“Tomorrow morning. I’ll drop them off first thing.”
(13)
Arthon called Ava at eight the next morning to say he was on his way. She had already been up for two hours and had gone for another run in Lumpini Park. Saturday morning was even busier than Friday, and after two laps she walked the third so she could take in more of the sights and sounds. She hadn’t known there were so many variations of tai chi.
When she got back to the hotel, she showered and changed and then camped out in the lobby to wait for Arthon. She was reading the Bangkok Post, which had an article in the lifestyle section about a katoey rock band. From the photo she couldn’t have guessed that it wasn’t just another gorgeous all-girl band.
Aside from his nasty violent streak, Ava had no issue with Antonelli’s sexual tastes. She also knew Thailand well enough to be sure that the Thais wouldn’t care either. Katoeys were a part of everyday life, an accepted third sex. Ava had been in public buildings that actually had three washrooms: for men, women, and katoeys.
A small cottage industry had developed around the katoey, and partly because of them the plastic surgeons in Thailand were some of the world’s best. They had been lucky to catch Antonelli with one who hadn’t yet completed the surgery. If she had, no one would have believed she was transgender. Then again, Ava thought, maybe we weren’t lucky. Maybe Antonelli likes them half and half.
Arthon arrived on time, wearing the same clothes as the night before. He looked tired, and Ava guessed he hadn’t slept. He slumped onto the couch next to her and groaned.
“Rough night of police work?”
“I wish,” he said. “It’s month-end and I had to make my collections. I’m responsible for the gambling joints, and some of them don’t open till midnight.”
“How much time do you spend on actual police work as opposed to running all these side businesses?”
“It’s about fifty-fifty, although at month-end it gets crazy.”
“And I didn’t think gambling was legal in Thailand,” she said.
“It isn’t,” he said as he passed her a large brown envel-ope.
There were five photos. She winced as she looked at them. Antonelli was even more repulsive with his clothes off than she had imagined, and even though she already knew about his partner, it was still a bit of a shock for Ava to actually see her.
“Wonderful,” she said.
“Do you want me to be with you when you drop this on him? He might not be too pleased.”
“It should be okay. What you can do for me is find out his room number at the Water Hotel. I’ll slip a picture under his door and then arrange to meet him somewhere public where he can’t go off on me.”
“He’s in room 3235.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going home to get some sleep. If you need me, just call.”
“Here, I owe you this,” she said, giving him a roll of baht.
“Forget it. I talked to my boss and he said he’d kill me if I took anything from Uncle.”
She shrugged. “Give it to a temple or something.”
“I can’t do that,” he said. He stood up and stretched wearily. She noticed some of the female staff eyeing him. He noted them too and smiled and wai ’d. Wai s all round ensued, and one of women, who looked about sixteen, drifted towards him. A few words were spoken in Thai and then she laughed, took his card, and walked with him to the front door. Ava could only admire how aggressive these women were.
She went back to her room and changed her clothes; the linen slacks and pink Brooks Brothers shirt would create the right impression. She went outside, intending to walk to the hotel, but the sky was clear and the sun was brutal. She didn’t want to get there covered in sweat so she took a taxi, even though the ride would take longer than the walk.
She caught the elevator to the thirty-second floor. The corridor was empty save for the room maid’s cart. Ava stood outside Antonelli’s room for a moment, her ear pressed against the door. She heard faint noises coming from what sounded like a television. She had left one picture in the envelope, on which she had written: Meet me in the lobby downstairs. I’m Chinese, a woman, and I’m wearing a pink shirt.
Ava slid the envelope under the door, rang the doorbell, and then used the nearby exit to run down the stairs. She got out on the thirty-first floor and pushed the elevator button, hoping she’d get to the lobby before him, and hoping even more that he wouldn’t get into the same elevator car as her. It took less than a minute to arrive.
She walked into a lobby that was nearly deserted and chose a chair in the middle of the lounge. Across from it was a couch, with a broad coffee table in between. She ordered an espresso and waited. A few minutes later the elevator doors opened and Antonelli charged into the lobby. He was wearing a Georgia Tech tank top, baggy shorts, and a pair of blue Crocs. His legs were pale and surprisingly smooth. He hadn’t brushed his hair, and the few strands he had left were sticking up in the air. He looked around the lobby; she could see a mixture of anger, urgency, and desperation on his face.
Ava waved at Antonelli and smiled. He headed towards her, the envelope clasped tightly in his hand.
“You, you bitch! You Chinese bitch! You fucking Chinese bitch!” he yelled when he was still ten metres away.
“Have a seat,” she said, pointing to the sofa.
He ploughed towards her, his face contorted, and for a second she thought he was going to try something physical with her. She shifted her feet, bracing herself for a countermove. He stopped when he was still a short distance away from her. “You fucking bitch,” he spat.
Even from that distance she could smell breath that was foul from beer and God knows what else. His bared teeth were stained and coated with a yellow film. She guessed he hadn’t taken the time to brush.
He brandished the envelope in front of him. “You fucking Chinese bitch.”
“You’re getting repetitive, and not accomplishing anything. I suggest you sit,” she said.
“You were the one who was here yesterday. I remember you, you bitch. I thought there was something funny about you.”
“Obviously there was.”
He waved the envelope again. “What is this about? What the fuck is this about? I don’t know you. There is no fucking reason for this.”
The server hovered nearby with Ava’s coffee, afraid to come any closer. “You can bring it over now,” Ava said to her, and then turned to Antonelli. “Do you want something?” she asked. “I’m buying.”
“Fuck off.”
“Later. Right now we need to talk.”
“What do you think you’re going to do with this?”
“You are George Antonelli, correct? And you have a partner named Jackson Seto, and the two of you have been stealing money from a client of mine. That’s why I’m here.”
“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do, but really it doesn’t matter one way or another. I have very little interest in you or your hobbies. What I need to do is find Jackson Seto. I want you to help me.”
“I still have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
She pulled the file Arthon had given her from her purse and placed it on the table. “I know all about you. I know how long you’ve been here, who you’ve worked with, how many scams you and Seto have pulled. I also know about the wife and kids back in Atlanta. Their address and phone numbers are in the file.”
Antonelli sat down and reached for the folder. He opened it and started to read. She waited, watching his face for reaction. His jaw tightened, and he licked spittle from the side of his mouth.
“What the fuck are you trying to do?” he said finally.
“It’s very simple — I need to locate Seto. You know where he is, or at the very least you know how I can contact him. You have two options. You tell me what I want to know, or I’m going to make a hundred copies of that photo — and the five others that I have — and send them to your wife, your kids, your Atlanta neighbours, your
