FEARLESS FINN'S MURDEROUS ADVENTURE (49 page)

Shit! Oh God! I don’t want to die! Why did I have to run into Finn Flynn? Next time I see him he’s probably going to kill me, or hurt me bad like. I’m not a coward, not really…but I don’t like being hurt. Who does?

Of course Finn Flynn doesn’t seem to mind a bit of pain. I don’t think it bothers him to get beaten black and blue, just so long as he wins. When he was mud wrestling at the Frog and Toad Mud Olympics he flung himself against all those rugger buggers from Jardine Matheson. He was getting kicked, punched and dragged through the mud by four of the biggest bastards I’ve ever seen – not that he’s exactly small himself. Finn was spitting out mud and blood and laughing his head off, and one by one he floored the big bastards. When he was done he danced in the mud, waving his torn shorts above his head like some William Wallace…or the Fionn mac Cumhaill fellah my granny was always going on about.

I wish I’d never adopted a poncy English accent. If I hadn’t gone to the technical college in Reading, and had just worked in the co-op, none of this would be happening. Or I could have joined the railway I suppose, like the rest of them. No, no…perhaps not the railway.

God, I’m going to die. I just know it!

———

The more I think about Susie – her kindness, generosity, love of life – the less guilty I feel about what I’m planning for Paul Wills, the Judas. Susie used to call Paul ‘a designer’s clothes peg’, and sometimes she commented on his ‘sartorial arrangements’, but she never had a bad word to say about him. In fact, she never had a bad word to say about anyone.

Exactly how I am going to pull this off will have to be worked out later. But it can’t be too complicated to set people up; the police do it all the time. If Paul gets caught he’d probably do less time in Holland, but jail time might be easier done in England. Such a handsome lad…he’d be the belle of the ball with the boys in Her Majesty’s Prison Wormwood Scrubs. At least he’d survive – sore of arse and limp of wrist – but he’d survive.

Putting a round in the back of Paul’s head would be simpler. I probably wouldn’t even feel as bad about it, apart from leaving that sweet little girl without a dad. Paul’s only a part-time dad, but part-time or not, he and his daughter love each other. That was obvious during the Frog and Toad trip….

Mac collected me at Gerrards Cross Railway Station and suggested driving back to London. It gave us a chance to discuss the Paul Wills situation in private; Mac agrees with the plan. And the more I think about the sleazy, dishonourable plan I’m about to set in motion, the more I think it’s justified. No, it’s more than justified, it’s honourable…well, almost.

———

I mostly just listened to Finn as we drove to London. That traitor Paul Wills is lucky, he’s probably going to live. I can’t say I disagree with Finn’s plan, but I was hoping he’d forget the heroin altogether…with Ingrid dying from the heroin overdose.

When we were all together in Brighton there was nothing about Ingrid to make you think she’d end up a junkie. The way I look at it, it’s down to two things – bad genes and addictive personalities. Some people who drink and take drugs will become alcoholics, heroin addicts and the like, and some won’t. That’s all in the genes. But impatient people who have addictive personalities – those who can’t wait for whatever they want, they have to have it now, straight away, immediately – they can easily turn to drink and drugs. They need instant gratification. Isn’t that what they call it? I reckon that when they bawled their heads off in their prams some eejits picked them up immediately. They cried and got what they wanted – gratification, satisfaction, fulfilment. The squeaky wheel gets the oil…and the junkie gets the fix.

Anyway, it doesn’t do to question Finn when he’s in one of his moods…and he always gets in a mood after popping some wee bastard, or when he’s planning something. But it never bothers me, so it doesn’t. He can be a bit of a deep thinker, asking himself and meself if we should have topped this one or that one. Finn thinks that by killing them we kill any chance of them getting to be better people. Feck them – that’s my motto. They shouldn’t have been doing whatever it was they were doing in the first place.

But to tell the truth, right now I’m more interested in a big steak and a nice sleep. A bit of luxury at Claridge’s won’t go astray…with the day that’s been in it. I might even have meself a sauna and jump in the ice pool in memory of Ingrid.

———

I told Eddie to find out where Finn Flynn is staying in the UK; I must speak to him before he returns to Hong Kong. I hope he is not planning to bring Mac the giant Irish assassin back with him. There has been enough killing in Macau, and the Sun Yat Sun does not need the attention another murder would bring.

There is also the matter of Finn’s heroin. Even though I have tried to dissuade him from proceeding with this endeavour, this is a matter of honour. I gave Finn my word that I would assist him with that lard-assed Cambodian son of a whore. I said I would persuade him to ship the two hundred kilos of heroin to Europe, and I will.

———

We checked into the suites at Claridge’s that Roger Wynne organised for us before we left Hong Kong. Mac said something about having a sauna and calling room service for his dinner, and then he disappeared across the hall.

As soon as I stepped into my suite the phone began buzzing.

“Mac, have you changed your mind about dinner, or what?”

“I am sorry to disappoint you my Irish friend, but I am not Mac,” said Uncle Sui, with just a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“My apologies Uncle Sui. I just walked in the door here.”

“Yes…well…I think when your visit is finished that it is best for you to return to Macau. Perhaps you will travel through Bangkok. And will there be one or two in your travel party?”

“It’s just meself returning….I’m leaving in the morning, getting the ferry train to Paris. Mac is staying in the UK.”

“Good…good. Please give my regards to your giant friend. My granddaughter May-Li will collect you from the airport in Macau. We have a few matters to discuss when you return.”

“Yes we do indeed…we do indeed,” I said in time – before Uncle Sui cut the call, like he always does.

I know Uncle Sui wants to talk about the heroin, but we also have another pressing issue. Paul Wills, the traitor – and former provider of insider information to me, Uncle Sui, and Uncle’s rivals, the 14K Triads – has to be dealt with.

———

Sleep evaded me last night. But instead of counting sheep, I ran back through the journey from Moscow with Anna, Nakita Sylvina and Sui-Lin.

Flick told me his fishermen friends said the man whose boat we stole will get more than enough insurance money to buy a new boat, so he’ll be well compensated for the temporary loss of his livelihood. And I can’t even consider chastising Sui-Lin for spying on me and passing information back to Vinnie’s Uncle Angelo. Without Sui-Lin, we never would’ve made it to that sleeping Chinese fishing village.

I had not a thing to do with Susie’s death – that was down to the reckless reporting of her husband – but I can’t say the same about Ingrid. She took that foreign currency from her job for me…and ended up a strung out junkie for her trouble. Who am I codding? The girl’s dead. If she was still alive I’d check her in someplace to get clean.

Mac told me at breakfast that he’s decided to keep the suite on for a while. He’s going to call his ‘bird from the Beeb’ to join him for a few nights of luxury.

I checked out of the hotel, took a taxi to Victoria Station and caught the train to Brighton. Then it was a taxi to Newhaven, where I jumped on a ferry to Dieppe, France. I got the train to Paris and followed Uncle Sui’s advice; I flew Thai Airlines out of CDG to Bangkok, and then on to Macau.

MACAU: NOVEMBER, 1985

A bright, bubbly
May-Li met me at the airport in Macau. Her hair is in pigtails and she's wearing an outfit straight out of the Boxer Rebellion – flapping black peasant trousers and a red bandanna. She threw my overnight bag in the small boot of her 1963 E-Type Jaguar convertible and we roared off through the streets of Macau.

When we pulled in at the Mandarin Oriental, I noticed preparations under way for the upcoming Grand Prix.

“Are you entered in any of the races?” I asked, as I grabbed my overnight bag.

“Are you crazy? Granddad would never allow it!” she yelled, spinning the wheels of her classic sports car…before flying out to the wide boulevard that runs around the bay.

———

Finn Flynn chooses to involve himself in other people’s problems much more freely than the Sun Yat Sun ever would. I did not persuade him to rescue the Russian child – or to kill the Russian pimps.

Of course, I did not discourage him from killing the pimps either. Why would I when it leaves me controlling the Russian prostitutes? They will start working for the Sun Yat Sun when the Grand Prix begins, and we offer much better pay and protection to our prostitutes than the Russians did. But Finn Flynn must not learn about any of this….Who knows how he would react?

Vincenzo has returned to Macau. His Russian woman and her daughter are settled in Canada, and he has a surprise for Finn. There is great deal of money waiting for him in the Banco Nacional Ultramarino.

Hopefully Finn will return to Europe for good once he has the money. I believe that I have fully lived up to my agreement to offer him sanctuary in Asia…and I hope the Mafia money will allow him to forget that unfinished business in Cambodia.

———

Vinnie greeted me in the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental – with an overly familiar hug and a slap on the back.

“What the feck are you doing here Vinnie? Is there a problem?”

“No problem at all buddy. The girls are safe in Canada, and I just have some unfinished business here, is all.”

Vinnie’s already checked me into a suite, and he asked if I want to freshen up before seeing Uncle Sui. I declined, but I’ll have a valet take my bag to the suite and sponge and press my blazer and slacks.

I followed Vinnie to a limousine waiting outside the hotel’s main entrance. We’re meeting Uncle Sui at a small Portuguese restaurant on Avenue Almeida Ribeiro, next to the imposing Banco Nacional Ultramarino.

We walked into the restaurant and the maître d’ sat us in an elevated booth at the back – nowhere near the kitchen or toilets. The booth is up three steps, so the diners here have a good view of the entrance and the street. I suspect this booth is reserved for people who need to see who’s coming through the door before they’re seen themselves; I’m sure Vinnie’s relations would feel right at home sitting here.

“Welcome back Finn Flynn,” said Uncle Sui, as I slid into the booth.

“Thank you Uncle Sui. And please thank May-Li for collecting me at the airport.”

We left the ordering to Uncle Sui, but whatever we ate didn’t leave a good impression with me. Portuguese food is one delight that’s passed me by; it’s heavy on the animal fat and paprika…a little too Hungarian for my tastes.

After the waitress cleared the table, Vinnie handed me a bank lodgement slip for two million two hundred thousand US dollars.

“That’s yours Finn. Just tell me where you want it to go and I’ll transfer it. Or I can put it in your name and you can just leave it where it is. The Banco Nacional Ultramarino has been around a couple of hundred years, and they’re discreet…if you know what I mean.”

“Jaysus, Vincenzo, you’ve got to be codding me. Over two million dollars! For what? Did I win a lottery or something?”

“It’s your share of the asset leasing programme in Taiwan. The duck farmers came through…and with a little help from Uncle Angelo’s pal General Noriega in Panama…we got a good pay day.”

“Feck me Vinnie…”

I was cut off by a serious-looking Uncle Sui. “Finn, you came to Asia under a cloud and suffered a great loss, but you behaved like a true Irish gentleman. Do something in honour of the lady you lost….However, I am sure that the Swedish lady would be happy to see you again. I think the time has come for you to return to Europe, and thanks to Vincenzo and Earl you can have a bright future when all the skulduggery, all the killing, is over in your country. There is just the unfinished business in Cambodia, which we shall speak about later. Now, you two
gweilos
go in next door and complete your business with the bank. Leave an old man in peace to enjoy a glass of port wine,” said Uncle Sui…like he was making a speech at a prize ceremony.

———

By Jaysus…two million two hundred thousand US dollars! Do I hand it over to the Chief for the cause? No feckin’ way! Like Uncle Sui said, this money is for when the war is over – when the Brits are gone and we have our own country back, or they haven’t left but we’ve found a way to live together. Let’s face it, no Roman Catholic is a third-class citizen in his own country with two million two hundred thousand US dollars in the bank…even if it is an offshore bank!

Just wait till Mac hears about this! We’re rich…seriously…honestly rich! As far as I know, it’s legit. No one rushed into a bank with a shotgun, no one died, no one was ripped off – well, maybe Noriega, but I can’t be sure of that.