21 Immortals

by Rozlan Mohd Noor

  “That’s motive there.”

  “I thought so too, but something Four Finger Loo said tells me it’s not SS related.”

  “And that is?”

  “The modus operandi. Four Finger Loo is old school and a secret society blue blood. The MO does not fit the SS profile.”

  “MO changes, you know that. It evolves.”

  “I agree. What I’m saying is that it was not Four Finger Loo. Even if it were the work of SS, Four Finger Loo is not our man. New players might have been involved, but they don’t have any beef with the vic; at least, not that we know. So what was their motive?”

  “Makes sense, go on.”

  “Fatty Mah is rumoured to be back in town, but Four Finger Loo is not confirming it. There’s another angle I’m looking into. It’s an unpublished article by Awani about the vic’s wife and a Hong Kong actor. It may be nothing but it’s worth a look. Puan, can I brief you later?”

  She nods, “All right, anything else?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s it then,” she says, ending the ‘morning prayer’. She leaves with the PR dolls following close behind, their bums swaying like boats in choppy water.

  He sits as other investigators file out, thinking of how to play his cards. One thing is for sure, he needs puan in his corner. Holding back information from her is not going to achieve that, but the presence of the PR dolls is not making it easy. He feels it is not the right time to share some things. He needs more time to nail something before they go public. He knows that with that publicity junkie hovering over this case, he has a better chance of winning a lottery than stopping the press conference.

  The Head of Major Crimes is on the phone and the two PR dolls are whispering to each other when he knocks on her open door. She points to a chair and continues talking. The PR dolls stop whispering when they see him. He hears her say, “Ya, tuan,” several times into the telephone before replacing the receiver.

  “That was the OCCI. He wants the press conference at eleven this morning for the one-thirty news. What’s it that you want to tell me?” Supt Samsiah asks, looking agitated.

  “Puan, I’m not sure about this press thing.”

  “It’s a done, Lan. It’s out of my hands. I’m not going to debate about it. Let’s just drop it,” she snaps.

  “Yes puan. I feel we’re moving too quickly here,” he says, looking disapprovingly at the PR dolls, determined to get his final say. He continues, “At the moment, we don’t have anything solid and we are still chasing soft leads. With the story in the media, we risk losing any chance of getting to the next level.”

  “Maybe the press conference will spook them into making mistakes.” He knows she is trying to sound positive about an impending publicity screw-up.

  “From what I’ve seen this far, they are pros. The crime was painstakingly planned and executed. I won’t bet on them getting spooked. The way I figure it, they’ll go deeper into cover or start building brick walls around themselves.”

  “You said earlier that something Four Finger Loo said makes you think the murders were not an SS hit. What did he say?”

  “Four Finger Loo is from the old school. You must understand, he is genuine SS, with initiation ceremonies, codes, honour, principles, and all the jazz. The SS code holds family and children sacred. They don’t make house calls and they don’t use poison. It’s too bland. Their MO is confrontational, with parang panjang, meat choppers, and Samurai swords. It is bloody and always in the open. Their secondary motive is always the education of the relevant parties and public on their turf. Ask any seasoned D7 officers, they’ll tell you the same,” he pauses, letting them digest what he said. “I know he hated Robert Tham, but I believe him. I don’t think Four Finger Loo has anything to do with the case.”

  “What about Fatty Mah?”

  “We’re still trying to locate him. After ninety-five, he disappeared. Some say he went to Thailand. Rumours are circulating that he came back about six months ago. If the rumour is correct, he would have had sufficient time to set this up. Again, I don’t think he had anything to do with this. The truth is, I don’t even believe he is back.”

  “What are your reasons?”

  “For one thing, SS rumours are constantly in the air, it’s their way of diverting the attention of the authorities, especially D7. Second, many SS rumours are started by our D7 mata gelap, to fill their journals that would otherwise be empty.”

  She smiles, “Not many officers will say what you’ve just said.”

  “Look, puan, Fatty Mah is no ordinary gangster. Hell, he was a Godfather. I don’t believe that no one has seen him if he is back here in KL. He is a free man. Why should he hide?”

  “All right, I’ll buy that. What if it were personal payback? Nothing to do with the SS?”

  “Yeah, I have thought of that. But, if we say the motive was revenge, why the charade, what’s the message?”

  “I know what you mean. The wife, what’s the deal with her?”

  “As I said, there’s this unpublished article by one Tammy Ong, a snoop journalist with Awani. It is a cosy snapshot of her with a young Hong Kong actor at a social event. The vic was out of town at the time. The article suggests there was something more, quoting an undisclosed source. I don’t think it’s anything more than gossip to sell magazines, but leads are leads, and I’ll put in some hours on it just to be sure.”

  Satisfied with his briefing and reasoning, but more for the benefit of the PR officers, Supt Samsiah asks, “Right, anything else?”

  “I need a favour. Can you reach out to E3; see if they can lend us a team?”

  “What do you need it for?”

  “To put the eyes on Four Finger Loo for forty-eight hours. See if the meeting last night stirred up anything.”

  “Are you expecting him to make a move, or is your instinct telling you something else?”

  He laughs, “Neither, just hoping.”

  “Official or unofficial?”

  “Let’s go with unofficial. I don’t want to alert D7.”

  “I’ll ask a friend and let you know. That’s it, then,” dismissing him. Standing to leave, he wants to say something but thinks better of it, and leaves the three women to organise the impending press conference.

  Johan shuts the interview file as Mislan drops into his chair heavily. “I have read the interviews, I don’t see anything new,” he says.

  The inspector nods, he is not expecting anything.

  “I called the prison and they’ve arranged for me to meet Botak Kim tomorrow evening; and a woman named Audi called twice, didn’t want to say what it was about but said you should know.”

  “Good, at least we can clear up this SS motive shit if it does blow up,” he says, still annoyed with the coming press conference.

  “Who’s Audi?”

  “The newslady from Awani. You remember her; I was talking to her at the nasi padang place. I’m supposed to call her back, just haven’t had the time.” He looks for her card and asks the operator to put him through.

  “Where the fuck have you been? Are you doing the Houdini on me? We’ve got a deal, remember!”

  “Woow, slow down. I was in a meeting, okay. Just came out. I was going to call you.”

  “Duh, and the queen’s my aunty. Called you three times last night. Why didn’t you return my calls?” Audi demanded.

  “I’m not in the office twenty-four-seven, okay. I only saw your messages this morning.”

  “All right, give me your mobile number then.”

  “Sure, as if I needed another person calling me every ten minutes. Look, there’s going to be a press conference at eleven. Why don’t you move your arse over here and ask the OCCI your questions?”

  “Inspector, we’ve got a deal. Remember the word ‘exclusive’? I’m sure you know what it means. I don’t want any PR shit. I want the inside story, the dirt, the slime, the gory details,” Audi snaps.

  “Look, there’ll be a press conference. Stop bitchin
g about it and come over or you can pass, that’s your choice. At this point I can’t tell you anything. It’s an ongoing investigation. The PC is as good as you’ll get now. I suggest you and your camera crew start moving now, and grab the best seats in the house. I’ll talk to you again; I’m late for an appointment,” he lies. “Bye.”

  “Okay, give me your mobile number. Please.” Audi pleads.

  “I’ll call you. Bye.”

  15

  Mislan slings his backpack over one shoulder and walks briskly towards the door, with Johan running to keep up. He needs to clear his head, focus, and not let things beyond his control distract him. He punches the lift call button and, while waiting for it, steps to the window that overlooks the city. What has he missed? There is no such thing as a perfect crime. Everything leads to something that leads to someone that leads to the killers. A lift door opens and they descend to the ground floor. As he steps out of the lift, his mobile beeps. It is a missed call from his boss. It must have come during his ride in the lift where there is no reception. He speed dials the Head of Major Crimes. “Sorry, puan, I was in the lift.”

  “Are you still in the building?” It sounds urgent.

  “Yes, downstairs. What’s up, puan?”

  “Jo with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re a bit short, I need you to backup Ghani’s team. Briefing in ten.”

  “Sure, will be right up,” he says, relieved.

  A team of four mata gelap is already in the meeting room with ASP Ghani Ishak at the head of the table. A bad sketch on the whiteboard shows a target in Raja Alang. Supt Samsiah joins them and nods at ASP Ghani to start.

  “Our surveillance team has just reported spotting the Jowo gang entering a house we have been watching,” ASP Ghani says, distributing three blurred photographs of the suspects. “They’re armed, trigger happy, and will not give up without a fight. They’re linked to at least five armed robberies and one murder. As you know, the area is full of illegals, making it impossible for us to use uniformed personnel as backup. So it’s going to be entirely our show. Questions?” ASP Ghani pauses. Silence. Looking at the whiteboard, ASP Ghani outlines the plan for the raid. They would be split into two teams. He will lead the raid with four mata gelap. Mislan and his assistant will be the rear cutoff. Two MPVs will cruise about half a kilometre away, one around Kampung Baru Mosque and another along Jalan Tuanku, ready to provide support on request. The teams will arrive at location in their own vehicles, motorcycles or cars, at two- to three-minute intervals. Team members are advised to get off at several locations and hang about separately around the designated assembly point. They will remain in sight of one another at the fruit stalls and, on his signal, move casually towards the target. He hands out talkies, instructing them to switch it on only when the raid starts. He suggests that they suit up here before moving out.

  “How sound is the intel?”

  “Positive eyeball. On-site surveillance says the suspects are in the building; must be sleeping after a long night,” ASP Ghani says assertively.

  “I don’t see a twenty-four-hour report connected to them.”

  “Maybe they had an unsuccessful night. We have observed them using this place as one of their safe-houses. My source says the house is rented by an illegal who is not living there. That’s when I decided to put the eyes on it,” ASP Ghani replies, confidently.

  “Any others inside?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “All right, we want no dead heroes. Good luck.” She leaves the room.

  “Lan, Jo, you may want to bring extra clips. I’ve a feeling they’re going to fight their way out,” ASP Ghani says, looking at his watch. “Okay, we move out in ten.”

  Mislan parks his car near the wet market and they walk the short distant to the designated point. He spots ASP Ghani buying a slice of papaya from the fruit stall and they stop, pretending to examine some mangos at another shop while Johan keeps an eye for the signal, which soon comes and they discreetly move to their target. The sergeant nudges him and they start walking towards the target, taking separate routes but maintaining sight of the others.

  They see the target, a stand-alone old nontraditional Malay wooden house. The walls are of red brick and plaster a fourth of the way up. The rest is of timber, finishing with a zinc roof. The doors and its two-leaf casement windows are also made of planks. They see no iron grills anywhere. The houses are unfenced, separated by narrow dirt footpaths passable only by motorcycles and pedestrians. The front yard, which is also the backyard of the house in front, is about ten to fifteen feet wide. It is littered with the usual junk, with an old water tank being used as a garbage dump. It offers little suitable cover should a gunfight break out. He takes his position beside a house behind the target while his assistant tucks himself by the water tank. He gives the thumbs up to Johan who acknowledges it, indicating he is settled in and ready. He points to his eyes then to the target’s back door and slowly sweeps his arm to the right indicating his arc of fire. He receives a thumbs up from Johan in return, with a sweeping motion to the left. Satisfied that they will not get caught in each other’s line of fire, they draw their sidearms, check the chamber and wait.

  They do not have to wait long before the sound of loud banging, and shouts of ‘Polis’, comes from the front of the house. The area turns into a frenzy of men, women, and children running in all directions, no one taking notice of them. As abruptly as it starts, the frenzy stops. In seconds, the area becomes deserted; there is not a soul around. “Aliens,” Mislan says to himself. He tucks closer behind whatever cover he can get, and trains his weapon at the back door.

  Mislan hears two bangs, like someone kicking a door in, more shouts of ‘Polis’ and gunshots. He makes out at least three types of gunfire, with the sharp sound of rapid fire from the MP5K being the most distinct. More gunshots, loud commands, screams of angry revilement, curses, and cries of anguish in Malay and Indonesian, are followed by silence. He hears and feels his heart pounding and takes slow deep breaths to control it. His shooting arm feels the weight of his Beretta. He notices Johan looking at him and jerking his head up, as if inquiring what’s going on. Using sign language, he tells his assistant to keep his eyes on the target and wait for his instructions.

  The back door bursts open; a shirtless man covered in blood lurches out, clutching his stomach, looking wildly to the right and left. The inspector sees a gun in the suspect’s hand, raises his weapon and shouts “Polis! Jangan bergerak, letak senjata kamu.” The suspect looks to his right and takes an agonising step forward. Another warning to freeze and drop his gun is sounded by Johan. Realising he is boxed in, the suspect freezes and lowers his gun slowly to his side. Mislan steps out from his cover, his Beretta trained on the suspect, and shouts, “Letak senjata dan angkat tangan.” The suspect looks in him, and remains still. He appears to be considering his next move when a burst of gunshots from inside the house throws him forward, facedown to the ground. He thinks he sees shock and betrayal on the suspect’s face as he lies on the ground, gasping his last breath.

  ASP Ghani Ishak emerges from the open door, his MP5K pointing at the lifeless body, steps over it and kicks the Colt away. With his right leg, ASP Ghani rolls the shirtless corpse onto its back, and hisses, “Tronojoyo.”

  Mislan runs over and shoves ASP Ghani on the chest, “What the fuck did you do that for? We had him covered,” he shouts furiously.

  “He was going to make a dash for it. Can’t let that happen,” ASP Ghani answers indifferently.

  “Bullshit! We had him covered. He was going to drop his piece!” he cries, their faces inches apart.

  His assistant quickly walks over and stands behind his boss while the rest of the team flank ASP Ghani. To anyone watching, it is a standoff between two teams from the same side.

  “Back off, this is my raid. I decide how it goes down. You can take off now, I don’t need you anymore,” ASP Ghani says. Turning to one of the mata gelap, ASP Ghani
instructs him to call the cleanup team and to seal off the area until they arrive.

  Mislan feels a tap on his shoulder, “This is not the right time and place.”

  He does not move until he feels a grip on his shoulder tugging him. He half cocks his Beretta, locks the safety catch, and holsters it, still staring at ASP Ghani. “Fucking schmuck,” he says, loud enough for the rest of the team to hear, before walking away with Johan holding his shoulder.

  ASP Ghani Ishak, the Head of Major Crimes Special Project, is a product of VAT 69, the Police Field Force version of the commando. He was with VAT 69 until the PFF was downsized. After working in an environment of attack and assault, ASP Ghani was unable to understand rational deduction. Unable to cope with an investigator’s duties, and with cases piling up, ASP Ghani was made the Head of Special Projects. He has loved every minute of it since. Lacking the necessary brainpower, skill, and patience for proper investigations, he transformed Special Projects into a SWAT team, with him having the highest kill rate in the department. It was usual for ASP Ghani’s raids to end with all suspects dead.

  16

  He drives aimlessly, troubled by what had happened. What if Johan had not pulled him away? Why did it bother him so much? It was a shootout, a fair fight, a kill or be killed situation. The suspects’ victims, surely, were not given a chance. Was the suspect going to drop his gun or was he just waiting for the opportunity to open fire, taking at least one of them down? Did ASP Ghani see something he did not? It was even possible ASP Ghani’s action had saved their lives. Maybe he had over-reacted. Maybe ASP Ghani was right. Still, it bothered him.

  It is noon when he calls Safia, reminding her of the appointment with Professor Teh. She tells him that the professor is free at four and is willing to meet them. She has some downtime and is hoping to come along. He agrees, saying he will pick her up at three-thirty.

  He pulls over by the old UMNO building on Jalan Tuanku and they walk across to restaurant Kudu Abdullah that sells Penang nasi kandar. After queuing for their orders, they carry their plates and sit at a table along the five-foot way.