Mr Choi burst into raucous laughter, an unpleasant noise somewhere between a faulty cistern and a cat with a spike up its arse. It was something the girl had said. Sitting opposite Choi, she smiled coyly and slung one leg over the other, revealing a tantalising glimpse of stocking top. Choi leaned forward for a closer peak.
“Priceless, my dear.” One of the other two men present simpered in delight, raised his crystal champagne flute. “A toast, I think.”
The man alongside him nodded in agreement. “Why not? I reckon we’ve earned it.”
“To a successful outcome, then.” Choi gave his serpent’s smile, clinked glasses with the other three in turn. There was a moment’s silence, all four lost in their own thoughts.
“Ironic about Morgan though, wasn’t it?” The man who’d proposed the toast scanned each face in turn.
His neighbour snorted out a suppressed chuckle. “Poor sod never knew what hit him.”
“Did you have plans for him, Choi?” The girl chimed in, a hint of regret in her voice.
Choi beamed. “Of course, but they were not required. His unfortunate accident saved me the trouble of planning … an unfortunate accident.” He went on to add that, due to Morgan’s demise, the Soo Meie Collection had never got off the ground, leaving them in pole position to clean up worldwide.
More hilarity, followed by further reminiscences, until …
Choi’s brows knitted as he stared at the caller ID on his shrilling mobile. Unlisted number. Tentatively, he pressed the button to accept the call, listened for a few moments, frowned some more before severing the connection. Sensing Choi’s discomfort, three faces framed the question.
Choi sighed deeply. “It was that lot at Thatcham Writers. Cut to the chase or they’re buggering off.”
Fair enough, I suppose. Well, they were all in it together, had been ever since Choi had subtly introduced them to the concepts of free trade, not to mention eye-watering amounts of cash, on day one of the launch. Stumbling across Soo Meie in the storeroom had threatened to de-rail the plan but, by taking his own copies of the dresses and ensuring that Soo Meie was permanently removed from the equation, Choi had got it back on track. Naturally, it had needed an inside man who, in turn, had recruited a fourth member of the team – he who had wiped out Soo Meie. Unprepared to see Aristide, to whom he’d rather taken a shine, get hung out to dry, Choi had enlisted Gerald Snodgrass’ help to get Aristide off the hook. By the time the police got round to charging Gerald, he flatly denied any involvement, challenging them to produce evidence. They couldn’t, of course. All they had was a dubious confession, made under emotional duress.
The team had all met up in Hong Kong the previous day. Gerald’s passport had been grudgingly returned by the disgruntled police, Lee had resigned from his job citing undue stress, and Nesta had abandoned Lionel at a Little Chef on the Andover by-pass.
“Happy Christmas!” Mr Choi raised his glass. “And a highly prosperous New Year!”
Alternative Ending #4: End Game
Mr Choi burst into raucous laughter, an unpleasant noise somewhere between a faulty cistern and a cat with a spike up its arse. It was something the girl had said. Sitting opposite Choi, she smiled coyly and slung one leg over the other, revealing a tantalising glimpse of stocking top. Choi leaned forward for a closer peak.
“Priceless, my dear.” One of the other two men present simpered in delight, raised his crystal champagne flute. “A toast, I think.”
The man alongside him nodded in agreement. “Why not? I reckon we’ve earned it.”
“To a successful outcome, then.” Choi gave his serpent’s smile, clinked glasses with the other three in turn. There was a moment’s silence, all four lost in their own thoughts.
“Ironic about Morgan though, wasn’t it?” The man who’d proposed the toast scanned each face in turn.
His neighbour snorted out a suppressed chuckle. “Poor sod never knew what hit him.”
“Did you have plans for him, Choi?” The girl chimed in, a hint of regret in her voice.
Choi beamed. “Of course, but they were not required. His unfortunate accident saved me the trouble of planning … an unfortunate accident.” He went on to add that, due to Morgan’s demise, the Soo Meie Collection had never got off the ground, leaving them in pole position to clean up worldwide.
More hilarity, followed by further reminiscences, until …
Choi’s brows knitted as he stared at the caller ID on his shrilling mobile. Unlisted number. Tentatively, he pressed the button to accept the call, listened for a few moments, frowned some more before severing the connection. Sensing Choi’s discomfort, three faces framed the question.
Choi sighed deeply. “It was that lot at Thatcham Writers. Cut to the chase or they’re buggering off.”
Fair enough, I suppose. Well, they were all in it together, had been ever since Choi had subtly introduced them to the concepts of free trade, not to mention eye-watering amounts of cash, on day one of the launch. Stumbling across Soo Meie in the storeroom had threatened to de-rail the plan but, by taking his own copies of the dresses and ensuring that Soo Meie was permanently removed from the equation, Choi had got it back on track. Naturally, it had needed an inside man who, in turn, had recruited a fourth member of the team – he who had wiped out Soo Meie. Unprepared to see Aristide, to whom he’d rather taken a shine, get hung out to dry, Choi had enlisted Gerald Snodgrass’ help to get Aristide off the hook. By the time the police got round to charging Gerald, he flatly denied any involvement, challenging them to produce evidence. They couldn’t, of course. All they had was a dubious confession, made under emotional duress.
The team had all met up in Hong Kong the previous day. Gerald’s passport had been grudgingly returned by the disgruntled police, Lee had resigned from his job citing undue stress, and Nesta had abandoned Lionel at a Little Chef on the Andover by-pass.
“Happy Christmas!” Mr Choi raised his glass. “And a highly prosperous New Year!”
Back to top