Chapter 3 - Of Detective Hugh Damon

Properly adored sushi arranged at the corner of an ordinary bento had certainly added something fishy to the taste of the cuisine. But the detective pressed a suspicious tone on it currently, a tone quite hard enough more meaningful than just dipping in some wasabi mustard.

Is it really true that he is just want to have an ordinary meal at the Kofuku Japanese Restaurant at the heart of the Premier Seri Pacific Hotel of Jalan Putra, or does he sense something suspicious in this eastern terrain? Michael cannot answers this question, let alone to ask The Detective, so he seeks pointers for some answer himself. Looking at his silent companion who is now busily observing the main door, he; without haste, does the same. As time goes by, three individual strolled in - a pale and suspicious man wearing a black Polo sweater were the first of three to fetch his table. A rich woman in her fifties who were wrapped on fancy clothes was the second to spare her time followed by a fancy dressed man that can possibly be her husband. Every one of them sat on an awkward silent, until a man with swelling tuxedo: could have been the manager of the restaurant, approached the rich couple.

“All the characters are here, and the prey had strolled in place.” Hugh Damon said; in a rather cocky manner.

The rich gentleman asked himself to be excuse and hurriedly paced towards the restroom. He was sweating all over. While his husband was out, the enthusiastic lady spontaneously picked their dishes to be made. The manager bowed his head in the light, showing a great deal of respect to the coy maiden upon him and hoofed towards his kitchen.

After waited for a while, The Detective and his companion were put up with the scene of the entrée served to the rich lady in velvet. The manager placed the tray on her table and exposed the dish in front of her. Without prior notice, a loud screaming was heard coming from the lady, her husband’s bloody head has somehow laid deadly on the tray.

The woman screeched in horror as the puzzled manager stand by her like an old dog: clueless. Blood was drooling down the bullet hole on the rich man’s forehead; as a noble sign of its freshness. The situation surely pressed on the panicked button of the million-dollar restaurant. Not until The Detective makes his move.

“Everyone stay calm, the police will be here in any minutes, I want every one of you stay where you are and don’t touch anything,” he said, getting hold of the situation.

“Detective, his body were in the restroom!” Michael said; rushing from the back.

“Great, is there’s a doctor in the house?” Hugh Damon asked.

“Me, I’m a doctor.” The pale man said: weakly.

“Sir, can you please tell me what is wrong with him,” Detective Hugh said, addressing him to the victim. The weak doctor hoofed towards the dead head, checking every medical relation of it to the murder.

“From his mouth, I bear the smell of Potassium Chloride, I belief that was his cause of death,” he hesitated for a brief second and continued, “time of death, 1.42 p.m. and there’s some unrelated scars and burn marks on his hands.” He chattered, with inaccurately shaking hands.

“Thank you my dear fellow.” Said Detective Hugh; giving credits to the shaking doctor. Not long after that, the policemen enter the building. The Detective halts, and makes his way to a representative who seems to be the Officer of the Crime Scene. “Hello officer, I know this seems awkward to you, but please listen to my explanation, my name is Hugh Damon, Detective Hugh Damon from London. I want permission to handle this case on behalf of the security service in London; to track down one of our most wanted criminal which I’m afraid were about to harassed your peaceful country.” The Detective shakes this man’s hand; assuring a promise of pleasure to cope with them.

“I’m Rahmat. It’s a pleasure to cope with you Detective, and may I remind you that there have never been any awkwardness in crime solving, because we stands together by justice,” the other replied, “Now, about the victim: he was Sulitari Bambiano, the ambassador of Indonesia, 56 years old and as the manager replied, he is the Kofuku’s most loyal client; has visited the restaurant since it reopened in 2003 and one of the biggest shareholder of the hotel’s finance,”

“The restaurant was reopened?” Hugh Damon encountered.

“Yes, according to the manager, the restaurant ran out of supports in 2000, but they had somehow managed to plug them up,” The Officer said, “Sulitari was married to his wife for seven years; until now. Despite marrying a Malaysian: an Ibanese for precise, he never have done any other premedical things after the death of his former wife.”

“What about his former wife?” The Detective asked.

“She died in a car crash nine years ago, with three of his kids involve.” Officer Rahmat said

“Anything more? Maybe something found on the dead body,” Detective Hugh asked.

“Nope, not a thing Detective, everything looks fine here,”

“What about his new wife, Officer?” Michael crossed

“Our investigators found that she has nothing to do …” he hesitated for a moment, focusing on the boy in front of him, and asked, “…with the case… and who the hell are you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry; I forgot to introduce him to you. Officer Rahmat, this is my dear partner Michael.” He addressed The Officer to Michael. “Michael, Officer Rahmat,” he does the same thing the other way around.

“By the look of him, I’m not very confident, but if your authority had sent him to accompany you; maybe he’s one hell of a detective himself.” Officer Rahmat assumed; tapping Michael’s back almost hard enough to get the boy unbalance.

Chapter 2 - Taken Aboard

The Detective was sitting on his silk embroidered armchair, thinking about his wind-blasted fate - linking his pale fingers together as he think. His sophisticated white coloured summer suit was almost in stain. It has been quite a long time since he had left his cosy room; maybe after the death of almost the entire Gentlemen’s Club members in the Bourdain House. He vowed to do everything he could to solved Lord Drouhte’s death riddles, even if it is making him no more of his usual sane. After the attack, Lord Drouhte seems to be stopping his bloody murders – as if trying to give Detective Hugh Damon some times to pull himself together. But the times given were not meant to be long.

“Detective Hugh,” a pale English boy appears from the other side of the room, “Lord Drouhte sent you a mystery letter.”

“Give it to me Michael,” he said; signs of worries were all over his face. He took the letter hastily and read it in a fast yet thoughtful motion.

To my lovely rival,

The reason that I wrote this letter was to realizing you of what so much time that I had been given you to prepare for my next puzzle. You see, together with this unexpected letter, I slipped some quotes referring to something that might have been or might have not been important to you. A code that may or may not answers your questions.

PS: Shall God sent us to another crime scene… ‘Peacefully’

Under the white envelope where the letter was placed in, there was another paper about the size of a business card. The paper was written on it the words ‘I love to swipe hibiscuses’. To his bewilderment, there is a blood stain on the far end of the small paper.

“He will strike again,” The Detective said; folding the letter firmly as he then throws it into the fireplace, “and his fate is alike to that letter he gave me.” The letter was slowly being eaten by fire, burning until what left was a handful of ashes. Detective Hugh Damon was standing in front of the fireplace, putting a loud smile on his cold face. Michael had never seen him like this before.

----

The next day was a fresh day for Detective Hugh and his young partner; Michael Williams. They took off by the district bus early in daybreak; before the dewdrops falls and while the senseless morning fogs blinding all over. Both of them were strictly hurried towards their only goal - the Heathrow Airport. They saw such boring scenery at the airport, where every people they met were moving in a rather slow motion; frankly said that, even Detective Hugh was surprised to witness this inexplicable occurrence. As they were approaching the counter, Michael enquired, “Detective, if we are going to catch Drouhte, Why is we’re travelling air-borne?”

“Good question my dear boy, the reason that we are travelling aboard is strictly because of the word ‘swipe’ in Drouhte’s letter.” He hesitated for a moment. Observes his surrounding, and continued “You see Michael; the word ‘swipe’ entitles the fact that Drouhte is doing something concrete, or dare I say some work that can be feel by our five major senses. That means that he can see, touch, taste, smell and obviously hears the object he’s sweeping. Here’s the problem my friend; we don’t have hibiscuses in the United Kingdom.”

“So, that leads us to a country where we can surely feel a large amount of hibiscuses sensibly.” Michael crossed excitedly.

“Good Michael, you have some wits in you, my dear boy.” the other crossed back. As they were standing in front of the receptionist, Hugh took some bills out of his woollen cloak, placed it in front of the wonderful brunette upon him and said, “Can you please provide me a couple of tickets to Malaysia please, my dear lady?”

“Spare me a moment please, sir.” She said; reshuffling some papers in her hands at the double.

“Let’s welcome ourselves to Malaysia Detective, where hibiscuses were cherished as their national flower.” Michael said; grinning as he was footing next to his divine guardian respectfully.

----

A trip to Malaysia seems to be consequently long, since they’re travelling with late preparation and a lot of anxieties in their psyche. But the most difficult thing: is trying to initialise themselves to the original peninsular climate of this exquisite country. After getting their luggage out of the plane, they were rushed towards a H1N1 booth at the trivial corner of one compartment from the bravura airport. At the small cubicle, they were assessment to make sure that they’re free from the latest pandemic that fled on Malaysia – the Influenza A or also generally known as the swine flu. The nurses seem to be tangled up pretty much by their works – they were busy taking care of foreigners and countrymen coming in and out of the airport.

“The clock strikes three, what’s next in your mind Detective Hugh?” Michael said; staring at his exuberant Flamingo which was emblazoned with delicate sparkles.

“I say, we should have lunch.”

“But where should it be Detective?”

“Oh, you’ll see: somewhere fishy.” He said; manoeuvring his act forwards without using complicated maps or any GPS devices as if knowing all the road networks and streets of this serene realm.

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Chapter 1 - Of Detective Hugh Damon

A totally-black Mini Cooper S-Cabrio slowed down from the motorway, to a parking spot in front of the Bourdain House – the heart of The Gentlemen’s Club in London. A fine gentleman in green suede was seen walking out of the Mini Cooper, looking rather astonishing as he slowly paced on the grey pavement, to the opening gateway of the century old building. He was soon standing in front of the modishly carved door – waiting calmly as he stands. “What’s the password?” a voice emanated from inside; asking politely in a broad English accent.

“Anything we committed inside should never be revealed outside.” He said calmly - while combing his lank auburn with dry fingers. The door shrieked opened, revealing an old butler with pale complexion; wearing royal velvet with matching pair of pants.

“May I take your coat off, sir?” The butler asked, placing his hands on the green suede.

“No thanks, my dear fellow. I’m on my way to meet a friend,” He said, grinning as he nudges away the butler’s hands from his suede. He calmly admired the luxurious decorations on the wall, as he was on his way to the cellar bar.

----

The comfortable cellar bar appears to be filled with three other gentlemen in various ages, but his eyes were fixed on Mr. Jesse Wilder – a former Field-Marshal of the British Army. Mr. Wilder was smoking Chocolate with cognac, and he appears to be sitting on a majestic red armchair. “May I suggest, Mr. Wilder,” said he, looking carefully at his cigar, “may I suggest that you take your cigarette away? That should just be enough for today.”

“Then it’s the murdering of joy for me, Hugh. Come, join me.” He said, with a careless gesture to invite Hugh Damon to the opposite seat. “Fancy a Chocolate?” he asked – politely handing the cigarette-box to Mr. Damon.

“I beg your pardon my dear friend, I don’t smoke,” Mr. Damon said; making the sign of disapproval.

“Niles,” Mr. Wilder searched for the butler.

“What is it sir?” the butler hurried towards them.

“Would you care to get me some of those lovely foie gras, for my dear fellow?”

“Absolutely sir, I will go right away,” as Niles walked swiftly to the cellar, both of those fine gentlemen rolled their eyes on the fireplace.

“Thank you Mr. Wilder, may God place you under his blessings.” Mr. Damon said, with a grateful smile on his cold young face.

“Regarding Lord Drouhte, I think we should hold our meeting in your place Mr. Damon. What do you think?” he held out his Peruvian pipe.

“That sounds sweet, but I would prefer here. It is a lot safer here,”

“If that’s the case, we will meet again in Saturday then?” he said, emitting a polite smoke from the pipe.

“That would be more than perfect, Mr. Wilder,” Mr. Damon said “that would be more than perfect.”

----

Mr. Damon left the club after consuming some of those brilliant foie gras, served by the butler in velvet. After this, he will join Mr. Wilder in handling one of the most horrifying criminal in the history of all London; Lord Drouhte Von Grovovitch. He realises beautiful days would no longer be in his living diary after this. Not long before he slides into his Mini Cooper, the sound of loud orchestrated music banged the Bourdain House, which lead to an explosion; a massive mushroom cloud was formed up in the peaceful air of the Gentlemen’s Club, leaving imperfect remnants of the building in split seconds. “Good God, Drouhte!” he hoofed towards the burning remnants, bending down to a perfect halt “so, you really want to play fire with fire eh?”

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