Breathing Water: A Bangkok Thriller

of white plastic bags, as are both of Da’s. Even across the room, Rose can see Da follow Boo with her eyes, watching him as though he changes into something more interesting every moment he’s in sight. Exactly, Rose thinks, what Miaow doesn’t need.

Miaow sits bolt upright as the door opens. She leans forward, trying to shorten the distance between them without getting up.

But Boo doesn’t even look in their direction. He has stopped and bought supplies: brooms, toilet paper, bags of food, bottled water, and he begins immediately to parcel them out and give orders, delegating three kids to clean out the toilet room, handing money to another and assigning five to go with her and bring back hot food. The smallest kids are handed the new reed brooms and told to sweep the dirt floor.

Not until the the random energy in the room has been harnessed and the kids are all engaged in their tasks does Boo lift his eyes to them and wave them over. Rose gets up and then leans down to pick up the shawl, and by the time she straightens up again, Miaow is already all the way across the room, standing next to Boo.

“Let’s go outside,” he says. “It gets dusty in here when they sweep.” He turns, Da following in almost perfect synchronization, and Rose and Miaow trail along behind.

“How long have you all lived here?” Miaow asks as she passes through the door.

Rose can’t hear the beginning of the boy’s reply, but when she comes out into the late-afternoon sunshine, he is saying “…maybe three or four more days, and then we’ll move.”

Miaow says, “Where?”

Boo laughs. “You have forgotten,” he says. “When did I ever know where we’d go next? What did I used to say?”

“Whatever opens up,’” Miaow says.

“Well, that’s where we’re going.”

“Why do you have to move?” Da says.

“Too many kids in one place. People see us. Sooner or later somebody says something to the cops or the weepies who help us poor kids so they can make enough money to buy SUVs and live in villas. Then they show up in the middle of the night and we all have to run, and sometimes one or two of us get caught.”

“The small ones,” Miaow says.

“Listen to that,” Boo says. “You haven’t completely turned into a schoolgirl. There’s still a little bit left.”

“I haven’t-” Miaow begins.

“Even with that hair.”

Miaow’s hand goes to her hair. “There’s nothing wrong with my-” Suddenly she’s blushing.

“What’s next, skin-whitening cream? Now you’re an American?” He is keeping his voice light, but Rose can see the tension in the cords of his neck.

“Wait,” Miaow says. “I’m not trying-”

“You’re not?” he demands. “Okay, you’re not on the streets now. But why pretend to be something you aren’t?”

“I don’t know what-”

“Have you told anybody at your school about it?” He squeezes the word “school” as though he’s trying to juice it. “Does anyone know you were on the street? If I showed up, would you introduce me to your friends?”

“But…” Miaow says, “but they’re…those kids, they’re-”

“Leave her alone,” Da says.

“No,” Miaow snaps, just barely not stamping her foot. “Don’t you tell him not to…uhh, not to talk to me the way he…um, the way he wants to, to talk to…” And then she’s crying, and she turns to Rose and wraps her arms around her mother and buries her head against Rose’s blouse.

“Well,” Rose says, looking at Boo. Miaow’s shoulders are shaking, but she’s absolutely silent.

Da says, “That was mean.”

“She has a different life now,” Rose says to Boo.

Boo says, “Obviously,” but he doesn’t meet her eyes.

Rose’s phone rings.

She looks at the number on the display but doesn’t recognize it. She thinks, Poke’s new phone, and answers, putting her free hand on the back of Miaow’s neck, which feels damp and hot. When she says, “Hello,” there is no reply. The line is open, but the person at the other end doesn’t speak. “Hello?” She waits a minute, listening to the hiss of distance, and then closes the phone and puts both arms on Miaow’s shoulders. Boo looks out over the river, as though he wishes he were somewhere else.

Da rubs her arms as though she’s cold and says, “Someone is watching us.”

Captain Teeth says, “She answered. She’s there.”

Ren doesn’t even look at him. “Where?”

“Wherever the phone is.”

“That’s helpful,” Ren says. He is back behind the big desk, even though he knows that Ton could walk in at any moment.

“It’s something,” Captain Teeth says. “She probably thinks the phone is safe unless she uses it. She doesn’t know it’s searching for a tower all the time. I wanted to make sure she hadn’t just left it somewhere to lead us in the wrong direction.”

“Goody,” Ren says acidly. “You may get your chance with her yet.”

“Fine,” Captain Teeth snaps. “You worry about what’s going to happen to us if the man gets everything he wants. I’ll worry about what happens to us if he doesn’t. Maybe we can’t find Rafferty, but we know how to find the woman, once the man calls whoever it is at the cell-phone company. Which probably means we know where to find the kid, too.”

Ren says, “We know too much.”

Captain Teeth says, “So figure out how to live through it.”

The room smells of carpet that was at some point wet for a very long time. The carpet is wall-to-wall and well worn, obviously installed during an optimistic interlude in the past when someone thought the hotel would be a success. Shag of a long-unfashionable length, dyed a color that has no counterpart in nature, it curls slightly at the corners as though something were trying to claw its way out.

If this is the last act of my life, Rafferty thinks, I’d rather it didn’t begin on a carpet like this one.

Kosit sits, legs dangling, on top of the cheap, chipped, four-drawer bureau in front of the mirror, and Arthit is up on one elbow on the bed nearer the door. The bag of money is at the foot of Arthit’s bed, tipped on one side to spill bundles of currency across the bedspread. Rafferty is standing inside the bathroom door, just to get off the carpet. The toilet is running behind him. It has been running since they got there.

Kosit’s patrolman accomplice, the man who stuck the gun in the back of Rafferty’s neck, has gone back to the station to dig out some pictures.

“I’m not a cop now,” Arthit says.

Arthit’s face is puffy and bloated, especially beneath the eyes. For the first time since Rafferty met him, his friend is unshaven, despite the new and unwrapped razor on the bureau where Kosit sits, and the stubble on his jaw is dusted with white. The hair on one side of his head sweeps forward, probably from having been slept on.

“Of course you are,” Kosit says. “We can straighten this out.”

Arthit waves the thought away. “If I want to.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Kosit says. “Let Thanom win. Give him what he wants. That’ll show him.”

“Of course you want to be a cop,” Rafferty says.

Arthit puts out a hand, palm down, and slowly pats the air. The meaning is clear: Back off. “Poke,” he says, “I know you’re trying to keep me focused on stuff.” He reaches out a white- stockinged foot and kicks the bag of money a few inches toward the end of the bed. “Make lists, do things, get even, clear everything up. Keep me busy, keep me from thinking too much. And I appreciate it. But you know what? Everybody, and especially you, is just going to have to leave me alone. I don’t need a tow boat. I’m going to work through this the way I have to, and I don’t need anyone dragging me along. For the first time in years, I’m not a cop. I can do it my way, not their way. I don’t have to-” He stops and looks down at the bed for a moment, then