The Deceived (30 page)

The girls looked at each other, happy. The first girl nodded, then said, “All right. We’ll be back on Thursday.”

As they turned to leave, they noticed Nate standing near the entrance of the shop. Each girl gave him a coy smile, the girl who was full Chinese looking away first while her friend’s eyes lingered on Nate a moment longer. From Quinn’s angle, it looked like his apprentice’s eyes were lingering a bit too long, too.

“Excuse us,” the girl said unnecessarily as she passed Nate.

Quinn smirked to himself, then approached the shop owner. The old man hadn’t moved. The same forced smile he’d given the girls while they were in the shop remained on his face as he watched them walk away.

In a quiet, friendly voice, he said toward their receding forms, “Go fuck yourself, ladies. See you Thursday.” After a moment, he dropped the smile and looked at Quinn. “Goddamn SPGs,” he said, then headed toward the back of the store.

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. SPG, Sarong Party Girl. It referred to that group of young Singaporean women who went out dancing and clubbing, all the time on the lookout for Caucasian husbands. The shop owner had used the term like he was a hip local kid and not the Burmese refugee he really was.

The old man, Ne Win, had escaped his homeland in 1989 when he was suspected of organizing several pro-democracy demonstrations. He once told Quinn if he’d stayed, he’d be nearly twenty years dead by now. That was where he was lucky, he had said. Where he was cursed was with his name.

There was a much more infamous Ne Win, the general who had led the military coup that had taken over Burma in 1962. He was the dictator who had ruled the country for decades, and whose presence was still felt years after his death.

Quinn had known the shop owner Ne Win for a while. It had been Markoff who had introduced them. It had been about five years earlier, during a summit of Asian financial leaders. The connection was one of the reasons Quinn was paying him a visit that morning.

“You hear her tell me not to charge her more?” Ne Win asked.

There was a gray metal cooler against the back wall. The old man opened it and removed two cans of Tiger beer. He tossed one to Quinn.

“Last time her friend order a dress, she come in after I’m almost done, have me change everything. Not my fault. I do exactly what she wants. So she change, I charge her. She mad, but so what? Not mad enough she not come back, eh?”

They opened their beers and knocked them together in a silent toast.

“You want good work, you have to pay for it,” Quinn said, then took a drink.

“Damn straight,” Ne Win said.

Quinn laughed.
That
was a phrase Quinn had taught him.

Ne Win lifted his can to his lips and took a deep drink. “Your friend want a beer?” he said, nodding his chin toward Nate.

“He’s fine,” Quinn said.

“Maybe I have seamstress make the dress a centimeter or two too small. Tell her she must have put on weight since I measure her.”

“You’d do that, wouldn’t you?” Quinn asked.

“Hell, yes. Done before. Very funny.”

They both took another sip of their beers.

“How’s business?” Quinn asked.

Ne Win shrugged. “Everyone always wants dress. Just some don’t want to pay big store price, huh? My dresses better anyway.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Who you hear that from?”

“Well... actually I heard that from you.”

Ne Win huffed a mock laugh, then brought the can back to his mouth.

“I’m in need of a few items,” Quinn said.

Ne Win continued to hold the beer to his lips, allowing the amber liquid to trickle into his mouth, his expression unchanged. Except for his eyes. They seemed to take in the whole room before focusing on Quinn. The old man lowered the beer, then shook his head once in each direction, the movement all but unnoticeable.

“I don’t make men’s shirts anymore,” Ne Win said, his voice the

same as it had been before. “I have friend, though. Very good.” “That would be great,” Quinn replied. “Is he here in the building?” “No. No. Down the street.” Ne Win set his can on top of the

cooler and turned to Quinn. “I show you, okay?” “What about the shop?” “My daughter watch. She work next door.”

Ne Win was silent until they were on the sidewalk walking west along Orchard Road. “Everywhere someone listening, you know?” Ne Win said, voice

low. “Never know when someone put bug in my shop.” “You don’t do a sweep?” Nate asked. Ne Win narrowed his eyes, giving Nate the up-and-down. “Stupid

question.” “This is Nate,” Quinn said. “He’s my apprentice.” “Ah, explains it. Well, Mr.
Apprentice
. Do I check for bugs? Of

course. Do you think I’m stupid? Every morning. Every night. I still

find them. Couple times a week.” “Who’s putting them there? The police?” Nate asked. Ne Win blew out a loud, dismissive breath. “Police don’t touch me.” Nate looked confused. “Competition. Young guys, you know. Work out of Geylang.

Want to find out who my clients are.” “Why don’t you just stop them?” Nate asked. “That’s enough questions,” Quinn said. The old man smiled. “Someday when I’m bored, I take care of it.” It never mattered what day it was, as long as the shops were open,

Orchard was crowded. Like a lot of Singapore, it was a mixed crowd— Chinese, Caucasian, Malay, Indian, and all combinations in between. And those were just the residents. There were tourists also— Europeans, Japanese, Australians, and a few Americans—all enjoying a little bit of Asia lite.

They passed two women pushing baby carriages, then stopped at a corner to wait for the streetlight to change.

“The usual?” Ne Win asked. “To start,” Quinn said, knowing the old man knew about his preference in firearms. “Something for him, then?” Ne Win’s gaze flicked toward Nate. “You sure you can trust him with weapon?”

Quinn smiled. “He’s all right,” he said. “There’s a few other things I’ll need.” He pulled a list out of his pocket and handed it to the old man.

Ne Win looked it over, then nodded. “Easy, easy.” The light turned green and they began to cross. “There’s something else,” Quinn said, getting to the other reason

for his visit. Quinn’s supplier tensed. It was subtle, but Quinn had seen it. “What is it?” Ne Win said. “I’m looking for someone.” “Good luck. Singapore big city.” Quinn paused. “Someone you know.” “I know lots of people.” Quinn looked over at the old man. “It’s Steven Markoff.” Ne Win smiled at a passing woman, but said nothing. “Have you seen him?” The old man took a deep breath, then said, “He not here. Was, but

not now.” “When was this?” They reached the curb and stepped up onto the sidewalk. “Don’t re

member. One week, two weeks, a month? Don’t know where he is now.” “He’s dead.” Ne Win reacted a moment too late. “Dead?” “You knew that, didn’t you?” Quinn said. Ne Win looked at Quinn. He didn’t appear to be scared, just annoyed.

From behind Quinn, there was the sound of footsteps approaching. “We’ve got company,” Nate said. The footsteps stopped only a few feet away. But Quinn didn’t

turn. Instead, he kept his focus on the old man. “Tell them everything is okay,” Quinn said, his eyes still on the old man.

Ne Win smiled at Quinn. “Is everything okay?” “Did you kill Markoff?” The old man stared Quinn in the eyes. “No.” “Did you have anything to do with killing him?” “No.” Neither moved nor spoke for several seconds. Finally Quinn said,

“If that’s true, then everything is fine.” “But you not sure you believe me,” Ne Win said. Quinn leaned back a few inches and looked away. “I believe

you.” “Okay, okay,” Ne Win said to whoever was standing behind Quinn. “Old friend. No problem.”

Nothing at first. Then Quinn could hear the others moving away. He chanced a look back. There were three men, tall and muscular. None were smiling, but they had at least backed away several feet.

“New guards,” Quinn said to Ne Win. “Nephews. Too lazy to work in corporation.” Quinn turned back to the old man. “You don’t happen to know

Jorge Albina, do you?” “The name sounds familiar, but I know lots of people.” “Are you the one who sent him Markoff ’s body?”

“You the one who told me he was dead,” Ne Win said. “I see your friend when he here, all right? He was not careful. He looked in wrong places, understand? I tried to tell him to forget, but he didn’t listen. Whatever happened to him, that is his business.”

“So he came to you.” “Everyone come to me if they need something.” “What did he need?” “Like you, a little gear.” “What else?” Ne Win smiled. “Like you,” he repeated, “a little information.” “You knew he was dead.” Ne Win said nothing. “Someone put him in a shipping container to die, then sent the

container to the States.” Ne Win’s face grew red. “You think I kill him? Markoff a client. I don’t kill clients. He bring me other business, too. He introduce you

to me, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Quinn said.

“So? You trying to disrespect me?”

“I’m just trying to honor him by finding out what happened.”

Ne Win scoffed. “Don’t try bullshit me.”

“Not bullshit,” Quinn said.

Ne Win eyed Quinn, appraising him. “Okay. I believe you. Now you believe me. I had nothing to do with his death.”

“Do you know who did?”

Ne Win was silent for several seconds. He then looked past Quinn at his men and said something in Burmese. One of the men pulled out a piece of paper, wrote something on it, then handed it to the old man.

“Go find lunch,” Ne Win said to Quinn, then handed him the piece of paper. “You and your apprentice go here one hour. You pick up your order then.”

Quinn looked at the paper. On it was written
Le Meridien Hotel, Georges Lounge.

When Quinn looked up again, Ne Win was already walking away with his bodyguards.

“He had something to do with your friend’s death,” Nate said. He, too, was watching Ne Win walk away.

“Absolutely,” Quinn said.

“He’s the one who sent the container, isn’t he?”

“Most likely.”

“So either he killed Markoff or he knows who did it?”

“He didn’t kill Markoff.”

“You believe him?”

Quinn nodded. “Yes.”

“I don’t know,” Nate said. “I don’t trust him. You should have pressed him more.”

“How?” Quinn asked. “Pulled out a gun and pointed it at his head?”

“I don’t know. Something.”

Ne Win had disappeared into the crowd on Orchard Road.

“You might not trust him,” Quinn said. “But I do.”

CHAPTER

TWO HOURS LATER, QUINN AND NATE WERE IN A CAB

on the way back to the Pan Pacific with a satchel full of gear from Ne Win when Quinn’s phone vibrated. He looked at the display: Orlando.

“Hey,” he said as he answered. “We should be there soon.”

“That might not be such a good idea,” Orlando said. “We’re not alone here anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“I went downstairs to grab a newspaper and get a little fresh air,” she said. “As I was heading back up, I passed by the reception desk. Two of the men you took pictures of in Houston were there.”

That stopped Quinn.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. They were checking in.”

“Hold on,” he said. He pulled the phone away from his ear, then leaned forward toward the cabby. “Change of plans. Esplanade Park, please.”

The driver grunted in acknowledgment. At the next intersection, the cab veered off its previous course and headed east toward Esplanade Park.

Quinn brought the phone back up to his ear. “We need to get out of the hotel,” he said.

“Ah, yeah,” she said. “That was kind of the point of my call.”

“Can you pack up our stuff?”

“Already done.”

Quinn smiled despite the situation. “Great. Hold tight. I’ll call you back soon.”

“Wait,” Orlando said. “That wasn’t the only thing I needed to tell you. Jenny sent another message.”

“She’s here?”

“I don’t know. She wants you to call her.” There was a pause. “In eighteen minutes.”

Quinn had Nate carry the leather messenger bag with the gear inside as they walked into Esplanade Park. Located at the northwest corner of Marina Bay, the green public space provided a beautiful view of downtown across the water. A main path went west to east through the entire park and continued into the Marina Promenade. It was a favorite of bikers and joggers and those just out for a peaceful stroll. Quinn and Nate walked along the path for a few minutes until they found an empty bench.

Quinn checked his watch. It was three minutes until 4 p.m., the appointed time for the call.

“You realize if the cops catch me with this bag, I could go to jail,” Nate said.

“This is Singapore,” Quinn told him. “You wouldn’t just go to jail. You’d be hanged within months.”

The thought didn’t seem to sit too well with Nate. “Maybe you should carry it.”

“I’m carrying this,” Quinn said, holding up his cell phone.

At exactly 4 p.m., he dialed Jenny’s number again.

Two rings this time.

“Quinn?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“I’ll be there tonight. Meet me at the Far East Square. Do you