Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [6]
The drugs in Stanley Loh’s system had been washed away by the surge of adrenaline that now coursed through him. Seeing his family sitting there awaiting their inevitable execution had given him a strength far beyond his physical limits.
In his youth Loh had trained in kung fu. Now, as he staggered again, seemingly holding out a hand for support, he was the very picture of a man in great distress. The nearest gunman put out a hand to steady the stricken man. As he did so, Loh suddenly stepped into him. The hard heel of his left shoe ground into the gunman’s instep as the sword edge of his left hand connected with the man’s nose. Simultaneously, Loh’s right hand tore the gun from the man’s loosened grip.
Unfortunately, Stanley Loh was unfamiliar with firearms. He fumbled with the weapon, almost dropping it. The gunman standing at the end of the couch, however, was very familiar with the weapon he held. He switched his aim from Helen Loh to her husband’s head.
The last thing Stanley Loh heard before eternal blackness claimed him was the sound of Thomas Lu screaming “No!”
3
“Daniel, I need you.”
“Where and when?”
“Singapore, as soon as you can get there.”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Use another identity. What’s good?”
I had to think for a moment. I have a near photographic memory, which is a blessing at times and a curse at others, especially in the dark of a sleepless night when certain images come to haunt me.
“Edward Davidson, Australian. Old Ed hasn’t seen the light of day for a year or two.”
“I’m in Bangkok. It’ll take me two days to get there. Be a tourist. There’ll be a reservation at the Carlton under Davidson. Smoking or non-smoking?”
“Smoking.”
“Still killing yourself by degrees, my old friend?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Do the innocent tourist thing. Get a pair of those stupid shorts, a flowery shirt, a camera and a hat.”
“Fucking thanks.”
“Just don’t draw any attention to yourself.”
“Dressed like that people will think I’m Jo Jo the fucking clown,” I grumbled. Sami almost chuckled.
“I’ll see you in a day or so. By the way, get tomorrow’s Straits Times and everything will become clear. Stanley Loh was my half-brother. Ciao!”
“Ciao!” I responded as the phone went dead.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t ask Sami what it was all about. That’s the thing in our relationship. Like the musketeers, Sami Somsak and I are there for each other. We always have been and always will be. He needed me and that was all I needed to know. I put my bourbon glass down on the bedside cabinet and lay back against my pillows.
“Was that bad news, Daniel?”
The speaker is the beautiful Mai Ling. She has shared my bed off and on for the past two weeks. She is propped up on one elbow looking across at me with genuine concern in her eyes. Mai is a very genuine woman. That much I do know.
“I’m not sure,” and I honestly wasn’t. Was it bad news that my old friend needed me? Suddenly, for the first time in what seemed like weeks, months even, my brain was as clear as ice. It was a few minutes past one in the morning. Mai and I had enjoyed an evening of pubbing and a long romp in my ruined bed. Now it was time for another sort of action.
“I have to get ready to leave,” I told her as I got out of bed and headed for the shower, leaving one very beautiful and slightly bewildered lady staring after me.
As I showered I wondered what had happened to Sami’s half-brother. The half thing was just that, unimportant. Brother was the power word. The different name didn’t phase me. I knew Sami’s heritage. He was a combination of Chinese, Japanese and Thai and I knew he had relatives all over Asia. Stanley Loh was most obviously one of Sami’s Chinese half-brothers. Sami’s mother, Mary Song, was a Chinese-Thai, his father a Japanese officer. There had been no marriage. His mother had been one of the unfortunate comfort women put into sexual slavery by the Japanese. Fortunately, perhaps, Sami’s father had become Mary Song’s exclusive patron. He was executed after the war. Mary then married Chinese businessman