Death Trip (27 page)

Alfie stopped opposite the entrance to a shop stacked with ceremonial dragon heads used for Chinese New Year, massive heads with bulbous fish eyes rimmed with white and orange fur.

He looked again at the details Ng had faxed over to him. The Golden Orchid Company was registered to an address in Chinatown.

Yes, that was the place. He crossed the road. The door clanged with a series of tinny bells as he opened it. The shop was dark and crammed with Chinese wares. They were obviously not expecting customers. A young, slim Chinese woman, who was unloading a box of jewellery as he entered, looked startled.

‘Good morning,’ Alfie said with a big smile. She didn’t answer; instead she rose swiftly and exited twice as swiftly to a room at the back.

Strands of pearls were lying on the counter alongside jade jewellery items and mini Buddhas. Alfie examined the merchandise.

‘We are closed.’

Alfie looked up to see a man, similar in ethnicity,
but not the one the Bitch had met. He spoke good Dutch.

‘Really?’ Alfie looked around.

The man didn’t answer. Alfie held a bunch of pearls in his hand and weighed them in the air.

‘You have some nice things here. Where do they come from?’

‘Hong Kong.’

Alfie looked at the script on the tag attached to the pearls. It wasn’t Chinese writing. It was very distinct, ornate, rounded, almost Arabic. The man saw him looking.

‘Some of it comes from other countries in Asia. What is your business?’

‘Mine? Customs and Excise. I want to know whether you have paid the taxes on these things.’ Alfie fished in his jacket and got out his warrant card and flashed it briefly. Brief enough to show it was legitimate but not to show which division.

‘We have import papers for it all.’

‘I will need to see them.’

‘They will take some time to find.’

‘I can wait.’ Alfie knelt down to look at the front of the box that the girl had been emptying. On it was the crest of the Golden Orchid Company.

‘Burma, huh? You still are managing to do business with them despite the troubles?’

The man shrugged. ‘The world will always have troubles, my friend. Business must go on.’

Alfie could see that his eyes were black, lightless.
He was a man unmoved by human tragedy. He seemed to be weighing Alfie up. Then, clearly irritated, he called for someone from the back room. The slim girl reappeared, looking very nervous. The man spoke sharply to her and she stared at Alfie with a pleading look. The man spoke even more sharply and she turned on her heels and scampered off.

She returned with a few pieces of paper which she gave to the man and which he passed on to Alfie.

‘Can I keep these?’

‘Why should you need to? They are legitimate import documents. You can see by the stamp.’ The man gestured towards the paper. Across the grubby pages was a red stamp and a scribbled signature.

‘I want to check it, that’s all. I will give you a receipt for them.’

‘Take them if you want but there is a lot of work for you here. Surely there is something I can give you to ease your work. I can make a donation to your police fund maybe?’

The man’s eyes stayed focused on Alfie as Alfie stared back for a few seconds and then grinned.

‘Like I said, I will take these.’

Alfie stepped out of the shop. Folding the papers in his hand, he slipped them into the inside of his jacket and walked back towards the station. He wanted to fax them straight over to Ng.

Shrimp stood at the entrance to the boxing ring. An orchestra of five were playing traditional Thai music in the corner. There was a good crowd, maybe around one hundred and fifty, mainly locals—tourists were thin on the ground. A queue of hopefuls was already limbering up at the side of the ring.

Shrimp found himself an empty seat.

The live orchestra banged cymbals and jangled off-key percussions. After an hour Shrimp was no longer sat on his own, he was squashed beside a family who had brought their supper with them. They seemed keen to adopt him and share their dinner with him. There was a change of tempo in the music; something was about to happen. Then Shrimp saw El Supremo, ready for fighting. There was a big roll of the drums and clashing of cymbals as he stepped up into the ring, Coach at his side. Following them into the ring were two squaws, with thonged sandals criss-crossed up their legs and wearing very short, beaded leather dresses. One of them was carrying an open case full of money which she displayed to the crowd as she walked around the sides of the ring. There were gasps of
excitement as the crowd surged forward to get a look at the prize money, more than five years’ wages for most. Then the list of contenders was read out. A few hopefuls came out and one by one they tried their luck against El Supremo. He annihilated each one in turn. The crowd were becoming glum and disappointed by the time Coach got into the ring and held up his hands for calm.

‘El Supremo is undefeated,’ he shouted. ‘Anyone else want a go?’

There were murmurings but lots of head shakings until Summer stepped into the ring.

‘I have someone to fight.’

There was a chorus of catcalls. The orchestra went mad with the cymbals.

‘Who?’

Coach eyed Summer’s girls, who were standing behind her.

‘Me,’ Shrimp called out as he shuffled to the end of the row, amidst much support from his newfound family members. El Supremo watched him approach and began to laugh. Shrimp reached the side of the ring and slipped out of his trousers to reveal pink boxing shorts. The crowd went wild. El Supremo threw his arms up and refused to fight Shrimp, who had come without a teacher to observe the proper ceremony.

‘I’m here, honey.’ Summer stepped up and into the ring in pink glitter shorts and a sequined boobtube. She held the headband, a pink scarf with VOGUE written on the front, in both hands and bowed.

Shrimp returned her bow. ‘Thank you, teacher,’ he said and there was a roar of approval from the crowds.

‘Do you know what I do in this bit?’ whispered Shrimp. The music struck up a cheery off-beat jangle.

‘You bow to me. Go to each corner, bow, pay your respects. Then go in the centre of the ring, kneel towards your home, Hong Kong, whichever way that is, and look like you’re praying. Get up, strike a pose, baby, and then bow three times. Then that’s it. Lots of luck, honey.’ She leant over, kissed his cheek.

El Supremo was seething. He performed his prefight ceremony with ill-grace and when he came to Summer’s corner he stamped his foot aggressively. The crowd roared and booed.

‘What is it?’ asked Shrimp. Summer looked upset but kept smiling for his sake.

‘Don’t you worry, honey. Here’s your gloves.’ Shrimp held out one arm at a time for her to put them on.

‘Summer?’ Shrimp could see the look on her face.

‘Stamping means this is not ordinary fight.’

‘How?’

‘It ain’t nice, sugar. He intends to kill you.’

Shrimp heard music, Elvis Presley was singing about returning to sender. ‘Wait…that’s my phone. Check it for me, Summer.’

Summer pulled the phone from Shrimp’s trousers at the side of the ring.

‘It’s a message, honey. From a man named Ng. You want me read it?’

‘Yes.’

‘It says: “Mann in trouble. Go to Mae Sot.”’

Summer put the phone away and tightened up the laces on Shrimp’s boxing gloves.

‘You all right, honey?’

Shrimp nodded. ‘Let’s get this over with, Summer.’

‘Such a brave boy…’ Summer kissed his cheek. ‘Now just remember, sugar, he may look mean and big, and he’s definitely ugly, but you got me and the girls on your side. Just do your best.’ Summer’s girls were practising their cheerleading routine. Only July really nailed it—June had no coordination at all.

‘They’re calling you over.’ Summer finished with the gloves.

El Supremo made the first strike. He caught Shrimp off-guard with a turn and a flip foot in Shrimp’s stomach. As Shrimp doubled up, El Supremo brought his left-hook up under Shrimp’s chin. Shrimp hadn’t reckoned on it being so tough. As El Supremo launched another series of hooks and upper cuts, Shrimp blocked them with his foot and a screech of delight went up from Summer and her girls. For a second, Shrimp lost concentration and, when he attempted to block an elbow next time, El Supremo caught his foot in midair and twisted it. Shrimp felt the pain as El Supremo leapt in the air and brought his elbow in like a spur into the side of Shrimp’s thigh. Shrimp spun out of El Supremo’s reach to give him time to recover.

It was then that Shrimp began to think that he may have been a little hasty in thinking that he could learn enough, quickly enough to give it a go. El Supremo came forward and Shrimp tried to distract him with a fluttering of arm movements. El Supremo mocked him and goaded Shrimp to punch him. Geed on by Summer, Shrimp jabbed El Supremo in what he thought was a
good attempt, but El Supremo ducked and brought an elbow up into Shrimp’s throat. Shrimp staggered back and began jogging around the ring, skipping sideways to give him time to recover. The crowd didn’t like it but, without being able to throw a good punch, Shrimp was doomed. It had just dawned on Shrimp that he was actually going to be beaten to a pulp if he didn’t think of tactics soon. If he couldn’t use his gloves, he had to try the knee and, after making a few preliminary small kicks to the side of El Supremo’s shins, he leapt forward and brought his knee up into El Supremo’s jaw. Summer and the girls shrieked and started pom-pomming with their pink balls. But now El Supremo was hurt as well as irritated and he didn’t wait—he held on to Shrimp’s head and locked it down as he began an assault with his knee into Shrimp’s chest. But Shrimp was used to that. He had hardened his body, his abdominal muscles were like iron, he used the few seconds it gave him to plan his final assault. He could hear El Supremo breathing hard. Shrimp was tiring him out by making him chase him—now Shrimp had to do what El Supremo least expected. He expected Shrimp to use his feet. Shrimp knew there was one place he could cause enough damage to have a chance—El Supremo’s left eye, his blind spot. As Shrimp covered his face with his gloves and bent double to guard against the knees pummelling his body, he prepped his feet, made them solid, evenly weighted, and then he bent his knees and jumped as high as he could, knocking El Supremo back a few inches. Shrimp twisted his body in the air. Putting all his strength and force into the power in his arm and glove, he threw a
punch into the left side of El Supremo’s head. El Supremo’s legs began to wobble, his arms went down to his sides; he fell to his knees and then flat on his face.

A massive roar went up and Summer and the girls invaded the ring. A squaw handed him the case of money and Summer lifted his arm high in the air and paraded him around the ring. The girls came in for a group hug.

‘We gonna buy you a drink, sugar.’

Shrimp raised up his hands to speak. The crowd fell silent.

‘All of you who were cheated into giving up your businesses, cheated by these men…’ He pointed to El Supremo and Coach ‘…and their masters, the corrupt politicians, the greedy police, the people who cashed in and sold your businesses and your homes from under your feet, they will pay. I want you to know that I have informed the international charities commission and have begun law suits on your behalf. When the world knows what these men and women did they will have nowhere to hide. Their time will be up and the money that should have been yours will be returned. The overseas companies involved, like NAP, will be forced to make amends for what they did. We will get your businesses and your homes back. These men are on the way out.’

There was a big roar from the crowd. Shrimp turned to Summer.

‘I have to go, but…
I’ll be back
,’ he said in his best Arnie accent. He handed the case of money to Summer. ‘Buy yourself a new bar and save me a stool.’

Sue felt the eerie stillness of the forest and eyes watching her as she pushed Louis’s body out into the current and watched it being quickly swallowed by the fast-moving river. She looked about her; she was scared. She had been in the jungle many times, but never on her own and never at a point that felt like the end of the world. Everyone dying, everything changing. Nothing would ever be the same. She was frightened to continue but a nagging voice in her head said she must. Something inside her urged her forward—if she had been meant to die, it would have happened already, and she desperately wanted to find Mann.

She got out her map and compass and checked the coordinates that Mo had given her. Alak had given a pretty accurate description of their whereabouts when he had spoken to Mo. She had no need to take the detour to the old refinery as they had done before. Now she could follow the river and take a more direct route towards Gee’s village and hopefully she would find Mann on the way. Another half a day should see her there.

She would give it till mid-afternoon. If she didn’t find any trace of Mann by then, then she would turn back.

In the early afternoon, just as the sun began to make its way westward, she came across a place that had been a campsite. It had been used for a few days. It was definitely theirs; Run Run’s bag was there, Alak’s radio. Sue went over to see if it worked. It didn’t. There were the remnants of a fire. Several people had recently hung their hammocks here but now there was no one left, just their footprints. A monkey carrying its young stared down at her.

Sue looked down towards the river. She wondered if Mann’s body had gone the same way as Louis’s. All around her she felt a sense of dread. She would speed along the way back and hope that Saw and his men did not find her first.

Mo smashed the rum bottle.

‘There will be no more drinking now.’ She had just finished listening on the radio. ‘That bastard Boon Nam is near. I heard him talking on the radio. He is tracking Saw Wah Say. He is going to kill the hostages. We must decide what will be best. We are not enough of us to attack both of them. We cannot take on two armies. We will track Boon Nam and trust in others to take care of Saw and recover whoever is left of the hostages. We will hope to give them one last chance. We will have our day of glory, huh, Phara?’

Mo turned back to look at Phara. Phara’s eyes said it all, her lip quivering as she nodded, unable to answer. Mo sniffed, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and looked out on the swirling river that was taking away her daughter’s ashes. Now they circled and swirled as they met with Alak’s and joined. Mo shouted across the wide river, her voice breaking.

‘Listen to me, spirit of the river. I give you my only daughter, Run Run. You keep her safe and you give her all she needs and…’ She bowed her head for a few
seconds, her shoulders heaved, then she looked up again and spoke, quieter this time. ‘You tell her to marry her love in the peaceful wash of your moonlit banks. Tell her to be joined forever with Alak. Look after her, river spirit.’

As the plumes of ashes entwined and were swallowed by the rushing water, Mo turned away from the river.

‘Phara…call the women together. We go to war.’