by Tom Stern
“Anytime, lad.”
They toasted cheers. Drank slowly. Savoring the smoky flavors.
“What’s the story on this Rasa guy?”
“He’s a Boy Scout. I knew we couldn’t buy ‘im, so I had to go above ‘im.”
“Is there always a bribe involved?” Kelley asked. “That could come out if someone talked.”
“We go through official methods whenever possible, use extra-legal means only when necessary,” Cuchulain said. “Whatever we have to do, we’re about gettin’ the job done.”
Kelley nodded. It made sense. “Keep him off me. One arrest at the dock would’ve blown the whole thing.”
“I’ll handle Rasa an’ his like,” Cuchulain said. “He’s burnin’ up ‘cause he knows you’re into something. The word’s all over the water.”
“How hard are we hitting King Pirate?”
“You’ve hurt him,” Cuchulain said. The brogue turning it into yeh’ve ‘urd’m. “Lumber be damned. Those oil tankers are worth more than the rest of the takes combined.”
Kelley grinned. Cuchulain was referring to the lumber recovered by the Atlas raid. So long as Kelley was on the water, there wouldn’t be another one of those IPC-coordinated strikes. He had another thought: “And the chopper. Did you send it?”
“Chopper?”
“To check out the island roads, see where the oil’s going,” Kelley reminded him.
Cuchulain nodded with an affected boredom. “That island belongs to Sumatra. Makes things more difficult.”
“But not impossible.”
“I’ll handle it,” Cuchulain said. He changed the subject: “More importantly, you’ve put the fear out there. Our IPC investigators say Dilip Gaur and Yap Chew are having a harder time recruiting replacement crews.”
Kelley was silent. Busy making note of Cuchulain’s subtle dodge from the chopper, wondering what it meant. He slugged back the drink, waved the glass for a refill. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Piracy isn’t an easy job, anymore. No easy prey. Every time they go out, they’re rolling the dice I’ll show up. And they know what happens. These dogs are cowards. They’ll find something safer to do. Something that won’t get ‘em killed.”
“I said recruiting’s been harder time, but not impossible,” he said, slightly mocking Kelley. “King Pirate’s lieutenants are still raiding up and down the littoral states.”
“I’m sure King Pirate has replaced Fong Sai Yuk by now.”
“Not from what we’re hearin’.”
Kelley almost started. What?! “That’s interesting for a variety of reasons,” he blandly replied.
Kelley’s wheels turned. It didn’t make sense. Unless King Pirate had wanted Fong to go away. Is that why Kelley was able to find him, alone and unguarded? What did that say for how he regarded the remaining two? A tingle of something crept up the back of Kelley’s mind. Something Fong had said about King Pirate’s lieutenants. Kelley shrugged it off, knew he’d remember in time.
“Something else. All of those tankers were headed to Japan. Obviously, King Pirate has someone feeding him information from the inside. But one of my crewmates had an idea. What if the info’s coming out of Japan? Instead of an informant here, passing along outbound shipping, King Pirate has a pair of eyes on the other end watching for arrivals?”
“I dinna know how we’d go about checkin’ that.”
“Yeah, you do,” Kelley said. “Asano, the Japanese naval officer on loan to IPC. Coordinate with him.”
Cuchulain sipped his whiskey. Thoughtful, staring out the window, at his reflection in the benighted glass. “Aye, lad. I’ll speak wi’ him.”
Cuchulain’s gaze drifted as he thought. Landing on the ever-present coffin.
“I’ll call Asano if you get into that coffin.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Cuchulain drunkenly zeroed in on Kelley. “Yeh wan’ somethin’ from me. But yeh won’t do nothin’ in return. I see how it is.”
“I’m not asking for free tickets to the opera, you loon. This ain’t truth or dare. Quit acting like a nut.”
“You’re scared.”
“I’m afraid of no man.”
“I sleep innat coffin every night, lad. As a reminder of how close we all’re to the grave. Every moment. Goin’ after King Pirate is proof enough you need a reminder.”
Kelley finished his drink. Cuchulain was swiftly sinking into the deep, boozy depression they’d both inherited from their Celtic forebears. Kelley well knew that steep road. He’d been down it a hundred thousand times. The only problem was, he found the drunkenly depressed to be the most boring people alive. It was time to leave.
Cuchulain half-rose to stop him. His brogue growing thicker with drink: “Ah’ve some’at t’tell yeh, lad… S’impor’ant.”
Cuchulain reached to pull Kelley into a wavering embrace. Kelley dodged around the bigger man’s feebly swinging paws. “If I have to sleep in a coffin to hear it, then I’m not interested. Time enough for the grave after you’re dead,” Kelley said. “Meanwhile, I’m still alive. See ya around.”
…
Days passed. It didn’t take long for Dilip Gaur’s men to find Ryan Kelley. He was the new rising name in the underworld. And he partied like a rock star.
Dao Jia used her share of the pirate haul to lay a first deposit on buying the bar where she used to work. The owner, a retired gangster himself, told her no fucking way. Until Tsung and the Leung brothers paid a visit, made it clear. Dao Jia’s boss lowered his asking price on the bar. No. Dao Jia insisted on paying full price. Even though she had muscle, she wasn’t a criminal. Dao Jia just wanted him to sell.
They were high profile, which was dangerous. But no one fucked with them. Kelley’s reputation was like a force field around the building. The cops didn’t bother them, either. Kelley had a feeling Cuchulain was behind it.
Kelley planned their next step. He waited for word from Cuchulain on his follow-up with the oil investigation. It didn’t come.
It had been two weeks since the scene with Rasa. Kelley felt the sea’s pull.
Time to get back in the ring with King Pirate for round two.
…
Dao Jia’s freshly-purchased bar. An hour before doors opened to the public. The Leung brothers sat in a semi-circle around Kelley’s table. Smoking and drinking beer. Dao Jia and Tsung were there. Otherwise, the place was empty.
Kelley said: “I’m planning another run.”
Their eyes said: And…?
Kelley went on. “I want to know if you’re in.”
Their of-course shrugs made the question seem hypothetical. Kelley might as well have said something along the lines of, Gimme the truth here, guys, I want to know if you like money. Without a single sideways glance, the Leung brothers slowly nodded. Humoring him. They didn’t know how relieved Kelley was. As successful as the Yurei’s maiden run had been, Kelley never made it a habit of counting on something unless it was in hand and locked down. Making assumptions about other people’s thoughts was a quick road to disappointment. Kelley wasn’t risking anything. Their first run drew blood from King Pirate. If they stayed smart, a second run could break bones.
Kelley played it cool. Pretending he’d known the answer all along, and this was just a formality. With Tsung, Dao Jia and the Leung brothers, Kelley had the core of his crew on the books. Everyone else was icing on the gingerbread house.
“Just so you know,” he told them in Malay, “this time around, they might be watching for us. If we’re gonna keep the element of surprise on our side, we’re gonna get creative. Any of you guys have ideas – anytime, about anything – let me know.”
Ping Leung asked, “When do we set out?”
“I’ll be in touch. Keep your cell phones on and charged. Stay loose. I’ll only be a day or so notice. If you have any visits to make – family, friends, women – do it now.”
Kelley didn’t want to give out any more than necessary. He assumed they were under
surveillance. Rasa was sure to be watching, along with King Pirate. Both men had extensive networks.
Working with the sea meant always being ready for the worst, at any time. Kelley took those lessons with him into leading this privateer crew. He didn’t want a hard launch date floating around. Assholes, legal or otherwise, would be lying in wait for them. Kelley wouldn’t chance it.
Kelley smiled. In the weeks they’d been a-ship, he’d become fast friends with these men. The Leung brothers were hardened criminals. But not from dishonesty or greed; they grew up in terrible poverty, and crime was the path they took to get out. They ascribed to the code of honor. The Leungs were good men. Kelley would do anything for these guys.
He said, “That’s it, then. Get drunk. Get laid. Get some sleep. ‘Cause when the call from me comes, we’re rolling outta KL, and we’re gonna catch twice the fish we did on the first run.”
Talk of sex and drink got the Leungs grinning. They pushed away from the table.
A black van pulled up in front of the bar. Kelley saw it through the open door, over the brothers’ shoulders. The van’s back doors swung open.
Three men climbed out. They wore sunglasses and black leather gloves. They carried Chinese-made CFQ-9 submachine guns.
“Down!”
The Leungs instantly dove for cover. The three hit men came into the bar and opened fire. They stood just inside the front door and hosed the whole fucking place down. Bullets pelted the room like a plague of metal locust. The buzzing chatter of the three guns on full auto shook the walls. Bottles over the bar exploded. Cracking screams of dying glass drowned in the noise. The hit men calmly grimaced into their work. Faces like jack-o-lanterns flickering over the staccato muzzle flash.
All three guns clicked dry almost simultaneously. With the casual air of UPS drivers who had successfully delivered their packages, the hit men turned and got back into the waiting van. The driver punched it. In less time than it would have taken for the hit men to properly introduce themselves in polite company, they had come, made their presence known, and vanished.
A miasma of gun smoke and abrupt silence fouled the bar’s air. Kelley dumped over the table. It was pocked with bullets. One had buried deep in the wood on a direct trajectory with Kelley’s head. He’d come within millimeters of acquiring a third eye.
Everyone raised their heads at once. It was like watching a time-lapse film of wheat growing.
“Everyone okay?”
A sharp cry told Kelley that wasn’t the case. He staggered over.
Ping Leung was dead. He’d taken half a dozen rounds. One had gone through the back of his neck. His teeth were sprayed over the floor in a semi-circle arc. Floral patterns of blood splashed everything in a five-foot radius around him.
The cry had come from Wa Leung, the largest of the Leung brothers. Kelley put a hand on his shoulder. The other brothers slowly came to join them.
Chaos reigned outside. Pedestrians ran around and screamed. Sirens approached. A war zone.
But inside the bar, it was as silent as a funeral.
In his mind, Kelley wearily added Ping Leung’s death to the vengeance total King Pirate owed. He wondered if King Pirate’s capacity for pain would be equal to the debt he’d acquired on Kelley’s books.
They would both find out.
…
They were at the hospital an hour later. A bullet had creased Dao Jia’s hand. Two of the Leung brothers had glass and splinter cuts deep enough to need stitches. Wa was handling Ping’s remains.
Kelley sat in the waiting room. He slapped his laptop shut. He’d been locked out of IPC’s network. Even the backdoors Cuchulain had provided were now closed.
Cuchulain called, as if summoned. He said: “It’s all over the news. Wha’ happened?”
“Someone sent a hit team, and I have a guess who,” Kelley snarled in return. He stepped away from prying ears. “This isn’t the kinda shit that goes down without a direct order. I need photos of Dilip Gaur and Yap Chew. Why can’t I get into the system?”
“Our site managers noticed the back door I left for you,” Cuchulain said. “It looked like a mistake. There was no good excuse to keep it open. I have to find another way to get you info.”
“The sat phone isn’t secure anymore?”
“It is secure, but internet’s a different matter for the moment. Rasa’s pushing hard, digging up everything he can on you. I have a good idea of what all he’s up to, but not everything. Best to be safe.” Cuchulain paused. Kelley could hear him slurping a glass of whiskey. The Irishman came back on and said: “Anastasia?”
“What about her?”
“She could be a big help if we brought her into the fold.”
“No,” Kelley told him. “She’s not involved with this operation, and I’m not about to change that.”
“Anastasia’s smart. She’s IPC’s lead investigator. She guesses more than she knows, and knows more than she guesses. Just a matter of time until she finds out, anyway. Might as well control the way she comes in.”
“I told you no, motherfucker. She’s in deep enough with your filth as it is. No more. After I snap King Pirate’s neck, she’s going to vanish, and you’re not gonna look for her. Got it?”
“Wha’ if she doesn’t want to go?”
“Don’t even start,” Kelley said. “Just get me those photos.”
“Why?”
“They’re going out on the street.”
Kelley snapped off just as Leftenan Rasa came into the hospital with six of his men.
Kelley met his eye and said: “Where are the rest of your men? Out hassling other innocent people?”
Rasa didn’t hesitate. He got right in Kelley’s grille. “Innocent people don’t have obvious hit attempts against them, Captain Kelley.”
“Another case of mistaken identity.”
Rasa closed his eyes, waved him off. “This is Kuala Lumpur. Not the Wild West. Our country has its problems. So long as it stays out on the water, we can deal with that as the inevitable criminal interest in a growing economy. But, within the city, where citizens can die on the sidewalk because of a disagreement between criminals? No. Not here. Never. I’ll uproot this weed before it takes hold.”
“Are you arresting me, Leftanan Rasa?”
“Not today,” he said. “But I will. You, King Pirate and the rest of the garbage polluting the Malacca Strait. Meanwhile, I’m here to get statements from your injured shipmates.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I don’t need your permission to perform my official duty.”
“I know,” Kelley said. “But you do need permission if you’re going to give my men a hard time after they’ve lost a brother. If you don’t respect that loss, then it’s going to become really clear that I don’t give a fuck if you’re wearing a uniform or a badge. We’ll have a very serious discussion, man-to-man.”
“That would be a discussion you won’t forget,” Rasa smiled.
“Why don’t you go arrest the shooters?”
“Because I think you want to find them – or the man who sent them – before I do.”
Dammit, he was right.
Rasa continued, “I’m not going to let you escalate this pirate gang war with your petty vengeance. But,” he said, “I’ll give you one chance.”
Rasa produced a card. Kelley took it.
“If you decide to work one the side of the angels, you know what to do,” Rasa said. “And if you don’t? I’m sure you’re familiar with how much Malaysia loves pirates.”
Rasa veered around Kelley. Four men followed their Leftenan. Two stayed behind to keep an eye on Kelley.
Despite the cop’s bluster, Kelley knew Rasa wouldn’t overstep himself with the Leungs. But he also knew that the clock was ticking before they laid fists on each other.
…
The entire crew attended Ping Leung’s funeral. If King Pirate was hoping to scare them off, he failed. The hit brought them together. When they’d first set off ont
o the water, they were employees doing a job. Now they were a family, united by a common death.
Kelley knew there were many more people watching this ceremony than were actually present. Cuchulain was watching. King Pirate, Dilip Gaur and Yap Chew were watching. Rasa was watching. And any number of flunkies, minions, techies and goons under the various commands were watching.
Fuck them. Kelley let the Leungs have their peace. When it was over, they walked away from the temple as if it had never happened. At the end of the day, these weren’t weepy men given to emotional expression. They were hard-as-hell criminals. And now they wanted a piece of King Pirate as badly as Kelley did.
Kelley went to see Anastasia. He needed to get away from his life for a couple of hours. But he couldn’t tell Anastasia where he’d been. He’d been living on the Yurei since they’d come into port. He stopped by the ship and changed his clothes. She’d definitely notice if he showed up in his single decent outfit.
Kelley showed up at her apartment without preamble. They drank and fucked for three hours.
Anastasia was an intelligent woman, and subtle. Kelley gave an excuse for where he’d been living, from whence he’d come to fulfill his desires. She didn’t believe him. Kelley was well aware that she was likely using her IPC resources to keep an eye on him. Anastasia didn’t ask where he was living, because she already knew. But it went beyond that surface level. She saw in his movements and eyes that something was on his mind. Kelley’s efforts to hide his mind failed. She said, “Where are you?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he lied. “Just work.”
She looked at him. Sadly. They were intimate in so many ways. But he was into something he couldn’t talk about with her. And she could no longer talk to him about classified IPC business. They were two Cold War spies. They couldn’t share with each other what they did all day. They only had these sweet capsules of bliss between them. A man and woman in love, but incapable of true intimacy. It wasn’t something that could last indefinitely. Kelley could almost hear Anastasia wondering how she’d feel if Kelley was gone forever.
Kelley shook himself out of his reverie. The transparency of their thoughts with each other made their obvious lies that much more meaningful.
