The Payback

by Simon Kernick

  The ferry manoeuvred its way through the boats bobbing up and down in the bay before pulling up at the shoreline. There were no piers in Sabang so we had to take off our shoes and paddle ashore in the warm knee-deep water. I looked around to see if there was anyone I remembered. But too much time had passed, and those few locals sitting on the stone steps that led up to the pavement running down the front of the buildings didn’t even bother to look my way.

  I thought back to the last time I’d seen Tomboy. It had been a warm, balmy night and we’d been sat having a drink together outside our old place, while he tried to persuade me not to go back to England. He’d told me that no good would come of it, and of course, in many ways he’d been right. We’d parted with a handshake, and he’d looked in my eyes and wished me luck; and the thing was, I knew he’d meant it. He’d cared for me. I’d cared for him too, far more than I’d admitted to myself these past six years, and even now I felt vaguely nauseous at the prospect of pointing a gun at him.

  The dive operation and guesthouse we’d run together on Big La Laguna Beach was a ten-minute walk along the coast, and I led Tina along the narrow path round the nearest headland to Small La Laguna Beach. The Point Bar – a lovely open-air place that sat on a rocky promontory overlooking the bay, which I used to go to sometimes – was still there, but as we rounded the corner I saw that someone had built a high-rise monstrosity at the end of the beach that completely dominated the view. So, mass-market tourism had finally come to this part of the Philippines. It was a pity. There’d always been something quaint and off-the-beaten-track about the beaches of northern Mindoro; it was one of the reasons why, as a fugitive, I’d found it so easy to settle there. But it was clear by the growing numbers of westerners, particularly young ones, we were encountering as we walked that it was now part of the backpacker trail.

  A group of sunburned English gap-year girls – pretty in a wholesome, Home Counties way – came past, clad in skimpy bikinis, forcing us to move aside to avoid them. Chattering excitedly among themselves, they didn’t give me a second glance. But then, of course, they wouldn’t. These girls would have been young children when my misdeeds had been dominating the news. In the ultra-fast world of the twenty-first century, I was nothing more than ancient history.

  We cut through a gap in the headland by the big hotel and emerged on Big La Laguna, the best of Sabang’s three main beaches, which to be honest wasn’t saying much since none of them was that much cop. Even so, it was busier than I remembered, with groups of backpackers and tourists clustered along the sand. One guy with a huge afro was playing the guitar and singing some folky number, while half a dozen girls sat round him in an admiring semi-circle passing a joint from one to the other.

  Tina stopped and looked around, taking in a big deep breath of the fresh sea air. She tipped up the sun hat she was wearing, and when she looked into the sunlight, her eyes gently closing as she finally relaxed, I thought she looked beautiful. She held that position for a few seconds before looking back at me, all business once again. ‘Is it much further? I’m dying of thirst.’

  ‘It’s just up here,’ I said, feeling a nervous trepidation as I walked along the sand.

  But then I stopped.

  Tina stopped beside me. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s not here any more,’ I said, looking at the spot where the Big La Laguna Dive Lodge had been, and where a hotel at least five times the size calling itself Anglo-Danish Divers, with a big PADI dive centre out front, now stood.

  For a few seconds I just stood there, sweating and feeling foolish, as it dawned on me that we’d made this whole journey for nothing. I looked beyond the hotel, wondering if I’d made a mistake with the location, and saw a second new hotel beyond it. No, I was definitely in the right place. It was just that the world – and, it seemed, Tomboy – had moved on without me. The emptiness that was always squatting in my heart seemed to grow just that little bit bigger.

  ‘Come on,’ said Tina quietly, the first hint of sympathy in her voice. ‘I need to get out of the sun. Let’s grab a drink.’

  We made our way over to an adjacent, and thankfully quiet, beach bar and took a seat at one of the tables.

  Which was when someone called my name. Or more accurately, they called me by the name I’d been known by during my time in the Philippines.

  ‘Mr Mick?’

  It was the barman. He was waving at me from behind the bar, a big grin on his face, and I recognized him immediately. His name was Frankie and he’d worked the bar at our place when I was there. He still didn’t look a day over sixteen, although he had to be at least thirty by now. It unnerved me how easily he’d recognized me.

  I walked over, Tina following.

  ‘Frankie. How are you doing?’

  We started to shake hands, but then he leaned forward and hugged me, pulling away reluctantly. ‘Where have you been, Mr Mick? You’ve been gone for years.’

  ‘Away,’ I said with a weary smile. ‘This is my friend Tina.’

  ‘Not your wife?’

  ‘No. Not my wife.’

  They shook hands, and Frankie smiled nervously at her, vaguely intimidated, I think, by Tina’s short bleached-blonde hair, and her lean, muscular body.

  ‘Why did you never call or write? Why did you never come back?’ He looked at me, genuinely perplexed. ‘We all missed you. Mr Tomboy missed you a lot. He wasn’t good at running the place without you.’

  ‘What happened to it?’ I asked, looking over to where Anglo-Danish Divers now stood.

  ‘Mr Tomboy sold it to the arsehole who runs that place,’ he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

  ‘How long ago?’

  He thought about it for a moment. It looked like it was quite an effort. ‘A long time back. A year. Two years. Maybe even longer.’

  I hid my disappointment. ‘Do you know where Tomboy is now?’

  ‘Sure. He’s still here. He lives up past the headland.’ He motioned vaguely over his shoulder. ‘Nice house. Good views. You want me to show you where?’

  ‘No, it’s OK. You’re working. Just tell me where it is.’

  He gave me the name of the house and rough directions, and I memorized them.

  ‘It’ll be a nice surprise for him,’ said Frankie.

  Somehow, I didn’t think so. It wasn’t going to be all that pleasant for either of us. But there was nothing that could be done about that.

  I ordered two Cokes from Frankie and we went back to our table.

  ‘I want to go up there alone,’ I said to Tina, taking a huge gulp of my drink. ‘I think it’ll be easier that way.’

  Tina looked into my eyes, as if she was trying to gauge what was beyond them. ‘Are you going to kill him?’

  ‘I hope I don’t have to, but this time I’m going to get answers.’

  She seemed to think long and hard about that, before eventually speaking again. ‘Do what you have to do. I’ll wait here.’

  I finished my drink and got to my feet. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘One other thing,’ she said as I moved away.

  I turned round, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Be careful.’

  I managed a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m always careful.’

  Which was bullshit of course, but for the first time that day, her words made me feel good.

  Thirty-four

  It was a fifteen-minute walk up to Tomboy’s place, past landmarks that had once been familiar but that had now changed beyond all recognition. Where once there’d been a ramshackle collection of shacks, peopled by extended families of locals who liked to do all their cooking on spits outside, and where chickens, even the odd pig, roamed the narrow streets, there were now rows of bland single-storey chalet-style cottages, with tarmac walkways between them. Only when I got up past the headland and into the quiet woodland that surrounded the coastal resorts did I see traces of what Mindoro had been like before the tourists had come.

  Frankie was
right. Tomboy’s place was nice. A two-storey white-washed villa set back on its own behind mature teak trees, nestled close to the edge of the cliff with views back across towards Sabang, it was a damn sight better than anything he’d owned six years back. I very much doubted whether the proceeds of selling our small dive business would have paid for the Mitsubishi Shogun sitting in the drive, let alone anything else.

  Suddenly feeling terribly nervous, I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

  For a few seconds there was no answer. Then I heard footsteps.

  ‘Who is it?’ he called out, but even as he spoke the words he was opening the door.

  ‘Hello, Tomboy.’

  He recognized me instantly, just like I knew he would. ‘Jesus Christ, Mick,’ he said, an expression of utter disbelief on his face. He took a step backwards. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I need a favour. Can I come inside?’

  He looked at me warily, and I thought that the last few years hadn’t treated him at all well. He was only in his mid-forties, a few months older than me, but his face was soft and bloated, and even the deep local’s tan couldn’t disguise the meandering network of broken blood vessels that swarmed across his upper cheeks and over a nose that had grown noticeably more bulbous. His shoulder-length blond hair was a lank, thinning, tangled mess, and his eyes were bloodshot and weary. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting white singlet with food stains on it that was tightening at the gut.

  ‘What kind of favour?’ he asked, clearly reluctant to let me over the threshold. ‘The last time we spoke you told me to pray that you never came looking for me. Is my time up, then, Mick?’ He looked away as he spoke, remembering no doubt the reason why I’d said those things. The old swagger he used to exude was long gone. Tomboy Darke looked like a man in terminal decline, and I felt a little sorry for him in spite of myself.

  ‘You were my friend a long time, Tomboy. I’ve never wanted to kill you. But we do need to talk. Inside.’

  He looked scared, confirming what I already knew. ‘I don’t see how I can help you. I haven’t seen you in six years.’

  ‘Take my word for it, you can,’ I said, and slipped the gun from the small of my back.

  He looked down, saw it. Inhaled loudly. Then he took a step back and allowed me inside, never taking his eyes from the gun.

  ‘Turn around. Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable.’

  Slowly, as if each step was physically painful, he led me through the narrow hallway, past a very messy kitchen that smelled of old fish, and into an equally messy lounge dominated by a huge plasma TV hanging from the wall. Half-open French windows led out to a sheltered patio, but even so, the air con in the room was blowing out cold air so hard you could have hung meat in there.

  He turned and faced me, his shoulders already slumping. ‘Whatever I’ve done in the past, it was a long time ago, and I feel awful for it. I really do.’

  ‘You mean, getting rid of the body of a thirteen-year-old girl murdered by paedophiles, then framing her father for it? Because that’s what you did, isn’t it?’

  His soft jowly face creased into an expression of terrible guilt, but I wasn’t fooled. Tomboy Darke had always been a good liar. It was why he’d been such a successful informant back in the day. Even the other criminals trusted him.

  ‘It was a long time ago, Mick. I needed the money.’

  ‘You’re right. It was a long time ago. But there’ve been other crimes since.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t bullshit me, Tomboy. You work for Paul Wise. You delivered a gun on his behalf to a hotel room in Manila three days ago. It was used in a hit.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Jesus, Mick. Was that you?’

  I nodded. ‘I work for a guy called Bertie Schagel. But his client’s Paul Wise. Wise wanted the journalist Patrick O’Riordan dead.’

  Tomboy looked puzzled. ‘And you killed him, did you? I read about it in the papers.’

  ‘I did. But I realize now I made a mistake. I’ve got to make amends, Tomboy. And that means finding Paul Wise – the last of those bastards responsible for the death of that little girl, Heidi Robes, back in England – and putting him in the ground.’ I raised the gun so it was pointed at his head, and he flinched involuntarily. ‘So, where is he?’

  ‘Look, Mick, please,’ he said, putting his hands up defensively, ‘I don’t know any Paul Wise, I promise.’

  I came forward fast, making him back up against the wall, and shoved the barrel of the gun in his face. A sour smell of sweat was coming off him in waves, and his bloodshot eyes were bulbous with panic.

  ‘Please, Mick, I’m telling the truth, I promise.’

  I kept the gun where it was, knowing how effective my silence combined with the feel of cold, deadly metal on skin could be. It didn’t take long for him to start babbling.

  ‘I’ve heard the name Paul Wise, I’ve got to admit that, but I don’t know who, let alone where, he is. I swear it. I do my work for a man called Heed. He’s the one who told me to deliver the gun. He might work for Paul Wise, but I can’t even say that for sure. You’ve got to believe me, Mick.’

  ‘Where did you meet Heed?’

  ‘It was a long time back. He used to come down here sometimes. We got talking. I said I was always after work – it was when the dive business wasn’t doing so well – and he said he might be able to put some my way.’

  I quickly made a show of looking round the room, but I never took my eyes from him. ‘It looks like this Mr Heed pays well.’

  ‘I don’t do stuff just for him.’

  ‘So, who did you kidnap that little girl for, then?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I read a report yesterday about a thirteen-year-old girl called Lene Haagen who was abducted from a hotel in Manila in the summer of 2008. The report was written by Pat O’Riordan. It said that a witness saw a western man hanging round the hotel in the days before she disappeared. The description fitted you perfectly. Overweight, long, thinning hair, red face.’ I was punting in the dark here, coming up with a theory for which I had no evidence, but something in his eyes, not guilt so much as real fear, told me I was on the right track. ‘You kidnapped a little kid from her parents on behalf of Paul Wise, knowing exactly what was going to happen to her. You’re a bastard, Tomboy. But then you knew that, didn’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he whined.

  I felt a wave of pure hot rage flow through me. ‘Don’t lie. It won’t save you. Nothing’s going to save you unless you tell the truth.’ I cocked the gun, the click loud in the dull silence of the room.

  ‘Don’t kill me, Mick. Please. I saved your life all those years ago, remember? I could have grassed you up, but I didn’t. I let you go into business with me—’

  ‘You did it though, didn’t you? Took that little girl from her parents?’

  ‘Oh Jesus.’ His voice was degenerating into sobs, his whole body shaking with emotion. ‘I know I did wrong, but Heed made me do it.’

  ‘Don’t bullshit me. You could have said no. Why did you do it? Money, or are you one of them too? Are you a child rapist, Tomboy?’

  ‘Course I’m not,’ he howled with indignation, as if this somehow made his actions justifiable. ‘I was broke. Totally. Heed offered me fifty grand to do it.’

  My finger trembled on the trigger. I was still finding it difficult to take in what he was telling me because it meant that Tomboy, my old friend, was a monster. The anger burned inside me.

  ‘Where do I find Heed?’

  ‘He owns a nightclub in Manila, the Juicy Peach.’

  ‘And you delivered Lene Haagen to him?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I did.’ He looked at me, and his eyes were full of tears. ‘I’m sorry, Mick, I really am. There’s not a night I don’t think about what I’ve done.’

  ‘Is that right? While you’re sitting in your nice big house paid for with her blood. You’ve go
t to stop lying, Tomboy, you really have.’

  I stepped away from him, wanting to get his sour, terrified stink out of my nostrils, but kept the gun pointed at his head.

  But now that I’d got Tomboy talking, he wouldn’t shut up. ‘I didn’t want to do it,’ he continued, ‘I swear. But I’d been doing other stuff for Heed, getting young girls for clients down here, and he said he’d grass me up to the law if I didn’t do what he told me. You know what it’s like. You get dragged in.’

  I did know. But even so, I’d never been dragged in that deep. And the problem was, Tomboy had form. He hadn’t been corrupted. He was corrupt already.

  I glared at him. ‘Tell me everything you know about Heed.’

  ‘He’s an Aussie in his fifties. I don’t even know his first name. He’s lived in Manila for years, and been involved in the under-age sex trade for most of that time. He’s scum, Mick. A horrible-looking bloke. He stinks of death.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s just as complimentary about you. Where else does he frequent?’

  ‘He doesn’t these days. He just hangs about the Juicy Peach like some kind of vampire. He lives in the basement, in a place with no windows. You reach it through a door in the club.’

  ‘Give me the address.’

  He reeled it out by heart. I memorized it.

  ‘Turn round and face the wall.’

  ‘Mick, please don’t kill me.’

  ‘Turn round.’

  Slowly, very slowly, he did as instructed, until he had his back to me. I could see his knees trembling, and I felt sick, even though I knew what I had to do. If I left him alive, there was a good chance he’d tell Heed I was coming for him, and I couldn’t have that. Time was running out. For me, and for Tomboy too. Although right now, his was running out faster.

  ‘Oh God, Mick, no . . .’ His voice was a low, cracked wail that seemed to echo round the room. He craned his neck so he could see me, willing me not to pull the trigger.

  I snapped at him to face the wall, hearing the tension in my voice as I took the suppressor from where I’d been storing it beneath my shirt and screwed it on to the end of the pistol.