Done Deal by Tony Berry

Author:Tony Berry [Berry, Tony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2016-11-07T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

IT was broad daylight – a conspicuous time for parking a limousine outside one of the stripped-down and basic restaurants lining both sides of the crowded street. Yet the vehicle failed to score a sideways glance from passersby. The footpath was busy with shoppers and diners – mostly a mix of Vietnamese, Thais and Chinese who tended to shuffle, rather than walk, taking their time, relaxed in mind and body. By contrast, the few taller, brisker Westerners negotiating the footpath had to side-step around them in their impatience.

The situation distracted Bromo from all thoughts of being a captive. There was a brazenness about his captors’ actions which intrigued him. It spoke of power and control, of noses being thumbed at authority. Kidnapping and enforcement were part of a normal business day. No need for subterfuge or waiting for the cover of darkness.

The limousine’s engine was still running. The woman in the passenger seat stepped out and opened the rear kerbside door. She took a quick walk to a door set back in an alcove between two restaurants. She gestured back at the car.

‘Get out. Walk to the door. Fast.’

The man still clutching Bromo’s right elbow had spoken. His commands were precise, demanding. There was an underlying menace. Bromo did as he was told.

The bunch of them was hardly through the door than it clanked shut. Bromo heard a lock hit home behind them. He imagined the limo purring off with shuffling shoppers taking no note of its stopover. His guardian placed a hand firmly in the small of his back, pushing him towards a flight of stairs. The woman sprinted up ahead of them, tight track pants straining even tighter and revealing the line of her mini briefs.

At the top, Bromo noted a camera beaming downwards. A door swung open. Again, there was a firm push in his back. He stumbled forward into a cupboard doing duty as an office. A tiny cramped space. Just enough room for a filing cabinet, two foldaway chairs and a basic desk. Behind the desk sat Gerry Nuyen – a squat, broad, unsmiling man in an open neck pastel pink shirt, chin resting on hands clasped in front of him, elbows on the desk top. One hand dropped down and forward, palm upwards, gesturing towards one of the chairs.

‘Please, Mr Perkins, have a seat.’

He spoke softly with a slight Asian lisp; clipping the words, courteous but firm. It was an order more than a request, made all the clearer by a firm downward push on Bromo’s shoulder from one of the heavies.

‘I think it’s time we had a talk.’

Bromo stayed silent, his eyes focused on a poster on the wall to the left of Nuyen’s head. Pictures of dishes of food encircled the words ‘Hanoi Heaven Restaurant’. He fancied the skewered sesame prawns on a bed of bok choy. Nuyen must have read his thoughts. The skewered prawns were not to be.

‘The best we can offer is green tea,’ he said, reaching under the desk for a large flask.

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