Death Trip (31 page)

Mann sat in King’s bar and ordered a vodka. He played with the phone in his hand and stared at the screen. He finally rang Ng.

‘Tell me it straight.’

‘Okay, Genghis…Your father was one of a syndicate, the Golden Orchid. They had business concerns in Burma and Thailand. They traded in teak, artefacts, toys, anything…’

‘And opium.’

‘Yes, and opium. Deming handled the distribution at the Amsterdam end. He was responsible for getting it out to the rest of Europe.’

‘Who else was in the syndicate?’

‘The only one left alive is Split-lip Lok. He said that when the books started not adding up and the money dried up they realised what he’d done. He’d been giving the money away, turning the company back to selling locally-made produce: toys, baskets, you know the kind of thing. Split-lip said something happened to Deming in Amsterdam. That’s when it all changed.’

‘Shit, Ng. Who the hell was he? I feel sick to my stomach when I think of my father.’

Ng paused at the other end of the phone. ‘He was a Hong Kong businessman who got in too deep. Getting out cost him his life. He was naïve.’

‘He was a triad,’ said Mann. ‘Once a triad always a triad. He should have known that. No one leaves a society. They killed him because he went against orders. They killed him because he tried to get out.’

Mann closed his phone, finished his drink, and asked Eric to call him a cab. He had one last place to go.

Mann took off his shoes and entered the temple in the grounds of the Enlightenment Centre. The monk smiled at him as he entered and greeted him with a small bow of the head. Mann bowed low.

‘I have come to say thank you.’ The monk studied Mann and smiled.

‘You have come far on your journey.’

‘Yes.’

‘Walk with me.’ The monk got slowly up from his seat and walked out of the temple. Mann followed. The sun beat down on them, the sky was azure blue.

‘Remember, Johnny Mann.’ The monk turned to him and smiled. ‘Holding on to anger is like holding on to a hot coal—you are the one who is burned.’

The old woman was there again, with the baskets of birds. She stepped into Mann’s path and held up a basket with a dusty sparrow, flapping its wings in distress.

Mann looked at her and nodded. She opened the cage and the bird flew up and away into the cloudless sky.

‘Free bird, free soul.’

‘How is she?’

Mann waited with Alfie in the kitchen as Jake went into the bedroom to see his mum. He had been in there for over an hour.

‘She has hung on just long enough. It was as if the minute she knew he was safe, she let go. She has only a few days left now.’

‘I’m sorry, Alfie.’

Alfie took a deep breath and nodded. His eyes were red-rimmed. His shoulders rose and fell as he began to cry and then he stopped himself. He stood and went to the window to look out. The trees had all come into blossom on the street outside.

Jake appeared in the doorway. His face was stained with tears.

‘Mum wants to see you, Johnny.’

Mann gave Jake a hug as he passed him.

Magda was in her bed. She had lost a lot of weight. Her cheeks were hollowed, her eyes sunken and dark.

She smiled at him. He sat beside her on the bed.

‘Thank you, Johnny. Are you okay?’ He had a lump
in his throat and couldn’t answer. Her face was ashen. The silk scarf around her head was pale blue like her eyes. They seemed to reflect a sky in some distant world. He nodded and tried a smile. She wasn’t buying it. She put her hand on his. ‘This has been so difficult for you, I know. To find out so many things about your father, a lot of them not good. I understand how you must feel. I have felt it too. I have thought about it over and over. Who was Deming? Who was he really? I wanted to make sense of it before I die.’ She thought for a few seconds before continuing. ‘I realised that I only knew a part of him. But that part was good. And maybe you can’t ask to know everything about everyone. You can’t and you shouldn’t. Everyone needs their secrets. Do you think you will be able to forgive him?’

Mann looked down as he thought about the answer and he shook his head.

‘I just don’t know, Magda. I despise triads with every bone in my body. To find that Deming was one, albeit one who tried to change, it’s going to take time for me to get my head around it.’

‘Please try for Jake’s sake and for mine.’

He nodded and looked into her eyes, cloudy as the early morning mist veiling a blue summer’s day. ‘The one thing I am certain about, Magda, is that Deming loved you. You are the reason why he wanted to change. You and the boys were the reason why he wanted to stop being a triad.’

‘And the reason he was killed?’

Mann shrugged. ‘It was his choice, Magda, he played with fire and he got burned. But then we wouldn’t be
sat here now if he hadn’t, would we?’ He smiled at her concerned face. ‘And I am very glad to have known you and proud to have Jake as my brother.’

She squeezed his hand and she sighed and her eyes went to the open window; the scent of spring was in the air.

‘I am so scared of dying, Johnny.’

He shook his head. He fought hard to stay in control of his emotions. He took a deep breath and took her hand in both of his as he smiled at her.

‘Let me tell you something, Magda. When I was dying in the jungle I had a dream. I saw Daniel in that dream. He came to bring me back to the living. He wanted to show me that he was content, he was happy. He will be watching and waiting for you. Don’t be scared.’

Magda turned away as a tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she listened to the sound of children playing on the street below. Then she turned back and smiled.

‘Thank you, Johnny.’

Mann got up to leave. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead as he whispered: ‘Bye, Magda.’

Magda looked up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘Jake’s going to need you when I’m gone, Johnny.’

Mann nodded and swallowed hard.

‘And I will always be there for him, Magda; he’s my brother.’

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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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins
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2009

Copyright © Lee Weeks 2009

Lee Weeks asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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EPub Edition © AUGUST 2009 ISBN: 978-0-007-33460-5

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