Out of Promises (11 page)

iii

At nineteen years of age, Han Wong lived alone.  He worked with his father managing restaurants, enabling him to feed his playboy lifestyle with drugs and women coming frequently.

He didn’t know about his father’s business with Matherson.

Freddie and Preston made it the second floor.

Stepping out of the elevator, they were greeted by loud music.  Alcohol, mixed with smoke and weed, tore at their noses, all of it an assault on their senses.  Freddie didn’t know which was worse, here or his apartment block.

They found the source of the noise as they turned a corner for Wong’s apartment.  Music bellowed out into the hallway while young twenty somethings smoked and drank their youth away, some making out against the wall, all without a care in the world.

‘Thought he was meant to be asleep,’ said Freddie.

Inside the apartment, the music was deafening.  The party heaved like a nightclub offering free drinks.  Empty beer cans and plastic cups littered the floor and bottles were nested on any surface they could.  Partygoers snorted cocaine through rolled up dollar bills from the kitchen table and some vomit had made its way to a nearby wall.

They scouted around, hunting through this pack of wild animals.

Freddie put his mouth to Preston’s ear and shouted, ‘Do you know what Wong looks like?’

He shrugged his shoulders.  ‘Chinese?’

Nobody took any notice of them, continuing on with their determination to wake up in a gutter somewhere.

There were no Asian people they could see.  There were white, black, even Mexican, but no Asians.

Feeding through the crowd, they scanned every face in sight until they came to a closed door.  Neither of them had to speak to know what needed to be done.

Preston pushed the door to find a half-naked couple lost in the height of passion, not battering an eyelid to their new company.

They left them to it.

Growing impatient, Preston started pushing his way through the crowd, knocking people and spilling drinks.  He didn’t care.  He just wanted to get to the next closed door.

‘You think he’s in there?’ shouted Freddie.

Without answering, Preston stepped back and kicked the door open.

It was another bedroom.  This one with a large king size bed, a computer, and three people: Wong, with his pants around his ankles being straddled by a naked girl, and another, half naked and snorting coke from the computer desk.

They all jumped to their feet.

Wong pulled his pants up and the girls collected their clothes before running out.

‘What the fuck, man?’ Wong shouted, buckling up his belt.  ‘The door was locked for a reason.’

Preston hit him in the face, knocking him to the bed.

Freddie said, ‘We need to empty this place.’

‘Watch him,’ Preston ordered, walking out.

Pushing passed the revellers, he found the stereo and turned it off.  Angry and surprised faces stared at him.  A handful of them walked out.  One brave person defiantly turned the stereo back on and everybody clapped and started dancing again.  Preston turned it off again, this time drawing his weapon – a Smith and Wesson 9mm semi-auto, a favourite of Matherson’s.  For now, he held it down by his side, which was enough and the party ended right there and then.

Everyone stumbled out, including the two having sex in the bedroom.

Back in Wong’s room, Freddie had his own 9mm Smith and Wesson directed at him.

Preston walked in and looked at the cocaine on the desk.  ‘Shall we join the party?’  Lifting a dollar bill, he snorted a line himself.

Freddie watched him, shaking his head.

A photo frame with a certificate caught Preston’s eye.  He pulled it from the wall.  ‘Look, he’s got an Engrish degwee too.’

‘Hey, can we just do this?’ said Freddie.

‘Sure,’ he said and smashed the frame on the desk before storming up to Wong and hitting him again.

Wong cried out in pain. ‘What do you want?’

Preston sat on the bed beside him.  ‘Your father has been a bad man.  He thinks he doesn’t need protection.  We’re here to show him he does.’

‘What?’

‘Your father owes us some protection money.’

‘Please,’ he begged, standing up.  ‘You must have the wrong guy.  My father owes nobody money.’

Preston stood up and kicked him back onto the bed.  ‘He doesn’t?  Oh, I’m sorry we must have the wrong Wong.  Sit the fuck down.  Now.’

Again, he got to his feet. ‘Please, leave me alone.’

This time, Freddie grabbed him and threw him on the bed.  ‘He said sit down.  Your father will learn that he needs protection.’

Wong started crying.  ‘Please, take anything you want.  I didn’t do anything.’

Agitated, Preston leapt on top of him, pressing the weapon into Wong’s temple.  ‘I say we kill this little fucker, that’ll give out a better message.’

Freddie knew this would happen.  He stood, watching, his mouth open.  ‘I think he’ll get the message with a beating, you know.’

‘Shut up you fucking pussy.  Eleven years with us and you’re still a pussy.  I remember when the boss first took you in.  You were a fag then and you’re a fag now.’  He lifted the gun from Wong’s face and walked up to Freddie.  ‘This is what’s expected of you if you want that promotion you know!  Either help me, or leave me alone.’

He turned back over to Wong, who started screaming.

‘Stop fucking screaming,’ Preston shouted and beat him with the pistol over and over.

Freddie pulled him back.  ‘What’s your problem?’

Wong stayed where he was, sobbing with his hands covering his face.

‘My problem?  My problem is people like you, and Matherson.  I worked hard for that old shit.  I should be above Sharpe.  Matherson won’t overlook me anymore, pussy boy.’

‘We were told to just send a message.  We’ve done that, now let’s go.’  He looked at Wong’s defenceless and beaten face, knowing that if he died, he’d be as a good as dead himself in Matherson’s eyes.

‘For fuck sake, stop being such a girl.  Little Freddie, the boss’s favourite.  You’re just lucky the boss kept you alive after we torched the...’ he stopped, realizing he’d almost said too much, turning his gun back to Wong.

Freddie wasn’t listening.  He was thinking back to when he was young at Northbrook Children’s Home, how he felt when he found out Doug had been murdered.

There’s no way I’m turning out like this asshole.

He knew he had to do something.

With Preston busy with Wong, it meant he had his back to Freddie.

Holding his pistol by the grip, he raised it.

This needs to be done.

With the barrel of the gun, he struck the back of Preston’s head as hard as he could.

Without so much as a groan, he fell limp on top of Wong.  Freddie hit him again, and then again, turning the bed awash with blood from Preston’s skull.

Wong squirmed and pushed him off.  ‘Oh my God.  What the fuck did you do?’ he screamed, wiping blood from his pants.  ‘Is he dead?’

‘Shut up and give me a hand.’

Wong didn’t move.

‘Hey!’ yelled Freddie, taking hold of Preston.  ‘Help me, now.  I just saved your life.  Did you like being beaten?’

Wong leaned on the edge of the desk, catching his breath.  ‘OK.’

‘Where can we hide the body?’

‘What?’

‘Where can we hide the fucking body?  Get a grip and help me or I’m leaving him here and walking out.’

‘There’s an alley,’ Wong replied, still out of breath. ‘It’s out back.  You can see it from my window.’

‘That the best you got?’

He nodded.  ‘There’s an elevator if you prefer.’

‘OK, give me a hand.  And Wong, after this is over, don’t ever tell anyone what happened or I’ll come back for you myself.’

Ignoring him, Wong edged toward the door.

‘Don’t you even think about running out on me,’ Freddie said, his finger pointed at Preston.  ‘I will do more to you than he ever could.’

Wong froze.  He knew he was beat.

‘Are you going to help me with this body?  I might have saved your life, but I can end it.’

‘How will we get it to the alley from here?’ he asked.  ‘We’re on the second floor.’

‘Just go to the alley and wait, OK?’

‘Wait for what?’

‘Just go for fuck sake.  Make sure there’s nobody there and make sure nobody sees you.  Like I said, don’t even think of running.  Your father owes us money, remember?’

With a defeated nod, Wong left out the apartment.

Freddie wrapped the body in the bed sheets and dragged it to the window.

Putting his head out, he looked around, seeing his new Asian friend looking up from the shadows.

The clock showed almost eleven thirty.

The clubs will empty soon.

He lifted the body to the windowsill and pushed, watching it twist in the fall until it hit the ground with a light thud followed by a yelp from Wong.

Freddie bolted down to join find him standing over the body, just looking at it.

Freddie said, ‘Quick, help me move him to the dumpster.’

Two laughing clubbers came into the alley, kissing each other, halting when they saw them.  ‘Oops, this alleys taken,’ they laughed, and walked off.

‘That was close,’ said Freddie.

‘What if someone finds the body?’

‘I’ll deal with that, OK?  Just act like normal.’

They made sure Preston wouldn’t be too easy to find by covering him with what garbage they could and walked back through the security doors and upstairs.

Neither of them said much while they cleaned the bed and carpet, wiping and scrubbing every inch they could that blood may have touched, no easy task.

Forty minutes later, Freddie opened the door to leave.  He said, ‘Don’t forget what I told you.  Say nothing about what happened, only that we sent a message, OK?  I will come back if I have to.’

He closed the door.

Outside, Freddie took out his phone.  ‘Mr Matherson, we have a problem.’

‘What kind of problem?’

Taking in a deep breath, Freddie explained: ‘Well, Preston kept watch outside the building entrance and I went inside to give the message.  When I came back out, Preston was on the floor, unconscious and covered in blood.  It looks like someone’s done a good job on him.’  He paused for an answer that never came.  ‘I moved his body into the alley behind the building to hide from prying eyes.  Mr Matherson, Preston is dead.’

He expected more of a response, but Matherson didn’t seem to be too upset by it, a growing sign of things changing.  ‘People are replaceable; some more than others’ was his motto.

‘OK, Freddie.  I’ll take care of the body.  It was going to happen to him eventually.  As long as you delivered the message you did what was expected of you.  I’ll clear up the mess.  Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Closing the door to his apartment, Han Wong was happy that the ordeal was over, but the matter of the body in the alley would play on his mind until he was absolutely sure it was gone.  As he paced up and down in front of the living room window for a few minutes looking at the mess of the party, he thought on his open door policy, partly regretting the life he’d chosen while at the same time questioning his father’s commitments to his family.

He wanted to make absolutely sure the blood had been cleaned, so opened the bedroom door where he came face to face with the barrel of a gun: a revolver.

‘This is for Preston,’ said the man before pulling the trigger.  As the gas expanded inside the revolver, it sent out a loud, piercing gunshot throughout the building and Wong’s head seemed to explode as the bullet forced its way through his skull and out the other side spraying blood everywhere, smashing through the window and embedding itself in the building opposite.

Lowering the revolver, he turned and walked briskly to the exit with his head down, hiding his scarred face.  Doors opened and screams came as people scrambled out into the corridor unintentionally blocking his path.  Some saw his face, some didn’t.

It was getting congested in there, enhancing his need to leave.  With claustrophobia rising, he pushed them aside and made a break for the stairs and out through the doors into the parking lot.

iv

Matherson yelled from behind his desk: ‘Sharpe, get in here.  Bring Jackson and Cook with you.’

Sharpe entered first, followed by the other two, standing in a line before him.

‘Yes, Mr Matherson?’ asked Sharpe.

With his no nonsense attitude, Matherson just came out with it: ‘Preston is dead.’

Everyone looked at Sharpe.  ‘What?’ he asked.

‘Preston is dead.  I need you three to retrieve the body.’

Jackson asked, ‘What about Freddie?’

‘Fuck Freddie,’ said Sharpe.  ‘Preston is dead?’

‘Freddie is fine.  He’s gone home,’ Matherson said, ignoring Sharpe.  ‘Preston’s attitude seems to have gotten him in trouble.  Let this be a warning to you all.’

Taking no notice, Sharpe asked, ‘Where?’

‘It’s in the alley behind the Amber Heights building.’

‘I bet that fucking Freddie had something to do with this.  It was a mistake to bring him in.’

‘Be careful, Sharpe,’ Matherson warned.  ‘Just go and get the body.’

Cook asked, ‘What do we do with it?’

‘Take it to the river.’

‘It?’ Sharpe protested. ‘It’s not a fucking it, it’s a fucking who.  And what of Wong?’

‘Hey!’  Matherson said, slamming his fist on the desk.  ‘Do as I said.  We don’t need any attention.  Sharpe, keep your head screwed on when you get there.  Any sign of shit from you and I’ll know.  If you can’t keep your cool, you can wait here while these two fetch it.’

Without saying a word, Sharpe walked out.

Matherson told Cook and Jackson, ‘Keep an eye on him.  Now go.’

Sharpe had taken a car from the car pool and was driving at speed to Wong’s apartment alone, weaving left and right, disregarding any honks from angry motorists.

Preston is dead?  No way.

The area around Amber Heights was now surrounded by cops and paramedics with red and blue flashing lights competing with the neon glow from the clubs.  A barrier had been erected, holding back the media and a crowd was gathered, eager to see what was happening.  Some held cell phones while others thought it funny to shout abuse at the cops while throwing discarded beer bottles.

The tenants were being interviewed in the lobby and crime scene guys were moving back and forth.

Sharpe walked to a cop at the barrier, who was alert and ready, though young.  He held a full head of brown hair underneath the hat with long sideburns and a thick tuft hanging from the back.

‘What happened here?’ asked Sharpe.

‘Sir, please step back.’

‘What’s going on?  Is my brother dead?’

‘What?’

‘I’m looking for my brother.’

‘Step away.’

He stepped back, confused.

A bottle landed on the squad car to the right smashing the window and distracting the cop.

With the officer preoccupied, Sharpe took the chance and skipped over the barrier, marching to the alley behind the building.  He couldn’t understand why most of the attention was focused on the entrance when they should be swarming the alley.

Why aren’t they dusting this place?

Snooping around, his hopes were raised and he was actually thankful they weren’t dusting this place, leaving him free to search without restraint.

Evidence markers were in a pile ready to be used and he saw some blood splatter.  Up at Wong’s window, a photographer was looking out; not at him, but at the wall in the building opposite.  It didn’t take a genius to figure that something was dropped from up there.

‘Hey, what are you doing?’ yelled the cop from the barrier.

‘Come on,’ said Sharpe.  ‘I’m a cop.’

The officer un-holstered his firearm.  ‘Don’t move.  You’re no cop,’ he said, reaching for his radio with his free hand.

Sharpe swung his right fist hard into him, sending him awkwardly to the ground with blood leaking from a busted eyebrow.  It would surely leave a scar, but Sharpe didn’t care about that.  He walked to the barrier, vaulted over and ran in search of someone who might know where his brother is.