Trophy Taker
Page 33
Mann was one of nine men sat in the Boom Boom Bar – a palm-thatched, rattan-floored beach hut. Apart from a dozen stools, there was a tatty couch that had lost half its back and had two threadbare cushions to sit on. There was no fan in the Boom Boom Bar, only the breeze to cool it down and tonight there was not a breath of wind. Five of the ten men were watching a boxing match on a small television set suspended from the ceiling. The other three stared at their drinks, willing the alcohol to hit. Mann’s t-shirt stuck to him in the suffocating heat, tracing the contours of his strong, lean frame.
A cockroach dropped from the roof and landed on the barman’s back. It clung to his shirt.
‘How’s it goin’, bro?’
Mann felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Jojo, the proprietor, a short, fat, fifty-year-old Filipino wearing a pink shiny shirt with Boom Boom Bar embroidered on the back. His soft afro hair ballooned over his shoulders.
‘Good, Jojo. Place is busy, I see.’
Mann gestured toward the area of candlelit tables on the beach outside. Most of them were occupied.
‘Yeah, pretty busy, man. We gotta real good singer tonight.’
A young brown-skinned singer, his hair in a wide ponytail, was wailing a Bob Marley song on a small stage pitched into the sand. Next to him, a young musician sat on a drum box with his back to the sea. His eyes were closed. His long bony fingers beat a rhythm on the box’s stretched skin. His name was Rex. He was Jojo’s eldest son.
The barman set another drink down in front of Mann. As he did so, the cockroach crawled onto his arm. He knocked it off and stamped on it hard.
‘Stick around, Johnny, it’s gonna be a good night. Plenty of people about.’
Jojo was about to walk away when Mann caught him.
‘Thought about what I said?’
Jojo laughed uncomfortably. ‘I told you, bro, this is paradise – you should know, you been comin’ here for long enough. Best place on Mama Earth.’
He disappeared to play the ‘happy patron’, circling the bar and talking to his customers. After twenty minutes he came back to stand at the end of the bar. Mann proposed a toast to Boracay.
‘To paradise – where every hour is ‘happy hour’. You’re right, Jojo.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been coming here a long time. I’ve known you since I was a rookie and your son, Rex….’He nodded in the direction of the youth on the drum box.‘…was a small boy.’
‘Long time, bro, long time.’ Jojo nodded his head.
‘Remember that time you were suicidal over a woman? What was she called?’
Jojo screwed up his face, struggling to remember her name.
‘Janie,’ Mann recalled, ‘that was it. Then there was the time the local police shut you down when you didn’t pay them enough. Never seen you so angry. But the worst was when I came here and there was nothing left. Typhoon Rosy took everything. You were devastated – remember?’
Jojo closed his eyes, put his hand on his chest and sighed.
‘That storm was one I never forgot.’
‘But do you know what? In all the years I’ve been coming here this is the first time I’ve ever seen you scared.’
Jojo wiped the sweat from his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He was smiling but he didn’t look like a happy man.
‘Listen to me, old friend.’ Mann held his gaze. ‘I know the Chinaman came through here. I followed him from Hong Kong. Tell me what he wanted.’
‘You gonna get me killed, Bro.’ Jojo looked around nervously. The boxing was still going on. The others were still staring at their drinks, waiting to find that ‘happy place’. Jojo turned his back on the bar and looked hard at Mann. ‘I in enough trouble.’
‘Tell me. I might be able to help.’
‘A Chinaman come here ten days ago. He rent my house – real nice place I have behind here.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Not as tall as you, but tall for a Chinaman – goatee beard, bald, mean-faced, thirty-five maybe?’
‘That’s the man. Anyone else?’
‘Come wid five other Chinese – his monkeys. Same time as he arrive come four white guys. They stay up at the end of the beach. Come wid whores from Angeles.’
‘What did he want?’
‘He wanted me to sell ’im somethin’ – somethin’ I own.’
‘What?’
‘I have businesses in Mindanao, down south. He want me to sell them to him – cheap.’
‘What kind of businesses?’
‘A bar, a small hotel. Nuttin big. Nice place – on de coast.’
‘What did you agree to?’
‘Not agree nuttin. He said he be back. He left wid white guys here. Bin here a week. Deese are bad fuckers,’ he whispered. ‘One of de whores is beat up nasty. Dey got money – plenty – pay off de police. I see them talking wid dem like old friends.’ Jojo shrugged and shook his head. He stared hard at Mann. ‘I tell you, bro, I gonna be in big trouble when dat Chinaman come back.’
‘Are they here tonight – the white guys?’
Jojo signalled for Mann to wait whilst he walked out of the bar and across the narrow sandy lane that ran the length of the mile-long white sugar beach’. Halfway across the lane he started swaying to the music…He began dancing with three of his sons who touted along the lane for him. As Jojo swang his hips to the rhythm, Rex on the drum box got a nudge from the singer. Rex opened his eyes. He stopped rocking his dreadlocks and began drumming faster. Jojo tried to keep up. He couldn’t. He staggered back into the bar, amidst laughter and applause, clutching his hand to his chest as if he were about to have a heart attack.
‘Bastards.’ He laughed, talking to the men watching the fight and rolling his eyes in the direction of the beach. ‘You give dem your name an’ they treat you like shit. Kids.’ He took a beer from the barman and waited for the fuss to subside before making his way back over to Mann. Jojo fanned his face with the bar mat.
‘They here?’ Mann asked again.
Jojo leaned in. ‘One of dem is here….sat left of de stage wid a young Filipina…Big white guy… peak cap.’ Jojo turned away from Mann and leaned his back against the bar, pretending to be interested in the boxing match which had reached its fifth round. He kept his eyes diverted from Mann and kept smiling, ‘Anuder ding,’ he whispered. ‘Dat old white guy’s got somethin’ hard in his pocket an’ it ain’t his big old cock. You gonna spoil my business you make trouble here, Johnny.’
‘Relax, old friend. They’ll be no trouble.’
Mann picked up his drink and walked across the lane. He sat on the end of a table of Dutch tourists, directly behind the man. It was hard to see the man’s face hidden beneath the peak cap and with just the candlelight and crescent moon to help. But Mann could see he was big, strong and weathered, ex-military, with tattoos over his upper arms. He wore khaki shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He chainsmoked and was texting fast, impatiently. The young Filipina sat a little apart from him, waiting nervously by his side. The text messages came back every few minutes – no jingle from the phone, just a light and a vibration. His leg twitched with adrenaline as he read a new text. He called a number, said a few words, then finished the call abruptly and slammed the phone down onto the table. He pulled off the peak cap and rubbed his sweaty head. His silver grey short back and sides was indented with the outline of the cap. Mann saw his face, mottled and puffy, dominated by bulbous eyes that made him look what he was – angry. Mann recognised him straightaway. It was the man they called the Colonel – one of the biggest traffickers of women and children in the Philippines.
Enjoyed The Trophy Taker?
Prepare to be frightened all over again…
BLOOD LINES
Grace Monroe
Blood is thicker than water – and far more deadly …
A woman is lured to a remote spot in the Scottish Highlands and strangled almost to the point of death. As she begs for mercy, her tormentor begins to carve her face, before burying her alive.
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n Edinburgh, unorthodox young lawyer Brodie McLennan becomes tangled up in the case. When it emerges that Brodie was the last person to see the victim and crucial evidence is found at her flat, she must fight to clear her name – and save her own skin.
Meanwhile in an asylum in Inverness, a deranged patient writes the name Brodie over and over in her own blood…
As another mutilated body is discovered bearing the same ritualistic markings, Brodie is running scared from unknown forces, eager to see blood on her hands…
Prepared to be shocked in this dark and gripping thriller, for fans of Ian Rankin and Mo Hayder…
ISBN: 978-1-84756-041-4
Coming in June 2008
LOST SOULS
Neil White
A ritual murder. Abducted children mysteriously returned. Why?
A woman is found butchered on a Lancashire housing estate, her tongue and eyes brutally gouged out. Ritual murder or crime of passion?
Children are abducted and then returned to their families days later, unharmed but with no knowledge of where they have been – or who took them.
DC Laura McGanity, having relocated from London to the old mill town of Blackley, quickly learns that life up North is far from peaceful. She needs to solve these mystifying cases – but keep the local police on side.
Her reporter boyfriend Jack Garrett – the reason for McGanity’s relocation – is back in his hometown and finds himself entangled in the two mysterious cases. His investigations reveal murky connections and sordid secrets.
But when Jack meets a man who ‘paints’ the future – prophecies of horrific events which he then puts onto canvas – it’s becoming terrifyingly clear that many people, including his own family, are in grave danger…
ISBN: 978-1-84756-018-6
Coming in May 2008
THE MURDER GAME
Beverly Barton
Are you ready to play…?
The game is simple – he is the Hunter. They are the Prey. He gives them a chance to escape. To run. To hide. To outsmart him. But eventually, he catches them. And that’s when the game gets really terrifying…
Private investigator Griffin Powell and FBI agent Nicole Baxter know a lot about serial killers – they took one down together. But this new killer is as sadistic as they’ve ever seen. He likes his little games, and he especially likes forcing Nicole and Griff to play along. Every unsolvable clue, every posed victim, every taunting phone call – it’s all part of his twisted, elaborate plan. And then the Hunter calls, wanting to know if they’re really ready to play…
There’s a new game now, and it’s much more deadly than the first. A brutal psychopath needs a worthy adversary. He won’t stop until he can hunt the most precious prey of all – Nicole. And with his partner in a killer’s sights, Griff is playing for the biggest stakes of his life.
ISBN: 978-1-84756-059-9
Coming in August 2008.
THE TROPHY TAKER
Lee Weeks left school at 16 with one O’level and, armed with a notebook and very little cash, spent seven years working her way around Europe and South East Asia. She returned to settle in London, marry and raise two children. In those 15 years, she worked as a cocktail waitress, chef, model, English teacher and personal fitness trainer. She now lives in Devon with her two children and her dogs. The Trophy Taker is her first novel. Please visit www.leeweeks.co.uk for more information on Lee.
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Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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A Paperback Original 2008
First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollinsPublishers 2008
Copyright © Lee Weeks 2008
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ePub edition August 2008 ISBN- 9780007281879
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