Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [128]
The man leaned forward so his face was framed in the car window. There was still no weapon pointing at me. He held both of his hands up for me to see. They were empty. I stepped closer to the car. The front passenger door began to open. I put the sole of my boot on it and forced it shut.
“Everyone stays inside the car!”
“As he says. Stay inside,” the speaker ordered, then he turned back to me. I knew the man although I had never met him. There was a wicked scar across his forehead. He was smiling at me, a pearly white smile against his swarthy complexion.
“Mr Marco Mendez?” I ventured. The man in the car removed his sunglasses as he nodded.
“Yes, Mr Swann. Would you agree to sit with me for a moment or two? I have something to discuss with you.”
I checked out the rest of the car. There was a man in front, the guy who had started to get out, doubtless to frisk me or for some other purpose. Beside the minder was the driver, a nervous-looking local. Marco Mendez was alone in the rear seat. I nodded and reached for the door handle. Marco moved across. “Go around a large block, driver,” he said. “We need ten minutes to talk.”
Given the Mendez brothers’ reputation for violence, I hitched the cuff of my left leg as I sat, just in case I had to pull my blade in a hurry. The car cruised away from the kerb.
“You know my name.” I stated.
“We have done some research,” Marco responded. “We looked closely at Mr Somsak and his friends.”
“Sizing up the opposition?” I suggested. Marco Mendez laughed.
“Exactly, and that was before we decided that to go up against Mr Somsak, especially on his own territory, would be extremely stupid and doomed to failure. Just as Mr Somsak coming up against us in our own country would be equally foolhardy.” Marco paused, his hand slid into his jacket. I tensed, mentally planning to block the hand with my right, while driving the edge of my left into his Adam’s apple. The Colombian shook his head, reading my thoughts.
“Cigars, Mr Swann, Quai D’Orsay from Cuba. I favour their panatellas. Do join me.” Mendez took a leather cigar case from his inside pocket. He removed the end of the case and slid two long, thin cigars part way out. I took one and peeled off the wrapping. Marco did likewise and lit up for the both of us using a diamond-encrusted lighter. He then leaned back in his seat, intent no doubt on enjoying his cigar. I did likewise. What the hell, a good cigar is a good cigar, no matter who gives it to you.
“Delicious, don’t you think?” Marco blew out a stream of the sweet smoke as I savoured my first hit. There was no doubt the Colombian drug lord had taste, at least when it came to cigars. “You are a very dangerous and resourceful man, Mr Swann. I congratulate you on having stayed alive for so long in a very dangerous occupation.”
“I’m retired now,” I said taking another larger bite of the expensive smoke. “I agree, delicious!”
“Yes, Mr Swann, it is a premium cigar.” Mendez chuckled. “But as for your retirement, that makes me smile. You will never retire, as I will never retire. That is the sort of people we are.”
“Maybe,” I replied noncommittally. “Why are you here?”
“We heard about the bomb, naturally. We know that Mr Somsak has left Singapore and that Thomas Lu is still alive. I have come here to take care of the man who killed my brother.” Marco sent another plume of smoke into the air. “We need him dead. It is a matter of family honour.”
I sat in silence for a moment. Marco was looking at me. I made a decision and removed my cell from my pocket. I tapped out Sami’s number. He answered within seconds. It wasn’t the old man’s voice.
“Yes, Daniel?”
“I am in a car with Marco Mendez. He and Carlos are concerned that you are not in Singapore and