Chapter 15

Things were quiet for a while after Osman Sameon received the dressing down and the final warning from the Inspector-General of Police, although the apparition did not go away. Indeed, it had begun to take on a more sinister aspect, one that promised an impending doom.

Osman cursed that damned lawyer woman and her companion. Such an insignificant fellow, and yet, he ... oozed menace.

That thing did not always appear, but even when it was invisible, Osman could feel its presence. In the small confines of a toilet he could see two glowing orbs in the door facing him as he sat. He couldn't even defecate completely and it was making him constipated. That only aggravated his already sour disposition.

Often he would sit up in bed, his uneasy slumber disturbed by the distinct sensation of something else in bed with him. His wife had long since left him for the more tranquil atmosphere of her parent's home. His sudden screams in the middle of the night were most disturbing.

Osman began to shy at shadows. His work suffered considerably. His fellow officers began to regard him as, to say the least, unreliable. He grew more miserable than ever.

Kaid

We sat in a dark corner of the Dome, a popular spot, drinking latte and observing the antics of the yuppies that crowded the place. They ignored us because that was what we wanted. The usual trio of 'observers' sat at a table near the entrance. They had not bothered to pretend they were anything but a surveillance team. Possibly they did it on orders from Osman. He might have had the idea that overt surveillance might rattle us into doing something he could use against us.

The present team weren't the trio that had tailed us the previous night but putting policemen in casual clothes doesn't make them blend into the crowd. In casuals or otherwise they stood out like sore thumbs. They exuded an air of authorized menace that refused to be muted. They might as well have come in their uniforms. The tables nearest the trio were conspicuously vacant although there were several patrons standing around waiting to be seated. Cleo gave me a bleak smile. We could hear what they were saying with our super-sensitive hearing.

Thug #1: Where those two?

Thug #2: In the dark corner, over there. Want to know what I think?

Thug #1: Don't think. Just do. You looking for trouble from Boss?"

Thug #2: I only want to say they must be ahli sihir. Maybe even Thai black magicians.

He shuddered. Ahli sihir are evil magicians.

Thug #3: Wah, not good! Thai whore in Haatyai put spell on my brother. Make him mad about her. Family had to send for a Siamese priest from Chiengmai to cure him. Cost so much money. Hard to blame him. They say Thai women got fierce pussy action. Milk your cock dry."

He sniggered at the filthy image.

Thug #1: Shut up! Idiots! No such things as bomohs or black magic. There's a fatwa against that sort of thing. You want to burn in hell when you die?

Thug #2: Oi, Johari. Suddenly you are ulamak? You are the last one who could be a religious expert. You think you big shot because boss put you in charge, ah? Get a little power; then grow big head."

Thug #3: Enough, Johari. Don't be hasty. Don't make fun of black magic. Black magic is real. Think before talk."

Thug #2: Oi, oi, they approach.

Cleo and I crossed the floor and stopped at their table. Cleo spread her lips in a ferocious smile. She was dressed in a deep maroon satin caftan that did not hide her curves. Instead, it gave the onlooker a sense of promise of what was hidden under its flowing folds. The trio froze in their seats.

"Er ... guys," I said. "We're going to the Petronas Auditorium. There's a concert we want to go to. Make it easy for you to follow us if you know where we're going."

The trio stared at us in astonishment.

"Coming or not?"

Cleo gave them another slow smile — you could almost see the icicles festooned on that smile — and took my arm. When we were out of the door they rose to their feet and followed us out. So much for stealth.

We were late because of the traffic and took our seats in the middle of Schubert's Ave Maria. Not one of my favourites I must admit, but the programme said that the next piece would be a Bach fugue. Cleo enjoyed the Ave Maria immensely.

"Reminds me of my confirmation," she whispered. She had been baptised a Catholic.

There was a final flourish and the quintet bowed to polite applause. I wondered how many in the audience were there simply because it was socially correct. The sponsors were a well-known Chinese corporate group and their beginnings were a wee shady. Hobnobbing with the rich and powerful had convinced them that they needed a strong dose of culture, hence their enthusiastic sponsoring of well-known performers of classical music and opera. The quintet next offered the Bach fugue. I had just begun to lose myself in the contrapuntal magic when Cleo's elbow dug painfully into my ribs. I turned to her.

"Look who's sitting in the seat in front of us."

I looked and there he was, our old friend Jefri Crotchless, the guy whom Mandy had disenfranchised in that Bangkok hotel. Naturally I had told Cleo the story and shown her news cuttings of the incident. She had recognized Jefri at once. She grew a wicked smile. I was about to tell her to quit whatever she was thinking about, but she extruded her fangs just a little and made her eyes glow a dull red. She then leaned forward and tapped the unsuspecting fellow on the shoulder. He turned around and Cleo said in a husky voice, "Boo!" Jefri stared for a minute, turned green, and screamed in a high falsetto.