Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [95]
Thomas Lu was sitting in the heavy leather chair in his home office. He lay with his head back against the padded leather backrest, his eyes closed. The boy who was working his magic on Lu’s penis was not as beautiful as the unfortunate Michael Sun had been, and he was being paid by the hour, but Lu didn’t mind. Shortly, he would have the world once again at his beck and call, and he would have Intella as well—not yet, but soon. Once he removed Sami Somsak from the scene, the men behind the artificial island development would be in his sights. He would demonstrate to them that he had a right to a share of the pie, a major share. If they did not concede, then he would move on them.
Lu glanced at his watch, and as he did so, the cellphone on the desk in front of him chimed. He retrieved it. The call was short. Without a word, he closed the phone and again lay back against the padded chair. Life was getting better and better for Thomas Lu.
At the appointed hour, I met Sami outside the Carlton. The stretch limousine was not an affectation in this case. Inside were Sami, myself, Justine and the children. Jo Ankar was up front with the chauffeur. The next car in the procession contained five of Jo’s men. Several other vehicles with mourners aboard were following. The hearse had returned to the funeral home to wait for us. There, the procession would assemble for the run to the cemetery. Funeral processions were probably frowned upon in Singapore, there were enough traffic problems as it was. However, Sami had planned it, so it would happen.
The hearse was waiting on the street when we arrived outside the Sacred Dream Funeral Parlour. Who comes up with names like that? I thought as we cruised up to it. The hearse pulled away into the lead and the rest of the vehicles came after. From Clementi, it was a relatively short drive to Choa Chu Kang and the cemetery itself.
I’d never been to Choa Chu Kang Cemetery before. I’d never had cause to. It was huge and divided, it seemed, into separate smaller cemeteries for different religious groups. The driver of the hearse seemed to know exactly where he was going, which for everyone was probably a relief.
Angels with wings and awkward pious figures stood with their heads bowed. There were hundreds and hundreds of conventional crosses. It seemed we were in Christian territory, Catholic even. Graves, old and new, filled the immediate horizon. The coarse grass was long. In places, it almost covered tombs and headstones. In other places, it had been cut short.
We stopped. We were here.
“Stanley and his family are buried here,” Sami told me. “I have arranged for Simone to be buried beside them.” Justine gave him a grateful smile. Jo opened the door and we slowly climbed out. There was rain in the air, but hopefully it would hold off. Petrol-powered grass cutters sounded in the distance. The cemetery custodians, it seemed, were fighting their never-ending battle against overgrown weeds.
The grave was a black gash in the dirt. Squares of artificial lawn had been laid around it and positioned to hide the pile of dirt that had been removed. The undertaker’s cradle was positioned above the grave to receive the coffin. Assistants were removing flowers from the hearse and positioning them around the gravesite. It was all very civilised, all very practised and safe.
The other vehicles had arrived and mourners were gathering around the gravesite. I noted the tomb beside the open grave. It was a huge affair. The marble was new. I didn’t have to go there to know this was where Stanley