Rage of Angels by Sidney Sheldon

“You have not seen Kallang Road. You will find it most interesting.”

The car made a left turn on to Lavender Street, then one block later a right turn to Kallang Bahru. There were large signs advertising florists and casket companies. A few blocks later the car made another turn.

“Where are we?”

Inspector Touh turned to Jennifer and said quietly, “We are on the Street With No Name.”

The car began to move very slowly. There were only undertakers on both sides of the street, row after row of them: Tan Kee Seng, Clin Noh, Ang Yung Long, Goh Soon. Ahead, a funeral was in progress. All the mourners were dressed in white and a three-piece band was playing: a tuba, a sax and drums. A body was laid out on a table with wreaths of flowers around it and a large photograph of the deceased sat on an easel facing the front. Mourners were sitting around, eating.

Jennifer turned to the inspector. “What is this?”

“These are the houses of death. The natives call them the die houses. The word death is difficult for them to pronounce.” He looked at Jennifer and said, “But death is only a part of life, is it not?”

Jennifer looked into his cold eyes and was suddenly frightened.

 

 

They went to the Golden Phoenix, and it was not until they were seated that Jennifer had a chance to question him.

“Inspector Touh, did you have a reason for taking me to the crocodile farm and the die houses?”

He looked at her and said evenly, “Of course. I thought they would interest you. Especially since you came here to free your client, Mr. Bjork. Many of our young people are dying because of the drugs that are brought into our country, Miss Parker. I could have taken you to the hospital where we try to treat them, but I felt it might be more informative for you to see where they end up.”

“All that has nothing to do with me.”

“That is a matter of opinion.” All the friendliness had gone out of his voice.

Jennifer said, “Look, Inspector Touh, I’m sure you’re being well paid to—”

“There is not enough money in the world for anyone to pay me.”

He stood up and nodded to someone, and Jennifer turned. Two men in gray suits were approaching the table.

“Miss Jennifer Parker?”

“Yes.”

There was no need for them to pull out their FBI credentials. She knew before they spoke. “FBI. We have extradition papers and a warrant for your arrest. We’re taking you back to New York on the midnight plane.”

 

 

57

 

When Michael Moretti left his father-in-law’s grave, he was already late for an appointment. He decided to call the office and reschedule it. He stopped at a telephone booth along the highway and dialed the number. The phone rang once and a voice answered, “Acme Builders.”

Michael said, “This is Mike. Tell—”

“Mr. Moretti isn’t here. Call back later.”

Michael felt his body tightening. All he said was “Tony’s Place.”

He hung up and hurried back to the car. Rosa looked at his face and asked, “Is everything all right, Michael?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to drop you off at your cousin’s. Stay there until you hear from me.

 

 

Tony followed Michael into the office in the rear of the restaurant.

“I got word that the Feds are crawlin’ all over your house and the downtown office, Mike.”

“Thanks,” Michael said. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”

“You won’t be.”

Michael waited until Tony walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Then Michael picked up the telephone and furiously began to dial.

 

 

It took Michael Moretti less than twenty minutes to learn that a major disaster was taking place. As the reports of the raids and arrests began to filter in, Michael received them with mounting disbelief. All his soldiers and lieutenants were being picked up. Drops were being raided; gambling operations were being seized; confidential ledgers and records were being impounded. What was happening was a nightmare. The police had to be obtaining information from someone in his Organization.