she subtracts her assets, little indentations of anxiety.
'Here comes the first part of your favor: 555-0475. That's Hank Morrison's number. Do you know Hank?'
'Pilot or something. Runs that school for street kids.'
'He puts the kids through a few years of basic schooling,' Arthit says. 'He-what's the word? — socializes them. You know, teaches them not to kill each other over who gets the first helping of noodles. And then he arranges their adoption. I've told him to expect your call.'
'Adoption? You mean, like adoption?'
'Have some coffee,' Arthit says sympathetically. 'Crank up those verbal skills, then give him a call. And keep working on Claus Ulrich.'
Rafferty is already dialing when he realizes he hung up on Arthit without saying good-bye. The phone feels slick. His palms are sweating.
After two rings the telephone is picked up. Nobody says anything, but Rafferty can hear the shrieks of what sound like a million children on a roller coaster. 'Hello?' Rafferty says. The squeals rise in pitch as the roller coaster, or whatever it is, reaches the top of its arc. 'Hello?'
On the other end of the line, somebody laughs. From the sound of the laugh, its possessor is less than three feet tall and easily amused.
'Is Hank there? Khun Hank, is he there?' Rafferty asks in Thai.
After a deliberative pause, the person on the other end says, 'Yes,' and hangs up.
Rafferty counts to twenty to give the child time to become interested in something else and wander away, and then he dials again. Four rings this time, and then a deep male voice says, 'Hello.'
'Hank Morrison? This is Poke Rafferty.'
'Hey, Poke. Did you just call?'
'Sort of.'
'Natalee said someone had called. She's got the basic idea, but she's a little shaky on the drill.'
'You're training them early,' Rafferty says.
'You don't have to train them at all. They fight to help out. One thing about kids, they like to feel useful.'
'Hank, I need to ask you a couple of questions.'
'This is about what Arthit mentioned.'
'Actually, the first thing is business.'
'Fire away. Listen, if you hear me drop the phone suddenly, hang on. It just means I'm intervening in one of the day's near-death situations. We've got prospective adoptive parents coming through today, and it gets the kids kind of worked up.'
'Okay, the business. I'm looking for a guy as a favor for Arthit. He's supposed to be active with kids here. Do you know anyone named Claus Ulrich?'
'Claus…'
'Ulrich.'
'Can't say I do. What organization does he work with?'
'I have no idea.'
'Might help if you could find out. But I've never heard of him, and I think I know most of the folks who are really doing something. Maybe he's an angel.'
'An angel?'
'You know-doesn't do the work but gives the money. Is he well-off?'
'Seems to be.'
'Okay, I'll ask around and get back to you. Now, what about the child Arthit mentioned? How old?'
'She's eight,' Rafferty says. 'I think.'
'A little girl,' Hank says carefully.
'That's right, Hank,' Rafferty says, suddenly angry. 'An eight-year-old female is often called a little girl.'
'Sorry, Poke. It's more…complicated with girls. How did you get involved with her?'
'I met her in Patpong, selling gum. She didn't have a place to live, and I didn't want her on the street. I put her in a rented room for a while, and I set her up in one of the international schools. After a while I cleared out my office, here in the apartment, and she moved in.'
Morrison clears his throat. 'Is she still in school?'
'Yes, and she's doing great.'
'Poke, what did you tell the school about her? What have you been telling people in general?'
'Not much. It doesn't come up that often, actually. I have a long-time girlfriend who's here a lot, and that sort of takes some of the curse off. When someone asks-at the school, for example-I say she's my adopted daughter.'
'Mmmm,' Morrison says. 'You want to be careful with this.'
'I know. I worry about it.' The person he worries most about is one of the people who lives on his floor, a Mrs. Pongsiri. A regal-looking lady of a certain age who works very peculiar hours, leaving in the afternoon and coming home late at night, Mrs. Pongsiri never misses an opportunity to gaze speculatively at Miaow. She has demonstrated a vast repertoire of ways to purse her lips. Since she is essentially the central switchboard for the apartment house's gossip network, her interest is disconcerting.
'You should worry about it. And for the meantime you want to avoid rubbing people's noses in it. What's your girlfriend's name?'
'Rose.'
'Well, it would be a good idea to take Rose along when the two of you go out. This is a serious relationship?'
'I'd marry her in a minute. She's the one with reservations.'
'Well, good for her. Marriage is supposed to be for life. But adoption really is.'
'Yeah, I know. That's fine. I mean, I want to see her grow up and everything, while I get old, just like I'm supposed to. I want her to have some kind of life. She's an amazing kid, Hank.'
'They're all amazing,' Morrison says. 'That's the hard part.'
'So, then, what? I mean, what do I do?'
'Are her parents dead?'
'She doesn't know. She's been on the streets practically her whole life.'
'That makes it harder. Normally, to qualify for adoption you need to be able to demonstrate either that both parents are dead or that they've consented to the deal.'
Rafferty emits three frustrated little pops of breath. 'Well, we can't do that.'
'Probably not the end of the world.' Morrison puts a hand over the phone and calls out to someone, using a tone that has a lot of military starch in it. 'Listen, don't take this wrong, Poke. Arthit says you're a good guy. But before I can do anything at all for you, I have to see you and her together. And I have to spend time with her alone. At least a couple of hours.'
'Do you really think you can do something for us?'
'It's possible. But one thing at a time. Before we can do anything, I have to talk to both of you.'
Rafferty is up and pacing the room. He feels light enough to float. 'Jesus, Hank. Thank you.'
'I'll need some money. The paperwork isn't cheap.'
'How much?'
'The low thousands.'
'Is that all?' Rafferty asks, and then realizes that his total net worth at the moment can be placed in the very low thousands, especially with the drain of Rose's business. And Miaow's school claims a chunk every month, too.
'That's it. But don't get your hopes up too fast. It's a bumpy track. We'll talk in a day or so.'
'Hank, one more thing. There's another kid.'
'Poke, are you writing books or doing day care?'
'This is a boy, about ten. He took care of my little girl for a few years, starting when she was four or five, and now she's trying to return the favor.'
'What's his problem? Because there is one. I can hear it in your voice.'
'Amphetamines,' Rafferty says. 'And violence.'
