The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers)
Page 40
‘No future in it. There’s less cash around, and there were too many amateurs. Addicts trying to get the money for their next fix, holding up filling stations and pubs with knives and syringes and God knows what. It’s not like it used to be.’
‘But drugs, Billy? I never thought you’d get involved in drugs.’
‘You wouldn’t believe the money that’s there to be made. I was bringing in marijuana from Holland, shipping it to Liverpool in containers. Three out of four shipments got through and each successful shipment was a ten-fold increase in our investment.’
‘Our investment?’
‘A few like-minded individuals, Hutch. No one that you’d know. We didn’t even have to touch the stuff. We’d plan it, finance it, subcontract out the work and have buyers lined up in the UK. Jesus, the money poured in. It was almost embarrassing. Do you have any idea how much I’m worth these days, Hutch? Any idea at all?’
Hutch shrugged, but then realised that Winter wouldn’t be able to see the gesture in the darkness. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Twelve million,’ said Winter, proudly. ‘Twelve million quid. Not bad for a boy from Newcastle who failed his eleven-plus, huh?’
Hutch raised his eyebrows in surprise. Winter was right. Hutch had had no idea that he was so wealthy. If nothing else, it explained where the money had come from to pay for getting Harrigan out of prison.
‘We were living in Spain, like gods. Anything we wanted we could have. The best food, the best booze, women – anything and everything. Five years we had, five great years, and then the authorities started getting heavy and we heard a whisper that they were going to start extradition proceedings, so we bailed out.’
‘To Ireland?’
‘We’d never done anything wrong there, and so long as we didn’t break any of their laws, we were dead safe. We bought big houses, mine even had stables and a pool, and we held court in all the best clubs. The women were a bit rough but we could fly in all the girls we wanted.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
Winter didn’t appear to notice the sarcasm. ‘It was. Until we had a visit from the Boys.’
‘The Boys?’
‘The Provos. The IRA. This was just before the ceasefire, remember, when they and the Unionists were still knocking each other off. I got dragged out of my bed by guys in ski masks and taken off to some shed where a Paddy with a big gun said that if I wanted to continue to live in Ireland, I’d have to pay a tax. Quarter of a million a year, they wanted. I paid it with a smile, Hutch. Small change. Peanuts. Bloody Paddys had no idea how much we were making. We all got visits, and we all paid up. Everything was hunky dory until the ceasefire and all the big boys had to find something else to do. Idle hands and all that. Some of them looked at my business and wanted a piece of it.’
Hutch frowned. ‘I thought the IRA were anti-drugs? Don’t they execute drug dealers?’
‘The Organisation is, sure. But there are bad apples who are only in it for what they can get for themselves. They know better than to bring drugs into Ireland, but anywhere else is fair game. Besides, they took a sadistic pleasure in shipping drugs into England. They started with marijuana and ecstasy, and then they decided they wanted to get into the hard stuff. I had some connections, so I fixed up some meetings in Thailand. Ray here was up in Chiang Rai checking the first consignment when the shit hit the fan. Someone must have grassed. Anyway, Ray keeps his mouth shut and goes down for a fifty stretch. I get picked up by the men in ski masks again and told in no uncertain terms that it’s down to me to get him out. His uncle’s a big wheel in the Organisation.’
‘So they threatened you and you threatened me.’
‘You don’t say no to the Provos, Hutch.’
They rode in silence for a while. It was stiflingly hot in the back of the truck and the battery-powered fan made little impression on the stale air. ‘I would have helped anyway, you know,’ said Hutch.
‘I couldn’t take the chance that you’d turn me down.’
‘You didn’t even try. We were mates, Billy. I owed you.’
‘Hutch, the moment I told you what I wanted you started to scream blue murder.’
‘Yeah, well, you were a bit of a shock after all these years. But you could have talked me into it. You didn’t have to threaten my kid.’
‘I’m sorry, old lad,’ said Winter.
‘Forget it,’ said Hutch.
‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise,’ said Winter. ‘You won’t lose out, you’ll be able to start a new life when this is over, and you’ll have all the money you could want.’
‘What if this guy Zhou doesn’t come through? Are you sure he can get us passports, stuff like that?’
Winter didn’t say anything for a few seconds and Hutch wondered if he hadn’t heard the question. When he did speak, Winter’s voice was colder than it had been before. ‘Remind me again, Hutch, when exactly did I tell you about Zhou?’
Hutch’s heart pounded. He thanked his lucky stars that they were sitting in the dark because otherwise Winter would have seen the confusion written all over his face. ‘Before I went into the prison. You said Zhou was going to get you and Ray out of the Golden Triangle.’
The silence was even longer this time, and if anything Winter’s voice was several degrees colder. ‘The thing of it is, old lad, I don’t remember ever telling you Zhou’s name.’
‘Didn’t you?’ said Hutch, trying to keep his voice steady.
‘It’s not the sort of name I’d bandy about, if the truth be told.’
‘So it must have been Ray. Yeah, I think it was when I told him you were going to get him out through Burma. For Christ’s sake, Billy, what do you think? You roped me into this, remember? I’m the innocent bystander. What do you think, I’m some sort of grass? You think the cops are using me to get at you? You came to me, Billy. You fucked up my life. Who do I grass you to, Billy? Who can I talk to who won’t put me behind bars for twenty years?’
Hutch flicked the flashlight on. Winter’s face looked ghostly in the white light. His slicked-back hair glistened as if it had been oiled and his eyes were narrowed accusingly. He squinted into the light as he considered what Hutch had said. Suddenly he relaxed. He smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. ‘You’ve got even more to lose than me.’
TIM CARVER WATCHED CHAU-LING hand over her gold American Express card. ‘Is that her father’s?’ he asked Ricky Lim. Lim said nothing. ‘Do you work for him, or for her?’ said Carver. Again Lim didn’t answer. ‘I suppose being the strong, silent type is an advantage in your line of work.’
Lim turned to stare at Carver. His eyes were cold and hard and seemed to bore right through the DEA agent’s head. Lim’s thin, bloodless lips remained sealed as if they’d been glued together.
‘Are you still carrying that toothpick?’ Carver asked.
‘It is an ice-pick,’ said Lim.
Carver smiled innocently. ‘Because if you were, it’d probably set off the metal detectors when we go to board the plane.’ Lim’s face fell.
Before he could react further, Chau-ling walked over brandishing three Thai Airways tickets. ‘You’re sure we can get a car in Chiang Mai?’ she asked Carver.
Carver nodded. He took his ticket from her and examined it. It was in business class. ‘Sure. And we can drive to Fang from there in about three hours.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘We should be there before dark.’
‘Miss Tsang, I must speak with you,’ said Lim in Chinese.
She looked at him, then nodded slowly. ‘Mr Carver, could you leave us alone, please?’
As Carver walked away, Lim said, ‘I am not happy about this, Miss Tsang.’
‘If there was any other way, Ricky, believe me, I wouldn’t be here, either.’
‘Your father said—-’
‘My father said that you were to look after me,’ Chau-ling interrupted. ‘And you’re doing that.’
‘It could be dangerous. Your father would not approve.’
Lim sighed despondently. ‘Very well, Miss Tsang. But please promise me that it will just be the one day.’
‘I promise,’ she said solemnly, looking at him straight in the eye the way she always did when she promised her father something. ‘Now come on. Let’s go or we’ll miss our plane.’
Lim ran his hand over his jacket. He could feel the hardness of the ice-pick in its specially tailored pocket. ‘I have to go to the bathroom first,’ he said.
‘Why, Ricky?’ said Chau-ling. ‘You’re not afraid of flying, are you?’
Lim sighed mournfully. He didn’t appreciate being teased.
BIRD WAS JOLTED OUT of a dreamless doze by the driver pounding his horn. To their left was a white-painted spirit house, bedecked with garlands of flowers, and the driver was using the horn to pay his respects to benefit from any good fortune that was to be had from the friendly spirits who lived there. Bird squinted at the milometer. They were almost halfway to Fang and were making good time. Bird looked across at the driver. He was staring ahead with wide eyes and his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that the knuckles had whitened. An hour earlier they’d stopped so that the driver could go to the toilet at the roadside and Bird had seen him swallow a couple of tablets. Amphetamines probably. Bird hadn’t said anything: it wasn’t unusual for long-distance drivers to use amphetamines to keep going, and at least he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel.
They drove by vibrant-green rice fields, tended by farmers in straw hats, up to their knees in brackish water. Bird had come from a farming family, and he knew just how back-breaking the work was. His three brothers and four sisters had worked the small rice farm close to the border, trapped in the neverending cycle of planting and reaping with only the occasional bottle of Thai whisky to break the monotony. Bird still had calves that were scarred from countless mosquito bites that had gone septic because he had spent so much time standing in water. He had escaped to the city when he was twenty, following the two sisters who had become prostitutes in the tourist bars of Pat Pong. It had been six years before Bird went back to the family farm, and when he did it was with a gold Rolex on his wrist and enough money to replace his father’s four water buffaloes with a new tractor. His family still worked the farm, but the old wooden house had been torn down and replaced with a two-storey concrete building that had an inside toilet and a colour television.
The driver cursed and stamped on the brake pedal. Ahead of them a brown-uniformed policeman with a white belt and holstered gun was waving them to stop.
Bird banged on the wall of the cab, three hard slaps to let the men hidden in the back know that they were to keep quiet. ‘Were you speeding?’ Bird asked the driver.
The driver looked at him blankly. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘How fast were we going?’
The policeman held a walkie-talkie to his mouth. As the truck slowed to a stop, Bird saw a white police car parked off the road. Another policeman, this one with three stripes on his sleeve, was leaning against the bonnet, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. At least it wasn’t a roadblock, thought Bird. The policeman with the walkie-talkie walked slowly over to the driver’s side of the cab and waited for the driver to wind down the window.
‘Let me do the talking,’ said Bird. He opened his door and climbed down.
The policeman was already taking out his notebook. ‘You were speeding,’ he said.
Bird apologised deferentially. He earned more in one day than the cop earned in a year, but they still had a long way to go and unless the policeman was treated with due respect he could hold them up.
‘A fine has to be paid,’ said the policeman, his pen poised over the notebook. There were two levels of fine, Bird knew: one official, one unofficial. The unofficial fine was twice the official rate, but it did away with the paperwork. Nothing was written down, and the money went straight into the cop’s pocket. It was a typical Thai compromise, one in which both parties prospered. Bird took out his wallet, handed over two thousand baht, and thanked the policeman for his consideration. Thirty seconds later they were back on the road, hurtling northwards at exactly the same speed as before.
CHAU-LING WALKED INTO THE arrivals area with Tim Carver and Ricky Lim following close behind her. A soldier in khaki fatigues was holding a sheet of paper with her name written on it in capital letters. He took them outside to where a large black saloon was waiting, its engine running. The soldier scurried ahead and opened the door for them. They sat in the back and the soldier joined the driver in the front.
‘Who exactly do you know in the military?’ Carver asked.
‘A friend of my father’s,’ said Chau-ling.
‘Your father has a friend in the Thai army?’ Carver felt Lim stiffen in the seat next to him.
‘My father uses a lawyer in Bangkok, the lawyer has family connections in the army, blah, blah, blah. Thailand is all about who you know, just like Hong Kong.’
‘Your father must be a very important man,’ said Carver. Chau-ling said nothing. Carver spoke to the soldier in Thai. The soldier told him they were going to an army camp close to the border, about four hours away. Carver gave Chau-ling a sideways glance. He wanted to ask her more about her father, but he doubted that she would be naive enough to tell him anything. She was a smart girl, this Tsang Chau-ling; within a few short hours she had virtually taken control of the situation and given him the distinct impression that he was only along for the ride. He settled back in his seat. If he was just along for the ride, he might as well try to get some sleep.
THE TRUCK SWERVED FROM side to side, jolting Hutch awake. ‘Are you okay, old lad?’ asked Winter.
‘Yeah. How much longer?’
‘Not long now.’ Harrigan snored loudly, and shifted his position. ‘Sleeps a lot, doesn’t he?’ said Winter.
‘It’s the tension. I need to take a leak.’
Winter pushed an empty water bottle across the floor. ‘Be my guest.’
‘I’ll wait,’ said Hutch.
‘It’s pitch dark in here, nobody’s going to see. Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t done it in front of me before.’
‘I’ll wait,’ repeated Hutch.
The truck turned to the left and the cardboard boxes rubbed against each other. ‘This might be it,’ said Winter.
They made another couple of turns and awkward gear changes and bumped over something in the road. The truck stopped and they heard voices outside, then it lurched forward. Two minutes later the truck came to a stop again. This time both cab doors opened and closed and someone banged on the side of the truck. Harrigan woke up and began to cough. The coughs turned to retching and he threw up. The smell was nauseating in the confined space and Hutch put his hand over his mouth.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Winter. ‘This is a linen suit.’
‘Sorry,’ said Harrigan, and retched again.
The back of the truck rattled down and they heard boxes being pulled out and stacked on the ground. Winter stood up and unhooked the webbing straps. The last of the boxes was removed and soft moonlight illuminated the back of the truck. Bird stood there, grinning. Harrigan was on his hands and knees, shaking his head. Hutch helped him to his feet.
Winter jumped down from the truck and examined his trousers, lifting each leg in turn. ‘You were bloody lucky, Ray,’ he said. He took a cigar case from his jacket pocket, extracted a large Cuban cigar and lit it with a m
atch as Hutch helped Harrigan out of the truck.
They were parked at the rear of a multi-storey concrete building. To their right was the hum of large air-conditioners and the clanging of metal pans being knocked together. ‘It’s a hotel,’ explained Bird.
Hutch looked at Winter in amazement. ‘We break out of prison, we sit in the back of a truck for twelve hours, we’re about to cross a border illegally and you check us into a hotel? What’s the game?’
Winter chuckled softly. ‘It’s okay, old lad. Zhou owns it. We’re safe here.’
The driver got back into the cab and lay down on the seat, his feet sticking out of the open window. Bird went around to the front of the hotel while Winter led Hutch and Harrigan through a door and up three flights of stairs to a deserted corridor. ‘This floor is empty and the lift won’t stop here. No one will see us,’ said Winter.
‘How long do we have to wait here?’ asked Hutch.
Winter looked at his watch. ‘A couple of hours at most. There’s a guy coming who’ll take us over the river into Burma. Once he’s here we can go.’
Bird appeared with a key on a large acrylic key ring. He unlocked a door and they went inside. It was a large room with a double bed and basic furniture. A framed print of an ocean scene hung above the bed, slightly off centre. Winter nodded at a door to the left. ‘There’s a bathroom there. It’ll be some time before we see another one, so make use of it. I’m going to have a shower.’
Winter strode into the bathroom with his cigar. ‘Bird, we’re going to need more towels,’ he called.
Bird threw the door a mock salute and left the room.
Harrigan lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Hutch.
‘No,’ said Harrigan flatly. ‘I need a hit.’
‘It’ll pass.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Harrigan, his voice loaded with bitterness. He rolled over and curled up into a fetal ball.