Then, forcing his legs to move again, he turns and hauls himself up the stairs to the next floor. The apartment doors here are also locked, but at the end of the hall is a fifth door, which he pulls open. He finds himself looking at mops and brooms. A big, rust-stained, industrial-size basin hangs from one wall. A sagging shelf above the sink holds floor wax, powdered cleanser, paper towels. Nothing he can use. He thinks about taking the powdered cleanser, maybe throwing it into someone’s eyes, then rejects it. There will certainly be a gun pointed at him, and he’ll be dead before his target even sneezes.
He’s climbing up to the third floor when he hears the door to the street open.
“Wait here,” says a male voice. It’s a voice that sounds comfortable with command. “We’ll go up. You guys keep your eyes on the sidewalk. And nobody gets out through this door.”
Rafferty is in the dirty, empty master bedroom of the fourth-floor apartment with no memory of how he got there. “He can’t come here,” Rafferty says. “This place is being watched twenty-four hours, and it’s the first place they’ll look. If he calls you, tell him not to come here.”
“I don’t know whether he’ll call me,” Kosit says. “And there’s no way for me to reach him.”
Rafferty’s bandaged hand fires off a telegram of pain. He’s accidentally put it against the wall to steady himself. He tucks it safely under his right arm and considers whether to ask the next question. “Did you see her?”
A pause. Then, “Yes.”
“Did he?”
“The envelope on the door said not to go in, but you know him. He figured she might still be alive.”
Rafferty’s eyes are closed so tightly he sees red fireworks. “How bad was it?”
“She was an angel,” Kosit says. Rafferty can hear him swallow even on the phone. “She put on a really nice dress and even some makeup. She got all pretty, lay on her back, spread her hair out on the pillow, and went to sleep.”
“God bless her,” Rafferty says around the stone in his throat. “Hold on.” He tucks the phone under his left arm, wipes the cheeks he hadn’t known were wet, and dries his hand on his shirt. Then he puts the phone back to his ear. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
“Nope. I’m at the station now, and there was kind of a flurry a little while ago. Thanom sent a bunch of guys out to Pratunam, but even if it was Arthit, I’m sure he’s not there anymore.”
Rafferty sniffles and says, “He’d want to buy clothes. Pratunam would be good.”
“Yeah. But you know he’s not going to hang around anywhere. He’s probably in some hotel by now.”
“I hope so. What did her note say?”
“He didn’t open it.”
“No, I suppose not. He’d want to be alone when he did that.”
“Right. God forbid he should get emotional in front of somebody.”
“If he does call you, tell him I’ll be out of here by the end of the day tomorrow. All three of us will. Tell him I’ll have my cell phone.”
“If they can put a flag on his phone, they can do the same to yours.”
“I’ll buy a stolen one as soon as I’m off everybody’s radar and call to give you the number. Tell him I can meet him any time after about three tomorrow. We should all be free and clear by then.”
“Just call me,” Kosit says. “That fucker Thanom.”
“Thanom could monitor your phone, too.”
“I’m not important enough.”
“You were at the card game. You’re Arthit’s friend. You should get another cell phone. When you’ve got it, call my landline at the apartment to leave the number. Make something up-you’re calling about the carpeting or something. I can retrieve it from voice mail even if I’m not there.”
“Will do.”
“I’ve got to call you back in a few minutes, after I finish something here. I need you to buy some stuff for me tomorrow morning.” Rafferty disconnects and wipes at his cheeks again. Then, blinking fast, he goes back into the living room. Boo and Da look up when he comes in.
“You okay?” Boo asks.
“It’s a rough time.” Rafferty sits on the stool with the cracked seat. “Listen, I can either write this story or put you together with someone who can do it better than I could. But I want to do something else, too. I want you to meet a guy named Pan.”
Boo’s eyes widen. “The rich guy? The gold car?”
“That’s the one.”
Da says, “Why?”
“I don’t know what I think about him,” Rafferty says, “and a lot depends on who he really is. What he does after he meets you might answer some questions. But I have to tell you that it could be dangerous. I don’t think it will be, but I can’t be certain. And at least we’ll walk in with our eyes open. So it’s up to you.”
Da says, “Everything I’ve done for weeks has been dangerous.”
“You’re a brave kid,” Rafferty says. He turns to Boo. “Let’s talk about what I need you to do tomorrow morning.”
“How many do you want?” Boo asks.
“Fourteen or fifteen, boys and girls. Is that a problem?”
Boo says, “You’re the one with the problems.”
Two pairs of feet, coming up. They’ve already checked the first floor. For a moment, Arthit had thought he might be able to get past them while they were checking out the apartments, slip down the stairs, and deal somehow with whomever they left at the door. But they were smarter than that. At the first-floor landing, there was a short silence, and then the fluorescent light came back on.
“Well, look at that,” said the authoritative voice. “Is the light out on the next floor?”
Arthit heard one pair of shoes go up three or four steps. “No,” said the younger voice. “It’s on.”
“Okay. You wait here. And take your damn gun out. You think you’re in line for dinner or something?”
“No, sir.”
“Don’t move, got it? If you hear something, you just stay here. Yell if you have to, but wait for me.”
“Fine.”
“And remember. He’s dangerous and he’s armed. Nobody’s going to get crazy if you shoot him.”
“But he’s-Do you really think-”
“Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what I’ve been told.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door had closed, and Arthit had waited motionlessly for five or six minutes on the steps just above the third-floor landing until the older cop came back into the stairwell on the second floor and the two men began to climb. Shoes in hand, Arthit moved on flat feet, letting the noise below him drown out the sound of his own movement until he was at the padlocked door to the roof. He can go no farther.
It’s just a matter of time.
While the other two are still moving, he puts the bags at his feet, laying them down in slow motion so the plastic won’t crackle. On the second floor of apartments, the two cops go through the same routine, the younger one waiting in the stairwell while the older one goes into the hallway. As Arthit stands there, his back to the door to the roof, waiting for them to come, waiting for whatever will happen when they do, he realizes he feels nothing except an overpowering loneliness. For fourteen years Noi has been the first person he saw every morning, the person he held as he slept. The sound of her laughter was the world’s most beautiful music.
They were going to get old together.
She had put on lipstick for him. Before she sipped at the tea that she used to wash down the pills, she had put on the light pink lipstick he loved best. That morning, when she moved to his side of the breakfast table and rested her head on his shoulder, she had known it would be the last time.
Arthit finds he doesn’t care whether he lives or dies.
He waits, his body feeling as heavy and inert as stone, as they finish on the second floor and climb to the third. He can probably measure the rest of his life in minutes. The gun at his waist is sharp and hard against his
