Chapter 9

We left the foursome to sort themselves out. I guessed they would call some friends to come and get them. I didn't think that 'silencing' the foursome would stop Mokhtar from trying something else. He needed to be told to behave, or else.

"We could make him forget the whole thing," Mandy said. "As for Jefri, I want him to remember everything but not be able to speak about it. The frustration would be mind boggling." Mandy had an evil grin.

So that is what we did. We walked into Mokhtar's seven-bedroom house without any problem. We told the guards to mind their own business and they did. We found the master's bedroom. The master was in, as well as his scrawny wife. We woke him up and he stared at us terrified.

"What are you doing here?" he gasped.

He was opening his mouth to yell for help when I put a finger to my lips in the universal sign for silence and he snapped his mouth shut.

The wife woke up and she looked even uglier than when she had been asleep. The Old Trout would have been an apt name for her.

"All right, I want you to listen to me," I said. "You will forget all about us. You will forget everything that happened to your poor dear son in Thailand. So far as you are concerned, the poor boy met with nothing more than a terrible accident and lost his family jewels. Nod if you understand and will obey." Both nodded their heads.

We went looking for Jefri. We found his room after we had opened other four bedroom doors and checked out the occupants. He was still under medication and painkillers. Mandy woke him up and the only thing that stopped him from screaming for help was the long, wicked-looking claw under his nose.

Mandy took over.

"Listen, you piece of shit. From this moment on you will never be able to speak about what happened in Bangkok. You can remember it but you must be silent about it until the day you die. Understand?" He nodded his head frantically and said that he heard and would obey.

It was a little disappointing. It was so easily done. I expected more melodrama but the reality was anything but that. The whole episode was humdrum and so ordinary. We could have despatched the datuk with much flair and gore but that would have attracted undue attention and, since we desired anonymity, Mandy and I chose to silence them painlessly, for the parents at least.

Datuk Mokhtar gave us no more grief after that incident.

The running of Monkshood, Inc. kept me busy. Mandy was involved, too, but at a minor level. Mrs. Tan, my secretary, adored her and in her eyes Mandy could do no wrong.

We travelled quite a bit using our corporate jet and while I disliked travelling, Mandy loved every moment of it.

At the end of one of our business trips she said, "Adam, I'm taking off on a tour of Europe. I'm curious about the Count and I want to research everything I can about him. I need to separate fact from fiction." "Sure, I don't see why not. It isn't as if Monkshood needs you 24/7. It's practically running itself. Our managers are among the best and that little thing we do with their heads keeps them honest and loyal. All our employees are the best paid with reasonable perks. Sure, you could do with a bit of time on your own." "Thanks, love. I guess little Rose will be seeing more of you now that I'll be gone."

She left a week later on a grand tour of Europe with special attention to Transylvania. I would miss her a lot. No, we didn't love each other. We don't experience love in the way humans do. We share a rapport that transcends time and distance but we do not love each other in the human sense.

Mandy had a great desire to visit Transylvania although I had warned her that it wouldn't be the same any more. If there were still vampires they were probably communists. At any rate the Count had been an idiot, using his county like a smorgasbord and his people the main menu. It had exposed him and he ended being chased around the countryside until that fatal branch got him through the heart. You might even say the people won his heart and mind. Oops! Sorry. Just couldn't resist that.

I intended to live for much longer than the Count. For me the basic ingredient of a long life is to keep a very low profile.

Five years in India as a student and novice vampire had been enough travelling. Add to that the mileage I clocked crisscrossing the USA and Europe setting up Monkshood, Inc. It all added up to make me avoid travelling as much as possible.

The urge to travel will return again, I suppose, but until then, visiting neighbouring countries was the furthest I was prepared to would go. So I stayed in country and made regular calls at my favourite watering hole in Bangsar, a sidewalk cafe where they served great coffee and invigorating cocktails.

Sometimes Rose — remember her? The sixteen-year-old street urchin? — would turn up and join me for a late meal and sometimes I would take her home. She was always a good companion as long as one wasn't looking for intelligent conversation. Sometimes she brought along a friend and we would make a threesome.

As far as Rose was concerned I was some sort of rich playboy who liked kinky sex. She never remembered the times I fed on her but she always remembered the incredible orgasms she experienced when I was between her legs.

Apart from sex I also studied, watched the real estate scene, and became a sort of half-baked kulturnik. I even watched ballet once, a local production that was disappointing. I prefer Thai or classical South Indian dancing to most other forms of dance.

It was easy enough with my mentalist powers to make myself 'un-remembered, ' although every now and then a good-looking society woman who had had the honour of feeding me would give me strange looks. You know, that déjà vu feeling. Usually I gave them a polite smile and moved away leaving them to shrug their shoulders.

But I'm digressing. As I sat at my table I saw that it was threatening to rain. I didn't want to be caught in Kuala Lumpur in a thunderstorm as that meant hours in a jerk-and-stop traffic jam, so I decided to go home. I was about to get up when a woman in her late thirties caught my eye.

"Aren't you... ?" she said with a wary smile and she used my real name which gave me a shock.

She looked very familiar but I couldn't place her. This was someone from my murky past, I decided. She was Chinese and had kept her figure. A health and exercise freak no doubt. My memory began to stir. Then it came to me in a rush. Her husband was serving a five-year sentence for a commercial crime and I had known her when she was a young girl, a friend of a friend or something. We came from the same hometown and we had both gone to a Methodist School, not the same one of course because co-ed schools were unknown then. Up until 1970, English-medium missionary schools were allowed to exist. It was only after 1970 that English as a medium of instruction was phased out. The Methodist schools had been run by American missionaries while the Roman Catholic schools had been run by the lay brothers of St. Xavier and the convent nuns. It was a wonder she remembered me.

"Frieda? Frieda Chong?" I went up to her and took her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. She laughed happily and her face lit up. Her eyes lost their hunted look and she squeezed my hand in return.

I gave her mind a jolt and naturally I was Adam Kaid to her and always had been.

"Yes, it's me, Adam. You remember me, Adam Kaid?" The human mind is a wonderful thing. Give it something to think about and it will work hard to fit it into its own scheme of things. In other words it's quite easy to fool most people, all the time.

"Oh, my goodness, Adam. It's been so long and yet you remembered." She was almost babbling. There was a tinge of hysteria in her merriment.

"You haven't changed much Frieda. Still as good looking as ever." It wasn't a lie. She was still very attractive. We sat down at her table and ordered more coffee when the waiter came round. We chatted about old times and she recalled with a blush how she had had a crush on me when she was thirteen. I didn't know that at the time.

"Half my class mates had a crush on you. Honest," she said, laughing.

Again I noted a tinge of hysteria in her mirth.

"Good thing I didn't know that or else I would have done naughty things to you," I joked.

"Still the same Kaid," she giggled. "At the time I wouldn't have minded. But tell me more about yourself." "What's there to tell? I'm retired. Made a little money in the stock market. I'm still unmarried." "Bet you have girl friends everywhere," she teased.

"Well, I confess I'm no monk. But you haven't said a word about yourself." She didn't answer right away. She spooned sugar into her coffee and stirred it, her head bowed over the steaming cup. I began to sense that things weren't going well for her. I waited for her to continue. It wasn't my business and it was up to her to unload her grief or keep it bottled. I waited.

"My husband's in jail and I'm between jobs at the moment," she blurted without thinking. A shadow clouded her face. Everything about her told me she was in some sort of trouble, serious trouble. I steered the conversation to safer ground.

"What are you good at, Frieda?" I asked.

She gave me a startled look. I realised that I had put my question badly.

"I mean what work are you good at," I corrected hastily.

If I could blush I would have been as red as a beetroot.

"I was running a property management firm, but when my husband, Hock Hin, went to jail, I was fired. Oh, he deserved to go to jail but what did that have to do with me? Where's the justice? I was doing so well and, even if I say so, my sales promotions brought in a lot of business to the company. It's so unfair." Her company was one of my business competitors.

"World's the wrong place to look for justice, Frieda." "How right you are," she replied bitterly.

I couldn't understand why they kicked her out, so I asked her.

"It was Hock Hin's doing. I was promoted over him and I suppose that irked him. Wife is the boss and all that sort of thing. So, out of pride or spite he played with a couple of checks issued by our customers. It was downright stupid but who's to say what people will do?" "So when he was caught you came under a cloud, so to speak." "That's a nice way to put it. I've had several temporary jobs and the last one was with a bill collection agency. That fizzled out because the boss had octopus hands. You know what I mean." Only too well, I thought. Then I had an idea. One of my sub-managers was soon to retire and there was no replacement.

"I think I could help you. Why don't you give Monkshood Properties a call tomorrow." "Monkshood? Hey, they're big. You must have some kind of pull," Frieda said and then looked at me suspiciously. "You're not pulling my leg are you?" "Certainly not. I do have a friend there and I think he'll help you. Call them tomorrow after two p.m. and speak to James Das. I will have a word with him in the morning before you phone." "Adam, you're an angel," she said, making me wince. Wrong choice of words, I thought. "I'll give him a call tomorrow." Suddenly her mood changed.

She muttered, "Oh, no, he's here." Her face crumpled.