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.”
The grey-haired ghoul then sat in his chair, leaned forward, and took the naked man’s testicles in his left hand, and with his right hand he held the small penknife to the side of the sack.
“You have ten seconds starting from now. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two.”
Anthony Inman felt the small blade pressing into his scrotum. “What do you want me to do?” he yelled.
The grey-haired ghoul withdrew his hands and the knife and stood up and turned off the gas. He took another cigarette from his pocket and left the room without speaking another word.
A short man with dark hair and younger eyes sat in the chair in front of Inman. His face was hidden behind the rubber mask but Inman could see by his eyes that he was smiling.
“You wanna stay out of the frying pan you cooperate and you better hold nothing back,” he said with the twang of street New York. “I’m an expert on bank accounts and internet banking processes. Our leader who you just saw leave the room is never going to speak to you again, never another mother fuckin’ word. If he comes back it’ll be to use the knife and the frying pan so don’t try and lie to me. You will tell me about your accounts and the passwords and the security devices attached to those accounts. I will let you speak on a mobile phone to instruct a household member or a member of your office staff to retrieve the security devices and deliver them to a place of my choosing. Do you fully understand me?”
“I understand,” Anthony Inman said shakily looking down at his intact genitalia.
Approximately ten hours later Anthony Inman woke up, fully dressed on the back seat of a car parked on the side of the road not far from Bangkok’s airport. His head was full of cotton wool and his memory patchy as a result of the drugs that had been used to force him in and out of consciousness. His pockets were empty but there was a five hundred baht note sticking out of his shirt pocket. At least he had taxi money to get him home. He was a very angry and unhappy man and he felt weak and foolish. It had been an expensive afternoon.
Chapter 21
While Anthony Inman had been suffering his worst ever afternoon, his nemesis was only a few kilometres away having a quiet drink. Carl had spent a few hours in Candy’s bar being prodded and pulled in all directions by the scantily dressed girls. He felt exposed being back there but was comforted by the knowledge that George was out on the street watching all of the comings and goings on Suriwongse Road. Candy’s was busier than on his previous visit. Several barstools were occupied by early evening drinkers who had come straight from their nearby offices for fun and games before dinner, the usual crowd.
Carl finished his drink and walked to the toilet at the back of the bar. Mick Flynn grabbed him roughly as he went through the door. Mick was an extremely heavily muscled Irish building contractor with a drinking problem and permanent nosebleeds from the buckets of cocaine that he shoved up his nostrils all day and every day. He was dabbing at his nose with a blood-stained handkerchief with his left hand as he grabbed Carl’s arm in a death-grip with his right hand. His breath stank of Irish whiskey and there were minute particles of white powder above his top lip.
“What the fook are you doin’ here? I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mick shouted at Carl. His grip on Carl’s arm was too fierce for Carl’s liking. After snorting cocaine Mick had no idea of his strength.
“Just stopped off on my way home for a quick drink,” Carl told him as he used his right hand to weaken Mick’s grip on his left bicep.
“Dere’s people bin asking after you on Patpong. It’s not narcs is it?” Mick asked staring wildly. “They looked like feckin’ narcs.”
“Why would narcs be after me Mick?” Carl asked calmly.
“Because you’re a friend of mine, you eejit. They nailed me last month and I had to pay them three hundred thousand to let me go. You know what they’re like. They’ve probably already done the money and have come back for some more.”
“I’m sure they weren’t narcs Mick, so you can calm down and let go of me. I got caught screwing some rich banker’s wife and he has set the dogs on me. So they’re definitely not narcs Mick, and it’s me they’re after so you can let go of my fucking arm now.”
Mick looked around the bar and then, still standing half in and half out the door to the toilet, he said, “Orright then. Do you want a couple of lines?”
“No thanks Mick. I have all the paranoia I need at the moment thank you.”
“Please yourself,” he said and let the door go behind him as he walked happily back into the bar.
Carl caught the door and went in to use the toilet. When he finished at the urinal he went to the cracked sink and splashed cold water on his face. He stood up with water dripping off his face onto his shirt. He looked at his tired unshaven reflection in the mirror and said, “Either you are totally mad or every other fucker in Bangkok is.” Then he opened the door and walked back into the forever twilight of Candy’s bar.
Bart Barrows had come in while Carl had been in the toilet and was sitting on his own in the middle of the bar waiting for his beer to be delivered. He was studying the activities and availability of Candy’s girls like a hungry wolf. Carl moved up quietly and sat on the barstool beside him.
“Good evening Bart.”
Bart Barrows turned and saw Carl. “Back again so soon? Have you given up your high society friends and come back down to earth at last?”
“Not really Bart, I’m here because I’ve been looking for you.”
