by RJ Bailey
Not only was he a famous player, the violinist was also famously mean. There was no manager to take 15 or 20 per cent, just a booking agency taking 5, and no entourage but William.
The violinist was so tight that, even though he could command thousands of pounds a night, when travelling abroad he made William book twin rooms as an economy, especially in America, where two queen-sized beds in a motel room is quite common.
Sometime in the 1990s, they were touring the Southern states and they settled into a routine: concert, hotel, next city, rehearsal with the local musicians. Repeat.
Every night at the hotel was the same regimen too: a drink, dinner with a half-bottle of wine, then bed. William would get ready for bed first, tuck up and then start reading a military history book, while his companion navigated the bathroom.
Eventually, the violinist would slide between the sheets and say, ‘I want to go to sleep. Is the light out?’ And dutifully, William would put the light out, even though he couldn’t figure out what difference it made to the violinist, him being blind. Maybe he could see some shades of grey, he thought.
‘Is it out?’ the maestro would ask.
‘Yes,’ William would reply.
But one night, William was in the midst of D-Day or Dunkirk and didn’t want to stop. So, when the question came: Is the light out? William said yes and carried on reading.
‘You’re sure?’
William flicked the switch off and – silently – back on. ‘Yes, there.’
The violinist said, ‘OK. Goodnight.’ At which point, he threw his covers back to reveal a stonking hard-on, which he proceeded to stroke as vigorously as he could, while not making a single sound that might disturb what he thought was a slumbering William.
Except William wasn’t slumbering that night. In fact, he would have trouble sleeping for the rest of his life.
Horrified, he turned off the light as quietly as he could and bought earplugs and an eyeshade the next day.
And he always turned off the light when asked.
And the moral of the story is? You never know when some fucker is watching you.
Bojan had certainly been watching me. Just not in the same room like poor old William.
How long had he been sniffing around? Since Oktane, he’d said. Weeks, then.
And how much would he really have got off Freddie’s phone? A lot, probably.
She was a lot more tech savvy than me. She used Facebook, Instagram and various dating services. She, unlike me, had swiped right. Or was it left?
So, I thought as I walked back through the forest and past the ramshackle houses of despair, I had to stop relying on my phone. And my laptop. I had to get off the grid, yet still find a way to communicate with Freddie. We had to assume Bojan and his people were all over us. The bottle over the wall was just a demo of their omnipotence.
We know where you are.
But – and it was a but the size of Kim Kardashian’s rear – if he was to be believed, he didn’t know where Jess and Matt were. Hence the first-past-the-post-wins shit. But what if he was simply relying on me leading him to her?
This man was eaten up inside by a desire for revenge. Just like Leka, or perhaps Elona, a woman out to make the British soldiers who had allegedly raped her suffer? Jesus, it was a big club, the people who had been hurt and wanted some sort of recompense.
The Suffer Club.
Wasn’t that what Bojan called it? And he was a fully-paid-up member, thanks to me.
I knew what I had to do to get through this. My own guts felt cold and fluid, like iced water had been pumped in.
The flares of pain firing off in my brain were like an electrical storm. For a microsecond, it swamped every other activity in my head, subliminal glimpses of what he threatened would happen to Jess forcing their way to the front of my consciousness. But they weren’t going to help me. Just the opposite.
I had to smother the emotions to stop the turmoil. Jess was just the Principal now. Not my daughter. I had to approach this as just another case.
Be cold, be detached. Or you’ll fall apart.
Find the girl. That’s the job.
My old sergeant used to say: Don’t worry about outcomes you can’t influence. Worry about those you can.
So I can influence this; I can get to Jess first. And after that? Well, chances are Bojan would still come after me.
So be it. I’d tackle that problem then.
Any kind of calm was going to be hard to find until he was no longer a threat, that much was certain. I think once you are in the Suffer Club, it’s hard to leave. Like Hotel fucking California.
I had some inkling of what I had to do next. As I made it out of that purgatory and to the food stalls, I had a half-formed plan that hovered behind gauzy curtains in my brain.
I looked across at Kadek’s Toyota.
The door was wide open, and there was no sign of the young driver.
TWENTY-FOUR
Older Balinese believe in Leyaks, practitioners of black magic who can take the form of a monkey, a pig, wind or light. In the most extreme manifestations, they take on the form of humans by day – apart from their prominent fangs – but by night the head breaks off and flies, entrails straggling behind.
I had a feeling that Kadek might be one himself when, on my third glance around the car park, I spotted him at one of the food stalls. I could have sworn he hadn’t been there seconds ago.
He raised a hand to me and I walked over, trying to keep the anger from my voice.
‘What are you doing?’
He pointed to a much-diminished pile of rice and meatballs on a banana leaf. ‘I’m eating, Ibu. I was hungry.’
‘I meant leaving the car door open like that.’
The boy looked puzzled. ‘I can see it. I have the keys. And nobody would touch it.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on that,’ I snapped. ‘What was it you said about this place being full of bad men?’
He looked alarmed, not about the bad men, but from the expression on my face and my tone of voice. I was shaking. Maybe that made my voice quiver.
‘What happened in there? Are you OK, Ibu?’
I ran a hand through my hair. It felt matted with sweat, dust and fear. ‘No, not really. I need a drink.’ Pathetic, I know. But just the one, I told myself.
I looked hopefully at the stallholder, but Kadek put me straight. ‘This man is pendatang. Muslim. No alcohol. Just a moment.’ He slid the remainder of his meal into his mouth and threw down some rupiahs. He washed his fingers in the proffered bowl and shook hands with the vendor, before instructing me to follow him.
We passed the Toyota and he kicked the door shut with his sandalled foot, raising an eyebrow that asked: Happy now?
‘Lots of Muslims in Bali these days. They come from Java, Sulawesi, all over, because we have more tourists. Too many come,’ he said glumly. ‘More mosques than temples one day, maybe.’
We did the usual moped roulette as we crossed the street. The air was bitter with their exhausts, mixing with the ever-present scent of cloves from cigarettes. Kadek ducked under a thatched awning and we found ourselves in a substantial warung selling bamboo skewers threaded with meat, with a small bar to one side. He said something briefly to the woman manning the station and she poured a single shot of clear liquid into a glass. Then she popped the top off a beer and handed it to Kadek.
I got the unknown fluid. I examined it suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
‘Arak,’ he said. ‘It calms the nerve.’
‘Nerves. There are lots of them to calm.’ I took a gulp.
It didn’t so much calm as cauterise them.
I gave a cough and tried to speak, but I sounded like I’d had a laryngectomy. Eventually I managed: ‘Beer.’ I gulped half of the second Bintang down in one. ‘Jesus.’
‘Feel better, Ibu?’
‘I’m not sure I can feel anything. Thank you.’
We clinked bottles and moved away to sit at one of the three tables
.
‘How old are you, Kadek?’ I asked.
‘Twenty-three.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Here. Bali,’ he said proudly, as if that were unusual.
‘I meant which part.’
‘A village on the edge of the slopes of Gunung Batur.’ I knew that was the island’s perfidious volcano.
‘Was it evacuated last year? When it blew?’
‘Yes. Although not much damage.’
‘And your parents? What do they do?’
‘Farm. But not rice. Rice not grow well near the volcano. Fruits, vegetables, coconuts . . .’
‘They own their own farm?’
He sipped his beer and shook his head. ‘They are sudras. Lower caste. They still believe in such things. King owns land; they must pay tribute – fifty coconuts every six months. Not fair.’
I didn’t realise a feudal system still existed. My reading had suggested the royal family were mere figureheads, with real power wielded from Jakarta. But, maybe like extant royal families the world over, they were canny enough to hold on to land even as their influence faded. ‘And you didn’t want to farm?’
He flashed me a wry smile as if it were a stupid question. ‘I farm tourists,’ he said. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken. But I think this crop has failed.’
He pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side, as if he couldn’t quite compute this. ‘What do you mean, Ibu?’
‘I think I’ll have to let you go. There might be trouble. I can’t take the risk.’
‘Trouble? Who with?’
‘Bad men.’
‘Bad men don’t frighten me.’
I admired his bravado, especially for a kid who barely came up to my shoulders. ‘Maybe not. But as I said, I can’t take the chance you’ll get hurt. I suspect your parents depend on you farming tourists.’
A nod. ‘They live near Ulun Danu Batur temple. Very expensive.’ He took a slug of beer. ‘Which bad men?’
‘Well, there was a cop at the food stalls back there. He was one of them.’
He mimed a big belly with his free hand. ‘Big cop?’
‘Yes. Flowery shirt.’
He gave a little snort. ‘Wayan Agung. He mainly rolls tourists on mopeds for speeding fines or not wearing helmet. Plus some protection.’
‘You know him?’
‘I know who he is.’ He flicked his hand as if shooing a fly. ‘He can’t hurt me.’
‘Why not?’
‘My mother’s om. Uncle. He is local Chief of Police.’
‘Wow. That’s some connection.’ And it explained why he wasn’t too worried about leaving the door of his car open. He had protection.
Kadek shook a clenched fist. ‘He touch me, then Durga bite his ass.’
‘Your uncle?’
He giggled. ‘She goddess. An evil, evil goddess.’
Another good ally to have, no doubt. With the fat cop taken care of, I wasn’t worried about Dieter. He was better suited to life with the roaches under the brothel huts than anything else. But Bojan? He was cut from a different cloth. One with blood all over it. Some of it, as I recalled, mine.
I wasn’t sure Bojan would care too much about family connections in the local police force. He’d taken on bigger and badder than that. ‘Look, I’ll give you the money I owe you and we’ll call it quits.’
‘No quits,’ he said forcefully. ‘You are seeing bad side of Bali. Those girls over there.’ He pointed back towards Bacang. ‘Most from Java. Brought by Thais. Bali people good in heart. Outsiders make trouble. I take care of you.’
Well, I was an outsider. And I was going to make trouble. So he knew what he was getting into. ‘OK, Kadek. Thank you. I need to know if I can get a burner phone at this time of night. A non-traceable one. Text, phone, that’s all. Not a smartphone.’
‘Easy, yes.’ He pointed down the street, still gaudy with neon signs blurred by the exhaust fumes.
‘And a laptop.’
‘Same, same.’
The vague plan I had was beginning to take a more solid form. When I had walked back through the brothel, it had all been scrambled noise, like bad jazz. Now, gradually, I could pick out a tune. My head had cleared. The shakes had gone. I took a breath.
‘And there’s something else I want to buy,’ I said.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Your car.’
TWENTY-FIVE
It was well past midnight by the time we got back to my digs, but I decided to pack up and move hotels anyway. The clerk wasn’t happy that I was leaving without giving a forwarding address. I assured him it was nothing to do with the hotel, that I’d give it a glowing report on Trip Advisor, and then I handed him a fistful of rupiahs to stay shtum about whether I had ever stayed there.
Kadek also added something in the local language, which, judging by the guy’s face, might have been more effective than mere money.
After a detour to check out a site that might be useful later on, Kadek drove me to a place he thought would be perfect for me to stay: a collection of six villas, recently completed, not far from Sanur, but away from the tourist strip. It had an eerie feel and, despite having been built from teak reclaimed from a petrified forest, the villa reeked of paint and plastic.
But there were no other guests in the compound, only one way in and out, a competent night watchman, and Kadek agreed to take one of the other rooms in my villa, just in case we had to move quickly. And as it was a ‘soft opening’ – a kind of trial run before they got to charging full price – it was only costing an arm, rather than the full set of limbs.
Kadek went to bed after checking the locks on the doors and windows and I used the landline to call Freddie. It would be expensive but, as I was calling her home phone, it was unlikely to be compromised. I doubted Bojan was up to bugging BT.
She let out a long sigh when I gave her a run-down of what had happened. ‘You are fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Bojan?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not his twin brother?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Because that cunt is meant to be dead.’
‘If there was any justice.’
We both thought about that for a second, before Freddie asked, ‘What now?’
‘I don’t think he knows where Jess is. Of course, he might and could just be torturing me. But my gut instinct is that he doesn’t know.’
‘I guess you have to assume that. What can I do? Shall I come out? You know I will. Still have an RTG bag packed. ’
I expected that. Always Ready To Go for me, that was Freddie. I felt a wave of affection towards her. And then I remembered what I was about to say. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way . . .’
‘I have already,’ she said. ‘But go on.’
‘You’ll slow me down. All bandaged and booted up. And I’m not sure they’ll even let you fly.’
‘Slow you down?’ She spat the phrase.
‘Think about it. Why did they take you out like that? They could have just mugged you. But no, they took a scaffold pole to your legs, ensuring you’d be out of action. Bojan didn’t want you here – he wanted to skew the odds in his favour.’
‘Fuck a duck.’ I sensed her softening. I wasn’t spinning her a line, it was the truth. Without Freddie, I was much less effective. And Bojan realised that.
‘But that’s an argument for me coming out.’
‘Not as you are.’
I let that sink in.
‘So, here is what I want you to do.’ I heard a noise on the line. ‘Is someone there?’
‘Yes. He’ll be gone soon.’
‘Who is it?’
‘My physiotherapist.’
‘Do you mean your real physio or . . . no, don’t answer that. Is he on the level?’
‘He was. He’s on his feet now.’
‘Freddie!’
‘I think he’s legit. I’ll put his fingers in the toaster and find out.’ She let out a long, heartfelt
sigh. ‘What can I do, Buster?’
‘Go over everything we know. Everything I just told you. Look at the photos of Jess again for clues we might have missed. Trawl the internet for more pictures. Go on the dark web. I don’t know . . . get one of those white boards they always have in cop shows. I’m bound to have missed something.’ That bit wasn’t necessarily true. But I was praying it was.
‘Desk job?’
‘Come on, Fred.’
‘I know. I just hate you having all the fun.’
I looked around the soulless room with its cinema-sized TV and a monstrous carving staring me down. ‘Yeah. Wall-to-wall fun.’
‘Sorry. You got it. Whatever you need.’
‘Thank you. I’ve got a new number. You have a pen?’ She had and I gave it to her. ‘But call me or text me on a different number from your old one, eh? We have to assume everything we used prior to this moment is compromised. Everything.’
‘I have an old BlackBerry that still works. I’ll get a new SIM in it.’
‘Great. I’ll also text you my new Gmail address.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I want to jump on a plane, fly out of here and scoop up Jess. But I have no idea where to go. I guess the two of them are still in Southeast Asia somewhere. It’s a fuckin’ big place.’
‘You can narrow it down. Matt will always be in Party Town.’
‘There are a lot of party towns out this way,’ I said, thinking of the hordes of kids following an identical route through the region, like they were preprogrammed by some internal GPS – Get Pissed and Sightsee – device. ‘A lot.’
‘I suppose.’
I cleared my throat. It was time to tell Freddie about the detour I made Kadek take. ‘I do have one idea, though.’
‘What is it?’
I outlined my plan, if you could call it that. This time the silence on the other end was longer. When she spoke, her voice was smaller, nervous for me.
‘Are you fuckin’ mad?’
‘Freddie—’
‘No, really, you’ve lost your shit. We’re the good guys, remember?’ She sounded angry and more than a little frightened. I felt that combo too, but perhaps not in the same ratio as Freddie.