Five years later Beefy’s Home boy moniker came as a surprise. “Beef” was of course one’s own invention and the Bruiser had retaliated on his side with Oscar. You would have to ask Beef how the man had arrived at that. No complaints, Osk. was a bit alright; certainly it was rather better than the default John. One thought of the reckless Irishman of course. Understandably, Beef didn’t much like his own tag, but the man let it ride. Mocked for his jelly-belly Beefy had the gumption to contest the matter. There was nothing particularly fat guts about him, not at all. Why? Like anything else in B.’s case, this was no put-on. Babi used to say, We can never see ourselves.
The Reprobate had come up to the morning table. On the Saturday Beef had in fact been asked about the Reprobate. (Jack the turned-eye boozer in the common reference.) Three days returned no sign of the man there was cause for concern. Busker/boozer Rahim had been committed to IMH; the same could easily have happened to Reprobate.
Among the local lads Beefy was Mohd. Flores. From the Indo island, yes, Reprobate revealed.
Beef explained it was for his broad face, slit eyes, the springy hair. In fact the ancestry was Bugis; Sulawesi. That was where Beefy’s Chinese grandfather had hailed from. Ah Bee originally became Abin when the man converted. Force of circumstances, Beefy seemed to sensibly suggest.
Very tough days back then, Beefy said. Grandpappy Abin had been samseng, a gangster; both back in Bugis land and later after he migrated to the neighbouring isle in the thirties.
Here he eventually settled a couple kms from Geylang Serai up on present day Paya Lebar Road. Not all Grandad’s ventures were known by the grandson, but what Beefy clearly remembered was the “treasure chests” he called them lining the main room of the house.
Good earnings and seemed Granddad gave the law a wide berth by that stage. Later there was a legitimate venture in partnership with a pal for a bus service running initially from Lower Geylang there up into town. Later again expanded and finally bought out by a large transport group.
Currently Beef was doing it tough. The supply of the product had dried up. There had been seizures and arrests, the heat on, man needed to lie low. Wife and kids over in Tanjung Pinang were crying out for funds. Recent days Beefy had given the go-ahead to sell the gold and all his precious stones. Tough times.
The four leg here was returning little and the other the usual story of near misses. Couple days past 8 and 12 came up when Beef had taken 11 and 8. Terbalik. “Arse about,” the old Aussie gamblers used to say.
Granddad used to run a book in the kampung over at Paya Lebar way there back in his day. How to set up properly to guarantee all was fair and square was the question. Seems the old man came up with a scheme of his own devising with numbers inscribed the night before on a coconut which was taken back up to the topmost branches and for the draw duly brought down in the morning. Naturally, as in all such operations, it was the House that always came out in front. Coin for the treasure chests.
That was all good and well. Trouble was Granddad had taken six wives. That was where the trouble lay and the man came a proper cropper. Beef didn’t elaborate.
Like a recessive gene, the gangsterism had skipped one generation. Beefy’s own father had always played perfectly straight, didn’t like anything crooked. Beef had given the old man lottsa heartache. You teach me all this—the police station, law courts, prison, the old man meant.
Dad refused to visit Beef at Changi. On one release he came down to collect his son, but would not enter the gates, calling instead from outside the walls with his whistle.
If Beefy had any regrets he certainly didn’t let on. What was to say?
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