The Trafficked (23 page)

57

 

‘Just cool it, bro.’

‘I told you to get packing, Reese. We’re leaving.’

‘There’s no point, bro. We may as well sit it out, relax, no one’s lifting off tonight. There are no planes taking off till tomorrow. It’s a mañana moment, bro. It happened here—it’s not civilisation as we know it.’

‘No shit, Sherlock! If I want your input I’ll ask for it…now get the fuck up and start packing.’

Reese lay back on the bed and rolled another joint. He watched Sophia play with Princess Pony. Terry was packing his things into a bag. Secretly, Terry agreed with Reese, there was no point in moving now—where were they going to go? They would have to sit in the airport for the night. But he wasn’t going to say anything, not for a minute. Reese was doing his usual trick of not fully understanding when someone was at breaking point. He just never knew when to shut up. The Teacher looked like he was scared—Terry hadn’t seen him like that before. Mr Cool, Calm and Collected was properly shitting himself about something.

Reese lit the joint and drew heavily on it, keeping
the smoke in his lungs as long as he could before exhaling. He offered it to Terry, who shook his head and continued packing. There was a stark light in the room. The Teacher had insisted that they close the doors. The room was gaining heat—it didn’t bother the locals but the Teacher was sweating. His forehead had become speckled in glistening beads. His shirt was showing signs of wetness where it stuck to him.

‘Put the fucking air-con on—who the fuck switched it off?’

Reese shrugged and kept rolling. ‘It happens here, bro, it ain’t a conspiracy.’ But secretly it made Reese smile. He was going to roll himself a stash of joints. He thought he would need them tonight. He was damned if he’d do without everything—no sex, even his flirtation with the English blonde had been cut short—no fucking way was the Teacher going to spoil his entire night. If nothing else, he would get stoned.

Sophia stopped trotting Princess Pony over the furniture and stared at the Teacher, who had sweat dripping from the end of his nose. Her eyebrows knitted together. Then she started to giggle. Terry stopped his packing, looked at her and smiled, amused. Reese lay back on the bed and started laughing hard. His body was shaking with it. The hand holding the joint was banging on the bed and the ash was flying over the cover. Terry started laughing. Sophia continued her manic giggling. The angrier the Teacher looked, the more they laughed.

The Teacher went for Reese but he hadn’t bargained on him being so quick on his feet. Reese was nimble whilst the teacher was bulky. Reese could outrun him
anytime. As the teacher went for him, Reese was out of the door. He ran the first stretch, till he was clear of the hotel and the lane and on the far end of the beach, then he dodged between the boats. The stars were out; the sky was frosted with them. He crouched and listened as he peeped over the top of the
barcas.
He never thought to look behind him. Noiselessly through the sand a man walked in the darkness. He came within three feet of Reese’s back before he lifted his dagger by the hilt and brought it down into Reese’s neck. It went right through, and came out of his Adam’s apple.

58

 

Becky left the foot spa and walked down the beach. It was as dark as midnight and the stars were out. She checked her phone—still no text from Mann. She stopped at the first bar she came to where she liked the music—‘Hotel California’ by the Eagles. The Flamingo beach bar was open on all sides. It had a few life-size plastic flamingos peeping out of plant pots at its corners and what looked like leftover Christmas lights across its palm-thatch roof. It was the local drinking hole for all those from the PADI diving school. On the beach end of the bar there were stacks of diving equipment and rinsed, dripping-wet wetsuits draped over a rail pushed into the sand. The men and women sat in their board shorts and swimwear, recounting the day’s thrills. Their sunny faces were alive and tanned but their lean and muscled bodies were white from lack of sun.

Becky sat at a stool at the bar. The news about Rosario’s daughters and the added information from Shrimp had made her adrenalin start racing. She knew now that Fat Harry and English Bob weren’t just
hangers-on, or cashers-in, they were an integral part of the new trafficking ring.

She checked her phone. She had a voicemail message. She dialled and listened. A group of leering Brits began edging towards her but she stopped them with a look. A lonely, liver-lipped old American tried to tell her his life story but soon retreated back into the shadows. She pressed the phone to her ear and listened to the un familiar voice.

‘My name is Suzanne. I want you to know that I have
been having an affair with your husband Lenny for a
year.’

Becky ordered a margarita and drank the first one fast. She ordered another and drank it faster. She stared at her phone. What was that about? Suzanne? She had no idea who this Suzanne and Lenny were.

‘Mrs Black? May I join you?’ A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She was about to bite his head off when she saw who it was. ‘Can I call you Emma?’ The man with the ponytail appeared beside her. ‘Sorry, I missed you and your husband at the hotel. I’m the owner. My name is Bob English.’ His voice was raspy from years as a heavy smoker. His accent still had a hint of northern to it, but it was a clash of styles and adopted accents. He smiled at Becky.

‘Of course.’ Becky nodded and smiled sweetly. ‘Please sit. Nice to meet you. You have a great hotel.’

She shook his hand, repressing the urge to wipe hers afterwards. He had smoker’s fingers and a deeply lined face from the sun. Inside his open shirt his white chest hair looked albino against his tanned chest. His body
appeared almost emaciated. He ordered a scotch and soda and another margarita for Becky.

‘How do you like it here? Is the hotel matching up to your expectations? If there is anything you need…’

Becky held up both hands and rolled her eyes skyward.

‘The place couldn’t be more perfect, thank you. It’s such a welcoming place. It’s amazingly friendly here.’

‘They are a happy nation, aren’t they?’ English Bob grinned. He obviously didn’t trust dentists; he had terrible teeth, uneven, broken and yellowed like a horse’s. Becky looked long and hard at English Bob—she felt a huge shiver of repulsion. He was as hideous inside as he was out.

A group of giggling teenage girls passed by along the beach. He took his time studying them. He watched them leisurely, lingeringly, like a lover would.

‘That’s what I love about them.’ He snapped back to her and picked up his drink. ‘No matter what happens to them in life, they are always such happy, positive people—foolishly optimistic in a way.’ He picked up his scotch and licked his lips as if it burned. She looked at him curiously. ‘Oh yes, they allow themselves to be taken advantage of. They practically rely on it. A very naive nation, loving, trusting. Even the bar girls—sorry—the guest relation officers…’ He winked conspiratorially. ‘These girls really believe that someone loves them, even if it’s just for a night. They dream of a foolish western guy falling in love and marrying them. It’s not a business to them.’ He laughed, loud and cynical. ‘It’s not a business to them like it is
to the girls in Hong Kong or in Thailand—here it’s a vocation. Ha ha…’

Becky smiled politely and waited for him to stop laughing at his own joke. ‘They must be easy to take advantage of,’ she said, signalling to the barman that she would like another margarita.

‘They are a very physical people.’ English Bob steadied his gaze and locked her eyes to his. ‘You can’t apply the same rules as we do back home. You wouldn’t dream of having sex with a thirteen-year-old back home—here, it’s different.’

‘Really? You think they develop differently?’

‘Yes, that’s it. They are much more…sexualised.’

‘Is that due to the sex tourism?’

‘Oh no. It has been like that for ever. Most of it starts in their own home. People feel sorry for the bar girls. Let me tell you—it’s far preferable to cutting cane.’

‘Of course—now I get it!’ she said, trying to hide the sarcasm from her voice. She wondered whether he could be any more loathsome.

‘Yes! I used to feel sorry for them myself. But then I married one of them. Now I have half a dozen of the little smilers running around. So I’m never sure who took advantage of who.’

‘How lovely—a family man!’

‘Wouldn’t swap it for anything. It’s a great life, I’m sure. What about yourself? You been married long?’

‘We are on our honeymoon. So far, so good.’

‘Ha…’ He made ready to go. ‘The honeymoon period…Make the most of it, and when you discover he’s been cheating, come and see me. I have a very
sympathetic side.’ He grinned at Becky. His eyes went liquid, his lips went wet. ‘And let me know if you need another foot massage. I’ll do it myself, happily.’ He backed away grinning, then his lecherous eyes turned hard and he glared at her. ‘And if you need to ask any more questions about local matters, things that only concern the people who live here, you come and see me. You can ask me as many questions as you want. You have to watch who you talk to round here…’ He stood up. ‘…loose tongues and all that.’ And, with that, English Bob disappeared up the lane.

59

 

Johnny Mann appeared from the other side of the bar. He leaned in and kissed Becky’s cheek.

‘Did you have a nice chat?’

‘Huh! He came
this
far…’ Becky pinched her forefinger and thumb together as if she were picking up salt ‘…to getting a punch in the mouth. If I hadn’t been afraid I’d need a tetanus jab afterwards, I would have…Sorry I took so long. I took a detour back to the room to see if our fish had taken the bait, and…’

‘Had it?’

‘Hook, line and whatever. Bags gone though. Well, your bag was gone. My stuff was obligingly set out in neat piles. They would have found everything they needed. Ng has created a great profile for us—you’re a beautician, by the way. On paper I come out as a dirty bastard and you come out as a trophy wife. By the time they finish checking us out tonight I will be just what they are looking for.’ Mann nodded in the direction that English Bob had just departed. ‘You think
he’s
bad—you should meet his best friend, Fat Harry. How did you get on?’

‘I’m afraid he knows I was asking questions.’

‘Can’t be helped. We don’t have time to pussy foot now I have an appointment with them both tomorrow. We will soon find out if they know who we are.’

‘I had disturbing news from home. Two of the women in the fire were traced here. And I talked to the women in the spa, down the beach. One of them has similar-aged girls gone missing. I got some details and faxed them over to Shrimp. He’s seeing if any of them match the burn victims. The women here are very scared. They told me that there have been a lot of girls going missing over the last year.’

‘How?’

‘Kidnapped on the walk to school. A windowless van turns up. Three men jump out, none of them local, apparently, at least one Chinese. They bundle the girls in the back. Onlookers have reported that when the doors are opened at the back, they see other girls sleeping, doped, in the van. And, surprise, surprise…who warned the girls off reporting their missing children?’

‘Our British pals?’

‘Precisely, and the women daren’t go to the police around here because the chief is part-owner of most of the bars along the beach.’

‘So I gathered from Fat Harry. Okay. We’d better make sure tomorrow is our last day here. We need to get up to Angeles. I meet them at eleven; we’ll be gone by twelve thirty. I’ll text Remy now and make
sure he is ready. We might want to get out in a hurry. Another thing—I found a friend of yours…Reese the friendly pervert. He is sunbathing on the beach right now.’

‘Strange timing…does he know it’s night?’

‘It’s going to be permanently night for our friend Reese. We better get out as soon as we can tomorrow. They aren’t going to take long to find him, maybe longer to recognise him—the crabs were having a midnight feast when I left.’ Mann checked his watch—it was midnight. ‘We have twenty-four hours till the deadline is up.’

‘What if CK is setting us up to fail? What if he wants this war more than he wants his daughter’s life?’

‘CK will honour his pact. But others may not.’

‘Wait a minute…’ She stopped and turned to him. ‘You said we were going to Negros, didn’t you?’

‘Change of plan.’

She tilted her head to one side and scowled at him.

‘Don’t fucking bullshit me. You don’t trust me, why? Why did you lie?’

‘Okay—I have had emails from someone calling themselves Blanco.’

‘The name of the bogus company on the kidnap emails?’

‘Yes. He is playing a game with us. He knows where Amy Tang is being held and he knows where we are and what we are doing. He probably knows we are on this beach right now. I don’t know how he does that but I do know he holds Amy’s fate in his hands.’
Stevie Ho was watching them from the balcony of the hotel where Terry and Reese had sat having a drink. He finished dialling a number and pressed the phone to his ear.

‘Finish it. Kill her,’ he said, and closed the phone.

60

 

Amy watched the planes overhead. They were so near she could count the windows along the side. She waved to the pilot, even though she knew he couldn’t see her. She listened for the sounds outside. She had learned the routine of her captors very well. She knew exactly what time they relieved each other of their babysitting duties. She knew what time they would have lunch. She knew what television programs they listened to outside in the lounge. They chattered away on their mobiles, forgetting that Amy was able to understand them. Impossible for the Cantonese to talk quietly. Amy knew a lot more about them now.

Since Lenny had left, Suzanne had been in charge and the men didn’t like it. She talked to them like idiots, thought Amy. The one with the spotty face, Tony, had left, and now there was a new one. His name was Pat. He was nice to Amy. He let her come and watch telly on his shift and he bought her pizza. He played chess with her.

It was seven in the morning. Pat would be gone soon. The nasty, ugly one, Sunny, would take over.
He spent the whole time talking on the phone and watching porn movies on the telly. Amy could hear it in the evenings, all the moaning and grunting.

Suzanne came and went less rigidly than the men. By now Amy understood that this was not the only place where Suzanne looked after people. There was another house that she and the two men took it in turns to go to. Amy wondered who was at that house and whether there was a girl like her. Sometimes Amy started crying. She was so bored and fed up, only Pat brought her books to read, and she couldn’t relax. She never knew what mood Suzanne was going to be in. Amy knew it was her by the way the front door closed. They all did it differently. Suzanne was precise—she clicked it shut, rather than slamming it the way Sunny did. In between was Pat. He closed it strongly but without banging. Suzanne seemed to creep in.

There were just the two men this morning. Amy sat there listening. Pat and Sunny were talking about Lenny’s trip. They weren’t happy that he’d been called away. They didn’t think that Suzanne was competent to handle the job. They were getting nervous about it. Amy listened hard.

She was sitting at her table where her macramé kit was laid out methodically. Beads were kept in the box lid, to stop them from disappearing. The cord was laid out in its varying lengths and different colours. There was a frame on which to stretch the necklace whilst you worked on it. Amy was putting all her energy into making one item. It was a necklace for Suzanne.

Pat left and Sunny sat down to watch the telly. The
door clicked—it was Suzanne. She greeted Sunny with a ticking-off for not taking out the bin whilst it was still early and there was less chance of being seen. Now she had to do it and it was already nine o clock. Why was everything down to her? Amy listened. She knew what Sunny would say. It was what he always said every time Suzanne had a massive go at him.

‘I am not your fucking servant. You don’t like it, I’ll go. You’re lucky I’m still here. No good will come of things. We’ll all be in the shit when they find us. So, go on—get rid of me, fire me, please.’

Suzanne answered: ‘Just do the few things you are asked to and do them well, then we’ll all be happy. And leave the merchandise alone.’ That bit puzzled Amy. ‘Knocking them about is one thing, but this isn’t your dream come true, Sunny. You want to get laid, pay for it like you usually do. Stop fucking the girls, especially the young ones—you’re damaging the merchandise. She’s split inside already…’

‘That wasn’t me, that was the two punters.’

‘Leave them alone—got it?’

Sunny grunted that he had. ‘What about that one?’ he asked. Amy’s eyes went wide and her brace formed a vacuum at the roof of her mouth as she heard the question directed towards her door. ‘Why not that one?’

‘Ha ha, you are fucking priceless, Sunny.’ Suzanne lowered her voice. ‘The day I decide to put Miss CK’s cherry up for sale, the place will be swarming with rival triad bosses. You don’t think I’m going to let you have it for free, do you?’

Amy heard her throw down her coat and bags and
stomp off with the rubbish. Then the click when she came back. Sunny stomped out soon after, muttering under his breath about having had enough. Amy listened to Suzanne’s footsteps approaching her bedroom door.

She looked up from her macramé table. She smiled as the door opened.

‘Morning, Suzanne.’ Her heart was hammering.

Suzanne didn’t answer. She grunted something about making her bed. Amy jumped off her seat and hurriedly pulled the covers up over the mattress.

Amy smiled at Suzanne. ‘You look lovely, Suzanne,’ she lied. Suzanne wasn’t bothering with makeup any more now that Lenny had gone. ‘Yesh. You look really pretty and so slim, like a model.’

‘Yes, well, time we got some fat off you. I’m thinking of moving you somewhere else, to a different house where there are other girls.’

Amy started making nervous sucking noises with her brace.

‘And why is that fucking brace back in your mouth?’

‘Sorry, Suzanne, it’s just I will get into trouble if I don’t wear it.’

‘Come here.’

Amy took a few steps towards her. Suzanne slapped her hard across the face. Her glasses flew off. Amy cried out, flinching as she clutched the stinging side of her face.

‘Sorry, Suzanne.’ She took the brace out.

Suzanne sighed, then rubbed her forehead as if it itched.

‘My fucking head is pounding.’

‘Sit down, Suzanne; I will give you a neck massage. I can brush your hair for you if you like. And look, Suzanne…’ Amy rushed to the table and showed her the half-constructed necklace. ‘This is for you.’

Suzanne didn’t look impressed. ‘Okay, let’s get on with the massage, and then you can brush my hair.’

‘Oh, yes please, Suzanne.’

Amy scurried to find the brush to keep it close by for when she needed it. She didn’t want to risk irritating Suzanne any more than she had done. She started kneading her strong little fingers into Suzanne’s shoulders.

‘Suzanne…what’s your favourite colour? I need to know for your necklace.’

‘Mmm…green, no, blue, no, red! Red, that’s it.’

Amy looked over to her bead collection. The biggest of all the beads was red! How lucky was that?

‘Pass me my bag?’

‘What are you doing?’

Suzanne rummaged inside and found her phone.

‘I am ringing his wife. I am fucking sick of waiting
and
of babysitting you. I am going to speed things up. I am going to tell her what her husband really thinks of her, the fat, ugly cow…’