Victor, the fat man, was dismissing him. It was a quick end to the meeting, which was very unusual under the circumstances, even with the danger of sunburn looming. Carl was usually able to anticipate how his clients would react to information and would structure his strategy accordingly. This was not something he had planned for.
“One more thing,” Carl said not getting up from the table. “Next time he goes to Macau I want to fly there and sit down at the game. I want to sit across from him without him knowing who I am. I want to look into his eyes and see what’s in there.”
“What will you need?”
“An additional ten thousand dollars should cover it.”
“It’ll be sent in the next half hour,” he said as he signalled the waiter for his bill.
Carl found the whole meeting curious, very curious indeed. The client’s agreement to his request came too easily for Carl’s liking. Alarm bells were going off in his head but he ignored them. He was going to Macau to play in a big poker game with a suspected serial killer. It sounded like too much fun for him to worry about a little thing like alarm bells in his head. The first lesson in surviving on the streets is how important it is to trust your instincts.
Carl said goodbye to the client and his semi-detached companion, got up from the table and walked past the poolside restaurant on his way to the swimming pool exit and the lifts. He winked at the security man as he walked past. The man smiled in embarrassment and reported Carl’s departure on his radio.
He took the lift to the basement where there was an unmarked door that took him into the head of security’s office. Jack Burke was at his desk in the windowless room studying the cryptic crossword in that morning’s Bangkok Post.
“Morning Jack,” Carl said as he took a seat.
Jack Burke looked up from his newspaper and smiled. “You’ve got strange friends Carl. It’s one of the things we like about you. Never a dull moment when Carl is around, we tell each other at morning meetings. The only thing is Carl, why the fuck do they all have to stay at our hotel?”
Jack had taken the queen’s shilling in his youth and served honourably for three decades. After retirement he had taken a long holiday in Thailand, where his straight back and military bearing had landed him the position as head of hotel security. Carl approved of him in spite of his habit of wearing short-sleeved white shirts and his regimental tie.
“You can’t put this one on me,” Carl told him, “he was already a guest here when I met him.”
“Client?”
“Possibly, I think he’s feeling me out. God knows I could do with one at the moment.”
Jack looked up from his crossword. “Been playing with a cold deck again, have you?”
“Something like that. Can you ask your boys to keep an eye on who visits him at the hotel? It would be useful to know if any lawyers or other PIs are sniffing around.”
“Sure Carl. They never mind doing you a favour.”
“Please let them know that I always appreciate it,” Carl said as he got up to leave.
“No problem,” Jack said as he got back to wrestling the crossword. “This one’s got me stymied; a meal fit for a prince or a rover? It’s two words.”
“We should get together at Paddy Murphy’s for a pint one night when the football’s on.”
“Look forward to it. You’re buying,” Jack told him without looking up from his paper.
“Dog food,” Carl told him as he went out the door.
The Porsche went quickly and noisily through the car park’s twists and turns. Its rumbling deep bass engine set off car alarms as it went past them. The red monster shot down the hotel ramp and into Bangkok gridlock. Carl patiently drove through the heavy traffic to his destination on the river, ducking in and out of lanes with great skill as Bangkok drivers are expected to do.
He arrived at River City shopping centre over an hour later. His car didn’t like daytime Bangkok traffic and its air-cooled engine suffered from the midday heat and lack of speed. The monster’s roar had become a whine and like a horse ridden too hard it needed a few hours of stabling.
River City was the antique market specializing in expensive furniture and Buddha amulets. It was located on the Bangkok side of the Chaophya River and catered to tourists and wealthy locals. Carl parked the tired Porsche on the third floor and entered through a door marked Fire Exit. He walked past the shops with their high-priced antiques to a Thai seafood restaurant with a view across the water to the Thonburi side. The other side of the river had always been the less expensive half of the city, as it did not cater to many foreigners.
Carl sat at his regular table facing the river and ordered an iced tea and a plate of pad thai noodles with fresh prawns. The restaurant staff kept the table for him whenever possible.
There was an apartment building on the other side of the river that Carl could see best from that particular table. He had regularly watched it for several months but didn’t do so every day. He couldn’t see anything of importance anyway, as it was too far away for normal eyesight, and he didn’t bring binoculars.
The building under surveillance was a relatively modern condominium with a swimming pool and terrace facing the river. Residents could access it by taking a boat from the pier next to River City, thereby never actually having to interact with the Thonburi half of Bangkok’s vast metropolis.
Carl easily identified the balcony window belonging to apartment 5C because he had stayed there many times — that and the bright orange curtains. It didn’t matter to him that he was too far away to see any people moving around inside. He already knew what the inside of the apartment looked like.
At that time of day, the woman in the photograph he kept on his bookshelf would be singing standards and exercising her vocal cords. She would be in the white dressing gown he had stolen for her from the Oriental Hotel and she would be wearing nothing else. He imagined her lithe dark body under the white towelling. She was probably singing Misty. She usually sang Misty when she exercised her vocal chords.
He enjoyed having lunch at the seafood restaurant. It was never pre planned that he drove there in the middle of the day through the lunchtime traffic. It just happened sometimes. It had been happening quite a lot lately.
Chapter 10
Early Friday morning Carl received the phone call he had been hoping for. It was from the colonel telling him that Somchai Poochokdee had boarded a plane to Macau late Thursday. Carl had packed an overnight bag in readiness and it was waiting for him on the middle of his desk with his passport. Carl knew the target’s habit was to spend a couple of long weekends in Macau every month so it had not required deductive genius to know he would be rushing to the airport sooner rather than later. The magnetic pull of clinking chips and playing cards fluttering across green baize had made it difficult to sleep. Carl was exhibiting all the impatience of a child at Christmas.
Carl was excited that he was going to be able to meet his prey and get a good look at him up close and personal. The client’s story had sounded credible enough up to a point but Carl found it overly convenient that Bangkok’s serial killer had been handed to him on a plate. He had never had one before and had never expected to get one so easily. The case had finally got his full attention.
At the time Carl had not believed the claim that the long lost brother was also a serial killer. Clients have a tendency to vilify their chosen targets to private investigators and lawyers in the belief that it will get them better service. That and the comfort they got when they believed that they had recruited an accomplice as opposed to a service provider to help fight their cause. Carl had found the client’s claims of having a serial killer in the family a little too topical for his liking. Private detectives and clients read the same newspapers in the morning. He had heard lots of stories in his time and rarely believed everything his clients told him.
He had spent the previous evening counting out money and studying his poker books so when the call came he would be ready for action. Carl had also searched the Internet and listed the phone numbers of the major casino hotels in Macau. He made a coffee from the espresso machine, took it upstairs, lit a cigar and got on the phone.
“Good morning can you put me through to Mr. Somchai Poochokdee’s room please.”
A pause and then, “We don’t have a guest by that name.”
“Thank you.” He hung up.
