‘Someone heard him on his phone, talking about working for one.’
‘It’s a high-pressure job, Bob. Not for the faint hearted.’
‘Do you know anyone who’s hiring?’
Brent chuckled. ‘I hope you’re not implying that I hang out with those guys.’
‘You know every trader in the city,’ I said.
‘That’s true.’ He swirled his wine around the glass. ‘Did he have any experience?’
‘None,’ I said. ‘He was doing some English teaching.’
‘But he had a good head on his shoulders, did he?’
‘I think he’s a normal American kid. Why?’
‘It’s a tough job, boiler room guys have to be pushy yet personable, and while they work from a script they have to be able to think on their feet. You know how it works, right?’
‘Selling worthless shares to people who should know better,’ I said.
‘You old cynic, you,’ he said. ‘But basically that’s it. The boiler room boys have been chased out of the States and Europe so a lot of them have set up in Asia. International phone calls are so cheap these days that it doesn’t matter where they are. Hong Kong and Singapore have been clamping down so more have been moving here in recent years.’
‘So what are you saying, he could have gone anywhere?’
Brent shook his head. ‘Nah, a lot of them are quite small operations, half a dozen or so traders who all know each other. They rarely bring in outsiders. But there are a couple of larger set-ups where they do recruit. Most of them are run by Aussies selling into Australia or New Zealand.’
‘Offices?’
Brent shook his head. ‘Low, low profile,’ he said. ‘They don’t want to be found.’
‘So how would my guy have found them?’
‘Word of mouth,’ said Brent. ‘Followed by a chat in a pub, then they’d make a few checks and if he panned out then he’d be shown the office.’
‘Dead end, then?’
‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘There’s one group I know off who drink at the Dubliner most evenings. They’ve got a place in Soi 33 somewhere and then walk to the Dubliner to wind down. The boss is an Aussie called Bear. Huge bloke, bushy beard. Used to be a legit broker years ago in Hong Kong but got done for insider trading. If you can find Bear he might have come across your lad. They take backpackers on and train them. His name’s Alistair Wainer but everyone calls him Bear.’
‘Bear it is, then.’
‘Just be careful, Bob. They’re a suspicious bunch at the best of times.’ He finished his wine and held up the empty glass. ‘Another?’
‘It’s the least I can do,’ I said.
CHAPTER 26
I left Brent in the hotel’s reception area. He was waiting for his chauffer to arrive. He lived about thirty minutes drive north of Bangkok in a gated community on the campus of the International School of Bangkok. The school was mainly for Americans and the Nichada Thani expat community was one of the most secure areas in the country, with its own supermarket, medical facility and shopping plaza. Brent liked the fact that his kids could cycle safely to school and that his wife had plenty of friends and had insisted that his company set him up in one of the biggest villas on the site. Getting to my humble abode in Sukhumvit 55 meant crossing over Sukhumvit Road and catching a taxi. I’d decided against driving because I knew that Brent and I would get through at least two bottles of wine at dinner. I wasn’t worried about losing my licence because like most traffic violations in Thailand, a few hundred baht would make the problem go away. But I was worried about driving while under the influence because even when stone cold sober Bangkok was one of the most dangerous places in the world to be behind the wheel of a car.
Even at ten-thirty the road was busy so I headed for a concrete overbridge. It stank of urine but it was safer than trying to dodge the traffic. As I came down the stairs I saw the red light of a taxi for hire in the distance and I held out my hand.
The taxi slowed but before it reached me a large black SUV with darkened windows pulled up next to me. I figured the driver was dropping someone off so I walked to the rear, still waving at the taxi.
The front passenger door opened and a man got out. The door slammed shut and then someone grabbed my arm and swung me around.
I put my hands up to defend myself but my wrist was grabbed and my arm twisted up behind my back and before I could react I was thrown against the side of the car. The rear door on the far side of the car opened and slammed shut and a second man came around the back of the car. He was wearing a denim jacket, camouflage cargo pants and impenetrable wraparound sunglasses. It was Lek, from the kickboxing gym in Washington Square.
‘Someone wants to see you,’ said Lek.
‘Yeah, well someone can come around to my shop, any time he wants,’ I said.
The man who was holding me dragged me back so that Lek could open the door, then they both bundled me inside. As I fell onto the seat I felt something hard press against my side and I looked down to see a large shiny automatic. ‘Be quiet,’ he said.
‘I’ll be quiet, you be careful,’ I said. It was a. 45 and would blow a hole as big as baseball in my gut if he pulled the trigger.
The man on the pavement slammed the door and jogged around to get in the other side, boxing me in. It was Tam. Like his colleague, he was wearing dark glasses, even though it was late at night.
Gangster chic.
The driver stamped on the accelerator and the SUV sped off.
‘What’s this about, Lek?’ I asked.
‘Just keep quiet and you’ll know soon enough,’ he said.
We turned left on Asoke, the wide road that runs north-south across the city. Lek jabbed the gun in my ribs.
‘Get down on the floor,’ he said.
‘Why?’
He jabbed the gun, harder this time. ‘Just do it.’
‘If you don’t want me to see where I’m going, I’ll close my eyes,’ I said. ‘It’s no big deal.’
Tam grabbed me by the back of the neck and forced my head down behind the front seats. I could hardly breathe but he was strong so I went with the pressure and slid down onto my knees.
We drove for about twenty minutes with several turns and once I was pretty sure we doubled back. Whoever they were taking me to see didn’t want me to know where I was. That was a good sign, because if something bad was going to happen to me they wouldn’t care one way or the other.
We stopped twice which I figured was because we’d come to a red light, but the third time we stopped I heard a gate rattle back and then we drove slowly and made a left turn and the driver switched off the engine.
‘We’re here,’ said Tam, patting me on the shoulder. ‘You can sit up now.’
I did as I was told. We were parked next to a traditional Thai house made from old teak that gleamed in the moonlight. Tam opened the door and got out and Lek prodded me with the gun to let me know that I was to follow suit.
They took me up a flight of wooden stairs and Tam, knocked on a large door and pushed it open. Lek prodded me with the gun again, this time in the small of the back. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to have swung around and knocked the gun to the side and pushed him down the stairs but there were two of them and they were both trained kickboxers and besides I really wanted to know who was on the other side of the door.
‘Shoes,’ hissed Lek.
‘What?’ I said.
