serial killer is a prudent thing to do.”
“Why would he say that?”
“Seems our target may be doing business and playing golf with General Amnuay. Information is that he may be a bit of a handful.”
“Handful? The man is the biggest gangster in town. You have really got yourself in a mess again. How the hell do you plan to get out of this one?”
“That, George, is the question that murders sleep.”
“I see a future with a very long beard if you don’t think of something soon.”
Carl was relieved to see he still had his sense of humour. A sense of humour goes a long way when surrounded by people who want you dead and possess the means.
“I want to pay a late night visit to Inman’s old office building on Phetchburi Road,” Carol told him. “Don’t know where it fits in, but something about it isn’t right. It is a very expensive piece of real estate to leave idle for so many years. Especially when you are in the real estate business. That and the fact that somebody is still paying the electricity bill.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Do you still pick locks?”
“Sounds like I’ll have to,” he said wearily.
The plan was to go there late. Closing time, when the police were all busy dealing with the drunks. George left to put the money somewhere safe and Carl ordered a plate of food and slowed down his beer consumption. Getting comfortably numb on alcohol was always a temptation when dealing with stress but not a good idea before a burglary. The piped jazz music was pleasant enough but he wasn’t in the mood.
The live music started at nine and the band typically showed up a little before. The band comprised a piano player, double bass, tenor saxophone, and a long-legged black vocalist. She was beautiful. Her name was Jacqueline, and once upon a time she had almost become another Mrs. Engel. When she saw him in the corner she came and sat in the seat George had recently vacated.
“It’s been a long time Carl,” she told him, looking at him with sparkling but disapproving eyes.
“Sounds like the title of a song. How’ve you been?”
“Tall, black, and beautiful mostly. How ‘bout you?”
“Cynical, grumpy, and self-possessed. Same as always.”
“No wonder you’re so irresistible to women.”
“Do you still sing Misty in your sleep?”
“How would I know? Who’s around to tell me?” she said as she signalled the waiter for a drink. “The Dutchman comes here regularly, he told me that you are back. Why didn’t you come and see me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“That’s your most annoying trait, always thinking. Real life is such a mystery to you. I could never work out whether you are an idiot genius or a genius at being an idiot.”
“Me too. I thought about calling you, but eh, you know me.”
“Yeah I know you. Forgiving everybody except yourself. I have to go and sing, will you be around later?” she asked as she leant over and kissed Carl on the cheek. She picked up her drink and walked away without waiting for an answer.
Carl missed her more than he liked to admit. The relationship was not going to be warmed up by him under his present circumstances and he couldn’t tell her why without making her an accomplice. She was going to be handled at arm’s length for a while. Being close to him immediately shaved decades off a person’s life expectancy and she sang far too well to die young. Like dodgem cars that crashed and passed in the night, Carl knew another wedge had just been put between them.
They had only ever had one argument but one had been enough. She had asked Carl what it had been like living in Thailand as a young foreigner during the 1970s and 1980s. He told her that it had been like being a Negro in a Swiss village in wintertime. She was offended and declared it a racist statement. Carl disagreed and told her that racism would be behaving and speaking differently when she was around and that he had no intention of putting a governor between his thoughts and his mouth. She gave Carl a lecture on American style political correctness. Carl insisted that political correctness was just an insidious form of racism, as it required putting on different behaviour for different people. They did not agree and her programming had kicked in. She remained angry with him for quite some time after. Carl could put up with almost anything, but not her disapproval. So he had gone quietly.
She stood in front of the grand piano and sang Misty. She sang the words to him across the crowded bar as if it was only the two of them there. Just like the old days when he used to pick her up at the Brown Sugar late at night. She didn’t sing at Carl again all night and didn’t come back and talk to him. After taking time to think about what she had said, Carl’s money was on just plain ‘idiot’. He would do what he had to do and then go to bed with his bottle of Ardbeg. A marriage made in heaven.
Once, she had confided to the Dutchman that she reckoned some woman had broken Carl’s heart, and how she would like to get her hands on that woman for ruining him for everybody else. The Dutchman said, ‘no, no, no,’ and told her that it was not a woman that had drawn first blood. It was life that had broken Carl’s heart but that had been a very long time ago. The Dutchman’s theory, he had claimed, was based on something he had heard Carl say in India whilst wasted on hashish and booze. Carl thought they were both talking nonsense but then, what did he know?
George got back around midnight and spent a few minutes huddled at a table with Jacqueline. They openly conspired whilst unashamedly glancing in Carl’s direction. They had long ago joined forces believing two heads would be better than one at unravelling the enigma that was their common burden. Carl always let them have their fun; two martyrs were definitely better than one. He paid the bill and waited.
George had brought a discreet midsize Japanese car with him that Carl didn’t recognize and thought it best not to ask about. George got in the driver’s seat and drove the car towards their destination in silence. The traffic was only medium weight even though some of the bars had already begun to send their customers home. The cold gun pressed against Carl’s belly was disturbing but uncharacteristically comforting. As usual, Carl hoped he knew what he was doing.
The car park behind the building was quiet as the grave. The shop houses around the square were all shut for the night. There was nobody to be seen but Carl assumed that some of the people would live above their businesses so windows were relevant and they needed to be careful. They parked the car behind the building and George switched off the headlights.
“What’s next?” he asked Carl. “Was it your turn to bring the ladder?”
“Sad story George. The ladder’s in the pawn shop again.”
“Does that mean we can go home now?”
“We have the advantage of being old and respectable foreigners,” Carl told him. “Being furtive would make us conspicuous whereas walking up to the door and opening it like we own the place shouldn’t draw any attention whatsoever.”
“I assume this wonderful plan is based on my ability to pick the lock so quickly it will appear like we have a key,” he said sarcastically.
“If you’re as quick with a lock as you are quick witted then I have nothing to worry about,” Carl said smiling. “Walk over, stop near the door and light a cigarette so you can know what we’re up against.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“That makes two foolish acts you get to perform in one night. Or is it already three? Do we count car theft?” Carl said as he handed George a cigarette and a lighter.
George got out of the car and walked straight as if he was going to pass the door. He stopped and spent a long time in the shadow of the back of the building performing a wonderful act of trying to light a cigarette with a lighter that kept going out. He gave up after several attempts and resumed his walk away from the car. A few minutes later he had doubled back around the building and was back in the driver’s seat. He handed Carl back the lighter.
“I can pop that lock in reasonable time,” he told Carl as he reached into the glove compartment for a torch.
“Let’s do it then.”
George put the torch in his pocket and they got out of the car. They both walked confidently up to the back
