Spirit Tiger (13 page)

As they made themselves comfortable at the small, rickety counter of the local coffee stall, Noriah grandly ordered coffees all around and commandeered whatever cakes were available. Rubiah was reluctant to lower herself to eat substandard fare – by definition, any not made by her. She poked at the cakes with a doubtful forefinger, shaking her head ever so slightly in dismay at what she saw in front of her. She sighed, nearly silently, but Maryam caught it, as she was supposed to, and realized she, too, could not eat a cake such as this. Noriah did not notice any of this, and tucked happily into the cakes and coffee, while Maryam and Rubiah sipped their coffee in a controlled and refined manner.

‘So,' began Maryam, not to be derailed by the promise of food and drink, ‘did you hire anyone? I ask because I think, you know, it would be very difficult for a woman to collect. They'd have to be a little afraid of you, wouldn't they? People usually aren't that afraid of women.'

‘I don't know about that,' Noriah mused. ‘I think we can be … persuasive. I mean, it isn't just threatening to hurt them, you know. They must understand there are consequences for not paying, and they don't have to be a beating.' She stirred the coffee in her cup slowly while watching it.

‘Then what?' Maryam asked, truly interested.

‘Well, there are the courts.'

‘For a gambling debt? Gambling's illegal. You'd get into more trouble than they would,' Rubiah corrected her. ‘I don't see the courts as a way. No, I think you have to be able to let them know they'll be hurt,' she concluded, as if considering a career in debt collection herself. Maryam looked at her with wonder, Noriah with something close to hatred.

‘You seem to be thinking a lot about it,
Kakak
,' she said, barely controlling her voice. ‘Are you interested in taking it up?' She tried for a light tone, but the undertone of anger seeped through.

Rubiah bit her lip to tamp down the flash of annoyance she felt. ‘I'm sorry,
Kakak
,' she said, not bothering to make the sentiment believable. ‘It's just … well, I was wondering,' and she leaned forward, as if to impart some secret wisdom to her companions. ‘It's very difficult trying to do this on your own, collect the old debts, that is. I've heard the late
Che
Yusuf sometimes had to resort to force, and that the people who owed him money knew he'd do that.

‘But we women? Who worries about that? And then, too, your debtors are all men, and so you see, I wonder if you'll be forced to bring in people to collect for you, and then you'll have these people here – not nice people, we all know that – and then what? They can collect the debt, but how do you get it from them, you see? It's the same problem as before, but worse, because these men won't care what you think.' She leaned back in her chair, satisfied with her speech. Noriah was red in the face, and apparently rendered speechless.

Maryam smiled approvingly and took a dainty sip of her coffee, patted her lips with a tiny napkin, and prepared to leave. ‘Thank you for the coffee and your time,
Cik
Noriah,' she said primly, as though she wasn't speaking to someone from Kampong Penambang at all, but a stranger met at an official function. She took Azrina's arm as they left, as if to guide her down a slippery path, when it was only a typical dirt lane of her village. As they left, Noriah considered whether Rubiah actually knew about the men from Thailand, or was it so obvious everyone would guess and not wonder at all when she reaped the whirlwind she had wrought. She wanted to moan and put her head in her hands, but instead glared at the owner of the stall, startling him, and stalked off back to her house, furious at everyone she knew.

Chapter XIX

Kit Siang was subdued when he returned from Gua Musang, and it was not just because he was attaining maturity and acquiring a wife. It was a motorcade which deposited him back at his family home, with a line of black cars holding his aunts, their husbands and children, his bride-to-be and her entire family. Kit Siang was not entirely sure there wasn't at least one other person he
didn't
know who somehow hitched a ride to Kota Bharu, but what did that matter?

After welcoming his guests, his father quickly drew him into a private room for an urgent talk. Ah Pak had noticed the Thai thugs Noriah had imported, and knew immediately there would be trouble with them – at least for Noriah if no one else. He was sorry for her, finding herself in that kind of situation, for it was easy to call these people down from Patani, but quite another thing to send them back. And though neither Ah Pak nor his son owed Noriah anything now, he feared that in the future, his son might be tempted to visit Noriah's new gambling palace and place himself squarely in the hands of these men.

(And he wasn't even sure about present debts, though he devoutly hoped Kit Siang had not done anything remarkably stupid before he was whisked down to Ulu Kelantan). He could at least talk to Yusuf; he doubted very much the same could be said of this far less communicative group.

The Kit Siang he sent down to Gua Musang would have bristled at the suggestion he stay away from all forms of gambling for the time being and might have argued with his father, or withdrawn into sullen silence which presaged his doing exactly what he wanted to as soon as his father was out of earshot. This Kit Siang showed no signs at all of disapproval, but nodded his head quietly as Ah Pak explained the situation to him, and listened closely to the explanation. He promised to stay away in a tone which suggested it would not be a problem, that he meant what he said.

‘What is it?' his father asked, when he had finished giving his directives.

Kit Siang shook his head. ‘Nothing.'

Ah Pak crossed his arms and waited. They could hear the animated conversation going on outside the closed doors, and he knew that politeness demanded they soon join everyone.

‘It's just been a difficult time,' Kit Siang began, picking his words carefully. ‘I know how much trouble I caused, I've been thinking about it a lot.'Ah Pak was amazed, but said nothing. ‘I feel so bad about it.'

He fell silent, picking at the knees of his pants. ‘It's about time I settled down, got married. You know.' He paused. ‘Did they find the person who killed Yusuf?'

Ah Pak shook his head.

Kit Send mumbled something, and Ah Pak strained to hear it.

‘Dad,' he began, and Ah Pak began to worry. He never used the diminutive, had always used the formal ‘father'. ‘Dad, I'm in trouble.'

This is what Ah Pak had feared. ‘Gambling again?'

‘No, nothing like that. Not now, before. Before I went to Gua Musang. I … I did something wrong,' he began in a rush. ‘I fought with Yusuf, and I think I may have …'

‘When?'Ah Pak demanded.

Kit Siang hung his head. ‘The night he died.'

Ah Pak leaped from his chair and clutched his head. ‘No, no, no – don't say it,' he implored his son. ‘No. You didn't do anything. You never saw him.'

He began pacing in the small room. ‘Kit Siang, did you owe him more money? After I paid?'

Kit Siang, looking even more hangdog, shook his head. ‘No, no more. But Yusuf, he kept asking me, he wanted me to come back and gamble again. I know what he wanted, Dad.' That word again. ‘He wanted me to lose more money, and I knew I couldn't do it again to you. But you know, he kept asking me. It was hard to say no. He even said he would get me … a woman.'

‘A woman!' What had Yusuf been thinking? ‘Who?'

‘Khatijah,' Kit Siang whispered. ‘But I didn't…'

‘I should hope not,' Ah Pak shouted. A sudden cessation in the murmur of conversation outside made him calm himself. This was not for the ears of the in-laws.

‘Son,' he continued, suddenly intense, ‘tell no one about this. Don't talk about it. Don't think about it. You didn't do anything. It didn't happen.' He looked deeply into Kit Siang's eyes as though to bore into them the necessity for silence. ‘You're getting married now, starting your whole life. Forget about all of this. It's gone.'

He walked over to the door and opened it, pasting a smile on his face and motioning for Kit Siang to do the same. They walked out to discuss marriage plans in earnest.

Zainuddin had been visited by one of the men from Thailand, though the conversation remained short and unadorned. How could it have been otherwise? Neither was a conversationalist, neither spoke the other's language. Still – and when Maryam heard about it, this was the thing she found most noteworthy – they understood each other. At least, Din understood enough to know he was being threatened and, even more amazingly, decided to take it directly to the police. Osman called her in when Din was ensconced in the interview room at the Jalan Sultan Ibrahim Police Station so she could hear his story for herself.

He sat in the familiar chair, surrounded by the familiar catering offered to their most favoured visitors: iced coffee, curry puffs and cigarettes – the perfect police trifecta. Din had earned such treats as the first person involved in this case to come voluntarily to the police and offer information. He looked up as Maryam entered and instinctively attempted to smooth his hair, which was a mess. She wondered if he ever rose above a state of dishevelment, or inhabited it permanently.

‘So, Din, here you are.'

He nodded enthusiastically.

‘What happened?'

‘These guys came to see me. From Noriah. Collection people. From Patani.'

Maryam considered his telegraphic style. ‘What did they say?'

‘I'm not so sure.' He finished his curry puff, and looked longingly at another one. ‘They spoke Thai. I don't speak Thai,' he explained helpfully, ‘so I don't know what they said. But I could tell what they meant, they wanted me to pay up what I owed Yusuf. But Yusuf's dead,' he continued, ‘so I can't owe him any money. But I don't want these guys coming back for me.'

‘But you still owe …'

He frowned and lowered his head, for all the world, like an angry bull. ‘No,' he stubbornly maintained. ‘Yusuf is dead.' His look dared her to disagree.

‘That's not relevant,' Osman interjected. ‘It's still illegal to threaten people, especially over illegal debts.' Din looked smug.

‘That's it,' he informed Maryam. ‘They can't do that to me. Neither can Noriah. It's illegal.' He paused. ‘Anyway, they came to my house, three of them. They don't speak Malay, but I knew what they wanted.'

He turned to Osman. ‘I wasn't surprised: I kind of expected it. I knew Noriah would try something.' He shrugged. ‘But I don't have it, so what's the point?'

‘Yusuf's death was certainly lucky for you,' Maryam said neutrally.

He frowned again, and Maryam realized this was his default expression: brooding, angry and, yes, stupid. She sighed.

‘I don't see that,' he said shortly.

‘Without Yusuf, you don't think you have any debts. If Yusuf were still with us, would you say the same thing?' She didn't wait for his answer. ‘No, you'd have to pay him. But now, all of a sudden, you don't think you do.'

He glared at her, but said nothing.

‘So,' she continued, speaking slowly so he might be better able to follow her, ‘Yusuf dying was a lucky thing for you. You benefited from it.'

‘No.' If he could have pawed the ground, he would have.

She corrected him. ‘Of course, you did. How much did you owe him?'

He mumbled something she couldn't decipher, but what did the amount matter? He couldn't pay it whatever it was. ‘Where were you the night Yusuf died?'

Din rose from his chair, snorting. ‘I came here to report a crime: I'm being … what's the word for it? Threatened. Yes, these guys are threatening me. The police are supposed to protect me, isn't that right?' He turned to Osman. ‘Aren't you? And instead of finding out about them, you're accusing me of other stuff. You have to help me first!'

Osman seemed to take this to heart, and he nodded at Din. ‘We'll take care of it. Now tell me again, how did you know who sent these men?

He shrugged elaborately. ‘Who else would want to? I don't owe any money anywhere,' He thought briefly, running through possible debts, but came up with nothing else worth dunning him for. ‘Of course, it's Noriah. These guys probably knew Yusuf from when he did business in Tak Bai.'

‘Is that where they're from?'

Another shrug. ‘I can't really understand them. They speak Thai.'

Osman remembered that. ‘Stay here,' he ordered the Bull, as he put his cap on, then straightened it and walked to his car, motioning for Rahman to follow him. Maryam stayed where she was, but did manage to catch the eye of a young officer and order more coffee and cigarettes. Well, nowhere was it written that one could not be at one's ease while investigating a crime!

Noriah's stomach turned as she watched Osman and Rahman alight from the car. She was supervising workmen, as she had been for the last week or so, and she dreaded a scene in front of them which would be reported all over Kota Bharu in a matter of minutes. She stepped towards them in an effort to head them off.

‘Sir! What are you doing here?' she warbled, though she had a fairly good idea of what it would be. The Thais were definitely more trouble than they were worth, and they hadn't yet given her a single ringgit, though they ate heartily nevertheless.

Osman surveyed the work before answering. This was apparently going to be quite the destination when completed. ‘Very nice,' he told her, smiling. ‘
Cik
Noriah, I hope you remember me.'

‘Of course, I do.' She bridled, her eyes sliding to the men ostensibly working, but starting to cast interested glances at the police. This talk was bound to cost her money and time, and in order to minimize her losses, she beckoned Osman off to the side, where the workers couldn't hear anything. She stood silently, willing Osman to go away, while maintaining a neutral expression.