Message from Hell (A Creasy novel Book 5) Read online

  He shook his head. ‘It will only take a few minutes, but there are some things you have to understand.’

  She sat down on a chair in the corner, saying: ‘Go ahead.’

  He started pacing the room and, without looking at her, started talking.

  ‘You invited yourself into this thing. I’m not unhappy about that, but you need to understand the reality. What you’ll see tonight will not be pretty. I have to terrify a man. I don’t like doing it. You’ll watch me do it and you’ll think I enjoy it for the sole reason that he has to think I enjoy it. If he’s not convinced, he will not talk. The alternative would be for myself and Guido to torture him. You know my history, so you know that I’m no saint: but when we do this kind of work, if you’re going to remain a human being, you have to have a bottom line. My bottom line is that I never killed anybody who wasn’t trying to kill me. And I never tortured anybody. Except once, a long time ago, and he deserved it. What I’m going to do to this follower may seem to you to be a form of torture, but for me it is not. I’m just going to give him one hell of a fright. It will shock you. But within that shock, keep something clear in your mind. After I get the information from the follower, I should logically kill him. Most people in my profession would do that. Otherwise the people who hired him could find out that he talked. No matter what happens I’ll not kill him. So while you might be disgusted by my actions, try to remember two things: first of all, he’s earning his money in a risky business, and second, I gave him his life. Try to remember that. Try to keep in mind that I’m not a monster.’

  He had not looked at her at all, but she could sense the importance of his words to his own mind. In a moment of revelation, she felt sorry for him. He was not a man who was comfortable explaining himself.

  He had sat down on the bed and was watching her. She felt like a priest in a confessional. Without thinking, she stood up and moved to the bed and sat beside him. She picked up his huge right hand in hers and looked at it. There were mottled scars across the back.

  ‘How did you get these?’ she asked.

  'It was a long time ago. I was a prisoner. An interrogator was asking me questions. He smoked a lot. There was no ashtray.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Did you talk?’

  ‘No. The problem was I didn’t have any answers. But he did not believe that.’

  She released his hand. He stood up and moved to the door. She said: ‘Creasy, I appreciate what you said to me. But I can tell you that I never believed you were an evil man. Violent, yes. Dispassionate, certainly. But not evil. I may not like what I see tonight, but I will try to understand it.’

  His hand was on the door. He turned and gave a half smile. Then his face was serious. ‘Did something happen to you, Susanna?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Today, at the café, I was watching. You were very preoccupied, as though something was on your mind. Have you got a problem?’

  She smiled and shook her head.

  ‘You asked me to understand you, Creasy. Now try to understand me. I normally work in an office, totally absorbed in files and data. Now I find myself in Saigon in company with a bunch of killers. It’s not exactly a normal situation. If I seem different, it’s because I am different. I have to make my own adjustments.’

  He was looking into her eyes, holding them as though trying to judge her. Then he glanced at his watch and said: ‘We’ll leave in an hour.’

  Chapter 23

  If she had combed the hotel bars and Bangkok for a month, she would not have found a more perfect pair. They had the vanity inherent in every Italian male. But still they were nervous, perhaps because they were in a situation which they had never faced before. And they were also visibly excited. The waiter had preceded them with the bottle of Château Latour. She poured the wine in the spacious lounge. She had left the bedroom door open, and their gaze was constantly drawn to the Emperor-size bed which was bathed in a strange, glowing, flickering light. They clinked their glasses and she proposed the toast.

  ‘To pleasure!’

  ‘To pleasure,’ they murmured.

  She gestured at the two armchairs, and sat back herself on the settee. ‘To be perfect,’ she said, ‘pleasure has to be prepared. We’re going to spend this one night together and never see each other again. That is part of the pleasure. There are no consequences.’ She looked at Massimo. ‘Have you and your brother ever made love to one woman together?’

  His tongue moved over dry lips as he shook his head.

  She turned to the younger brother. ‘How would you go about it, Bruno?’

  He took a sip of his wine. He glanced at his brother and answered: ‘Perhaps we should take it in turns.’

  She lifted her head and laughed. ‘How boring! Since you have so little experience, I shall be the choreographer tonight. We will make a dance to remember. And at the end of it, the moment of pure pleasure will come at the same time for all of us. You’ll be guided by me. You’ll do exactly what I tell you. If you fail to do that, the evening will end immediately, and I’ll go and look for men who are truly men. In my experience only a real man has the capacity to be guided in pleasure by a woman. If you were not here at this moment, you would be out with a couple of whores, instructing them to your own desires. This will not be like that. Tonight you’ll discover the reality of pleasure.’

  She drained her glass and in one flowing movement stood up, reached behind her and unzipped her dress. The silk fell to her ankles. She allowed them to look at her naked body for half a minute, then she said: ‘Follow me.’

  And she walked into the bedroom.

  There were candles on every flat surface and the air was filled with the scent of musk and incense. She pointed to the foot of the bed.

  ‘Massimo, sit there. You’ll watch and do nothing.’

  She turned to Bruno. ‘Take off all your clothes.’

  She eased herself onto the bed and pushed the pillows high behind her head. They did as instructed. Bruno had a thin, wiry body with thick black hair on his chest and his arms. He already had an erection. She patted the bed beside her and he moved and lay down. She took his penis in her left hand while her eyes were fixed on his brother at the end of the bed. She said: ‘When I was eighteen years old, I was a student in Paris. I decided that it was important for a woman of my nature to have certain skills. I conferred with my mother and she agreed. She hired the most famous call-girl in Paris to teach me those skills. I have two degrees from the Sorbonne University, in languages and philosophy. But I have a more important degree from a lady called Lucette. Let me show you, Massimo.’

  She leant over and ran her tongue from Bruno’s chin down his chest and stomach, and took his penis into her mouth. It was large and long. Very slowly, she took it all in her mouth, deeper and deeper, until her lips were touching his scrotum. Bruno moaned in his throat while his elder brother looked on in disbelief. She lifted her head and looked again at Massimo.

  ‘Be patient,’ she said. ‘You’ll have your turn.’

  She turned her attention back to Bruno’s penis and ten seconds later pulled away as he ejaculated and rolled over.

  She laughed, again looking at Massimo. ‘He’s just a boy,’ she said. ‘He’s never had an orgasm so quickly in his life.’ She patted Bruno on the bottom. ‘Go into the bathroom and take a cold shower and then drink a glass of that good wine. You’ll be ready again in half an hour. Meanwhile, I’ll play with your brother.’

  Massimo was older and wiser. As he stepped out of his clothes, he said: ‘It was a clever trick, but I saw your right hand. It went between his buttocks and inside him. You massaged his prostate gland. It’s an old trick for a busy whore with a long line of customers.’

  She laughed in appreciation. ‘You have been to the East before,’ she said. ‘But it’s a good thing for a young man to learn the ways of the world. Your brother will not be so confident again. If he had paid a thousand dollars for that experience, he would be disappointed now. Let’s
find out how you handle things.’

  She lifted her hands and touched both her nipples. ‘The left one is more sensitive than the right. I want you to start slowly, just with the tip of your tongue. Take your time. We have hours in front of us.’

  He eased on to the bed and moved up along her body and tried to kiss her lips. She turned her face away.

  ‘The left nipple. That’s where you start. The rest will come later.’

  Bruno came out of the bathroom towelling himself. His penis was flaccid. He stood and watched his brother leaning over the woman. She was watching him, and her eyes dropped to his penis. It was growing again.

  ‘Go into the lounge,’ she said, ‘and drink some wine. You can watch from the door.’

  He remained standing there. Abruptly she grabbed Massimo’s hair, pulled his head away from her nipples and spat out the words: ‘Take your kid brother and get out of here! You know the rules!’

  Massimo pulled his head away and cursed his brother in Italian. Bruno scurried into the lounge.

  ‘Let it be the last time!’ Connie said. ‘Now I want your tongue inside me, very slowly and very carefully.’

  Massimo lasted for fifteen minutes. Several times he tried to enter her, but each time she stopped him with a single word. Finally she made him stand by the bed and she simply used her hand while looking into his eyes. He tried to hold back but it wasn’t possible. Bruno stood at the bedroom door with a glass in his hand, watching mesmerized. The sperm came across her breasts and she rubbed it into her skin, never taking her eyes away from Massimo’s.

  ‘That was the hors d’oeuvre,’ she said. ‘Now we will also take a glass of wine, and then we will see if the combination of two brothers can do better than the single parts.’

  They were instruments and she was the player. She played on Bruno as though he were a drum, while Massimo was a violin. She positioned them and used them. She used their hands, their mouths and their penises. She knew exactly when they were about to have an orgasm, and each time she stopped them, either with a sharp flick of her finger or a painful squeeze of their testicles. They moaned and writhed while she laughed. They were unable to differentiate between pleasure and pain. Finally she took a small bottle of scented oil from the bedside table. She gave it to Massimo and then she straddled his younger brother and eased him inside her. She turned and looked over her shoulder at the older brother.

  ‘Put the oil on your penis,’ she said. ‘We’re going to make a sandwich.’

  She felt the pain as he entered her from behind. Then she screamed with pleasure.

  ‘We will not be going home tomorrow,’ Massimo said.

  ‘Why not?’ Bruno asked. They were standing in the bathroom.

  ‘Look at your back,’ Massimo said, pointing at the mirror.

  Bruno turned and looked, and saw the parallel scratches on his back and the blood oozing from them.

  ‘I have the same,’ Massimo said. ‘It’ll take at least a week to heal. Our wives would not understand if they saw those marks.’ ‘I never felt anything,’ Bruno said. ‘Neither did I, but we got clawed by a cat!’

  Chapter 24

  Susanna felt no fear. Probably because the whole operation was mounted in such a matter-of-fact way. It was as though Creasy, Guido and The Owl were simply going about a routine task. She sat beside The Owl in a rented Toyota van. They were stationary at the side of a narrow road with the lights and engine turned off. The Owl explained it to her.

  ‘Creasy is drinking in a bar two hundred metres behind us. In three minutes, he’ll leave that bar and walk down this road.’ He pointed to a narrow alley to the left. ‘Guido is waiting in that alley. The follower will be behind Creasy, at about sixty metres. He will be on this side of the road, because there is more light on the other side. Just before he gets to the alley, I will jump out and shout something at him. He will turn, Guido will take him from behind. We will put him in the back of the van, pick up Creasy and head out of town.’

  ‘That simple?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, that simple. Guido is very fast. Even if the follower has a gun or a knife, he won’t have time to use them.’

  It was that simple. Three minutes later she watched Creasy amble down the road on the other side from the van. A minute after that a small, dark figure passed them on the left-hand side. The Owl was holding the door slightly ajar.

  He jumped out and called: ‘Monsieur!’

  The figure turned and, a second later, a dark shadow loomed up behind it. There was a dull thump and then no sound at all until she heard the side door of the van slide shut. The Owl jumped back into the front seat and casually turned the key. The van moved forward a hundred metres and Creasy emerged from the shadows and also went into the back. The Owl turned off onto To Doe Street and slowly drove out of town.

  The journey lasted half an hour, and during that time Susanna’s trepidation grew. She kept recalling Creasy’s words back at the hotel and tried to find comfort in them; but deep down she knew that he and Guido and The Owl were very hard people. She hoped that the follower would not be stupid. He must realize his position and talk.

  They turned off onto a dirt track and slowly moved through heavy forest to the slow-moving river. The Owl pulled up beside a small wooden jetty. There was an almost-full moon. As she climbed out, she could hear the sounds of the forest: crickets chirping and birds calling in the trees above them. As she walked around the van, the side door slid open. Creasy jumped out. He turned and reached up and lifted the figure of the follower out of the van.

  It was a very slight figure, dressed in black jeans and a dark-blue shirt. His arms and feet were bound with black tape. He had a rope tied under his armpits and a large stone was tied to his feet. His mouth was shut by a strip of tape. She could see the fear in his eyes. Guido also jumped down, and together they carried the Vietnamese onto the small jetty. Susanna and The Owl followed. She said to Creasy: ‘What are you going to do?’

  He answered: ‘It’s lucky we brought you along. He does not speak English. Tell him that in a few minutes I’m going to ask him some questions. But first I’m going to give him a little demonstration . . . Just to concentrate his mind.’ He nodded to Guido.

  It happened very abruptly. Creasy took the end of the rope. Guido picked up the Vietnamese as though he were a child, and dropped him into the river. Susanna started forward but The Owl put an arm across her.

  ‘Just wait,’ he said.

  The Vietnamese disappeared under the water, dragged down by the weight of the stone. Seconds ticked by. For Susanna, each one felt like an eternity. She started shouting at Creasy.

  ‘For God’s sake, he’ll drown! What are you doing?!’

  Creasy held up a hand. ‘Just wait,’ he said. He was looking at his watch.

  Guido was looking at the angle of the rope. He said: ‘He’s on the bottom. I guess one minute will be enough.’

  ‘We’ll make it two minutes,’ Creasy said. ‘Be ready to pump him out.’

  For Susanna, those two minutes felt like two months. She tried to move forward again, but The Owl had both his arms around her. He was surprisingly strong.

  Then Creasy and Guido were hauling up the rope. The Vietnamese came to the surface shedding water, his whole body shuddering. They pulled him up onto the wooden planks. Creasy ripped the tape from his mouth and pushed him onto his stomach. The water was pouring from his nostrils. Very quickly Guido straddled him and placed the palms of his hands on his back, then started to press rhythmically. Water poured out of his mouth and his body shook as he coughed chokingly.

  Creasy turned to Susanna. He had a plastic wallet in his hand. He opened it and said: ‘His name is Tran Quock Cong. He’s forty-three years old and has a wife and two young daughters. He lives in Cholon. I want to know who hired him to follow us, and when.’

  Guido had picked up the Vietnamese, who was dragging air into his lungs. Creasy said to Susanna: ‘First tell him that if he does not answer our questions, he will go b
ack to the bottom of the river. And that’s where he will die.’

  It took a minute for her to compose herself. She felt hatred for Creasy and Guido, who loomed like monsters over the frail Oriental.

  ‘You said you wouldn’t torture him, Creasy! What do you call that?!’

  It was Guido who answered. ‘Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. We gave him a shock and a bath. I could break his arms and his legs and all his fingers and his toes, and pull out all his teeth. Hopefully, that will not now be necessary. Pull yourself together and ask him the questions.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ she said, and turned away.

  Before she even reached the end of the jetty, Creasy’s voice stopped her.

  ‘His life is in your hands. If I can’t talk to him, I have to kill him. Otherwise, whoever sent him will know that he’s been compromised.’

  She turned. ‘Could you kill him, Creasy? How would you do it?’

  ‘I’d strangle him and then drop him back in the river. This is no picnic, Susanna! Either talk to him or wait in the van.’

  Slowly she walked back down the jetty, knowing that she would never look at Creasy or Guido or The Owl with anything less than abhorrence. She was in the company of animals. Her one thought now was to save a life.

  The Vietnamese was on his feet, leaning back against Guido’s chest. His eyes were dull. She spoke to him in Vietnamese.

  ‘You’re in great danger. If you don’t answer these men’s questions, they’ll certainly kill you!’

  Slowly, his eyes focused on her. ‘What do they want to know?’

  She replied: ‘Who you are, who hired you and why.’

  Creasy had taken two faded photographs from the wallet. He showed them to her. They were of two young girls, one about five and one about three years old. He said: ‘Tell him also that after he has drowned, I’ll go to his house and kill his daughters as well.’