having others do the dirty work. Rafferty has always believed that bad deeds, if they must be done, should be done personally.
But he can't just let her walk away.
While they are eating, Arthit knocks at the door. He comes in wearing his plaid trousers, eyes the pizza, and accepts a slice. While Rafferty is getting him a beer, he appears in the kitchen door.
'Thanks for coming,' Rafferty says.
'I was coming anyway, even if you hadn't called. My two colleagues, the ones who were helping Clarissa spend her money, put an interesting file on my desk this afternoon.'
'This is exactly what I need to hear right now,' Rafferty says, opening a second beer. He is gripping the can so hard that it crumples as the top pops, and beer sloshes over his hand. He stares down at it and then licks it off.
Arthit is watching him with interest. 'It's a complaint against you. Alleging that you're keeping children here for immoral purposes.'
Rafferty lets the counter take all his weight. 'I'll kill them. I mean it, Arthit. I'll kill both of them.'
'No you won't.' Arthit looks at the beer in his own hand but doesn't drink. 'Not yet anyway. They told me you had two days to pay them off or they'll file the complaint officially.'
'Two days. There seems to be something magical about the day after tomorrow. How much?'
'Fifty thousand dollars.'
'Fifty?'
'They think big.'
Miaow comes into the kitchen with a plate containing a second slice of pizza for Arthit, looks at their faces, and leaves, still carrying the plate.
'So back to Plan A.' Rafferty lowers his voice. 'I kill them.'
'We have two days to come up with Plan B,' Arthit says. 'When you called, you said something about a market for fugitives.'
'Is there one?'
'This is a vague area. Talking about it puts me in a difficult position, Poke. Normally, of course, what one does with fugitives is turn them over to the police.'
'This particular fugitive has the police in her pocket.'
Arthit looks past Rafferty for a second and then right at him. He takes his first pull on the beer, a good long one. 'Is this somebody we've discussed before? Lives on the river?'
'It is.'
'And you can verify her fugitive status?'
'Can I ever.'
A pause long enough for Arthit to be doing addition in his head. 'Do you have a name? Other than the one I already know?'
Rafferty watches Arthit's eyes. 'Keck.'
For a moment Arthit has no reaction. Then he says, 'My, my. One of the top beasts.'
'I've got pictures.'
'I'll bet they're lovely.'
'If you're going to look at them, you'll be glad you didn't have that second slice of pizza.'
Arthit drops his eyes to the can in his hand and then lifts them to the ceiling. 'I need to think.' He goes to the kitchen counter and pulls out a chair. 'Join me?' he says.
'Always a pleasure.' Rafferty sits opposite him and watches him think. Looking at the sallow skin, the lines of strain around his friend's eyes, he feels a sudden surge of affection. He reaches over and clumsily pats the back of Arthit's hand. Arthit grabs his hand for a second, then releases it and straightens, all business.
'If you have the pictures, I assume that you also have the person who stole them, since they were obviously in the safe.'
'Assume away.'
'Okay, three things. First, I wasn't kidding about this being dangerous for me. It's beyond illegal. I can't be involved in any way. It could end my career, such as it is. More important, it could endanger Noi. Her medical bills are eating me alive. If I were to lose my job-'
A wave of shame washes over Rafferty. 'Forget it. I shouldn't have asked. I wasn't thinking.'
Arthit raises a hand. 'And I wasn't finished. That was the first thing. The second thing is that you're going to need agents, for want of a better word, agents who can shop her. She's not a Nazi or a Serbian war criminal. People like that you can turn over to a number of organizations, even governments. But no one is hunting for Khmer Rouge executioners. The Cambodians would probably pay you not to find her. Many of the ranking members of Hun Sen's government were KR not so long ago. Someone like Keck could tell stories that would be intensely embarrassing.'
'So?'
'So that means the clients, such as they are, will be individuals. There should be plenty of those, but they'll have limited funds.'
Rafferty shakes his head. 'I don't care about the money.'
'No, but your agents will.'
'You said three things. What was the third?'
'You're going to think I'm crazy.'
'If I were going to think you were crazy, Arthit, I'd have started long ago.'
'It's about your agents. You need to consider the skills they'll have to possess.'
This is going somewhere, although Rafferty doesn't know where. 'Maybe you could save me the effort. Since you already seem to know.'
'Righty-oh.' Arthit holds up a handful of fingers and ticks them off one at a time. 'They need to be connected to the criminal underground. They need to know Bangkok extremely well. They need to be familiar with the protocols of delivering prisoners. They need to be greedy. And they can't be afraid of a little violence.'
Rafferty's mind is going off on an extremely unattractive tangent. 'I'm getting a bad feeling about this.'
'Think of it,' Arthit says, 'as two birds with one stone.'
'I take it back. You are crazy.'
'It would save them face. It would give them a little money-not as much as they want, but enough to salve their wounds.' He drinks again. 'It would kill the report on my desk.'
'It would bring those two assholes back into my life.'
'You're not paying attention. It would kill the report on my desk. It takes care of this vile woman. Poke. Just once in your life, as a favor to me, be rational.'
'They're not smart enough. This is no ordinary old lady. She's as poisonous as a krait.'
'You need greedy and brutal, and you're getting greedy and brutal. You supply the smart.' He drums his fingers on the table, waiting. 'Shall I set up a meeting?'
From the living room, Rafferty hears Miaow and Superman talking. 'Fine,' he says brusquely. 'But I'll call them, not you.' Then he looks again at the man seated across the table: tired, rumpled, homely, wearing awful trousers. 'Arthit,' he begins, but Arthit raises a hand.
'You're my friend,' he says.
'There'll come a time.'
Arthit picks up the can of beer and sloshes it experimentally, hears nothing, and puts it down with a disappointed expression. 'And what about our murderer? Do you plan to notify me officially at any point?'
'Eventually.'
'When?'
'As soon as he's better,' Rafferty says.
'What? Is he down with the flu or something?'
'Iron poisoning.'
'Not lead?'
'Nothing that technologically advanced.'
'And you're tending his wounds?' Arthit cranes his head in the direction of the living room. 'My, my. You're
