The thought that he probably planned to be there to watch him die as well, the same way he had probably watched Mike die, somehow made Carl feel worse about the danger he was in. Imagining somebody killing him for money was one thing. Picturing somebody getting extreme pleasure or sexual gratification from watching him die made him feel like throwing up. Carl’s world had lost its charm and all he felt was darkness.
The Dutchman looked up at them from his sofa and said, “I have heard enough to know how much trouble you are in. Hide out here until you have a way back to safety. But do try to avoid getting me killed if you can. I like my life.” The Dutchman’s face was happy and serene. Not because he liked the situation but because he was stoned out of his skull. He looked down and started to roll another joint.
George looked at Carl and asked, “So what’re you planning to do?”
“I’m planning to get angry.”
“It’s about time.”
Chapter 20
Three heavyset men with New York accents sat in a stolen car watching the offices of Las Vegas Real Estate on Silom Road. They hadn’t shaved, showered, or checked into a hotel, and all three of them were bad tempered and tired. The floor of the car had the debris of breakfast cheeseburgers and coffee. The air inside the car reeked of cigarettes, BO and fried food. They had arrived in Bangkok early that morning and making their flight had been a last-minute rush after receiving emergency instructions by long distance phone call. There was a recent photograph of Anthony Inman taped to the dashboard under the air conditioner.
An old man matching their photograph came out of the Las Vegas office building and walked with characteristic short quick steps along the pavement of Silom Road towards New Road where he was planning to have lunch followed by a cigar beside the river at the Oriental Hotel, as was his daily habit. He was in a fairly good mood; his stupid ex-partner was dead and the unexpected joker Carl Engel would also be as soon as he showed his face. The Cat and The Rat had dispatched Victor Boyle and Mad Mike with excellent efficiency and he looked forward to when they would catch up with his final annoyance.
The meddling private detective had proved to be a bigger problem than anticipated so he wanted him dealt with sooner rather than later. The sooner the better as he had recently ceased web communication with a wonderful prospect with round breasts and milky skin. Voluntarily letting his prey escape was not something he enjoyed doing but there were times when being prudent outranked all other requirements.
The thought of the man that had caused his recent setbacks altered his mood; Victor had always been a loser. In Vietnam he had become a hanger-on who did what he was told but always got overly excited by the blood and the screams of the victims, which was an embarrassment. He was such a weakling that he didn’t know how to find girls on his own so had followed Inman around like a starving puppy waiting for him to drop him some leftover meat. When Inman had become totally bored with him and left Nevada with all of their money he hadn’t expected Victor to be able to find him though he knew he would try. How had they found him? They never could before. Yes, watching Carl Engel die was going to bring him great pleasure.
Two men got out of the car and walked briskly along Silom Road until they caught up with their quarry. As the third man drove the car slowly along the road beside them they zapped the slick-haired old man with a stun gun that they had purchased from a street vendor’s stall on lower Silom that morning. They had been pleasantly surprised to find that a full array of weapons was openly available for purchase from the street vendors in the tourist area of Bangkok. One of the men opened the back door of the car and the other man bundled the body onto the back seat. It was over in a moment and none of the local people showed any interest in the car or the foreigners as they sped away.
The old man regained consciousness in a room without daylight. He had been injected with something to put him to sleep in the car. Then later he’d been injected with something to wake him up. His mouth was dry and his head was frustratingly fuzzy. He was tied to a chair and saw there were three men in masks standing in front of him. The masks were the rubber Halloween kind that can be found in the toy sections of department stores. As the fuzziness in his head began to clear Anthony Inman realized he was completely immobile and naked. The man with the grey hair, he assumed the oldest of the three, leant forward and said, “You shouldn’t have killed the fat man. He promised us a lot of money.”
Anthony Inman looked at the grey-haired man and said nothing. The masked man with the fully grey head of shoulder-length hair pulled a chair across the floor from the other side of the room and sat down facing the prisoner. The naked Inman was shaking, this couldn’t happen, he was the one with godly power and being made powerless was not a possibility that he had ever considered.
“You are Anthony Inman?”
Anthony Inman did not reply. He had been trained for such situations and was supposed to gather information and not provide it. His training had not prepared for him for how scared he was feeling though. He decided he must outsmart his captors. That was it, he told himself not to forget that he was the most intelligent being in the room. Even gods were tested from time to time.
The ghoul with the 1970s haircut sighed and sat back in the chair. He stared coldly at his captive with steely dark eyes. Then he leant forward again and put the coldest eyes Inman had ever seen close to his face and said, “This is only about the money. If the fat man lied and there’s no money I’m going to be very pissed off. You won’t like it if I get angry.”
He sat back again and stroked his chin in contemplation. The grey-haired ghoul then took his fingers from his chin and clicked them above his head. The other two in their gory masks carried over a table, camping gas, a frying pan, a small bottle of olive oil and a clove of garlic. After the table was set up the grey-haired ghoul took a Swiss army knife from his pocket and opened it showing the small blade.
“Here is the way it’s going to be. You get to keep your property and your stock investments. We get the loose cash in your bank accounts. Fail to communicate immediately and I’ll remove one testicle and fry it with garlic and then I’ll force you to eat it while it’s still hot. The fat man told me you like watching girls eat their own genitals so don’t think this is an idle threat. Then I’ll do the same with the other testicle. Once you have become a eunuch I’ll give you ten minutes before I cut your throat. Your only way out of here and back to your life is to make a fast deal. I’ve no patience for psychological torture techniques so you need to understand that this is a straightforward ultimatum. As you know, an ultimatum is pointless without the will to carry it out. It would be foolish to doubt my will. Now I’m going outside to smoke a cigarette. When I come back you can make a deal with me or you’re eating your testicle fried in garlic.”
The grey-haired ghoul took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and left the room. Inman sat naked in the chair shaking and sweating as the two remaining masked men stood calmly in the corner of the room watching him. His mind was racing and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He had been trained in counter interrogation and torture techniques but he had no idea how to deal with such a shocking ultimatum from a grey-haired ghoul.
He heard the door open and close behind him, telling him that the grey-haired ghoul was back in the room. The man slowly and deliberately turned on the camping gas and lit it with a disposable lighter. He poured a little olive oil into the frying pan and put it on the heat. With the blade of the Swiss army knife he opened and sliced a clove of garlic, which he put in the bubbling hot oil, filling the room with the pungent cooking smell.
“No salt and pepper?” he barked at his accomplices. “He should have salt and pepper on it.”