by Simon Palmer
THIRTY-TWO
NIGEL RETURNED to his suite, flopped down on the sofa and picked up the phone. He dialled 9 and called home. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner. I woke up this morning in hospital next to Stan.”
“How’s Michael?”
“He’s hanging in.”
“How are you?”
“I feel fine. It was just an anxiety attack.”
“When are you coming home?”
“When Mike is out. I knew I couldn’t rely on Stan.”
“What was Michael doing sketching prostitutes?”
“It’s his art. I’ve never seen him sketch so well.”
“I really hope it’s all worth it.”
Nigel glanced around the suite. “Hang on hon.”
“You okay?”
“Something is missing. I’ll call you back.”
Nigel hung up, rose, checked the safe then looked around the room. He rushed out of the suite, found a maid and started questioning her. She didn’t understand a word. He gave up, took the lift to the lobby and rushed over to the receptionist.
“I need to see all the maids from my floor.”
A senior-looking staff member stepped over. “Can I help you?”
“An important document has been taken from my room. I left it on my desk.”
“Your room number, please?”
“Suite 1918.”
“One moment, sah.”
Nigel took out his phone and speed-dialled Pang.
THIRTY-THREE
HARVEY WAS nodding his head and singing along to the chorus of Survivor by Destiny’s Child. It was blasting out from the car stereo, when the whole car park level shook, then filled with the sound of a roaring motorbike. Harvey looked over his shoulder and saw a huge 500CC heading in his direction. He turned down the radio and watched as the motorcyclist rode up to his car and fired a round from his Beretta automatic pistol. The bullets pounded like hailstones into the body of Harvey’s BMW. Harvey dove to the back-seat, ducked down and prayed.
The gunman stopped shooting, stepped off the bike and removed his helmet. He walked over to the car, glanced down at his target and could see the blood gushing out from his mid-riff. He took a revolver from the inside of his jacket, aimed at Harvey’s head and held his finger on the trigger. He was about to shoot when something sliced deep into the side of his neck. Blood began to spurt out and excruciating pain caused him to fall to his knees.
Though some distance away, Bo had heard the shots, sprinted into range and thrown a knife at the assassin. She stepped over to the Thai who was kneeling before her, nursing his wound. She picked up his helmet from the floor and swung it at his head like a bowling ball - strike! He went down. He dropped the gun and lay on his back. Bo retrieved the revolver, stepped over to him and stamped down hard on his left leg. He began to scream. Bo leaned over him and placed the revolver into his mouth, muffling his screams.
“Who sent you?”
He didn’t answer.
She pulled out the gun, lowered it to his right leg and shot, resulting in an agonising scream. Then, thrusting the weapon deep into his crotch, she glared aggressively into his eyes, “I won’t ask again!”
He lay there helpless, blood seeping from his wounds. His scared eyes and screams were a testament to his pain as he released his last breath and whispered. “Nincotte.”
Harvey flinched while another three shots were fired. Bo dropped the smoking gun, retrieved her knife and rushed over. Blood was running onto the back seat. She threw herself into the driver’s seat and screeched away from the scene. Her eyes flicked up at the rear-view; she was distressed to see Harvey in so much pain.
He screamed as he was thrown from side to side of the back seat and clutched onto his wounds as he felt his life ebbing away. Bo glanced back at his deathly pale complexion and saw that his eyes were now closed. She took a deep breath and shouted louder than she had ever shouted before, “Harvey!!!”
THIRTY-FOUR
NIGEL WAS back in his suite when Pang rushed in.
“Where is it, Pang? What did she say?”
“Sorry Mr Nigel, I not have it.”
“Who did you speak to?”
“I spoke to the manager.”
“What about housekeeping?”
“We saw the manager of housekeeping. She not know the maid who come to room.”
“Did you check the log? …Like I suggested.”
“We check.”
“And?”
“Have new maid come to your room.”
“Who is she?”
“She from agency. That why you not know her.”
“Do they usually take maids from agencies?”
“I not know. You want me ask?”
“No, never mind.”
Nigel continued to search the room.
“What you want we do now, Mr Nigel?”
“Can you go check with security? They may have her on camera.”
Pang stepped out. Nigel stopped searching and stood staring out the window.
THIRTY-FIVE
HARVEY’S BATTERED BMW screeched into the hospital entrance – almost hit an old man crossing the road. Bo climbed out, ran to the entrance and stormed in. “Help!”
Two hospital staff followed her out, rushed to the car and reached into the back.
“What happened?” The taller of the two asked.
“He was shot.”
Another two men arrived with a stretcher, extended its folded legs and helped to pull Harvey from the car. The four of them lowered him onto the stretcher and wheeled him away. Bo hurried alongside, holding his hand.
“I have to go now, but I’ll be back.” Harvey didn’t reply. She let go, stepped back and watched him being wheeled away. Then, reaching for her phone, she flicked through her contacts and dialled a number with a shaky hand. A voice at the other end of the line answered. “Hello?”
She caught her breath. “Harvey’s been shot.”
THIRTY-SIX
NIGEL STOOD staring at out of the window as he hung up the phone. All was quiet – all was still.
He turned in a rage and threw his mobile against the wall - it cracked but didn’t break. He stepped over to the conference table, took a grip then hurled it over. He picked up a chair, threw it to the window; it bounced back - almost hit him, the window didn’t break and neither did the chair.
He pulled the TV from its place and pushed it to the floor. It fell; the cord stretched and held the screen from reaching the floor. He was about to pull over a bookcase when Pang walked in. He was shocked to see the state of the suite and the rage on Nigel’s face. “Mr Nigel? What wrong?”
Nigel faced Pang red-faced and out of breath “Harvey’s been shot.”
“Is he alive?”
“He’s alive.”
“What you want to do?”
Nigel bit his bottom lip and squinted his eyes.
“If Nincotte wants a war, we’ll give him a fucking war.”
“Where you want to go?”
“….To the police station, Pang…..”
TO BE CONTINUED….
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