• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Imprisonment and Execution in Modern Singapore Part III of Barb's Singapore Saga

Go to CruxDreams.com

Fossy

Tribune
I've made some progress - still slow - but hopeful (like Amanda)

Another tender reunion, Jeffrey and Amanda:

Seratus Sembilan Belas– Four Days 1.3 hours

Remote Interview Room, CNB, Monday, 10:35 AM
Amanda walked down several halls and through doors until she was brought to a halt. The guards yanked off her hood. She first blinked at the sudden light, and then focused on Sergeant Hoa’s face, just inches from her own.
“You are about to meet your attorney by remote video link. There will be a delay to easily cut it off if you say something we don’t like. Understand?”
Amanda nodded her blonde-bobbed head, her eyes wide open with fear of this man.
“Let me be clear about two things, bitch,” Hoa grabbed handfuls of her hair on both sides to control her head. “You will say nothing about ANY mistreatment here at the CNB. You can say that its been scary being in jail, and you were confused. But not a word about how we interrogated you or any other criticism. Remember that we will cut it off anyway, so don’t even try. Understand?” Amanda nodded.
“Second, if you do make any complaint, not only will we cut it off, but see those guards?” He twisted her head around painfully to look at the two guards. Each was brandishing a black wood truncheon. Hoa forced Amanda’s head back to face him. “If you do, they will beat the living daylights out of you with those batons.”
Amanda shivered. He let go of her head. “Do we have an understanding, bitch?”
Jones nodded and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

Remote Attorney Interview Room, CNB, Monday, 10:42 AM
Jeffrey wasn’t surprised when he entered the attorney interview room. It was almost identical to the one at Changi. A desk, a monitor and speaker, and a Cam and microphone. Amanda would be led into a distant room, and the conversation handled electronically. There was a three-second delay to adjust to, but otherwise, communication was clear and top-quality. A guard accompanied him and could cut off the feed if he said something improper.

Hodges sat down and waited for his client to appear. It had been a full week since they had seen or spoken.
As he waited, Jeffrey struggled to contain his feelings of guilt. He hadn’t been there for Amanda, and now she was sentenced to death. How could he face the sweet, innocent girl? What excuse could he make?
However, as the moments passed, he found thoughts to justify his actions and excuse his neglect.
He had tried to see her but had been denied. He was overwhelmed with working on Barbara’s case (without Amanda’s help, it should be remembered - she had let him down!) and attending the caning (no matter how unpleasant, he had to be there to observe) and maneuvering to get Josephine's political help with it all. Don’t forget, he told himself, it was Amanda who bought drugs and got herself in this mess. And then she had to go and confess rather than waiting for him. That was why her trial was moved up to Sunday, when Jeffrey was enjoying some well-earned rest! The more he thought, the more it all seemed the fault of his flighty intern.

A moment later, Amanda Jones appeared. Jeffrey’s heart immediately went out to her. She looked so small and scared and helpless - bags under her eyes, tears on her cheeks, her lips trembling. Jeffrey had no suspicion that this was caused by abuse or even neglect. He was assured that Williams had looked after her. Six days alone in custody, a trial and conviction, and a death sentence would upset anyone - especially an innocent, frail girl like Amanda. Jeffrey wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and comfort her. Whisper comforting words to her as he stroked her full ass.
Wait! He told himself to get back to business.

“Oh, Mr. Hodges! I’m so glad to see you.” A small smile came to her lips, and her sky-blue eyes looked longingly at the camera. “Are you OK? I was worried about you when you didn’t come to my trial. Are you alright?”
The question knocked Jeffrey entirely off-balance. With the shock of Amanda’s unappealable sentence from the trial, he was more focused on having an excuse for being too busy making love to Trixie. He hadn’t expected Amanda to be worried about him and his health!
“Oh, no. I’m fine. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I should have been here for you! You see, I, uh, I had other, er, yes other pressing matters – work-related matters. I had to attend to several pressing matters”
“Please, Jeffrey. It’s not your fault. I’m sure you have been working every moment with helping Miss Moore. I’m so sorry that I’ve created another concern for you. I have been so worried about Miss Moore and her caning on Friday. Was it as bad as last time? Did she make it through alright?” (It was so much in Amanda’s nature to think about Barbara possible suffering and not complain about her own.)
Jeffrey didn’t want to upset the girl further and said, “It was bad, but not too bad. She’ll be fine.” A voice in his head yelled – that caning almost destroyed her, and she’s dying in four days! She’ll be fine?
“Oh, I’m so glad. Barbara is such a fine woman. Did you know that she’s my hero! That fine woman deserves none of this.”
“Nor do you, dear Amanda.”
“But I do, don’t you see? I was so stupid to try to get uppers to stay awake and work on Moore’s case. I had no way of knowing the girl at the dorm would slip in cocaine instead. I brought all this on myself. I should have talked to you. You would have set me straight.”
“It was just an innocent mistake, Amanda. It’s been blown all out of proportion! Your trial, your sentence…” Jeffrey was unable even to say what confronted her in a few days.
“I deserve to be punished. I trust you to make a fine appeal and at least get it reduced. But I’m ready to take what’s coming to me. A cheerleader stands up to adversity.”
Jeffrey choked on hearing her innocent trust in him and optimism for her fate. He couldn’t break the news to her about the lack of appeal. At least, not right now.
“You are very brave, Amanda. It is wonderful that you keep up your hopes.”

“A person should always be positive,” said Amanda, even with tears running down her cheeks. With her hands cuffed behind her, she wasn’t even able to wipe them away. “In freshman Social Studies in High School, I earned extra credit by memorizing the mottos of each of the fifty states. Do you know what South Carolina’s motto is?”
Jeffrey nodded no, tears running down his cheeks as well. This little girl was so sweet and trusting. Yet she was condemned to be executed brutally in four days.
Dum Spiro Spero! I thought that sounded so cool. Do you know what it means? ‘While I breathe, I hope.’ Those are the words this cheerleader lives by!” Amanda smiled her cheerful, cheerleader smile as tears flowed down her cheeks.

The guard cut off the feed and said, “Time’s up, counselor. We have to transfer her to Changi. You can see her there.”
As the screen went blank, Jeffrey still saw Amanda’s brave, smiling face, and he broke down and sobbed.
"But I’m ready to take what’s coming to me. A cheerleader stands up to adversity ..." Makes you want to grab her by the blonde bob and shake her, shouting "It's a fucking death sentence you stupid c ... cheerleader!"

A wonderfully touching episode, the emotion from which was clouded only by Hodges' extreme dereliction of duty, and Jones' utterly deluded sense of duty!
 
Last edited:

Fossy

Tribune
What has Trixie been doing in this picture of her, huh? Jeffrey is out of the office a lot, and she is most clearly required to keep things ticking over on his behalf. But wait, is she actually refastening her clothes here? Or is the way her shirt hangs open all part of the fashion trend of today?

And those guys, whoever they may be … Officials, Executives, Legal Agents … are looking very pleased with themselves.

Has our Trashy-Trailer-Tramp been reverting to type? And if so what was her aim in pleasing this group? Was she looking to help Jeffrey’s cause given the mess he has made of pretty much everything, or heap further troubles on Amanda so that she gets to keep this job?

Or are we over-thinking this and doing Trixie a grave disservice, because she might well indeed be simply ‘doing her job’ …
 

Attachments

  • Keeping Things Ticking Over ....jpeg
    Keeping Things Ticking Over ....jpeg
    257.8 KB · Views: 47

Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
What has Trixie been doing in this picture of her, huh? Jeffrey is out of the office a lot, and she is most clearly required to keep things ticking over on his behalf. But wait, is she actually refastening her clothes here? Or is the way her shirt hangs open all part of the fashion trend of today?

And those guys, whoever they may be … Officials, Executives, Legal Agents … are looking very pleased with themselves.

Has our Trashy-Trailer-Tramp been reverting to type? And if so what was her aim in pleasing this group? Was she looking to help Jeffrey’s cause given the mess he has made of pretty much everything, or heap further troubles on Amanda so that she gets to keep this job?

Or are we over-thinking this and doing Trixie a grave disservice, because she might well indeed be simply ‘doing her job’ …

Enquiring minds would love to know ... :rolleyes:
 

twonines

Senator
What has Trixie been doing in this picture of her, huh? Jeffrey is out of the office a lot, and she is most clearly required to keep things ticking over on his behalf. But wait, is she actually refastening her clothes here? Or is the way her shirt hangs open all part of the fashion trend of today?

And those guys, whoever they may be … Officials, Executives, Legal Agents … are looking very pleased with themselves.

Has our Trashy-Trailer-Tramp been reverting to type? And if so what was her aim in pleasing this group? Was she looking to help Jeffrey’s cause given the mess he has made of pretty much everything, or heap further troubles on Amanda so that she gets to keep this job?

Or are we over-thinking this and doing Trixie a grave disservice, because she might well indeed be simply ‘doing her job’ …
Having given Barb and Amanda so much grief, perhaps PrPr intends to use Trixie to make it a triple.
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
What has Trixie been doing in this picture of her, huh? Jeffrey is out of the office a lot, and she is most clearly required to keep things ticking over on his behalf. But wait, is she actually refastening her clothes here? Or is the way her shirt hangs open all part of the fashion trend of today?

And those guys, whoever they may be … Officials, Executives, Legal Agents … are looking very pleased with themselves.

Has our Trashy-Trailer-Tramp been reverting to type? And if so what was her aim in pleasing this group? Was she looking to help Jeffrey’s cause given the mess he has made of pretty much everything, or heap further troubles on Amanda so that she gets to keep this job?

Or are we over-thinking this and doing Trixie a grave disservice, because she might well indeed be simply ‘doing her job’ …
Enquiring minds would love to know ... :rolleyes:
Geeze!!! :eek: Do you guys realize how many complicated threads I'm weaving as our two lovely women, their hour come round at last, slouch towards Bethlehem their executions?:hanged:
If I cover every tramp in Singapore through her carnal escapades, we will never get these miscreants executed!:doh:
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Having given Barb and Amanda so much grief, perhaps PrPr intends to use Trixie to make it a triple.
Geeze again! Do the suggestions for plot complications never end?
Execute Trixie! How about Josephine? Chunhua? Musa's secretary Aakriti? Chynna, the hotel maid? The sexy hostess at Raffles Bar? Don't forget Charlotte! Where will it end? I'll need to call in help from @thehangingtree for a place of a thousand crosses!!!!
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Those dreaded words that strike fear and trembling in even the strongest soul:
"I'm having some computer problems." :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek:
It's not dead, but much trouble and time wasted. I shall be able to post in the morning (I hope), but might miss a few days. Hold on to whatever body part helps soothe you and I shall be back!
Things are better but not yet normal. Next post will be delayed. Hope to make today.
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Solid progress for the indefatigable investigators; Mamat anticipates a new tasty morsel; A change of air (scene?) for Amanda.

Seratus Dua Puluh (120) – Four Days 1 hour

Chief Inspector’s Office, Parliamentary Guards HQ, Monday, 11:00 AM
There was a knock on Musa’s office door. Aakriti entered with two folders.

“The reports you been waiting for from forensics. A copy for each,” the lovely Malay lady said before turning to go. For once, Frosts’s attention wasn’t on her beautiful figure, but on the packet, she handed him.
The two detectives eagerly scanned the reports. Both were too professional to read the last page and jump a conclusion. Only assertions backed by concrete evidence would do, especially in this case. They finished at the same time and stared at each other.

Frost broke the first smile. “Looks like a bullseye, luv!”
Musa beamed back, “Handwriting appears to be that of Josephine Shanmugam.”
“Positive fingerprint match to her, also. She wrote that note!” crowed Frost.
“No agents ever surveilled Moore nor searched her hotel. She was not a drug suspect!” pronounced Musa.
“Phone and activity logs show that Josephine went to the CNB and met with Jimmy Rogers on Thursday, four days before Barbara’s trial.”
“There is, of course, no direct evidence of what they discussed,” commented bin Ibrahim.
“True, but the most likely inference would be that they planned the drug charge against Moore.”
“It will certainly require a convincing explanation not to believe that!”
“Shall we go and have a chat with the Minister of Home Affairs?” asked Frost, reaching for his fedora.
“Not quite yet, my friend. We have evidence, but we must have allies to go up against an influential cabinet official. Will your Commissioner back us?”
“Not a snowball’s chance, luv. He’s tucked into sweet Jo’s back pocket.”
“Then we shall depend on my boss. “Aakriti,” he spoke into the intercom.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Please see how soon we can meet with the Commander.”
“Yes, Sir.”

Commandant’s Office Changi Prison, Singapore, Monday 11:10 AM
Imran Awang sat facing the Commandant.
“Have we taught Moore another lesson?” asked Mamat.
“We tried, sir. That bitch is damn stubborn. But I promise she won’t forget what we just did to her for a long time.”
“At least until Friday,” said the Major with a chuckle.
"Right, sir,” replied Imran with a laugh.
“How much is she hurt?”
“Not that bad, bruises only. The Doctor has taken her to the infirmary and should have her patched up by evening.”
“Yes, Good. By the way, due to Moore needing treatment and the next matter we’ll discuss, I’ve decided on putting off resolving our ‘internal’ problem until tomorrow. Just so you know.”
“Thank you, sir. Just so you know, the Doctor threatened to complain about our treatment of Moore.”
“Did she indeed? Well, that might be interesting.” He smiled broadly. “Now, that next matter. About noon, we will be receiving a new prisoner sent over by the Central Narcotics Bureau, a Miss Amanda Jones. She’s a young, small thing, but most attractive. She’s condemned to die with Moore on Friday.”
“Two attractive women flailing out their lives naked? That should ensure a huge TV audience!”
“You are exactly correct. Therefore, we shall handle Miss Jones with special care.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the Chief Guard with enthusiasm.

Remote Interview Room, CNB, Monday, 11:25 AM
The screen went blank, and Amanda began crying in earnest. She had so wanted to rush into Jeffrey’s arms and have him hold her tight, tell her she was safe. Maybe, even say he loved her. But he had been so distant on the screen. And he didn’t look at all well. Amanda worried that he was working too hard without her to help him.

The guards came and jerked her to her feet. Removing her shackles, they told her to strip off the jumpsuit.
“We don’t waste a good suit on a bitch heading to prison,” sneered the one as he grabbed it from her. They left her in her open pink blouse and matching tiny mini.
Sergent Hoa entered and surveyed the half-naked girl. “Shit, I wish we had you for another few days, you little slut. We could enjoy your whore’s body! OK, full transport chains.”
Three guards surrounded the petite girl and proceeded to chain her up. First, they locked a steel collar around her narrow throat, and a matching steel band cinched tightly around her middle. These both were equipped with multiple rings to attach chains. They tightly locked handcuffs on her wrists behind her back and hooked the linking chain waistbelt. Another chain was wrapped around her forearms and tightened until it pulled her arms back painfully. Then a short chain attached it to her collar, holding her neck back.
They bound her ankles in cuffs with a chain that was pulled tightly up to her waistband and locked there. Two chains were attached to her collar and then to the waist. These served no restraint purpose; they were just for decoration.
Hoa stepped up to apply the last chain, a fine, thin stainless steel length. He attached one end at the back of her waistband. He fed it between her legs and pulled it up tight in front. Yanking almost hard enough to lift Amanda off her feet, he locked the end to the front band. The girl cried out as the chain bite sharply into her sore asshole and pussy.
“Hood her.” The slimy hood was pulled over her head, plunging the tightly bound girl into total darkness. The neckband was tied snugly, cutting off fresh air.

“There,” said Hoa, standing back and admiring the chained little girl. “That’s a nice gift-wrapped package. I hope Bin Osman appreciates our consideration.” He reached out and took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched down hard until Amanda squealed in pain.
“Let’s get her in the van.”
Amanda felt rough hands grab her and propel her forward. Stumbling in her bonds, the girl tried to move as the guards urged and even dragged her down hallway after hallway. All the while, hands were groping at her body, taking any liberty they desired.
She heard them emerge to the outside and listened to the sound of a motor running. Already she was finding it hard to breathe the stale, fetid air inside the hood.
Hands lifted her and placed her on a hard bench. She felt a man sit tight beside her on each side. Soon they were groping her body even more. The seemed to articularly enjoy tugging the chain that ran between her legs to make her cry out.
The van started, and she began what might well have been her last car ride.
 
Last edited by a moderator:

Fossy

Tribune
Solid progress for the indefatigable investigators; Mamat anticipates a new tasty morsel; A change of air (scene?) for Amanda.

Seratus Dua Puluh (120) – Four Days 1 hour

Chief Inspector’s Office, Parliamentary Guards HQ, Monday, 11:00 AM
There was a knock on Musa’s office door. Aakriti entered with two folders.

“The reports you been waiting for from forensics. A copy for each,” the lovely Malay lady said before turning to go. For once, Frosts’s attention wasn’t on her beautiful figure, but on the packet, she handed him.
The two detectives eagerly scanned the reports. Both were too professional to read the last page and jump a conclusion. Only assertions backed by concrete evidence would do, especially in this case. They finished at the same time and stared at each other.

Frost broke the first smile. “Looks like a bullseye, luv!”
Musa beamed back, “Handwriting appears to be that of Josephine Shanmugam.”
“Positive fingerprint match to her, also. She wrote that note!” crowed Frost.
“No agents ever surveilled Moore nor searched her hotel. She was not a drug suspect!” pronounced Musa.
“Phone and activity logs show that Josephine went to the CNB and met with Jimmy Rogers on Thursday, four days before Barbara’s trial.”
“There is, of course, no direct evidence of what they discussed,” commented bin Ibrahim.
“True, but the most likely inference would be that they planned the drug charge against Moore.”
“It will certainly require a convincing explanation not to believe that!”
“Shall we go and have a chat with the Minister of Home Affairs?” asked Frost, reaching for his fedora.
“Not quite yet, my friend. We have evidence, but we must have allies to go up against an influential cabinet official. Will your Commissioner back us?”
“Not a snowball’s chance, luv. He’s tucked into sweet Jo’s back pocket.”
“Then we shall depend on my boss. “Aakriti,” he spoke into the intercom.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Please see how soon we can meet with the Commander.”
“Yes, Sir.”

Commandant’s Office Changi Prison, Singapore, Monday 11:10 AM
Imran Awang sat facing the Commandant.
“Have we taught Moore another lesson?” asked Mamat.
“We tried, sir. That bitch is damn stubborn. But I promise she won’t forget what we just did to her for a long time.”
“At least until Friday,” said the Major with a chuckle.
"Right, sir,” replied Imran with a laugh.
“How much is she hurt?”
“Not that bad, bruises only. The Doctor has taken her to the infirmary and should have her patched up by evening.”
“Yes, Good. By the way, due to Moore needing treatment and the next matter we’ll discuss, I’ve decided on putting off resolving our ‘internal’ problem until tomorrow. Just so you know.”
“Thank you, sir. Just so you know, the Doctor threatened to complain about our treatment of Moore.”
“Did she indeed? Well, that might be interesting.” He smiled broadly. “Now, that next matter. About noon, we will be receiving a new prisoner sent over by the Central Narcotics Bureau, a Miss Amanda Jones. She’s a young, small thing, but most attractive. She’s condemned to die with Moore on Friday.”
“Two attractive women flailing out their lives naked? That should ensure a huge TV audience!”
“You are exactly correct. Therefore, we shall handle Miss Jones with special care.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the Chief Guard with enthusiasm.

Remote Interview Room, CNB, Monday, 11:25 AM
The screen went blank, and Amanda began crying in earnest. She had so wanted to rush into Jeffrey’s arms and have him hold her tight, tell her she was safe. Maybe, even say he loved her. But he had been so distant on the screen. And he didn’t look at all well. Amanda worried that he was working too hard without her to help him.

The guards came and jerked her to her feet. Removing her shackles, they told her to strip off the jumpsuit.
“We don’t waste a good suit on a bitch heading to prison,” sneered the one as he grabbed it from her. They left her in her open pink blouse and matching tiny mini.
Sergent Hoa entered and surveyed the half-naked girl. “Shit, I wish we had you for another few days, you little slut. We could enjoy your whore’s body! OK, full transport chains.”
Three guards surrounded the petite girl and proceeded to chain her up. First, they locked a steel collar around her narrow throat, and a matching steel band cinched tightly around her middle. These both were equipped with multiple rings to attach chains. They tightly locked handcuffs on her wrists behind her back and hooked the linking chain waistbelt. Another chain was wrapped around her forearms and tightened until it pulled her arms back painfully. Then a short chain attached it to her collar, holding her neck back.
They bound her ankles in cuffs with a chain that was pulled tightly up to her waistband and locked there. Two chains were attached to her collar and then to the waist. These served no restraint purpose; they were just for decoration.
Hoa stepped up to apply the last chain, a fine, thin stainless steel length. He attached one end at the back of her waistband. He fed it between her legs and pulled it up tight in front. Yanking almost hard enough to lift Amanda off her feet, he locked the end to the front band. The girl cried out as the chain bite sharply into her sore asshole and pussy.
“Hood her.” The slimy hood was pulled over her head, plunging the tightly bound girl into total darkness. The neckband was tied snugly, cutting off fresh air.

“There,” said Hoa, standing back and admiring the chained little girl. “That’s a nice gift-wrapped package. I hope Bin Osman appreciates out consideration.” He reached out and took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched down hard until Amanda squealed in pain.
“Let’s get her in the van.”
Amanda felt rough hands grab her and propel her forward. Stumbling in her bonds, the girl tried to moe as the guards urged and even dragged her down hallway after hallway. All the while, hands were groping at her body, taking any liberty they desired.
She heard them emerge to the outside and listened to the sound of a motor running. Already she was finding it hard to breathe the stale, fetid air inside the hood.
Hands lifted her and placed her on a hard bench. She felt a man sit tight beside her on each side. Soon they were groping her body even more. The seemed to articularly enjoy tugging the chain that ran between her legs to make her cry out.
The van started, and she began what might well have been her last car ride.
"Amanda worried that he was working too hard ..." - Oh Amanda he is, but not in the way you imagine!

The description of how Miss Jones was secured for transport was just beautiful. A girl can never wear enough chains!
 

twonines

Senator
Barb and Amanda`s existence with peril is fraught,
In a steel trap they are both firmly caught.
Because Chunhua tried to help Moore,
Mamat has a suitable and cruel plan in store.
Barb still has her "interview" with Jo,
And will need to provide a good show.
As for Jo, her world could come tumbling down,
If Musa`s boss really decides to go to town.
 

Praefectus Praetorio

Brother of the Quill
Seratus Dua Puluh Satu - Four Days

Chief Inspector’s Office, Parliamentary Guards HQ, Monday, 12:02 PM
Aakriti stuck her lovely head in the office door. “The Commander is out on a lunch call. He can see you at 1:30.”
“Fine,” said Musa. “See if Captain Mcgregor can join us.” He winked to Frost. “Mcgregor dispises Josephine. Like to grab lunch now?”
“The Adjournment?’
“You like their ale?”
“Closest thing to real ale this side of the dateline!”
“Fine with me. Grab your fedora. We want to be back in good time to meet with the Commander.”

Taxi on the way to Singapore Cricket Club, Monday 12:08 PM
Jeffrey checked his watch for the fourth time. The midday traffic was impossible. With his late start, he might be as much as fifteen minutes late to lunch with the Ambassador. He dialed Trixie.
“Yes, Mr. Hodges.”
“Please call the Cricket Club and have them tell the Ambassador that I’m running a little late.”
“At once, Jeffrey.”

Commandant’s Office, Changi Prison, Monday, 12:09 PM
The intercom squawked, “Commandant. The van with the new prisoner is pulling in.”
“Thank you. Have the prisoner brought to reception room A. Instruct the guards I mentioned meet us there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come along, Imran, let’s see what gift has been delivered to us.”

Singapore Cricket Club, Singapore, Monday, 12:17 PM
Jeffrey’s cab pulled up under the entryway at the Cricket Club, and he burst out the door.
Singapore_Cricket_Club_3,_Jan_06.jpg
Hop So Sing had been the head doorman at the Singapore Cricket Club for fifteen years. Before that, he’s spent twenty-three years as underdoorman. He treated the entryway as his little kingdom. Incredibly, he knew every one of the 1,300+ members by face and name. While welcoming each warmly, he guarded the premises like a mother tiger guarded her young.
Therefore, when he saw a man, disheveled and unshaven, that he didn’t recognize, jump out of an ordinary taxi and begin to run, in total disregard for proper decorum, up the steps, he stiffened and prepared for combat. He pressed the remote in his pocket, which would summon two armed security guards. He then placed himself in the middle of the entry doors, legs spread in a defensive stance, arms outstretched, ready to protect his home.
The irresistible force of Jeffrey Hodges, 27, 6’ 2,” lean and muscular former power-forward Lacrosse player at the University of Maryland came up the stairs and met the immovable object of Hop So Sing, 55, 5’ 1.”
The result was never in doubt, Hodges was stopped.
“Pardon me, Sir,” said Hop So in a perfectly accented British Midlands accent. “May I ask your business here?”
“I’m late for a luncheon; I must enter immediately!” Jeffrey replied as he tried to step around the little man.
“This is a private club,” said the doorman with proper emphasis on the word ‘private,’ and moving to block the intruder. In a moment, he was backed up by two, well-dressed and very large, security. “I need some more information. Who did you say you are meeting?”
“Walkerson, Ambassador Scot Walkerson. He’s expecting me for lunch at noon in the main dining room.”
“Noon?” said Sing with a raised eyebrow. Without looking at his Rolex (a gift from the grateful members on his 35th year at the club), Hop So knew it was 12:17. He pressed the on control of an earpiece. “Is Ambassador Walkerson expect a Mr. – Sir?”
Hodges, Jeffrey Hodges!”
“A Mr. Hodges?”
After a brief pause, Sing gave Jeffrey a slight bow and waved him by. “These men will show you to your party, Sir.”

Members’ Dining Room, SCC, Singapore, Monday, 12:21 PM
Jeffrey hurried up to the Ambassador’s table in the main dining room. He acknowledged Minister Burnside and then hastened to apologize to the Ambassador. With his usual political grace, the envoy dismissed the issue and rose to shake Jeffrey’s hand.
Scot Walkerson, former Milwaukee County Executive, governor of Wisconsin, and close political ally of the President, had been appointed to the much-sought-after station in Singapore, five months earlier. Jeffrey had only spoken a few words to him in receiving lines at Embassy social functions. Standing only 5’9” and weighing 163, he appeared slight alongside the tall Hodges. But with his dark brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes, and a friendly smile, he was always able to charm. Jeffrey had heard that he had used his personal funds to bring his 2003 Harley Davidson Road King to Singapore.

“Please, Mr. Hodges, be seated,” Scot said. He gestured, and a waiter instantly appeared to take Jeffrey‘s order.
Hodges was too flustered to know what to order, so the Ambassador suggested, “Why don’t you get the SCC All-rounder? It the chef’s excellent take on a club sandwich.”
“Yes. I shall. Thank you. And a Pepsi.”
“Minister Burnside has been catching me up on your case. The bottom line is the US citizen Barbara Moore committed some minor infractions, followed by ill-thought-out words and actions. Then became the prime suspect in a possible manslaughter. In summary, she has got herself sentenced to hanging and impalement. However, how they propose to do that is a mystery.” He chuckled to Burnside. “The courts rejected Miss Moore’s appeal, and you want the President of the Republic to commute Miss Moore’s sentence – and to what exactly?”
“Ideally to time served and banishment. Remind the President that Barbara’s initial offense was gum-chewing, and it just snowballed from there. Send her back to the states, never to return.”
“Hmmm, that might be a bridge too far. However, I can assure you that we do not want the spectacle of a US citizen being executed here, especially not in some weird and gruesome way.”
“Of course, Ambassador.”
“The best I might achieve is reduction to some length of prison time. The President has listened with sympathy when I have raised this. She doesn't always pursue the bloodthirsty approach of some of the political leaders here. However, she must respect the recommendation of the Cabinet. Have you made any contacts there?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m hoping that the Minister of Home Affairs will be on our side.”
“Really! Shanmugam at Home Affairs,” interrupted Burnside. “If she supports clemency, we would be in a very good place!”
“Indeed,” agreed Walkerson. “I think we are looking good. Anything else that I should know, Hodges?”
Jeffrey had no choice but to bring it up now.
“Yes, Sir. There is one other small thing. My legal intern Miss Amanda Jones,” he turned to Burnside, “You’ve met her, Minister.”
“Yes, a charming young thing.”
“Well, she made a little error in judgment and has just been convicted of drug dealing and sentenced to die like Barbara on Friday. Could you plead her case as well?”

Walkerman stared at Hodges for a moment, his eyes widening, his thin nostrils flaring, a head of steam seeming to build internally!
“A second American! From the Embassy! Drug dealing!” Scot’s voice was rising quickly. “Sentenced to death? A little error in judgment!!” He stood and, totally forgetting the place, was shouting. “What the hell is your intern doing dealing drugs?”
 
Last edited:

Fossy

Tribune
Thi
Seratus Dua Puluh Satu - Four Days

Chief Inspector’s Office, Parliamentary Guards HQ, Monday, 12:02 PM
Aakriti stuck her lovely head in the office door. “The Commander is out on a lunch call. He can see you at 1:30.”
“Fine,” said Musa. “See if Captain Mcgregor can join us.” He winked to Frost. “Mcgregor dispises Josephine. Like to grab lunch now?”
“The Adjournment?’
“You like their ale?”
“Closest thing to real ale this side of the dateline!”
“Fine with me. Grab your fedora. We want to be back in good time to meet with the Commander.”

Taxi on the way to Singapore Cricket Club, Monday 12:08 PM
Jeffrey checked his watch for the fourth time. The midday traffic was impossible. With his late start, he might be as much as fifteen minutes late to lunch with the Ambassador. He dialed Trixie.
“Yes, Mr. Hodges.”
“Please call the Cricket Club and have them tell the Ambassador that I’m running a little late.”
“At once, Jeffrey.”

Commandant’s Office, Changi Prison, Monday, 12:09 PM
The intercom squawked, “Commandant. The van with the new prisoner is pulling in.”
“Thank you. Have the prisoner brought to reception room A. Instruct the guards I mentioned meet us there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come along, Imran, let’s see what gift has been delivered to us.”

Singapore Cricket Club, Singapore, Monday, 12:17 PM
Jeffrey’s cab pulled up under the entryway at the Cricket Club, and he burst out the door.
View attachment 905580
Hop So Sing had been the head doorman at the Singapore Cricket Club for fifteen years. Before that, he’s spent twenty-three years as underdoorman. He treated the entryway as his little kingdom. Incredibly, he knew every one of the 1,300+ members by face and name. While welcoming each warmly, he guarded the premises like a mother tiger guarded her young.
Therefore, when he saw a man, disheveled and unshaven, that he didn’t recognize, jump out of an ordinary taxi and begin to run, in total disregard for proper decorum, up the steps, he stiffened and prepared for combat. He pressed the remote in his pocket, which would summon two armed security guards. He then placed himself in the middle of the entry doors, legs spread in a defensive stance, arms outstretched, ready to protect his home.
The irresistible force of Jeffrey Hodges, 27, 6’ 2,” lean and muscular former power-forward Lacrosse player at the University of Maryland came up the stairs and met the immovable object of Hop So Sing, 55, 5’ 1.”
The result was never in doubt, Hodges was stopped.
“Pardon me, Sir,” said Hop So in a perfectly accented British Midlands accent. “May I ask your business here?”
“I’m late for a luncheon; I must enter immediately!” Jeffrey replied as he tried to step around the little man.
“This is a private club,” said the doorman with proper emphasis on the word ‘private,’ and moving to block the intruder. In a moment, he was backed up by two, well-dressed and very large, security. “I need some more information. Who did you say you are meeting?”
“Walkerson, Ambassador Scot Walkerson. He’s expecting me for lunch at noon in the main dining room.”
“Noon?” said Sing with a raised eyebrow. Without looking at his Rolex (a gift from the grateful members on his 35th year at the club), Hop So knew it was 12:17. He pressed the on control of an earpiece. “Is Ambassador Walkerson expect a Mr. – Sir?”
Hodges, Jeffrey Hodges!”
“A Mr. Hodges?”
After a brief pause, Sing gave Jeffrey a slight bow and waved him by. “These men will show you to your party, Sir.”

Members’ Dining Room, SCC, Singapore, Monday, 12:21 PM
Jeffrey hurried up to the Ambassador’s table in the main dining room. He acknowledged Minister Burnside and then hastened to apologize to the Ambassador. With his usual political grace, the envoy dismissed the issue and rose to shake Jeffrey’s hand.
Scot Walkerson, former Milwaukee County Executive, governor of Wisconsin, and close political ally of the President, had been appointed to the much-sought-after station in Singapore, five months earlier. Jeffrey had only spoken a few words to him in receiving lines at Embassy social functions. Standing only 5’9” and weighing 163, he appeared slight alongside the tall Hodges. But with his dark brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes, and a friendly smile, he was always able to charm. Jeffrey had heard that he had used his personal funds to bring his 2003 Harley Davidson Road King to Singapore.

“Please, Mr. Hodges, be seated,” Scot said. He gestured, and a waiter instantly appeared to take Jeffrey‘s order.
Hodges was too flustered to know what to order, so the Ambassador suggested, “Why don’t you get the SCC All-rounder? It the chef’s excellent take on a club sandwich.”
“Yes. I shall. Thank you. And a Pepsi.”
“Minister Burnside has been catching me up on your case. The bottom line is the US citizen Barbara Moore committed some minor infractions, followed by ill-thought-out words and actions. Then became the prime suspect in a possible manslaughter. In summary, she has got herself sentenced to hanging and impalement. However, how they propose to do that is a mystery.” He chuckled to Burnside. “The courts rejected Miss Moore’s appeal, and you want the President of the Republic to commute Miss Moore’s sentence – and to what exactly?”
“Ideally to time served and banishment. Remind the President that Barbara’s initial offense was gum-chewing, and it just snowballed from there. Send her back to the states, never to return.”
“Hmmm, that might be a bridge too far. However, I can assure you that we do not want the spectacle of a US citizen being executed here, especially not in some weird and gruesome way.”
“Of course, Ambassador.”
“The best I might achieve is reduction to some length of prison time. The President has listened with sympathy when I have raised this. She doesn't always pursue the bloodthirsty approach of some of the political leaders here. However, she must respect the recommendation of the Cabinet. Have you made any contacts there?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m hoping that the Minister of Home Affairs will be on our side.”
“Really! Shanmugam at Home Affairs,” interrupted Burnside. “If she supports clemency, we would be in a very good place!”
“Indeed,” agreed Walkerson. “I think we are looking good. Anything else that I should know, Hodges?”
Jeffrey had no choice but to bring it up now.
“Yes, Sir. There is one other small thing. My legal intern Miss Amanda Jones,” he turned to Burnside, “You’ve met her, Minister.”
“Yes, a charming young thing.”
“Well, she made a little error in judgment and has just been convicted of drug dealing and sentenced to die like Barbara on Friday. Could you plead her case as well?”

Walkerman stared at Hodges for a moment, his eyes widening, his thin nostrils flaring, a head of steam seeming to build internally!
“A second American! From the Embassy! Drug dealing!” Scot’s voice was rising quickly. “Sentenced to death? A little error in judgment!!” He stood and, totally forgetting the place, was shouting. “What the hell is your intern doing dealing drugs?”
This whole sorry state of affairs 'is just not cricket' in any way shape of form! I love the delectable sound of the 'SCC All Rounder' though - sounds like a more than ample lunch option!

I wonder how successful Jeffrey's appeal will be? He seemed to be getting a considered ear when talking about Barb, but the mention of Amanda seems to have left him on a rather sticky wicket!

Great stuff PrPr
 
Top Bottom