy to have a shower. The heat in Hong Kong was about the same as in Bangkok and whatever he did, his body would be covered in sweat within ten minutes. It had been over a year since his last visit and he felt a twinge of nostalgia as he looked out of the window. There was a tiny sliver of sea view between other tall buildings and the streets teemed with people rushing about with commercial fervor.
The office for Ferguson McPherson was in Wing On Plaza and it took Scrimple about ten minutes to walk over. He remembered the first time he’d visited the office when he was still in the Force and the circumstances around that visit had resulted in his resignation and being given a chance to start a new career in the trading and manufacturing industry. He was still in contact with the man who’d given him this opportunity but Devereux had left the company a few years back and was doing well in a new job.
Scrimple smiled to himself grimly. He really should get in touch with Devereux. He might have seen the recent news and be wondering what had turned Scrimple into a homicidal maniac. The answer of course was circumstances and despite being cleared by the Royal Thai Police, Scrimple knew in his heart that he’d killed and could kill again under the wrong circumstances.
The reception girl at the office was new and didn’t realize that Scrimple was their colleague from Bangkok. It was shortly before six pm but the office showed no sign of slowing down. All the desks were still occupied, mostly by women who stared with concentration at computer screens as if they contained hidden clues to their future lives.
Jane came out to get him at six pm sharp.
“Hello Scrimple, you look as if you’ve been in the wars.”
“I have.”
“But it’s over now?” she asked with concern.
“I hope so,” he said.
Jane led him towards her office which was well appointed with a huge desk and a full panoramic harbor view which her predecessor had enjoyed so much. Hong Kong island lay spread in front of them from Eastern to Western.
Jane was a young woman, in her early thirties and she wore a tight pair of slacks showing a bum which was still in shape but starting to spread a bit from too many customer dinners.
She gestured to the sofas in the corner and they both sat down on the white leather.
“I have to take a customer out for dinner at eight,” Jane said, “so we have two hours.”
“It won’t take that long,” Scrimple said. He’d decided on the flight over that he wasn’t going to give her all the facts. No, ma’am, he was only going to tell her the bare bones. Enough for her to understand that he’d been set up and that the events had tossed him around like a dirty life jacket in a raging ocean.
“My old boss from the police force came to see me and asked me for a favor…” he started.
By the end of the tale, her eyes were full of wonder and he hadn’t even told her the really nasty bits.
“It’s hard to believe,” she said wringing her hands nervously, “but of course I believe you. I don’t doubt you,” she said trying to reassure him but somehow still succeeding in sounding unconvinced.
“I’m not sure I’d believe it all myself if it hadn’t happened to me.” He slid over a photo of Pim’s face with the burn marks on her cheeks. Jane gasped with horror.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. But that’s the handiwork of the man who was behind all of this.”
“Is…is she all right, this girl?
“She’s fine but William killed her father so she’s upset. And very angry.”
“It’s tragic.”
Scrimple nodded. It was tragic that the bastard was still walking around free as a bird somewhere in this town.
“Are you sure you’re up to continuing your work after all these traumatic events?” Jane asked. “Don’t you want to go and see a psychiatrist, take a few months off?”
“I need to keep busy. The last thing I want to do is sit around not working. Maybe a week or two of holiday but that’s all. I can’t change what has happened, so I might as well get on with my life.”
“I suppose so,” she said, frowning. She hadn’t been in Asia long enough to realize that there, counseling wasn’t the Asian way. Scrimple, who had experienced trauma before knew that the best cure was time and alcohol to numb the memories.
She placed the photo of Pim back on the coffee table and pushed it away with her index finger. “I’ll write up a report to London first thing tomorrow. It was very upsetting for all of us that the company’s name was dragged into this.”
“I’m sorry,” Scrimple said.
“Not your fault, I understand. But you know how it was perceived. You know how people think.”
“People like to think the worst.”
“One doesn’t want to see the company suffer.”
“I thought someone had once written that any publicity is always good publicity,” Scrimple tried to lighten the words with a smile.
Jane shook her head sternly. “This isn’t the age of Oscar Wilde. Everything has to be politically correct these days.”
“Don’t I know it,” he said. “Are we done for now? I’m good to get back to work in Bangkok.”
“I’ll need final approval from London but I should think it will be fine. You’ve got another year to run on your contract and I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job running the Bangkok office for now. So keep out of trouble.” She gave him an encouraging look. Scrimple nodded.
She’s part of the family that owns the business so her word should carry enough clout, he thought as he stood up and shook her hand.
“You’ll be all right, will you?” Jane asked following him to her office door.
“Nothing that a few beers and a half-bottle of Scotch can’t cure.”
“Not too many beers now. I don’t want to be picking you up from the police station.”
“Don’t worry, Jane. Thanks for listening to me and believing my story. It’s been a nightmare and for a while I thought my life was completely destroyed.”
She nodded and patted him on the shoulder.
“Go out there and find some great new factories in Cambodia and Vietnam for us. That’s where we need to be looking. I’ll come and visit you in Bangkok in a month or two.”
* * * *
William sat in the dark of a small bar on Austin Avenue. He was drinking San Miguel beer and rolling the dice with his free hand. The wrong numbers came up and he swore, then pushed the dice and shaker to the man on his left.
“It was her idea so why should I be blamed for everything going wrong?” he grumbled.
“She is a woman, forget about it,” the man opposite him said.
“She’s the boss of the clan. What do you want me to do?” William said, slamming down the San Miguel bottle on the scratched wooden table.
“You can leave the clan. You’ve always been saying you wanted to have your freedom,” the man rolling the dice said, squinting through some cigarette smoke that curled up from his lips.
“And how long will that last, fuck your mother? She will have me killed. I know too much,” William said.
“You can talk to her. Tell her it is time and that you’re not happy.”
“Roll the dice, you son of a pig.”
“Why don’t we go to Macau this evening? There are some dirty new Russian girls at the Lisboan. I know Uncle Song will be happy to see us and we can have some fun.”
“I’m not in the mood for fun,” William said. “I’m in the mood for other things.”
“Look at those numbers. Luck is with me today,” the man with the cigarette said and took some bank notes off the other two.
* * * *
Wanchai was only two stops from Tsim Sha Tsui and half an hour after leaving the office Scrimple walked into a bar called Laguna. It was dark and smelt strongly of brown bodies dancing their little asses off.
He pulled up a stool on the corner of the bar which gave him a view of the central dance floor, which was about half full with mostly Indonesian and Filipina girls. They were free-lancers which meant they came into town on a two-week visa, hung around in a number of popular bars and clubs and hoped to meet men who would give them money for drinks or other services. It was a hard job because there were often more women than men and after two weeks they had to renew their visa by crossing the border either into China or Macau. If they were unlucky the Immigration Officer would only give them a day or two. It really depended on how often they had previously come in and out of Hong Kong as “tourists.”
The Filipina waitress gave him the Tsing Tao he’d ordered and took his hundred dollar bill. He watched the activity around him and had a dry chuckle. It was all a bit amateurish here compared to Thailand where the sex industry was deeply entrenched and highly professional. Of course in Hong Kong there were the one-women brothels and the nightclubs which were run by the Triads but in a place like this men could con themselves that the girls were just down on their luck and only wanted a bit of help getting back on their feet again. Which often was the case and sometimes there could be romance and a happy ending. A girl who got pregnant at fifteen in her village had a tough time finishing her education and getting a regular job. But often there was no romance. Just sweaty coupling in a convenient short-time hotel and an exchange of cash that mostly went to the girls’ tour guides.
If a girl was bought a drink by a man she would get a small voucher from the bar staff which she would palm and redeem later for twenty dollars or so. Faster money came from going home with a man for the night. Scrimple looked around the dance floor and there was nothing he fancied at this moment. He hadn’t put his beer goggles on properly yet. In a few hours the world would look like a much rosier place. The little brown girls in their miniskirts and tight leggings would have become taller, sexier and sweeter.
He sat there for a while, waving off the smiles of the occasional girl who tried to approach him. After three beers he thought he might wander over to Neptune II which was more geared towards the Thai freelancers. He was out of practice bantering with Filipinas although normally their English was better than the average Thai girl. Neptune was owned by one of the Triads but rumor had it Laguna belonged to a group of International School teachers and they had recently sold out for sixty million Hong Kong dollars. Good for them.
At this moment a tall, broad-shouldered man in jeans and polo shirt came up the stairs and walked into the bar. Scrimple squinted to be sure and realized that it was Jedburgh. The place was still quite empty so it only took a moment before Jedburgh had seen Scrimple sitting at the other side of the bar.
“I thought you might be in Hong Kong,” Jedburgh said and pulled up the stool next to Scrimple. He ordered two more Tsing Taos and pushed one over.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Scrimple said and noticed that his words were just slightly slurred.
Jedburgh nodded gravely. “Got some meetings.”
“I didn’t have the chance to thank you properly for helping me out,” Scrimple said awkwardly after thinking about it for a while.
“That’s okay, McAlistair told me you had a good chat in the morning and you and the girl were all clear about what has to remain a secret. It was a messy business but sometimes there’s no other way.”
“I just met with my boss here and I think I’m okay. Should be able to keep my job. Go back to a reasonably normal life.”
“Good for you.”
“Thanks for the money, by the way.”
“Finders keepers. You deserved to be compensated for what you’d been through at the hands of those fuckers.”
Scrimple laughed drily. After the shootout at the house they’d recovered over twenty million Baht in cash and Jedburgh had decided that half of it should go to Scrimple. It was now safely tucked away in a new safe deposit box he’d rented.
“How long are you in town for?” Scrimple asked.
“Just a week or so, then I’ll be leaving to spend a few months in Europe,” Jedburgh said, as he turned and leant against the bar so he could survey the whole place with a judicious eye.
“Why’s that? What’s in Europe?” Scrimple asked.
“Go skiing or something. Bit bored of Asia. Not bored long term. Just fancy a bit of a change.”
“The women are far too large in Europe,” Scrimple said.
“They have little ones.”
“Not as little as that one,” Scrimple said and pointed with his bottle at a long-haired girl with Indonesian features who could have been twelve but was probably twenty-five. “You’d break her in half if you gave her too hard a pounding.”
Jedburgh laughed and emptied his bottle then waved for two more.
“What about William and Mrs. Tang?” Scrimple said. “You know they were let go by the Thai police? They actually had them in custody. Then let them go. Can you believe it? Somebody must have handed over a large chunk of cash.”
Jedburgh turned and looked Scrimple firmly in the eye. “I wouldn’t worry about them. You keep a low profile and that little loose end will resolve itself soon. I’m sure of it.”
“You’re sure?” Scrimple said and his beer-addled brain began trying to make sense of what he was being told.
“Sure, they’ll get what they deserve, sooner or later.”