‘Don’t lie to me, you miserable do-mommy, you were there, with the girl.’
Wol Pot’s snake eyes squinted with fear. He began to cringe, shrinking deeper among the damp flowers. Neon lights from the nearby street cast a red glow across his face.
‘Why do you want Cody?’ he whined.
‘You wanted to trade him to Porter for a visa, isn’t that right?’
Wol Pot’s eyes lit up. ‘Are you from the embassy?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Just let me ask the questions.’
‘I didn’t know about Porter until I saw it in the paper. I didn’t know it was him,’ Wol Pot whimpered.
‘I’ve got a deal for you,’ Hatcher’s shattered voice hissed. ‘You give up Cody and I won’t turn you over to the American military for your war crimes.’
The POW commandant shook his head, and water dribbled down his bald pate into his eyes.
‘Where is Cody?’ Hatcher demanded.
‘I do not know.’
‘Don’t lie to me, you little squid, I’ll—’
‘I do not know, I swear to you. He has vanished. Why would you want him anyway?’
‘Maybe he’s a friend of mine, too,
‘He is scum!’
‘You’re a hell of a one to talk.’
‘Cody is a heroin smuggler. He is a thief and a murderer. And worse, he is a child killer.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘He murders children and stuffs their bodies with China White. That is why he calls himself Thai Horse.’
‘Cody is Thai Horse?’
‘Yes, that is what he calls himself.’
The information shook Hatcher. He stepped back a moment, staring at the ex-prison warden.
It was the last thing Wol Pot/Taisung ever said.
Hatcher did not hear the silenced shot until it hit Wol Pot in the chest. It went
Hatcher wheeled around and fell to one knee in time to see the ancient Chinese, aswirl in the steam, aim the gun at him. He stared at Hatcher, the gun held in front of him in both hands. Hatcher jogged to the left, then shifted back sharply to the right. But the stooped old man didn’t follow his moves. He raised the gun abruptly and backed slowly toward Thi Phatt Road, the neon-stained red mist swirling around his stooped figure until he vanished into the crowded road.
Wol Pot sighed pitifully and slid down the wall into a sitting position. His mouth was open and gasping for air. A red stain began to spread around the three holes in his shirt front. His eyes rolled back and his head fell to one side, and he slumped on his side.
Hatcher jammed fingertips into his throat, feeling for a pulse, looking up and down the alley at the same time. The man was dead. Steam rose around him from the hot, wet sidewalk. Thunder rumbled on the other side of town as the storm went on its way down the coast.
Hatcher decided to get out of there. He turned and followed the old man into Thi Phatt Road. Hatcher flagged a cab and went back to the hotel.
Obviously the old Chinese had been following Wol Pot.
Or following him.
He thought about the old Chinese in the swirling steam of the alley, aiming the gun at him, ready to kill until something changed his mind. What happened? Who was the old man and why did he murder Wol Pot? Not that the bastard didn’t deserve to be killed, or that there weren’t plenty of people around eager to do the job.
But what concerned him most was Wol Pot’s contention that Murph Cody and Thai Horse were one and the same, and that he was a heroin smuggler. Did he work for Tollie Fong and the Chiu Chaos? Did the Longhorn regulars know Murph Cody? The questions were still buzzing in his head when he got to the hotel.
‘I’ve got some information for you, sir,’ Flitcraft’s crisp voice said.
‘Let’s hear it, Sergeant,’ said Hatcher.
‘The bad news is that I struck out on the nicknames, Wonderboy and Corkscrew. Wilkie was First Cav, a line sergeant. Got a chestful of medals. No current address since his discharge. Earp was a full colonel in CRIP. Did four tours in Nam, retired in 1976. No current address.’
‘Uh-huh. How about the others?’
‘That’s when it gets interesting,’
‘What do you mean, “interesting”?’ asked Hatcher.
‘Riker, Gallagher, Potter and Early are all listed as missing in action and presumed dead.’
