by Ming Cher
“What wrong with your leg ah?” he said, pointing his switchblade at the tiger, whose right leg was in a plaster cast. The tiger only glared at him.
Quiet One said, “Can’t talk with tape on his mouth.”
“Yah,” the General laughed behind his ghost mask, and turned to examine the whale, who looked as if he couldn’t hurt a fly. He was in his mid-fifties, balding on top, of average build, and wearing cream-coloured silk pyjamas. “What about you, you talk?” The granddaddy nodded, and the General removed the tape from his mouth.
“Money is not a problem,” the whale said coolly. “No need to kill us, right?”
“Mmm, very good answer. I am sure we can agree on that.”
“Absolutely,” the granddaddy said hopefully.
The General glanced at his watch. “How much cash you have?”
“I’ll show you. It’s inside my room.”
The General pulled the old man to his feet and escorted him along with Sachee and Loose Cannon into the bedroom. “In the closet,” the whale said. The General opened the closet door, beheld a large safe, and smiled.
“I need my hands,” the granddaddy said.
Sachee untied the ropes quickly and snarled in the old man’s ear, “No funny business.” From his pockets, he pulled out two foot-long metal pipes, screwed them together, and brandished the weapon at the whale.
The old man’s hands shook as he turned the dial on the safe, but it soon opened. Inside were a soft leather briefcase, two handguns and a box of bullets. The General pushed the whale aside, reached in and grabbed all the contents. He unzipped the briefcase and inhaled at the sight of hundred-and fifty-dollar notes.
“Look here!” Sachee said. Loose Cannon whistled, impressed.
“Look later.” The General stowed the guns and bullets inside the briefcase, and tapped a finger on the back of his own neck as a signal. Sachee brought his water pipe down hard onto the whale’s head, and the old man dropped to the floor. Loose Cannon turned him over and punched him directly in the Adam’s apple, then the General grabbed the whale’s head firmly and twisted it sharply to the left, the old man’s neck snapping with a loud crack. The General stripped off the old man’s gold Rolex and green jade ring, and then grabbed the wallet from a bedside table. He motioned to Sachee and Loose Cannon to place the body on the bed and cover it with a blanket, like he was still sleeping.
The General stepped back into the lounge and lifted the briefcase above his head to show the others. “What we need is all here! Finish off the rest. Leave him for last,” he said, pointing at the tiger. “For Koon!”
The teams, caught up in the bloodlust of the moment, quickly ended the lives of all the other tied-up men in the same way as that of the granddaddy, then took the gangsters’ gold chains, expensive watches and wallets, all of which were stuffed into the khaki bag. They placed all the bodies back inside the air-conditioned bedrooms and then covered them with blankets.
The General took off his mask in front of the tiger. The shock on the tattooed gangster’s face made Hong guffaw loudly. That forbidding tiger face, which had terrified so many hawkers in Chinatown to pay their protection money on time, was now white with fear.
“Our friend Koon dead because of you,” the General said. “Now you join him!” He leapt forward and clamped his hands around the tiger’s throat, squeezing and squeezing as the gangster thrashed underneath him, until the tiger’s movements slowed, and then stopped. Hong breathed hard and turned; all the members of Koon Thong were staring at him in awe.
“Put him in the Mercedes,” the General said. “Let guys in the Vauxhall find him. If cops investigate, those gangster fingerprints only ones left behind, not ours. Might have to dig their own graves when granddaddy’s claws catch up with them. We do a good thing here today; these very bad men and no one miss them. Now let’s get out of here.”
•
By the time the sun was rising on Monday morning, the backdoor rats were all back at the long scaffolding table behind Big Mole’s pet fish shop, looking over the $70,000 from the whale’s briefcase. Quiet One distributed $3,000 to each man, and the General took $6,000 for himself.
“The balance in the wok we use as working capital for later,” the General said and stood up. “Talk about that tomorrow. Must sleep first.” The briefcase still held the gold Rolex, two guns, box of bullets, the remaining money, and the valuables from the other gangsters; the General took it inside the shop and used it as a pillow as he lay down on the couch behind the shop counter. He was exhausted after having been the driving force behind the mission, and quickly fell asleep.
But the backdoor rats were fully awake. They had never possessed so much money. Most of them wanted to buy motorbikes: Loose Cannon wanted to buy a roaring 250cc Norton; Fly-by-Night preferred a Vespa scooter to look smooth for the bar girls. Small-Time Thief said, “I rather go for a cheaper 90cc Suzuki, so I can get sampan for fishing as well.”
“Maybe we buy bigger sampan together,” said Sachee, since he couldn’t get a motorbike licence for a few months anyway.
The sampan became the talking point for everyone at the table.
“Why not combine for big motor boat can fit all of us?”
“Maybe we call our boat Koon Thong!”
“Wonder boat like that cost how much.”
“Our wizard have the answer for sure.”
“Let’s see what he has to say later today,” Quiet One said. “We should tidy up before we split. Don’t want Big Mole to come here and yell at our wizard.”
They certainly didn’t want that, so they helped to clean up the place before they left. Loose Cannon and Quiet One stayed behind to help Sachee feed silky thread worms to the pet fish, and mosquito larvae to the fighting fishes, all while their wizard snored soundly inside the shop.
•
The cocks crowing that Monday morning at the Malay kampong woke Kwang and Big Mole, who had spent the night in Sachee’s room. The previous day, they had taken the bus to Pasir Pajang to look for Koon’s mother at the Chinese kampong. She sold vegetables at the local market, and her home was very similar to Big Mole’s stilt house. When Kwang told her that Koon had been killed, she fainted and he had to catch her before she hit the floor. They sat with her after she came back to consciousness and wept bitter tears over the loss of her only son; eventually several neighbours came by to console her, and to work out the details of retrieving the body from the coroner and planning the wake. When Big Mole and Kwang returned to the Malay kampong in the evening, the sadness seemed to follow them back, and they both clung to each other for the rest of the night until sleep overcame them.
Kwang yawned widely as he now sat at the kitchen table, reluctant to leave for work in Woodlands. They had half-boiled eggs and coffee for breakfast again. He said, “I wonder why Hong and Sachee don’t come back at all yesterday or last night. You think they still at your shop?”
“I can’t be bothered,” Big Mole said. “Hey, when you coming back here again?”
“Next Saturday or Sunday,” he said. “Got to work, and go to Koon’s wake tonight in Pasir Panjang. I see you there?”
“Maybe. Don’t know if I want to go yet.”
“You have any real problems with anything, come straight away to my workplace, okay? Go by taxi and mention my name to watchman at the gate. He tell you where I am.”
“Nice to know you so concern,” she said, and kissed him. Kwang finished his breakfast and smoked a cigarette, but could delay no longer. They said their goodbyes just before 7am.
Big Mole returned to her kitchen table, and sucked on her coffee spoon thoughtfully. “What to do with two boyfriends?” she asked herself. Hong had been good to her over the past year, but he was now so consumed with this Koon Thong business, and barely seemed to have a thought for her any more. On the other hand, Kwang excited her tremendously; he was so much more loving and mature, a real man. She sighed, pulled the spoon out of her mouth, then went out to the well for a bath and
to wash her clothing.
The morning went by quickly, despite Kwang’s absence. After hanging up all her laundry, feeding her six chickens, retrieving their eggs, doing basic housework, eating a lunch of curry rice wrapped in banana leaves bought from a local food stall, she was surprised to discover that it was already 2pm. She tuned her battery-operated radio to the Mandarin station and played solitaire at the kitchen table. She wondered if Hong and Sachee would return anytime soon, and if they had found the tiger in Temple Street already, since Kwang had given them the address on Friday night.
At 4pm, the radio station interrupted the music for a shocking announcement: after neighbours on Spottiswoode Park Road had reported sounds of shouting in the early morning, the police had found a number of dead bodies inside a large redbrick house; the newsreader couldn’t specify, but it was anywhere from five to fifteen. Big Mole yelped at the uncertainty; the bodies could belong to the tiger and his gang members, or the General, Sachee or any of the backdoor rats. She breathed hard and tried to pay attention to the rest of the report, which included the words “unprecedented mass murder”. If the backdoor rats, the members of the newly formed Koon Thong, were still alive, the police would be hot on their heels. And she herself was sure to end up in jail for a long time for her association with the General and Sachee, and for keeping them under her roof.
The report ended, and a Mandarin song, “Xiao Bai Chuan”, started playing; the lyrics told the story of a small white boat with broken masts and no sails struggling in stormy water. It reminded her of her parents’ Makassar prahu that had been destroyed during the Japanese invasion of Singapore, but also gave her the courage to face her current fears. She turned off the radio, left her house, and made her way to her pet fish shop in Geylang.
However, when Big Mole arrived, the portable radio was playing pop songs loudly in the backyard even though there was nobody around. Before she could wonder where everyone was and get angry at the fact that they had abandoned her shop, she noticed that all the gunny sacks near the clay stove were stacked up very neatly, when they were usually strewn about in disarray. She took a closer look and discovered a khaki-coloured jute bag under the pile, containing Hong’s old burglary tools (which he insisted he’d got rid of long ago) and, more importantly, a briefcase filled with guns, bullets, money, watches, wallets and other valuables. She screamed and stomped her feet at the General’s idiocy and inconsideration towards her; regardless of what he had done at the tiger’s house, she could face the death penalty for possessing illegal firearms, and he had stored them in her shop.
After she had calmed down, she came up with a plan. She hefted the khaki bag and took it home, then emptied the wallets and hid all the money and valuables inside a small plastic container, which she buried under her stilt house and marked the location with stout stick. She put heavy stones in the khaki bag along with the guns, bullets and wallets, tied it shut and then tossed it from Merdeka Bridge into the mouth of the Kallang River. As the bag sank, she took a deep breath and tried to think of what to do next.
•
The General slept for over seven hours, waking up at 2pm, around the time Big Mole was starting her game of solitaire at her kitchen table. His face was pale and his thoughts were fuzzy. He got up off the couch and walked into the backyard.
“Where is everybody?” he asked Quiet One, who was watching a game of Chinese chess between Sachee and Loose Cannon at the long scaffolding table.
“You told them to come back tomorrow at 11am.” Quiet One poured him a cup of ready-made coffee from the vacuum flask. “You forget all that?”
“I don’t remember saying leh,” the General said as he sipped the hot coffee. “My head so overloaded.”
“Oh, and Fly-by-Night come back to say Koon’s mother having a wake for him tonight in Pasir Panjang. Should go.”
“Yah lah, of course,” the General said. “Hey, anybody think about what to do with ‘leftovers’ in Koon Thong wok?”
“No no, up to you lah.” Quiet One passed him a Consulate menthol cigarette.
“Mmm, means the scale is in our hands,” the General said and lit his cigarette. “Enough leftovers to toss for business. How about those harbour rats at the waterfront? You know any who might lead us somewhere?”
“I do,” Quiet One said. “One was my cellmate during my time in Changi Prison. Chiefs are all tally clerks working on cargo ships anchored in the harbour. Record cargo loaded and unloaded by the bumper boats at all the warehouses on the Singapore River.”
“Ah, I see.” The General rubbed his hands together. “Those tally clerks are the directors.”
“They got people working as labourers and crane drivers on board those cargo ships. Tally clerk works for KPM, Dutch shipping company, which export canned abalone from South Africa to Singapore. My friend tell me they supply a can of abalone wholesale for one dollar each. Minimum order a hundred cases, and twelve dozen cans in each case. Fourteen thousand four hundred cans in one order. On the shipping invoice from the exporter, it say that one can cost them sixty cents, so they make forty cents profit each can. And acceptable to lose few hundred cases if dealing with millions of cases of abalone in those eighteen-thousand-tonne ships. Loss is called ‘margin of error’, and covered by insurance company. Nobody cry over that. Tally clerk won’t lose his job. We can make fifty cents a can, half the wholesale price for the shopkeepers and stallholders, move stock quick-quick.”
“Means we can turn the wheels around in the harbour with more cash flow for Koon Thong to fly higher. Money travel faster than guns.”
“Those KPM ships also carry canned milk powder from Australia and New Zealand sometimes.”
“Even better what. We have more products all year round. Need to set up our own warehouse and hire a bumboat to get cans from the harbour. We can even drive it ourselves.”
“Easy lah, I can do that. What about the warehouse?”
The General thought about where he had taken Sachee on Saturday to practise riding his motorbike. “We set up in Pasir Ris.”
“Pasir Ris? Thought is a big swampy area. Where exactly you talking?”
“You know the white shell beach behind the mangrove swamp?”
“No, I don’t know. How to use that place for our warehouse?
“Can build ourselves, use plywood and nail it up into big boxes. Hire our own bumboat to land our plywood material by sea, and see how it goes.”
“But how we hide that from other people who go there?”
“Don’t worry lah,” the General said. “I been there many time, and never seen anybody else. Kwang used to go there to catch spiders. Thick bushes farther away from the beach can cover up our plywood warehouses. To play safe, can paint them green to camouflage. Once we store cargo there, can take turns to guard just in case. How about that?”
“Need to think more on it.” Quiet One rubbed his chin.
“Can talk more after our meeting tomorrow. Tonight, we have die-die best meal at fancy restaurant for a change.”
“Where ah?”
“Try world-famous seafood place in Punggol.”
“What about Big Mole—she coming?” Sachee asked. Loose Cannon was scratching his head from the checkmate move that had ended their game.
“No, not today, Sachee,” the General said. “Big Mole don’t know what we are doing or have done. We can take her out later—leave that to me. There are four of us also. Taxi can only carry up to four passengers, not five with Big Mole around.”
“Can you all wait for me?” Loose Cannon said. “Need to go back for a wash and change my clothes, look good in that restaurant.”
“Why bother?” the General asked. “Might as well buy new clothes at Katong shopping centre, wash at the nearby swimming club on the way. You earn it, brother!”
“What about the shop?” Sachee said. “Cannot lock the broken back door.”
“Don’t worry lah,” the General said confidently. “Keep radio on, that’s all. Can afford to lose ev
erything inside the shop, except for this.” He lifted up the khaki shoulder bag, which now contained the granddaddy’s valuable briefcase along with his burglary tools and what remained of their gear for robbing the tiger’s lair. He hid the bag under some gunny sacks that were the same colour, which had been stacked up near the clay stove. When the 4pm report of the mass murder came on the radio, they had already caught a taxi to the Katong shopping complex near the public swimming pool.
After doing their shopping, they used the shower facilities at the pool to wash up, changed into their new clothes and shoes, and dumped their old things into the rubbish bin. They then caught a taxi to the world-famous seafood restaurant in Punggol, and ordered the most expensive food on the menu: shark’s fin soup, bird’s nest, garlic lobster with black bean sauce, chilli crab. Their spunky waitress, dressed in a red satin uniform, also recommended the abalone and watercress, and the General added them to their order. The restaurant had a relaxing garden atmosphere with hanging lanterns, and the inner circle of Koon Thong watched the sun set on the silvery sea horizon. They were surrounded by many rich customers who ordered as if the prices on the menu meant nothing to them, and the General was happy to imitate them.
Quiet One pointed out that the South African abalone dish cost over $50, and the General started thinking of the profit margin made by selling ‘margin of error’ canned abalone to the restaurant, to be cooked in slices with oyster sauce and spread over tender watercress stir fried with garlic in sesame oil. Dinner was an eye-opening experience for all of them, with a bill that was over two hundred dollars, more than a month’s wages for the average man. At the end of the meal, Loose Cannon pulled out a crisp ten-dollar note as a tip to put a smile on the spunky waitress’s face.
“She is very give face to us,” he claimed, while they were waiting for a taxi on the road outside the restaurant.