Anita’s instincts were usually pretty good, particularly the more dire ones, and her suspicions made me uneasy even if I didn’t want to admit it. The whole time I was driving back to Patong after dinner, Anita’s stern warnings about where this all could lead were bouncing around my head. Just this once, I really did hope she had it wrong.
THIRTEEN
The Paradise bar is a Phuket landmark, one of the first and probably still the most famous of what are now dozens of rundown bars along Patong beach. I parked at the Holiday Inn, cut through the garden past the darkened swimming pool, then emerged from their back gate into the nighttime hubbub of Beach Road. Turning north, I walked the fifty or so yards to a little shack on the beach.
The Paradise was more of a sunset watering hole than a nighttime hangout. By now, just after nine, most people had moved on to livelier haunts and the place was pretty calm. Those few patrons who remained were drinking quietly, either at a long counter that faced the ocean or further back inside at the scarred wooden bar with a big-screen television above it.
Clovis Ward was on a stool in a far back corner with his Stetson cocked back on his head, which made him a hard man to miss. I noticed he had chosen a seat that had a clear field of vision across the entire bar and all the way out to the street. It could have been just a coincidence, but somehow I doubted it. He didn’t look at me when I walked in. He was leaning on his forearms against the bar, and he appeared to be completely absorbed in a golf tournament on the television set up over his head. Somehow I doubted that, too.
“You play golf?” I asked as I pulled out the stool next to him and sat down.
“You gotta be joking. I don’t get paid enough to afford clubs. It’s you rich people who play golf. Not guys like me.”
“Is that why we’re meeting here in this dump, Marshal? To demonstrate what a working-class guy you are?”
Now he looked at me.
“I like this place,” he said.
“Figures.”
“Besides it’s handy. I’m at the Holiday Inn next door.”
“That figures, too.”
A golfer I didn’t recognize, which was to be expected since I didn’t recognize any golfer who wasn’t Tiger Woods, belted his drive into a lake and Ward chuckled in enjoyment.
“Look, Marshal,” I said after a moment, “I gathe cl Is dr-”
“You can drop that cutesy bullshit,” he interrupted. “People call me CW.”
“Okay, fine. CW it is. But only if you take off that stupid-looking hat.”
CW made a snorting noise. I hoped it was a laugh, but I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it had been, he took off his hat and laid it on the bar.
“Happy now?”
I gave CW a very small smile, but I didn’t say anything.
“Okay, Jack. Now, I’m buying, so what’s your poison?”
“Mekong and soda,” I said to the middle-aged woman waiting behind the bar.
“Mekong?” he asked as she walked away to make my drink. “What’s that?”
“It’s Thai whiskey.”
“Pretty good?”
“No. Actually, it’s awful.”
“Then why are you drinking it?”
“It’s refreshing on a hot night, if you put enough soda and ice in it.”
“Maybe I ought to try it,” CW muttered. “This beer tastes like dog piss.”
CW raised one hand and caught the bartender’s eye. Then he pointed to me, made a drinking gesture, and held up two fingers. The woman nodded and took down a second glass.
“Okay,” I said. “Enough of this happy horseshit.”
I pulled the three pictures he’d given me out of my shirt pocket and dealt them out onto the bar one by one like playing cards.
“You going to tell me what this is all about?” I asked.
CW waited in silence for the bartender to serve our drinks. The woman glanced at the pictures while she was setting out the glasses, but apparently didn’t see anything of interest to her. CW picked up his drink, sniffed suspiciously at the amber liquid, and tried a sip.
“You were right,” he said. “Not bad at all.”
“How wonderful for you. So can we get to it now?”
CW seemed to consider that for a moment. “You sure you’re not one of his lawyers?”
“I already told you this morning that I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, but you got to appreciate my position here, Jack, me being an officer of the law and all. If you’re one of Karsarkis’ lawyers, then that’s one thing. But if you’re just a guy who’s hanging around with him, then that’s something else.”
“I’m not one of Karsarkis’ lawyers and I’m not a guy who’s hanging around with him either. I’ve laid eyes on Plato Karsarkis exactly twice in my entire life.”
“Okay.” CW didn’t seem very interested in the last part of what I said. “But you’re
“Just out of curiosity, what is it that makes you think I
“Because you look like one slippery son of a bitch to me, Slick. You’re just the kind of shyster a piece of shit like Karsarkis would want to keep around.”
I wasn’t really sure what to say towha Yo that, so I kept my response as neutral as possible.
“I do not represent Plato Karsarkis in any capacity whatsoever. Is that clear enough for you, CW, or would you like it in writing.”
“Yeah, I would, but I don’t have a pen.”
“I was kidding.”
“So was I.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“Well, mostly.”
CW took another sip of his Mekong and soda, but he didn’t say anything else.
“So do I get an answer now?” I asked after I had waited a while.
The photographs were still lying on the bar and I rapped on one with my forefinger.
“Why in Christ’s name have you been following me around taking pictures?”
“We’re not following
“I don’t see why that gives you any particular right to tell me who I can associate with.”
“Don’t go all prissy on me here, Slick.”
I collected the photographs off the bar and held them out to CW.
He shook his head. “Keep ‘em. I got plenty more.”
I tapped the three photographs into a neat pile and then ripped them in half. For good measure, I stacked the six halves together and ripped them again. Then I piled all the pieces into an ashtray and wiped my hands.
CW nodded absently a couple of times, then looked over at me and cocked his head as if he was trying to size something up.
“How do you feel about Plato Karsarkis?” he asked.
“We’re not having an affair, if that’s what you mean.”
CW returned his gaze to the golf tournament still flickering soundlessly on the big Sony above our heads.
