her and puts a hand down to break his fall, but he recovers his balance and stands there, his weight on his left leg, swaying slightly and starting to feel little sparkles in his head, a kind of fizziness that he knows means he is losing blood.
He lets his eyes rove over the line of women in front of him. There are knives everywhere, cheap switchblades and gravity knives, crap shiny Chinese steel that he knows will be sharp only once, will never take an edge after it's dulled, and he thinks a complete sentence: It's sharp enough now.
He pulls himself to his full height, leaning left. There's a scuttle on the asphalt behind him, and something else penetrates his skin, near his spine this time, the blow feeling dull rather than sharp, but he doesn't even turn. He just stares across the tops of the bar girls' heads to the tallest woman he sees, a full head above them, looking back at him. Looking at him as though he were already dead.
As the knife behind him seeks his spine again, she smiles at him.
Rafferty sees him go down, sees the center of the circle narrow and almost close, like the iris of a camera lens. Women grunt and pant with effort, and there's a roiling at the center, heads darting in and then drifting back, replaced immediately by others. For a moment, out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees his wife, but then she's gone, and he and Arthit are plunging into the crowd of women with Kosit beside them, both cops shouting 'Police! Police!' and tossing the women aside. The women in front of them turn back to face them, and then, slowly, reluctantly, jostling one another, they part.
In the center of the circle, Horner is on his back on the pavement. His arms are thrown out, and one knee is drawn up. His head lolls to one side, and his eyelids are half closed, but Rafferty thinks he can feel the man's gaze.
Arthit says, loudly enough to be heard to the circle's far edge, 'None of you move. There are police coming from all directions. Anyone who tries to run will go straight to jail.'
The women stay where they are, watching Rafferty and Arthit come. Rafferty sees the glint of steel in hands on all sides, and then, as the row of women in front of the night-market booths thins, he sees the unbroken expanse of white cloth where the knives and brass knuckles had gleamed in the light.
'You need to stay here, all of you,' Arthit calls again. 'Everybody in the back, tighten up. Don't let anybody in.'
Rafferty hears feet scrape pavement all around him, and the circle becomes almost solid, women shoulder to shoulder, staring at him and Arthit, more interested than afraid. Horner is a still figure at the end of the path that's been cleared for them. Rafferty takes five more steps, and Horner is at his feet.
A knife stands upright in his chest. The blade had sunk in only an inch or two before Horner fell away from it, and four inches of naked steel gleam above his bloody shirt. At the edge of his vision, Rafferty sees that Arthit is looking at him, but when he turns toward his friend, Arthit slowly raises his eyes to the tangle of electrical lines above the street and stands there studying them. Rafferty waits until it is clear that Arthit is lost in contemplation of Bangkok wiring, and then, his pulse suddenly racing, he lifts his foot, puts the sole of his shoe on the handle of the knife, and presses down.
A sigh escapes the circle of women.
Without looking down at Horner, Arthit says, raising his voice only slightly, 'Listen to me. Is there anyone who can't hear me clearly?'
No response. Women in one-piece bathing suits, flimsy wraps, bikinis, T-shirts, cowboy hats, all looking at him.
'You all came out here because there was a rumor that this man was- Who's your favorite movie star?'
A woman beside Rafferty-one of the heavy women from Bottoms Up-says, 'Johnny Depp.'
'Somebody said he was Johnny Depp,' Arthit says. 'You ran out here, and he wasn't. He was just a drunk farang who fell down in the street. Is there anyone who doesn't understand this?'
Once again no answer.
'That's what you tell everyone. The customers in your bars, the cops if more come around. You came to see Johnny Depp, but it was someone else. And get rid of those weapons, now. All of you go back to work, except for the ones who are right here.' He makes a full circle with his finger. 'Count the heads in front of you, in between you and me. If there are four, go away. If there are three or less, stay here.'
The outer layers of the circle peel away, women heading back to their bars. Not many of them bother to look back.
'I need you to stay tight around us,' Arthit says. 'We're going to take him to Silom.' He pulls his cell phone from his pocket, pushes a speed-dial number, and says, 'Anand. Send Wan back to work. Tell her we're through for the night. Meet us in the car in two minutes.' He repockets the phone. 'Kosit?'
Kosit and Arthit kneel and get their arms under Horner. Each grabs one of Horner's arms and hangs it over his own shoulders. Then they tug him upright. Horner's head drops to his chest so sharply that Rafferty can hear his teeth snap together.
'Poke. Get that knife out of his chest.'
Rafferty grabs the handle of the knife and pulls it out. He's suddenly dizzy with exhaustion, stranded by an outgoing tide of adrenaline. He has no idea what to do with the knife.
'Hang on to it,' Arthit says. He raises his voice again. 'You women move with us. Keep the circle tight. We're going to a car parked at the end of the street on Silom, and I don't want anyone getting close to us. If anybody asks, he's a drunk who got in a fight. Clear?'
A chorus of affirmatives.
'Here we go. One. Two. Three.' Slowly and clumsily, the circle begins to glide toward Silom. 'Make noise,' Arthit says to the girls. 'Talk, laugh.' To Kosit he says, 'Anand will drive. You sit in back with our friend here and make sure he doesn't die of his injuries.'
Kosit says, 'Got it.'
'Poke,' Arthit says. 'Give him the knife.'
Rafferty does.
'That's the knife we don't want him to die from,' Arthit says. With a glance toward Rafferty, he continues. 'If he does die, there's no point in taking up valuable hospital space, and we don't want to bother the Americans.'
Kosit says, 'The river.'
'Why not?' Arthit says. 'It's already polluted.'
Chapter 30
The level of audience enthusiasm, which had dropped off a bit when Ferdinand and Miranda came out for their bows, spikes sharply as Miaow runs onto the stage in her mirrored cloak. There are even some cheers, mostly, it seems, from kids. The follow spot hits her, making her the center of a blaze of light until the boy behind the spot snaps it off. He wasn't supposed to turn it on in the first place; it's Rafferty's guess that it's his way of applauding.
The whole cast is lined up now, and Prospero limps onstage, slowly abandoning his crouch as he goes, as though to amaze the audience by revealing that he isn't really an old man after all, but the flourish doesn't get the anticipated response. In fact, the applause drops off somewhat. It remains at a polite level as he takes his place in the center of the line, and then it increases slightly as everyone bows in unison, and the curtain falls.
They stand, Rose grabbing Rafferty's arm and hugging it to her. 'Wasn't she wonderful?'
'She was,' he says. 'And what about that adaptation?'
'It was long.'
'It was a lot longer before I got to it.' He stands in the aisle as she slips out of the row, and they edge down the slope toward the stage, threading their way between the people heading up toward the exits at the rear of the auditorium.
Rose looks over at him, wearing his one jacket and tie, and then down at the clothes she bought herself for
