by Lee Weeks
‘Which troops? Do you mean the government? They chickened out. We saw them driving away in a trail of dust. Your government took off in the other direction. We saw them when we were on the way in here. New day-new deals-get the picture? They decided this wasn’t for them. The men in black got an urgent call back at the mother ship.’ He sniggered.
Mann kept still. He was lying behind Comfort’s dead body. He realised he had been hit. A bullet had passed right through Comfort and into Mann’s side. It had lodged in the muscle there.
‘And here we have-Johnny Mann. What about you? I bet you wish you were somewhere else right now? We seem to find each other wherever we go, don’t we? Now I have come to tell you that you have failed your mission.’
‘The time isn’t up yet. I still have another five hours to find Amy Tang. The Teacher knows where she is, and so do others.’
‘We believe that the little girl is dead.’
‘Has CK ordered this strike?’
‘No one will tell him it started early, and he doesn’t care as long as he gets something out of it, and he will. He will take over all. It starts now.’
Two Wo Shing Shing officers held on to the Colonel. Stevie Ho spoke to a third officer.
‘Tie the madman to the chair and keep an eye on Mann and that priest. No one moves from here until I say.’
Mann looked at Father Finn to see if he was all right. He nodded back an affirmation.
‘Can I help Johnny? Is he badly wounded?’ Father Finn asked Stevie.
Stevie looked Mann over. He knelt down beside him and lifted his jacket with his finger. He saw the splintered rib that was protruding out of Mann’s shirt and he saw his side drenched with blood from the wound at his waist.
He got up, unimpressed. ‘He’s had worse. Stay where you are.’
Mann tore away the material that was frayed around his broken rib and pressed it into the wound on his side. He held it tightly closed with his fingers. He couldn’t afford to pass out. He might never wake up. He stayed as still as he could. From his position on the ground he watched as Stevie walked away from him, past Comfort and Brandon, over to the Colonel.
‘Strip him,’ he ordered his officers. ‘Make sure you tie him tightly.’
The Colonel began shouting-cursing and spitting out his hatred of all things Chinese and foreign. It was as if the act of tying him in, of restraining him, had finally brought his predicament home to him. His madness had reached full pitch now. He was dribbling and spitting and his eyes boiled in his head.
Stevie held out his hand to his deputy, who placed a rolled-up long leather roll into it. Stevie took out the long thin-bladed knife from inside. He came to the Colonel’s side, reached across him and cut him, a long, smooth, precise cut across his chest with the blade. The Colonel let out a howl of agony as the flesh parted and the cut bled along its entire length in a smooth line. Large globules of dark blood peeled down his chest and spread around the folds of blanched skin on his stomach.
Stevie stood back to admire his handiwork. He was in no hurry. He took hold of a roll of fat on the Colonel’s abdomen and sliced through. The Colonel screamed in his agony. Stevie dropped it from his hand.
‘Now, I want you to understand what is happening to you,’ Stevie said. He dug the point of the knife into the Colonel’s shoulder, where Comfort had shot him, tugged it in an upward movement to open the wound further, then he twisted it until it scraped on the shoulder bone. The Colonel had to be held down. He was shaking the chair apart.
‘You had the audacity to think that you could form your own triad society. You don’t know the meaning of the word triad. You know nothing of its history or its sacredness. But, a triad you claim you are, and you will die a triad’s death. I will bestow on you a fitting honour, ling-chi, death of a thousand cuts. It is an ancient and a ceremonial death reserved for traitors and motherfuckers and triad pretenders like you. I will carve your body up bit by bit. Until, in the end, when you are begging for me to end it, I will make a decision either to bury you alive or give one final piercing into your heart and end your agony. Lucky for us that you are a Shabu addict. Oh yes-I have studied you and your habits-it is well to know one’s enemy. You will be with us to the end. You will be wide awake to feel every cut.’
He laughed, and so did his deputies.
‘Do you think I fear you? Go to fucking hell you chink bastard,’ the Colonel laughed. ‘I fear no man. You want to kill me, go ahead.’
‘Fighting talk, old man. Soon you will have less to say.’
He cut the Colonel again, ten neat slashes that opened his back and crisscrossed the spine from across the shoulders downwards. Stevie slipped the knife beneath the skin and slid it along to separate it from the flesh. The Colonel began choking on his vomit. Stevie lifted sections of flesh from his back.
‘I hope somebody’s counting: fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and let’s make seventeen a good one.’ He cut off his ear. ‘The only place I will not cut is your vocal cords-I want to hear you beg for mercy, beg for the end.’ Maya began whimpering softly.
The Colonel had the strength of a bull. He dragged the men with him that held him on the chair. The blood ran down his neck. His tendons stood out like tightened cables in his neck and shoulders. His face was a puffy red mash of anger as he screamed obscenities skyward. When he had stopped cursing he moved his head slowly back towards Stevie, breathing so hard that at every breath he sprayed blood and mucus out.
‘Wait. Wait,’ he said. ‘We have only just begun here. We have the richest, most powerful, most corrupt contacts from around the world in with us. You can be a big part of it. I can share what we have.’
Stevie laughed cynically.
‘We do not need you. We have followed your every move. We know every move you’ve made since the beginning. We have spies everywhere. You thought you had been so smart. The truth is…’ Stevie cut deep into the chest fat as he spoke ‘…whilst you were busy raping children, we were busy buggering you.’ He twisted the knife and scooped out the flesh. The deputies laughed.
Mann lay still. He had to keep movement to a minimum. He could feel the blood wet and sticky on his clothes. The pain was beginning to kick in. Mann watched the Colonel’s world collapsing. His Angeles-a few dirty streets were his kingdom. The whores and the whorists were his subjects. Angeles-for the sad, the lonely and the screwed. The Colonel’s world, was turning against him. His subjects were in hiding. His paid help had had a better offer.
‘Do not forsake me!’ he bellowed to the corners of his kingdom.
From a parallel road came the sound of girls laughing and dogs howling all to the boom-boom of the bar music. Father Finn started to pray.
Stevie went around to the front of the chair. He dragged a heavy wooden palm plant-pot with him. The Father scrabbled out of the way as Stevie rested the Colonel’s leg on it. An officer came forward to hold it in position. He held his hand out to one of his men, gesturing that he wanted what the man held secreted in his jacket. He was handed a razor-sharp small chopper. The Colonel’s face pulled and contorted as he screamed. He was snorting like a bull, chained and about to be castrated. Every sinew in his body fought the restraint and screamed with anger as he twisted and writhed.
Stevie came around to the front. He pressed the Colonel’s foot flat onto the wooden rim of the pot and chopped off each of the Colonel’s toes.
‘Please. Please.’ The Colonel’s head was down.
‘You beg too soon. You are a coward. What you fail to realise, my white brother, is that the world is a small place and CK already owns a lot of it. You have only begun to scratch the surface. You think you have created this super-group of powerful allies. Think again. CK has been building his up for fifty years. He can call in any favour he desires. Whilst you, white boy, you are just a little boy wearing his big brother’s trousers.’
The Colonel groaned. He had fallen quiet. His sweat and blood glistened in the lights from the Bordello. Kenny Rogers was singing about
Lucille. The few people in the bar had the sense to huddle over their drinks and pretend that they did not hear the sound of a man being tortured to death.
Stevie reached over and tipped the Colonel’s chair backwards. He tutted. He let the chair drop back. The Colonel shuddered. His body shook uncontrollably. Maya walked backwards away from the table. Father Finn beckoned her to him.
‘This could be a long night.’
The Colonel began weeping.
‘Please. Please. Please don’t kill me. I had nothing to do with kidnapping CK’s daughter. The Teacher is the one, not me. It was all his idea, him and Blanco’s.’
‘Who is Blanco?’
‘I do not know. I only receive my orders by email and through the Teacher. He knows who Blanco is. I don’t.’
‘Is the Teacher here?’
The Colonel looked up at the windows and back at Stevie and nodded.
‘Go through the rooms and find him,’ Stevie ordered two of his men to go inside and search.
Mann waited-the pain had really kicked and he was losing his ability to concentrate. He mustn’t pass out. He had to stay alert.
Ten minutes later they re-emerged.
‘All gone, boss. The rooms up there?’ One of the men pointed to the windows above them. ‘Nobody in them.’
‘Let the Father and me go, Stevie. I know what he looks like and I think I know where he’ll be. We have a chance of finding him.’
Stevie stared hard at Mann. There were few people’s word he could trust in this world but he knew Mann’s was one of them. If Stevie wanted to break away from CK and the Wo Shing Shing he could not afford to have Amy Tang’s blood on his hands. If it looked like they had acted too hastily and not waited for the agreed hour, if it came down to a matter of honour, CK would save his own face and Stevie would be sacrificed. He must be seen to do all he could to find her. He must let Mann fail rather than himself.
‘You double-cross me, Mann, and this will look like a practice run for what I will do to you.’
‘Save your threats for someone else. I came here to get Amy Tang released. Let me do my job. I will find him. I will keep him alive if I can.’
Stevie thought about it for a few seconds. He nodded to his deputies.
‘Let him go. I am going to let you see this thing through, Mann. One of us will achieve his goals and CK will know I did all that I could. Besides, I haven’t finished with the Colonel here yet. There are a lot more questions I want answered. I will have everything I need by the end. Fetch some Shabu for him. Stick it up his nose; make sure he gets a good load of it. I want him to stay awake now, right until the last minute, until he begs for the end.’
Father Finn picked up Maya and walked quickly over to where Mann was trying his best to stand. He helped him up.
‘You find him, Mann, I want him alive. I want to parcel him up and give him as a present to CK-my goodbye gift,’ Stevie called as Mann walked away, holding on to Father Finn for support.
They walked back along Fields Avenue. When they were out of sight, the Father stopped.
‘Where will we go, Johnny?’
‘I saw Alex Stamp earlier-he was with some heavily armed friends, they were dressed in black. They were DDS and their leader was a man I know-Fredrico. He used to be mayor of Davao. He’s gone up the government ranks,’ He’ll want the boy. They’ll be heading for the refuge.’
‘Wait here, Johnny. Maya, you stay too. I’ll fetch the car.’
Mann propped himself against the wall and waited the eight minutes it took Father Finn to sprint down the road and drive back up. Maya stood silent, unmoving. Mann winked at her.
‘It’ll be okay now.’
Her big eyes stared back, unblinking. Father Finn pulled up and put Maya in the front whilst he helped Mann to lie down in the back. As he started driving, Father Finn began rooting around in the medical kit one-handed.
‘There are some dressings and bandages in here, Johnny. We’ll stop when we are on the edge of town and get you strapped up.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the back seat as Mann bit the top of the dressing pack and gingerly peeled away the soaked fabric of his shirt as he pressed the new dressing on top of the cloth inside the wound. He pulled open another two dressings and covered the exposed rib, drawing in sharp breaths of pain as he did so.
‘No, don’t stop, Father.’ He took the bandages handed back to him. ‘Drive like hell.’
The Father was driving like he had never done before. He spun in and out of the night-time traffic, all hooting their horns and shouting out of their windows at the mad priest who was weaving around the road.
‘Jaysus! I’m going to kill us all if I don’t watch it.’
‘Don’t slow down, Father, you’re doing a good job. Keep that foot flat to the accelerator pedal. We need to get there first and we need to finish it now, Father. It ends here.’
73
‘Ma’am…?’
Becky stood on the balcony and watched a dust trail make its way up the dirt road towards the refuge. Mercy stood behind her. It was dawn.
Two black cars were approaching, they appeared through the gaps in the greenery like images in a kid’s flip book and in front of them were two motorcyclists. Their dust trails plumed above the green undergrowth.
Mercy let out a scream. She clutched one hand across her mouth, the other over her stomach as if to protect her unborn child.
‘It is the Death Squad.’
‘Get the children out, Mercy; take them to the workers’ houses. As fast as you can.’
Becky ran down ahead of Mercy, who was met by Ramon halfway down the stairs. Becky ran past into the dorms and shouted to Paulo. Within minutes they had the sleepy ranks of children filing out of the back door and scampering through the undergrowth towards the other side of the hill and the workers’ houses. She met Mercy, who was the last to leave.
‘I cannot find Eduardo, Miss.’
‘You go, Mercy. I will find him and follow. Go…Go…’
Becky hurried Mercy out. She called out to Eduardo. She ran from room to room. In a panic she raced back up to her bedroom and found him there. He was hiding under her bed. She eased him out. She looked out of her window. The black car had turned into the drive and was nearly at the front door.
‘Stay here.’
It was too late to leave now. She ran back downstairs and bolted the front and back doors. Then she tiptoed back up into the bedroom, picked up the gun and ammunition, held on to Eduardo, and they dropped to the floor to hide behind the chest of drawers. She heard car doors slam. There were voices coming from directly beneath the balcony outside the bedroom window. She heard the sound of men’s voices and footsteps disappearing around to the back of the building. They would not be able to get in, thought Becky. This place was very secure. Father Finn had pointed that out to her on her tour. It had to be, he said. They were remote, at risk from bandits and government troops alike.
Someone was trying to break in at the front. Then she heard a voice she knew. Alex’s voice came loud through the door.
‘Becky, I need your help. They are going to kill me. Open the door. Let me in. I need your help. These men will kill me, Becky. I am sorry for everything. Please believe me, I never meant it to get out of control. I was just trying to make it, make money for us. I thought it would be okay.’
Becky closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear it. She could tell by every intonation, every inflection, every pause for breath, that the only thing he wasn’t lying about was the fact that he was petrified.
‘All they want is the child. I said I would deliver him. I made a deal, Becky. If I go back on that deal I’m dead. They are armed, they mean business.’
All the time her heart hammered. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Eduardo didn’t take his eyes from her face. In the dark of the shadows Eduardo’s eyes were dark chocolate drops floating in saucers of milk-he clung to her.
Alex shouted again.
/> ‘Believe me, I am so sorry for what happened to you. I would not have hurt you for the world. I am truly sorry, Becky. Can you hear me? I will make it up to you. We can have children, how many would you like? Five? Six? Please, Becky. I will do anything to make it better.’ His voice was beginning to break. At the same time as he was shouting Becky could hear him remonstrating with his companions. ‘Becky, do you have a gun? For Christ’s sake give me something to fight with. They are going to kill me. Open this fucking door. He’s just one homeless boy. He knows no better. He’s a beggar, an orphan. He doesn’t matter, Becky. We matter. You matter to me…please, Becky, I am begging you…’
Becky moved the rifle onto her lap. From outside there was the sound of fighting, crashing, then Alex screamed. Afterwards there was silence before a man spoke.
‘We have your husband, ma’am. You can save him if you wish. Give us the boy. We will look after him. No harm will come to him, you have our word.’
Eduardo clung to her harder. She drew him closer.
‘It’s my only chance, Becky. It’s all gone wrong for me. I regret everything. Please forgive me. I never stopped loving you. It was everything else. Please don’t let them kill me.’
Silence followed. She buried her face in her hands. Eduardo held on to her arm. She closed her eyes tight. There was the sound of a scuffle and someone being dragged, and Alex’s shouting growing quieter.
‘No. You can’t kill me-please…Becky!’
Alex’s voice was screeching. He was not near the door any more. Becky’s heart pounded in her chest. She held on to Eduardo tightly and clamped her eyes shut. There came an awful silence. Then three precise, perfectly spaced gun shots: pop pop pop.
She drew in a breath and held it as she listened intently. The men were near the house again, but Alex’s voice was not one of them. They were moving around the outside of the refuge. Fredrico gave the order:
‘Torch the place.’
74
Amy lifted the wet necklace from the sink. She pulled either end of it as hard as she could. She put one foot on one end and stretched it. She wanted it to be perfect. Amy had woven many beads into it, the biggest, Suzanne’s favourite colour-red-was right in the centre.
