Killing Plato

“Oh, yes. I almost forgot, Jack,” Karsarkis added, “there is one other thing.”

Karsarkis put a hand on the back of his neck and left it there as if he was trying to recall all the details about whatever it might be.

“It has come to my attention you may be in some danger.”

“Danger from whom?”

“There are several possibilities. Our association is rather well-known already and people who are associated with me attract a certain amount of attention.”

“We’re not associated.”

“I suppose it depends on how you look at it.”

Karsarkis let his eyes linger on me.

“You’re sitting here in my apartment right now, drinking my liquor, aren’t you? I just made you a business proposition, and no matter what you might say, we both know you’re considering it.”

I didn’t respond for a bit, which Karsarkis plainly expected because he just sat there and smiled at me.

Eventuallyfy' di I cleared my throat. “What kind of danger?”

“I’ve got a lot of enemies, Jack. Powerful enemies. People who want to do me harm. I really don’t understand why that is.”

Because you’re a lowlife scum-sucking bastard who sold out his country and then had a woman killed to cover his ass and keep his wallet dry?

“If the perception gets around that you know things about me,” Karsarkis continued, “there are people who would go to considerable lengths to find out what they are.”

“What people?”

“People,” Karsarkis shrugged. “I doubt you want to know anymore than that. I wouldn’t if I were you.”

I started to say something, but then thought better of it.

“There are those who will stop at nothing to get to me.” Karsarkis looked genuinely puzzled as to why that might be. “And my friends and associates occasionally get rather rough treatment.”

“We’re not friends and we’re not associates, so I guess I’m okay.”

“These are serious people,” Karsarkis continued as if I had never spoken. “You need serious people on your side, too, Jack.”

Without moving his head, Karsarkis shifted his eyes to Mike O’Connell who was still sitting silently across the room. O’Connell folded his arms and fixed me with what I take it was his hard-guy stare. I almost laughed out loud.

“We could help out with the problem, Jack,” he said. “If you let us, that is.”

Tommy slurped the last of his vodka and the sound startled me. I’d all but forgotten he was there.

“Listen to him, Jack,” he said. “A man needs his friends.”

I glanced at Tommy without saying anything.

Encouraged, he leaned toward me and spoke in a confidential whisper. “You really ought to-”

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” I snapped.

There was a long silence after that. Again, Karsarkis seemed to have anticipated it and was prepared to wait me out. This time I let him win the staring match.

“You may recall,” I said, “it didn’t impress me when you tried to get me involved in that hotel deal and offered me a lot of money for doing very little.”

Karsarkis watched me without responding.

“And it didn’t impress me when you tried to hook me in by leaning on BankThai to give me that house.”

Karsarkis nodded, but only very slightly.

“And I’m a lot less impressed than you may think by you waving a few million dollars around.”

Karsarkis was impassive.

“So now maybe you think you can impress me by trying to scare the crap out of me?”

“May I freshen anyone’s drink?” O’Connell was standing in front of me when he spoke, but I swear to God I have no memory of how he got there. I guess something was distracting me.

I stood up. “No, I don’t want another goddamned drink. I’m ready to go.”

Karsarkis was smart enough to know he had already made his best play so he made no effort to prolong the c prdrionversation. I had already turned toward the door when something occurred to me. I stopped and looked back over my shoulder at Karsarkis.

“Did you kill her?” I asked.

“You mean Cynthia?” Karsarkis seemed genuinely surprised at my question. “The Korean woman?”

“Is there more than one dead woman to ask about?”

Karsarkis gave a little shake of his head and looked away.

“No,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t kill her.”

“But you know who did.”

“I think so.”

“Who?” I asked.

Karsarkis blinked at that and let his eyes slide back to mine. I could see him thinking about it for a second, maybe two.

Then he gave another quick shake of his head and looked away again, saying nothing.

TWENTY TWO

Tommy and I took the elevator downstairs. Neither one of us spoke.

When we got back into the Mercedes, the driver headed south, winding through the neighborhood’s backstreets until he reached Sukhumvit Road, where he turned west. Sukhumvit was like a long neon tunnel. Streaks of colored light danced on the night and the roadway shimmered with rainbows of grease and gasoline. I felt like I could have been anywhere, but I wasn’t anywhere. I was in Bangkok, in the back of a darkened Mercedes, with a slightly tubby Thai spy, having just met secretly with the world’s most notorious fugitive who had offered me millions of dollars to seek a pardon for him from the President of the United States.

Damn. Looking at it that way, even I was impressed.

Traffic was heavy past Queen’s Park and the car crawled along until we reached Soi Asoke. I passed the time watching the lights rolling down the lenses of Tommy’s glasses and it wasn’t until we were abreast of the Sheraton that I finally posed the question I’d been silently turning over in my mind ever since we had left Karsarkis’ apartment.

“What’s your angle in all this, Tommy?” I asked. “Exactly why are you here?”

Tommy turned his head and looked at me, and when he did I saw he had been waiting for me to ask.

“I’m here because we need your help, Jack.”

“We? Is that the royal we, Tommy? Or are you trying to tell me this is something official?”

“I guess,” he said after a pause, “that depends on what you think of as official.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I have instructions to tell you there are people in the Thai government who would consider it a great service to our country if you would render Mr. Karsarkis whatever assistance he may require while he is our guest here.”

“Those sound like very cautiously chosen words, my little friend. Very cautiously chosen indeed.”

“Look, Jack, stop giving me shit, will you? I’m only the messenger here. I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m not giving you shit, Tommy,” I said. “I’m just listening to you carefully, and I was particularly interested in prdrsti one word you used.”

“What word?”

“Guest. You called Karsarkis a guest.”

“Ah, Jack, drop the cutesy crap, would you?”