Mary rested an elbow on the table and rubbed her forehead. “Okay,” she said, a little exasperated. “What happened next?”
“Saturday night I received a call from the gang leader. He said I had twenty-four hours to agree to their ‘request’, or my son would be killed.”
“That would give you until Sunday night. And they did murder him.” Mary shook her head slowly.
“I’ve concluded they were going to kill Chang in the car and dump his body in a public car park.”
“But why?” Mary said. “Surely they would have been more discreet.”
“Quite the opposite, Mary. They would have wanted to advertise it. I’m not the only Asian businessman in this city. If I keep refusing they could go elsewhere. They wanted to broadcast the murder, as a warning to others – that’s how they operate – fear and arrogance.”
“But you did refuse them,” Mary said.
“I could not agree to their demands. They are targeting me because of my past. Helping them smuggle heroin would go against everything I believe in.” He stared her out. “You may seem outraged, Mary. But believe me, I will live with that decision for the rest of my life. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
Chapter 22
Thirty-six Hours Ago.
PAM HEWES’ HUSBAND, Geoff, was in his favorite chair in his favorite pub, The Cloverleaf in Darlinghurst, and he was feeling pleased with himself.
He’d had a good week so far. That afternoon, he’d won a couple of grand at the races, squeezed over ten thousand more from the small businesses he was lending to in the Western Suburbs and heard that the brothels he managed for Al Loretto, the biggest underworld name in Sydney, had increased their profits.
He was about to take a sip of beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled round and was startled to see Al Loretto himself standing way too close. Another man Geoff half-recognized was positioned behind him, arms folded.
“Hey, Al,” Geoff said,
doing well to disguise his surprise. “How are you?”
Loretto didn’t reply for a moment, just stared down at Geoff surveying him with his hard black eyes. He then pulled up a chair, leaned forward. “Geoffrey,” he said quietly. “Do I or do I not pay you well?”
“What do you mean, Al?”
“Simple question. Do I recompense you adequately for your services?” Al had made an effort with the Oxford English dictionary. Thought it was impressive.
“Yeah, course you …”
He gripped Geoff’s lapel and his companion took a step forward. “Then why are you being so disrespectful, Geoffrey?”
Hewes blanched.
“You want to further capitalize on your employment position? Is that it, amigo?”
Geoff went to reply, but stopped as Al Loretto tightened his grip, his breath on his cheek. “How did you come to the conclusion that I would be happy for you to install cameras in my brothels? Hmm?”
Geoff tried again to reply, but was cut short.
“Didn’t you imagine for a second that it was just a tad disrespectful, Geoffrey? Was there not a skerrick of doubt, not a moment when you thought you might ask me first?”
“I didn’t think you would have a problem with it,” Hewes managed to say.
Loretto stared at him in silence again.
“I thought …”
“I don’t pay you to think, Geoffrey. Oh no. I do the thinking.” The gangster tapped his head.
“So, what do you …?”