Black Tiger (20 page)

Now Chee Laan brandished the books accusingly. ‘I expected to find irregularities, but not on this scale,’ she said tightly. ‘My own father! How could he?’

‘Your father has no head for business,’ Sunii sighed.

Chee Laan could not keep calm. ‘And who has altered this entry, and this, to protect him? Who cares so much?’

‘He is my son.’ The admission was almost inaudible.

The enormity of the crime against the family washed over Chee Laan like a wave of nausea. ‘He abandoned his filial rights when he set out to defraud the family!’ she stormed. Her voice grew dark and harsh; even her grandmother’s raised eyebrows could not deter her. ‘He is just a puppet-man, a painted bird for whom you have created a gilded cage. Worse than a criminal, he is a fool.’

‘He is your father!’ The rebuke was sharp.

‘The thought sickens me!’ Chee Laan laughed mirthlessly. ‘I know why he did it—his little pleasures, his whores and
catoys
, his opium and whisky and gambling, and every other damned thing. Selfish, self-indulgent…but how could you condone it?’ Her voice was bitter. The older woman was silent, her face in shadow; Chee Laan thought perhaps she had finally overstepped the mark.

When Sunii spoke, not turning her head but still arranging her votive offerings, her voice was soft and threatening.

‘You are quick-witted, Granddaughter. I did not tell you because parents must be respected. I expected you to discover this for yourself, and so you did. I am disappointed in my son.’ She moved over to the shrine, and shook the jasmine and rose wreath gently. The heavy scent lay on the air like a tint of purple. ‘Do not let me be disappointed in my granddaughter. Yesterday,’ Sunii said, watching Chee Laan, ‘a
farang
visited me. He sniffed these offertory flowers like a bird dog, great snuffs! So sacrilegious! Now, of course, I must throw them all away. These
farangs
are primitive brutes. No respect for ancestors. No dignity, no discipline.’

Her voice held a note of warning. She sat on her silk couch; Chee Laan, with the habit of childhood, crouched at her feet. Sunii took out the sweetmeat box. Its red lacquer was flaking a little now, since that day long ago when she had crammed Chee Laan’s mouth until she could not breathe, the day of the kite girl’s death. Chee Laan recognised its role as a ritual accessory to debate. She murmured thanks in their secret language. The sharp, guttural Hakka dialect so closely resembled classical Mandarin that Sunii Lee had been able to engage a Mandarin tutor for Chee Laan. She alone was permitted to address Sunii in comparatively direct terms, a unique privilege.

‘If you had attended an ordinary Chinese school here in Mang-ko, Granddaughter, with state-produced, state-controlled textbooks, you would not have achieved such proficiency in Mandarin. They are so fearful of “racial glorification.”‘

They were silent, remembering. The Hakka, the Chinese Guest people, were accustomed to a turbulent existence characterised by extremes.

‘My granddaughter has neither been brought up to be disrespectful nor to gallivant about the city with foreign devils like a low woman of no family.’

Chee Laan gasped at the suddenness of the attack. But Sunii Lee continued mercilessly:

‘Remember the family’s origins. We were once small, insignificant people in the eyes of the world; we are not Yip-in-Tsois, longtime shipping owners. We are Lees of Mang-ko; we carry knowledge of our own value in our hearts, but to others we always need to prove it. Beware of this foreigner, Granddaughter. Tell him nothing, put no trust in him. They are very charming in their rough-and-ready way, no doubt, but make no mistake. Not one of them is to be trusted. This one will get what he wants from the East. Then he will return to his devil-woman. They are cunning…’

‘What devil-woman?’

Tsu mu
took from her pocket book a photo. Chee Laan stared at it. Nancy Raven stared back, her high-cheekboned face and delicate aquiline nose perfectly matched with the craggy landscape in the background.

Chee Laan, forgetting to speak in a low tone to indicate respect and good breeding, demanded sharply, ‘Who is this woman? Where did you get this?’

Sunii Lee did not deign to acknowledge the ill-bred insistence. Suddenly links and connections clicked into place. Without being told, Chee Laan knew instinctively that she was looking at some young woman who was important to Raven, and that the copied photo had been stolen, possibly by the servant Nee. But on whose orders? Nee’s initiatives were invariably mercenary. Chee Laan baulked at the notion that her grandmother had taken such a dishonourable course.

Then with chilling certainty she knew who was to blame. Loathing for the Black Tiger swelled her breast. The relationship between her grandmother and General Sya had already puzzled and alarmed her. Now she thought of a possible way to cause a rift between them. She handed the photo back politely, cradling her right hand in her left as if it were a salver. She shrugged, and said with careful casualness, ‘Who is this foreign devil-woman? Why are you showing her to me? I am not interested in these pale ghost women—I am interested only in business.’

Sunii Lee closed her eyes and inclined her head faintly in acknow-ledgement.

Chee Laan continued, ‘We need good publicity, all we can get, for damage limitation. Such things cost money. You promised me a major say in all decisions regarding the Rachanee?’

‘I did.’ Sunii nodded gravely, but her gaze was watchful.

‘I want to host the Miss Thailand competition at the Rachanee. ‘

‘And invite the enmity of Sya Dam,’ Sunii pondered. ‘Every leading hotel has refused.’

‘And they will all regret it. All the more publicity for the Rachanee.’

Sunii still looked thoughtful. ‘Sya Dam will be a powerful enemy.’

Chee Laan shook her head. ‘Power goes before a fall. The wise man does not attempt to appease the earthquake. He moves his house. We should be ready to cut loose.’

Sunii sighed. ‘The responsibility is yours, Granddaughter. You run the Rachanee. But take care. Sya Dam is dangerous.’

Chee Laan looked her straight in the eye. ‘I know he is. But I think he has powerful friends.’ One glance at her grandmother’s shocked face told her all she needed to know. She rose, bowing. ‘Thank you, Grandmother.’

‘Where are you going?’

Chee Laan smiled. ‘To meet an old school chum. Catch up.’

Chee Laan dismissed the hired boat at the landing stage of the tiny house. She called softly, and Salikaa shrieked in reply, flashing out of the door like the bright bird for which she was named. ‘Chee Laan! Welcome!’ She clapped her hands frenziedly at the squat servant who stared, open-mouthed. ‘Bring sweetmeats, imbecile, don’t you see we have an honoured guest? Hurry, hurry!’

Chee Laan kicked off her Charles Jourdain pumps. The friends curled up on mats, the shocking-pink silk of the triangular cushions exactly matching Salikaa’s miniskirt.

‘Your Majesty the Queen of Songkran!’ Chee Laan smiled. ‘We—that is, I saw you. Very glam. Is it what you wanted?’

Salikaa laughed throatily. ‘This is just the start! Vichai wanted to drag me off to the fortress, of course! But I refused. I said if I was buried alive down there, without ever trying my wings, I’d be discontented the rest of my life. I said, “You only accept into the Organisation warriors who’ve proved themselves, Vichai! A woman needs to prove herself too.” Of course, he trotted out that old argument: “A good woman is supportive, she stays in the background; she is like the hind legs of the elephant!” Huh! What kind of a dumbum would waste foreign travel, schooling, clothes, on a Jumbo’s arse, I said! So he said he’d give me one chance. Just one. It’ll be enough to get me launched. I’ve been noticed—you saw the pictures?’

She dived under the low carved dining table. The well beneath was littered with newspaper cuttings and professional proofs. Salikaa scattered them on the floor like the falling leaves of some vast deciduous tree. Her smile was smug.

‘Vichai sent two of his lieutenants to fix the rental of this place and hire the maid. She’s a stupid cow, but too dumb to ask awkward questions.’ Salikaa scooped up a handful of sunflower seeds from a nielloware bowl before pushing the bowl toward Chee Laan. She spoke indistinctly, her mouth full. ‘And he appointed darling Tamsin, my personal bodyguard, who shatters butterflies for kicks and has a weakness for sequined bustiers!’

‘Charming!’

Salikaa’s eyes flashed. ‘Tamsin is the sword of my vengeance.’

‘How theatrical!’ Chee Laan scoffed, but Salikaa’s intensity was chilling.

A water taxi roared up, its bow wave surging against the bank. Like a heavy panther in a bad humour, a figure leapt ashore, landing on the wooden jetty, hurling some coins and an inventive obscenity at the boatman. Salikaa’s bodyguard booted aside the mosquito screen. Seeing Chee Laan, he posed in a caricature of astonishment, open-mouthed, thrusting out his padded chest. Under the spiky jelled crest of black hair, his false eyelashes waved like the furry legs of tarantulas. Chee Laan glimpsed the gun strapped to the garter belt, momentarily exposed by a flick of his miniskirt. Tamsin inclined his head at Chee Laan and grunted an acknowledgement, unrolled the newspaper he was carrying, and jabbed a finger at the screaming headline. ‘Read this, darling!’

Salikaa did not attempt introductions, but pounced on the newspaper and pored over it. As she read the article she emitted shrieks of rage. She hurled the newspaper away from her and kneeled, hunched on the cushions like a hyena at bay.

‘Who is this priggish little swine? This Sya—a filthy Akha! A dog-eating, pig-fucking tribesman! They ought to lock them all up in reservations! They’re nothing but animals!’

Tamsin smiled lazily. He lit a spliff and drew deep, leaning his head against the triangular cushion, his long golden legs stretched out before him. ‘Reservations, darling? We’d have to feed them. No, extermination’s the answer. Kinder, in the long run. Come on, darling, smile for Tamsin, you’ll get lines on your pretty forehead. Let’s all have a nice drink—Tamsin will fix it, then we needn’t bother the Fat Sow! Besides, you haven’t read the next bit. Pim’s father, the dirty old dog.’

Salikaa retrieved the paper and read:

‘Prince Premsakul, Minister of the Interior, told this reporter today, “Beauty contests are a harmless form of relaxation. Good fun for everyone, and they give these young girls an aim in life.” Asked whether we could look forward to His Highness’s own lovely daughter, Princess Pim, taking part in Miss Thailand, the prince replied that his daughter had other life aims. “She is the studious type, like myself.” His Highness was immediately invited by the organisers of Miss Thailand Incorporated to join the selection committee, and graciously accepted. The event’s venue remains undecided. The Oriental Hotel, the original venue, has reluctantly declared itself unable to stage the competition this year, owing to structural alterations to the ballroom…’

Salikaa’s eyes were speculative. ‘I wonder if the old pals act will count for anything, whether Pim would put in a word for me…supposing they can find a location, if all these yellow curs of hotel-keepers aren’t scared off.’ She broke off, biting the fuchsia lipstick off her curling lip and darting a glance at Chee Laan, but the scion of the Lee family hoteliers merely shrugged.

‘Not a hope! Pim despises nepotism, and beauty contests are incompatible with her feminist ideals. Besides, Pim hates her father.’

‘Well, he is a sly old snake.’ Salikaa grinned, rising to her feet. ‘I guess I’ll just have to give him the glad eye, see if I can kindle a spark…that is, if there is a contest at all. If the grand hotels don’t all close ranks like geese scenting the wild cat. They’re all shit-scared of Sya Dam; they’ve all got closets bulging with skeletons they can’t afford to have dragged into daylight. He’ll stop at nothing to get his own way. I doubt if any hotelier would have the balls to risk confrontation with the Black Tiger!’

Chee Laan stretched luxuriously. ‘Don’t bet on it.’

Salikaa swung round and stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’

Chee Laan smiled lazily. ‘I’ll offer them the Rachanee.’

Nee, the Chinese servant girl, had been thrilled to be summoned to meet with the great Colonel Sya Dam himself. She had made her way to the address that had been whispered to her by the street noodles seller. The address was not in a good part of town, Nee thought, but perhaps the great colonel had many small offices scattered around so he could keep an eye on things all over the city. The man who showed her up to the small room had been rougher than she had expected, and had looked her up and down in an unpleasant and familiar way. But she had been invited to sit, and a silent woman who did not greet her or meet her eye had brought tea.

Still dressed in the modest garb of a house servant, Nee perched awkwardly upon the sofa, knowing her true place was squatting beside the table on the wooden floor. A bamboo curtain separated the small room from an inner alcove where she could hear the great colonel speaking on the telephone.

Sya Dam listened to the harsh foreign voice on the other end of the line, and grunted with satisfaction. He held all the cards now, and could bide his time until the moment came for the one masterly play.

‘Good,’ he murmured into the phone. ‘You know what has to be done.’

He put the phone down so softly that the girl seated in the next room, screened by the bamboo curtain, did not even look up from her tea. In consequence she was startled when Sya thrust the curtain aside and considered her with, despite himself, a tinge of regret. She was young, she had been loyal, and, more importantly, useful to himself and his secret ally, Sunii Lee. Certainly more so than that degenerate bladder of lard, Honourable First Grandson Pao. Not that she was pretty, this peasant; too dark, too coarse-complexioned, her wiry hair hacked too short to appeal to him, a man whose delight was winding long silken tresses around his hands, jerking mercilessly, exciting screams of pain.

It was unfortunate that Sunii’s insufferable, meddling,
farang
-loving First Granddaughter was now alerted to the girl’s activities, and also her Brother Pao’s role. Sya needed to cut his losses fast, before this spying, tiresome fellow Raven got involved. Sunii Lee had told him about Raven. The bumbling professor act didn’t have either of them fooled. Raven was heavy-duty goods, and Sya knew it. He also knew of Raven’s association with Major Angel Fleischer. Perhaps an adversary worthy his steel at last! The thought excited him.