The Influence
III. A Most Unpleasant Man
Chapter 15
The night sky is illuminated by the fire raging on the ship’s deck, with which the feeble light of the sickle moon cannot compete. Kerosene drums lashed together explode one after the other in a tight sequence, the blasts lifting them up from the deck and spraying the burning liquid in wide circles, in a beautiful and deadly fireworks display. Boxes of ammunition follow, as if in competition with the drums. Bullets fly in all directions, many finding soft targets. A ripped and smouldering flag, still attached to the top part of the lanyard, flaps forlornly in the breeze, the white background with its red sun and rays barely recognisable.
On the listing deck, screaming soldiers and sailors run about in panic, hair and uniforms on fire. One man, only heartbeats from death but still managing to stand up, raises his charred hands towards his face as tongues of fire erupt from his eyes and mouth. Boys barely out of their teens, yet already in uniform, fight with each other for any temporary safe haven on the deck, anywhere that is not ablaze. The few remaining officers are equally frightened, firing their pistols to fend off the lower ranks just to stay safe where they are, even if is only for a few more seconds.
The fortunate ones are already dead, burned beyond recognition or shot. The others throw themselves over the side, anything to stop the burning and soothe the unbearable pain. But there is no deliverance to be found in the sea; most of the water surface around the ship is on fire from the kerosene. It is a devil’s choice – stay under water and drown or come up to the surface and breathe in flames. As the screaming and thrashing continues in the water, bodies, some of them still moving, are pulled below the surface only to appear briefly, with chunks of flesh or whole limbs torn off. The sharks are in a feeding frenzy and savour the unexpected buffet.
Across the oily sea, a dull thud follows a distant ball of fire as another torpedo finds its target. Yet none of those still alive notice it. As the hull gives up with a tired groan and the fire devours the last refuge on the deck, they stand still, stunned, resigned to their fate.
All but one.
At the prow, a lone figure stands, leaning lightly on the railing and looking out across the sea, indifferent to the chaos around it. Tall and straight-backed and dressed in a uniform as immaculate as if it had just been delivered by a dry-cleaning service. As he slowly turns towards the burning deck, he takes of his cap and tosses it overboard with a contemptuous flick of the hand. His hair is blond, light enough to appear translucent, his eyes a bright blue, burning with the intensity of a welder’s torch, clearly visible through the flames and smoke now covering the deck.
And he smiles.
Then he opens his mouth as if to laugh, but there is no laughter to be heard. Softly at first, there is a murmur of a million tortured souls, and as the mouth opens wider, the screams and wails pour out like a torrent of viscous, putrid liquid spewed out onto the burning deck. Still the mouth continues to open until it becomes a black hole devouring all space around it, with an undulating mass of – is it arms? or tentacles? worms? – around its inner rim. And the screaming, wailing, cursing, pleading coming from that absolute and abysmal darkness continues to build up until it drowns out everything else and becomes an ear-piercing black void–
My first reaction to the noise was to wake Kris, find anything in the room useable as a weapon and face the intruders outside in a full-on charge, roaring like a moose in heat. Then I realised that I was alone in the bed, the noise was BB’s thunderous laughter, and the only possible weapon to be found in the room was Kris’ cherished Hitachi magic wand. And that, as I’ve been reminded on more than one occasion, has one use only and is untouchable by anyone else but her.
I looked out the window, saw a bunch of bikes parked around the pool and remembered Kris talking to BB. Kris’ condo management absolutely bans entrance to any vehicles other than the residents’, and is adamant about only allowing parking in the provided resident parking spaces. In theory. In real life, none of the guards would ever consider saying no to Kris or any of her associates.
I stumbled towards the dining area, where the noise was coming from, and got intercepted by AG. Yes, they do love abbreviations here, in his case it stands for Ayam Gila, crazy chicken. Scrawny in appearance as the guy was, I always thought of him as an Asian Robert Carlyle on crack. Not someone to mess with.
‘Hello boss’, he said with a huge smile, ‘miss Kristina oredi brekpas,’ and a smidgen of concern, ‘you okay?’
‘Yes, thank you, AG, I’m fine. Just did not expect all of you here this morning.’
‘Gotcha, boss’, AG gave me thumbs-up, trying not to convulse in laughter, ‘is why you gatal now, ya?’
I looked down and realised that I wasn’t just naked, but with a halfway morning erection that until then I’d not even noticed. And just to make it thoroughly official, never mind unforgettable, the rest of the gang piled out to greet me.
‘Hey man, I see you fine an’ good,’ BB announced and then continued pompously in a perfect English accent, with a flourish and a twinkle in his eyes, ‘with your gentle cheater, for someone’s dear love that you rise and fall.’
Trust BB to misquote Shakespeare at inappropriate times. Not that the rest of the guys understood the reference, they just took his lead and nodded vigorously and smiled while doing their best to look anywhere but at my tumescence which, for obvious reasons, was by now decreasing rapidly.
‘Good morning lover, looks like you’ve had an interesting night,’ Kris said, appearing from the kitchen flanked by a couple of BB’s associates, each the size of an average truck. ‘Any dream that you may want to share with me?’
‘Er, not right now, can I just have a simple breakfast,’ and adding, to be sure I wouldn’t get beaten to a pulp by Kris’ minders, ‘please?’
On the listing deck, screaming soldiers and sailors run about in panic, hair and uniforms on fire. One man, only heartbeats from death but still managing to stand up, raises his charred hands towards his face as tongues of fire erupt from his eyes and mouth. Boys barely out of their teens, yet already in uniform, fight with each other for any temporary safe haven on the deck, anywhere that is not ablaze. The few remaining officers are equally frightened, firing their pistols to fend off the lower ranks just to stay safe where they are, even if is only for a few more seconds.
The fortunate ones are already dead, burned beyond recognition or shot. The others throw themselves over the side, anything to stop the burning and soothe the unbearable pain. But there is no deliverance to be found in the sea; most of the water surface around the ship is on fire from the kerosene. It is a devil’s choice – stay under water and drown or come up to the surface and breathe in flames. As the screaming and thrashing continues in the water, bodies, some of them still moving, are pulled below the surface only to appear briefly, with chunks of flesh or whole limbs torn off. The sharks are in a feeding frenzy and savour the unexpected buffet.
Across the oily sea, a dull thud follows a distant ball of fire as another torpedo finds its target. Yet none of those still alive notice it. As the hull gives up with a tired groan and the fire devours the last refuge on the deck, they stand still, stunned, resigned to their fate.
All but one.
At the prow, a lone figure stands, leaning lightly on the railing and looking out across the sea, indifferent to the chaos around it. Tall and straight-backed and dressed in a uniform as immaculate as if it had just been delivered by a dry-cleaning service. As he slowly turns towards the burning deck, he takes of his cap and tosses it overboard with a contemptuous flick of the hand. His hair is blond, light enough to appear translucent, his eyes a bright blue, burning with the intensity of a welder’s torch, clearly visible through the flames and smoke now covering the deck.
And he smiles.
Then he opens his mouth as if to laugh, but there is no laughter to be heard. Softly at first, there is a murmur of a million tortured souls, and as the mouth opens wider, the screams and wails pour out like a torrent of viscous, putrid liquid spewed out onto the burning deck. Still the mouth continues to open until it becomes a black hole devouring all space around it, with an undulating mass of – is it arms? or tentacles? worms? – around its inner rim. And the screaming, wailing, cursing, pleading coming from that absolute and abysmal darkness continues to build up until it drowns out everything else and becomes an ear-piercing black void–
My first reaction to the noise was to wake Kris, find anything in the room useable as a weapon and face the intruders outside in a full-on charge, roaring like a moose in heat. Then I realised that I was alone in the bed, the noise was BB’s thunderous laughter, and the only possible weapon to be found in the room was Kris’ cherished Hitachi magic wand. And that, as I’ve been reminded on more than one occasion, has one use only and is untouchable by anyone else but her.
I looked out the window, saw a bunch of bikes parked around the pool and remembered Kris talking to BB. Kris’ condo management absolutely bans entrance to any vehicles other than the residents’, and is adamant about only allowing parking in the provided resident parking spaces. In theory. In real life, none of the guards would ever consider saying no to Kris or any of her associates.
I stumbled towards the dining area, where the noise was coming from, and got intercepted by AG. Yes, they do love abbreviations here, in his case it stands for Ayam Gila, crazy chicken. Scrawny in appearance as the guy was, I always thought of him as an Asian Robert Carlyle on crack. Not someone to mess with.
‘Hello boss’, he said with a huge smile, ‘miss Kristina oredi brekpas,’ and a smidgen of concern, ‘you okay?’
‘Yes, thank you, AG, I’m fine. Just did not expect all of you here this morning.’
‘Gotcha, boss’, AG gave me thumbs-up, trying not to convulse in laughter, ‘is why you gatal now, ya?’
I looked down and realised that I wasn’t just naked, but with a halfway morning erection that until then I’d not even noticed. And just to make it thoroughly official, never mind unforgettable, the rest of the gang piled out to greet me.
‘Hey man, I see you fine an’ good,’ BB announced and then continued pompously in a perfect English accent, with a flourish and a twinkle in his eyes, ‘with your gentle cheater, for someone’s dear love that you rise and fall.’
Trust BB to misquote Shakespeare at inappropriate times. Not that the rest of the guys understood the reference, they just took his lead and nodded vigorously and smiled while doing their best to look anywhere but at my tumescence which, for obvious reasons, was by now decreasing rapidly.
‘Good morning lover, looks like you’ve had an interesting night,’ Kris said, appearing from the kitchen flanked by a couple of BB’s associates, each the size of an average truck. ‘Any dream that you may want to share with me?’
‘Er, not right now, can I just have a simple breakfast,’ and adding, to be sure I wouldn’t get beaten to a pulp by Kris’ minders, ‘please?’
●
‘So, what do we know about whoever it is that’s after you?’ I asked while soaking up the remains of the scrambled eggs on my plate, accompanied by BB who had his second breakfast, “jus’ to keep you company,” as he insisted.
‘Darling,’ Kris exchanged glances with BB, which for some reason made me less than comfortable, ‘as we’ve been able to suss things out, it’s not me, but you that’s the target. And we need to protect you.’
‘Sorry, can you repeat that slowly? I just thought I heard you say that I’m the target. The target of what, for fuck’s sake?’
‘Ah… and please do calm down darling, the word on the street is that you’ve had a vision about a treasure,’ Kris sounded almost apologetic, ‘and it may have something to do with me asking questions related to your dream.’
‘Really? A treasure? I tell you about a dream I had and now it’s common knowledge throughout Malaysia? What are you going to do, sell tickets to the freak show? Have people listen to me recounting my dream, falling in trance and speaking in tongues?’
‘No… and I take full blame for this, lover.’ She really sounded contrite, I gave her that. ‘Do hear me out. I was intrigued by your dream, and when I found out about Tigran and the car and everything, I got curious and started asking questions. It’s my fault, I admit it, but obviously some people take your dream very seriously.’
‘Right. I see. Then let’s all of us take this seriously, shall we?’
I was unsettled, to say the least, by what Kris was saying. But dammit, I was not prepared to own up to having had more disturbing dreams. Not yet. Being a rabid, card carrying rationalist to the point of seeing Harris, Dawkins, Hitchens et al. as religious apologists, no way would I admit to anything supernatural.
‘So what’re our options?’ I continued. ‘Can’t you just spread the rumour that I’d had the dream after falling on my head from the roof? While being indecently assaulted by a bunch of monkeys? And write me off as a loony?’
‘Ah, well, it’s all in the details. Of your dream, that is. Most of which, and I admit it was wrong of me, are now public knowledge.’ Seeing me bristle at that, Kris corrected herself. ‘Sorry, wrong word. Definitely not public.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But still known to a number of people by now, some of which seem to think that you know more than you do. In fact,’ I could see Kris’ eyes twinkle in that mischievous way that always spells trouble, ‘I probably know more than you do, which is to our advantage.’
‘You do, do you? Well then, pray tell all, milady and,’ with an expansive gesture including everyone in the kitchen, and a nod at BB who was listening attentively, ‘please do enlighten us with your endless wisdom.’
BB was grinning happily and I could see that he had a quote ready to be delivered, but sensing the gravity of the situation wisely chose to stay silent.
‘Let’s finish the breakfast and go to the pool,’ Kris replied, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘I think we’re safe for now and I’m sure the guys have better things to do than babysit us.’ And looking up at BB, ‘Maybe you can stay for a while and enjoy the sun with us?’
‘Darling,’ Kris exchanged glances with BB, which for some reason made me less than comfortable, ‘as we’ve been able to suss things out, it’s not me, but you that’s the target. And we need to protect you.’
‘Sorry, can you repeat that slowly? I just thought I heard you say that I’m the target. The target of what, for fuck’s sake?’
‘Ah… and please do calm down darling, the word on the street is that you’ve had a vision about a treasure,’ Kris sounded almost apologetic, ‘and it may have something to do with me asking questions related to your dream.’
‘Really? A treasure? I tell you about a dream I had and now it’s common knowledge throughout Malaysia? What are you going to do, sell tickets to the freak show? Have people listen to me recounting my dream, falling in trance and speaking in tongues?’
‘No… and I take full blame for this, lover.’ She really sounded contrite, I gave her that. ‘Do hear me out. I was intrigued by your dream, and when I found out about Tigran and the car and everything, I got curious and started asking questions. It’s my fault, I admit it, but obviously some people take your dream very seriously.’
‘Right. I see. Then let’s all of us take this seriously, shall we?’
I was unsettled, to say the least, by what Kris was saying. But dammit, I was not prepared to own up to having had more disturbing dreams. Not yet. Being a rabid, card carrying rationalist to the point of seeing Harris, Dawkins, Hitchens et al. as religious apologists, no way would I admit to anything supernatural.
‘So what’re our options?’ I continued. ‘Can’t you just spread the rumour that I’d had the dream after falling on my head from the roof? While being indecently assaulted by a bunch of monkeys? And write me off as a loony?’
‘Ah, well, it’s all in the details. Of your dream, that is. Most of which, and I admit it was wrong of me, are now public knowledge.’ Seeing me bristle at that, Kris corrected herself. ‘Sorry, wrong word. Definitely not public.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But still known to a number of people by now, some of which seem to think that you know more than you do. In fact,’ I could see Kris’ eyes twinkle in that mischievous way that always spells trouble, ‘I probably know more than you do, which is to our advantage.’
‘You do, do you? Well then, pray tell all, milady and,’ with an expansive gesture including everyone in the kitchen, and a nod at BB who was listening attentively, ‘please do enlighten us with your endless wisdom.’
BB was grinning happily and I could see that he had a quote ready to be delivered, but sensing the gravity of the situation wisely chose to stay silent.
‘Let’s finish the breakfast and go to the pool,’ Kris replied, ignoring my sarcasm. ‘I think we’re safe for now and I’m sure the guys have better things to do than babysit us.’ And looking up at BB, ‘Maybe you can stay for a while and enjoy the sun with us?’
Chapter 16
‘Here’s the situation, as I understand it. The bad people, whoever they are, think that we know more than we do. Whatever that is. And, whatever you may think, darling, something in your dream has triggered this reaction. Even Edwina confirmed it, after a while.’ Kris looked uncomfortable saying it. ‘There is something, an object, that many people have been looking for, for a very long time. Way before Tigran. And the word is that he found it, or rather, Edwina’s father did and Tigran got it. No one knows exactly what it is or why everyone wants it, but they do, badly. I guess it’s the usual boundless riches and absolute power syndrome, think Indiana Jones or a really awful Hollywood movie.’
‘So just how much do these guys know of my dream, and why would I be the one with all the answers?’
‘You’re not, as this thing, whatever it is, is reputed to change hands, or caretakers, as they are called, frequently and is probably on another continent by now. But each previously known caretaker is scrutinised minutely to get information, any information, about its next location. All in the hope of finding it and possessing it.’
‘But if these people know this, and know that I only had a single dream, and not a very detailed one at that, and the fact that I’d no previous clue about this whole thing, why don’t they just fuck off and continue looking for whatever it is elsewhere?’
‘That’s what I thought too, but I’m afraid they think that I’ve held back some information. And they want to be certain they have it all before they drop the interest they currently have in you.’
‘But you haven’t! There was nothing to hold back. There is nothing else and I’d be happy to tell them.’ Other than the following dreams, that is, but I wasn’t ready to talk about those yet. At least not in front of BB, as much as I trusted him. I prefer people not to think of me as a potential nutcase.
‘I know it and you know it, but they don’t. And from what Edwina said when I pushed her,’ looking away as she said it, ‘they want proof one way or another. Only then will they let you be.’
‘Proof as in what? That I don’t have it, whatever it is? Never mind that I have no clue what this is about.’
‘Edwina was in her teens when they visited her mother and wanted information. It had taken them years to trace and confirm the connection, but time is irrelevant to them. Her mother couldn’t tell them anything, despite the things they did to Edwina. She showed me the scars.’ Kris wincing, I assumed partially because she’d seen them but also with me understanding the circumstances in which she’d seen them. ‘Her mother died that night.’
‘Okay, gruesome enough, obviously these guys are not to be taken lightly. So,’ ever the seasoned project manager, remaining calm and professional, trying to compartmentalise everything into manageable tasks of a successful project, ‘how do we proceed?’
‘I knew you’d get it, lover. That’s why you’re my number one.’ Kris was smiling now. ‘We need to find out as much as we can about this thing, find out where it’s gone, and then spread the word about it. Once everyone knows that it’s elsewhere, they’ll leave us, or rather leave you, alone.’
I looked at BB, who’d been nodding and smiling encouragingly throughout this exchange.
‘What do you say, big boy?’
‘I think more things in heaven and earth than I ever dream of, but I jus’ simple man. I leave you to be smart and do right thing, but I always protect miss Kristina. And,’ nodding in my direction, ‘you also.’
‘Okay, I’m on. And if it wasn’t as serious as it seems to be, I’d rather enjoy it. Almost like an old fashioned treasure hunt.’ This was something I could cope with, a rational approach to a logistics and information dependent project, with an expected and determinable outcome. I was almost itching to get my hands on my laptop, open up MS Project and create a Gantt chart. Isn’t it laughable how mature, reasonably intelligent adults, despite decades of experiences fucking us up, still maintain this delusional streak of being remotely in control of our own lives? ‘So, where do we start?’
‘So just how much do these guys know of my dream, and why would I be the one with all the answers?’
‘You’re not, as this thing, whatever it is, is reputed to change hands, or caretakers, as they are called, frequently and is probably on another continent by now. But each previously known caretaker is scrutinised minutely to get information, any information, about its next location. All in the hope of finding it and possessing it.’
‘But if these people know this, and know that I only had a single dream, and not a very detailed one at that, and the fact that I’d no previous clue about this whole thing, why don’t they just fuck off and continue looking for whatever it is elsewhere?’
‘That’s what I thought too, but I’m afraid they think that I’ve held back some information. And they want to be certain they have it all before they drop the interest they currently have in you.’
‘But you haven’t! There was nothing to hold back. There is nothing else and I’d be happy to tell them.’ Other than the following dreams, that is, but I wasn’t ready to talk about those yet. At least not in front of BB, as much as I trusted him. I prefer people not to think of me as a potential nutcase.
‘I know it and you know it, but they don’t. And from what Edwina said when I pushed her,’ looking away as she said it, ‘they want proof one way or another. Only then will they let you be.’
‘Proof as in what? That I don’t have it, whatever it is? Never mind that I have no clue what this is about.’
‘Edwina was in her teens when they visited her mother and wanted information. It had taken them years to trace and confirm the connection, but time is irrelevant to them. Her mother couldn’t tell them anything, despite the things they did to Edwina. She showed me the scars.’ Kris wincing, I assumed partially because she’d seen them but also with me understanding the circumstances in which she’d seen them. ‘Her mother died that night.’
‘Okay, gruesome enough, obviously these guys are not to be taken lightly. So,’ ever the seasoned project manager, remaining calm and professional, trying to compartmentalise everything into manageable tasks of a successful project, ‘how do we proceed?’
‘I knew you’d get it, lover. That’s why you’re my number one.’ Kris was smiling now. ‘We need to find out as much as we can about this thing, find out where it’s gone, and then spread the word about it. Once everyone knows that it’s elsewhere, they’ll leave us, or rather leave you, alone.’
I looked at BB, who’d been nodding and smiling encouragingly throughout this exchange.
‘What do you say, big boy?’
‘I think more things in heaven and earth than I ever dream of, but I jus’ simple man. I leave you to be smart and do right thing, but I always protect miss Kristina. And,’ nodding in my direction, ‘you also.’
‘Okay, I’m on. And if it wasn’t as serious as it seems to be, I’d rather enjoy it. Almost like an old fashioned treasure hunt.’ This was something I could cope with, a rational approach to a logistics and information dependent project, with an expected and determinable outcome. I was almost itching to get my hands on my laptop, open up MS Project and create a Gantt chart. Isn’t it laughable how mature, reasonably intelligent adults, despite decades of experiences fucking us up, still maintain this delusional streak of being remotely in control of our own lives? ‘So, where do we start?’
Chapter 17
Before BB left, he assured us that there would always be someone ‘hanging around’ each of us, invisible and unobtrusive (ah, when was the last time you saw a discrete biker?), never more than a minute away and within ten minutes of the whole gang arriving. Fair enough, you couldn’t ask more of the local police force, in fact you’d have to be the bloody prime minister to get that kind of protection in this country. So I felt reasonably calm and was beginning to enjoy the whole thing in a perverse way.
And Kris did spill the beans. I think.
Edwina’s father had somehow managed to get his hands on a very rare collector’s item from a Bajau sea gypsy who’d come all the way from northern Borneo, currently known as the Malaysian state of Sabah, to sell it.
Oh yes, I knew all about how he came to be in possession of the said item. I saw it in my bloody dream, didn’t I?
This item, without anyone being able to claim firsthand knowledge of its appearance, size, composition, use or actual value, was reputed to be the oldest and most coveted treasure known from the Pacific ocean, even mentioned briefly in an obscure document from Cook’s second voyage, purportedly described by inhabitants of both Tahiti, Tonga and New Hebrides, and corroborated by Ma’i, a young Polynesian chap that had decided to see the world courtesy of captain Cook.
Up to then, I didn’t know that there were any treasures to be found in the Pacific other than the usual sunken galleons. To me it was just a vast expanse of water with the occasional palm covered atoll and reasonably good diving in the company of friendly reef sharks. Yet this was supposedly the source of the anti-sun as the thingy was known. The origins of the weird name, like everything else about it, were long lost. All that remained was the legend of an object that could “make or destroy chieftains”.
But I knew something that presumably no one else did. If you believe in dreams, that is. And in mine, the Englishman, this totally-fucked-up person, had found something very interesting on that boat, something small enough to fit in a pocket. Which was as good a start as any.
It doesn’t get much more intriguing than that, does it? And wouldn’t you want to find out more about it? Never mind the promise of power and glory, just as an intellectual exercise and no other driving force than plain human curiosity? Well, that was my starting point, alas one that I would come to sorely regret in the months to come.
Kris was all for the two of us flying over to KK – Kota Kinabalu that is, the capital of Sabah, to investigate. I managed to dissuade her, insisting that we needed more facts before going off on a wild goose chase.
‘Lover, we need a proper plan. And to create one, we need more information. Is there anything else that Edwina told you that may be useful? Such as a slightly more precise origin of the Bajau? Sabah has quite an extensive coastline and it would be advantageous to have a location.’
‘But that’s precisely why they’re called sea gypsies! They move constantly, their boats are their homes.’
‘Then we’re stuffed. A Bajau from Sabah coming to Singapore over half a century ago, that’s not very helpful. And for all we know, he may have been originally from the Sulu archipelago. So we would have to add south Philippines to our search area.’ If I’d only known how prophetic my statement would turn out to be. ‘It’s hopeless. We’d be more productive fabricating a complex fake story about this thing and hope the bad guys swallow it.’
Kris was thoughtful. ‘Edwina did hint that she knew more. But we never got to that point, and now I don’t think she will ever talk to me again.’ Then looked up at me hopefully, ‘Unless you have another dream?’
‘Ah, let’s not count on that, shall we?’
I know, lying is bad for your karma, but I needed time to sort out the dreams, see if I could make any sense of them and find any useful reference points before letting Kris know. Not to mention that I also had to come to terms with me reliving, shall we say, interesting moments in other peoples’ lives.
‘In the meantime, how about you try to find out more about this thing? Anything at all. Talk to uncle Ho, surely someone like him would’ve heard rumours at least.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’m seeing him in a couple of weeks anyway, in fact we both are.’
‘Really?’
‘Darling, have you forgotten? It’s his birthday and he insisted that we both come.’
‘It is? We are? So how old is he, a hundred?’
‘Don’t be unfair to uncle Ho, it’s only his ninetieth. You’ve never been to a Chinese birthday party, have you? As they grow older, they tend only to celebrate each full decade, and reaching ninety is usually the last big one. Although, knowing uncle, he may well reach hundred. Anyway, it will be a fantastic party, loads of interesting people and for me yet another opportunity to network. Discreetly, of course, you’re not supposed to do any business during the celebrations.’
That’s how we left it, Kris to do research, me to start working on the third room, to keep up with the schedule. Hopefully Minnie hadn’t missed me too much during the Singapore weekend.
And Kris did spill the beans. I think.
Edwina’s father had somehow managed to get his hands on a very rare collector’s item from a Bajau sea gypsy who’d come all the way from northern Borneo, currently known as the Malaysian state of Sabah, to sell it.
Oh yes, I knew all about how he came to be in possession of the said item. I saw it in my bloody dream, didn’t I?
This item, without anyone being able to claim firsthand knowledge of its appearance, size, composition, use or actual value, was reputed to be the oldest and most coveted treasure known from the Pacific ocean, even mentioned briefly in an obscure document from Cook’s second voyage, purportedly described by inhabitants of both Tahiti, Tonga and New Hebrides, and corroborated by Ma’i, a young Polynesian chap that had decided to see the world courtesy of captain Cook.
Up to then, I didn’t know that there were any treasures to be found in the Pacific other than the usual sunken galleons. To me it was just a vast expanse of water with the occasional palm covered atoll and reasonably good diving in the company of friendly reef sharks. Yet this was supposedly the source of the anti-sun as the thingy was known. The origins of the weird name, like everything else about it, were long lost. All that remained was the legend of an object that could “make or destroy chieftains”.
But I knew something that presumably no one else did. If you believe in dreams, that is. And in mine, the Englishman, this totally-fucked-up person, had found something very interesting on that boat, something small enough to fit in a pocket. Which was as good a start as any.
It doesn’t get much more intriguing than that, does it? And wouldn’t you want to find out more about it? Never mind the promise of power and glory, just as an intellectual exercise and no other driving force than plain human curiosity? Well, that was my starting point, alas one that I would come to sorely regret in the months to come.
Kris was all for the two of us flying over to KK – Kota Kinabalu that is, the capital of Sabah, to investigate. I managed to dissuade her, insisting that we needed more facts before going off on a wild goose chase.
‘Lover, we need a proper plan. And to create one, we need more information. Is there anything else that Edwina told you that may be useful? Such as a slightly more precise origin of the Bajau? Sabah has quite an extensive coastline and it would be advantageous to have a location.’
‘But that’s precisely why they’re called sea gypsies! They move constantly, their boats are their homes.’
‘Then we’re stuffed. A Bajau from Sabah coming to Singapore over half a century ago, that’s not very helpful. And for all we know, he may have been originally from the Sulu archipelago. So we would have to add south Philippines to our search area.’ If I’d only known how prophetic my statement would turn out to be. ‘It’s hopeless. We’d be more productive fabricating a complex fake story about this thing and hope the bad guys swallow it.’
Kris was thoughtful. ‘Edwina did hint that she knew more. But we never got to that point, and now I don’t think she will ever talk to me again.’ Then looked up at me hopefully, ‘Unless you have another dream?’
‘Ah, let’s not count on that, shall we?’
I know, lying is bad for your karma, but I needed time to sort out the dreams, see if I could make any sense of them and find any useful reference points before letting Kris know. Not to mention that I also had to come to terms with me reliving, shall we say, interesting moments in other peoples’ lives.
‘In the meantime, how about you try to find out more about this thing? Anything at all. Talk to uncle Ho, surely someone like him would’ve heard rumours at least.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’m seeing him in a couple of weeks anyway, in fact we both are.’
‘Really?’
‘Darling, have you forgotten? It’s his birthday and he insisted that we both come.’
‘It is? We are? So how old is he, a hundred?’
‘Don’t be unfair to uncle Ho, it’s only his ninetieth. You’ve never been to a Chinese birthday party, have you? As they grow older, they tend only to celebrate each full decade, and reaching ninety is usually the last big one. Although, knowing uncle, he may well reach hundred. Anyway, it will be a fantastic party, loads of interesting people and for me yet another opportunity to network. Discreetly, of course, you’re not supposed to do any business during the celebrations.’
That’s how we left it, Kris to do research, me to start working on the third room, to keep up with the schedule. Hopefully Minnie hadn’t missed me too much during the Singapore weekend.
Chapter 18
Another beautiful, sunny morning in Bukit Tunku, despite it being the rainy season. Birds argued noisily in the trees behind the house, with a kingfisher that was particularly loud and insistent, a bunch of monkeys sitting on the roof, quietly muttering to themselves while peeling the skins from the freshly picked rambutans.
I’ve mentioned the rambutan tree before, haven’t I? Growing by the side of the house, the top overlooking the roof, and fruiting several times a year. When I moved in I was looking forward to sampling the juicy balls once they matured but the monkeys always got them before me. Cheeky monkeys or what?
I’d finished my morning run and, after a refreshing cold shower, had taken a table and chair out for a leisurely breakfast. Freshly baked bread (my own), eggs and bacon and champignons, tomatoes, basil leaves and a handful of green cili padi to get the stomach juices flowing, a mug with hot chocolate and cream, and my best girl by my side.
Not really, rather on the grass at my feet, happily munching on a particularly crispy piece of bacon and looking lovingly up at me from time to time, Minnie had decided to come out of the house and join me for breakfast. In fact, she’d been getting bolder recently, every now and then following me outside and hanging around while I was working on the walls or cutting back the ever encroaching vegetation.
One of BB’s associates, Tikus – meaning rat in the local lingo, don’t ask me how and why he got the nickname – was sleeping soundly in the garage, curled up around a couple of sacks of cement, his leather jacket as a pillow, his bike parked next to my Panhead. He’d been there since the night before, awake all night – or so he told me when I discovered him in the morning. He’d declined joining me for breakfast but gladly accepted an ice cold beer and was visibly relieved when I told him he could take time off.
The garage, by the way, is a extensive structure on the other side of the house from the rambutan tree, easily fifteen metres wide and deep enough to accept any car ever produced. This was my main storage of building materials and also the workshop, housing all of the non-mobile machinery and my considerable collection of power and hand tools for both house and bike work. With the inner roof having rotted away a long time ago and leaving the rafters exposed, I’d had to patch parts of the roof to stop rainwater coming through. Which still left the humidity in the air, covering with rust every single steel surface not sprayed with WD-40. Daily. The latest items to get attacked by the rust genie were the bike’s rear rim and spokes. Still having the original chrome, they’d lasted for half a century in Europe with barely a speck here and there. Yet in less than a year here and despite regular polishing they’d acquired an unhealthy amount of surface rust. Thus time for a chrome job.
So there I was, crouching by the removed wheel and sweating as I was trying to prise off the tyre with a crowbar, finding a rhythm between the bickering birds and Tikus’ gentle snoring, moving the crowbar around the rim edge in an almost Zen-like state of mind when–
‘You! Stop!’
Looking up, for a split second I had a crazy notion that I was in a Jackie Chan movie. Standing almost next to me was a young Chinese guy in a shiny, ill fitting suit, sweating as much as I was, pointing a gun at me. And all I could think of in that instant, I swear, was that his tie knot was off to one side.
Then self preservation kicked in. Rule number one in management consultancy is to always counter any perceived aggressive behaviour with even more aggression and hostility and thus establish the correct pecking order.
‘Who the fuck are you? And what the fuck are you doing on my fucking property?’
I admit, I was somewhat boosted by the fact that I wasn’t alone, having Tikus there and hopefully awake by now. And the assumption, silly in retrospect, that pointing a gun at someone is one thing but actually using it is a whole different ballgame.
‘You’ve got five, no – I feel generous, make that ten seconds to get the fuck out of here, you fucking dickhead.’ Adrenaline overproduction tends to make me swear.
‘No, you shut up!’ the goon shouted, twitching nervously. ‘You listening to me now, lah. Wha’ you doing, you stop. Or my boss kill you.’
Hearing, or rather feeling that Tikus was stirring somewhere behind me made me reckless. Now I was fully aware of where this was going and all I could think of was the scary drive back from Singapore, with people shooting at us. This goon was probably one of them. And he did say that his boss would kill me but I surmised that this was just scare tactics. After all, that’s what Kris said, wasn’t it? All they wanted was information, right? The idiot just confirmed it.
‘Hey, shithead, I’ve no clue what you’re on about, but I can tell you that you’ve got the wrong fucking place and you’re messing with the wrong fucking person so get the fuck out before I…’ as I was struggling to come up with a suitable threat, I caught a glimpse of Minnie on the rafter above the goon, ‘…before I rip you up and feed you to my rat.’
‘But I vegetarian,’ Tikus said as he sat up, when the goon, surprised and unnerved by a bunch of dirty rags moving and talking, fired in my general direction.
This is when things got kind of blurry. I could feel the bullet pass over my head and heard Tikus grunt, then I was aware of a little furry shape launching itself from the rafter, squeaking loudly as it landed on the goon’s head, clawing and chewing at the face and eyes. I was still holding the crowbar as the limbic circuits in my brain took over and lashed out at his kneecaps.
I remember the goon screeching and stumbling, blood pouring down his face as he tried to dislodge Minnie with his free hand, and I remember thinking that she’s too intelligent to get hurt. Then the bastard shot me.
I’ve mentioned the rambutan tree before, haven’t I? Growing by the side of the house, the top overlooking the roof, and fruiting several times a year. When I moved in I was looking forward to sampling the juicy balls once they matured but the monkeys always got them before me. Cheeky monkeys or what?
I’d finished my morning run and, after a refreshing cold shower, had taken a table and chair out for a leisurely breakfast. Freshly baked bread (my own), eggs and bacon and champignons, tomatoes, basil leaves and a handful of green cili padi to get the stomach juices flowing, a mug with hot chocolate and cream, and my best girl by my side.
Not really, rather on the grass at my feet, happily munching on a particularly crispy piece of bacon and looking lovingly up at me from time to time, Minnie had decided to come out of the house and join me for breakfast. In fact, she’d been getting bolder recently, every now and then following me outside and hanging around while I was working on the walls or cutting back the ever encroaching vegetation.
One of BB’s associates, Tikus – meaning rat in the local lingo, don’t ask me how and why he got the nickname – was sleeping soundly in the garage, curled up around a couple of sacks of cement, his leather jacket as a pillow, his bike parked next to my Panhead. He’d been there since the night before, awake all night – or so he told me when I discovered him in the morning. He’d declined joining me for breakfast but gladly accepted an ice cold beer and was visibly relieved when I told him he could take time off.
The garage, by the way, is a extensive structure on the other side of the house from the rambutan tree, easily fifteen metres wide and deep enough to accept any car ever produced. This was my main storage of building materials and also the workshop, housing all of the non-mobile machinery and my considerable collection of power and hand tools for both house and bike work. With the inner roof having rotted away a long time ago and leaving the rafters exposed, I’d had to patch parts of the roof to stop rainwater coming through. Which still left the humidity in the air, covering with rust every single steel surface not sprayed with WD-40. Daily. The latest items to get attacked by the rust genie were the bike’s rear rim and spokes. Still having the original chrome, they’d lasted for half a century in Europe with barely a speck here and there. Yet in less than a year here and despite regular polishing they’d acquired an unhealthy amount of surface rust. Thus time for a chrome job.
So there I was, crouching by the removed wheel and sweating as I was trying to prise off the tyre with a crowbar, finding a rhythm between the bickering birds and Tikus’ gentle snoring, moving the crowbar around the rim edge in an almost Zen-like state of mind when–
‘You! Stop!’
Looking up, for a split second I had a crazy notion that I was in a Jackie Chan movie. Standing almost next to me was a young Chinese guy in a shiny, ill fitting suit, sweating as much as I was, pointing a gun at me. And all I could think of in that instant, I swear, was that his tie knot was off to one side.
Then self preservation kicked in. Rule number one in management consultancy is to always counter any perceived aggressive behaviour with even more aggression and hostility and thus establish the correct pecking order.
‘Who the fuck are you? And what the fuck are you doing on my fucking property?’
I admit, I was somewhat boosted by the fact that I wasn’t alone, having Tikus there and hopefully awake by now. And the assumption, silly in retrospect, that pointing a gun at someone is one thing but actually using it is a whole different ballgame.
‘You’ve got five, no – I feel generous, make that ten seconds to get the fuck out of here, you fucking dickhead.’ Adrenaline overproduction tends to make me swear.
‘No, you shut up!’ the goon shouted, twitching nervously. ‘You listening to me now, lah. Wha’ you doing, you stop. Or my boss kill you.’
Hearing, or rather feeling that Tikus was stirring somewhere behind me made me reckless. Now I was fully aware of where this was going and all I could think of was the scary drive back from Singapore, with people shooting at us. This goon was probably one of them. And he did say that his boss would kill me but I surmised that this was just scare tactics. After all, that’s what Kris said, wasn’t it? All they wanted was information, right? The idiot just confirmed it.
‘Hey, shithead, I’ve no clue what you’re on about, but I can tell you that you’ve got the wrong fucking place and you’re messing with the wrong fucking person so get the fuck out before I…’ as I was struggling to come up with a suitable threat, I caught a glimpse of Minnie on the rafter above the goon, ‘…before I rip you up and feed you to my rat.’
‘But I vegetarian,’ Tikus said as he sat up, when the goon, surprised and unnerved by a bunch of dirty rags moving and talking, fired in my general direction.
This is when things got kind of blurry. I could feel the bullet pass over my head and heard Tikus grunt, then I was aware of a little furry shape launching itself from the rafter, squeaking loudly as it landed on the goon’s head, clawing and chewing at the face and eyes. I was still holding the crowbar as the limbic circuits in my brain took over and lashed out at his kneecaps.
I remember the goon screeching and stumbling, blood pouring down his face as he tried to dislodge Minnie with his free hand, and I remember thinking that she’s too intelligent to get hurt. Then the bastard shot me.
Chapter 19
‘Hey, lover, how are you feeling?’
‘You okay, man? Did you see who shot Tikus?’
‘Darling, please wake up! Please!’
As I was floating in the murky seas of unconsciousness I was aware of vague shapes and voices somewhere far away but ignored them. If you’ve never experienced this yourself, and don’t let anyone tell you differently, you do regain all you thought processes well before you surface. But you take your own time to process it all and get the priorities right before you allow yourself to wake up.
‘Howzminnie?’
‘What?’
‘How’s Minnie, for fuck’s sake? Is she all right?’
‘Darling, how can you worry about a rat, you’ve been shot!’ Kris, bless her, was showing signs of distress, ever so slightly. ‘But you’re fine now, it was just a graze.’
‘That’s fine then, isn’t it. So stop worrying about me. But Minnie was brilliant and got the bastard. Didn’t she?’
‘We not find any dead rat anywhere, if that your worry,’ BB boomed impatiently, ‘but man, did you see who kill Tikus?’
This got me out of the haze and thoroughly shaken. ‘Tikus is dead? But he wasn’t even part of this!’
‘Ya man, some bastard shot Tikus dead and try kill you. So now we declare war. Miss Kristina say so and I agree.’
‘You okay, man? Did you see who shot Tikus?’
‘Darling, please wake up! Please!’
As I was floating in the murky seas of unconsciousness I was aware of vague shapes and voices somewhere far away but ignored them. If you’ve never experienced this yourself, and don’t let anyone tell you differently, you do regain all you thought processes well before you surface. But you take your own time to process it all and get the priorities right before you allow yourself to wake up.
‘Howzminnie?’
‘What?’
‘How’s Minnie, for fuck’s sake? Is she all right?’
‘Darling, how can you worry about a rat, you’ve been shot!’ Kris, bless her, was showing signs of distress, ever so slightly. ‘But you’re fine now, it was just a graze.’
‘That’s fine then, isn’t it. So stop worrying about me. But Minnie was brilliant and got the bastard. Didn’t she?’
‘We not find any dead rat anywhere, if that your worry,’ BB boomed impatiently, ‘but man, did you see who kill Tikus?’
This got me out of the haze and thoroughly shaken. ‘Tikus is dead? But he wasn’t even part of this!’
‘Ya man, some bastard shot Tikus dead and try kill you. So now we declare war. Miss Kristina say so and I agree.’
●
Tikus and I were discovered when another member of BB’s gang had come to take over the guard duty. And, as with any incident involving firearms in this country, it is automatically assumed that everyone, including the victim, is guilty (unless you’re the prime minister or chief of police, in which case you just get bonus points for it at your local shooting club and an added advantage in the next election), Kris and BB had wisely decided against informing the authorities.
In the end, Tikus’ body was transported in style, as much as that was possible, in the luggage compartment of a Proton Exora, to his sister in Pahang for a proper Malay burial. Being pragmatic and aware of her brother’s lifestyle, she didn’t ask any questions and only humbly requested that if his killer was ever identified and caught, she would be allowed to slice off his genitals before killing him.
I was visited and examined, privately and discreetly, by one of Kris’ local pet physicians and proclaimed to be in reasonably good shape but for a slight chunk of skin, hair and bone missing from above my right ear. And a grazed artery.
‘You were very, very lucky, young man’, the elderly Indian doctor growing a veritable forest of hair from his ears asserted, ‘a millimetre to one side and you would be as active as a brinjal now. Or dead.’ Cheery fellow. ‘Now you rest in bed for a week. After that, no strenuous work or exercise for another two,’ looking sternly at Kris, ‘or you may still turn into a vegetable if that blood vessel ruptures.’
Minnie had disappeared, but as the only traces of blood in the garage could be followed down the driveway to the road where the goon had parked his car, I assumed that, not being used to excessive excitement and strange, unfriendly individuals, Minnie was sulking big time.
Another, and very much unexpected outcome was that Cyclone Aftermath MC had collectively taken me to their bosom. Where previously they’d just about accepted me, in part because I owned a Harley but mainly because of my relationship with Kris and BB’s undying allegiance to her, now there was a unanimous vote to accept me as an honorary member. In one afternoon I’d gone from being a weird foreigner and merely tolerated to someone who’d risked his life to save one of them. I’d no idea how BB had presented that situation to them but as far as I was concerned, better to have them inside the tent pissing out.
In the end, Tikus’ body was transported in style, as much as that was possible, in the luggage compartment of a Proton Exora, to his sister in Pahang for a proper Malay burial. Being pragmatic and aware of her brother’s lifestyle, she didn’t ask any questions and only humbly requested that if his killer was ever identified and caught, she would be allowed to slice off his genitals before killing him.
I was visited and examined, privately and discreetly, by one of Kris’ local pet physicians and proclaimed to be in reasonably good shape but for a slight chunk of skin, hair and bone missing from above my right ear. And a grazed artery.
‘You were very, very lucky, young man’, the elderly Indian doctor growing a veritable forest of hair from his ears asserted, ‘a millimetre to one side and you would be as active as a brinjal now. Or dead.’ Cheery fellow. ‘Now you rest in bed for a week. After that, no strenuous work or exercise for another two,’ looking sternly at Kris, ‘or you may still turn into a vegetable if that blood vessel ruptures.’
Minnie had disappeared, but as the only traces of blood in the garage could be followed down the driveway to the road where the goon had parked his car, I assumed that, not being used to excessive excitement and strange, unfriendly individuals, Minnie was sulking big time.
Another, and very much unexpected outcome was that Cyclone Aftermath MC had collectively taken me to their bosom. Where previously they’d just about accepted me, in part because I owned a Harley but mainly because of my relationship with Kris and BB’s undying allegiance to her, now there was a unanimous vote to accept me as an honorary member. In one afternoon I’d gone from being a weird foreigner and merely tolerated to someone who’d risked his life to save one of them. I’d no idea how BB had presented that situation to them but as far as I was concerned, better to have them inside the tent pissing out.
●
While I was restricted to my bedroom and constantly pampered by Kris, usually accompanied by BB or one of his associates, I had more than enough time to replay the garage incident, as they so delicately referred to it, particularly what the goon had said to me. And in retrospect it didn’t make sense.
Sitting up in my bed, the one with the sagging mattress, propped up with numerous cushions and a huge bandage around my head, I felt like old time Indian royalty receiving audience. Irritated and impatient.
‘So, less than a correct assessment of the situation, wasn’t it?’
‘What situation, darling?’
‘The me-being-shot-at situation. And the Tikus-is-dead situation. And the,’ I held up my hand as Kris opened her mouth, ‘they-just-want-information situation.’
‘Darling, I’m so sorry for what happened. I truly didn’t expect it.’
‘Well neither did I, I can tell you that. I’m sure Tikus is still quite surprised at being dead. And let’s not forget,’ pulling off the bandage and feeling a distinct lack of hair around the painful spot, ‘that I’ll spend the rest of my life with a one sided mohawk hairdo. I didn’t expect that either.’
‘Oh darling, I’m sure we can fix that last bit. Once you’ve healed, the doctor can sew together the hairy bits, or,’ I could see from the twinkle in her eyes that she was having fun and enjoying it, ‘we can ask BB to shoot you gently on the other side. That way it’ll be symmetrical.’
How do you react to the love of your life being flippant about your general health, never mind the hair styling? I started laughing, together with BB who up until this moment was doing his utmost to be invisible, loitering by the windows and surreptitiously teasing the monkeys that were likewise loitering in the tree outside.
‘Okay, you’ve got me there. Let’s start with your Indian butcher and if that doesn’t work I’ll make an appointment with BB.’
‘Now that your future coiffure is sorted out, let me give you my best assessment of, as you call it, the situation.’
You just have to love Kris, tender yet pragmatic. And always focused.
‘Yep, I’m all ears. And skin flaps.’
‘Thank you for being so understanding.’ Kris, the cynic, at her best. ‘And I do love you, you idiot, whatever you may think.’
‘I know you do. At least I’d like to think that I know that you know that I know you do.’
‘Whatever. Can we get down to business now, please?’
‘Sure, let’s see if your assessment agrees with my assessment. And I promise to have an open mind.’
‘I honestly don’t know what’s going on, or why,’ Kris sighed heavily. ‘If they want information from you, then threatening to kill you is counterproductive.’
‘Obviously. But have you considered that they, whoever they are, may not need any info? And just want to get rid of the competition?’
‘Well, yes, I have. With you being shot at. But uncle Ho is still certain that–’
‘Uncle Ho? So you’ve continued to share our lives and misfortunes with dear old uncle Ho, have you? What if he’s the one behind this all? I wouldn’t put it past him. In this part of the world, a successful businessman,’ I did air quotes, ‘is just another name for a gangster with more guns and goons than anyone else.’
‘Now you’re just being silly, darling. He’s one of my father’s oldest friends, I’ve known him for as long as I can remember.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing! He’s no saint, of course he isn’t. You can’t make it here without bending a few rules, or dealing with unsavoury people, but I trust him absolutely. He’s more or less family.’
‘Family, sure, that makes me all warm and tingly. Almost. You know, where I come from, one of the dark corners of Europe, there’s a proverb about brothers regularly doing nasty things to each other. Very nasty things.’
‘Stop right there, please.’ Kris raised her hand. ‘I trust uncle Ho with my life. But, I’ll give you this, he may possibly have mentioned something about this to one or two people close to him. And they may have passed it on. I’ll try to find out more tomorrow.’
‘Ah, that’s right, his birthday party. What’s the dress code?’
‘Lover, you need to rest and recover. Uncle knows that you’ve been shot, he’ll not expect you to be there.’
‘Really? Because he expected me to be dead?’
‘Stop it, will you. You should rest, you know; stay in bed and be an absolute nuisance, which you do very well, by the way. But if you really want to come with me, it’s casual dress. I’ll pick you up at nine.’
‘Great. What did we get him? A Walther PPK with mother-of- pearl inlays?’
‘You’re so irritating sometimes.’
Sitting up in my bed, the one with the sagging mattress, propped up with numerous cushions and a huge bandage around my head, I felt like old time Indian royalty receiving audience. Irritated and impatient.
‘So, less than a correct assessment of the situation, wasn’t it?’
‘What situation, darling?’
‘The me-being-shot-at situation. And the Tikus-is-dead situation. And the,’ I held up my hand as Kris opened her mouth, ‘they-just-want-information situation.’
‘Darling, I’m so sorry for what happened. I truly didn’t expect it.’
‘Well neither did I, I can tell you that. I’m sure Tikus is still quite surprised at being dead. And let’s not forget,’ pulling off the bandage and feeling a distinct lack of hair around the painful spot, ‘that I’ll spend the rest of my life with a one sided mohawk hairdo. I didn’t expect that either.’
‘Oh darling, I’m sure we can fix that last bit. Once you’ve healed, the doctor can sew together the hairy bits, or,’ I could see from the twinkle in her eyes that she was having fun and enjoying it, ‘we can ask BB to shoot you gently on the other side. That way it’ll be symmetrical.’
How do you react to the love of your life being flippant about your general health, never mind the hair styling? I started laughing, together with BB who up until this moment was doing his utmost to be invisible, loitering by the windows and surreptitiously teasing the monkeys that were likewise loitering in the tree outside.
‘Okay, you’ve got me there. Let’s start with your Indian butcher and if that doesn’t work I’ll make an appointment with BB.’
‘Now that your future coiffure is sorted out, let me give you my best assessment of, as you call it, the situation.’
You just have to love Kris, tender yet pragmatic. And always focused.
‘Yep, I’m all ears. And skin flaps.’
‘Thank you for being so understanding.’ Kris, the cynic, at her best. ‘And I do love you, you idiot, whatever you may think.’
‘I know you do. At least I’d like to think that I know that you know that I know you do.’
‘Whatever. Can we get down to business now, please?’
‘Sure, let’s see if your assessment agrees with my assessment. And I promise to have an open mind.’
‘I honestly don’t know what’s going on, or why,’ Kris sighed heavily. ‘If they want information from you, then threatening to kill you is counterproductive.’
‘Obviously. But have you considered that they, whoever they are, may not need any info? And just want to get rid of the competition?’
‘Well, yes, I have. With you being shot at. But uncle Ho is still certain that–’
‘Uncle Ho? So you’ve continued to share our lives and misfortunes with dear old uncle Ho, have you? What if he’s the one behind this all? I wouldn’t put it past him. In this part of the world, a successful businessman,’ I did air quotes, ‘is just another name for a gangster with more guns and goons than anyone else.’
‘Now you’re just being silly, darling. He’s one of my father’s oldest friends, I’ve known him for as long as I can remember.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing! He’s no saint, of course he isn’t. You can’t make it here without bending a few rules, or dealing with unsavoury people, but I trust him absolutely. He’s more or less family.’
‘Family, sure, that makes me all warm and tingly. Almost. You know, where I come from, one of the dark corners of Europe, there’s a proverb about brothers regularly doing nasty things to each other. Very nasty things.’
‘Stop right there, please.’ Kris raised her hand. ‘I trust uncle Ho with my life. But, I’ll give you this, he may possibly have mentioned something about this to one or two people close to him. And they may have passed it on. I’ll try to find out more tomorrow.’
‘Ah, that’s right, his birthday party. What’s the dress code?’
‘Lover, you need to rest and recover. Uncle knows that you’ve been shot, he’ll not expect you to be there.’
‘Really? Because he expected me to be dead?’
‘Stop it, will you. You should rest, you know; stay in bed and be an absolute nuisance, which you do very well, by the way. But if you really want to come with me, it’s casual dress. I’ll pick you up at nine.’
‘Great. What did we get him? A Walther PPK with mother-of- pearl inlays?’
‘You’re so irritating sometimes.’
Chapter 20
‘This’ll be fun,’ I said, scratching the piece of surgical tape above my ear, ‘telling everyone I was shot. And saved by a rat.’ I turned towards Kris, ‘I do hope she’s safe. Such a sensitive soul, Minnie is.’
The Tuscan, after some loving care and attention by Kris’ mechanic, was again at its glorious best, growling in happiness as Kris was changing gears and weaving her way through the traffic. For once, the KL night sky was clear and we were driving top down. Ah, a woman and her machine, pure poetry.
‘It’s a fucking rat. Stop being so autistic.’ Kris was doing her best to keep up with the cretin drivers on Jalan Damansara while showing her displeasure with me. ‘And if you as much as hint to anyone at the party that you’ve been shot, so help me, I’ll finish the job and kill you myself. Anyway, rats are survivors.’
‘I hope you’re right. I’d be devastated, losing my best female friend in Asia.’
‘Why, you utterly deviant piece of…’ Kris looked at me, saw me grinning and quickly changed her riposte. ‘That’s it. Next time you want sex, go talk to your rat.’
‘How about a threesome, then? You wouldn’t believe the tricks Minnie knows.’
Kris just looked at me and shook her head.
The Tuscan, after some loving care and attention by Kris’ mechanic, was again at its glorious best, growling in happiness as Kris was changing gears and weaving her way through the traffic. For once, the KL night sky was clear and we were driving top down. Ah, a woman and her machine, pure poetry.
‘It’s a fucking rat. Stop being so autistic.’ Kris was doing her best to keep up with the cretin drivers on Jalan Damansara while showing her displeasure with me. ‘And if you as much as hint to anyone at the party that you’ve been shot, so help me, I’ll finish the job and kill you myself. Anyway, rats are survivors.’
‘I hope you’re right. I’d be devastated, losing my best female friend in Asia.’
‘Why, you utterly deviant piece of…’ Kris looked at me, saw me grinning and quickly changed her riposte. ‘That’s it. Next time you want sex, go talk to your rat.’
‘How about a threesome, then? You wouldn’t believe the tricks Minnie knows.’
Kris just looked at me and shook her head.
●
When the Chinese throw a party, they do it in style. And big. As we got close to the mansion the road was crammed with parked cars on both sides. All chauffeured, of course, with the drivers chatting and smoking. Definitely no Protons here, instead a scattering of Jags and Bentleys, otherwise mainly large Mercs and Beemers. All of them black, which reminded me of our return drive from Singapore.
‘I know what you’re thinking, darling. We could be looking at the cars that tried to stop us. But then again, everyone that’s anyone in KL has one of these. Or two. Politicians, industrialists, triad heads, pop stars. It’s a basic accessory.’
‘I know. Forget it. But shouldn’t we try to find a parking slot somewhere here?’
‘No need. Uncle Ho wouldn’t want me to trudge for hundreds of metres in these high heels.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
Kris was right. As we approached the driveway, the massive gate started opening, with one of the guards waving us in then stopping us inside the gate.
‘Mr Ho extends his warmest welcome to you, ma’am,’ the guard said leaning down, with a glance in my direction, ‘and your friend.’
‘Thank you, Yi-Wei. Which slot?’
‘Right hand side, ma’am, by the pool. Next to the F50.’
‘Do give my regards to your wife. Pregnancy fine?’
‘Yes ma’am, thank you very much for asking. Just three more weeks.’
‘Is there anyone you don’t know in Asia?’ I asked as we proceeded towards the house.
‘I make it my business to know people. Some I like, others are useful.’
‘Hmm, I’ll refrain from calling that crass. So which am I?’
‘Darling, you’re in a category of your own, don’t you know that? Now help me to park, I’d hate to scratch uncle’s favourite Ferrari.’
As we were getting out of the car, me squeezing through the half opened door carefully to avoid marking the Ferrari paintwork, I did wonder why uncle Ho would own a whole stable of Italian supercars, yet was driven everywhere in his customized Bentley. He’d probably never sat behind the wheel of half of his cars. But then it’s all about wealth and prestige, isn’t it? And showing off. How sad.
Whatever I may have expected of the party, it was nowhere close to what I saw. Mixing with the guests were numerous young women and men, covered all over in gold paint, otherwise naked except for the tiniest of loincloths, offering glasses of champagne and feeding guests with chocolate covered strawberries. I’m sure no one would have batted an eyelid if this had been a Roman orgy but here, in Islamic Malaysia, it felt surreal.
Walking along the pool, being offered bubbly and having strawberries gently and sensuously pushed in our mouths at every second step, I started looking around nervously, expecting undercover Jakim officers to start blowing their whistles and round up the guests in their usual crude manner.
For those of you not familiar with that stupefyingly brainless organisation, it is the official defender of Islam and its supposed values in the country. Which translates into breaking into hotel rooms where alleged indecencies between unmarried parties take place, ideally catching them in flagrante; or arresting individuals suspected of homosexual behaviour; or, at its silliest, because someone doesn’t dress according to their gender. On occasion, when bored or lacking tip-offs, they’ll vigorously pursue suspected beer drinkers and pork eaters. They only go after Malays, I hasten to add, but they do show an unhealthy interest in any activities or inclinations deemed sexually deviant – which essentially includes anything and everything beyond having basic intercourse with your spouse, with the lights off and in the missionary position, and then only to procreate. It does make you wonder about the secret fantasies and mental health of its officers, doesn’t it? Just like the Catholics, I’d say.
‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to get raided.’ Kris assured me, having observed my apprehension. ‘There’s enough government presence here to prevent it. I’ve seen at least three ministers so far. Relax and enjoy the party. And,’ she gave me the box that she’d been carrying, covered in red and gold silk, ‘I think uncle Ho will appreciate it if you give him this. Man to man.’
‘Meaning what?’ I asked as we came to the end of the pool, with Ho in conversation with a seriously obese Chinese guy, surrounded by what could best be described as fawning courtiers with the odd semi-naked concubine thrown in for colour. His wife, of course, was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the kitchens, bullying the staff. Seeing us approach, Ho abruptly turned away from the fat Chinese and stretched out his arms welcomingly in Kris’ direction.
‘My dear Kristina! So wonderful to see you! It warms an old man’s heart to see his favourite niece grace him with her presence.’
‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world, uncle. We are humbled to have been invited to your special occasion.’
‘Mister Ho, happy birthday.’ I said, handing over the box. ‘We hope you’ll enjoy this,’ I don’t know why I said it, other than what Kris had said previously. Man to man.
‘Dearest uncle,’ Kris took over, ‘it’s an insignificant gift that we have sourced for your pleasure, but maybe you will find it worthy of a minor place in your collection.’
‘Thank you, my dear.’ A tiniest pause and nod in my direction, ‘And you. I am sure that this is much more than you say, dear Kristina, and that it may well become the centrepiece.’
‘What the fuck did I just give him?’ I asked Kris from the corner of my mouth as Ho turned towards the table behind him.
‘An ivory carving, late Ming. Explicit erotica.’ Kris whispered in my ear.
‘Ah, I get it now.’ I whispered back, ‘Man to man and all that shit. So I’m in his good book now, am I? And just for the record, he’s a wanker then? I don’t have an issue with that, some of my best friends–’
‘Shut up, you idiot.’ Kris managed to say as Ho, having ceremoniously given the box to a woman standing behind a table already covered in presents, turned back and beamed at Kris.
‘My lovely, beautiful niece, I extend my profound thanks and greetings toward you. Please enjoy yourselves in any way you find agreeable at my modest celebration. You are the brightest beacon in my autumn years, for which I am humbly thankful.’
‘Thank you, dearest uncle. And you are the light that we all strive towards.’
That was it. Despite all the undying love professed between Kris and Ho, we were being gently dismissed, albeit having been given the keys – metaphorically, I assumed – to the premises. As we turned towards the pool area, Kris already in conversation with someone about the pros and cons of rigging Bursa Malaysia, I felt someone behind me, alcohol vapours announcing his presence.
‘So, you miss Kristina’s boyfriend?’
‘No, I’m her girlfriend and will defend to death her right to be a lesbian,’ I turned around and recognised the fat Chinese. ‘Are you also considering gender correction surgery?’
‘Ha, you funny guy. I like you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, you funny. What happen with your head?’
I didn’t like the fatty. And feeling a bit reckless I gave him my best silly answer, ‘Ah, where do I start? It began with a failed Brazilian and ended with me cutting myself badly. So, do leave shaving to the professionals is what I’ve learned. As should you.’
‘Ver’ funny. You really good. Here,’ He plucked out a card from his wallet, ‘give me call anytime, we have best stand-up comedian acts in KL. Call me, I get you the best slot.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t do comedy,’ I replied. And, looking at the card, ‘Cecil – are you for real?’
‘Why no’? Cecil is my birth name. And comedy with drama, most appreciated. Give perspective to life.’
Comedy with drama, in real life, is far from being my thing. Drama certainly isn’t. Life without complications is how I prefer it.
‘Anyway, how do you know Kris?’
‘But everyone here know miss Kristina,’ the fat guy seemed almost offended. ‘She is butter for our bread. Make money for all of us. And now she has gold mine, so I hear. With you helping her. Find important treasure, haw.’
‘Sorry, did you say gold mine?’ I asked, glancing discretely around and seeing Kris in conversation with what looked like a bunch of bwankers. That’s what I used to call them when I was still working – after all, there’s only one letter distinguishing the two. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t have one, otherwise I’d have known about it. There aren’t many of those in this part of the world.’
‘Ah no, is, how you English say, simile? Make lot of money.’
‘No, I believe the correct word would be metaphor, as any public school bred Englishman could tell you. However I’m neither.’
The fatty either didn’t get it or pretended not to.
‘Simile, metaphor, same thing, lah? Miss Kristina find treasure. And everyone say you help find it, no?’
‘What!?’
‘Is okay.’ the fatty actually tapped the side of his nose, ‘I will not say anything. But be careful. Speak to right person only or bad things happen. I, of course, best to speak to, or… or maybe your next Brazilian worse. You know, infection happen. Can die.’
My alarm bells were going off by now, and I wasn’t sure whether to profess absolute innocence or punch him on his big, pockmarked nose, for I was certain by now that he was the bastard who was after us. The first instinct prevailed – having a fistfight at a Chinese party is very much frowned upon. And I’ve also found that acting the drunk European gets you out of most inconvenient situations here. (Including being stopped by a traffic cop, but that’s another story.)
‘Sorry mate, no clue what you’re on about. And, for the record, not that I have to justify ourselves to you, but Kris is totally into the stock market and I’m retired and living well off my ill-gotten gains. Thus we couldn’t care less about any treasure. And also, we spend most of our days fucking each other senseless so we’ve no time to look for it either.’
As I said, do the Drunken European if you need to, but do go all the way. Inevitably they’ll leave, turning their backs on the disgusting round-eye. Not this one, though.
‘I un’erstan’. But if you wan’ associate for treasure hunt, you call me.’ His English was slipping badly by now. ‘Or you hab bad Braseelean ver’ bad por you.’ The bastard winked at me as he said this. ‘You call me. Or Kristina call me, she have my private number.’
Kristina? Without the “Miss”? I nearly did it then. Followed him to his car and beat the shit out of him. Mainly for disrespecting both Kris and me (not using a title here is like announcing one’s carnal knowledge of the named person – and only acceptable if spoken between partners or intimate friends), but also with a good dose of resentment for trying to kill us. But of course I didn’t, although I probably should have, just that once. It certainly would’ve saved us a lot of grief later if I had.
‘I know what you’re thinking, darling. We could be looking at the cars that tried to stop us. But then again, everyone that’s anyone in KL has one of these. Or two. Politicians, industrialists, triad heads, pop stars. It’s a basic accessory.’
‘I know. Forget it. But shouldn’t we try to find a parking slot somewhere here?’
‘No need. Uncle Ho wouldn’t want me to trudge for hundreds of metres in these high heels.’
‘You think?’
‘I know.’
Kris was right. As we approached the driveway, the massive gate started opening, with one of the guards waving us in then stopping us inside the gate.
‘Mr Ho extends his warmest welcome to you, ma’am,’ the guard said leaning down, with a glance in my direction, ‘and your friend.’
‘Thank you, Yi-Wei. Which slot?’
‘Right hand side, ma’am, by the pool. Next to the F50.’
‘Do give my regards to your wife. Pregnancy fine?’
‘Yes ma’am, thank you very much for asking. Just three more weeks.’
‘Is there anyone you don’t know in Asia?’ I asked as we proceeded towards the house.
‘I make it my business to know people. Some I like, others are useful.’
‘Hmm, I’ll refrain from calling that crass. So which am I?’
‘Darling, you’re in a category of your own, don’t you know that? Now help me to park, I’d hate to scratch uncle’s favourite Ferrari.’
As we were getting out of the car, me squeezing through the half opened door carefully to avoid marking the Ferrari paintwork, I did wonder why uncle Ho would own a whole stable of Italian supercars, yet was driven everywhere in his customized Bentley. He’d probably never sat behind the wheel of half of his cars. But then it’s all about wealth and prestige, isn’t it? And showing off. How sad.
Whatever I may have expected of the party, it was nowhere close to what I saw. Mixing with the guests were numerous young women and men, covered all over in gold paint, otherwise naked except for the tiniest of loincloths, offering glasses of champagne and feeding guests with chocolate covered strawberries. I’m sure no one would have batted an eyelid if this had been a Roman orgy but here, in Islamic Malaysia, it felt surreal.
Walking along the pool, being offered bubbly and having strawberries gently and sensuously pushed in our mouths at every second step, I started looking around nervously, expecting undercover Jakim officers to start blowing their whistles and round up the guests in their usual crude manner.
For those of you not familiar with that stupefyingly brainless organisation, it is the official defender of Islam and its supposed values in the country. Which translates into breaking into hotel rooms where alleged indecencies between unmarried parties take place, ideally catching them in flagrante; or arresting individuals suspected of homosexual behaviour; or, at its silliest, because someone doesn’t dress according to their gender. On occasion, when bored or lacking tip-offs, they’ll vigorously pursue suspected beer drinkers and pork eaters. They only go after Malays, I hasten to add, but they do show an unhealthy interest in any activities or inclinations deemed sexually deviant – which essentially includes anything and everything beyond having basic intercourse with your spouse, with the lights off and in the missionary position, and then only to procreate. It does make you wonder about the secret fantasies and mental health of its officers, doesn’t it? Just like the Catholics, I’d say.
‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to get raided.’ Kris assured me, having observed my apprehension. ‘There’s enough government presence here to prevent it. I’ve seen at least three ministers so far. Relax and enjoy the party. And,’ she gave me the box that she’d been carrying, covered in red and gold silk, ‘I think uncle Ho will appreciate it if you give him this. Man to man.’
‘Meaning what?’ I asked as we came to the end of the pool, with Ho in conversation with a seriously obese Chinese guy, surrounded by what could best be described as fawning courtiers with the odd semi-naked concubine thrown in for colour. His wife, of course, was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the kitchens, bullying the staff. Seeing us approach, Ho abruptly turned away from the fat Chinese and stretched out his arms welcomingly in Kris’ direction.
‘My dear Kristina! So wonderful to see you! It warms an old man’s heart to see his favourite niece grace him with her presence.’
‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world, uncle. We are humbled to have been invited to your special occasion.’
‘Mister Ho, happy birthday.’ I said, handing over the box. ‘We hope you’ll enjoy this,’ I don’t know why I said it, other than what Kris had said previously. Man to man.
‘Dearest uncle,’ Kris took over, ‘it’s an insignificant gift that we have sourced for your pleasure, but maybe you will find it worthy of a minor place in your collection.’
‘Thank you, my dear.’ A tiniest pause and nod in my direction, ‘And you. I am sure that this is much more than you say, dear Kristina, and that it may well become the centrepiece.’
‘What the fuck did I just give him?’ I asked Kris from the corner of my mouth as Ho turned towards the table behind him.
‘An ivory carving, late Ming. Explicit erotica.’ Kris whispered in my ear.
‘Ah, I get it now.’ I whispered back, ‘Man to man and all that shit. So I’m in his good book now, am I? And just for the record, he’s a wanker then? I don’t have an issue with that, some of my best friends–’
‘Shut up, you idiot.’ Kris managed to say as Ho, having ceremoniously given the box to a woman standing behind a table already covered in presents, turned back and beamed at Kris.
‘My lovely, beautiful niece, I extend my profound thanks and greetings toward you. Please enjoy yourselves in any way you find agreeable at my modest celebration. You are the brightest beacon in my autumn years, for which I am humbly thankful.’
‘Thank you, dearest uncle. And you are the light that we all strive towards.’
That was it. Despite all the undying love professed between Kris and Ho, we were being gently dismissed, albeit having been given the keys – metaphorically, I assumed – to the premises. As we turned towards the pool area, Kris already in conversation with someone about the pros and cons of rigging Bursa Malaysia, I felt someone behind me, alcohol vapours announcing his presence.
‘So, you miss Kristina’s boyfriend?’
‘No, I’m her girlfriend and will defend to death her right to be a lesbian,’ I turned around and recognised the fat Chinese. ‘Are you also considering gender correction surgery?’
‘Ha, you funny guy. I like you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, you funny. What happen with your head?’
I didn’t like the fatty. And feeling a bit reckless I gave him my best silly answer, ‘Ah, where do I start? It began with a failed Brazilian and ended with me cutting myself badly. So, do leave shaving to the professionals is what I’ve learned. As should you.’
‘Ver’ funny. You really good. Here,’ He plucked out a card from his wallet, ‘give me call anytime, we have best stand-up comedian acts in KL. Call me, I get you the best slot.’
‘Thanks, but I don’t do comedy,’ I replied. And, looking at the card, ‘Cecil – are you for real?’
‘Why no’? Cecil is my birth name. And comedy with drama, most appreciated. Give perspective to life.’
Comedy with drama, in real life, is far from being my thing. Drama certainly isn’t. Life without complications is how I prefer it.
‘Anyway, how do you know Kris?’
‘But everyone here know miss Kristina,’ the fat guy seemed almost offended. ‘She is butter for our bread. Make money for all of us. And now she has gold mine, so I hear. With you helping her. Find important treasure, haw.’
‘Sorry, did you say gold mine?’ I asked, glancing discretely around and seeing Kris in conversation with what looked like a bunch of bwankers. That’s what I used to call them when I was still working – after all, there’s only one letter distinguishing the two. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t have one, otherwise I’d have known about it. There aren’t many of those in this part of the world.’
‘Ah no, is, how you English say, simile? Make lot of money.’
‘No, I believe the correct word would be metaphor, as any public school bred Englishman could tell you. However I’m neither.’
The fatty either didn’t get it or pretended not to.
‘Simile, metaphor, same thing, lah? Miss Kristina find treasure. And everyone say you help find it, no?’
‘What!?’
‘Is okay.’ the fatty actually tapped the side of his nose, ‘I will not say anything. But be careful. Speak to right person only or bad things happen. I, of course, best to speak to, or… or maybe your next Brazilian worse. You know, infection happen. Can die.’
My alarm bells were going off by now, and I wasn’t sure whether to profess absolute innocence or punch him on his big, pockmarked nose, for I was certain by now that he was the bastard who was after us. The first instinct prevailed – having a fistfight at a Chinese party is very much frowned upon. And I’ve also found that acting the drunk European gets you out of most inconvenient situations here. (Including being stopped by a traffic cop, but that’s another story.)
‘Sorry mate, no clue what you’re on about. And, for the record, not that I have to justify ourselves to you, but Kris is totally into the stock market and I’m retired and living well off my ill-gotten gains. Thus we couldn’t care less about any treasure. And also, we spend most of our days fucking each other senseless so we’ve no time to look for it either.’
As I said, do the Drunken European if you need to, but do go all the way. Inevitably they’ll leave, turning their backs on the disgusting round-eye. Not this one, though.
‘I un’erstan’. But if you wan’ associate for treasure hunt, you call me.’ His English was slipping badly by now. ‘Or you hab bad Braseelean ver’ bad por you.’ The bastard winked at me as he said this. ‘You call me. Or Kristina call me, she have my private number.’
Kristina? Without the “Miss”? I nearly did it then. Followed him to his car and beat the shit out of him. Mainly for disrespecting both Kris and me (not using a title here is like announcing one’s carnal knowledge of the named person – and only acceptable if spoken between partners or intimate friends), but also with a good dose of resentment for trying to kill us. But of course I didn’t, although I probably should have, just that once. It certainly would’ve saved us a lot of grief later if I had.
Chapter 21
Kris was nowhere to be seen but knowing her I assumed she was by now involved in planning yet another hostile takeover or something else equally boring. Time to hit the bar.
‘Single malt, the older the better. No ice. To the rim, please.’ I called out as I sat on the stool next to a Malay woman. Tightly wrapped from neck to ankles including the nowadays nearly mandatory tudung, she was facing away from me, a glass with what looked like orange juice in her hand.
‘Cheers, insha’Allah,’ I offered.
I expected her to get up and leave in distaste without even acknowledging my presence. Instead, she turned towards me. Quite a pretty woman, despite the ugly scarf wound around her head.
‘Cheers, stranger,’ she replied with a cautious smile. ‘And let us hope that we’re not judged too harshly in the hereafter for all our misdemeanours in this life.’
Wow, not what I expected. Then I realised that I’d seen her face before on magazine covers.
‘Sorry, aren’t you–’
‘No names, please. Here,’ she smiled at me, raising her glass, ‘we’re all anonymous guests. Malay, Asian, European; women, men. And if you join me I won’t have to drink this screwdriver on my own.’
‘Oh, I assumed it was juice.’
‘Don’t be silly, Allah just wants us all to be happy. And I’m happy now.’
An interesting woman, this one. ‘Okay, then, cheers to happiness.’
‘Cheers, Alex,’ she replied, giving me a dazzling smile, ‘Yes, I know who you are, and that you’ve found a fabulous treasure with your girlfriend and everyone in KL is talking about it. There, now we’ve been properly introduced.’
Damn, that was the last thing I expected to hear. Meeting two people at the party and being told the same thing made me jittery.
‘Actually, my name is Adrian,’ I don’t know why, but that was the first name that came to my mind, ‘and I’m gay.’
And just to prove it, I added in a slight lisp, with exaggerated hand gestures, ‘Which means that I don’t have a girlfriend and being a celebrity hairdresser I certainly don’t know anything about any treasures other than the handpicked staff in my salon.’
It certainly sounded convincing to me and for a couple of heartbeats the woman looked uncertain. Then she guffawed, ‘Ha, you had me there for a second! I would almost have believed you if it hadn’t been for your head wound. What did you do – hurt yourself while trimming the sideburns? With a gun, like gay hairdressers always do?’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I did my best to sound butch, still with a lisp, ‘is there anyone in KL that doesn’t know about me getting held up at gunpoint and robbed, in my own home? It’s hardly something you want to advertise, is it? I could’ve been raped, or worse.’
Still trying to play the part. When plain lying gets you nowhere, try harder while bending the truth somewhat.
It didn’t work with her.
‘So you were shot at, big deal. You survived. Flers get shot here daily. I used to know someone who was blown up a few years ago. Semtex in pussy. Makes you come big time, but only once.’
‘Look, I don’t want people gossiping about this, me being involved in a shooting. It’s not good for my business. And,’ I did my best to appeal to her, ‘I really don’t know where you got the treasure thing from.’
‘Relax, Alex slash Adrian,’ with a wink, ‘I don’t care about your treasure. Only my husband knows, and his friends, and of course the head of police, but this is not political so there’s no problem for you.’
‘What!?’
‘I enjoyed talking to you, Adrian the hairdresser,’ she winked at me again. ‘Maybe we shall meet at another party; see what else there is in the toolbox. In the meantime, your very secret treasure is safe with me. But now I must find a loo.’
There she left me to contemplate if there was anyone in KL who mattered that was not privy to my dreams. At least the one that I was foolish enough to tell Kris about.
Maybe it’s time to reassess the current situation, I thought. Stop being a rational Westerner, insisting on applying logic in an environment where most people are deeply superstitious (or religious, same shit), and see it from their perspective. Go native and think like a local. Beat them using their own superstition and remain alive and healthy. And maybe, possibly, turn this to my advantage. Not to mention getting a bonus out of all this and somehow profit from the whole business – maybe even write a book about it, as Kris had once joked about. Now that would be sweet.
I ordered another single malt. Downed it in one go and asked for another. And another. Spirits, throughout history, have emboldened men, for better or worse, so after my fourth I had an epiphany. I’d had enough of taking shit from amateur thugs who, I was sure, were infinitely intellectually inferior to me. I even had a quiet chuckle to myself about my catchy alliteration.
And if they wanted to get tough, well fuck them. I may look like a softie but I used to ride with some badass bikers back in Berlin in my youth. Another beautiful alliteration and another chuckle. Compared to them, the Marseille Bandidos chapter that I got to know a few years later were wimps. Thus I would hardly be a pushover, having had broken a few reluctant German bones in my time, and not least gotten acquainted with the workings of an AK-47. Mind you, only for practice. We don’t do firearms in Europe unless we have to. Last time I used one was in a remote part of Sweden, blasting away at the trout in a tiny lake next to the barn housing the local biker gang. Just because the bloody fish didn’t want to swim up voluntarily and lie down on the barbecue rack that I’d placed in the water. Yes, I may have been slightly out of touch with reality at the time, courtesy of miscellaneous mind-bending pills and mushrooms on offer that night. Normally I’m quite sane, except for when I’m not.
Surely these puny Asian guys wouldn’t even be close to the daily violence so prevalent in the outlaw biker communities in Europe? And I could take them on myself, no problem, with one hand tied behind my back and the other firmly gripping a shot glass filled with single malt. Gloriously drunk, I was getting more confident and assured of my superiority and invincibility by the minute. Maybe I should just tell Kris about my other dreams and see the reaction? Agree on a strategy and run with it? I could see her on the other side of the pool now, with another bunch of toffee-nosed bwankers, I was sure, fawning over her.
‘Hello boss! May I replenish your nearly empty glass?’
The guy, another Chinese that I’d never met before, looked like he was barely in his teens and thus was probably in his late twenties. Slight, slender and a touch effeminate, yet with a decidedly superior manner. On my side of the bar, so one of the guests – if nothing else, his clothes were a dead giveaway. A slick, dark and shiny suit, tailored, expensive, and probably made from Thai raw silk, offset by a white Mao style open-necked shirt and, incongruously enough, a pair of silver Nikes. Probably a rich idiot’s idiot son, I assumed, one of the ever present party crowd in KL. On the spur of a moment I decided to once again act the drunk European. My way of being friendly, if you want.
‘You may, son. Another single malt. The aged one.’ I was certainly not acting imperial or colonial here, mind you, just putting him in his rightful place for being so much younger than me yet approaching me in a less than acceptable way. Not properly introduced prior to this interaction and all that.
‘And why were you so sure that my glass needed replenishing, sonny? Someone told you?’ I asked once he’d placed the glass in front of me.
I did not expect his answer.
‘But you Europeans always drink when is free, lah,’ he said with a sneer, ‘Isn’t that right, boss?’
In an instant I decided I liked the guy even less.
‘What’s your problem, sonny? You want to learn how to be a man? And drink like one? Well, for that,’ I sneered back, ‘you have to have European balls. And a European dick. Anyway,’ I stood up holding the glass and used the bar to steady myself, ‘this conversation is getting seriously boring so I’m going to leave now.’ I did my best to stay steady and dignified while simultaneously plotting the easiest path to the other side of the pool. ‘Once you grow a penis, do contact me, I will give you tips on how to use it.’
‘Thank you for your generous offer, but I would prefer us to talk now,’ the guy had suddenly gone from the usual Manglish to an impeccable northern Home Counties accent, ‘about your treasure, and how I can help keep you alive. For a more or less modest fee, of course.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck! I might as well put a whole page ad in the New Straits Times: “Sucker discovers treasure in his dream and invites all criminal elements in the region to relieve him of it. Interested parties please do drop in for a chat and a bit of harmless GBH. Address supplied upon request. Any and all firearms welcome.”
There wouldn’t be any point in telling the bastard that I was as clueless as he. If no one else believed me, why would he? Hell, by now I was starting to wonder myself if I was onto something real.
‘Hey, you. I’m talking to you.’ He poked me in the chest with a finger.
Very impolite. And very much not the thing to do to me, certainly not when I’m drunk and already in a bad mood. Yet I stayed calm and composed. ‘Give me a second, sonny, and I’ll give you my reply.’
I finished the malt and placed the glass gently on the bar. Then I lifted him up despite his protests, one hand firmly grabbing his crotch, the other around his scrawny neck, and carried him the two steps to the pool edge. Then I threw him in.
He didn’t make much of a splash as there wasn’t that much of him. But still enough for the people in the vicinity to react with gasps and shocked expressions.
‘Someone help that kid, I think he’s had a bit too much. You know how it is,’ I shrugged, ‘some people just can’t take their drink.’
As I proceeded around the pool I saw Kris coming towards me on an intercepting path, eyes ablaze and mouth pouting. A sure sign that she was pissed off.
‘What the hell have you done?’ She hissed at me. ‘Do you know who that was, the man you just pushed into the pool?’
‘Someone very rude. I felt he needed a swimming lesson.’ I was quite pleased with myself. ‘So who is he? The undisputed star of Malaysian ballet? A prima donna in a transvestite cabaret show? Anyway, I didn’t push him, I threw him in. Major difference.’
‘Oh you stupid, stupid man. Forget the fucking semantics for once. He’s the son of Lawrence Chen, one of the richest and most influential men in Macau.’
‘So what? He’s obviously not managed to teach his son how to be polite. Besides, that’s Macau, we’re in Malaysia.’
Kris sighed deeply, ‘Lawrence Chen is the triad head in Macau. Do you understand what that means?’
My alcohol buzz receded much faster than usually, and I got an unsettling feeling that I may have overreacted. On the other side of the pool I could see Ho striding towards us with a grim expression, followed by two of his security men. But I was still holding on to my petulant mood.
‘He’s a crook, and so is his son. And they may both need a few lessons in civil behaviour.’
‘Civil behaviour? Are you kidding? Listen,’ Kris had also seen Ho approaching and hurried, ‘Chen owns two casinos in Macau, which the Las Vegas mafia wanted in on. They sent a delegation with a suitcase with five million dollars as a gift, just to start negotiations. He sent the people back to US in stainless steel coffins lined with the money. That’s how civil he is. And now his son and heir is here to expand the business. The son that you just pushed into the pool. We’re in shit street.’
Ho descended upon us like an unwanted hailstorm.
‘Kristina,’ Despite his stern look, Ho sounded more concerned than anything else, ‘when I invited your… friend to the party, I did not expect him to start throwing my guests in the pool. I think it best for him to leave. Now.’
‘My dear uncle, please accept our most sincere apologies. Mine for not having taught Alex properly how to behave here; alas he is still a barbaric European. And his,’ with a look at me that would’ve instantly wilted any centuries-old oak, ‘for being inexcusably drunk and grossly overreacting to Mr Chen’s advances. And we will, of course, leave now. Please apologise to Mr Chen from both of us.’
Advances, eh? Kris was obviously ad-libbing here, admirably so.
‘Ah, I see,’ Ho pondered this for a moment. ‘I do know of young Chen’s unfortunate inclination. As a young man I may also have shown insufficient restraint in such situations. That I can understand. But such actions, while marginally acceptable in a common bar, are inadmissible at an occasion such as this one.’
‘I understand, uncle, and I agree with you. You are a very wise man.’ Kris appearing this contrite and submissive was news to me. ‘We will leave now. Please inform me if any compensation will be required.’
‘My dear, as the host, everything that takes place here is my responsibility. I will see to it that Chen junior,’ he nodded towards the dickhead standing by the pool and looking like a wet cat, only less cuddly, ‘is placated for now. And I will do what I can to explain this to his father. I will advise you if any further actions are necessary.’
‘Thank you, uncle. We are blessed to have you in our lives.’
That was it. Ho turned his back to us and walked towards Chen the dickhead. We got into the car and departed, cautiously saluted by the guards at the gate. Kris was quiet for once, and I did not feel it appropriate to make any comments.
‘Single malt, the older the better. No ice. To the rim, please.’ I called out as I sat on the stool next to a Malay woman. Tightly wrapped from neck to ankles including the nowadays nearly mandatory tudung, she was facing away from me, a glass with what looked like orange juice in her hand.
‘Cheers, insha’Allah,’ I offered.
I expected her to get up and leave in distaste without even acknowledging my presence. Instead, she turned towards me. Quite a pretty woman, despite the ugly scarf wound around her head.
‘Cheers, stranger,’ she replied with a cautious smile. ‘And let us hope that we’re not judged too harshly in the hereafter for all our misdemeanours in this life.’
Wow, not what I expected. Then I realised that I’d seen her face before on magazine covers.
‘Sorry, aren’t you–’
‘No names, please. Here,’ she smiled at me, raising her glass, ‘we’re all anonymous guests. Malay, Asian, European; women, men. And if you join me I won’t have to drink this screwdriver on my own.’
‘Oh, I assumed it was juice.’
‘Don’t be silly, Allah just wants us all to be happy. And I’m happy now.’
An interesting woman, this one. ‘Okay, then, cheers to happiness.’
‘Cheers, Alex,’ she replied, giving me a dazzling smile, ‘Yes, I know who you are, and that you’ve found a fabulous treasure with your girlfriend and everyone in KL is talking about it. There, now we’ve been properly introduced.’
Damn, that was the last thing I expected to hear. Meeting two people at the party and being told the same thing made me jittery.
‘Actually, my name is Adrian,’ I don’t know why, but that was the first name that came to my mind, ‘and I’m gay.’
And just to prove it, I added in a slight lisp, with exaggerated hand gestures, ‘Which means that I don’t have a girlfriend and being a celebrity hairdresser I certainly don’t know anything about any treasures other than the handpicked staff in my salon.’
It certainly sounded convincing to me and for a couple of heartbeats the woman looked uncertain. Then she guffawed, ‘Ha, you had me there for a second! I would almost have believed you if it hadn’t been for your head wound. What did you do – hurt yourself while trimming the sideburns? With a gun, like gay hairdressers always do?’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I did my best to sound butch, still with a lisp, ‘is there anyone in KL that doesn’t know about me getting held up at gunpoint and robbed, in my own home? It’s hardly something you want to advertise, is it? I could’ve been raped, or worse.’
Still trying to play the part. When plain lying gets you nowhere, try harder while bending the truth somewhat.
It didn’t work with her.
‘So you were shot at, big deal. You survived. Flers get shot here daily. I used to know someone who was blown up a few years ago. Semtex in pussy. Makes you come big time, but only once.’
‘Look, I don’t want people gossiping about this, me being involved in a shooting. It’s not good for my business. And,’ I did my best to appeal to her, ‘I really don’t know where you got the treasure thing from.’
‘Relax, Alex slash Adrian,’ with a wink, ‘I don’t care about your treasure. Only my husband knows, and his friends, and of course the head of police, but this is not political so there’s no problem for you.’
‘What!?’
‘I enjoyed talking to you, Adrian the hairdresser,’ she winked at me again. ‘Maybe we shall meet at another party; see what else there is in the toolbox. In the meantime, your very secret treasure is safe with me. But now I must find a loo.’
There she left me to contemplate if there was anyone in KL who mattered that was not privy to my dreams. At least the one that I was foolish enough to tell Kris about.
Maybe it’s time to reassess the current situation, I thought. Stop being a rational Westerner, insisting on applying logic in an environment where most people are deeply superstitious (or religious, same shit), and see it from their perspective. Go native and think like a local. Beat them using their own superstition and remain alive and healthy. And maybe, possibly, turn this to my advantage. Not to mention getting a bonus out of all this and somehow profit from the whole business – maybe even write a book about it, as Kris had once joked about. Now that would be sweet.
I ordered another single malt. Downed it in one go and asked for another. And another. Spirits, throughout history, have emboldened men, for better or worse, so after my fourth I had an epiphany. I’d had enough of taking shit from amateur thugs who, I was sure, were infinitely intellectually inferior to me. I even had a quiet chuckle to myself about my catchy alliteration.
And if they wanted to get tough, well fuck them. I may look like a softie but I used to ride with some badass bikers back in Berlin in my youth. Another beautiful alliteration and another chuckle. Compared to them, the Marseille Bandidos chapter that I got to know a few years later were wimps. Thus I would hardly be a pushover, having had broken a few reluctant German bones in my time, and not least gotten acquainted with the workings of an AK-47. Mind you, only for practice. We don’t do firearms in Europe unless we have to. Last time I used one was in a remote part of Sweden, blasting away at the trout in a tiny lake next to the barn housing the local biker gang. Just because the bloody fish didn’t want to swim up voluntarily and lie down on the barbecue rack that I’d placed in the water. Yes, I may have been slightly out of touch with reality at the time, courtesy of miscellaneous mind-bending pills and mushrooms on offer that night. Normally I’m quite sane, except for when I’m not.
Surely these puny Asian guys wouldn’t even be close to the daily violence so prevalent in the outlaw biker communities in Europe? And I could take them on myself, no problem, with one hand tied behind my back and the other firmly gripping a shot glass filled with single malt. Gloriously drunk, I was getting more confident and assured of my superiority and invincibility by the minute. Maybe I should just tell Kris about my other dreams and see the reaction? Agree on a strategy and run with it? I could see her on the other side of the pool now, with another bunch of toffee-nosed bwankers, I was sure, fawning over her.
‘Hello boss! May I replenish your nearly empty glass?’
The guy, another Chinese that I’d never met before, looked like he was barely in his teens and thus was probably in his late twenties. Slight, slender and a touch effeminate, yet with a decidedly superior manner. On my side of the bar, so one of the guests – if nothing else, his clothes were a dead giveaway. A slick, dark and shiny suit, tailored, expensive, and probably made from Thai raw silk, offset by a white Mao style open-necked shirt and, incongruously enough, a pair of silver Nikes. Probably a rich idiot’s idiot son, I assumed, one of the ever present party crowd in KL. On the spur of a moment I decided to once again act the drunk European. My way of being friendly, if you want.
‘You may, son. Another single malt. The aged one.’ I was certainly not acting imperial or colonial here, mind you, just putting him in his rightful place for being so much younger than me yet approaching me in a less than acceptable way. Not properly introduced prior to this interaction and all that.
‘And why were you so sure that my glass needed replenishing, sonny? Someone told you?’ I asked once he’d placed the glass in front of me.
I did not expect his answer.
‘But you Europeans always drink when is free, lah,’ he said with a sneer, ‘Isn’t that right, boss?’
In an instant I decided I liked the guy even less.
‘What’s your problem, sonny? You want to learn how to be a man? And drink like one? Well, for that,’ I sneered back, ‘you have to have European balls. And a European dick. Anyway,’ I stood up holding the glass and used the bar to steady myself, ‘this conversation is getting seriously boring so I’m going to leave now.’ I did my best to stay steady and dignified while simultaneously plotting the easiest path to the other side of the pool. ‘Once you grow a penis, do contact me, I will give you tips on how to use it.’
‘Thank you for your generous offer, but I would prefer us to talk now,’ the guy had suddenly gone from the usual Manglish to an impeccable northern Home Counties accent, ‘about your treasure, and how I can help keep you alive. For a more or less modest fee, of course.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck! I might as well put a whole page ad in the New Straits Times: “Sucker discovers treasure in his dream and invites all criminal elements in the region to relieve him of it. Interested parties please do drop in for a chat and a bit of harmless GBH. Address supplied upon request. Any and all firearms welcome.”
There wouldn’t be any point in telling the bastard that I was as clueless as he. If no one else believed me, why would he? Hell, by now I was starting to wonder myself if I was onto something real.
‘Hey, you. I’m talking to you.’ He poked me in the chest with a finger.
Very impolite. And very much not the thing to do to me, certainly not when I’m drunk and already in a bad mood. Yet I stayed calm and composed. ‘Give me a second, sonny, and I’ll give you my reply.’
I finished the malt and placed the glass gently on the bar. Then I lifted him up despite his protests, one hand firmly grabbing his crotch, the other around his scrawny neck, and carried him the two steps to the pool edge. Then I threw him in.
He didn’t make much of a splash as there wasn’t that much of him. But still enough for the people in the vicinity to react with gasps and shocked expressions.
‘Someone help that kid, I think he’s had a bit too much. You know how it is,’ I shrugged, ‘some people just can’t take their drink.’
As I proceeded around the pool I saw Kris coming towards me on an intercepting path, eyes ablaze and mouth pouting. A sure sign that she was pissed off.
‘What the hell have you done?’ She hissed at me. ‘Do you know who that was, the man you just pushed into the pool?’
‘Someone very rude. I felt he needed a swimming lesson.’ I was quite pleased with myself. ‘So who is he? The undisputed star of Malaysian ballet? A prima donna in a transvestite cabaret show? Anyway, I didn’t push him, I threw him in. Major difference.’
‘Oh you stupid, stupid man. Forget the fucking semantics for once. He’s the son of Lawrence Chen, one of the richest and most influential men in Macau.’
‘So what? He’s obviously not managed to teach his son how to be polite. Besides, that’s Macau, we’re in Malaysia.’
Kris sighed deeply, ‘Lawrence Chen is the triad head in Macau. Do you understand what that means?’
My alcohol buzz receded much faster than usually, and I got an unsettling feeling that I may have overreacted. On the other side of the pool I could see Ho striding towards us with a grim expression, followed by two of his security men. But I was still holding on to my petulant mood.
‘He’s a crook, and so is his son. And they may both need a few lessons in civil behaviour.’
‘Civil behaviour? Are you kidding? Listen,’ Kris had also seen Ho approaching and hurried, ‘Chen owns two casinos in Macau, which the Las Vegas mafia wanted in on. They sent a delegation with a suitcase with five million dollars as a gift, just to start negotiations. He sent the people back to US in stainless steel coffins lined with the money. That’s how civil he is. And now his son and heir is here to expand the business. The son that you just pushed into the pool. We’re in shit street.’
Ho descended upon us like an unwanted hailstorm.
‘Kristina,’ Despite his stern look, Ho sounded more concerned than anything else, ‘when I invited your… friend to the party, I did not expect him to start throwing my guests in the pool. I think it best for him to leave. Now.’
‘My dear uncle, please accept our most sincere apologies. Mine for not having taught Alex properly how to behave here; alas he is still a barbaric European. And his,’ with a look at me that would’ve instantly wilted any centuries-old oak, ‘for being inexcusably drunk and grossly overreacting to Mr Chen’s advances. And we will, of course, leave now. Please apologise to Mr Chen from both of us.’
Advances, eh? Kris was obviously ad-libbing here, admirably so.
‘Ah, I see,’ Ho pondered this for a moment. ‘I do know of young Chen’s unfortunate inclination. As a young man I may also have shown insufficient restraint in such situations. That I can understand. But such actions, while marginally acceptable in a common bar, are inadmissible at an occasion such as this one.’
‘I understand, uncle, and I agree with you. You are a very wise man.’ Kris appearing this contrite and submissive was news to me. ‘We will leave now. Please inform me if any compensation will be required.’
‘My dear, as the host, everything that takes place here is my responsibility. I will see to it that Chen junior,’ he nodded towards the dickhead standing by the pool and looking like a wet cat, only less cuddly, ‘is placated for now. And I will do what I can to explain this to his father. I will advise you if any further actions are necessary.’
‘Thank you, uncle. We are blessed to have you in our lives.’
That was it. Ho turned his back to us and walked towards Chen the dickhead. We got into the car and departed, cautiously saluted by the guards at the gate. Kris was quiet for once, and I did not feel it appropriate to make any comments.
●
The silence in the car was conspicuous, with Kris still fuming. As I idly watched the street lights flicker by I started thinking of everything that had taken place since that first dream and me telling Kris about it. As much as I didn’t want to believe in the supernatural, nor in interpreting dreams other than in the strictest psychotherapeutic sense, all of this was beginning to get to me. I recollected our conversation last night and my musings before the, eh… interaction with Chen junior.
As I do on occasion when encountering a seemingly unsolvable problem, I started an internal questions and answers session. Creating a what-if scenario and allowing myself to not only think outside the box but ignore the box completely and roam about the whole damned warehouse while validating or discarding the options:
One: my dreams, at least the first two, had proven to be uncannily close to real people and events. I didn’t even want to contemplate at this stage what the last dream could possibly have been about.
Two: considering the unwelcome interest that Kris’ queries had exposed me to, any number of unpleasant people firmly believed that I had discovered, or was about to discover, something worth harassing, intimidating and yes, even killing for. Whether it was real – whatever this thing was – or just imaginary, I was in very real danger and Kris was right. I couldn’t simply ignore it and hope it’d go away. The only way out would be to pursue it as far as we could.
Three: what if, as absurd as it seemed, it was all real? What if there really was a treasure waiting to be discovered? An actual, tangible object, rare and valuable and with a definite price tag, something that we could potentially hand over to the highest bidder for a nice profit and good luck to them if they could make even more money out of it. An appealing thought.
Four: if we continue, what could go wrong? Kris had more than enough connections to get us out of any tricky situation, and anyway she seemed to be safe – everyone was targeting me and not her, at least for now. As for our personal security, BB and the boys had learned their lesson the hard way and would not be caught again with their pants down. Also, as my alcohol-inflated ego insisted, having had experienced some heavy duty shit in my misspent youth I wouldn’t be a pushover for anyone. If they wanted a serious fight they’d get one, and remember it. This last supposition would prove to be very much wrong, but how was I to know that?
Maybe this was the time to come clean with Kris and let her know that the dream she knew about was not a one-off.
‘Darling, don’t be angry but I need to tell you something. About my dreams.’
As I do on occasion when encountering a seemingly unsolvable problem, I started an internal questions and answers session. Creating a what-if scenario and allowing myself to not only think outside the box but ignore the box completely and roam about the whole damned warehouse while validating or discarding the options:
One: my dreams, at least the first two, had proven to be uncannily close to real people and events. I didn’t even want to contemplate at this stage what the last dream could possibly have been about.
Two: considering the unwelcome interest that Kris’ queries had exposed me to, any number of unpleasant people firmly believed that I had discovered, or was about to discover, something worth harassing, intimidating and yes, even killing for. Whether it was real – whatever this thing was – or just imaginary, I was in very real danger and Kris was right. I couldn’t simply ignore it and hope it’d go away. The only way out would be to pursue it as far as we could.
Three: what if, as absurd as it seemed, it was all real? What if there really was a treasure waiting to be discovered? An actual, tangible object, rare and valuable and with a definite price tag, something that we could potentially hand over to the highest bidder for a nice profit and good luck to them if they could make even more money out of it. An appealing thought.
Four: if we continue, what could go wrong? Kris had more than enough connections to get us out of any tricky situation, and anyway she seemed to be safe – everyone was targeting me and not her, at least for now. As for our personal security, BB and the boys had learned their lesson the hard way and would not be caught again with their pants down. Also, as my alcohol-inflated ego insisted, having had experienced some heavy duty shit in my misspent youth I wouldn’t be a pushover for anyone. If they wanted a serious fight they’d get one, and remember it. This last supposition would prove to be very much wrong, but how was I to know that?
Maybe this was the time to come clean with Kris and let her know that the dream she knew about was not a one-off.
‘Darling, don’t be angry but I need to tell you something. About my dreams.’
Chapter 22
‘You do test my patience, you know that?’ Kris shook her head and looked at BB for support.
We were sitting at the table in my kitchen. Well past two in the morning and we’d drunk most of a bottle of Glenlivet between us. I was holding a bag of ice to the bump on my forehead, the result of an encounter with the dashboard as Kris had applied the very effective Tuscan brakes when I’d told her that I may have had further dreams.
‘I don’t want to hear anything now,’ she’d said between clenched teeth, ‘but once we get home I expect you to tell me everything, and I mean everything, that you’ve held back.’
So I told Kris about dreams two and three, as much as I could remember, with her interrupting me every now and then with questions while BB was quiet and nodding and sipping his malt.
‘What I can say in my defence,’ I offered, ‘is that I didn’t want to blow this thing out of proportion. And there were times, I can assure you, when I considered whether I should commit myself to a loony bin. Having visions is not normal. Or rather, having prophetic dreams. I’m a rational person. At least, I’ve been until now.’
Kris ignored my explanation. ‘Your second dream would corroborate what we know about the antique dealer–’
‘Toby Fucks,’ I suggested.
‘Shut up, please. Your second dream confirms Edwina’s story. Which brings us to the third, and latest. Assuming you have not conveniently forgotten another one?’ Kris looked at me questioningly.
‘Darling, you know as much as I do now. And probably more.’ I looked at BB for support but he seemed suddenly preoccupied with the contents of his glass.
‘Good,’ Kris nodded. ‘That last dream would, I dare say, confirm the origin of the Bajau in your dream. And the general area where he found this object, whatever it is.’
‘A Japanese warship? That could’ve happened anywhere in the Pacific. If it’s at all related to the other dreams. It was so over the top, with that thing standing there and its mouth like a fucking black hole. It wasn’t normal, I’m telling you. Definitely the stuff of nightmares. Or bad films. Think Hammer Horror.’
‘I agree, that one does seem weird. Unlike your previous dreams, nasty but realistic, this one is–’
‘Exactly. It has a supernatural element in it, which is why I didn’t want to mention it. The one before kind of corroborates what your, ah… contact in Singapore told you,’ I disregarded Kris’ warning look. ‘But this one is just over the top.’
‘I guess it could’ve been your brain trying to process the horrors that you witnessed and creating a focal point, in this case a bad guy responsible for it all. You know, the brain’s subliminal messages simplifying and distilling your experience so you can cope with it.’
‘I can’t comment on that, can I,’ I replied, ‘as I don’t subscribe to either Freud’s or Jung’s theories. Everything being sexual is bullshit, and as for the collective unconscious, well – in that case the whole world would be sharing it and living happy, mindless lives without any conflicts.’
‘A grossly simplistic and amateurish theory if I’ve ever heard one,’ Kris sighed. ‘You may be interested to know that the science of psychology has evolved since the first quarter of the last century. But that’s neither here nor there. Once we have enough time I may enlighten you, however we are currently interested in what all of this is about, staying on top of things and keeping ourselves alive.’
‘Myself,’ I felt I had to interject. ‘So far I’m the only one that’s been threatened. And shot at. And, ah… bullied.’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Kris conceded. ‘ You do seem to be at the centre of this.’
‘ Thank you, I feel so much better now. Look, I didn’t want to get involved in this to begin with, but now that I am – and so are you – I suggest that we roll with it and see where it takes us. But right now, it takes us nowhere. The last dream could be about anything, anywhere in the Pacific.’
‘You didn’t listen to me earlier, did you, when I said it confirms the origin of the Bajau? He was supposed to be from Sabah, remember? Northern Borneo? I know where those ships were, and what happened.’
Kris was familiar with the area, having dived there as a teenager. Three ships were sunk during one night in 1944, the only major Japanese sea loss off Sabah. Her mother’s uncle had gone down with one of the ships and her father thought it would be an appropriate location for a girl, fourteen at the time, to be introduced to diving with sharks while paying her respects to the old guy.
‘As far as I’m concerned, there’s no doubt where your last dream took place,’ Kris was adamant, ‘and that’s where we’re going next, as soon as I complete the deal I’ve got on. I think we both need a few days of R&R, don’t you?’
We were sitting at the table in my kitchen. Well past two in the morning and we’d drunk most of a bottle of Glenlivet between us. I was holding a bag of ice to the bump on my forehead, the result of an encounter with the dashboard as Kris had applied the very effective Tuscan brakes when I’d told her that I may have had further dreams.
‘I don’t want to hear anything now,’ she’d said between clenched teeth, ‘but once we get home I expect you to tell me everything, and I mean everything, that you’ve held back.’
So I told Kris about dreams two and three, as much as I could remember, with her interrupting me every now and then with questions while BB was quiet and nodding and sipping his malt.
‘What I can say in my defence,’ I offered, ‘is that I didn’t want to blow this thing out of proportion. And there were times, I can assure you, when I considered whether I should commit myself to a loony bin. Having visions is not normal. Or rather, having prophetic dreams. I’m a rational person. At least, I’ve been until now.’
Kris ignored my explanation. ‘Your second dream would corroborate what we know about the antique dealer–’
‘Toby Fucks,’ I suggested.
‘Shut up, please. Your second dream confirms Edwina’s story. Which brings us to the third, and latest. Assuming you have not conveniently forgotten another one?’ Kris looked at me questioningly.
‘Darling, you know as much as I do now. And probably more.’ I looked at BB for support but he seemed suddenly preoccupied with the contents of his glass.
‘Good,’ Kris nodded. ‘That last dream would, I dare say, confirm the origin of the Bajau in your dream. And the general area where he found this object, whatever it is.’
‘A Japanese warship? That could’ve happened anywhere in the Pacific. If it’s at all related to the other dreams. It was so over the top, with that thing standing there and its mouth like a fucking black hole. It wasn’t normal, I’m telling you. Definitely the stuff of nightmares. Or bad films. Think Hammer Horror.’
‘I agree, that one does seem weird. Unlike your previous dreams, nasty but realistic, this one is–’
‘Exactly. It has a supernatural element in it, which is why I didn’t want to mention it. The one before kind of corroborates what your, ah… contact in Singapore told you,’ I disregarded Kris’ warning look. ‘But this one is just over the top.’
‘I guess it could’ve been your brain trying to process the horrors that you witnessed and creating a focal point, in this case a bad guy responsible for it all. You know, the brain’s subliminal messages simplifying and distilling your experience so you can cope with it.’
‘I can’t comment on that, can I,’ I replied, ‘as I don’t subscribe to either Freud’s or Jung’s theories. Everything being sexual is bullshit, and as for the collective unconscious, well – in that case the whole world would be sharing it and living happy, mindless lives without any conflicts.’
‘A grossly simplistic and amateurish theory if I’ve ever heard one,’ Kris sighed. ‘You may be interested to know that the science of psychology has evolved since the first quarter of the last century. But that’s neither here nor there. Once we have enough time I may enlighten you, however we are currently interested in what all of this is about, staying on top of things and keeping ourselves alive.’
‘Myself,’ I felt I had to interject. ‘So far I’m the only one that’s been threatened. And shot at. And, ah… bullied.’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Kris conceded. ‘ You do seem to be at the centre of this.’
‘ Thank you, I feel so much better now. Look, I didn’t want to get involved in this to begin with, but now that I am – and so are you – I suggest that we roll with it and see where it takes us. But right now, it takes us nowhere. The last dream could be about anything, anywhere in the Pacific.’
‘You didn’t listen to me earlier, did you, when I said it confirms the origin of the Bajau? He was supposed to be from Sabah, remember? Northern Borneo? I know where those ships were, and what happened.’
Kris was familiar with the area, having dived there as a teenager. Three ships were sunk during one night in 1944, the only major Japanese sea loss off Sabah. Her mother’s uncle had gone down with one of the ships and her father thought it would be an appropriate location for a girl, fourteen at the time, to be introduced to diving with sharks while paying her respects to the old guy.
‘As far as I’m concerned, there’s no doubt where your last dream took place,’ Kris was adamant, ‘and that’s where we’re going next, as soon as I complete the deal I’ve got on. I think we both need a few days of R&R, don’t you?’