better role model. In Kuala Lumpur is one wery famous American, Eddie Bland.”
Rafferty says, “And Eddie Bland is-”
Vladimir holds up three fingers, a benediction. “After I tell you this, you trust me forewer.”
“We’ll see.”
“When they blow up willage? When Murphy’s guys blow up willage?”
“I remember.”
“Eddie Bland was sergeant in Wietnam. Sergeant for Murphy. Is the guy who makes things go boom. Almost he kill me once.” He points at the glass and says to Ming Li, “Hurry, hurry.”
“Don’t get used to this,” Ming Li says, but she pours.
“So,” Rafferty says, “Murphy, Yala, Kuala Lumpur, Eddie Bland, provocation. Adds up to what, from your perspective?”
Vladimir raises his glass to Ming Li and drains it in one toss. “Same as for you. Maybe soon something go boom in Yala.”
21
Daeng has been dragged into these rooms twice since the night he almost went off the roof at the hotel near Khao San. The same questions, over and over: How had Rafferty gotten away without a bullet in him? Was he armed? If Rafferty took the fire escape, why hadn’t Daeng chased him? Why hadn’t he radioed the men in the street to tell them Rafferty was coming?
Had Rafferty bribed him? How much? Where was the money? Was someone else there, someone who helped Rafferty? If Rafferty got away from Daeng, how come he, Daeng, was uninjured? How could he just have been standing on the roof with his gun in his hand when the other officers arrived?
Was he working with Rafferty? Where is Rafferty now? What wasn’t he telling them?
But tonight was different.
They’d been watching him somehow, actually looking into his house. At the precise moment he sat down to dinner with his wife and their two children, the men had banged on the door with boots and fists as though they’d been waiting for the signal. There were six of them. They hammered hard enough to splinter it around the top hinge. He’d told the family to stay put and gone to open the door. His feet had been swept out from under him, and then he’d been manhandled onto his stomach as plastic restraints were cinched over his wrists and his children stood screaming in terror.
When they pulled him up, they’d wrenched his shoulder sockets and he’d cried out. His wife had run at the men, trying to help Daeng, and one of them had shoved her hard enough to put her on the carpet. He’d been dragged downstairs, thrown headfirst into the back of a wagon, and hauled down here, his questions unanswered, then slammed into a chair. Two of the men had stood behind him. Waiting for something.
That had been four hours ago. Since then no one has spoken. Two hours or so after his arrival, the two men behind him left the room in unison and were replaced by two others.
Daeng’s hands are completely numb. He’s certain they’re swollen to double their usual size. He can feel the pulses slamming in his wrists, trying to pump blood in and out, the veins crimped by the tight plastic cuffs. And his nose has been itching for hours. He’s never realized what agony it can be not to be able to scratch his nose.
He has to pee so badly he’s got a cramp. He crossed his legs against it, and one of the guards reached down and pushed the upper leg to the floor.
He’s damp with fear.
The door opens, and a short
In no hurry at all, he plants one haunch on the edge of the table. He looks down at Daeng.
Daeng says, “Hello.”
The red-haired man says, in Thai, “Coffee or tea?”
Daeng says, “Tea, please.”
“Fine,” the red-haired man says. “Catch.” And he throws the contents of one of the cups in Daeng’s face.
It’s scalding. Daeng’s legs straighten convulsively, the chair almost going over behind him, and the red-haired man says, “Take the coffee, too,” and hurls that at him, cup and all. One of the guards yelps in pain. While Daeng is still gasping, his eyes squeezed shut, the red-haired man says, “Get him up.”
Daeng is yanked to his feet. The red-haired man says, “Spread him out.” Holding him under the arms, the guards kick his feet far apart. He hears a grunt of effort from the red-haired man, and his testicles explode.
“Drop him.” The guards let go and step aside as Daeng crumples to the concrete floor and vomits and urinates at the same time. A kick to his cheekbone knocks his head aside. He lies there, choking and-to his shame-weeping.
The red-haired man says, “Hello.”
“Where are we going?” Ming Li calls from behind him. “Shouldn’t we be getting a hotel?”
“I have a hotel. We’re probably not going anywhere. I just need to check up on someone. This has nothing to do with anything.”
“Well, as long as it’s important.”
The women on the sidewalk have taken refuge in the doorways, and they smile at Poke. Ming Li catches up and grabs his arm. The women’s eyes glaze over, and they look back upstream, scanning the oncoming faces for a possible short-time.
“Is he any good?” she asks. “Vladimir?”
“According to a former spy named Arnold Prettyman, he was the best, back in the seventies.”
“Where’s Prettyman?”
“He got killed. When you were here last, actually.” He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is,
“If he’s dead, maybe he wasn’t the best judge.”
“Vladimir is what I’ve got. It’s hard to recruit a team when the other side is a steamroller.”
“When are you going to-”
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it tomorrow.” He stops at the corner of Soi 7. “Go get a hotel. Go back to the-” He motions down the street.
“The Alpine Suites. But why don’t you come with me?”
He counts the reasons impatiently, on his fingers. “I have a hotel, my stuff is in the room, it’s too much of a dump for you, and I have something to do.”
“Then I have something to do, too.”
He says, “No.”
People are bustling past them: men coming alone into the
“Oh,” Ming Li says, watching the crowd flow by. “I see.”
“No. No, you don’t see. Okay, don’t look at me like that. This is an attempt at an errand of mercy, and it’ll probably be a bust.”
“Right,” she says. “Well, you go earn your gold star, and I’ll-”
“Oh, come on,” he says, and sets off down the
Despite the rain there are a lot of people. It’s after midnight by his watch, and the Beer Garden is popping at the seams. Groups of women go in beneath shared umbrellas, arms linked or holding hands with one another, and come out hanging on the darling of the hour. Rafferty and Ming Li take folding chairs across a sticky plastic table in
