Impact

Worth stood on the dock, small, skinny as a scarecrow, trying to sound tough. 'I know what you're up to,' he called. 'Everybody knows you're looking for that old pirate treasure again. You're not fooling anyone.'

As soon as Marea cleared the peppercan buoy at the head of the harbor, Abbey swung to starboard, gunned the engine, and headed out to sea.

'What an asshole,' said Jackie. 'You see that meth mouth on him?'

Abbey said nothing.

'Racist jerk. I can't believe he called you a nigger. White trash honky motherfucker.'

'I wish . . . I was a nigger.'

'What shit are you talking now?'

'I don't know. I feel so . . . white.'

'Well, you are sort of white. I mean, you can't dance worth shit.' Jackie laughed awkwardly.

Abbey rolled her eyes.

'Seriously, nothing about you seems black, really, not the way you talk, not your background or friends . . . no offense, but . . .' Her voice trailed off.

'That's the problem,' said Abbey. 'Nothing about me really seems like me. I'm phenotypically black but white every other way.'

'Who cares? You are what you are, fuck the rest.' After an awkward silence, Jackie asked, 'Did you really sleep with him?'

'Don't remind me.'

'When?'

'At that going-away party at the Lawlers', two years ago. Before he got into meth.'

'Why?'

'I was drunk.'

'Yeah, but him?'

Abbey shrugged. 'He was the first boy I kissed, back in sixth grade . . .' She looked at Jackie's smirk. 'All right, I'm stupid.'

'Nah, you just have bad taste in men. I mean, really bad taste.'

'Thanks.' Abbey opened the pilothouse window and the sea air poured in over her face. The boat split the glassy ocean. After a while she felt her spirits returning. This was an adventure--and they were going to be rich. 'Hey, first mate!' She held up a hand. 'High fives!'

They smacked hands and Abbey gave a whoop. 'Romeo Foxtrot, shall we dance?' She stuck her iPod into the dock of her father's Bose stereo and dialed in the 'Ride of the Valkyries,' cranking it up to full volume. The boat roared down Muscongus Sound, Wagner booming over the water.

'First mate?' she said, 'Make an entry in the log. Marea, May 15, 6:25 A.M., fuel 100 percent, water 100 percent, bourbon 100 percent, weed 100 percent, engine hours 9114.4, wind negligible, sea state one, all systems go, heading sixty degrees true at twelve knots for Louds Island in search of the Muscongus Bay meteorite!'

'Aye aye, captain. Shall I roll a blunt first?'

'Capital idea, first mate!' Abbey whooped again, all thoughts of Worth vanquished. 'It doesn't get any better than this.'

7

Ford paid the cab driver and strolled down the sidewalk. The Bangkok gem district lay in a warren of side streets off Silom Road, not far from the river, a mixture of giant, warehouse-like wholesalers mingled with the ugly shop fronts of the gem-scam operations. The street was choked with traffic, the narrow sidewalks blocked by illegally parked cars, the buildings on either side cheap, modern, and tawdry. Bangkok was one of Ford's least favorite cities.

At the corner of Bamroonmuang Road he came to a low building in dark gray brick. A sign above the door read PIYAMANEE LTD. and the smoked windows reflected his image.

With a quick comb-through Ford slicked back his hair and adjusted the raw silk jacket. He had dressed like a drug dealer, silk shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, gold chains, Bolle shades, three-day stubble. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sauntered in the open door and stood looking around. The interior was dim so the gems couldn't be examined too well, and the air smelled faintly of Clorox. Glass counters with anemic lighting formed a giant open square. A young American couple, evidently honeymooners, was looking at a spread of muddy star sapphires laid out on black velvet.

He was immediately rushed by two salesgirls, neither of whom could have been more than sixteen years old.

'Sawasdee! Welcome, special friend!' One of them held out a mango drink, with a flower and umbrella. 'You come for last-day Thai government export special to buy gems, sir?'

Ford ignored them.

'Sir?'

'I want to see the owner.' He spoke to the air about a foot above their heads, hands in his pockets, shades still on.

'Gentleman wish welcome drink?'

'Gentleman not wish welcome drink.'

The girls went off, disappointed, and a moment later a man appeared from the back room, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a white shirt and gray tie, hands clasped together, making several obsequious half-bows as he approached. 'Welcome, special friend! Welcome! Where do you come from? America?'

Ford gave him a hard stare. 'I'm here to see the owner.'

'Thaksin, Thaksin, at your service, sir!'

'Fuck this. I ain't talking to a lackey.' Ford turned to leave.

'Just a moment, sir.' A few minutes passed and a very small, tired man came out from the back. He was dressed in a track suit and he walked stooped, with none of the hurry of the others, bags under his eyes. When he reached Ford, he paused, looked him up and down with an inscrutable calmness. 'Your name, please?'

Without answering, Ford removed an orange stone from his pocket and showed it to the man.

The man took a casual step back. 'Let us go back into my office.'

The office was small and covered in fake wood paneling that had warped and detached in the humidity. It stank of cigarettes. Ford had done business in Southeast Asia before and knew that the shabbiness of an office, or the poor cut of a man's clothes, was no guide to who that person was; the most dilapidated office might be the den of a billionaire.

'I am Adirake Boonmee.' The man extended a small hand and gave Ford's a neat little shake.

'Kirk Mandrake.'

'May I see that stone again, Mr. Mandrake, sir?'

Ford removed the stone but the man did not take it.

'You may place it on the table.'

Ford put it down. Boonmee eyed it for a long moment, moved closer, then grasped it, held it up to a strong point light shining from a corner of the room.

'It's a fake,' he said. 'A coated topaz.'

Ford feigned a moment of confusion, recovering quickly. 'Naturally, I'm aware of that,' he said.

'Naturally.' Boonmee placed it down on a felt board on his desk. 'What can I do for you?'

'I have a big client who wants a lot of these stones. Honeys. Real ones. And he's willing to pay top price. In gold bullion.'