Anita’s career as an artist had recently taken off. Her London agent was a genius at PR and he had hyped Anita as an Italian woman living and painting in exotic Thailand at exactly the right time to make her sound like the next great hot find. Of course, she had a lot of talent, too, and that was probably the biggest reason for her success, but great PR never hurt anybody. Everything she painted was selling and the prices she was getting were jumping, so I had no reason to doubt the guy’s pitch that Anita was hot. That had always been exactly my own point of view.
Regardless, none of that led me to conclude we ought to be buying a house in Phuket.
“No way, Anita. Absolutely no way. We have a perfectly nice apartment in Bangkok, and don’t forget I’m just a poor business school professor. I can’t afford a vacation house in Phuket.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy a vacation house in Phuket, Jack. I said
“I’d like your help and your support, Jack. But it’s not absolutely necessary.”
“Okay, Anita. Calm down. I’m sorry if I was a little harsh. I was just surprised, that’s all. We’ve never talked about anything like this before.”
“Well we’re talking about it now.”
We were indeed, and something about it was already making me uncomfortable as hell. The subject had only just come up, but already I had the distinct feeling we weren’t just talking about a house here. Worse, I couldn’t see exactly what it was we actually
The rest of lunch went quietly without either of us mentioning real estate again. The palm fronds continued to rattle, the surf continued to roll, and the smell of lobster continued to drift, but everything was different all of a sudden. It felt to me like Anita had just taken several giant steps back into a place where I was not invited.
When our plates had been cleared and we had both declined coffee, Anita scooted her chair back slightly by way of preface. I had no trouble guessing what was coming next, and of course I was right.
amp;ldq nstira sliguo;I’m going to walk around to a couple of the real estate offices and see what they have listed. Are you coming?”
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s fine. I won’t be long.”
Anita’s voice was matter-of-fact as she stood up.
“Where will you be?” she asked.
I looked around, but nowhere particularly interesting came to mind, so I shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have another glass of wine here,” I said. “I’ll meet you back at the jeep in…what? An hour?”
“Fine. The jeep then, in an hour.”
“You remember where it is?”
“Yes, Jack.” Anita pitched her voice in that particular way that always made me uneasy. “I can find the jeep without you holding my hand.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind me not going with you?”
“Of course not, Jack. Why would I mind?”
Why, indeed?
Anita had been gone only a few minutes when a fresh glass of wine arrived, closely followed by a busload of tourists. As the gaggle of extended families unloaded and began piling into the restaurant, the sound of their heavily accented Cantonese clearly marked them to me as Hong Kong Chinese. I decided my peaceful afternoon was probably at an end. Cantonese isn’t a spoken language; it’s a screamed language.
I looked around, sizing up possible escape routes, and noticed a middle-aged westerner sitting by himself at a table not far away from me. He had a straw Stetson tipped back on his head and was gazing at the invading horde of Chinese tourists with obvious bemusement. When he caught my eye, he nodded a friendly greeting.
“How you doing?” he hollered over the clamor.
“I’m doing fine,” I called back noncommittally, although of course I wasn’t.
When the man stood up, collected his beer bottle, and started toward me, I was less than thrilled. Companionship was the last thing I wanted right at that moment, much less the companionship of some yahoo sex tourist wearing a cowboy hat.
“I’ll bet you’re a Yank,” the man beamed as soon as he walked up to the table.
“You got me.”
“Well, hot damn,” he said sticking out his hand. “Me, too. My friends call me CW.”
“Jack Shepherd,” I said, shaking the man’s hand.
He eyed the chair Anita had abandoned. “Mind if I set a spell?”
I didn’t know what else to say and I didn’t want to be rude to the guy, so I shook my head. “Go ahead,” I said.
The man sank heavily into the chair, removed his hat, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“I’m from Dallas myself, but I don’t mind telling you, this heat here is knocking me for a goddamned loop.”
“I guess I must be used to it.”
“Where you from?”
“I was born in the States, but I live in Bangkok now.”
“You live in
“No shit. amp;rdq s;Nowidth='uo;
“What do you do there, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“I teach at Chulalongkorn University.”
“Really?” The guy bobbed his head in interest. “What do you teach?”
“International business, corporate planning. That kind of stuff.”
“Wow! Ain’t that something?” The man bobbed his head around as if he could hardly grasp such a thing, then he slyly shook his finger at me. “Something tells me that you’re a lawyer.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s right.”
“I knew it,” he nodded. “I knew it.”
Tex took a moment to look pleased with himself for his perspicacity.
“Well, hey,” he said after a moment of awkward silence, “you being a local and all, how about answering a question for a fellow countryman?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Oh, I was just wondering…”
The cowboy leaned back in his chair and chewed at his lip for a moment, presumably demonstrating all the wondering he was doing, before he spoke. “Exactly how long have you known Plato Karsarkis?”
At first, of course, I thought I had misunderstood him.
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“I asked how long you’ve known Plato Karsarkis. Actually, Jack, I suppose I ought to ask you this first. Are you representing him? Are you one of Karsarkis’ lawyers now?”
“No, I don’t represent him,” I responded automatically.
Then I recovered enough from my astonishment to start working up a royal mad-on over this rube’s ambush.
“But, just out of curiosity, who the fuck are you to be asking me something like that, Tex?”
The man reached into a back pocket and took out a black leather folder that looked like a wallet. For a moment I thought the man was about to show me his driver’s license, but then he put the folder on the table between us and flipped it open and of course it wasn’t a driver’s license at all.
There was a big silver star inside. It was pinned to one side of the wallet and an identification card inside a plastic-covered pocket was on the other.
“I’m Deputy United States Marshal Clovis Ward and I’m assigned to the Special Operations Group of the United States Marshals Service. We’re responsible for transporting high-profile prisoners and apprehending fugitives.”
“I don’t believe it.” I sat there shaking my head. “You have got to be shitting me.”
The cowboy used his forefinger to slip a business card out from under his ID and then pushed it across the
