Breathing Water: A Bangkok Thriller

lifts his chin as though his neck were stiff. “I don’t have to worry about Noi now. And I’ll tell you something. I am going to be at Noi’s cremation in two days.” He holds up his first and second fingers, V style. “Two days. Monday afternoon. That means I need to get this straightened out by then, because if I don’t, I’m going to get arrested before I’m even inside the temple. And while I don’t particularly care whether I get arrested, I won’t allow it to happen at Noi’s cremation. Noi’s cremation is going to be the kind of ceremony she deserves.” He waits, holding Rafferty’s gaze.

Rafferty says, “All right.”

Arthit reaches into the pocket of his trousers and withdraws an envelope, crumpled from his movements. “Do you know what this is?”

“Noi’s letter?” Rafferty asks.

“Has it been opened?”

“Not that I can see.”

“And it won’t be,” Arthit says, “until her spirit has been sent on its way with the peace and dignity it deserves. I won’t know what my wife’s last words to me were, Poke, until we get through this. So forget about motivating me, or helping me work through issues, or finding closure, or whatever it is you think you can do for me. I’ll do what I have to do. I’ll do anything that’s necessary to let me read this letter.”

“Okay,” Rafferty says.

“And that means we’re partners,” Arthit says. “Your jam is my jam.” He folds the envelope once and puts it back into his pocket. “I’m not a cop for now, and I want revenge. I can bring you my skills, and Kosit’s, and you can bring us everything you’ve figured out. Between us we’re going to get you out from under, and we’re going to put Thanom away, since he’s involved in your situation. I’ve had to leave Noi’s family to handle the ceremonies. You think I’ll forgive that? I’m going to boil his balls, dip them in hot sauce, and feed them to him.”

“How?” Kosit asks.

“It’s obvious. We learn what’s up and we fix it. Just come all the way in here, Poke. Stop lurking in the fucking bathroom, sit on this awful bed, and tell us what you know.”

Rafferty comes out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him so he doesn’t have to listen to the toilet running. He glances at the bedspread, which is shiny with dirt, before he takes a seat, inches from Arthit’s feet.

“At the beginning it was simple,” Rafferty says. “We started with two sides. One of them is Ton, and I don’t know for sure who the other one is yet, although I’ve got a theory.”

“Let’s hear it.” Arthit reaches over to the other bed and grabs the pillow. He puts it on top of the pillow he already has, and then he sits up with them behind his back.

“No. I’m not sure, and I don’t want to plant anything in your minds, yours and Kosit’s, yet. I could be wrong. Let’s see how things shape up as we start to screw with them.” He rubs his face with his good hand, realizing how tired he is. But at the same time, there’s a kernel of excitement deep in his chest: He’s part of a team now. “So we had two sides, both threatening my family, one side if I wrote a book and the other side if I didn’t. And then it gets more complicated. Ton’s side is connected to Thanom. And Pan is connected-was connected, might still be connected-with this crook Wichat, who’s selling the babies.”

“Was connected or is?” Arthit asks.

“I think we’ll know in a few hours. I put some bait in a box. If Wichat goes for it, we’ll know they’re still an item.”

“Okay,” Arthit says. “Tell me about that ridiculous bandage on your hand.”

“This is courtesy of what I think of as the other side, meaning not Ton’s guys. I thought it was Ton’s side at first, but it wasn’t. Is this complicated enough?”

“I have extensive training,” Arthit says. “Cosmic string theory is complicated. Imaginary numbers are complicated. This is just two bunches of thugs tussling over a blanket, and you’re unlucky enough to be the blanket. Does the hand hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t let it slow you down.”

“That’s what I needed. Sympathy.”

“Tell me about the money,” Arthit says, touching the bag with his foot.

“It’s Ton’s. I thought I’d enjoy spending it to stick his finger in a socket. And I’m hoping we’re at a point where we might be able to do that.”

“Hoping,’” Kosit says. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers in the dresser and puts one foot up on it. “Might be’ at a point. This is all very reassuring.”

“Why?” Arthit says. “Why are they any more vulnerable now than they were before?”

“Because they know that things aren’t working. They thought they had me under control, but now they know they don’t. They thought Thanom could put you on ice, but he couldn’t. Wichat, who’s probably involved in this, is worried about some kid wandering around who could bust his baby racket open. Nobody knows where we are or what direction we might come from. This is the kind of situation that makes people improvise, makes them do stupid things to get the world under control again.”

“But what was the point in the first place?” Kosit asks. “I mean, what were they all after?”

“Arthit called it,” Rafferty says. “It’s politics. Ton’s side, which is the elite who would hate to see Pan elected, aimed me at people who don’t like him. The kind of people who might spill the dirt if there were dirt to be spilled. We know-lots of people know-that there’s dirt back there, but I think there’s one thing, one horrific thing, people don’t know about, except as a rumor of some kind, and they wanted to see whether I could find it, so they could use it against him if he decides to run for office. The other side, call it the pro-Pan side, tried to scare me off because they were afraid I’d find the dirt, and they don’t want anything to surface that could keep him from getting elected. Whatever it is, Pan has managed to keep it a secret till now, and that’s why none of those biographies got written: He bought people off, or threatened them, or burned down a printing press.”

Arthit says, “Any idea what it is?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what we talked about the very first night, after the card game. It’s the missing step from ambitious thug to budding billionaire. At some point Pan acquired a guardian angel, and he did it by doing something unforgivable, something indelible. Something that could destroy Pan, and probably the guardian angel, too, if it came out. And I think it had to do with a fire. He was burned a few months before he made the leap. I located half a dozen fires in that time frame, but I think the one we want is a toy factory.”

“I remember that,” Kosit says. “It was awful.”

Arthit says, “Have you not listened to the radio today?”

“Actually, Arthit,” Poke says, “that was high up on my to-do list, but I haven’t gotten around-”

“Then you don’t know,” Arthit says. “This is no longer a hypothetical discussion.” He sits up and leans forward, grunting as he stretches his lower back. “I sat here, in this awful room, with nothing to do, and in self-defense I turned on the radio. Big story. Pan’s office announced today that he’s going to hold a press conference on Monday. The spokesman wouldn’t say what it was about, but all the radio commentators seem to think he’s going to announce that he’s running for office.”

“Monday,” Rafferty says.

“Day after tomorrow.” Arthit draws a deep, slow breath and blows it out. “The day of Noi’s cremation.”

“Well, then,” Rafferty says. “We’d better get going.”

“Finally,” Arthit says. “Where?”

“First,” Rafferty says, “we’re going to a camera store to spend some of Ton’s money. Then we’ll go down to the Indian district and spend some more of it to buy stolen goods. Third, we’ll go see some street kids, and after that we’ll pay a compassionate visit to someone in the hospital.”

“Compassion,” Arthit says. “One of my favorite words.”

44

The Old Skyrocket