CHAPTER TWENTY
"Is that it Europol? Because if it is you had better be on your way."
"It's your choice Gino. You tell me what you know and it's the end of our story together. Or, you fuck around and then your tiny, vicious little world begins to fall apart, one arrest warrant at a time."
Sammy didn't move. His grin didn't move. He had been warned about Theo; knew he was coming and had been told not to worry. They had said to just 'take care of him' as best he saw fit. It wouldn't be the first time he had made a law enforcer disappear and he would enjoy the slow task of peeling him down, literally, to the essential weakness underlying all human bravado. But something in him just couldn't believe that Theo wouldn't be looked for, intensively, if he went missing. He had heard of Theo Petrakis before. He wasn't just your average toothless Europol flunky; retired European police force past their prime. He was Mr. Euro Super Cop and he had been causing all kinds of trouble in mainland Europe where the big fish played. Hence the phone call. There was certainly no question that he knew a lot about Gino's criminal past, way too much, so in that sense the game was up. But the big man's instincts had never let him down yet. Despite his enemies all over the world, criminal, legal and personal, he was still on, still wealthy, still powerful, still gnawing and screwing his way through life as much as he ever was.
"Now just calm down there Theo my son. There's no need to get ugly here. First off, hand on heart, I have no idea who this Elissa is, alright?"
"It's your choice Gino." Theo got up to go. An urgency came to Sammy's voice.
"Sit down, sit down. Come on. I don't know who she is but I may be able to find out for you."
"No games Gino. Just tell me what you know or I leave right now."
"Look, Theo, I honestly ain't heard this girl's name before. What's it to me really? I give you the girl's name, you fuck off, end of story. Why would I lie?"
"No games."
"Sit down for fuck's sake. Look, maybe this bird was going under another name or something. Maybe I have come across her but you need to give me a bit more than just a bleeding name."
Theo sat down. Drummed his fingers on the desk and let his gut ruminate. Sammy the Shark was a hard one to read. Ruthless psychopaths usually were. Something in the genetics of their mental illness made them expert liars by nature.
He reached into his jacket and took out a small, worn photograph of a young girl. Not more than 10 years of age. He held it for a moment before sliding it across the desk to Sammy.
The grizzly thug picked it up between one thick finger and thumb. He looked for a moment and then grinned again.
"Pretty girl Theo, very pretty." He gave a salacious grin. "'How old is she then, eleven? Twelve?"
Theo didn't move, didn’t respond.
"Elissa, very pretty name too. No way mate, I would remember a girl like this. Ha, ha. Believe me." He held up the photo. "May I keep this?"
"Find out something about her." Theo held out his hand for the photo. "You have twenty-four hours to call every vermin you know who is involved in your disgusting trade and get me some information. If you don't I will be back and next time I won't be alone."
He reached out a hand for the photo but Sammy tucked it back into his palm with his thumb and forefinger, just out of Theo's reach.
"Ha, ha. The short arm of the law, eh Theo?"
He returned the photo.
"I'll see what I can do." He shouted for his goon. "Rafa!" The big man lumbered into the room bringing his peculiar body odor with him.
"Get this little piece of shit out of here." He winked at Theo.
"No need for that Mr. Shark, I can find my own way out." He looked at Rafa. "Keep your sweaty stinking hands off this suit breakfast roll." Rafa drew back. Theo turned to Sammy. "By the way, nice tattoos. That little tear-drop by the left eye, tell me, did they hold you down while they made it?"
"Get him out of here!" He screamed at Rafa
"No need, no need," he gave Rafa a stern look of warning, "I am going. Bye bye for now Gino. Here is my card." He had no time for the little charade of pride between gangland boss and flunky. "You have 24 hours. Don't let me down."
After his interview with pure evil Theo went back to his hotel. He put through a database cross-reference request to the Hague for Sammy/Gino to see what else he could find and then called detective Casey to see if she had found the Interpol liaison officer for him yet.
"Detective Casey? It's me, Theo. Do you have anything for me?"
"Nothing Theo, there is no Interpol investigation relating to Sammy the Shark or Gino Ngata."
"Impossible."
"What did you find out? Is it the same guy?"
"My interview with Sammy was most enlightening Melinda. Yes, this is the same guy."
"How can you be sure?"
"The tattoos. Gino's whole life is right there on his skin. His face is covered in Ta Moko."
"Ta Moko?"
"Yes, Maori tribal markings and his are authentic."
"Tribal tattoos?"
"No. Ta Moko. They are different. Tattoos are inscribed with needle and ink, but the Ta Moko is a design carved into the skin using the Uhi, a traditional chisel formed from a fragment of Albatross bone. The stain is made from charcoal or from burned caterpillar flesh and fungus."
"Eewww. Sounds awful."
"There is nothing awful about it Melinda. It is a powerful tradition, highly ritualized and with great meaning to the recipient. Of course it is painful too. All part of the process and worthy of respect. Unfortunately Sammy's Ta Moko are the real thing."
"I don't understand, is he a criminal or not?"
"At one time he may have been held in genuine respect but unfortunately there is a twist to his markings. While most facial Mokos depict tribal and personal history, Sammy's are a slightly more modern version. And something doesn't add up. His name, is Ngata, a North Island name."
"So?"
"His Moko are all South Island."
"Can't it just be that his family moved?"
"I don't think so. Even those who move still have links with their traditional roots and maintain these connections in the Moko. I would guess his name might be Koata or Rarua or maybe Te Ati Awa, but not Ngata. I think he is covering another identity."
"So he's not Sammy the Shark obviously, but he's not Gino Ngata either?"
"Exactly. And there's more. The style of his moko and some of the precise markings identify him as a member or ex-member of a particularly sinister urban Maori gang based in Australia."
"Australia? I thought Maoris were from New Zealand?"
"They are, but there are plenty of Maori gangs in Australia, especially Melbourne and Sydney One of them is the DMS or 'Dope Money Sex' gang of Central Auckland which has spread to the Bankstown suburb of Sydney and from there the DMS formed links to international Asian and South American drug and people trafficking gangs.
"From these origins Sammy's gang evolved and was shunned even by the maturing old boys of the DMS. This new gang specialized in making money from all the trades that even the DMS found taboo; child porn, the use of child 'warriors', organ 'donation' and of course always the latest and hardest drugs. Most taboo of all, particularly for those of Maori descent who hold a reverence for the art of tattoo, is the skin-trade. The purchase and sale of hi-value skin work to discerning international connoisseurs, predominantly from the wealthy countries of South East Asia, but also occasionally from Western buyers of American and European origin."
"Good God."
"That's not all."
"OK. Tell me." She noticed she had accidentally copied Theo's verbal mannerism She was glad again that she was on the phone and not speaking face to face. Luckily he did not seem to notice.
"There is a tear-drop tattoo on Sammy's cheek."
"Tear-drop?"
"That's right. Just under his left eye."
"Pretty standard that isn't it? Means you lost someone while in prison, right?"
"The tear-drop tattoo has different meanings depending on where you get it. Or where it is given to you. In Australia and New Zealand no-one willingly has this mark put to their skin. It is a mark of humiliation at the hands of other prisoners, a warning to the prison population about who and what you are.
"Even if Sammy is not involved in the crime we are investigating, we need to watch him for the crimes he is involved with."
"I don't understand Theo, what does it mean?"
"There is one kind of crime other convicts don't like to be associated with in prison."
"You mean he's a sex offender?"
"That's right. A pedophile. Or at least his fellow prisoners thought so and I would have no doubt that they are correct. Are you sure there is nothing on Sammy?"
"Nothing. No investigation, no record. Are you sure he's so dangerous?"
"There is one more thing?"
"Jesus Theo, what else are you going to tell me? Does he eat children as well?"
Theo paused. The remark was flippant but he didn't want to talk about such things, not unnecessarily anyway. He didn't want to think about them. In his world, even if not encountered yet, anything and everything was possible.
"Maybe not that Melinda, but trust me, you will need to get your superiors involved here, we may need special branch, SWAT teams, you never know."
"You mean the Emergency Response Unit. We don't call it SWAT here."
"OK, whatever you have, please get them."
"I'm not sure who you think you are Theo, or who you think I am, but this is Ireland, Republic of. We'll need a bloody good reason to bring out the heavy guns."
"There is good reason Melinda. They are connected to something much bigger. Whatever is happening here goes far beyond local trafficking in Ireland."
"You'll still need good evidence for that."
"Have you alerted G2?"
"The Irish secret service?"
"Yes. The intelligence service."
"We don't work very much with G2. They're more military, terrorism, international threats."
"Get in contact with them and see if they know anything about Sammy or one of his bagmen Rafa."
"Uh... OK, I'll do that. But seriously Theo, we're going to need a lot of evidence to get the ERU out."
"Don't worry, we'll get it."
"What are you going to do now?"
"Tattoo artists."
Great. Melinda had followed Theo's rise to stardom in the fight against international crime, but this was all he had? He expected her to take a giant professional risk that could blight her career while he nosed around the tattoo parlors of Darklow town?
"They are always a good place to start for this type of crime. Can you do a police database search on all tattoo artists in Dublin and surrounding counties with criminal convictions and then call me when you have the results?"
"OK Theo. Will do. By the way, did you hear about Michael Nulty?"
"No. Is he beginning to recover?"
"Recover? He died an hour ago."
While his cross-reference against the Interpol database was under way Theo headed back out into the streets of Darklow Town. There was one artist in particular he wanted to meet. Travis McGinty was Peadar and Michael's tattoo artist and it would be hard to ignore a dead client, especially one who had been killed for the tattoos you gave him. He called the number he had for him but there was no answer. He found him easily enough from Peadar's directions.
Phat Tats, was the name and the catalogue art in the window included some rudimentary tribal and traditional skin art, already a step above the other couple of skin peddlers he had passed on Main St. Stepping inside the tiny, brightly lit shop revealed some excellent proprietary art work; some on the walls, some on the waiting clients.
Skin work was taking place in the middle of the shop while the other clients watched and waited. The artist was wiry, gangly, far too long for his trade but expertly hunched over his client. Thin, craggy, shaven headed, a good fifty years of age with a small white goatee dangling under his chin. The art visible on his neck, shoulders and arms was high quality, tasteful and eclectic. There were some fresh, raw Sak Yant markings protruding from under his wide, upturned collar and he moved a little carefully as though still in pain from the work.
"Take a seat man." He said to Theo without taking his focus off the work.
The seats were small and the little room was crowded. Only one seat remained and was already half occupied by an overweight long-haired leather clad middle-aged biker on one side, and a hulking, skunk-haired, tracksuit wearing, junkie football dad on the other. Theo looked down at his own bespoke Hong Kong vicuna and lambs' wool fiber suit. He decided to remain standing. There were several more customers to go but Theo didn't mind, in fact he always enjoyed watching the beauty of good skin art slowly taking shape under the hand of a skilled artist.
For the simple ones the artist was unnaturally fast. He had a steady hand and an excellent eye for detail. Only one client received anything of note, a beautiful custom made design with a Cambodian motif. Very impressive.
Once the last client was gone Travis introduced himself.
"How are ya bud? Travis is my name. What can I do you for?" He extended an inked hand.
"Pleased to meet you Travis, I would like to talk about tattoos, Ta Moko, and Sak Yant in particular. If you can spare me a little of your time."
Travis was uneasy, he gave Theo a second look as though noticing his pristine, manicured appearance for the first time. He did love to talk tattoos though, especially with someone who understood his art.
"'Drop by drop fills the bamboo'." Theo translated the Khmer lettering form Travis's right forearm. "I like it. Did you go to Cambodia to get this?"
Travis smiled. He was surprised.
"I thought you looked more Greek than Cambodian bud. No, there's a Cambodian bloke in Manchester who does them. Flew over for a lads weekend away, you know? Ha, ha. Nice though isn't it."
"And accurate too. So many people with foreign tattoos end up with garbage or insults."
"Not if you're part of the trade though and I do speak a bit of the lingo as well. So listen bud, I'm nearly ready to close up here. What kind of art would you like?"
"I don't need a tattoo Travis, but I do need your help. I'm from Europol."
"Euro what?"
"Europol. I'm here to find out what happened to the man who was murdered, mutilated and stripped of his tattoos on June 17th."
Travis was deadly serious now.
"I don't know anything about that bud. So listen, nice to meet you and all, but I need to close up shop here if that's it?"
"Travis, forgive me, but I have a good instinct for people and I am absolutely sure that you are going to be able to help me with this."
"Well my instinct is pretty bleedin' sure I won't, so I'll ask you nicely, one more time, to leave the shop. All right?"
"Did you know that two more local men have also been assaulted on the Sunnyvale estate? They had skin removed from them. The second one died last night in hospital from his wounds. His name was Michael Nulty. He was a client of yours."
"Never heard of him. Now I'm telling you mate, get out. Now. I don't know anything so you can hop off home."
"What do you think will happen to your trade Travis, if suddenly more people begin to lose skin here in your neighborhood? People who have gotten tattoos from your shop. Your country is in a bad recession and your clients, they are not exactly of the affluent classes, are they? I see the quality of your art, it is very good I admit, but you are in a very little corner of the world here and nobody yet really knows the significance or the detail of these murders. But they very soon will and once the news gets out, well, I hope you have some other trade you can count on or you may be forced to join your customers in the queue for social welfare payments."
Travis took another long look at Theo.
"Are you sure he's dead?"
"Yes of course. The Gardai just informed me this afternoon He died at midday."
"Jesus Christ." His craggy face scowled at the floor.
"I spoke to his friend Peadar today."
"How's he doing."
"He'll be OK. He was luckier, but they might come back for more and he isn't guarded in the hospital."
Travis stared at the floor.
"Did you know that your art had come into such demand Travis? Only high quality art of course. Not the holiday souvenirs, girlfriend's names, football teams and other rubbish. Did you know that it is becoming quite common to lose these things in other parts of the world?"
"I've heard of one or two cases alright but not here in Ireland."
"Just one or two cases? Travis, I am full time investigating only this type of crime. It used to be that human beings were actively harvested for organ donation, but some years ago someone of entrepreneurial spirit decided to remove some skin as well as deeper tissue. Nowadays it only makes sense to harvest body parts from people who have interesting skin art. The skin can fetch more than the transplant organs in many cases."
"Don't tell me anymore. None of this has anything to do with me and I don't want anything to do with it."
"You don't have a choice Travis. The trade has become so lucrative that the top buyers are now placing orders for specific types of skin."
"Get out."
"Do you know what that means?"
Travis moved threateningly forwards. "I said get out." Theo didn't move.
"It means they need tattoo artists to fulfill the orders." The two men were very close together. Travis was an old Karate black belt. He hadn't trained in a long time but he could still recognize the physical confidence in another accomplished martial artist.
"Is that an accusation?"
"Occasionally there are orders now for living organs, live beating hearts to be removed and filmed for the pleasure of the client."
"Shut up! That's enough. I told you I don't have anything to do with this."
"They put the tattoo to the victim that they would like to own and then they take it away. It is a very interesting business Travis and now it is right here next to you. Maybe even you have something to do with it already, perhaps without knowing it." Travis's breath betrayed his agitation but still he said nothing.
"Your art." Theo looked around the little tattoo parlor "It is very good. Certainly good enough to get a price on the skin market. And you've been busy. Plenty of 'cattle' to fulfill orders."
Travis's hands jerked into a close range jab but Theo was ready. The tall man's bony hands were bent back over his forearms in a move that Travis recognized and knew he could not easily break.
"OK, OK. Let me go for fuck's sake." Theo squeezed a little harder before pushing him away.
"Which school was that?" He asked. Theo straightened his suit, adjusted his cuff-links.
"You need to talk to me Travis. Unless you want to be drawn far deeper into this than you are able to survive."
Travis rubbed his old shaven head and sucked in his gaunt cheeks.
"Look, Theo, I'm just afraid OK? This stuff scares the crap out of me. I just don't want to get involved is all."
"I think we both know it's too late for that, wouldn't you agree?"
Travis nodded his head.
"Tell me," Theo said, "Do you have any children?"
Travis lifted his gaze from the shop floor and looked into Theo's eyes with a malice that took even the seasoned investigator by surprise.
"What do you know about my son?"
Bingo. Emotion. Pay-dirt The shameful currency of Theo's interrogatory art. There wasn't time to hate himself, only time to move on, close in, get nearer to the heart of evil in small town Ireland.
"He got himself into trouble, didn't he?"
Travis's chin trembled.
"I can help you Travis. And I can help him."
Travis looked down again. He put his face into his hands and began to shake. Theo looked at his watch. He needed to be patient.
When Travis raised his head again he was laughing.
"You don't have a fucking clue mate do you?"
"Tell me about your son. Before it's too late."
"It's already way too late for him Theo. He's gone. Missing bloody person."
"Have the Gardai been informed."
"The Gardai? Don't make me laugh. Yes they've been informed but he was 'known' to them, know what I mean? They think he's just off on one of his holidays. But he ain't. He's dead. They got him."
"Who got him?"
"Who do you fuckin' think?"
"Gino?"
"Who?"
"Sammy."
Travis nodded his head and gave Theo a searching look. He took out a silver cigarette case, engraved with swirling ta moko designs and popped the lid. Nine neatly rolled joints lined the container.
"Smoke?"
"No thank you. How old was your son?"
"19."
"Were the tattoos yours?"
"A few of them, yeah. The biggest and best of them."
"Ta moko?"
"Ah, ah," he nodded, "Sak Yant."
"Cambodian or Thai?"
"Thai."
"The market is very strong for these at the moment."
"So it seems."
"Don't blame yourself Travis."
"Why would I fuckin' do that? I'm gonna get these bastards, twist them 'till they fuckin' bleed and then skin them. When that's done, I might be nice and then kill them as a good deed."
"Forget about it Travis. You won't win. It will go wrong for you, trust me."
"Can you do any better?"
"You help me. Give me the right information and I will get them. I promise you."
Travis lit a thin spliff and took a long, deep drag.
"My son Rocco met Sammy only recently. Not more than four weeks ago. In a beer garden. We were together. Beautiful summers day, you know? We don't get too many of them around here. Anyway, I recognized the cunt. Everybody around here knows him. My son knew about him as well but neither of us owed the fucker any money. Like I say it was a sunny day, Rocco had his shirt off and he was showing off his tattoos. I mean, that's what they're for with young lads, right? He was only a kid, still learning. Anyway, Sammy came over to us and asked Rocco where he got the big Yant on his back. It was one of mine. One of the best ever. Destiny, kinship, protection, honor and courage. Everything that Rocco was about. I tried to shut him up. Warn him, you know? 'Cause I know what that cunt is all about and I didn't want his business.
"'Me Da.' Rocco says and nodded at me. Sammy wanted me to work on him but there was no fuckin' way. He asked for an appointment but I told him I was booked out. ''Till when?' he asked. 'Until you're dead.' I said to him."
Travis coughed and gave a grim laugh.
"Should've just given him the fuckin' tattoo."
"It would make no difference Travis. If he wanted Rocco's tattoo he would have taken it anyway."
Travis gave him a haunted look.
"About two days later I got a call from one of his guys. Rafa. Big smelly fucker. Sammy wanted me to come in and do some work for him. He said it wouldn't be polite to refuse. I told him to fuck off and asked him if that was polite enough. He told me I could either make the ink or they would take it. One way or the other it was gonna end up with them. I didn't take him seriously, although I did tell Rocco to watch himself while he was in town.
"A couple of days later and he went missing. I fuckin' knew something was up, but Rocco has run away before so the cops weren't interested. They still aren't."
"So how do you know it was Sammy?"
"How do I know? The fucker called me to tell me it was him. He still wants me to work for him. After that? Fucking cunt."
"Are you sure your son is dead? Have you seen his body."
"I'm sure. Don't ask how, but we know he's dead."
"Who's we?"
"Me ma and me. His sister as well. One or two others."
"You have a daughter too?"
"That's right. Fifteen years of age."
"Where is she now?"
"Do you think I'm telling you? What if Sammy gets his hands on you? No way mate. The fewer people know where she is the better."
"Where did your son go missing?"
"He was at his training club up in Dublin. MMA, you know? He was a champion. He left a bit later than usual to get the last bus home to his mates flat and that's the last he was heard of."
"Are the police still looking for him?"
"I told you, they aren't interested. But they fuckin' ought to be because it could be one of them next."
"What do you mean?"
"He owns them down here. Debts. They're all in to him."
"How do you know so much about Sammy and his business?"
Travis tapped his nose, winked.
"That's not good enough Travis. I need to know what you know if you want me to keep your daughter and you alive."
"Look. It's the clients mostly. Most of them owe money to the fucker and one or two have even been up to that house of his to have the frighteners put on them."
"To the Cash for Gold?"
"Ah, ah. That's where it all begins. When it gets serious you get an invitation to his eco-house out in the mountains."
"Where's that?"
"You don't want to go up there mate, not without a fuckin' army."
"If I need it, I will bring an army with me."
Travis didn't look convinced, but he took out a note pad and began to jot down a map with a Biro. Theo's heart began to race as he watched the lines fill out into a definite location.
Elissa. Don't worry. I come for you.
Travis stopped drawing.
"What is it?" Theo asked.
The tall, gaunt man thought for a minute. Maybe this was it after all. This guy was better than the Gardai at least. Ajarn's tattoo had taken he himself out of the picture and replaced him with someone else. Why couldn't it be this guy? But there was a mark on the forehead of the guy in the picture, a crescent shape. He looked at Theo. No mark.
"There's something else you need to know."
"OK."
"He has something belonging to me."
"Go on."
"Something from Rocco."
"The tattoo?"
Travis nodded his craggy head.
"Why hasn't he shipped it already?"
"Not sure. Maybe he wants it for himself."
"OK. This can help Travis. Take my card and call me if you have...."
"There's more. And don't, for fuck's sake, give me your card."
He put the neatly embellished square back into his pocket.
"I know where he has the skin."
"What do you mean?"
"The skin. Rocco's tattoo. I know where he keeps it."
"So where is it?"
"It's in his office safe at his house in the Wickford hills."
"How do you know it's there?"
"Don't worry about that. Just trust me. I know."
"Well this is not useful Travis. Either you tell me how you know or you might as well forget about it, there will be nothing I can do."
"I have eyes in Sammy's house."
"Who is it?"
"Can't tell you. Won't tell you."
"Then forget about it. Why you have even bothered to tell me I don't understand."
"You get that skin and you have the bastard, simple as that."
"So if you know where it is, why don't you go and take it?"
"If it was that easy the guy wouldn't be in business as a loan shark. He's a fuckin' psycho man. You don't need proof of that. Anyone goes in there half cocked or even fully cocked will end up the same as Rocco. Do you know who Rocco was?"
"He was your son."
"He wasn't just any kid. He was a martial artist, a champion, no-one could beat him. He was on his way to the top. MMA. Cage-fights, the toughest guys around."
"So? He was only human. You can be heavyweight champion and your wife beats you to death while you sleep, I've seen such things happen."
"Not to Rocco it couldn't."
"Well he was a human being, wasn't he?"
"He was protected."
"By who?"
"By these." Travis motioned around the room to the photos and the artwork.
"He believed he was protected by his skin-art?"
"Not 'believed' Theo. He was. My son was bullet proof. Literally. Nobody could touch him. In the ring he had to string them along just to give the punters their money's worth."
"Do you really believe this kind of thing Travis?"
"Have you been out to the far East Theo? You sound like you have. You must have seen some of the things these guys can do."
Theo looked at Travis, weighing up his options. He had plenty to tell, but hated to talk of these things outside certain circles.
"Where would your son have found someone to give him such a tattoo?"
Travis searched in the drawer of his work bench and drew out a pen light.
"Turn off the lights there." He pointed to the switch on the