Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [127]
The young policewoman and I had parted company as co-conspirators and almost friends. To sweeten the pot, I gave her a hundred dollars and told her to buy a new bed cover. She had made coffee for us and told me what little she actually knew about Thomas Lu. It was apparent that she had no idea of the extent of his villainy. She had just been asked, through another cop, if she were interested in doing a little moonlighting, basically as a private eye for a wealthy businessman. Always in need of extra cash, she had agreed, and until this very day she had done nothing that could even be remotely termed as illegal, other than accepting cash for trailing people and reporting back to Lu or his people.
Of course, moonlighting is an absolute no-no as far as her employers were concerned. To be caught out doing it, especially for someone like Thomas Lu, would be instant dismissal at least and perhaps a prison term. I assured Miss Blue that this was the end of it. I also suggested that she forget all about Thomas Lu. She took that on board and saw me to the lift. I caught a cab down on Cantonment Road and headed for the Newton Circus hawker centre.
I was late for my lunch with Sami, but that didn’t matter in the scheme of things. Over our meal, I told him of my eventful morning. He approved of what I had done. I gave him Lucy Pang’s mobile number. There would maybe come a time when he would need her services himself.
“We are on schedule,” Sami said as he demolished yet another fish head curry. He had a thing for them, no doubt. I stuck with Soon Wah’s fishball noodles and a side dish of cockles and sausage. I was hungry! Somewhere along the way, I had missed out on breakfast.
“Any sign of that bitch Kaylin?”
“No. I’ve got eyes out and about, but no one has found anything out. She’s gone to ground,” Sami replied, sipping at his water. I had the inevitable bottle of Tiger. I joined him in a silent toast. Somewhere, some day, Kaylin would put her head above the parapet and Sami or I or one of ours would be waiting to take it off.
After lunch, Sami went on his solitary way, a little old man lugging along his battered little suitcase. He told me he was going back to Nassim Hill. I realised that I hadn’t even asked him exactly where his bolthole was and he hadn’t offered to tell me. That was the way he worked. As I watched him go out of sight, I decided that he really deserved an Oscar for his performance.
I decided to walk to the apartment. I felt confident that Lu had called off his hounds. Why risk another incident when I was scheduled to get out of his patch in a day’s time?
On the way back, I came across a mock Irish pub in a shopping block. I sat on the terrace over a beer and a cigarette and watched the traffic roll on by for a while before heading on down to Cairnhill Rise.
I didn’t bother doing the subterfuge number of going underground when I arrived at the complex. I think I was a little too relaxed or I would have seen it coming. I was about fifty metres from the entrance to the apartment complex when a large white sedan swept into the kerb beside me and stopped sharply with a squeal of rubber. I was totally out in the open. The nearest cover was metres away. Lost in a fucking daydream, I was toast if this was one of Lu’s moves.
47
“Mr Swann, a word?’
The voice was smooth but strong. The fact that this guy knew my real name was enough to anchor me to the spot. I turned towards the white sedan. It was a medium-sized Mercedes. The tyres needed blackening and the wheel trims deserved a polish. Funny the inconsequential things you notice when your life is potentially on the