Big Mole

by Ming Cher

  “Home,” the General said. “She don’t feel safe here.”

  “We look after the shop for her,” Sachee added.

  Somebody asked, “We going to standby here the whole day or what?”

  “No, no,” the General said. “Everybody free to come and go at any time—no strings attached. I am here to keep us all informed; that’s what this meeting for. Important thing is to see what we all can do. I come back with Sachee to tell you all about it later. Wait for us if you like.”

  Nobody wanted to miss out after getting the money. They all waited.

  Hong biked like the devil on his 50cc to impress Fearless Sachee, who loved the way Hong cut corners and squeezed through heavy traffic to overtake cars. They soon found the big redbrick house with hibiscus hedges at the corner section of tree-lined Spottiswoode Park Road; two cars were parked in the spacious compound behind the wrought iron gate—a black Vauxhall and a blue Mercedes 180. “This is it, Sachee,” Hong said, stopping further down the road. “You remember the black car Big Mole mention yesterday?”

  “How could I forget?” Sachee replied. “What you think we should do now?”

  “I wait for you here,” Hong said. “You just walk past that old iron gate and see if any dogs barking. If no dog, we get that tiger tonight. Talk more later lah.”

  Sachee was only gone for ten minutes, and when he returned, he said, “No dogs barking at all, none I can see.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Kwang said. “That mean we have the upper hand and take them by surprise. Let’s go Pasir Ris and talk through first.”

  “Why go so far just to talk?” Sachee said as he climbed onto the 50cc’s back seat.

  “You know when we get there,” he said. “Do you know there’s a small white seashell beach in Pasir Ris?”

  “No leh. What so special about that?”

  “Can be very useful for Koon Thong in the long run,” he said, kick-starting his motorbike. “Hardly anybody go there. Have to watch the weather, but is worth it. Feel the whole world is yours when nobody is around.”

  “Can you teach me to ride your bike there?” Sachee asked, bumping up and down on the back seat. “I want to get my motorbike licence when I turn eighteen in a few months.”

  “Yah okay,” the General promised.

  Once they reached Pasir Ris, the swampy track led to higher ground, which was populated by dense bushes and big trees like banyans and angsanas, all facing the small white shell beach below. When they arrived, the wheels of the motorbike crunching into the shells, they stopped and sat under a shady angsana to cool down. “I feel a lot better now we stop,” Sachee said. “You come here by yourself often?”

  “No, not often.” The General stared at the sparkling water past the beach. “Only when I need to clear my head and think.”

  “Think about what?”

  “About many things; why I want to talk with you alone.”

  “Why ah? You can’t talk to Big Mole?”

  “No lah. I don’t want her to know too much. She might get scared—she is already. Can’t you see? She is a woman, not a man, like us!”

  “What about Kwang?”

  “Kwang is in a different world. Not interested in Koon Thong. He don’t have to know what we are going to do. Not his business any more.” The General changed the topic to what he’d brought them both here to discuss. “Not everybody is quick and ready as you, Sachee. Tell me which of your guys is your best bet.”

  Sachee mentioned the loose cannon, the fly-by-night, the small-time thief, the quiet one, and hesitated before adding two more names to the list.

  “Okay. These six are our spearheads, team leaders,” the General explained. “When we get back to the shop, I let them lead two other guys for 24-hour surveillance on that tiger’s big redbrick house before we go inside.”

  “So we watch from outside before we go inside, right?”

  “Right, you have simplified better than me,” the General said, careful to inflate Sachee’s ego.

  Sachee was six years younger than the General, and had always looked up to him; he loved this newfound flattery and asked proudly, “Is that all?”

  “Tell me what you think of the whole place,” the General said. He wanted to use Sachee effectively.

  Sachee was a man of action, not a long-term thinker. He had no patience for that. “Up to you lah,” he replied bluntly. “What about you teach me to ride your bike around here first?”

  “Sure lah, part of the reason for coming here!” the General said. He taught him to ride his 50cc for over half an hour before they left at around 2pm, and then returned to Big Mole’s shop.

  The backdoor rats had been getting impatient, but were glad to see Hong and Sachee return. “What take you all so long?” Loose Cannon grumbled loudly. “We thought you run into trouble!”

  “We found what we want to know, and that takes time,” the General explained. “We are ready for action soon. If any of you not keen, say so now lah.” He wanted to squeeze out the bad apples, the sceptics.

  Some of the backdoor rats didn’t like the way he talked and made the rules, and had said as much while he and Sachee were gone. They looked meaningfully at each other. A rat whose name the General didn’t know stood up from the long table and said, “Hey, Hong, count me out, okay?”

  “That’s honesty,” the General said graciously. “I can appreciate that.”

  A few others also gave some half-hearted reasons and stood up from the long table to leave by the small back gate. “No lah, please, use the front door,” the General said, making them feel at ease; he shook all their hands at the sliding front door. “Don’t forget we still friends, not enemies. If you need help, just come and look for me.” He told them this to avoid any problems, bad feelings or backstabbing, basing his actions on The Art of War by Sun Tzu—and it worked. They all looked pleased when they left the pet fish shop.

  Once all the bad apples had been squeezed out nicely, eighteen backdoor rats remained at the long table. The General told them the exact location of the redbrick house on Spottiswoode Park Road and divided them into six groups of three each, using the names mentioned by Sachee as leaders for their 24-hour surveillance. “One hour on, six hours off each team,” he said. “Don’t walk together and alarm the cops. High-class area. Walk separate up and down the road few hundred feet apart to watch the house. Easy enough?”

  “Easy as watching a movie,” Loose Cannon said.

  Fly-by-Night asked, “So when is the movie going to start?”

  “We have six teams of three,” the General said. “Might as well start at 6pm tonight.”

  “You have a timetable for each team?” Small-Time Thief asked. “Who goes first?”

  The best way was to draw lots. The General made it fair and exciting, in order to motivate them. When the lots were put in a bowl for them to pick, everyone clapped for each other, cementing their team spirit in Koon Thong. After the lots were all drawn, he asked Quiet One to give each team another ten dollars for taxi fare. His intention was to familiarise them on the location, and to drill them subtly—to give them a sense of conviction and commitment, and to instil in them a sense of teamwork he knew was lacking even in organised big gangs such as the 24s and 08s, who were run by faceless people at the top.

  “Use that 24-hour eating corner outside the junction of Spottiswoode Park Road as our place to change sides,” the General said.

  After they had left with instructions and locations, the General went out with a khaki-coloured jute shoulder bag to buy disposable rubber gloves, sticky tape, paper masks, ropes and switchblade knives from the thieves’ market at Sungei Road. On his way back to the pet fish shop, he also bought a pack of Consulate menthol cigarettes—despite having given up smoking. He sat at the long scaffolding table, waiting for his six surveillance teams to report back, calculating his next move as he smoked one cigarette after another.

  The first team of three led by Small-Time Thief came back to say that they had s
een three cars inside the compound of the redbrick house—a blue Mercedes 180, a white Ford and a black Vauxhall. The second team under Quiet One saw six men leaving in two cars; four of them went in the blue Mercedes 180, followed by a white Ford with two men inside. The third team under Loose Cannon saw the black Vauxhall inside the compound. The fourth under Fearless Sachee saw nothing new; the same black Vauxhall was there. The fifth team, led by Fly-by-Night, saw two men leaving in the black Vauxhall. The sixth saw the blue Mercedes 180 and white Ford coming back just before midnight.

  After the General had consolidated the information at the long table after midnight, he analysed the situation and said, “Good news. The blue Mercedes means some very big fish there. Need to stretch our eyes longer for a two-hour shift now. Do that tomorrow starting noon. Go earlier for something to eat at that 24-hour food corner.”

  •

  The next morning, Sunday, while Small-Time Thief and his two teammates were having prawn noodles at the eating place, they saw the black Vauxhall park along the roadside nearby, and three men get out. “Look,” Small-Time Thief said. “Empty table in front of us, they might sit there. We keep our ears open.”

  Small-Time Thief was right; the three men sat at the empty table. Although the whole place was packed with people eating and talking freely, the voice of the Vauxhall driver could be clearly heard above the din, ordering three bottles of Guinness stout from the coffeeshop proprietor. The men poured their own drinks and the Vauxhall driver said, “Hear anything yet about that pet fish shop in Geylang?”

  “No decision yet,” answered another gangster. “Have to wait for him to throw away his crutch first. He wants to skin them himself.”

  What they said might have meant nothing to other people eating nearby, but Small-Time Thief and his two teammates took in every word. The gangsters then switched the conversation to the annual $400,000 Gold Cup horse race at Bukit Timah Racecourse that weekend.

  “I am punting on Jumbo Jet,” the Vauxhall driver said. “I heard our granddaddy has a half share on that horse. He is flying in from Kuala Lumpur tonight for the big sweep.”

  “That’s what I’m doing too,” one of the others commented. “I heard that horse is in top form.”

  “Hey, let’s go for pork rib soup at Market Street,” the Vauxhall driver suggested. The gangsters finished their drinks and left.

  Small-Time Thief stood and said: “Time for us to check out the house.”

  So they started their two-hour surveillance. By walking up and down the road, they could spot any cars going in and out from the redbrick house. The blue Mercedes and white Ford were still inside the compound, but the black Vauxhall had not returned. When their shift was over, they saw Loose Cannon’s team standing outside the 24-hour food centre for the switchover. They didn’t talk, but just nodded at each other to avoid arousing any suspicion before going their separate ways.

  The rest of the teams were sitting around the long table in the backyard of Big Mole’s pet fish shop when Small-Time Thief returned. The General analysed his report and gestured with a menthol cigarette between two of his fingers.

  “Interesting,” the General said. “That means the three guys in the black Vauxhall do not stay there. So, there are seven of them sleeping in that big house, instead of ten. We outnumber them almost three to one. We see who is going to skin who. Granddaddy is flying in from KL for Gold Cup race tomorrow; must have big bag of cash for that. A whale lah—biggest fish in the ocean. We must catch him before he swim away. Right or not?”

  There was a long silence, filled with anguished uncertainties. The backdoor rats might have been impulsive and aggressive, but they were not that stupid. They knew that they were risking their lives for money in the name of Koon Thong. They wanted more information.

  Fly-by-Night said, “You are the general, Hong. Tell us your plan?”

  The General didn’t mind him asking—in fact, he liked it. “Well,” he said with a smile, “we catch them when they are fast asleep, at 3am. I figure out how we can do that tonight. Everybody wait for me at the 24-hour eating place at 2.30am. Must pretend you don’t know each other. I will go in advance with Sachee to check what’s inside first. The gear is all here.” He dug into his khaki shoulder bag to show them what was inside. “How about that?” he asked purposefully, to clear their doubts by taking the risk himself first. They respected him for that, absorbed every word he said, and nodded their heads willingly.

  Then Quiet One said, “I guess we can surprise them tonight from what you just say, Hong.”

  The General was happy to hear that from his treasurer. “I show you all how to catch them in their bed tonight.”

  4

  The Khaki Bag

  At almost 2am, the General rode his 50cc to Spottiswoode Park Road, with Fearless Sachee on the back seat carrying the khaki shoulder bag. The tree-lined road was dead quiet so late at night. No lights were on inside the big redbrick house. The blue Mercedes 180 and white Ford sat inside the compound behind the high wrought iron front gate.

  “All of them snoring by now. Correct?”

  “Yah lah,” Sachee agreed. “What to do now?”

  “All our people at the 24-hour eating corner by now. You find a table and signal them to wait. I go inside to check things out first. Wait there for me. Clear?”

  “Leave it to me,” Sachee assured him, then handed him the khaki bag and quietly headed in the direction of the food centre.

  The General parked his 50cc on the back lane of Everton Road. He knew he was in a “do or die” situation—he could not afford to make any mistakes. He smoked his Consulate cigarette to calm his fear and nervous excitement at the prospect of hunting his hunters. In addition to catching the tiger in Temple Street, he could at the same time nab the granddaddy whale and shake the foundation of all the Chinese secret societies in Singapore.

  After smoking another cigarette, he sneaked through a gap in the wrought iron gate, his small frame an advantage for once, and crouched behind the blue Mercedes 180. The compound was clearly visible even in the light of the half-moon, and he observed carefully, noting eight air-conditioning units for its eight bedrooms, four on each side of the house. Based on the distance between each aircon unit, he knew, from past experience, which rooms were the biggest. With this information in mind, he made his way to the back door, extracted his burglary tools from the khaki bag, tried his skeleton key in the lock, smiled at the expected click, and then slipped inside.

  On the lounge table were two bottles of expensive VSOP brandy, one empty and the other half-full, and seven glasses. The sound of snoring could be heard from the bedrooms, and the General surmised that the brandy was the cause of such sound sleep. After a quick recce of the house’s layout, he sneaked out of the house again, leaving the door unlocked, and headed to the 24-hour eating corner, occupied only by the backdoor rats. All six teams were eating light meals at separate tables, except for Sachee, who sat by himself. The General flashed a quick hand signal, telling them to wait, and ordered a five-spice snack. “I sit there,” he instructed the hawker, pointing at the empty table next to Sachee’s. He sat down, stuck his menthol cigarette between his lips and asked Sachee politely, as if he were a stranger, “Hey, can I borrow a match?”

  “Sure.” Sachee passed the match to the General, who struck it and placed it to the end of his cigarette.

  The General bent forward and whispered, “Wait for me behind the cars inside the compound. Can squeeze through the iron gate, easy lah.” His aim was to use Fearless Sachee as his frontman, to set an example for the rest to follow bravely. Sachee got up from the table and walked toward the redbrick house. After finishing his five-spice snack and his smoke, he nodded at his teams and left for the tiger’s lair. Each team got up separately at different intervals, then joined him at the hibiscus hedges in front of the big house; after fifteen minutes, everyone was there. The General passed around the disposable rubber gloves, then led them through the gap in the gate.


  Sachee was already waiting behind the white Ford. Once they were all past the gate, the General entered the house through the back door and motioned for everybody to follow. It was now 3am. Once their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, aided by faint moonlight shining in through the lounge windows, he handed out demon masks for the teams to wear. Then he directed them to wait in twos and threes outside each of the bedrooms, which were all closed to keep the cool conditioned air inside.

  The General listened carefully at each bedroom door, then smoothly opened the door of the room from which the loudest snoring could be heard. It was one of the lower-level gangsters. Sachee and Loose Cannon went inside ahead of him, so that the other two standing outside could watch what they were doing. The General pulled out his seven-inch-long switchblade from the khaki bag, and pointed it at the snoring man’s hands and legs, signalling for Sachee and Loose Cannon to grab them. The moment they did so, the General placed his switchblade against the man’s throat and another hand on his mouth, and hissed, “Move or shout and you die.”

  Feeling the knife at his throat and waking up to what looked like three demons holding him down, the man didn’t resist when they duct-taped his mouth shut and tied him up with ropes from the khaki shoulder bag, then dragged him trembling into the lounge. They then repeated the same process with the room from which the second loudest snoring came, then the third, fourth and so on, their hands moving faster and faster. Finally, the General motioned to the two biggest rooms in the house, the only ones that were left, and whispered, “Tiger and whale inside there—go and see how they going to skin us.”

  By then everybody knew exactly what they had to do. It didn’t take them long to bundle up the tattooed tiger and his granddaddy, the whale. They dragged them both into the big lounge along with the rest of the tied-up gangsters. The General switched on the lounge light so that he could have a proper look at them.