Singapore Sling Shot (24 page)

“Yeah?”

“It's Sami.”

“The long-lost Sami Somsak?” I replied sarcastically in my drunken state.

“I'm sorry, old friend. There were a great many things that needed doing and I didn't want you seen or involved. Once again, Daniel, I want to thank you.”

“It's what we do, Sami.”

“Yes. I suppose that's what we do,” he said with a faint chuckle. “The Colombians will be landing tomorrow afternoon. Private jet. I will be meeting them in person. I'd like you there with me. I know you were going to fly out in the morning.”

“How did you know that?”

“Contacts, Daniel. But there are some things we need to discuss before you go anyway. Recompense for one.”

“Sami, I don't …”

“Hear me out, Daniel,” Sami said, cutting me off at the pass. He knew that I was going to object. “You know I've put Simone and the others on generous allowances. Simone can afford a better apartment and have money to educate her children and travel. She's set for life, so are the others.”

“Bribery?” I ventured.

“And loyalty, Daniel. I'm loyal to people who hurt for me.”

“I know. Sorry, that was uncalled for,” I said, and it was uncalled for. Sami Somsak was one of the most generous people I'd ever met.

“Accepted, Daniel. I know about Simone. I'm sorry about that, but just give her a little time.”

“Yeah, we'll see. What about Lu? Did you send him to meet his scaly ancestors?”

“He's alive,” Sami replied dryly. “I will present him to the Mendez brothers along with most of the cash. I will deduct significant compensation, somewhere in the region of half a billion dollars.”

“They won't like that.”

“No, but that is the only hand they have to play. If they don't accept that then they and Thomas Lu are on a fast train to hell. Will you stay?”

“Okay. What time do they fly in?”

“ETA is 13:55. I will have Jo pick you up at the usual spot at 12:30. Wear mourning clothes …”

“Yeah, and look dangerous,” I added. Sami chuckled and the call was over.

I looked at the bottle of JD and put the top back on. I was going to shower, dress and head out. Sitting in my hotel room getting shit faced wasn't going to earn me anything other than a melancholy hangover. The bar I'd discovered up behind Centrepoint, the Cable Car, was a good place to start.

Thomas Lu was in agony. The pain in his shoulder was so bad that he was whimpering. The long blade had sliced and torn its way through his shoulder. It was a deep, wicked wound, inflicted when Somsak's men had dragged him from the container. They had put heavy pads on the wound, strapped it, and now he sat on the cold concrete floor of a storage room, hurting.

Lu's good wrist was handcuffed to a galvanised water pipe. There was a water bottle on the floor beside him but there was no food, no toilet bucket. Lu could stand but with great difficulty, the handcuff sliding up the pipe. He did that now, gasping with pain. He unfastened his flies, unable to hold his penis with his injured hand, and stretching as far as he could, he relieved himself. The acrid smell of urine filled the air.

With difficulty, he managed to close his flies and sat where he had been before. He had no alternative. He moaned in agony, and then felt warm wetness under his buttocks. The floor wasn't level. The urine he had discharged had followed the slope of the floor and found him. Thomas Lu cursed, but he didn't move. There was nowhere to move to.

The pub was a fun place. I was positioned at a table before the regulars rolled in. When they did, they included me in their conversations and banter. They were a mixed bunch of Singapore residents: Chinese, Indian and the inevitable British expats. When they discovered that Ed Davidson was Australian, Oz jokes abounded. I think my accent confused some of them at first; however, I covered it up by saying I'd been born in the UK.

It was after nine when I left the place with invitations to come again ringing in my ears. I wandered down Orchard Road in a state of more or less happy intoxication. As I navigated my way along Bras Basah, I realised I hadn't eaten for far too long. I detoured into Chijmes and found a restaurant where I ordered steak. I didn't need anything more to drink. It had been a long day, and once again, I hadn't actually killed anyone.

30

Carlos Mendez watched as Singapore appeared below the wings of the Global Express 5000 as it started to drop through the clouds. The Mendez brothers had owned the forty-five-million-dollar aircraft for two years, and apart from a brief excursion to Chile, Carlos had never flown in it. He hated flying.

There were only ten seats in the aircraft. The bed at the rear was for Carlos. He had slept fitfully off and on throughout the flight. Because of his fear of flying, every change in engine noise or change of direction had caused him to wake up and lie, eyes wide, anticipating disaster. Only the death of his beloved younger brother had made him undertake the flight half way round the world.

Now Carlos had abandoned the bed and was seated in one of the plush leather recliners that were staggered the length of the aircraft. In addition to the elder Mendez, there were six men seated in the main cabin. Up front was the Express' crew of two.

Mendez had never been to Singapore before. He had heard it was tiny and totally buttoned up. If that were so, he wondered how his brother, who had come from one of the most violent countries in the world, could have met his death here at the hands of the man Thomas Lu had identified as Sami Somsak.

The pilot came over the intercom advising that landing was imminent and advising his passengers to fasten their seatbelts. Carlos did as instructed and prepared himself for the landing, masking his extreme apprehension from his subordinates with a scowl as he gazed out the window.

The tarmac came up fast. The elder Mendez winced and then the tyres bit with a squeal and the small jet was on the ground. The roar of the engines being put into reverse caused the drug boss to feel a moment of near panic, but then the sound faded and the jet slowed and turned off the runway.

As they taxied to the nearest terminal building, Carlos Mendez composed himself. He was now in Singapore. There was business to do. There was revenge to be brought and when that was completed, he would fly back to Bogota with his brother's body.

The Colombians stood out amongst the mainly Asian arrivals at Terminal One. They stood out not because of their swarthy bulk, but because their clothing was flamboyant. Several wore shiny shirts and suits, and were covered in gold rings, neck chains and watches. Large diamonds sparkled in earlobes. Dark glasses topped off all the bling. Watching them as they came through the doors into the main concourse, I couldn't help thinking that they looked exactly like the cold-blooded killers and drug thugs they really were.

Carlos Mendez was easy to identify. He was the man who wasn't carrying anything. All of the others had one bag each. Some carried two and towed suitcases on wheels. The elder Mendez was in the lead. The others came behind in a loose group. Despite the dark glasses, I could sense their eyes were everywhere at once.

We were four to their seven: Sami, Jo, K and me. None of us were armed. Carlos Mendez called a halt in the centre of the concourse. He was obviously looking for Thomas Lu. Sami stepped forward while we three fell in at his shoulder. Sami had asked me to look dangerous. For me that meant taking the black route. Yet again, I had on a pair of black Levi's, black kickass cowboy boots and a black shirt with a light leather jacket over it—black, of course! Like the new arrivals, my costume was completed by the addition of a pair of Ray Bans. As an additional touch, I had put both my wallet and my cellphone in my inside left jacket pocket. The bulge suggested that there was a gun holstered there. That wasn't accidental, of course. We knew that the Mendez crew would be unarmed. Only a complete idiot would have attempted to enter Singapore carrying a weapon.

Mendez's attention was suddenly focussed on Sami, who advanced to within a few feet of the Colombian and stopped. I watched the men behind Mendez stiffen. Bags were lowered to the floor. Jo was standing slightly behind to Sami's left. His right shoulder was towards the Colombians, hiding his left side from their view. K was standing to my left. He was wearing a loose khaki jacket with several bulges. Were we armed? That was the question that was going through the minds of the Colombians. If so, they were at an extreme disadvantage.

“Mr Mendez, Mr Lu is indisposed. I am Sami Somsak. I believe we need to talk.”

Carlos Mendez stood motionless. I could feel his X-ray eyes beaming out at us through the dark glasses. Sami, his plastered wrist in a sling again for pure effect, stood waiting for the Colombian's response.

“Is Mr Lu seriously indisposed?” Mendez asked.

“Not at the moment. However, the level of his indisposition I will leave to your discretion once we have had our talk. I invite you and your companions to come with me. I have transportation and I have arranged accommodation for you.” Sami paused. “I assure you that this is in no way a set-up. I know you think I killed your brother. I didn't, Lu did, for the money. I will prove it to you, so please follow me.”

With that, Sami turned. We, his three minders, did the same and walked slowly across the concourse, headed for the exit. I glanced behind. Mendez was following, as were his thugs. So far, so good!

There were two stretch Mercedes limousines and a van awaiting us when we emerged from the terminal. The van was for the luggage. At Sami's invitation, Mendez and one of his men got into the first Mercedes with him. Jo got in front with the driver, while I got in the rear of the second landship with the other five Colombian thugs. K got in front with the chauffeur.

We pulled away and those of us seated in the lounge-sized cabin of the big limousine looked at each other. I made with the small talk.

“Have any of you been to Singapore before?”

The six looked at each other. One of them, obviously an English speaker, translated. When he had finished, they all shook their heads in unison.

“This is a first time for us,” the translator said in thickly accented but clear English. “We have come to take Raymond home,” he added.

“It was unfortunate that he met a man he could not trust,” I replied. “This man also murdered the family of Mr Somsak.”

The translator did his thing for the others. I had the feeling that he was not senior amongst the drug Mafiosi. One individual, a man with an aesthetically thin face and narrow lips, seemed to be the boss here. He looked more Italian than Spanish Colombian. He sported a large diamond in his left ear and had a diamond-encrusted Rolex the size of a dinner plate on his left wrist. The translation was directed mostly at him. He said something in Spanish and the translation came back at me.

“This man Lu, he is still alive?”

“For the moment,” I replied. “But I think not for long!”

The words were relayed back to Diamond Ear. He nodded and we sat in silence until we arrived at the Shangri-La Hotel. Sami had figured that the Mendez outfit might as well stay where Carlos's dearly departed brother had stayed, albeit briefly.

When the formalities were over, Sami and Carlos Mendez, along with Jo and the man with the diamond earring, went upstairs to the suite Sami had reserved for the Colombian drug boss. The other five hoods had been allocated rooms on the same corridor as the suite. K and I went up in the elevator with them. The bellhop pushing the loaded baggage trolley had more than an inkling that these guys weren't your average tourists. He nervously showed each man to his room, distributed their luggage and didn't hang about for any tips.

K and I waited outside the double doors of the suite as the Colombians went into their individual rooms. No raised voices sounded from inside Carlos's suite. I opened the door a crack. There was a small foyer inside. Jo and Mr Diamond were both seated in there, waiting. There was no conversation. Jo didn't speak Spanish and the other guy had no Thai or English. I eased the door closed, but not before Jo made eye contact. If the Colombian had noticed the door open, he didn't acknowledge it.

What was happening in the lounge beyond the foyer? Would Mendez believe Sami? Would he accept the offer Sami was going to make him? Sami wanted half a billion dollars for his loss and inconvenience and for the Colombians to return home and forget Intella. In return, Mendez would get Thomas Lu on a plate and the remaining one and a half billion dollars. Time very much would tell which way this particular cookie crumbled.

Carlos Mendez listened to Sami Somsak's proposition, his face expressionless.

“Through his own greed and pressure from you, Thomas Lu killed my brother, his wife, two children and all his staff. He killed your brother Raymond when they took delivery of the money, which he then shifted before setting the warehouse on fire. He blamed me, of course. We found where he was keeping the money and did take it from him. In retaliation, Mr Lu firebombed my brother's offices and kidnapped the women who worked there, holding them to ransom for the return of the money and a chance to kill me. We turned the tables on him and now we are here.” Sami paused and took a sip of mineral water. Mendez followed suit, but his choice of drink was brandy.

“I was going to kill him myself,” Sami said. “I was going to cause him so much pain that he would beg me to end it.”

“Why did you not do so?”

“I decided that he would be a gift to you, along with one and a half billion dollars of the money you shipped to him. I keep the remaining half a billion for inconvenience and damages and, of course, as a delivery fee for Mr Lu into your hands.”

Carlos Mendez spluttered into his drink. The offer the Thai gangster was making was preposterous at first glance. Then the Colombian started to laugh. It was a deep, rumbling laugh that came from way down in his gut.