Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [87]
I didn’t reply. There was nothing more to say. I wondered idly what Sami had on me. Then I dismissed the thought. He had everything and nothing on me. That was the way it had always been between us. Total trust. I’ve spoken of it before, but that is what we have. One word from me and his billion-dollar drug-processing barge out in the Gulf of Thailand would be gone. That sort of information you don’t pass on to people who wouldn’t die for you. Would I die for Sami Somsak? I probably would. I would rather die for him than die a meaningless death. I have a real fear that one day I’ll be taken out in a car accident by some idiot driver. What a stupid way to die.
“I am going to watch him, and when he returns, I’ll arrange to have him taken care of,” Sami was saying, snapping me back to the moment.
“Why not just set Carlos onto him?” I suggested. “Have it happen up there, not here.”
“South American drug thugs running rampant in KL has a certain ring to it, I agree. But no, I’ll keep that information to myself for the moment.” Sami paused. “We’ve been lucky so far, Daniel, and that luck can’t continue indefinitely. Singapore has too many eyes and we can’t stay invisible forever. You go home and I’ll call if I need you.”
“Okay,” I replied. “This time it is ciao.”
“And thanks, old friend.”
So, there it was. I was going home. Now I just had to figure out how I was going to break the news to Simone. I didn’t really have to. She knew and she was reluctantly okay with it. We would spend some time apart. She to regain her equilibrium and give “us”—or the potential of us—some serious thought. As for me, I was going to get back to Hong Kong, sign up to a gym, take up karate and get working on this body of mine. This little excursion had shown me just how totally out of shape I really was. I didn’t finish my omelette. Simone and I said a long goodbye.
Hong Kong, one month later
I have spent the past month working out like a fanatic. I have once again become a non-smoker. Perhaps I should say I am a smoker who hasn’t touched a cigarette for twenty-nine days and counting. I limit myself to two beers a day and one JD in the evening. Fish, lean steak and salads are on the menu. I joined an Aberdeen karate club, taking up the beginner’s white belt for the first week while I learned their protocol. They then jumped me a whole bunch of belts up to brown, explaining that they’ll grade me to black in their next grading ceremony. In contact sparring, I have to hold myself back. It’s difficult to play-fight when you are trained to kill and maim. Self-control, I guess. When I’m not doing karate, I’m at the gym, the pool, or pounding the pavement.
The only days I didn’t train were those that made up the three-day weekend Simone spent with me. And no, there hasn’t been another woman in my bed since Simone and I got things together. That’s some sort of record for me. When she heard I was back, Mai Ling phoned. I lied to her and told her I was engaged. She wished me luck and genuinely sounded as if she meant it. There had been a wistful quality to her voice. Perhaps she was wishing she were engaged. Not necessarily to me, just engaged.
Was I engaged? It felt like it, I guess. I’ve never been engaged. My former wife, the stunningly beautiful Doctor Sylvia Dixon, and I had gone from meet, to bed, to marriage in record time. Big mistake! If we’d not tied the knot, we’d possibly still be sharing a bed, occasionally at least.
For the moment though, I am a one-woman guy.
It was Saturday morning. I’d been for a ten-kilometre jog and was cooling down on my patio. I was planning on spending the afternoon in the gym. The phone went. It was Sami, checking in as he did every other day.
“Lu is still in KL. Apparently he has been in constant touch with his people back here, but he’s been very careful to ensure Michael doesn’t get to overhear his telephone conversations. Michael thinks he’s about to make a move of some sort.”
“What about Mendez?”
“He’s happy