Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [130]
“You are right as usual, Daniel. But still, I do not like it when something like this happens. I need the Mendez brothers to stay away from Singapore. If they detonate this bomb that Marco hinted that they have with them, this place will lock down so tight that the Intella Island project will stall. I can’t have that, Daniel. It is too important to me.”
“Then we had better make sure that tomorrow night’s little soirée doesn’t fail. When are you going to explain what the hell is going to happen and who will be involved? Lu has a fucking army in the building; we’re going to need our own army.”
“No, Daniel. There will just be the three of us. You, me and K, that’s all we’ll need. I’ll come to the penthouse mid-morning and I’ll explain it all then.” The phone went dead. I closed my handset and pondered what to do with the evening that was falling outside. I was twitchy, unsettled. I needed to do something, anything, and I wasn’t in the mood for a run.
In the end I showered, dressed and headed down to Orchard. I had a meal in a restaurant in Peranakan Place and then followed that with a couple of beers at a pub before I headed on up the street to Orchard Towers. I’d heard about the infamous “Four Floors of Whores” and figured it was time I paid the place a visit. I wasn’t looking for a pick-up, but curiosity has always been a big factor in my makeup.
I know most of the fleshpots of Thailand well. I’d spent a lot of time working in the underbelly of the place over some fifteen years based in Bangkok. The Towers experience was pretty much the same as many of the Thai meat streets and clubs. Wall-to-wall pussy. There was a bit more clothing evident than in many of the Thai bars and clubs, but the faces were the same. There were Thai girls by the score, Chinese, Filipina, Malaysian, even Japanese and more than a few Europeans. I didn’t know whether to be elated or depressed by the abundance of willing flesh, albeit available for a price. I guess you pay one way or another anyway. Who is to say that a cash transaction for sex is any less honest than a shitty marriage with its constant bartering, bribes and bullshit?
I left the Towers alone. Despite the hundreds of distractions that had thrown themselves my way, there was only one woman on my mind and she was sealed in a coffin waiting for the time she was finally laid to rest. Yes, I was depressed. I stopped at a pub and had a beer and then another. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels calling me from the shelf. I ignored it and walked home. I was sober and sour. Not a good combination in Daniel Swann!
48
The day of Thomas Lu’s impending death dawned with a clear sky. I felt as flat as I had when I’d gone to bed. I’d tried to put thoughts of Simone and what had been and might have been away into a deep place in my brain. It hadn’t worked. As a result, I’d had a more or less sleepless night. Nightmare explosions and flying tombstones shattered what sleep I did manage to get.
I showered and dressed. I felt gritty and tired. Breakfast didn’t hold any appeal, so I collected a pot of coffee from the kitchen and went through to Sami’s study. There, I fired up the computer that had been cunningly built into the desk. The keyboard was on a sliding shelf that came out and then folded back over the edge of the desk. One touch of a key and the wide screen rose up vertically on the far side of the desk. It was a very sophisticated set-up and a very powerful computer.
I’m not a great one for emails; however, I keyed into my account and it was full of messages. I canned most. Annoying how, despite the number of SPAM filters in use, the shit still gets through. Two mails in particular, however, gained my undivided attention. One was from the beautiful Dr Sylvia Dixon, my former wife. She was getting married again. The mail was a week old. I replied that I was glad for her and clicked the send button. Was I pleased for her? I guess in a way I was. Sylvia was beautiful, smart and she deserved all the good things in life. We had been good together,