Destination Dark Ops Read online

  ‘I’ll pay you another fifty bucks so I can cum in your eyes.’

  He’s on a roll.

  It’s been nearly two weeks now and he hasn’t slept.

  A white whore he picked up down at crack alley is now taking a hit of the pipe.

  Stan is almost 33.

  It’s his benchmark.

  He’s going to die.

  ‘The same age as Jesus Christ.’

  I had no idea he was a religious man.

  No one had any idea he was a religious man.

  On the surface, Stan was a well-balanced man.

  No one would ever have thought he was going to self-destruct.

  Something inside him said that being successful wasn’t enough.

  Something inside him was ticking.

  It was a bomb.

  He was fighting with his own biology.

  He just didn’t want to die an old man.

  Stan was going to his promised land.

  It's a nice place to die.

  He was sending out hints that he was unhinged.

  That will get them thinking.

  He had recently taken out life insurance.

  That's a lot of money to live on in Asia.

  His eventual destination was Brown Sugar, a little archipelago of tropical islands off India in the Andaman Sea.

  All he had to do was fake his death.

  That was the easy part.

  Scams made up the fabric of his life.

  If he wasn't scamming then he wasn't existing.

  One million fucking dollars, boy that will set me up for early retirement.

  He always liked the big send-offs.

  He just had to make sure he didn't take his role too seriously.

  He was the first to admit he loved the taste of chemicals.

  But Brown Sugar..

  Take me to the promised land.

  He'd hum that like some Eastern mystic. It was his mantra, and if repeated it often enough, he'd manifest it.

  A fake passport, that was sorted. ID to match it, can do.

  For most, pulling off a scam like this would be impossible. For Stan, it was just another gig that would eventually take away the responsibility of working forever.

  Brown Sugar was only an hour's flight to Bangkok.

  It would be his base.

  Asia would continue being his playground, but this time on his own terms.

  Stan had known Kumar Singh for over a decade now.

  Whatever little deal Stan was in, he'd bring in Kumar, who was the immigration officer of Brown Sugar.

  Stanely Le Mark had lived his childhood on a French colony in the Carribean and Kumar could see a lot of earning potential in the impressionable French man who had a similar upbringing to him. They were island dwellers and each had their own identity forged from living on islands isolated from the administrative mainland.

  Corruption was just a way to get ahead.

  'Yes, that can be arranged,' said Kumar.

  Stan was sitting in his office. A cool breeze was coming in off the bay. Stan could see the turquoise waters and blue sky in the distance. The garden outside the windows of Kumar's office was a manicured tropical oasis.

  Stan smiled. Kumar reciprocated. He knew what was coming next.

  'As discussed, ' said Stan, 'you'll get a tidy 200 grand.'

  Things were in order.

  Stan just needed to fake his death.

  That was the easy part.

  His palms were sweaty.

  His new passport was under the name of Frank Russel.

  He had met his conjoined twin, Jack, in Manila, a few years back.

  Jack had arranged for his new identification and assured him that he even looked like Frank, so there would be no issues passing through borders or airports.

  There is a malaria outbreak, said Kumar.

  'Perfect,' said Stan who picked up on Kumar's way of thinking.

  'I think it could sort out financial worries very soon.'

  Kumar wrung his hands. He wasn't averse to helping out lovers of his native island. More so if he could get some backhands for it.

  And didn't Stan know it?

  His birthday was next week and Kumar confirmed that his body had been reported to the French Embassy and a cremation would be organized for this coming Saturday.

  'And don't you think that deserves a toast,' he added as he pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker.

  'Indeed,' said Stan, who would soon be resurrected and a very rich man.

  'To our healthy bank accounts,' toasted Kumar.

  Scams were so easy, thought Stan.

  So long as you keep it earnest.

  A smile crept over Kumah's mouth, revealing one golden canine tooth.

  'Brown Sugar,' toasted Kumar one more time, his tooth reflecting Stan and the plush oak table of his office and the general optimism of the meeting.

  It was music to Stan's ears.

  Keep it remote and keep it probable, so far so good.

  'You are my benefactor,' said Stan, 'expect a call tomorrow to finalize the claim.'

  The cremation at the Hindu temple was more for keeping up appearances.

  The doctor, a relative of Kumar, signed the death certificate.

  Another cousin of Kumar's at the French Embassy smoothed the way, notifying Stan's family of his death.

  They were sinking beers at a beach bar called the Spicy Clove.

  The full moon began it's rise, casting a ghostly light on the white sand that was gently being caressed by small waves. And over the sound system, a 1930's jazzy number of Brown Sugar consecrated the evening.

  'It couldn't have worked out any better,' said Kumar as a fresh evening breeze kicked in off the Andaman sea.

  Stan didn't have to reply.

  He was intoxicated in the moment.

  One million dollars can do that to anyone.

  The sound of glasses klinking, again.

  'There's no reason why we can't do this again under my new alias,' said Stan.

  Now there was an idea, lighted up Kumar.

  'Then I can get all my teeth crowned in gold.'

  Play on the greed, thought Stan, play on the fucking greed.

  Greed, and Brown Sugar, everyone had his vices, and brown sugar was mine.

  I've pulled this off.

  Payment has been deposited into Kumar's account and he transferred it over to my Brown Sugar account. I've also been made an honorary citizen of this Island State that I could jog around in about an hour.

  The fact that Brown Sugar is a Mecca for money laundering is not surprising.

  These economic zones are always given such concessions. The Indian government won't meddle with their cash cow. Just the way I like it.

  Kumar wired $800 000 into Frank Russel's account. That's now my account, right?

  I really do need to thank him. Jack told me that his brother has lost the plot and is floating around aimlessly down at Manila Bay in the Philipines.

  I think it's time to pay my dues.

  I'm due to fly out this morning. Visa on arrival, I plan to visit Frank and see what is his story.

  It was like entering into a city of the 1970's. While the rest of the world developed, Manila remained at the cutting edge of 70's architecture.

  It was and always would remain the city of Apocolypse Now for Stan.

  Even poverty has character, thought Stan, as he checked into the country.

  He didn't haggle the price of the taxi. He just wanted to arrive at Ariang Hotel in the heart of Manila and track down Frank Russel who had become a permanent fixture at Manila Bay.

  Kumar said Brown Sugar would always be waiting for him, 'so take your time, have some fun, and remember, Kumar is always on stand
by.'

  Was he hinting at another scam?

  There'd be more, no doubt about that. But for now, it was Asia on his own terms. He had a fat bank account and plenty of time. He was only 33 years old and he was in the land of Jesus, and Mary and Whores.

  Man, just how do I pull this shit off?

  Persistence, and the belief in himself, that's how.

  That was Frank, it had to be.

  He was drinking coffee and getting a neck massage.

  He didn't look too bad.

  He had that stranded on an island look.

  Some might call him a beachcomber.

  His hair was matted, but in a fashionably salt licked way.

  He was in his late forties, a big guy, part rock solid, other part flab.

  Though he might have been a professional bum, he was eating well.

  'Can't complain,' he said as he gave me a strong handshake.

  He was a spitting image of his brother Jack.

  I really couldn't tell the difference between them.

  'Fuck, you are a spitting image of me too mate,' said Frank, who winked at me.

  I was Frank Russel after all, so I better start behaving like him.

  'Nice to meet you,' I said.

  The massage guy, who went by the name of Chris, was twisting Frank's neck more violently than he should, then I heard a cracking sound, cartilage colliding on cartilage.

  'Fuck, ease up Chris, I only wanted a massage, not a fucken broken neck.'

  Chris just smiled, he was missing a few teeth. I could tell he had put Frank under his street-smart wings, showing him the ropes of Manila Bay. And without Chris around, I'm sure Frank wouldn't have faired so well.

  'That's just bullshit,' said Frank.

  There was a lot of it around, I said. And that North America way, writer's were glorifying your misdeeds.

  'Like fucking who?' said Frank, a little bit prickly.

  I had to think, did I want to expose the writers?

  I didn't think much before I blurted out, 'Steve Cartwright, Jake Needham and Christopher Zisi.'

  Frank thumped me hard on the back and said welcome to Manila Bay.

  Seemed he was touched by the fact that anyone would bother writing about him.

  Frank is stealing my fucking story.

  I better be careful.

  I'm the star of this show, not him, the upstart.

  Catch you later mate, I said and handed him some peso coins.

  He had done well so far so I didn't see any reason why I should be funding his holiday down at Manila Bay.

  He had a niche.

  He was a novelty.

  Better I split before he started asking questions like why was I traveling on his passport. Jack, his brother, obviously sold him out years ago.

  This could be messy.

  If Frank started asking questions some of the home truths revealed in the answers may tip him over the edge.

  'I love it here,' said Frank, who was munching on peanuts. 'I sleep on this park bench,' he patted it lovingly, 'and I get fresh coffee in the morning from Chris' cart and his wife makes me noodles throughout the day.'

  So you lost your passport, I asked.

  'It was fucking stolen,' he said. 'I was sharing a room with my conjoined twin at Ariang Hotel last year and when it was time to check out, I couldn't find it. Jack was long gone, the treacherous cock sucker.'

  Put that thought on hold, I said, 'I've really got to split. If you need anything, come and see me at the Ariang hotel. You know where it is? Yes, it's in the Karaoke precinct. Sure, come around tonight, I would appreciate having someone of your caliber showing me around Manila. It's a dangerous place and one can never be too careful.'

  That would appease the fucking bum. I threw a few more pesos his way. Chris caught a few, and they really seemed loose and carefree. Just the way I liked it. Damned if I was going to start being a charitable unit.

  I still had about 800 K in my bank account and I intended only spending the cash on myself.

  'That's what you think, cocksucker,' snickered Frank.

  Fuck, for a bum he's pretty intuitive, I thought, as I legged it back to Mabini Street. The way things were going, I might have to split Manila.

  The last thing I wanted was having Frank sniffing around and enquiring. If he knew I was traveling on his passport, things could go south very fast.

  Stan stocked up on his Winston's. Soft packs.

  He loved the 7- Elevens at Manila.

  Now that he was cashed up, he really should try hitting up the cashiers.

  They were all supermodels.

  Only the pretty survived in a city like Manila.

  The ugly ones got spat out on the streets.

  Even the Church didn't want them littering their pews.

  Manila was Darwinism in action. Those who had the brightest feathers got more attention.

  Mikkee looked fantastic in braces. White skin, blemish free, how the fuck did they manage that in a city that spewed toxins twenty-four hours a day?

  'The typhoon is a contributing factor,' said Mikkee, as her luscious boobs heaved under her tight tank top. 'It cleanses the street of scum.'

  Yes, it was a shame it didn't flush Frank out to sea. Instead, he washed up on the steps of Vegas Casino, four streets in from Manila Bay.

  While hundreds were lost at sea, old Frank rode the wave to the Casino, a magnet for big titted Filipinos wanting to try their luck in the Big Smoke. The bigger the tits, the more chance of survival, yes this is living and breathing Darwinism.

  'More like survival of the fucking fittest.'

  Was that you Frank?

  Some considered him a saint.

  Strangers would come up to him and ask him what was the lucky number for today.

  He had helped many a punter beat the house with his predictions and for that reason, he was considered among the locals to be an oracle.

  The Ozzie Oracle, they called him.

  I think Frank might have a purpose.

  Maybe he was spared for greater things, to make me a shit load of money.

  A shit load of money equates to big Flipper tits.

  Life at it's crudest, you may think.

  I think Charles was onto something.

  I just really dig Manila.

  I had been here before.

  I have twenty crowns to prove it.

  Dr. John doesn't know I'm in town.

  It's definitely coffee time.

  One of my teeth are playing up, it feels it's going to fall out. Who knows, it might be rotting to the core and the crown might just fall out.

  Dr. John bumped up the prices of the crowns on paper and the insurance company reimbursed me.

  Dr. John is good like that.

  I definitely owe him a visit.

  The retard is still lingering outside his practice.

  'Can you buy me an Ice Tea,' he asks.

  Yes, he remembers me.

  I throw him a few pesos and tell him to get on his bike.

  He jumps on the nearest Honda Dream.

  'Your bike,' I said, 'you dope.'

  This feels like home.

  Dr. John, I'm here.

  At first, he didn't recognize me.

  I've shred about ten kilograms since I was last here two years ago.

  I'm dressing slightly better, which is a big improvement from the grungy backpacker outfit I use to wear. I wasn't trying to be fashionable, but if you wear the same clothes every day, they do tend to take on a chic poor backpacker look.

  Everyone knows backpackers are cashed up and can easily access mummy and daddy's credit card. I guess I"m a bit old for third world citizens to make that assumption.

  They just assume I've got cash.

  And in some ways, they are right on the money.

  Fuck who is that.

  It must be Jack, thought Stan.

  He got up off his bed. He was vegging over the television.

  He had scored some Valiums from Dr. John an
d was feeling relaxed and euphoric.

  Dozing in and out, he only took the pills to take away his anxiety.

  He had this feeling that what he gained could easily be taken away from him.

  He was sloppy in tying up loose ends.

  ‘Very sloppy,’ said Kumar, who let himself in once Stan got around to opening the door.

  ‘I was fucking knocking for five minutes and that Muslim security guard was moments away from blowing my brains out.’

  Ahh, Abdul is doing what I've paid him to do, said Stan who was happy to see his partner in crime.

  'You just can't be secure enough, hay?' said Stan who seemed to briefly snap out of his wasted state. 'So what bad news do you have?’

  It could only be bad news. No one leaves Brown Sugar unless they have some bad news.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Kumar, ‘but the Feds have been snooping around. They suspect foul play.’

  Stan had to think. Was it about that floater he disposed of in the Chayao Praya River in Bangkok or his recent Houdini act. Now he didn’t really escape death, did he? It was more a JC performance, of rising from the dead. But he wasn’t capable of making such distinctions in his foggy, I'm off my fucking tree state.

  ‘But if I were you,’ said Kumar, who helped himself to a big slug Johny Walker that was on the table, ‘I’d consider wiring your cash over to other bank accounts. I’ve got a feeling they’ll suspend your Aussie account soon.’

  Good idea, said Stan, 'now let's go check out that karaoke bar next door, I hear they have some big titted whores, the silicon sponsored by their Korean and Japanese boyfriends. A few San Miguels might help us think straighter and boy, I bet you are eager to spend some of that hard earned cash you made out of me.'

  Thoughts were swirling through his scrambled brain.

  What was Kumar really doing here?

  Was it just a social visit was he trying to scam me?

  Also could Frank Russel access the account that he opened up in his name?

  'Yes, I have transferred all of my money over to that Frank Russel account you opened up at Bank Brown Sugar.'

  'Good, 'says Kumar, 'then you have nothing to worry about. So how about a toast to those hooters.'

  I noticed he didn't say that Frank couldn't access it. Is he holding back info that I should know about?

  Clink.

  The first Miguel went down well.

  It didn't taste like that shit they bottle in Hong Kong.

  'And don't' worry, I'm not out to scam your money, ' said Kumar, who was reading his old pal's thoughts. 'I'm here to manage your money, not spend it. But if you ever decide to put your cash safely in a hedge fund, I can have it securely making you money the next business day.'