The Golden Pig

by Jonathan Penny Mark Penny

  “Not today, no. You’d be amazed how often evil simply destroys itself. Still, it pays to be ready. Never go down without a fight. Always be the best you can. You know the rules. You even try to live by them in your own strange way. Good luck,” said God, departing.

  “Thanks God.”

  He was awake at last in his hospital bed. Alone and tired, but somehow contented; he had been granted the gift of God’s peace.

  *

  “Take a seat, Lieutenant Hu.”

  “Please, call me ‘Eddie’, I’m not on duty now.”

  “Oh, right. Well, you can call me ‘Ray’ then. Thanks for sparing me some of your time on leave. We’ve been making good progress with the triad investigation, but we can’t put names to all the faces and I thought you were probably one of the only guys who could help us,” said Decca.

  “As I said before Inspec..”

  “Ray.”

  “Right, as I said Ray, I’d be more than happy to help. My files are in the Bureau’s offices in Hong Kong but I can probably identify most of the operators from memory.”

  “Good. Now here’s an interesting looking character; any idea who he is?”

  “As it happens, yes. That Ray is Lau, ‘Master Lau’ they call him. We believe he is either in charge of one of the London based triads or is at the very least one of their senior generals. Yet, despite that, we have nothing on him. He’s at least sixty years old, has short grey hair and dresses like an old school Chinese Mandarin. You probably think he looks like Fu Manchu, right?”

  “Funny you should say that, Eddie.”

  “Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing funny about him. He’s a fearsome organizer of all things illegal and a ruthless killer, responsible for some of the bloodiest gangland murders of the past decade. He is also highly skilled at distancing himself from the sordid end of triad operations.”

  “Do you know anything else about him? Known addresses, contacts, hobbies?”

  “Very little. He seems to be almost untouchable. He probably has more aliases than anyone living. The little we do know came from an agent of one of the main drug pushers in Hong Kong. He was found knifed on the Star Ferry leaving Kowloon just a few days later,” said Eddie Hu.

  “Do you have anything on his activities in the UK?” asked Decca.

  “No, that’s outside my jurisdiction I’m afraid. You can probably tell me about what he’s been up to here.”

  “He was seen at a major crime scene on Beachy Head a couple of months ago, but no-one knew who he was, so when he disappeared we had no way of tracing him. He was mentioned in one of the witness statements though; some guy called Goldman claimed to have been kidnapped by him.”

  “Lucky for him you got there when you did.”

  “Try telling him that, Eddie!” said Decca.

  “Goldman claimed that this Master Lau character was after a golden statuette of a pig and that he would do anything to recover it.”

  “Not the Golden Pig of Ling Wei?!” speculated Hu, with wild enthusiasm.

  “You know something about it?” asked Decca.

  “If it’s the statuette I’m thinking of, no-one has seen it for years. It’s a solid gold temple ornament. Word had it that one of the most violent drug barons had struck a deal for it and the buyer had reneged.”

  “I didn’t credit the story much at the time. Goldman was always an habitual liar,” explained Decca.

  “Who is this Goldman, and where is he now?” asked Eddie Hu.

  “Oh, he usually shows up in one hospital or another if you wait around long enough. He’s a walking disaster area; a no-account private investigator, blessed with unfeasible luck. I sometimes think he must have as many lives as a cat, it’s just a shame the same can’t be said for those associating with him; who usually come to a sticky end, poor devils.”

  “Well, it sounds like Goldman could use some protection if he knows anything about Master Lau,” continued Hu.

  “I guess you’re right. I’ll get Terse onto it straight away. Thanks for your help Eddie, enjoy your vacation.”

  “Thanks Ray, perhaps our paths will cross again some day.”

  “Count on it.”

  Part Thirty-Eight

  The discreet ring of the doorbell chimed in another overpriced West London apartment.

  “That will be the courier with my briefcase, let him in,” said Edna Timmins to the domestic staff.

  One of the doormen lifted the latch and allowed the security chain to play out to its fullest extent.

  “What’s the password?” he asked.

  “Summer Lightning” she purred.

  The door swung open to reveal that fleshly panorama of earthly paradise for men; Steffanie Scarlatti. Until she killed you, like the Black Widow spider she so closely resembled, you would think yourself in heaven in her embrace or basking in the sunshine of her smile.

  They were momentarily stunned. Things can happen in a moment: bad things.

  BLAM! BLAM!

  Two heavy bodies slumped to the floor, still smiling as they died.

  She lowered her pistol and stepped over the redundant doormen.

  “I was wondering whether Lau would send you. I didn’t think he would trust you, but I can be wrong. It happens to the best of us,” said Mrs Timmins.

  Scarlatti leapt back in surprise. Edna Timmins was nothing if not a cool customer in a hot spot. She smiled a relaxed smile and undid the safety catch on her Derringer.

  “I assure you Miss Scarlatti, I rarely shoot at people, but never Miss”

  “It’s Ms,” hissed Scarlatti.

  “Are you married?” asked Edna T.

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Then it’s Miss I don’t know what they teach young people today, but it isn’t English.”

  They stood facing each other across the reception hall like two wildcats spoiling for a fight, but the older cat, with the wisdom of age and experience on her side, was leaving nothing to chance.

  “Don’t make any sudden moves Miss Scarlatti, I would be only too happy to shoot you.You are without a doubt the most arrogant and annoying young person I have met in many a year.”

  “You say the sweetest things.”

  Mrs Timmins began to frown, but then something occurred to her and she regained her equanimity.

  “Come and sit down Miss Scarlatti, but let me take your gun first if you please, we don’t want any more accidents.”

  Scarlatti dropped her gun on the parquet flooring with a dull thud.

  “Did Lau ask you to shoot my doormen or was that your own idea?”

  “They were a threat,” she snarled.

  “What to? World peace? The ozone layer? I’m afraid you’re not making very much sense. It’s clear to me that you hold other peoples’ lives cheap and I deplore your callousness,” said Mrs Timmins.

  She poured out two cups of tea from a fine white bone-china teapot.

  Steffanie Scarlatti stared incredulously at the old lady. Could this really be the face of the ruthless gangland boss she had heard such terrible tales about? She doubted it. She probably ran her crime empire through her lieutenants; psychopathic lunatics with a mother fixation to a man. And yet…who would have imagined herself to be a vicious killer?

  A flash of suppressed rage played about the lines on the old woman’s face like an electric current flickering around a circuit. It wouldn’t take very much to provoke her to anger, and then what? Was she capable of murder? In the final analysis we all were, surely? thought Scarlatti.

  “I’d like to play a little game now, dear,” said Mrs Timmins.

  “I don’t play games.”

  “How sad, but you’ll enjoy this one, I promise. I call it Serbian Roulette, it’s like Russian Roulette only a little more one-sided.”

  “What are you babbling about you silly, old woman.”

  The lines around Timmins’ eyes and mouth registered her annoyance, but she remained mistress of her tongue.

  “You don’t imagi
ne I would give you a gun for even one second, surely?”

  There was only one strategy left to her, she must goad the old woman into making a mistake; truly a dangerous game.

  “No, even you couldn’t be that stupid,” said Scarlatti.

  “As I was saying, I do so miss a good game of Serbian Roulette. No-one will play with me any more. They say I cheat.”

  “And do you?”

  “Oh yes, shamelessly,” confided Edna Timmins. “The aim of the game is to answer three questions correctly.”

  “Supposing I do?”

  “You go home in a taxi.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “You go home in a hearse.”

  “Ah, one of those games,” said Scarlatti.

  “Those games?”

  “Strictly for suckers!”

  “No matter, I only thought to give you a sporting chance. If you really don’t want it I may as well just shoot you now,” added Edna T.

  “Now I come to think of it, I must have been confusing it with some other game,” said Scarlatti.

  “I’m so glad.”

  She was insane; completely, comprehensively raving mad. It took one to know one.

  “May I have one last request, before we play your game? It’s traditional you know; before a big match.”

  “It depends,” said Timmins.

  “On what?”

  “On the request. I would hate to see you get an unfair advantage over me.”

  “Nothing could be further from my thoughts, Mrs Timmins. I simply wanted to see what was in the briefcase. I assumed it was either cash or drugs.”

  “Cash in fact: one million pounds in hard currency. I approve; you are a woman after my own heart. It is a great pity you have to die, but there it is. I would offer you a job if I could but you’re far too dangerous. It gets very tiresome continuously having to watch one’s back at my age.” Edna Timmins lifted the briefcase and placed it squarely in her visitor’s lap.

  “Treat yourself my dear,” she said.

  Scarlatti had been looking for something to throw at her hostess but became genuinely curious to see a million pounds in bank notes. She pressed open the dual combination locks at the top of the case and flipped open the lid. She barely had time to notice that the case was full of scrap paper before the movement of the locks triggered the trembler device concealed in the case and the room was engulfed in a fireball.

  Their screaming lasted no more than a few short minutes and there was no-one to mourn their passing. Within an hour the apartment was reduced to a gutted shell.

  Part Thirty-Nine

  They sat in their adjacent offices at 792A Finchley Road reading the papers. Hymie, as befitted a man newly enriched by a large insurance payout, was reading the Financial Times and finding it hard going. Apart from providing a use for the world’s reserves of pink paper, what did any of it mean? He turned to the Sports section and did a double-take. There was some justice in the world after all, he sighed; the Hunting-Baddeley yard had been prosecuted for race-fixing. Let Lady Muck laugh that one off! he smiled to himself. Lightning had been found safe and well behind a false wall in the stable block.

  The Total Disaster Insurance Corporation, or “Total DIC” as Hymie referred to them, had proved very appreciative of not having to shell out $2 Million for a golden statue of a pig that most people wouldn’t have given shelf-space to. At last JP Confidential had a bright and solvent future.

  Mike, who seemed to be reading the Finchley News, was secretly reading Classics from the Comics, which he had inserted inside the paper to maintain the illusion that he took an interest in the wider world. He hadn’t quite mastered the partner’s art of not giving a hoot what the staff thought of his behaviour, however eccentric.

  Outside his office, Janey Johnson, the new office junior cum receptionist was busy cutting out newspaper articles relating to the firm’s celebrated recovery of the stolen artefact known as the golden pig. They would be dining out on it for years.

  Suddenly Mike’s attention was drawn to an article in the News on the discovery of two women’s bodies in a burnt-out Kensington flat. The police were looking into it, inevitably. Mike had been over his final shoot-out with Steffie Scarlatti again and again in his mind and was now more certain than ever that he was lucky to be alive. Only his bullet-proof vest had saved him. He would keep it on forever, he decided, although not in the shower, obviously. It looked as though she was finally dead, although the police weren’t confirming anything until they had checked her dental records.

  The buzzer on the intercom sounded outside their offices.

  “Your nine-thirty is here, Mr Goldman” called Janey.

  “Send her in please,” said Hymie.

  This time she would see sense. Half a million quid for a business this good? It was preposterous! With a high profile and successful case behind them surely the sky was the limit for JP Confidential. He could see it now; branches in every city, a call centre in Bradford and a string of Rolls Royces, platinum credit cards and glamorous assistants.

  “Hello again, Mr Goldman,” said Sarah Chandar. “You’re a difficult man to track down.”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah, I’ve been working deep undercover. So far undercover I thought I might never get out again,” he added.

  “And now I know why. Congratulations on another successful case. Are you ready to talk terms on the sale of the business?” she asked.

  “Of course, that’s what you’re here for,” he said, confidently.

  “Good. Now Mr Goldman, or should I call you Hymie..?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of drafting heads of terms; an outline agreement, for your approval,” she said.

  He flipped over the pages and frowned. “But the price is only £500,000, Sarah, surely the business is worth more than that? With our new profile in the industry we ought to be looking for £1 Million,” said Hymie, discouraged.

  “Not without a lot more investment, Hymie. There are only three members of staff and 24 hours in a day, after all. I represent Ceefer Capital, not the National Lottery,” said Sarah.

  Hymie tapped on the window for Mike to join them and he entered the room.

  “Mike, this is Sarah Chandar from Ceefer Capital. She has made an offer to buy the business.”

  Mike’s face fell.

  “Don’t you want to know how much they’ve offered, and what your share is?” asked Hymie, surprised at his reaction.

  “No, Hymie, because you’d be making a terrible mistake, mate,” said Mike. “This is our livelihood. If you sell that then you become redundant. Oh, you can live on the money while it lasts, but money isn’t everything. You know, nowadays I get up in the morning looking forward to working at JP Confidential. I’m a partner in the firm so I don’t have to take any crap from anyone and I know that what I do makes a difference. I care about this firm, Hymie! If we worked for some big multinational corporation, all that would change; I might as well be a doorman at the Rainbow Rooms again, because whatever they offered me, I’d still be a wage slave. I’m surprised you can’t see it yourself. Think of all the years you’ve struggled to get to where you are, and for what? To give it away to the first venture capitalist that comes along? They’re not running a charity, you know!”