by J A Scooter
The RSM was so red in the face he looked as if he were about to explode. "What did he say? Translate please."
"Well, do you want it in English or Australian?” was the reply and for once, a Chinese faced cracked into a grin.
"Just tell me what he said,” was the RSM's demand but then realizing he was getting nowhere continued, "in Australian I guess."
"Tell this loud bastard, he doesn't frighten me one little bit"
The RSM was almost apoplectic but then the stranger's wild cackle broke into the deathly silence.
The stranger at last sniggered in English. "See RSM! We still have some cards up our sleeves. You didn't recognize me, none of you recognized me."
Still Peter played the part of the old Chinese man. "Will I be acceptable at tonight's little party?"
His allies gathered around to inspect him very closely. Refusing to speak English Peter stood patiently waiting. Gone were his blue eyes. Instead, this creature had bloodshot brown eyes and no matter how closely they inspected, his disguise stood the test of the intense scrutiny.
The noise and confusion that followed his entrance eventually died and Peter shuffled to the white board where he tried to draw a plan of Dingo's mansion at Hunter's Hill from memory.
"When our meeting at the nightclub is over, we‘ll return here and change. Then we’ll make our way to Hunters Hill just to remind Dingo nothing of his is safe. The details will be in the hands of the RSM, as we’ll leave nothing standing to remind Dingo of his home.
"We sank his boat. Now we bury his home!
"No matter how fast he runs he’ll have nowhere to hide. I’ll leave now and will be in the alley at the rear door of the nightclub when you’re all in place. Goodbye everyone and make certain you are all here for breakfast tomorrow."
None of the passengers took any notice of the nondescript, grey-headed Chinese with the wispy beard, carrying a grocery bag as he climbed aboard the bus.
Later, like a street person, Peter crouched in the gutter outside the rear of the nightclub, waiting. He took no notice of the occasional Tamil who walked past him and stared into his face.
As he waited, Peter remembered that he must repay Susie that $5 and tease her for not recognizing him.
He knew there was no need to knock on the door. It would open when everything was in place. The Little One was back and was not nervous.
‘Yes I am a cold-blooded killer who is not the least worried.’ The rear door to the nightclub opening slowly interrupted his thoughts. A hand beckoned him inside. No words were spoken as he hobbled to the storeroom where, trussed against the wall, were the waiters, the cooks and the chef.
Peter knew instantly the men who were his, as they all wore white gloves. There would be no fingerprints left behind and nothing to link any of them with what was about to unfold. All communication was in Cantonese.
Everything was prepared and all they could do was wait for the Silver Limousines carrying Dingo, his guests and entourage.
Peter almost lost his self-control when Jennifer walked into the nightclub wearing a blouse that barely covered her nipples and a skirt so short that her sex plainly showed when she sat. He was sure it was her sex he saw when she swung her legs into place, but there was no dark shadow of her sparse pubic hair so he was uncertain.
Like the other girls, she was wearing one of those control collars and Peter knew that tonight there would be no rescue.
Her hair was short and she looked both cheap and worn-out. Her eyes were dull and she took no part in the dinner table conversation as she stared ahead with unseeing eyes. Flanked by the two Arabs, she seemed deaf as Pretty Boy and Dingo on the opposite side of the table openly discussed her sexual abilities.
Burly guards stood at the door and Peter noticed that the party included some Asian girls, all with the same collar as if it were a distinctive brand.
The men seated at the table included two prominent politicians, some businessmen and two senior police officers.
No one noticed when the old, stooped Chinese standing beside the kitchen doors, directing the waiters, shuffled across the room to the bodyguards. In extremely poor, heavily accented English, he told them their food was on a table in the kitchen.
No one considered anything was strange when six waiters followed the guards through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Each of the male guests seated at the table was too busy eating and fondling the girls to be aware of their absence.
Shuffling back to his position the old Chinese resumed his position beside the kitchen doors. He again checked that the waiters paid close attention to the essential demands of the guests.
So successful was Peter's disguise that he was able to move around the room without drawing any suspicion on himself. To the guests he was an Old Chinese stooped and frail - to his own men he was The Little One assisting the Angel of Death.
It was a normal dinner party, as hosted by Dingo - wine women and song - although Peter knew that tonight the tunes would be of his choosing.
When one of the Arabs dipped his hand into Jennifer's blouse to fondle her breasts and tweak her nipples, Peter had to strive to maintain that look of the inscrutable east in order to prevent himself from rushing forward and putting an immediate end to the man's life.
Jennifer rebelled, grasping the hand and trying to drag it from her neckline. With Peter watching she suddenly lifted her hands to the collar, trying to wrench it free so she could breathe. Then, her head dropped as she concentrated on not losing consciousness.
Beaten, she made no response to the Arab's hand that had gone under the table to snake it way under her skirt. She seemed almost oblivious of the fingers clawing at her groin.
Peter knew her torment. The critical moment had come.
Chapter 16 Pearl Harbor in a Night Club
Resuming his position at the kitchen doors, the old Chinese carefully controlled the waiters as they successfully served Dingo's guests. Then, tiring of the charade, he turned, pushed on the swinging doors into the kitchen and grunted an order in Cantonese.
Carrying a roasted pig's head on a huge platter, two waiters appeared. They followed the old Chinese as he painfully hobbled to stand behind Jennifer. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Peter placed his hand on Jennifer's shoulder as he leant across her to place a plate of chilies, swimming in fish oil and soy sauce, on the table in front of her.
Turning her head, she looked into his heavily disguised face and for an instant, her eyes shone with recognition and warmth. Then, just as quickly, a dull reflection of fear and hurt replaced that look in her eyes.
Peter snatched her chopsticks and slashed them past one Arab's eyes to drive them upright into a bed of rice - a sign of death. At the same time, the two waiters placed a roasted pig's head before the Arabs.
In that split second, horrified, the Arabs recoiled from the pig's head on the table in front of them. Dingo looked as if he were about to explode.
Peter punched his Cobra ring into the throat of the Arab who still held his hand under Jennifer's skirt.
A scream rent the air and the lights went out.
Within minutes, the lights came on and the party, still seated at the table found they were alone with a dead Arab face down on the pig. There were the twin puncture wounds of a snake's fangs in his throat. No sound had alerted them to the fact that the waiters had completed their mission and had slipped away into the night.
The two police officers and the politicians were quick to leave the scene.
As arranged, Gurkha drivers had their cars in place. They picked up the conspirators in the darkness of the alley so that the waiters left nothing for inquisitive police except the security tapes playing "M... I... C... K... E... Y... Mickey Mouse."
Knowing they had some time before anyone returned to Hunters Hill, the drivers travelled carefully. The main gates were open and the Gurkhas standing there smiled, waving them through. The procession of cars stopped, dropped their passengers then sped off.
&nbs
p; As he walked into the large formal entertaining area Peter noticed two guards dead, garroted on the floor, while six others sat, tied to their chairs. Unfettered in anyway, the Thai Katoey was angrily stamping her anger at her captors, who amused at her actions, stood grinning.
The Katoey was furious. "You wait until Dingo hears about this. You'll be sorry,” and the Katoey continued to scream until Peter put his face close to hers.
Staring hard into her eyes, he bellowed in Thai, “Shut up whore! Before long you will regret you ever met me."
Maybe it was the cruelty in his voice, maybe it was his Thai that made the Katoey stop her wailing threats. A puddle of urine formed at her feet.
The Gurkhas laughter was contemptuous.
The RSM called to Peter from another room. "I believe you should see this.” As Peter entered the entertainment room where three Gurkhas stood waiting stoically, the RSM pressed a button on the DVD player.
A pornographic film burst into life on the screen. It began in a bedroom. As the action progressed, a door opened and two men dragged a red headed woman through the doorway and threw her onto the bed. Like piranhas in a blood-filled stream, they tore the clothes from her body ignoring her screams for help and sobbing pleas to release her.
When the men had first dragged the woman into the room, Peter had been uncertain that it was Jennifer because of her dress, hairstyle and look of being an over-used whore. However, he instantly recognized her voice.
The film continued, revealing the Thai Katoey's involvement in the sexual degradation and humiliation of Jennifer.
Without waiting for the film to end, he gave the order, "Bring the DVD!” Storming back to the main room with Dingo's guards, Peter stood, emotionless studying their faces. In Tamil he barked an order, "Kill them!"
The guards gurgled and struggled against the silken loops around their necks then quickly dropped lifeless to the cold floor.
Turning to the Katoey, he unsheathed the Kukri hanging from his belt.
"Please, please I didn't know. If you spare me I can make you a rich man.” Terrified the Katoey fell to her knees with the bodies of the dead guards around her.
Nicking his thumb, Peter returned his Kukri to its sheath. Motionless, he stared into the quivering wretch's eyes and then, through gritted teeth, demanded in shrill Thai. "Show me and be quick."
Almost running in her eagerness, the Katoey led the group to the study where she pulled back a bookcase and opened the wall safe.
Hurling the lady boy to one side and, taking a long look into the safe Peter bellowed, "Bring the large van that was traded today. Now!"
Terrified, the Katoey lay on the floor watching, aware that it was only a matter of time before she would die.
As Peter ransacked the safe, passports of young Asian women and money of large denominations spilled on the floor. On the bottom shelf nestled gold ingots.
Within minutes, Gurkhas stood in the driveway, waiting to load passports, money and gold ingots into the van, when it arrived, possibly along with the sole live prisoner.
The RSM handed Peter a box filled with DVDs before he went off with his men to prepare the property for their departure. The boat shed, jetty and mansion would cease to exist. It was to be a warm warning for Dingo.
Four Tamils painted the sign of Kali, 'she who destroys' - the powerful, patron Goddess of Thuggees on the driveway. Others decorated the outside walls of the mansion with similar signs.
Satisfied, the RSM bellowed an order in Nepali finalizing the planting of evidence to link the deaths with worshippers of Kali, the murderous cult which had been outlawed many years previously by the British Raj.
Peter repeated the order in Tamil.
The cars and the van formed a well-protected convoy back to the workshop where the drivers returned the cars to the used car lot.
After collecting a trolley from the workshop, Peter and the RSM drove the van to Peter's condominium where they transferred the contents of the van to his safe. The security code for the lift was changed and the two of them returned to the motel.
On the way back, Peter made the wry comment, "Well, we have one passenger to keep the cattle company.” He turned to check on the bound and gagged Katoey, cowering in the corner.
Week 1
That Fateful Saturday
Breakfast was a rowdy affair as everyone had his own tale to tell. The papers arrived and everyone collected their copy.
'MALICIOUS FIREBUG BURNS HUNTERS HILL MANSION.'
'WELL-KNOWN ARAB RACING IDENTITY ATTACKED BY SNAKE AT DINNER TABLE.'
The particular headlines were both lurid and accurate. There were numerous pictures, even one of Pretty Boy leading Jennifer out of the nightclub.
Suddenly the phone rang and Susie called Joe. Everyone watched in silence until he turned and addressed Peter. "Well we have spooked the enemy. The second Arab's just called for a cab to take him to the airport and he sounded scared."
"Call me a cab while I get a little farewell present for him from all of us.” Peter was pleased that another opportunity for retribution had presented itself so quickly.
"You're not going alone.” Andrew sounded distraught. "We're talking about my sister here. I demand to become involved."
"You're not going this trip. However you will be driving the coach this afternoon, as we could have some passengers later today if Joe's friends come up with the information we need.” Reassuring Andrew, Peter turned and left to return to his room above the workshop.
When Peter reappeared disguised as a brown eyed Arab, his arrival broke the earlier scene of calm into one of considerable commotion. The sudden arrival of an Arab startled everyone but Peter's voice reassured them, even though he addressed them in Arabic, "Salaam Alaikum.” He repeated the message and they were astounded that his voice had this time completely changed.
"I need to do this alone as I don't want anyone's face on security cameras at the airport. The best I can offer is to get my driver to call you when my mission is complete. While I'm away Joe, ask your friends where the girls were taken last night."
"I already know,” Joe replied quickly.
"Jennifer was taken to a hotel in the city. She spent the night there with the Arab, Pretty Boy and Dingo. Guards took the others to a brothel in Redfern. It trades as the Raging Bull."
Smiling, he inquired. "Have you got your key? You may need it."
In reply, Peter patted his pocket before producing the key that Joe had so painstakingly duplicated all those months previously.
"Joe, tell your cabbie that his Hunters Hill fare - the Arab - is to be dropped close to the QANTAS doors of the airport departure lounge. I'll be there to greet him and introduce him to the Angel of Death. Tonight he will most certainly not be dwelling in paradise with eight virgins. Now RSM get one of the used cars from the lot. You're my driver."
Peter knew the police would never get the RSM to crack under questioning should anything go wrong.
The drive to the airport was swift and both men were quiet. The RSM concentrated on his driving while Peter, disguised as an Arab, studied the passing scenery as if a tourist.
They timed their arrival so well that the RSM drew up behind the taxi just as the Hunters Hill fare stepped out.
"Salaam Alaikum.” The Arab turned to greet a fellow Arab.
Peter grabbed his shoulders and pulled him hard against his chest. Right cheek to right cheek he breathed in the Arab's ear. "Tonight you dwell in hell. You have pig fat on your face and Allah forbids pigs. You used my wife and you came here to purchase her.” Left check to left cheek, Peter continued. "The Angel of Death is with you. Enjoy hell and remember you have missed the eight virgins.” Then he thrust the cobra ring into the Arab's neck.
Peter was in the car and well away as the Arab sank to the pavement clutching the wound.
As they drove, they heard the news on the car radio. "Gang wars erupt in Sydney."
"Two Middle Eastern horse racing identities who arrived just a few day
s ago to purchase a mysterious mare are both dead. Some well-known criminal identities died of a drug overdose in the toilets of a notorious nightclub.
"As well, several bodies were in the destroyed home of the crime baron Dingo Ryan. Their manner of death suggests that Thuggees, followers of the Goddess Kali, are responsible but police admit they have no clues to follow."
The newsreader made a dry remark as he introduced an advertising break. "This must be Dingo's unlucky week as his fifty million dollar luxury cruiser sank in the harbor earlier this week."
Peter laughed briefly and then resumed his clear-sighted instructions to the RSM.
"Stop at the next petrol station and ring Andrew,” he ordered. "Tell him to meet us with the coach at the brothel in Redfern. Joe will be navigator and is to remain in the coach. They are to bring six Gurkhas with them as back up. We'll be inside waiting for them. Bring insulated bolt cutters."
As an afterthought he added, "Tell Joe we're at the Service Station on the corner of Elizabeth and William Streets. Ask him to send a driver who can lead us to the Raging Bull brothel."
Within minutes, a taxi pulled into the Service Station and the driver walked across to tell Peter to follow his cab. The two cars meandered their way through the traffic until the taxi stopped outside a tidy but unpretentious residence.
Still dressed as an Arab and using the key, Peter swept inside the brothel pushing the security guard aside. "Bring that red headed girl now.” He demanded. "I have a use for her.” Pointing to the obscene picture of Jennifer on the wall Peter reinforced his order.
"She hasn't returned your Excellency but I'll bring others for your enjoyment.” The guard only got as far as the door. The last thing he heard was a soft puff and the last thing he felt was the sting in his neck. He crashed to the floor before he had time to realize he'd been hit by a poisonous dart.
Peter waited to see what would happen as the security camera glared down on the scene like an unblinking, baleful Cyclops. Patiently he stood in the center of the room until he heard the noise of the coach pulling up outside.