Revenge Of The CEO: White Collar Crime Financial Thriller Page 5

  “It’s actually known as a voice lift, and yes, I can. I can make the change quite distinct but I cannot guarantee that you will not be croaky. Most of the time my patients have been fine.”

  “How do you do it?”

  “I use a filler that I inject to plump up the cords and make them more limber. There are more sophisticated methods but I’ve had good results with the filler. All going well, you’ll have a youthful voice to match your new youthful appearance. There can’t be anything else.”

  “There is. I was on the net and I read that it’s possible to change your fingerprints. I was wondering whether it’s possible to do a transplant.”

  “And if it was possible, where would you get these fingertips?”

  “There are seven thousand Thais killed every year on motor scooters in Bangkok. It should be the transplant capital of the world.”

  “That might be true,” Sonchai said, shaking his head, “but we all have different immune systems, and unlike heart transplants, you can’t pop a few pills each day and make them compatible. John Dillinger tried to do what you want to do, nearly a century ago. There have been cases of grafts from one hand to another, from the toes to the hands and from the stomach and buttocks. There is always scarring and the intent is always obvious to the authorities.”

  “I don’t care if there’s scarring. I just want to destroy my existing prints. I even gave thought to having the tips amputated below the lower joints.”

  “How bad are you? What have you done? Are you a serial killer? I’ve never had anyone ask me to change their appearance, voice and fingerprints. I do a lot of work for Mr Chin and I never ask questions, but you worry me. If it was possible you’d have probably asked me to change your DNA.”

  “Doc, I was wrongly convicted of drug smuggling. Yeah, I know every con says that, but I was. Anyhow I’m on the run and need to get back to Australia. You’re going to make me unrecognizable and you’re going to change my voice but it will all be for nothing if I’m fingerprinted. I’ve never committed a violent act in my life,” Aspine said, not counting hitting women and rape as violent acts. “And, Doc, no one has my DNA so that’s not a worry.

  “I understand,” Sonchai responded, “I can do what you ask but even with my skills, it will still be obvious and may lead to your detection.”

  Aspine paused. “What if my hands and lower arms were caught in a conveyor belt? They would be mangled and require extensive surgery.”

  “I’m sure you’re not contemplating such a drastic solution.”

  “Of course not. However, when you were at Mount Sinai I’m sure you had cases where patients had their hands crushed in factory or work site accidents. Why can’t you remove my fingerprints and match the scarring on my hands and lower arms to replicate an accident?”

  “I’ve never had a request like that before and it would be highly unethical if I were to perform such a procedure.” Sonchai grinned. “However, everything has a price.”

  “Speaking of price?”

  “I will require a bank cheque for twenty thousand US$ and another one hundred and thirty thousand in cash payable two days before the procedure.”

  “You’re kidding. That’s outrageous.”

  “It is, but what choice do you have? I have a scale of fees for patients like you with special needs. I know of no other surgeon who will perform all the procedures you’re after, and even if you found someone, he would not have my skills. I am no lesser artist than Michelangelo and my canvases are living, breathing, moving faces. Yes, my fees are a little on the high side but you always pay a premium for the best.”

  “I’ll get you the money on Monday. Can you operate on Wednesday?”

  “Yes, but I’ll only do one hand. You’ll be totally incapacitated without the use of a hand. We’ll do the other one in a few weeks’ time.”

  “Where do you operate?”

  “My operating theatre adjoins my office. It is as sophisticated and modern as any in Bangkok. I have my own anaesthetist and my nurses have been with me for years. They have no idea who my patients are, and even if they did, they wouldn’t breathe a word. There are two small suites on the other side of the operating theatre for my patients to stay in while they recuperate. You will be here for three nights after the procedure, there will be a nurse with you twenty-four hours a day and I will be only two minutes away.”

  “You live in the building?”

  “My apartment is next to my surgery. I lease the whole floor. Didn’t you notice the double doors on the left as you got out of the elevator? That is the entrance to the foyer of my apartment. The views from that side of the building are to die for. Do you have any other questions?”

  “No, until next week,” Aspine said, shaking the surgeon’s hand.

  Chapter 13

  ASPINE CHECKED INTO a suite in the Grand Hyatt while Chatri waited for him in the car park. Ten minutes later they were on their way to a branch of the Bangkok Bank where Aspine had no difficulty in opening an account. On the way back to the hotel he let Chatri know that he needed to go the bank and the surgery on Monday morning, and that the operation was scheduled for 8 A.M. on Wednesday. Back in his room, Aspine flicked the laptop on and transferred half a million into his new account.

  Aspine lay on the king sized bed with his hands behind his head and reflected on the recent events. Nine days ago he’d been lying in the same position, the difference being his bed had been a cold, concrete floor. After so many years in prison, the temptation to walk the streets of Bangkok was overwhelming, but Chin’s words of warning cooled this urge. The desire to be with a woman had evaporated after he’d seen his reflection in the hotel in Pattaya. He was a vain man and what he had seen disgusted him. He removed his shirt and stood in front of the mirror and wondered whether he should ask Sonchai to remove the loose skin. He was a bag of bones and the decision to go to the hotel’s gym, rather than go out, was easy.

  Aspine was pleased to find he had the hotel’s modern, well equipped gym to himself. He broke out into a light jog on one of the treadmills before entering the weights area. He remembered warming up with forty kilogram barbells in his younger days but was shocked when he picked them up. He tried to do some standing press-ups and nearly collapsed under the weight. It didn’t take long for him to realize that trying to lift free weights was downright dangerous. He’d always thought that resistance machines were for females but now he found them far easier than barbells. After doing three sets of lat pull-downs he moved onto the bench press machine and managed two sets on very light weights. He felt good using muscles that had atrophied while he’d be in prison. By the time he wandered back to his room he had tried every machine in the gym, and while he knew there was no noticeable physical change, the muscle soreness made him feel alive.

  Aspine, having resolved not to run the risk of going out, conditioned himself to watching television, tracking down those he held responsible for ruining his life on the internet, and despite his aching muscles, working out in the gym and swimming every day until Sonchai operated. He didn’t like being confined in the Hyatt but smiled thinking that it sure beat being confined in Changi. One extremely disappointing Google discovery was that property billionaire, Vic Garland, the man responsible for him being fired as CEO of Mercury Properties, had died. For many minutes Aspine stared at the screen, angry that he had been cheated of revenge and it briefly crossed his mind to pursue Garland’s children.

  What will that achieve? Garland’s dead and will never experience the pain that he would have, had he been still alive. At least I totally discredited him before I was imprisoned and he would have died without out a vestige of honour. I’ll just have to be happy with that.

  Wednesday morning came around quickly and Aspine was shown to the room in Sonchai’s surgery where he would recover and told to remove all of his clothes and dress in a white gown given to him in a sealed plastic bag. A few minutes later the anaesthetist introduced himself and gave Aspine an oral sedative and a tiny c
up of water and told him to lie on the bed. It had an almost instant effect and while he was still awake, he felt totally relaxed, almost trance like. Two nurses entered the room and gently transferred him to a gurney covering him with a light mesh blanket. As they wheeled him into the operating theatre he smiled dopily at Sonchai, who was dressed in a blue gown, mask and cap and standing next to a nurse in identical attire. They anaesthetist put a drip into his arm and asked him to count to ten – by the time he reached six he was with the fairies.

  Seven hours later Sonchai inserted his last stitch and a few minutes later Aspine was wheeled into his recovery room and propped up in bed with pillows for support. His face was not bandaged. Nor was his scrotum but his left arm and hand were lightly dressed. He was on a drip and a catheter had been inserted.

  For two days, the nurses propped him up when he slumped over, acutely aware that he remain in an almost vertical position while his nose healed. Unlike most other surgeons, Sonchai kept his patients sedated on a light morphine drip because it minimized the risk of his handiwork being spoilt, and it made his patients far more comfortable than they otherwise would be. On the third day he awoke – his throat was dry, his face felt tight and drawn, his groin hurt and there was a light throbbing in his arm – he was hurting and felt like shit. “Water, water,” he said to the nurse in a raspy voice that he did not recognise. She filled a baby’s cup with water and held it to his lips while he sipped from its small spout.

  “You’ve been asleep for nearly three days. I’ll get you something to eat,” she said, pressing a buzzer by the side of his bed.

  “I’m hurting. I need pain killers.”

  “I’m sorry, no more pain killers. Doctor says you have to get ready to go back to your hotel tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going anywhere in this condition. Get me a mirror,” he rasped.

  “Only the doctor can you give you mirror,” she said, as another nurse wheeled a small food trolley into the room. He hadn’t been hungry but the aroma was tantalizing and a few minutes later the nurse was feeding him small spoonfuls of chicken broth. After he’d finished the soup the nurse fed him some scrambled egg and for dessert, some mashed banana. He felt a little better and picked up a glass of orange juice and slowly sucked it through a straw.

  “When do I get to see the doctor?”

  “This afternoon. He will remove the catheter and you’ll be able to move around freely. The drip will come out in the morning before you go.”

  “Didn’t you understand me?” Aspine momentarily scowled, before realizing it hurt. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m in pain. I’m not going back to the hotel like this.”

  The drugs might have worn off but Aspine found himself drifting in and out of sleep. He wasn’t a young man and he had undergone major surgery. The voice of Sonchai woke him. “Wake up, wake up, Mr Cobram.”

  He slowly opened his eyes. The pain in his groin had intensified. “Doc, I’m hurting; I need pain killers. Fuck, I’m drenched in sweat and I think I’m going to puke. My throat’s sore. My testicles are thudding and feel as big a tennis balls. You’ve gotta give me something.”

  “You don’t need anything. You’re coming along very nicely. The operation went extremely well and in a few days I think you’re going to be very pleased.”

  “I want to see what I look like. I want a mirror.” Aspine groaned. “Jeez, I’m sore.”

  “You’ll be shocked by what you see,” Sonchai said, nodding to the nurse. As she held the mirror in front of him he let out an almighty fuck.

  “Jesus, I look nothing like the images you showed me on your computer. I said I wanted to be unrecognizable, not look like Quasimodo. I can’t go back to the hotel looking like this. Why’s my voice so raspy? What fucking happened? No wonder I feel like shit.”

  Fuck! My eyes are nearly closed, my nose and forehead are both bigger, not smaller like the prick promised. I look like a toad with an elongated jaw. Mike Tyson couldn’t have done this much damage. I sure am unrecognizable though. What has this fucker done to me?

  “The swelling is at its worst and you will see marked improvement each day from now on. If you’d prefer, you can stay here for three more nights. Your voice should lose its edge in the next few days but remember, I warned you that it could be raspy. I’ll remove the drip and the catheter and you can move around the room and the adjoining one. Don’t just lay in bed because movement will help you. As I said, you’re going to be very pleased with the result. Now let me have a look at your hand and arm,” Sonchai said, unfurling the dressing to reveal swollen fingertips and stitches in the palm and hand. “Ah, it is perfect. I gave you the identical limb to a process worker who had his hands caught in a mechanised conveyor belt. The scars will not be deep but they will reflect ragged, uneven cuts and support the damage sustained to your fingertips.”

  Aspine looked carefully at his hand and arm. He knew that the damage was minimal and yet it looked just like the pics of machine damaged arms he’d seen on the net. “Yeah, it looks good. When do the stitches come out?”

  “In three days’ time.”

  “And will my face look human then?”

  “You’ll notice a huge difference. Now let’s have a look at your scrotum and those tennis balls. I’m sure they’ll look beautiful.” Sonchai laughed.

  Chapter 14

  SONCHAI HAD BEEN RIGHT and as Aspine prepared to leave the surgery he glanced in the mirror again. The swelling had subsided but he found it eerie and unsettling when he saw his reflection and no longer recognised himself. There were no bandages or dressing on his face and only a light gauze on his arm. Surgery on his other arm was scheduled for two weeks. As he waited for Sonchai to perform one last facial examination, he mused. He’s a skilled surgeon all right but he’d be a lot better without the jokes and a hundred and fifty thousand was fucking highway robbery.

  The door opened and Sonchai bounded into the room with his nurse in tow. “Looking good, Mr Cobram,” he said, staring at Aspine’s face while gently running his fingers from forehead to jaw. “Ninety-five percent of the swelling in your nose will be gone within eight weeks and in six months there’ll be no swelling. It will be smaller than what it is now and suit your face perfectly. Walking will help the healing process so you should get out during the day.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, and I intend to take in some of Bangkok’s nightlife too.”

  “Ah, your voice has lost most of its edge. You sound far younger. You should be pleased. If you go out at night make sure that Chatri’s with you. A blow to your face at this early stage could undo my artistry and be very painful. You need to be very careful.”

  “Don’t worry. I will be. Doc, you know, when you do my other arm I was wondering whether you might get rid of some of the loose skin around my stomach. It’s hideous.”

  “Yes, it is something that is easily achieved. I will make an incision below the waist from hip to hip, remove the excess skin and tighten the abdominals. Recuperation time is around a month and you won’t be able to lift anything.”

  “It sounds like the scar will look worse than the loose skin,” Aspine said thoughtfully.

  “The scar will be fine and in time will fade. You will have a taut stomach and there will no comparison with how it looks now. If you like, I can do a full body lift. Buttocks, stomach, legs, arms and pecs.”

  “Just stomach. I can restore the rest by exercise and working out in the gym.”

  “As you wish. Bring twenty thousand in cash with you on the morning of the procedure.”

  “You’re charging me? Christ, I’ve already paid you a hundred and fifty grand and you want more!”

  “That covered the specific surgery we agreed on. Abdominal surgery was not raised. If you were in a restaurant and ordered dessert as an afterthought do you think it would be free?” Sonchai laughed. “Anyhow it’s up to you. That’s my fee, take it or leave it.”

  “Fucking expensive dessert.” Aspine scowled. “All right you win; you’l
l get your twenty. Now let me get out of here while I still have a few dollars left.”

  On the way back to the hotel, Aspine got Chatri to stop at a chemist where he bought a large floppy sun hat, a pair of sunglasses with oversized lenses and some factor 30 sunscreen. “Do you need me?” Chatri asked.

  “Not today. Can you come tomorrow night? I want to have a look at the night life and Sonchai thinks I need a bodyguard.”

  “He’s right. Is seven okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Aspine applied some sunscreen and took an elevator to the ground floor. A few minutes later he traipsed out the doors and onto Rajdamri Road. For the first time in over eight years he felt totally free. Free to do what he wanted without having to look over his shoulder. He wanted to shout “I’m free, I’m free!” Bangkok had the unique smell of food being cooked on the streets and Aspine savoured it. By the time he turned left into Rama Road he was sweating heavily and strolling rather than striding. The sounds of heavy traffic, the continual beeping of horns and the buzz of motor scooters were music to his ears. The streets were busy with Thais going about their business and humming with activity. He wasn’t going anywhere specific but it was impossible to miss the Siam Paragon Shopping Centre. The air conditioning provided some respite and blue chip tenants like Jimmy Choo, Versace, Chanel, Rolex and Louis Vuitton attracted him. He bought three shirts and two pair of sports slacks from Prada. By the time he got back to the hotel he was spent but euphoric. He flopped on the bed and smiled. I’m free at last.

  When Aspine woke, he could feel dampness in his underpants and when he checked his scrotum was weeping. Maybe I overdid the walking. I’d better be careful until I’m fully healed. He changed and went to the bathroom anxious to see what his face looked like. With the exception of his nose the swelling had largely abated and he was growing to like his new look. Sonchai had taken at least fifteen years off.