by Andrew Grant
“Betrayed!” he whispered. Michael had left the room; undoubtedly he would come looking for him. Lu weighed the small package in his hand. The beautiful, gunmetal grey Breightling had cost several thousand dollars. In his rage, Lu turned and hurled the gift-wrapped package away into the night. On the street far below, an old man was about to make a discovery that was worth a king’s ransom to him.
“Thomas, where are you?” Michael was calling from the living room of the rented penthouse apartment. Thomas Lu moved along the patio and entered his own room. He suddenly smiled. It was a ghastly smile. He would see that beautiful, young Michael would no longer be able to work his magic on anyone. Certainly not anyone who could see!
“Pretty boy, no more!” Lu whispered. But before he caused that to happen, he would use his lover one more time, and this time he was going to cause Michael Sun pain. But this pain would be nothing compared with what was to come.
34
Changi Airport, again! I entered using a new passport in the name of David Crewe. I was a Hong Kong-based Australian in Singapore on import-export business. A wonderfully ubiquitous occupation. A change of hotel was called for, somewhere low-key. I checked into the Miramar. Old, but comfortable enough. This time I forwent the option of a smoking room.
I still had Sami’s original cellphone and I used it, recording a message on it with my new name and location. Tuk Tuk was probably already in the ground and Sami would be saying farewell to Sakura and preparing to fly back. Simone’s funeral service was to be at 13:00 the next day, Tuesday. Until then, what was I going to do? It was now a few minutes before noon. One of the rules about appearing in places using different identities is the simple fact that you can’t frequent places you have been before. I caught a cab up to Holland Village and found a pub. Cowboy Bar it was called. The motif was of a manic cowboy. The bar staff wore vests, thin bow ties and cowboy boots. It was my kind of bar.
I needed to be around people, but I wasn’t out to annihilate myself. I had a late steak lunch and stuck to a few beers, chatting with the few expats who were about. Anything to keep from thinking the sort of thoughts that send people running under trains. I’ve never been suicidal, but Simone’s death was affecting me far more than I guess I expected it would. Of course, there was naturally a deep sadness and a bloody great aching inside. I even felt sorry for myself as well as her, and I felt for the kids. But there was something happening on a much deeper level as well.
“What a stupid fucking way to die.”
“What?” The Welshman I was sharing a table with was looking at me questioningly over his pint.
“Oh. Just thinking aloud,” I replied. “Friend fell down a stairwell and died. I’m here for the funeral.”
“Lady, right? I read about it in The Straits Times. Poor thing.”
“Yeah,” I replied. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost 16:00. I’d been in the pub for nearly four hours. It was time to go. Then my cell vibrated in my pocket. I fished the phone out and excused myself, heading out onto the terrace. Sami was on a charter flight and an hour away from touchdown. He would come to me.
I decided that I would move into the apartment if I stayed on in Singapore after the funeral. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to stay. Regardless, the heat seemed to be off. The gang battles of a month or so before were old news. Yes, there were still a few more restrictions on the books and more CCTV cameras were being installed everywhere, but unlike my previous persona, David Crewe could be visible. I wasn’t an assassin or agent provocateur this trip. I was an associate come to bury a friend.
Thomas Lu was also back in town. His penthouse apartment was now a fortress. While he had been in KL, via an agent he had bought the two apartments that made up the floor below. The nucleus of his army was now in residence. One of the apartments had been turned into a control centre and guardroom. The only elevator with access to the top floor had been reprogrammed to stop at the penultimate floor. Armed guards covered the stairs to the fire escape, the basement garage, the main foyer, the foyer on the lower floor and the penthouse foyer itself. CCTV cameras and monitors covered all entrances and exits in minute detail.
Secure in his Nassim Hill citadel, Thomas Lu was a happy man. Michael, his former lover and Sami Somsak’s informant, was not. Rather than have him killed, Lu had come up with a punishment he considered even more fitting.
Michael Sun was in hospital in KL. He had been found lying in a ditch on the outskirts of the city. His tongue had been cut out. All of his fingers had been hacked off and as the final touch, battery acid had been poured over his entire body, with specific attention paid to his beautiful face. Michael Sun was no longer beautiful.
Sami hadn’t eaten. Neither had I, so we decided on a meal in the hotel restaurant. Neither of us did justice to our food. I damaged a bourbon or two while Sami just sipped at a glass of mineral water.
“This is probably not the time to say this, but Sakura asked that you be reminded of your promise. She suggested that three months from now would be a good time for you to visit.”
“We’ll see,” I replied.
“I believe Thomas Lu is back in town. Michael left me a message. If he’s not back yet, he soon will be.”
“Are you going after him again?”
“I’m honour-bound to get him,” Sami replied. “For Stanley and perversely for Carlos Mendez. If I don’t get him, the crazy Colombians will come back and get him. Imagine the collateral damage if they came in guns blazing.”
I could see Sami’s point. Singapore had been lucky that Sami had managed to put a collar around Carlos’s neck. The Colombians were not very subtle when it came to exacting revenge. Big bombs, machine guns and chainsaws were the tools of choice and while we had been causing more than a little mayhem of our own over the past months, it had been controlled, at least to the degree that innocent citizens hadn’t been in the firing line. A contradiction, I know, but there was a grain of truth in there.
“I’m going to see Simone,” Sami announced suddenly. “Are you coming?”
That startled me. I didn’t want to see Simone in death. I would rather remember her as I had last seen her: beautiful, vibrant and so very, very alive. I guess a shrink might say I was in denial, deep denial. Apart from my initial burst of grief and anger when I’d received the fateful call, I’d screwed my emotions right down. Simone was dead. I was alone again. That was it. The fairytale is over, Danny boy. Welcome back to the real world.
Sami was watching me. He could no doubt see the thoughts that flickered across my face. Poker-faced I wasn’t at this moment.
“Okay,” I agreed, wondering why I had given in. There would now be one more dead face in my dreams. Until I saw Simone that way she would always be the laughing, beautiful woman I had known.
Simone DeLue looked as beautiful in death as she had in life. Her makeup had been very lovingly applied. There was no trace of the waxy pallor of death on her face or her hands, which were resting crossed on her chest. There was a small white rose lying on her breast and a gold crucifix had its chain threaded through her fingers. Her hair gleamed in the candlelight. Her features were soft in the subdued light. It really was as if she was sleeping and would awaken any moment, turn her head and smile at me. I shook myself. Tears were starting to form.
“She looks absolutely beautiful,” I said, trying not to choke.
“I asked that they have the best person in Singapore prepare her,” Sami replied. “Fortunately, she didn’t suffer facial injuries. Her sister is on her way here now. She will stay to put Simone’s estate to rest and take the children back to South Africa with her.” Sami touched Simone’s hair with gentle fingers. He bowed his head and stood for a moment with his eyes closed, and then he turned away. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He eased out of the room.
The air conditioning was cold and I felt a shiver run down my spine. What did one do at moments like this? I’d been around death more than most, and I’d caused a lot of it. Wh
at I had never really done was spend time celebrating it or celebrating life at funerals or wakes.
I went to stand close to the beautiful lady in the satin-lined casket. The crucifix caught the light. I hadn’t known she was Catholic. But then we had never really discussed religion. She had been reluctant to talk much about her past, as I had been, I guess. I think that we had both been looking to the horizon to see if there was any future for us together.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, and I was sorry. Maybe, just maybe this was the woman I was meant to be with for what remained of my life.
I leaned down and kissed her on the lips. They were like ice. They burned with the cold, but as I straightened I could taste her; the lipstick she wore in death had been the same she had worn in life. My fingers stroked her icy cheek and touched the golden silk of her hair. God, she was beautiful! How long I stood there looking down at her, waiting for her to open her eyes and tell me that this was just a mistake, I don’t know. A noise at the door broke the spell. I could hear Sami’s hushed voice.
“Goodbye,” I whispered and without looking back, I walked to the door and opened it. There were two youngsters standing there. I had met David and Angela only a few times. We’d got on well and had fun. They looked at me. Recognition momentarily overcame the anguish and confusion on their faces. I reached for them collectively and pulled them into a group hug, a hard one. I told them how very sorry I was.
I let the kids go and they reluctantly stepped back. Their eyes were red and their faces pale. Then I noticed the third member of the little group. Standing behind the children was a woman. She was tall and blonde, a slightly older and more weatherworn and travel-weary version of Simone.
“Justine,” Sami said, introducing her to me. “This is”—for a moment he hesitated, debating whether or not to use my real name—“Daniel.”
Justine looked at me, fighting back tears and jetlag. Her eyes, however, focussed on mine. There was a look of appraisal there, mingled with her sorrow. Obviously her sister had spoken to her about me. She knew exactly who I was and perhaps how much I meant to Simone, or how little, if I were a cynic. I banished that thought as it hit me.
“I’m so sorry for you as well,” Justine said to me, the tears finally coming. We hugged. I was close to tears myself. The embrace lasted long enough for me to know that whatever Simone had told her sister about me, cynicism wasn’t in the equation.
When Justine and I parted, Sami escorted her and the children into the viewing room while I headed outside. I was contemplating coming off the nicotine wagon and having a cigarette. I didn’t have any on me, so I was going to have to find a 7-Eleven or bum one. In the end I did neither. I closed the outer door and just leaned against the wall and breathed in the thick wet air.
Sami’s new driver was standing smoking with another man beside the Mercedes parked in the funeral home’s small forecourt. There was a golden Lexus parked beside the Merc. I didn’t go to either driver for a cigarette. I just stayed where I was. I brushed away the tears and automatically began to analyse the situation. Old habits, huh?
Jo Ankar and three others were in a second car parked across the narrow street. K and several others were in another vehicle a hundred yards further along. With Lu back in town, Sami was not about to take any chances. I sucked in several more deep breaths and composed myself. Simone was dead, the victim of an accident. Now it was time to move on. There would be the funeral tomorrow. Whether I should stay in Singapore to help Sami take Thomas Lu down, or go back to my empty apartment and suddenly empty life in Hong Kong, or quietly head north into Thailand, I didn’t know. I’d make that decision when Simone was in the ground.
Sami emerged from the funeral parlour ushering Justine and the children ahead of him. The youngsters were both crying. Their aunt walked between them, her arms around their shoulders. She had dried her tears and was now focussing on the children, whispering first to one and then the other. She lifted her gaze to me, and even in the subdued light I could see the determination there. This was one tough lady. The kids were going to be in good hands. That, at least, was a minor consolation.
The drivers stubbed out their cigarettes. Justine and the children were ushered into the Lexus and it reversed into the street. David, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, gave us something approaching a sad smile and waved as the car purred away.
“The man of the family,” I muttered as the boy’s pale face receded into the night.
“Yes. Fourteen is too young,” Sami said softly. “Will you join me for a late supper?”
I thought about that for a moment but declined. I wanted a walk, a long walk. Sami told me we were in Clementi and it was a long way back to the hotel. “I’ll drop you closer,” he said. I shook my head.
“I’ve been averaging fifteen kilometres a day on the road,” I said, “and fifty laps of the pool. I think I can handle it.”
“If you’re sure.”
I was. Sami would send someone to pick me up at the hotel at noon the next day. The service was at 13:00 in the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd. The interment was scheduled for 16:00 in the Catholic cemetery at the Choa Chu Kang Cemetery Complex. The reason for the long delay between service and burial was because of a busy schedule at both the cathedral and the cemetery. The mourners would be adjourning to the nearby Carlton for light refreshments before setting off for the cemetery. Obviously, I would not be appearing at the Carlton. Too many staff would remember Ed Davidson from Perth.
I watched Sami and his people drive off and then I dug my street map out of my pocket and set a course for my new temporary home. It was midnight. The traffic was minimal. Singapore, it appeared, had almost gone to sleep.
Walking the pedestrian-deserted streets, I had time to think. Too much time to think. Before I was half way back to the Miramar, I was beginning to wonder if the walk had been a good idea. The demons of the dark were all in my own head. They were congregating there and each shadowy street I walked down added more.
35
I’m not sure how many of the two hundred or so mourners who came to the cathedral were friends of Simone or if Sami had called central casting and had a whole bunch of extras bussed in. No matter, there were a lot of people there. A few I recognised, including the three women who had been kidnapped along with Simone.
The kids, dressed in their best, were in the front row along with Justine. Sami and I were in the second pew. The casket, already in place in front of the altar, was buried under a mass of flowers. A large photograph of Simone sat on an easel at the head of the coffin.
The service was built around favourite hymns, songs everyone knew. The priest who ran the service spoke long and lovingly of Simone, and it seemed he genuinely knew her. He referred to her as a loyal, loving and much respected member of his congregation.
Sami delivered a eulogy. It was a beautiful thing, totally fitting to the lady we were saying farewell to. He spoke of his brother and his affection and respect for Simone who had been his loyal right hand for many years. Sami had obviously given a lot of thought to the moment.
Often I have referred to the many layers that made up my friend the Onion Man. Sami’s eulogy revealed even more of his deep and complex personality. There was a philosophical touch to his address and there was humour. He spoke to the children and for them, and then he concluded with a poem, a beautiful thing he had created himself.
The casket was wheeled from the cathedral, with the children and Justine walking beside it. Sami and I came next. I attempted to hang back slightly, but Sami insisted I stay at his side. Once the coffin was loaded into the hearse and driven away, the mingling started. Gradually, many of the mourners either went back to their places of work or joined the dozens who started across Bras Basah Road to the Carlton, where a function room had been prepared at Sami’s request.
I faded out of the crowd and made for Chijmes as the rest of the party continued on to the hotel. I promised Sami I would join him for the drive to the cemeter
y in an hour and a half. The decision to use the Carlton didn’t surprise me as it was close to the cathedral. It was just unfortunate that I couldn’t join the others for the reception, but that’s life, I guess, and I’m not great at small talk anyway. Especially at funerals! I found a beer at a bar Ed Davidson had never been to. JD was not the drink of choice for the new and improved Daniel Swann—not at the moment anyway.
Thomas Lu was sitting in the heavy leather chair in his home office. He lay with his head back against the padded leather backrest, his eyes closed. The boy who was working his magic on Lu’s penis was not as beautiful as the unfortunate Michael Sun had been, and he was being paid by the hour, but Lu didn’t mind. Shortly, he would have the world once again at his beck and call, and he would have Intella as well—not yet, but soon. Once he removed Sami Somsak from the scene, the men behind the artificial island development would be in his sights. He would demonstrate to them that he had a right to a share of the pie, a major share. If they did not concede, then he would move on them.
Lu glanced at his watch, and as he did so, the cellphone on the desk in front of him chimed. He retrieved it. The call was short. Without a word, he closed the phone and again lay back against the padded chair. Life was getting better and better for Thomas Lu.
At the appointed hour, I met Sami outside the Carlton. The stretch limousine was not an affectation in this case. Inside were Sami, myself, Justine and the children. Jo Ankar was up front with the chauffeur. The next car in the procession contained five of Jo’s men. Several other vehicles with mourners aboard were following. The hearse had returned to the funeral home to wait for us. There, the procession would assemble for the run to the cemetery. Funeral processions were probably frowned upon in Singapore, there were enough traffic problems as it was. However, Sami had planned it, so it would happen.
