Pornopsychedelica

by Chris Johnson

  He thought more about the past now than he used to. He could see the street gangs changing, and the big gangs like the Miyamoto-gumi and the Stateside Boys, dumb Americans swaggering through the Malaysian streets like they were the ones who'd discovered organised crime and gambling. They were trying to expand all the time, take over territories that his associates controlled.

  There was a reversal going on, gangs going back to the old ways. Yakuza were getting tattoos, Italians taking protection money from store owners in what they called Little Sicily, parasites feeding off their own kind just like they'd done in America. Peter had seen the change coming, and laid on his back one night on a Japanese beach, watching the first ship he'd ever hijacked as a pirate start to sink. He'd realised that he'd have to rethink his life in crime.

  It was dangerous, you could get killed, executed like Fai, Po Sin and Tom had been. Or gang members who you once trusted would try to knife you in an alley, because you'd joined a rival gang to survive. Or because they thought you'd taken an unfair share of some previous loot to waste on girls and gambling. You had to be a boss, top of the food chain.

  Peter had started to make changes. There had been this good-looking actor called Peter Leonard, so he'd taken his first name, thinking any association couldn't be a bad thing. He took all kinds of things from other people too, if he liked the way a man dressed, he'd copy his clothes, if he went to a man's house and he had class, he'd read the same books, listen to the same music. Some stuff he liked, some he hated. But he was getting an education. The boss after Fai loved him because he'd served three years in prison, taking the blame for a crime he'd committed, and as a reward he'd been introduced to another boss, higher up the chain.

  It was weird, but if he ever thought about his time in prison, it was always when he was hungry. He was feeling hungry now, watching Kameko moving around the kitchen, from the breakfast counter to the cupboards.

  'How do you feel?' he asked her.

  She was unpacking groceries they'd picked up on the way from the hospital. 'Like I've been shot and reassembled in a tank full of goo. It feels so intrusive having nanobots inside you.'

  'Doctor said you should rest for a week. So no exercise, no shopping.'

  She laughed then. 'What does he know? I just need to spend a few days sleeping. I'll know when I'm back to normal when I stop feeling strange.'

  'Why strange?'

  'Feels new. Everything for you is the same age. Lived in.'

  'Is that your way of saying that I'm old?'

  'You could never be too old for me.'

  'I feel old. Must be good to have a body that can be repaired.'

  'It still hurts. And I could have died.'

  He was at the fridge pushing a glass under the ice dispenser. 'No ice. Where's Hawkins?'

  'Would it bother you to lose me?'

  He placed the glass on the counter, put his hands on her hips. 'Of course it would. What made you ask such a thing?'

  'You said Tomoko would never try to hurt me. She's still dangerous.'

  He thought about what made him decide to order Tomoko to kill her. She'd been out late, he'd had the idea that she was having an affair. It seemed crazy now.

  He said, 'It's my fault,' pulling her close, smelling her perfume. 'She convinced me that she'd changed.'

  'She can't change what she is, Peter. She hates me. Why don't you just kill her and have done with it?'

  He kissed her cheek, pulled his phone from his pocket to check for messages. Travis should have contacted him by now. 'Don't worry about Tomoko. My people or the police will find her eventually.'

  'You mean she's still loose? In the city?'

  'I blame myself. I should never have trusted her. I thought for an instant that if she could see us together and know how I feel about you things could be different. I thought we could be like a family.' There were three messages from Ken, Yamaguchi's lawyer. He opened the first one, noticed Travis in the kitchen doorway. 'Travis, what are you doing here?'

  'She's been to see Patterson.'

  •

  At Offscape Future Promotions, rain outside pounding the sidewalk, a security guard with his sleeves rolled up met them on the lobby. He seemed to know Travis, which Peter expected.

  Travis had contacts everywhere, cops at the police station, pilots at the airport, lawyers and judges at the court house. They were taken through a door behind the security booth, to a room where a bank of monitors showed pictures of all the floors and lobbies. Willard Shang was there, his slicked-back hair shiny under the lights.

  'Hey, Jack,' said the guard. The man in the same uniform swivelled on his chair to look at them. 'These are the guys. Tell 'em what they want.'

  The guard started to tap at the keyboard, soon brought up an image on a big screen of the lobby they'd just left.

  Peter saw Tomoko. He pointed at the man stood next to her. 'Who's he?'

  'The new guy I hired,' said Travis. He sat next to the guard, leaned an elbow on the console.

  On the screen, Tomoko and the guy walked up to the security booth. 'What's he doing with Tomoko?' asked Peter.

  'I don't know.' Travis rubbed his goatee. 'She's got to him somehow. Paid him off, got some leverage on him. They could have been working together even before he arrived in KL.'

  'Do you know where she is?' asked Willard.

  Travis shrugged. 'Could be anywhere.' He spoke to the guard for a moment, telling him to advance the recording. When the picture played again at normal speed they could see Tomoko and the white guy waiting at the elevators. 'Okay, she's going for the elevators. Now they're inside going to Patterson's floor. Looks like the fool's actually humming the elevator music. They go straight to Patterson's office. Bring the video up when she leaves. Now see,' Travis pointed to the time stamp, 'they're back at the elevators twelve minutes later. Whatever they wanted from Patterson didn't take long.'

  Peter said, 'What's she saying?'

  'There's no sound,' said Travis. 'They've called the elevator.'

  On the screen, Tomoko said something to the new guy and turned back down the corridor, disappearing from view. The guard flipped the screen so they could see Tomoko on another camera. 'She goes back to Patterson's office on her own.' The picture switched to Tomoko at the elevators, the doors opening. 'She's back a minute later and they leave.'

  Peter nodded.

  'So let's have a chat with Patterson. Where is he?'

  'In his office,' said Travis.

  Up on the forty-third floor, Peter, Travis and Willard made their way to Patterson's office just like Tomoko had done. There was a guard to open the door when they arrived.

  Peter sighed. Patterson was face down on his desk.

  'She slit his throat,' said Travis.

  Blood had spread out from Patterson's head, making a glistening red pool around his hands, the base of a monitor, a book, a pen and a picture of a woman, maybe his wife.

  'Where is she?' Peter passed his fingers through his hair.

  'Maybe she's already back in Japan,' said Travis.

  Willard leaned over the body, looked up suddenly. 'Japan? Do you think that's where she is?'

  Travis said, 'Hey, man, what happened to your fingers?'

  32

  Bubble Wrap Rap

  'He wasn't born this way,' said Giselle.

  'You're too good at your job,' said Peter. 'Who else could sell this asshole as an artist? My only regret is that I don't get to kill him.'

  They watched Fernandez checking himself in one of the gallery mirrors, trying his best to see his profile, then adjusting the hat he wore, a funny-looking sombrero affair. He pulled it high on his head, then to one side, then lowered it so it was just over his eyes.

  Giselle said, 'It wasn't hard. He does most of his own PR, the man actually believes he's a genius.'

  Fernandez noticed them, took off the hat and spun it into a corner. 'Hats will be back in fashion.'

  'Fernandez, how are you?' asked Peter.

  T
he man spent a moment kissing and hugging Giselle. 'Very well, thank you. I was just wondering which of the sculptures to take to the party.'

  'I thought you'd already decided.'

  'I'm not sure. My last exhibit. I think it should make an impression.'

  'I'm sure you'll have no problem making an impression,' said Giselle. 'The Retrospective Gallery in Tokyo is already interested in your last work.'

  Peter watched him frown, a kid trying to understand what one of the adults had said. 'You have all day, party isn't until eight. How's the packing going?'

  'Would be faster if these morons knew how to pack.' He went behind a counter, appeared with a roll of bubble wrap. 'You see this? For a canvas you need at least three layers and on the last layer the little bubbles go on the inside.'

  'I didn't know that,' said Peter.

  Fernandez said, 'You are a business man, not a removal man.'

  'Peter, I need to see the manager,' said Giselle.

  He stepped back and together they watched her disappear round the corner.

  The gallery was on a side street just off Jalan Maharajalela, a respectable part of the city where foreigners hadn't made too much of an impact. Fernandez had almost taken up residence here, making the gallery popular with his reality TV show. Sometimes you would see a line stretching around the block if he had a new exhibit.

  They walked down the corridor, through the main hall, packing crates piled in the corners, the floor covered in straw and curly bits of polystyrene.

  'Your last few days on Earth,' said Peter. 'How does it feel knowing you can never come back?'

  'Feels sad. But, you know, I always make the best of everything. I think within one week I'll have my apartment, new friends, it'll feel like I've lived there for years.'

  'They say the air and water is so clean you can live for an extra twenty years.'

  'I heard that too, and bad things. Like they have war already.'

  Peter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

  'Just some trouble with simulant workers. By the time you get there all that will be over.'

  Fernandez was distracted by the two naked girls tied up in the middle of the floor for a moment, arms above their heads from a rope that went over a beam. He felt the hair of the blonde girl, seemed unhappy with it, said, 'I could get some amazing pictures out of a war. What is it with pretty women who can't look after their hair? How much time does it take to shower and condition?'

  Peter thought she whispered 'help me', but he couldn't be sure. He followed Fernandez across the room. 'All you have to worry about is getting yourself and the best of your collection to the New World. Not forgetting Mr. Yamaguchi's grandson.'

  'Whose grandson? I'm sorry, I forget.'

  'Don't worry. Giselle is going with you to the airport. She'll take care of everything.'

  The man didn't seem focused, maybe too many late-night parties, or he was nervous about the flight.

  Peter left Fernandez when some of his friends had arrived and met Giselle out on the small car park. He checked his watch. It had just gone eight. 'Any problems with the manager?'

  'He's happy and miserable at the same time,' said Giselle, bending down for a second to adjust the strap on her shoe. 'He's finally getting Fernandez out of his building but he can see all the money he's going to lose.'

  Peter inspected his sunglasses for marks, slipped them on. 'They'll be others.'

  'Any news on Tomoko?'

  'Not yet.'

  'What are you going to do?'

  'I haven't decided yet.' Peter took the sunglasses off, polished away a mark with his handkerchief. 'I should kill her.'

  'It would solve a lot of problems.'

  'It would? Like what?'

  'She wouldn't be a pain in the ass any more.'

  'True. Tomoko will come to her senses. She'll return the tickets sometime today or tomorrow, and that'll be the end of it.'

  It was strange. He could imagine Jimmy's death so clearly, just like he'd seen Saigo's, but Tomoko's death was always different, like it never seemed obvious how it would happen. 'If this deal goes bad with Yamaguchi I might need her.'

  'Come on, Peter. She's good, but she's not that good.'

  Peter remembered the message and pulled his phone from a pocket.

  'Travis?' asked Giselle.

  'Yamaguchi's lawyer. Handle it, see what he wants.'

  'I heard about Patterson. It's an even bet she knows who the tickets are for, and that four of the seats are open.'

  He thought for a second, said, 'Double the security on Fernandez. See if you can get Dillinger.'

  'Dillinger from Newport? He's dead. You had Tomoko kill him when he was caught supplying information to those Boston boys.'

  'Yes. I did.' He needed to see Kameko, relax in her arms, make love. There were too many things to think about right now.

  A path ran from the other side of the parking area to the road, where two men were approaching from what looked like a silver BMW between the trees and bushes.

  'Let's go back inside,' he said.

  There was something about the way men walked when they were on a hit. If it was Tomoko coming to kill him he'd never know it. She'd be somewhere unseen, or she'd just be a woman on the street. Casual and deadly.

  He grabbed Giselle's wrist, but it was too late. 12 gauge shotgun cartridges shattered the windscreen on the car in front of them and peppered holes in the bonnet. Peter felt something sharp cutting across his side and forearm, the pain twisting him away from a second shot that blew out the car's passenger window and shredded the wing mirror.

  They'd opened fire too early. It gave Peter time to take cover, Giselle hugging a wheel. He rolled into a crouch and took Giselle's hand, pulling her toward him so he could get his arm around her waist and make a dash for the gallery doors.

  They were inside with only a couple of shots being fired, Giselle shouting for help. A man burst in, took a dozen steps, groaned when four or five rounds hit him in the chest. Through the glass doors, Peter could see the man's accomplice running across the car park and disappearing down a path. The two men placed at the gallery to watch Fernandez ran past, guns drawn and smoking, checking the man on the floor before going outside. They returned a minute later.

  'He got away,' said one, holstering his gun.

  'Call an ambulance,' said Giselle.

  Peter leaned against the wall, watching the blood dripping steadily from his fingertips. 'Leave it. It's not as bad as it looks.' He slipped off his jacket, pulling at his shirt so he could see what damage had been done to his side. It looked as though one pellet had nicked him and other cuts were from glass and flying splinters of metal from the car. 'Where's Fernandez?'

  A security guard appeared with a first aid box, gave it to Giselle. She tore open a packet of gauze with her teeth and pressed it to Peter's side.

  'Where's Fernandez?' she asked the guard.

  He said, 'He's in the coffee shop across the street. Spink's with him.'

  'Go over there,' said Peter. 'Get yourself a coffee and make sure everything's okay.'

  'You think they were here for Fernandez?' asked Giselle. She applied a dressing to the wound on his forearm. The white lint turned red.

  'They came for me.' Peter could feel the pain now, in his arm and a stinging cut on his face. 'They must have heard about Tomoko's killing spree and thought I'd become an easy target.'

  He walked to the reception down the hall, the others following, thinking about how Tomoko could have started something bigger than she intended. He leaned against the desk, trying to ignore the pain, but he was feeling dizzy and sick in his stomach. The other gangs were thinking he was becoming weak, that this was a good time to make their move. Maybe Tomoko was working with them. He spoke softly to Giselle to arrange a car to take him to the hospital.

  He stood straight, nodding to the guards, waiting for some kind of response. 'Two cars destroyed in two days. It's almost more of an insult than people trying to kill me.' He
gestured to the body on the floor down the hall. 'Get that piece of shit out of here. Giselle, call Travis and tell him to get more people looking for Tomoko. Our people.'

  He'd had enough of incompetent foreign bums, it was time to drag his own people out of the bars and casinos, get them back to what they were good at. People who'd sworn an oath and were loyal to him, men who lived for the gang and for nothing else.

  He sat on the chair behind the desk, rocking a little on the springs, wondering what Tomoko had started and how she could be involved. She was working to a plan, he was sure of it. He'd have to contact Travis and find out about this guy called Martin. They needed to make him talk, find out what connections he had, what he knew about Tomoko.

  Giselle brought him a drink of water from a cooler, leaning close to tell him Mao and Sung were on the way in a bullet-proof car.

  Peter noticed a woman peering through the main doors.

  'See what she wants,' said Peter.

  One of the security guards went over and tapped on the glass. 'Closed,' he said.

  The woman asked him something.

  'She wants to know where Fernandez is,' he called.

  'She'll be a fan,' said Giselle. 'Tell her anything.'

  They had the body wrapped in plastic now, dragging him down the corridor. Piece of shit. Peter took a sip of water.

  'Find out who did this. Find Jimmy Ho, and find Tomoko.'

  33

  One Old Dog . . .

  The doctor had a unit on an abandoned industrial estate, a dark, grease-smelling hole that his customers liked to call 'the chop shop'. Peter just called it 'the doctor's'.

  He paused inside the entrance, the metal door slowly rolling closed behind him, lit his cigar with a match. He knew it would illuminate his face, giving the men in here a brief moment to recognise him. He checked that it was evenly lit before taking a long, slow drag. He'd wait a moment.

  He had his arm in a sling, not that he needed to. The wounds were only slight, cuts and abrasions that required a dozen stitches in all, but it felt more comfortable. A Band-Aid on his cheek covered a cut. There was movement from inside, maybe Travis, although the man had said that he probably would have left by the time he got there. Lights from instrument panels flickered and now and then he could hear the hum of automech servos, the tap of metal touching metal.