'Mine certainly isn't,' Rafferty says. He is wondering who she thought might come knocking on her door, who it was who was not included in his 'anyone.'
She does not respond to his remark. She simply looks at him while she waits for Pak to return. The shining eyes do not shift or waver. Rafferty takes it as long as he can and then studies the bas-reliefs on the opposite wall. Life, action, argument, laughter, war, love. All in silent stone, as silent as this house. He can hear himself swallow.
Rafferty is on the verge of saying something, anything, to break the stillness when Pak appears with a file in his hands. He presents it to Madame Wing two-handed, as though it were on a cushion.
'You have a pencil,' she says, opening it. Pak melts away into the hall.
'Tippawan Dangphai,' she reads. 'Twenty years old. Nickname…' She peers at the page as though the type has begun to square-dance.
'Doughnut,' Rafferty supplies, pulling out his pad.
She shakes her head at the name. 'From Isaan. The town is called-' She lets loose an avalanche of Thai syllables, which Rafferty does not even try to follow. He is not going to Isaan, no matter what. 'This was her first position in Bangkok.' She turns the page. 'She still had mud between her toes,' she says.
Rafferty is unsure how to react, but it might have been a joke. 'What address did she give you?' Hoping it's not the Bangkok Bank.
'She was staying with a sister in Banglamphoo.' She reads an address. 'Have you got that?' The question is severe, as though she is daring him to say no.
'And you have no idea where she is now?'
'No.' She closes the folder. 'Now to my business.' She rolls her chair backward and reaches behind her to close the door. The room seems much smaller. 'Something has been stolen from me,' she says. Her face is suddenly white and pinched, her voice strangled. Rafferty is looking at pure, distilled rage. 'You will find it.'
'Afraid not,' Rafferty says, getting up. 'I'm pretty much booked up.'
'When you find it, you will return it to me. You will not look at it.'
'I'm not even going to find it.'
She says, 'Ten thousand dollars.'
Rafferty sits. Miaow's adoption, he thinks.
'I had a safe buried outside. It had something in it that I need. You will find it, and you will find the man who took it.'
'I don't know,' Rafferty says, but he does. Ten thousand dollars would feed Rose's hopefuls until they find work. It would pay for Miaow's schooling for two years.
It would fund Hank Morrison.
'You will bring them both to me, the man and the thing he stole.'
He takes another look at Madame Wing. The eyes settle it.
'The police-'
'I cannot go to the police. The thing that was stolen-' She hesitates for the first time since they began to talk. 'It is private. I cannot trust the police with it.'
'Then how do you know you can trust me with it?'
'You are one man,' she says.
'And that means?'
She smiles at him. 'You have one neck.'
'Well, that's that,' Rafferty says. He pushes his chair back.
'Twenty thousand.'
'Madame Wing,' he says, 'you just threatened me.'
'You can only threaten yourself,' she says. 'If you bring it to me unopened, you will have no problem.'
'And how will you know if I've opened it?'
She puts the gnarled hands in her lap. 'Your face will tell me.' Then she says, 'Twenty-five thousand.' She settles back in the chair, completely relaxed.
'I don't work for people who threaten me.'
'I did not intend to threaten you.' She lowers her head. 'Please forgive an old woman who has lost something very precious to her.'
'Excuse an American expression,' he says, 'but you have impressive juju.'
The chin comes up. 'What is 'juju'?'
'Power. Like a kind of magic.'
Madame Wing looks pleased. It is not a change for the better. 'I had juju once,' she says. 'But that was a long time ago. Now I am old and helpless. Someone has taken something from me. He came here at night and stole it. Do you think this should be allowed? Do you think men should be able to steal things from old women who have nothing left but memories?'
Well, put that way. 'Of course not.'
'Thirty thousand dollars,' she says. 'That's as high as I will go. In cash. Half now and half when you bring me the thing that was stolen and the man who took it.'
Fifteen thousand dollars. In advance. 'I don't deliver people,' Rafferty says.
'You will tell us where he is, then.'
'What happens if I can't find it?' He is thinking in terms of being drawn and quartered.
She looks at him with those nocturnal eyes. 'Then you do not receive the second payment. But I am certain you will find it.'
'I have conditions.'
She settles in. They've moved to negotiation. 'They are?'
'If I find it, whatever it is, I'll return it to you or to whomever you choose, in a public place at a time I designate. You'll pay me then and there. I won't deliver the man to you unless I know you're not going to harm him. And, finally, I'll give it a week.'
'Two.'
Now it is his turn to wait her out. He forces himself to hold her gaze.
'One, then,' she says. 'I have conditions in return. I will require a daily report, on the telephone, since you are not comfortable coming here.' Something about a light-year away from amusement flickers in her eyes. 'The report will be detailed. You will tell me where you have gone, what you have done, whom you have spoken with. You will tell no one else at all, no one in the world, what you are doing for me. Is this acceptable?'
'I guess,' Rafferty says. 'Sure. It's acceptable.'
'Good.' She claps her hands again, three times, and the door to the room opens. Pak floats in, carrying a fat envelope, which he presents to Rafferty.
'Fifteen thousand dollars,' Madame Wing says. 'All hundreds, no counterfeits. You may examine them.'
'Is there a price written on my forehead?' Rafferty asks. 'What if I had stopped at twenty?'
She smiles, a new vista of awfulness. Her teeth are long and crooked, the color of mustard. 'I would have clapped twice.'
'What am I looking for?'
'An envelope. Not like the one I just gave you-bigger. Heavy brown paper, tied with twine. There is nothing written on it, but three old stamps have been pasted in the upper right corner. You are not to open it.'
'You've made that point quite eloquently.'
'The man you are looking for is a Cambodian. He will be between forty and fifty-five. He may be physically damaged in some way. He will be in Bangkok.'
'How do you know all that?'
The eyes come up, hooded. 'It is my life. Who would know better?'
'The safe was in that hole out there?'
She nods.
'How did he get in? You have guards-'
'He came on the river, at night. The guard at the dock was caught unawares and struck with a stone. The fool. He is no longer here, of course.'
'I'll need to talk to him.'
