Living Dangerously

by Louis Tong

A certain tightness began in Benny's heart, and it hadn't fibrillated like that since the time that Benny expertly snatched a revolver from Beng's right hand man. The air over the Singapore Turf Club smelled odd, not because of the cloudy weather this afternoon, but a result of the sense of foreboding that had circumfused the clubhouse. No turning back now.

Walls of glass overlooked the racetrack. Benny strolled from the row of booths for placing bets, and when he hovered under the overhead racing monitors, a voice rang out.

"So, placed your bets already?" Removing her straw hat, the neatly cropped platinum hair fluttered down and stopped just below the shoulders. Adele seemed to be dressed seductively, open back, black dress with plunging halter neck in front. That wasn't the real her. Benny had known her as Mei Fong or Sandy, but that wasn't a dreamy name that evoked fantasies.

Benny nodded. "Yeah, everything on Zorro."

"Lengzai, you bet for Zorro?" She cackled. "She's an underdog."

He didn't answer because an announcement had transmitted over the intercom. Graders were prepping the track before the next race. Spectators fanned themselves.

"Yep." Benny focused on the electronic board that displayed the odds. "You've heard correctly. I did bet on him."

A wind blew away the grayness in the sky. At the starting gate, crew members talked to their horses, calming them down. Benny's concern lay with the jockeys, who wore saddle clothes, colorful silks and helmets.

"The house always wins." She smiled and flicked her hair back. "Like in the casino. You know that, don't you?"

She has changed over the last year. She would have said "You know that, right?"

A running commentary rumbled over the loud speaker. Couldn't talk in this place.

"It's been a while since we met," Benny asked. "A drink at the clubhouse between races?" Having a drink at the Singapore Turf Club couldn't be too bad a way to spend an afternoon.

A bell signaled the start of a race. "Sure, why not?"

When the gates clanged open, the hooves of the horses thundered past the flags which were flapping in the breeze. The sounds dimmed as they raced past the ads attached to the track rail, past the grandstand to the far side of the track.

The sun beat down on their skin. Adele's back is gonna get burnt if she didn't apply sun block. But why am I getting distracted here?

Many spectators squinted into the sun's glare. Adele held up her binoculars. To Benny's relief, Zorro forged ahead, now in the number two position.

"Who did you bet on?" Benny asked. A man seemed to be sitting on the edge of his seat, while another jumped to his feet during the race.

"Black beauty," Adele said with a sliver of excitement. "Currently in third position."

Spectators yelled, their voices escalated when the horses turned the bend and headed back towards the clearly marked finishing line. Oh, no. Oh, no, no. A man jumped up. Another crumpled his ticket.

Blast it. The sunglasses slided down Benny's nose, as if they felt his disappointment. Zorro ended up second. "Ah, well, there's the next race later." Benny suspected the reason—why he was screwed.

Neither of them won, so after this event, they proceeded indoors. The white marble arches and the velvet carpet suited her to a tee. For many years now, Benny knew about this lady's profession. She started as an agency escort with the BELLE DONNA service, but now, freelanced. Her life revolved around a small circle of VIP clients—whom she serviced only at the Fullerton Hotel, St Regis, or at Sentosa Cove—and she followed only her own rules.

"You are so pretty. You don't need expensive finery to look good." As he talked, he noticed the mole above her upper lip, like Vanessa Marcil, the foxy lady in the Las Vegas television series. Benny was unmarried at thirty, but Adele wasn't his type. He preferred a face like Jessica Alba, full of innocence but hinted at the untold possibilities of a sultry French au pair.

But Adele would have already known that many years ago. Benny remembered that as a student of Tanjong Katong Girls School, she had many worshippers from outside the school.

"Recall those days, before alcohol, nicotine, and all that glitter corrupt you?" Benny's eyes fixated on the mole that moved as she talked.

"Never know you are the nostalgic type." She crossed her arms and chuckled. "Thought you're just a rugged lad, and street smart." As her cleavage deepened, imagination fired in his head. Flirty see-through negligee, a solid black bodice with lace trimmings that she wore for the photoshoot in PacificModels.com. That website had nothing to do with professional models, but instead classy whores. But how did he come to know that image of her? He didn't Google-stalk her. It was curiosity about something he couldn't afford.

"What are you thinking?" Adele asked, adjusting her Joie Tanika dress. Taking out a Virginia Slims, she lighted and inhaled. Then, she tilted her head back and blew smoke in his face.

"What do you need all this money for?" He felt silly immediately when he said it.

"How d'ya think I can sit here at the Turf Club and talk horses with you? Awak balik kampong... melancap!" She stuttered and glared. That's Adele, the old Adele knew a few swear words in Malay, when she hung around with the Ah Bengs in the old Zouk before it closed.

"That's not good for you," Benny said, pointing to the cigarette. "Your health, I mean. And mine."

"Shuttap, Benny." she slapped his hand, and snorted. "For a moment, I thought you... actually cared for me."

She shifted on the high metal stool. Her slinky dress hiked up a little to reveal more of the stockinged thighs. She squeezed on a piece of lime into her Daiquiri.

"I do," Benny said. "However, you seem to be in a different league. And also, I consider you too close to the boss. And dangerous. Especially since you're Beng's sister."

"Ah, no. Stop, don't go there." She wiggled her index finger, and sucked on the straw so her lipstick wouldn't stain the glass. Benny had an unspoken agreement with Adele. He wouldn't ask her details about her job, and the two of them would never chat about her brother's business. Then they would be friends.

"I—, I took your brother's money." Something made Benny trust her enough. Maybe it's the kind of silly, gritty thing a dying man would do.

She looked up, staring through the mesh of fake eyelashes. "You are kidding!"

"Told him about a fake property deal that would make money, more than his Ecstacy operations at Marquee in Marina Bay Sands, or at the Ministry of Sound."

She shook her narrow head. "You are out of your mind."

"Said I will return the money, promised him I can pay twenty percent interest within two months."

"How much did you borrow?" She tilted her head to one side.

"Two hundred thousand." He paused, watching her reaction. "USD."

Her eyes widened. "Beng has killed for less. How will you pay him that kind of interest?"

He shifted closer and a whiff of jasmine flooded his nose. He cupped his hand and said in her ear. "I have bribed all but one jockey. So, I'm not worried which horse is better, or has a better track record."

"I know something that you don't, Benny." She adjusted the strap of her dress. "It's Beng, he is on the way here."

As he focused on her bronzed nose, she said, "He seems mad about something, but he won't tell me what about."

"Alamak!" he said. "Are you imagining it?"

I could run now, but without winning the next race, I would have to run forever.

Those beautifully threaded eyebrows drew together. "I fear… he knows what you are doing with his money."

"Let him come." Benny glimpsed around him. A man in a brown suit and shades settled at the next table. An older, bald man in a sweater joined him. What are their stories? The younger man reached for something in his pocket.

I am getting paranoid.

"What? Do you know what Beng did to someone who betrayed him?" Her lips pursed.

"What?" He glared.

"He once administered local anesthetic, so that he could dissect a man's testis slowly and meticulously." She pointed to Benny's crotch, then covered her mouth. She was strangely attractive that way, like a young lady surgeon talking to a male medical student. "After that, he stored the bloody mass in a transparent bottle in formalin, so nobody will forget the lesson."

Benny swallowed. "I know that story." He wiped his sweat with the handkerchief.

Still it jolts me when she tells it this way.

"Bearing that in mind, you think you can afford to lose?" Her mouth was crooked.

Benny licked his lips, then blew out a noisy breath.

"No risk, no gain."

"I've warned you." She opened her mouth fiercely. "Those could be your last words, Benny!"

Benny shrugged. "I've bribed everyone of the jockeys."

"Not all of them," she said. "Your plan could backfire, or you could get arrested."

"If my plan didn't work," Benny said. "I might as well volunteer for Changi Prison. No place will be safe enough."

Adele sighed. "Oh, poor man."

Benny licked his finger before he flipped the program of the races.

"You haven't changed, still licking your finger—like how you used to count notes."

He took a step back. "I didn't know I made such a deep impression on you, so you remember my actions."

"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "I was referring to what I observed last year. Not all those years ago—"

A champagne popped from another table. Benny's heart almost died.

Adele's voice snickered. "Somebody's getting jumpy, huh?"