have one more question: 'You know Khun Kosana, the advertising tycoon who's always in the HiSo magazines? He's a member here, isn't he?'
She says nothing, exactly as if she didn't hear what I said. I thank her for her caresses and tell her I have to go. I pay her exactly the exorbitant amount she would have charged if we had done it, and take my leave.
Outside on the gravel drive I stare up at the surreal fantasy that is the Parthenon and fish out my cell phone. I could certainly find out the details of Khun Smith's law firm with a bit of legwork tomorrow, but something about the club irritates me. I call Vikorn to ask him to order a drug bust-I cannot believe that such an establishment could be entirely cocaine-free-the main purpose of which will be to get the Parthenon's secret member list. I tell Vikorn to tell the troops to look for a single, isolated non-LAN computer.
17
'Come up,' Vikorn says. 'There's someone I want you to meet.'
Outside his office I experience a tiny frisson in my guts. I have a feeling that Vikorn has been up to something with the member list that our brave troops grabbed from the Parthenon last night. I'm told by his loyal and ferocious secretary, Manny, that an extraordinary number of phone calls from high-level movers and shakers have been received this morning, despite that no cocaine was found and no charges laid. All I want is the coordinates of Khun Smith, the English lawyer who obsessed about Damrong and is beginning to look like some kind of consigliere, but suddenly Vikorn has bigger fish to fry.
I'm quite taken aback, therefore, when I find a tall, pink farang with auburn hair and hazel eyes in a business suit sitting opposite the Colonel.
'Allow me to introduce Khun Tom Smith,' Vikorn says with unusual courtesy.
Smith has already stood up to wai me and shake my hand with overwhelming enthusiasm. 'Very pleased to meet you. Saw you at Mr. Yamahato's studio the other day,' he says.
Sonchai Jitpleecheep,' I say. 'Yes, I saw you sitting in a corner watching.'
Vikorn grins. 'He wasn't there for a cheap thrill-he was protecting his clients' interests. Is that not so, Mr. Smith?' Vikorn speaks only Thai; I am surprised that Smith speaks it well enough to reply, 'That is correct, Colonel,' using exactly the right form of address.
'Really, really great to meet you,' Smith says, offering me his business card with both hands; he has been here awhile for sure.
'You're going to be working together,' Vikorn says. I frown, but Vikorn waves a hand to shut me up.
'It's going to be a pleasure,' Smith says in English. His is a synthesis of London accents: some BBC, a lot of Thames Estuary, and traces of authentic Cockney from way back; also just a touch of Los Angeles here and there. 'A very, very great pleasure.'
On Vikorn's unsubtle cue, I say, 'I look forward to it,' which provokes a gigantic beam from Smith.
'Well, Colonel, sir,' Smith says, 'I guess that's as far as we can take it today. Great talking to you.'
When Smith has gone, Vikorn allows himself a smirk of undiluted triumphalism. I've not seen him like this since the last victory over his arch-enemy General Zinna.
Rubbing his hands together: 'They love it, Sonchai.'
'Who love what?'
'The syndicate that supplies the international hotel chains. Smith is their lawyer over here. He used to work in California, and he's very well connected. He's very impressed with Yammy's professionalism and says the work in progress is already the best-directed porn he's seen after nearly ten years in the game. It was brilliant of us to use Yammy.'
'Right,' I say.
'There's going to be some kind of contract, and they want to hook up a video conference with their big honcho. I said you would represent me at all times.'
'Meaning I'm the point man, not you, if anything goes wrong? Thanks.'
Vikorn gives a stern look to indicate that maybe I need to remind myself of my feudal responsibilities. Back- scratching is not merely built into the system, it is the system, and didn't he order that raid on the Parthenon in response to a mere whim of mine? And now he has to deal with a dozen high-flying senators and members of parliament, senior bankers and industrialists, all very nervous about publicity. I do not say, And willing to pay whatever you ask to keep their names from the media.
'Okay,' I say, 'whatever.'
'Just do what he wants, check whatever contract they offer, translate it yourself, don't use any official translator, and report back.'
'Certainly, sir,' I say. 'Can we talk law enforcement for a moment?'
'Sure,' Vikorn says, not missing a beat. 'You mean the raid last night? How much of a cut were you thinking of for yourself?' He asks this question ironically, knowing I won't take the money.
'I wasn't,' I say. 'Did you know the man you were just talking to is an active member of the Parthenon? He had an affair with Damrong. He's the John in the other blackmail clip, the one that does not star Tanakan. He's some kind of enforcer for a snuff movie gang-did you know that?'
Vikorn freezes for a telltale second. 'We need to stay focused on our core industries,' he explains. 'We don't need to concern ourselves with minor distractions.'
'Just tell me one thing. Is Tanakan a member of the Parthenon? Is his name on the member list?'
He resorts to a serious tone, usually reserved for matters of life, death, and money. 'If I were you, I wouldn't go there, Sonchai. Let me handle Khun Tanakan.'
A tiger grin tells me the interview is over.
At about eleven o'clock that morning a document appears on my desk. It is a computer printout of about a hundred and fifty names. The name in question is Thomas Smith, and the only other detail on the Parthenon's member list is his credit card number. I take out Smith's business card. The firm's name is Simpson, Sirakorn and Prassuman. When I check the Net, I see its webpage emphasizes private international law, corporate law, real estate, and trade. It is particularly skilled in facilitating import and export projects and can obtain letters of credit even in the most difficult circumstances. I'm on the point of picking up the phone to call Simpson, Sirakorn and Prassuman when my cell phone starts ringing. It is Tom Smith. In the friendliest, humblest, and most unctuous way, he more or less orders me to go see him at his law offices, where he has scheduled a videocon. The urgency is a function of a difference in time zones, he explains.
At reception I pick up a copy of Fortune and exchange it for House and Garden, then settle for the International Herald Tribune. There are a few Thai newspapers, but they are out of date. When Smith emerges from the secure area, he greets me warmly and shakes my hand again. His French cuffs with gold links slide back, revealing a handsome elephant-hair bracelet which I had not before noticed. He catches me admiring it. 'You were not wearing it yesterday,' I observe.
He smiles. 'You're a real detective. That's right. Weirdest thing, I was catching the Skytrain at Asok when a young monk bumped into me. He gave me this as a kind of apology.' He holds up the burnished hairs that have been twisted together. I do not wonder aloud why a monk would be handing out virility talismans at a Skytrain station. On the other hand, I think such a charm would be irresistible to a man who valued his erections as highly as Smith.
He takes me into the heart of his firm's suite of offices: a window-less room with a small boardroom table, a desktop computer, and a large flat-screen monitor on a stand at one end of the table. Smith is an expert on the gadget; at least he knows how to switch it on and adjust the controls. Now he picks up a telephone. 'I have a videocon scheduled with Mr. Gerry Yip for-exactly now… He's on the line? How long has he been waiting, for chrissake? Okay, now make it happen.'
He barely has time to sit me and himself in front of a digital video camera on a miniature plinth on the boardroom table before the screen brightens to reveal a short, skinny Chinese fellow in his fifties with a potbelly, wearing only a pair of swimming shorts. He is standing on a beach with his legs apart looking bored. A strong Australian accent: 'Am I on or not, for fuck's sake? On? Well, why didn't you say so? Tommy? You there, mate?'
