Thai Horse

‘The girl?’ Hatcher interrupted him.

‘Ja. Da girl I’m sure of.’

‘You saw this girl with this man? Hatcher repeated, pointing at Cody and Pai in the photograph.

‘I saw da girl. I tink it vas dis guy. Like I said—’

‘You mean the Cong let her stay with him?’

‘I just saw dem talking.’

‘Maybe he was, uh — what we call a trustee. You understand “trustee”?’

‘Ja, sure. Dey trust him. He does tinks for dem, dey let him outside the vire a little bit each day, watch da utter prisoners. She bought some tinks.’

‘Christ,’ Hatcher muttered under his breath. ‘What did she buy?’

‘Quinine pills. Smoke. Penicillin. China Vite, and also to buy some shoes and shirts. Clothing.’

‘How did she pay?’

‘Like da Arvies.’

‘North Vietnamese dollars?’

The Dutchman nodded.

Hatcher looked at Cohen, who whistled low and shook his head.

‘Let me get this straight. You think you saw this man in June 1974, about twelve clicks south of Muang on the Laotian side of the Annimitique mountains in a moving Vietcong camp with this girl and she got quinine, China White, clothing and penicillin and paid for it with Arvie money.’

‘Ja, is correct.’

‘How big was this camp?’ Hatcher asked.

‘Small,’ said the Dutchman. ‘Maybe twenty, twenty- five prisoners, half a dozen guards and da varden.’

‘What was the warden called?’

The Dutchman thought for a moment and said, ‘Taisung.’

‘And this prisoner was outside the compound, right?’

‘Ja. Dere vere six, seven outside.’

‘Cleaning up?’

The Dutchman nodded.

‘You recognized all these guys?’

‘From da clothes. Dey vere vearing clothes bought from me.’

‘What were the other prisoners vearing?’

‘Vork clothes. Mostly gray. Dey kept the Yankees away from the Vietnams.’

‘Vietnams? What do you mean, Vietnams?’

‘Dese udder prisoners, dey vas all Vietnamese. Political prisoners, Yankee sympathizers, like dat.’

‘You mean this was a prison mostly for Vietnamese political prisoners?’ Hatcher said with surprise.

‘Ja, till dey could move ‘em north to Hanoi.’

‘I’ll be a son of a bitch,’ Hatcher said.

‘Vhy don’t you ask John. Dere’ a rumor he vas once in prison camp.’

‘Where?’

The Dutchman shrugged. ‘Ask him,’ he answered. He raised a hand, and Leatherneck John popped open another beer and brought it to the table. Hatcher handed him the photograph.

‘Know any of these people?’ he asked.

John took the photograph and looked at it. ‘Why, should I?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Hatcher said. ‘He was a POW. I heard you were too. I thought maybe—’

‘The slope ain’t born could catch me and hold me,’ John said without animosity.

‘I’m just asking.’

‘I’ll tell you the same thing I told Billy, cowboy. Around here there ain’t no yesterday. When I get outa bed in the morning, life starts over. I forgot more’n I remember.’

‘He’s a friend of mine,’ Hatcher said. ‘I’m trying to help him.’

‘No shit. Supposin’ he doesn’t want help.’

‘That’s possible. If I find him and that’s the way it is, I’m long gone.’

‘Good for you.’ John looked at the photo again and laid it back on the table. ‘Nice-lookin’ woman,’ he said and