Big Mole Page 3

  “Knock louder,” Hong suggested as he pushed his 50cc bike onto the curb.

  When Kwang knocked louder the second time, Big Mole thought it was the black Vauxhall driver who had returned for revenge. “Who is that?” she asked sharply, attempting to sound fierce.

  “It’s me: Kwang,” he said calmly. “Open the door, Big Mole.”

  The familiar voice was too good to be true. “Really you, Kwang?” she asked louder, just to make sure that the devil was not playing tricks on her.

  “Yah lah,” he said clearly. “It’s me, Big Mole.”

  His clear voice made her heart race with relief. She combed through and neatened her wavy hair quickly with both hands before opening the sliding front door. “Oh Kwang, I can’t believe is you!” She threw her arms around him, almost falling over herself to hug him, but retreated at the sight of Hong just behind him.

  Hong could not help being a bit jealous of the way Big Mole reacted to Kwang at the doorway, but managed to swallow the sour taste in his mouth and pretend not to notice. “You okay?” he asked as she moved aside for him to push his 50cc into her shop. He stopped suddenly at the sight of the three still gangsters lying on the floor under the bright phosphorus lamp. His face turned white. He looked at his Seiko 5 watch, and his jaw tightened while he thought about what to say.

  “What happened hah? How long ago? Tell me, Big Mole.”

  “Not yet.” She frowned at him. “Go inside first.”

  Kwang closed the sliding front door before he joined everyone else in the backyard. He was like a magnet at the long scaffolding table; everybody lined up in his direction, very glad to see him. Someone turned off the loud radio. Kwang’s steady eyes spoke volumes without him having to say a word, and he looked sharp and calm as ever. They knew he was a gentleman of his word, and moved aside automatically for him to take a seat at the centre bench around the long table. The small-time thief who was sitting nearby stared at Kwang’s strong bar-bending hands, and imagined being able to drop a big guy with just one quick punch. The loose cannon poured him a hot coffee from the kettle on the portable clay stove that was burning a slow charcoal fire. The fly-by-night offered him a Camel cigarette.

  Fearless Sachee struck a match and asked, “You want to know how all this happened?”

  Kwang knew Sachee was the most outspoken person there. “Tell me lah,” he said, and listened. Sachee described how they had managed to save Big Mole in the nick of time and asked, “What you think we should all do now?”

  “Listen to what Hong has to say first.” Kwang wasn’t ready to answer the tricky question, and needed time to think.

  “Stupid lah,” Hong admitted. “I lose my head with the tiger at Temple Street, head of 24 gang. Sorry, it’s my fault.” He took a deep breath. “That tiger and the 24s jump Koon earlier today and kill him.” There was a sudden hush from the entire assembled group.

  “No, not your fault,” said a good friend of Koon’s. “You do the right thing, Hong.”

  “This is fate,” the small-time thief said. “We are all in the same wok.”

  “Right,” Sachee agreed loudly. “We are all in the same wok!”

  Big Mole let out a deep breath. “At least we are not in the dark any more,” she said. “The truth has come out. Can’t turn the clock back. We must see what we can do now.”

  “Definitely,” Hong assured her. “I put my head on the chopping block. Leave it to me.”

  “We must have a plan,” the small-time thief said. “Do you have any?”

  Hong had no immediate answer. He paused, thinking, head down.

  Sachee turned to look at Kwang. “So, what can we do?”

  “Let’s think together first,” Kwang advised, and looked around to see if anyone wanted to have their say.

  Somebody said, “We must get rid of the three gangsters first.”

  Somebody else asked, “How?”

  Another person replied, “Just dump somewhere quietly after midnight.”

  “But not dead yet,” said the loose cannon.

  “No matter, can still dump.”

  “Easy for you to say,” the fly-by-night said. “What about the cops?”

  The word “cops” made them think twice. Nobody wanted to face the police. Everyone went quiet. They didn’t know what to say, and looked to Hong for the answer.

  Hong rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and gestured with a finger. “The cops are not a problem. If they were to come, they will have by now. This has nothing to do with the cops. This is a matter between me and that tiger in Temple Street. I started the fire—I will face it. I will find a van to get rid of the gangsters. Talk about the rest later.”

  Big Mole stared at Hong’s dreamy eyes, which always fascinated her. “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely,” he said, as she sat next to him. “I do anything for you.”

  “Are you going now?” She placed her hand on his firm shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said, for everyone to hear. “We can use the gunny sacks from the charcoal shed as body bags. Wait for me to come back with the van.”

  He retrieved his skeleton keys from under Big Mole’s counter, then caught a taxi from the main road to the new Katong Odeon Cinema, which had a free parking area behind it, so as to find a van to steal. It took him less than half an hour to return with the stolen van, during which the backdoor rats bagged up the three unmoving men inside the charcoal gunny sacks. Hong reversed the van and stopped at the curb outside the shop for the backdoor rats to quickly chuck the three body bags inside.

  Hong, Sachee and the loose cannon drove to the isolated end of Changi Beach, removed the gangsters’ watches and wallets, dumped the three bodies, and drove the stolen van back to the Katong Odeon cinema’s free car park before the movie inside had finished. They caught a taxi back to the fish shop, and all the backdoor rats raved about Hong’s words and deeds, and how he had got them off the hook so quickly.

  They moved aside so that he could sit with Big Mole on the centre bench opposite Kwang and Sachee. Everyone was now in a buoyant mood, and no longer worried about the cops. One of them started to offer his services. “Hey, Hong,” he said, “are we going to wait here for the 08s or what?”

  A twinkle appeared in Hong’s eyes. He stood up, raised his long index finger, and said: “We don’t need the 08s. The truth is we don’t have any real future unless we can walk together as one, to raise our own flag. Flag called Koon Thong. For Koon!” He paused to see what the reaction from the rats would be after he had used Koon’s name with the word “thong” for gang.

  “That’s right!” Sachee lifted up his fist. “Raise our own flag called Koon Thong. For Koon!”

  “You are not wrong, Sachee,” the loose cannon agreed. “I am all for Koon Thong.”

  “We need a plan for that,” the small-time thief suggested.

  “We need the water to do that,” the fly-by-night said, rubbing his fingers together, referring to money. “We can’t raise our own flag without that!”

  “Don’t worry about money lah,” Hong said, waving his index finger. “I used to think like that too, but no more. Money is everywhere—if there are people, there is money. There are no limits! All we need are guts to catch the faceless people behind the big 24 gang that controls the money around here. Right or not?”

  The message was clear. They all knew that the established gangs were organised by secretive people operating legitimate big businesses. One of them belonging to a small gang said, “I am sure my side will help to increase the numbers for Koon Thong.”

  The quiet one said, “We are already together in the same wok from what has happened. We might as well sail under the same flag for Koon Thong like you say, Hong.” He was the oldest there, 26 years old, and had done five years in Changi Prison for driving the getaway car in a big pawn shop robbery. His support made most of the backdoor rats, including the sceptics, nod their heads, but not Kwang. When they saw he was not interested, they wondered why.

  Sachee, wh
o was sitting next to Kwang, nudged him. “Will you be our big brother for Koon Thong? I will listen to you. I will do what you say.”

  “I’ll vote for that,” Hong said. “You be our leader.”

  “No, no,” Kwang shook his head, grinning. “I am not here for that.”

  “At least you can give us some advice, Kwang,” Big Mole said, trying to find out what he was thinking.

  “Advice on what?” He looked like he didn’t know what she meant.

  “Tell us what to do; think for us,” she looked pleadingly at him. “The one who drove getaway in the black Vauxhall will surely come back for me.”

  “I think what is more important must come first,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Hong agreed. “What is more important must come first.”

  Kwang continued: “Trouble is the tiger in Temple Street. You all know where are the corners in Chinatown. Find out where he lives—catch him first.”

  “I can do that!” Sachee raised his hand immediately to volunteer.

  “That tiger can be very slippery,” the quiet one warned. “Don’t raise the alarm. The main thing is to do properly. Do we have enough time for that?”

  “Why not?” Hong replied. “That tiger knows we can bite because of that guy who escaped in his black Vauxhall. They will think twice. That will give us some time to find out where he lives.”

  “You are right,” the quiet one agreed.

  “I know a few guys who are 08 members,” Hong said. “One stays in Toa Payoh. He hangs around for the 08 at Temple Street. He probably knows where that tiger is living. He is a friend of Koon’s too. Was a district player with his spiders during Shoot Bird’s time, so Kwang will probably remember him.”

  “Do you?” Sachee asked Kwang.

  “Yes, I know him,” Kwang admitted. “He is still in Toa Payoh.”

  Hong jumped at the opportunity. “He will probably open his mouth to you, Kwang. That will turn the tables for us, and help us to move ahead.”

  “Oh yes, give us a hand, Kwang,” Big Mole said persuasively. “Put some sweets in his mouth, and help us to change the situation.”

  “That’s what we need,” Hong added. “That guy could run both ways for us—be a double agent. That will really help Koon Thong in the long run.”

  “We need your help, Kwang.” Big Mole looked straight at him, eye to eye.

  Kwang smoked his Camel thoughtfully, and then nodded his head. “All right, I see what I can do.”

  “When?” Big Mole asked.

  Kwang asked for the time.

  Somebody answered, “Five past ten.”

  “I see what I can do.” He stood up to go.

  “Let’s go together on my bike,” Hong suggested. “I know that Toa Payoh guy quite well.”

  “No lah,” Kwang replied. “That guy probably knows what you did at Temple Street today. Not good for him to be seen near you. I better go alone.”

  “You are right,” Hong admitted, and saw him off outside the shop. He wanted to show his appreciation to Kwang, in order to bolster his confidence and hopefully to encourage him to perform well.

  Big Mole went back for her solitaire cards while Hong and Kwang stood outside the shop, talking. As she played her cards, she was transported back to the time when she was living in the big Chinese kampong at Bukit Ho Swee, when Kwang fell asleep on her bed during the drinking party with his supporters, after he had won the Spider Olympics. Although they only shared the same bed that night years ago, she still remembered him hugging her in his sleep, saying, “Kim, Kim”: the name of his childhood girlfriend, who had ended up with Chinatown Yeow. She pretended to be Kim on that unforgettable night, when she was still poor, lonely and ugly, unable to forget the feeling of Kwang’s strong arms around her.

  •

  Former spider boys came from all walks of life—they ranged from homeless street kids and school dropouts to decent kids, but the best ones were those who had gone anywhere and everywhere to search out and capture their fighting spiders; they even ventured into dangerous bushes infested with black mambas. These boys were risk-takers and crowd-pullers, always on the move, always looking for worthy opponents with which to fight their spiders. These betting matches often ended in punch-ups.

  Kwang had had his fair share of fistfights in his youth, “second to none” in the words of those who knew him. After years of catching spiders all over Singapore, he still had a map of the country in his head, and had no problem finding the Toa Payoh guy at the local coffeeshop in the semi-rural suburb. Kwang saw him drinking Tiger beer with two other guys sitting around a collapsible table under a streetlamp in the open space. He walked up behind the Toa Payoh guy, and said, “Hey, guess who?”

  The Toa Payoh guy turned round. “Hey, Kwang! We were just talking about you! Sit down for a beer lah.”

  “Cannot drink beer,” Kwang said. “Kopi-O will do. I go and get it. Do you all want anything else?” he offered in return, as a goodwill gesture.

  “No, we are fine,” the Toa Payoh guy replied and waved at the old coffeeshop owner who was clearing another table nearby. “Hey uncle,” he asked respectfully. “Can we have kopi-O, please?” He then introduced the other guys at the table to Kwang as the waiter brought over the black coffees.

  “The next big election is coming soon,” Kwang said. “Which party you all going to vote for?”

  “Makes no different to me,” said the guy to his right. “What about you?”

  “Can’t vote,” Kwang told them. “No registered address.”

  “How come hah? What’s your address on your IC?” the Toa Payoh guy asked.

  “Bukit Ho Swee,” Kwang said. “But I live at worksites now, do bar bending for the freshwater project near the Johore Causeway in Woodlands.”

  “That’s long way from here,” the Toa Payoh guy said. “Do you often come out from there?”

  “No, not unless I have something important to do.” Kwang saw this as an opportunity to get straight to the point. “I come down tonight to talk about Koon. You hear he died in a gang clash this afternoon?”

  The Toa Payoh guy finished his beer and said, “To be honest, we were all there when Koon died. He was talking about going to see you when a bunch of 24s leapt out from a minibus to raid our corner. Koon grabbed a chair and charged at them. He tripped and fell down, and got chopped by their machetes. I rather not talk about it. You can blame me for that: I was the devil who opened the door for him to join 08.”

  “I heard Hong came afterward and jumped his bike at your tiger in Temple Street. Did you all see that?”

  “No lah, but still got the blame for it!” the guy facing Kwang said, frustrated. “Our dole thrown on the floor for us to pick up. But of course we didn’t do. We walk off.”

  “Where is that tiger then?” Kwang said, digging deeper.

  “No idea. Could be walking on his crutch in Spottiswoode.”

  “Spottiswoode is high-class area,” Kwang said. “Where he stay?”

  “Big redbrick house with hibiscus hedge and old iron gate,” the Toa Payoh guy said. “Spottiswoode Park Road. I go there last week and see him moving his barang.”

  Kwang finished his coffee, stood and said, “I have to catch the bus before is too late. If you all need a hand with anything I can help with, you let me know.”

  “We are looking for something decent to do,” the Toa Payoh guy said earnestly. “Use our hands for an honest living, actually.”

  Kwang knew they had no choice after leaving the 08 gang that had previously fed them. “Can always get you some labour job at my workplace in Woodlands,” he told them. “Just mention my name to the Sikh watchman at the front gate; he is my friend.” He said his goodbyes and caught the bus back to Geylang.

  •

  Late that night, the ashtrays at the long table were full after all the backdoor rats had left Big Mole’s pet fish shop; they intended to return the next morning for a Koon Thong meeting. Hong, starting to feel like a ten-foot-tall gener
al, suggested that they meet at 11am. He now lay on Big Mole’s lap as they sat on the couch behind the shop’s counter. She was half-asleep herself, but was startled awake when Kwang knocked.

  The General jumped up to quickly open the sliding front door. “Hey, any luck?” he asked immediately, although his dreamy eyes were still half-open.

  “Hey, give Kwang a chance to catch his breath leh,” Big Mole said, frowning. “Kwang is doing us a favour, right?”

  “Right, she is right,” the General apologised to Kwang. “I make you a cup of coffee first.”

  “No need lah,” Kwang said. “I already have coffee with that Toa Payoh guy.”

  “You found him!” the General said and rubbed his long fingers together.

  Big Mole, who saw the big picture, interrupted: “You working tomorrow?”

  “I take Saturday and Sunday off to see Koon’s mother in Pasir Panjang,” Kwang replied. “See what I can do to help.”

  “Tomorrow is tomorrow,” she said. “What about tonight—where you sleeping tonight?”

  “Anywhere, I am easy. Here, you don’t mind,” he said, gesturing at her couch behind the counter.

  “Why not come to my place in the Malay kampong for tonight?” she suggested.

  “What about Sachee? He still stay there?”

  “Yes, but not coming back tonight. He is out with his friends. There is a spare canvas bed in his room; I am sure he don’t mind if you use it.”

  “Only takes twenty minutes to walk there,” the General said, also trying make Kwang feel welcome. “Have breakfast with us in the morning.”

  “Try my fresh eggs,” Big Mole added. “I have chickens that lay eggs every day.”

  So they walked together under the half-moon toward the biggest Malay kampong in Singapore.

  “The Malay kampong is very different from Chinese kampong,” Big Mole told Kwang as they walked. “Very safe lah. We don’t even have to lock our doors. A lot cleaner than Chinese kampongs too, because no pigs or dogs to shit everywhere. We have our own rules, made by our Muslim leaders. Even the cops don’t dare to interfere.”

  “That right?” Kwang replied, then got straight to the point about what he had found out in Toa Payoh. “I found out that tiger is living in a redbrick house on Spottiswoode Park Road. I know that area. One redbrick house only.”