Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [91]
“Thomas, where are you?” Michael was calling from the living room of the rented penthouse apartment. Thomas Lu moved along the patio and entered his own room. He suddenly smiled. It was a ghastly smile. He would see that beautiful, young Michael would no longer be able to work his magic on anyone. Certainly not anyone who could see!
“Pretty boy, no more!” Lu whispered. But before he caused that to happen, he would use his lover one more time, and this time he was going to cause Michael Sun pain. But this pain would be nothing compared with what was to come.
34
Changi Airport, again! I entered using a new passport in the name of David Crewe. I was a Hong Kong-based Australian in Singapore on import-export business. A wonderfully ubiquitous occupation. A change of hotel was called for, somewhere low-key. I checked into the Miramar. Old, but comfortable enough. This time I forwent the option of a smoking room.
I still had Sami’s original cellphone and I used it, recording a message on it with my new name and location. Tuk Tuk was probably already in the ground and Sami would be saying farewell to Sakura and preparing to fly back. Simone’s funeral service was to be at 13:00 the next day, Tuesday. Until then, what was I going to do? It was now a few minutes before noon. One of the rules about appearing in places using different identities is the simple fact that you can’t frequent places you have been before. I caught a cab up to Holland Village and found a pub. Cowboy Bar it was called. The motif was of a manic cowboy. The bar staff wore vests, thin bow ties and cowboy boots. It was my kind of bar.
I needed to be around people, but I wasn’t out to annihilate myself. I had a late steak lunch and stuck to a few beers, chatting with the few expats who were about. Anything to keep from thinking the sort of thoughts that send people running under trains. I’ve never been suicidal, but Simone’s death was affecting me far more than I guess I expected it would. Of course, there was naturally a deep sadness and a bloody great aching inside. I even felt sorry for myself as well as her, and I felt for the kids. But there was something happening on a much deeper level as well.
“What a stupid fucking way to die.”
“What?” The Welshman I was sharing a table with was looking at me questioningly over his pint.
“Oh. Just thinking aloud,” I replied. “Friend fell down a stairwell and died. I’m here for the funeral.”
“Lady, right? I read about it in The Straits Times. Poor thing.”
“Yeah,” I replied. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost 16:00. I’d been in the pub for nearly four hours. It was time to go. Then my cell vibrated in my pocket. I fished the phone out and excused myself, heading out onto the terrace. Sami was on a charter flight and an hour away from touchdown. He would come to me.
I decided that I would move into the apartment if I stayed on in Singapore after the funeral. I honestly didn’t know if I was going to stay. Regardless, the heat seemed to be off. The gang battles of a month or so before were old news. Yes, there were still a few more restrictions on the books and more CCTV cameras were being installed everywhere, but unlike my previous persona, David Crewe could be visible. I wasn’t an assassin or agent provocateur this trip. I was an associate come to bury a friend.
Thomas Lu was also back in town. His penthouse apartment was now a fortress. While he had been in KL, via an agent he had bought the two apartments that made up the floor below. The nucleus of his army was now in residence. One of the apartments had been turned into a control centre and guardroom. The only elevator with access to the top floor had been reprogrammed to stop at the penultimate floor. Armed guards covered the stairs to the fire escape, the basement garage, the main foyer, the foyer on the lower floor and the penthouse foyer