Death Trip (14 page)

The young porter girl was frantically trying to find her clothes and cover herself. Her back was bleeding, her body shaking so violently that her hands could not tie her sarong. Saw’s men were banging their fists on the platform and shouting for Saw to rape the woman. Saw pulled Anna up by her arm. There was no stopping him now. He had reached the point of no return. He was like a wounded animal and wanted to hurt others.

‘NO!’ Jake kicked out at Saw as he dragged Anna up to her feet. ‘Let her GO!’

Jake’s voice came out so deep that it sounded strange to his own ears and Saw turned to look at him, almost as if he had never seen him before. Then he turned back to Anna. Anna looked him in the eye and spat. Saw closed his eyes and, when he reopened them, Jake thought that he would kill her—but instead he smiled and savoured her phlegm as if it were a flurry of snow on his face on a hot summer’s day. Laughing, he pushed her to the floor and walked back across to the young porter who was sobbing as she saw him coming. She had nowhere left to run. Saw held her down and ripped
her sarong away. He held her face to the ground as he pressed his weight on her and raped her. The girl’s screams turned to deep guttural sobs as she endured the agony of her first sexual encounter and her last. After Saw was finished she lay where she was, her body shaking from the attack, her face still squashed into the ground, her legs open. Blood seeped into the floor beneath her narrow hips. He looked at his men and nodded towards the other female porters and the fight for them began.

But Saw’s disappointment and his anger were unappeased. The porter girl had been just an appetiser for him and now his eyes and his thoughts turned back to Anna and Silke. Saw looked over and Jake could see his eyes searching and finding what he wanted as he pushed his way through his men. He strode over to the five and stood panting, his eyes rabid, his body sweating. He looked first at Anna, grinned and then he reached down and cut Silke’s bonds and dragged her out from where she hid behind Thomas. He pulled her, screaming, across to where the men were fighting over the porters as if they were scraps of meat. He threw her down with the other women. The men ceased their squabbling for a few seconds as they twisted their heads this way and that and watched who would claim Silke—the best prize. Handsome stepped forward and the rest of the men stepped back. Handsome ran his hand over Silke’s blonde hair and then he twisted his fingers in it and dragged her to her feet. Saw moved to stand beside him. His eyes were alight with madness. Handsome waited for Saw’s decision. Would he be allowed to claim the prize? Would he be shown the favour he craved?

Saw laughed. A grin spread across Handsome’s face, but not for long.

‘Tie her up,’ Saw ordered and Silke was dragged away to the far end of the platform where she was stripped and tied to one of the roof struts. She stood naked, her head bowed, shaking with the fear as she pleaded for her life. Across from her, Thomas screamed and frantic ally tried to untie his bonds but his wrists and ankles were bleeding and all he could do was sink to his knees and scream at the men to stop. All he could do was cry for his sister. He could not help her, none of them could. Silke looked over to him.

‘Be brave, Thomas,’ she mouthed. ‘I love you, little brother.’

By the time Shrimp came back the next afternoon, there was nothing left of Summer’s bar: bottles, mirrorballs and plastic palms lay broken in piles on the pavement. Summer was sweeping up the worst of the mess.

‘Summer?’ Shrimp stood at the entrance.

‘Yes, honey?’ Summer stopped and looked up.

‘What happened?’

‘Two men from the Thai boxing stadium showed up after you left. Big ugly types, one was the main fighter down there, the other is his coach. They trashed my bar and said I shouldn’t be mixing with trouble makers.’

‘I’m so sorry, Summer.’

Summer shrugged and smiled kindly at him as she resumed her sweeping.

‘You didn’t do it, honey. It was those two animals.’

‘Yes, but I should have known they’d be watching. Did they hurt you?’

‘Just a little.’ She turned her face to one side and Shrimp could see that, underneath all the makeup, her face was swollen. ‘It’s the end for me now, honey.’ She stopped
and looked around at the remnants of her bar and then she looked at the pile of debris. ‘I have no money and no way of doing it all over again. Those thugs have finished me this time. They won, I lost.’

‘You haven’t lost yet, Summer. Get around all those who have been cheated out of their livelihood. One of them must have some record of it all. I need to know who is behind this and who was responsible for swindling you and the others out of your businesses. It isn’t right. When people give to charities they expect it to go to the people who need it, not to local bullies and corrupt police.’

Shrimp was mad angry when he left Summer and headed down towards Patong Beach. People all over the world had given money towards the tsunami relief—the last thing they wanted was for it to end up destroying lives rather than rebuilding them. The beach was straight ahead, at the end of the road. For a few seconds Shrimp’s anger vanished as he spied the rectangle of heaven: white sand, blue sky and turquoise sea, sandwiched between the buildings. He pushed his sporty Ray Bans up on top of his head where they rested on the stiff peaks of hair gel. The beach was just beginning to empty a little. The sun loungers were being dusted off and moved back into orderly rows.

He was about to cross Thaweewong Road, the main road that ran alongside Patong Beach, when he was almost trampled by the entourage of promoters and trainers who were handing out leaflets advertising an upcoming Thai boxing bout. On the top of the brightly decorated van that was accompanying them down the
road was a tough-looking boxer sparring with an imaginary opponent, ‘El Supremo’ written on his bright blue shiny shirt. A man whose T-shirt proclaimed him to be the coach and who was holding a loudhailer was announcing, in his none too perfect English
,
‘Thursday, six o’clock, ten thousand dollars to win. Anyone win. Come, be lucky…’

Shrimp stared hard at them. From Summer’s description of them, these looked to be the men who had beaten her up and trashed the bar. Shrimp followed the van for a bit as it carried on towards a brand new Thai boxing stadium that he could see at the end of the beach. Once he was certain it was the right people, he turned right and walked along past a salsa bar where a few lads were enjoying a hair of the dog, and past the police immigration department. It seemed to have been made of sterner stuff than anything else along the beach, and had needed very little repair after the tsunami. He came to Patong Beach Road and followed it up and off to the left where it branched out. He’d already passed two Indian tailors, who seemed to be able to survive any world disaster. Shrimp had already spent all his money with them, buying a bespoke suit in three different styles. The only bar on the lane that he could see had an open front and heavy wooden stools. An old wooden carved Cherokee Indian stood outside.

A young Thai waitress in a very short version of the traditional leather-beaded dress, a string of white shells around her neck, stepped out and greeted him with an open arm and a bow. He looked at the name above the door. Wampums.

‘Sawat di kha.’ She bowed. ‘Please come inside, sir.’

Shrimp looked at his guide book. ‘I was looking for a bar named Summer’s. It was supposed to be up here.’

The girl looked like she either hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood—he didn’t know which.

‘Summer’s
,
’ Shrimp repeated, taking a step closer inside the entrance to the bar.

‘Sorry, not here now.’

‘But this
used
to be Summer’s bar before the tsunami?’

The girl looked nervous and gave another plastic laugh, but she didn’t answer.

‘That’s okay. I’ll come in anyway,’ said Shrimp.

The waitress stood back to allow him to enter, bowing as he passed. Ahead was a carved bar with totem poles as struts. The barman was a young Thai. He was in the process of trying to grow a moustache but it just wasn’t happening. He had an explosion of acne over his forehead that had formed into crop circles.

Shrimp sat at the wooden bar and read the barman’s name badge.

‘Hi…Lamon. How ya doin’?’ Lamon didn’t answer. ‘Diet Coke please.’

Whilst the barman fixed Shrimp’s drink, Shrimp picked up a pen from the other side of the bar and wrote ‘SUMMERS?’ in large letters on a barmat. Lamon walked over, Coke in hand, and went to put the glass down on the mat. Then he read what Shrimp had written. Lamon scrutinised the mat and quickly pushed it back across the bar towards Shrimp. ‘This bar is Wampums.’

‘This…’ Shrimp tapped his finger on the bar. ‘This used to be Summer’s bar?’

The barman shrugged. Shrimp was feeling irritated now. ‘Seems to be a problem with getting information here,’ he said. As he did so, he saw Lamon’s eyes focus on something behind Shrimp’s shoulder. Shrimp realised he wasn’t alone. A voice came from behind.

‘What information you need?’

Shrimp turned to see two men stood close behind him. He recognised them from the Thai boxing van. One was the boxer, El Supremo, the other was the man with the loudhailer. El Supremo had obviously taken a few less blows to the head than the other man, but he’d evidently not worn a mouthguard and had had to have most of his teeth replaced with gold ones. Coach clearly hadn’t been able to afford it, so he tried not to smile. Shrimp swivelled around to face them.

‘I am on holiday here. I was told to look up Summer’s bar. I was told it was a great place to hang out, meet nice people—like you guys.’ Shrimp smiled his most pleasant grin. It worked on Coach—he smiled back enthusiastically whilst trying to keep his top lip down to hide his lack of teeth. El Supremo didn’t look like he knew how to smile. He also looked like he had once failed to notice a particularly nasty right hook coming at him; it had all but collapsed his eye socket and meant that he had to turn his head just slightly to the right to get Shrimp in focus.

‘No more questions. You have finished your drink. Time to go.’ El Supremo took a step closer towards Shrimp.

Shrimp looked at his half-drunk Coke and shrugged. He looked over at Lamon who was smudging the glasses with a cloth rather than cleaning them.

‘It isn’t Diet you know. You’ve given me regular.’

‘Finish?’ Coach asked.

‘Sure. No lemon, no ice, regular Coke—not much of a first impression. And the girl’s outfit? Yuk!’ Shrimp hopped off the stool.

He walked back along the beach and into the police station. A couple of roughed-up-looking Thai lads were sitting in the corner, staring at the floor. The officer behind the desk looked up at Shrimp, puzzled.

‘I want to report an assault.’

The policeman looked past Shrimp and grinned. Shrimp turned to see two heavily-armed policemen were waiting for him to finish.

Magda held Alfie’s hand tight as she listened to the sound of his breathing. She leant forward and kissed the back of his hand as she whispered his name. His eyelids twitched. She knew he was struggling to come back to her. A minute later he managed to lift his long blond lashes and smile as he squeezed her hand.

Magda gasped with relief. ‘I thought I’d lost you, Alfie.’

‘No. I am still here.’ He smiled sleepily. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘Twenty-four hours. You had to have a blood transfusion and an operation. You were in a bad way. You nearly lost a kidney.’

‘Only nearly?’ he grinned. ‘They could have made an effort.’ He tried to laugh but grimaced instead as the pain registered.

‘It’s not funny, Alfie. You were lucky you were wearing your old leather jacket.’

Alfie looked cross. ‘Did they wreck it? Fucking bastards. I’ve had that jacket since I was a boy. It’s my lucky jacket. I pulled you when I was wearing it.’

She smiled. ‘It saved your life, Alfie. That’s what I call really lucky.’

He lifted her hand to kiss it. ‘I am sorry to make you worry. I’ll be home later today.’

‘Alfie, don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to have to stay in at least a couple of days.’

‘Tell them I’ll sign myself out. Listen to me, Magda. This takes the whole thing to another level now. Something is happening here, to us, to Jake. I want you to look at what that bitch Katrien is doing.’ He stopped talking and looked at her face. ‘What is it?’

Magda reached into her bag beside the bed and pulled out a newspaper. ‘I got the paper this morning on the way here.’ She unfolded it and looked at the front page. ‘It’s about Schiphol airport and the planned extensions. I was looking at the photo to see if my friend Lena was amongst the protesters yesterday—she usually is—but then I looked at the picture closely and I saw this…’

She showed Alfie the photo. In between two protesters with placards he saw someone he recognised, on her way into Departures. It was Katrien.

‘Fucking hell! The sneaky little bitch. Right, I am getting up,’ he said, sitting up too fast and wincing with the pain in his back and side. He leant back on the pillow and closed his eyes for a few seconds to allow the pain to ease. ‘Contact the paper and ask them what time this photo was taken, contact the editor and ask…Ouch!’ Alfie grimaced as the pain in his side increased.

‘It’s okay, Alfie. I rang the airport already. The only flight leaving for Asia during the following six hours
was going to Kuala Lumpur and I checked on the internet. They are still running flights to Thailand from there. It must be something to do with Jake, Alfie. It has to be.’

Katrien stepped out onto the tarmac and smiled to herself; it was good to be home. Now she was back for good. She hadn’t expected to have to get out of Amsterdam on such short notice. She had been hoping to tie up a few loose ends—but she’d managed one at least. Now she’d burnt her bridges and she was home for good. They could investigate her all they liked. They’d never find her in the Burmese jungle.

She checked in her bag and pulled out Johnny Mann’s card. His mobile number and his satellite phone number were on it. When the time was right, she would make that call.

She looked around for her ride. She had someone special waiting for her. This was the start of her new life. She smiled to herself. She had done a good job of playing the men. She prided herself in being able to juggle them all and come out the winner. But then, after all, men were like dogs, they only ever wanted the same things. If you knew that, you could lead
them anywhere. She looked around for her lift and saw him. He was out of uniform. Shame, he never looked so handsome out of it. He was touching his moustache the way he always did when he was nervous.