TWENTY-FOUR
Cally reached the table first and the man put his arms around her and kissed her on both cheeks. Tay tried not to evaluate the technical aspects of the hug too closely, but he couldn’t help it, nor could he help the conclusion to which he came when he did. It was not at all the way former colleagues hugged, at least not former colleagues whose relationship had been purely professional.
Then, before Cally could say anything, the man broke off the hug, stepped around her, and offered Tay his hand.
“Welcome to Pattaya,” he said.
Tay noticed as they shook that the spot where they stood was quieter than the rest of the bar for some reason and he could hear the man quite clearly. His voice was warm and resonant.
“Thank you. I’m Samuel Tay.”
“I know. Inspector Samuel Tay. Singapore CID-SIS.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m John August.”
“Is that your real-” Tay, embarrassed, abruptly stopped talking when he realized what he was about to ask.
John August didn’t seem embarrassed at all.
“Yes, Sam, it’s my real name.” He tilted his head toward Cally.
“Ask the kid here.”
Tay didn’t look directly at Cally although he wanted to. It would have been far too clumsy a thing to do. Still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod.
They sat down and Cally ordered a beer. Tay asked for a whiskey. He figured he was probably going to need it.
Cally and August made small talk for a while about people they had apparently known when they were both at the embassy in Bangkok. Tay didn’t even try to follow them. He did notice August seemed to be paying more attention to him than he was to what Cally was saying. He was being sized up. Tay had no doubt of that. August was looking him over as if he was appraising him for auction and thought his provenance somewhat dubious.
While they were talking some of the girls from the stage came upstairs and mounted the tabletops and they were now dancing very near them. One particularly arresting girl was wearing absolutely nothing but a pair of black leather boots with a card bearing the number 81 pinned to the top of one of them. After a minute or two she jumped up on the table where they were sitting and spun around once to make certain they all got a good look at her. Then she bent backwards with surprising grace, grasped the chrome rail that edged the balcony, and writhed between it and the table in rhythm with the music. The overall effect, Tay thought, was quite remarkable, although perhaps less erotic than gynecological.
After the girl finished her dance, if that was the appropriate expression for the bodily movements which she had been displaying, she straightened up, bent down and gave August’s cheek a little tweak, then jumped to another table and started in again. Tay shot a quick glance at Cally and saw her face was devoid of all expression.
August was trying to goad Cally by bringing them here. Tay had no doubt of that. It was none of his business, of course, but he couldn’t help but be proud of Cally. She was giving August absolutely nothing at all for his trouble.
Cally leaned toward August, but Tay could hear her easily enough.
“What are we doing here?”
“You don’t like it?”
“What are we doing here, John?”
August put both hands flat on the table and tilted his head slightly to one side. He smiled thinly. “It’s my place. I thought you might like to see it.”
“You own this place?” she asked.
“Sure.”
It was plain August relished his surprise.
“Everybody needs something to do in his old age, Cally. Some kind of retirement gig.” August raised his hands, palms up, and gestured to the room around him. “This is mine.”
Cally studied August for a moment, looking at him as if he were a safe to which she had forgotten the combination.
“You’re not going to get to me, John.”
“Yes, I am.”
“This won’t do it.”
“Maybe not, but something will. Everybody can be gotten to, darling. Even you.”
Cally watched August for a while, nodding slightly for some reason, but saying nothing.
“Could we go somewhere else?” she finally asked. “What I came to talk to you about is important.”
“There’s a blow job bar up on Soi Post Office just behind the Pizza Hut. It’s pretty quiet. They don’t have any music and nobody talks much for some reason.”
“No thanks,” Cally said. “I don’t much like the idea of drinking next to some German with a hard-on.”
August grinned hugely at that.
“You haven’t changed a bit, have you, kid?” he said.
“Sure I have, John. I’ve changed a whole lot.”
There was an entire conversation going on in front of Tay that made no sense to him at all, although of course he could guess easily enough what it was about. Cally and August had once been lovers. Tay couldn’t tell for how long or why it had ended or who had left whom; nevertheless, he had no doubt it was true, and August was reminding Cally of that in his own way.
Against all logic, Tay felt a frisson of jealousy. It was ridiculous, he told himself, downright stupid. But still, reason aside, there it was.
Soon after that August stood up and led them downstairs and outside without comment. Just across the street from Baby Dolls was a large open-fronted bar with wicker chairs, round tables, no music, and no girls. Tay wondered how it stayed open in a place like Pattaya.
They ordered coffee and August took out a pack of Camels and offered them around. Cally declined, but Tay nodded his head. He had intended to buy a carton of Marlboros at the airport in Singapore, but he was in such a hurry he forgot and then Cally whisked him away in Bangkok before he could buy any there either. Ending up in a place like Pattaya without a couple of boxes of Marlboros in his pocket was a deeply unhappy thing. A Camel was hardly the same, but it was going to have to do.
“I’m surprised,” August said to Tay as he tipped a cigarette out of the pack for him. “You don’t look like a smoker.”
“You can’t always judge people by their appearance,” Tay replied. “For example, you don’t look like a pimp.”
Tay wondered almost immediately why he had said that. Did he think he was standing up for Cally in some way? Or was he just getting sucked into a routine bout of masculine preening, a couple of good old-fashioned rounds of
August didn’t seem to hear Tay’s remark or, if he did, to register it. He just lit his cigarette with a wooden match and then flipped the box to Tay who lit his. Soon after, the coffee came. It was unexpectedly good, not at all what Tay expected to get on a Pattaya sidewalk.
Cally took only a sip or two and then pushed her cup aside. She leaned toward August, resting her elbows on the table and folding her hands under her chin.
“We need your help, John. You’ve heard about the murder of Susan Rooney, of course.”
August nodded, but he didn’t say anything.
