Fearless ; The Smoke Child

by Lee Stone

  Lim walked on. It was a long time since they had fired shots on the camp, and a long time since a punishment killing. It was years since any of the gang had been killed, and yet tonight he had lost two soldiers in the same alleyway. And a woman had risen from the dead. And Ta Penh had thanked him. Strange things were happening. Change was in the air. He was still walking towards the tree-line and wondering what it all meant when the first spots of monsoon rain began to fall.

  13

  The garbage truck rumbled over the worn out tarmac of the Williamsburg Bridge as it crossed the slate grey water of the East River. It was an unremarkable vehicle, and no one gave it a second glance as it turned into Roosevelt and slipped into the Lower East Side. Four men packed out the cab like sardines. Hard rain drove against the windshield and their breath fogged the inside of the glass. The whole setup was making the newest member of the team feel claustrophobic and edgy. Tyrone Olmsted rode in the front, wedged between the driver and a colossus called Little Frank. Tyrone was nineteen years old. It was his first day on the job. So far, the experience had been a disappointment.

  ‘Put your gloves on,’ a voice behind him said. ‘That’s rule number one. Always wear your gloves.’

  The voice was Jake Leisler. He hadn’t introduced himself. Hadn’t needed to. Tyrone knew exactly who he was. Everyone knew Leisler, and the entire world knew his boss, Jimmy Penh. Jimmy was top of the pile. He ran a bar on Amsterdam and another just off MLK Boulevard, but everyone knew he made his money selling drugs. It made him a million dollars a month, according to the rumors. He wasn’t doing the chopping himself. He had plenty of people to do that for him. Plenty of people to distribute. And plenty of people to keep things running smoothly.

  Tyrone put on his gloves just like Leisler had told him as the garbage truck rolled north through Harlem. The truck never did over forty miles an hour. They took the whole trip slow and steady.

  ‘Always wear the sanitation mask when you’re outside the cab,’ Leisler said from the back seat. ‘And never take it off until you’re back.’

  Tyrone stayed quiet. This was all basic stuff. He’d been expecting something a little more demanding. A little more exciting.

  ‘Never attract attention,’ Leisler said as the truck rolled into Washington Heights. ‘Don’t run. Don’t shout. Don’t drop things. Do nothing unusual. That’s important.’

  Tyrone said nothing.

  ‘Do you understand, Tyrone?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  All things considered, the question seemed a little patronizing. He wasn’t exactly green. He thought about turning around and eyeballing Leisler, but decided against it. He was brave, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to rock the boat. Not on his first day. And not if the rumors about Jake Leisler were true. The brakes hissed as the garbage truck came to a stop in a quiet residential street. The rain was getting worse and there were big puddles forming on the uneven sidewalk. Tyrone spilled out along with Leisler and Frank. The man driving the truck stayed put. He kept the motor running, just like garbage truck drivers always do. Leisler and Frank hustled across the street towards the red brick apartment block. Tyrone followed close behind. All of them wore gloves. All of them wore masks. They took their time, just like Leisler had instructed.

  Leisler himself had a clutch of black bin liners in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other. Frank had stuffed something under his coat and was clutching at it with a shovel-sized hand. The three of them strolled up the stairs to a corridor on the second floor. The apartment block was tired and needed a lick of paint. Maple leaves and faded litter had gathered in the corners of the walkway. Tyrone’s nerves were beginning to grind, and he was tempted to kick the leaves into the air and relieve some tension, but he remembered what Leisler had told him. Do nothing unusual. He reined it in. When they got to the door, Leisler knocked twice and then turned to his new recruit.

  ‘I almost forgot the third rule,’ he said. ‘Always double bag.’

  ‘Double bag?’ Tyrone asked.

  Before Leisler could answer, the door opened a crack and a pale woman with blonde hair peeked out. She was a timid looking thing in her early twenties. Leisler watched as Frank smashed into the door and knocked her off her feet. She yelped in pain, and Frank ducked through the doorway and disappeared into the apartment. Leisler held up the black plastic bags and the duct tape.

  ‘You double bag because the plastic’s never as strong as you imagine,’ he said. ‘And people always weigh more than you expect.’

  14

  By the time Charlie Lockhart left the stall at the side of the road, he had a fair idea how Kampot prison worked. He had watched the guards change shift and seen how often they patrolled. The boy filled him in on the rest. The rumors and the whispers. The things he couldn’t see. When there was nothing more to learn Lockhart paid over the odds for a couple of bottles fuel and asked the kid to watch out for any sign of Kate being moved.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be here,’ the boy said. ‘I’m always here.’

  Lockhart drove slowly past the razor-wired fence and the guard hut, committing it all to memory. He circled the prison wall like a dog circling a truck, just the way the boy at the market stall had described. It was frustrating and futile. Kate was holed up inside the perimeter wall, but he knew that he could not get to her. He couldn’t protect her from whatever they were doing to her. Part of him wanted to force his way into Kampot prison that afternoon, but he knew there would be no point. With two armed guards on the gate and at least four cops inside, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Instead, he cruised back along the flat red dirt road to Kep much more slowly than before, through the long grass and the marshlands. Dusk began to fall as he ploughed on past the spot where he had hit the buffalo, and by the time he got back to the beach bar at Kep, the sun was gone completely.

  ‘You look bad,’ the barman told him.

  ‘Thanks,’ Lockhart said. ‘I feel worse.’

  The tables were lit with flickering tea-lights and the ancient Hi-Fi system was playing quietly in the background. The air was still thick and humid, but the oppressive midday heat was on the wane. Starry-eyed couples had found quiet corners around the place and there was a hum of calm conversation. The adventure-seekers had all been drawn up the hill into the town. The barman found a bag full of ice behind the bar, and Lockhart took it gratefully.

  ‘Thank you.’

  His chest no longer felt like it would split and his breathing had become easier, but that was the only improvement. Every joint in his body was throbbing, and the cool ice on his skin was a welcome relief.

  ‘Those cops really laid into you. Do you know what it was all about?’

  ‘I know that they’ve taken her to Kampot,’ Lockhart said, holding the ice to his knee. ‘And I don’t know how to get her out.’

  He told the barman about the chase to Kampot, and the bullfight on the highway, and how he had arrived at the prison too late to help Kate.

  ‘Nothing good happens at Kampot Prison,’ the barman said. For the first time Lockhart could remember, the smile fell from his face. ‘Many people get put in there, but not so many come out.’

  Lockhart sighed and moved the ice to the back of his neck.

  ‘What did she do, Charlie?’ the barman asked. ‘Why did they take her?’

  Lockhart shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I intend to find out.’

  Lockhart listened to the ice gently ringing against the edge of his glass and the breeze rustling through the dry palm roof as the barman headed out collecting empties. He wondered how Kate Braganza was holding up. Was she in a cell on her own or was she crammed in with a hundred other women? Human rights were not high on the agenda in Cambodia. Not in prisons, anyway. He knew Kate was a New Yorker. Sassy and tough and resilient. But he also knew that bad things happen in dark remote places.

  Lockhart reached into his back pocket an
d pulled out the grubby business card. The name on the front said Leonard M. Fischer in bold print. First thing tomorrow he would ride to the address written on the back, and he would find the lawyer. When the barman came back, Lockhart slid the card over to him.

  ‘You ever heard of this guy?’

  The barman turned it over in his fingers, taking in the address written in biro on the back. Then he pulled a face and handed it back.

  ‘I don’t know him,’ he said.

  ‘Do you know the address?’ Lockhart asked.

  The barman nodded.

  ‘It’s inland,’ he said. ‘Twenty minutes north. You think he can help you?’

  ‘I have no idea. He’s a lawyer.’

  ‘A good one?’

  Lockhart put his drink down and raised his hands.

  ‘Who knows? A kid gave me his number outside the prison.’

  He smiled at how lame it sounded.

  ‘Great recommendation, huh?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got no money,’ the barman said as he sloshed the empty glasses through soapy water. ‘I still know good people from bad.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you want another beer?’

  ‘Sure.’

  The barman stared at Lockhart as he poured the drink.

  ‘You met her on the plane?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve known her three days.’

  A cheap plastic fan creaked as it pushed warm air around above his head.

  ‘So you’re sure she’s innocent?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Lockhart asked him. ‘You believe in witches coming back from the dead?’

  ‘Yes,’ the barman said. ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Lockhart said. ‘Anyway, she’s not one of them.’

  The barman nodded. He had no argument, just a different point of view.

  ‘So why get involved? What if they lock you up too?’

  Lockhart sighed and rolled his glass in his hand. It was the same reason as always.

  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I will not spring her if she’s guilty of anything. If the cops have got a real charge against her, then the court can decide what to do with her.’

  Lockhart finished his drink and put the empty glass on the bar.

  ‘And what if the cops don’t have a real charge?’ the barman asked. ‘Around here, sometimes they don’t need one.’

  ‘Well, if they set her up,’ Lockhart said, ‘I swear I’ll get her out. And one way or the other, those guys will regret what they did.’

  ‘Sure,’ the barman said. ‘Good luck, Charlie.’

  Lockhart thanked him in Khmer, which made him smile. Then he slipped out of the bar and away across the moonlit beach. He cut a lonely figure, silhouetted in front of the ocean. The barman watched him go, and then he turned to stack the shelf behind him with glasses.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said again, shaking his head.

  15

  Jake Leisler stepped over the threshold and pulled the young blonde woman back into the apartment by her hair. Her nose was bleeding where the door had hit her, and her bare legs kicked out as she struggled to get back to her feet. Leisler threw her onto her sofa, pulled out a gun, and pointed it straight at her head. A TV was playing too loud in the corner. A kids show washed inane music and sporadic laughter around the room. Frank walked back into the lounge, shaking his head having given the bedroom and the bathroom a once over.

  ‘Nobody else here,’ he said. ‘Just a kid next door. I think he pissed himself when he saw me.’

  Frank’s blunt features broke into a broad smile. Leisler gave him a satisfied nod, and then he turned his attention back to the girl.

  ‘Michelle, ma belle,’ he drawled, studying her carefully. ‘Do you know why I’m here?’

  She nodded fast, her eyes wide and scared.

  ‘Any other day,’ Leisler said, ‘I would kill you right now.’

  Blood trickled from her nose and into her mouth. Tyrone wondered if she could taste it with so much adrenalin pumping through her system. His own mouth was pretty dry right at that moment.

  ‘Lucky for you,’ Leisler continued, ‘today is not a normal day. Today is Tyrone’s first day on the job. Say hello to Tyrone.’

  Michelle looked at the teenager still hovering in the doorway. He had been watching everything Leisler did, but now his eyes flicked to her. She tried to pull her face into a smile but fear played with her muscles so that her features wouldn’t settle properly.

  ‘Hi Tyrone,’ she whispered.

  Tyrone said nothing. In the silence, a boy appeared in the doorway from the bedroom. Young and scared. Tyrone guessed he was maybe six years old.

  ‘It’s okay baby boy,’ Michelle said. ‘Mommy’s got some business. You wait next door. I won’t be long.’

  The boy was as wide-eyed as his mother, and he stared at the strangers crowding his living room. He stared at the man with a gun. He didn’t like that at all. Leisler looked back at him for a minute. Really looked at him, weighing him up.

  ‘Fuck off, kid,’ he said eventually.

  When the kid didn’t move, Frank took a step towards him. That was enough to make him bolt back into the shadows. Frank closed the door and looked back at Leisler.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jake,’ Michelle said. ‘Really, I am.’

  ‘Sure you are,’ Leisler said. ‘Now, it’s Tyrone’s first day.’

  ‘Hi Tyrone,’ she said again. This time she smiled better. And this time, Tyrone held up a hand as a gesture of recognition.

  ‘I didn’t kill you,’ Leisler continued, ‘because I need you to explain to Tyrone why we’ve come to see you.’

  Michelle fidgeted, crossing her legs and looking down at her knees. Tyrone noticed that her legs were good. Poor diet and hard living had already taken their toll on her looks, but her legs were smooth and slender. Her best feature, Tyrone decided.

  ‘Seriously?’ she asked. She picked nervously at the hem of her tee-shirt, flashing bruised veins and needle marks. Tyrone wasn’t surprised. Not surprised at all.

  ‘Sure,’ Leisler said. ‘Go ahead.’

  Michelle swallowed and composed herself. While he waited, Tyrone allowed himself to imagine her with a little more color on her skin. More meat on her bones. He imagined her with a better wardrobe and sharper hair, and without the kid in tow. She had good eyes and a good smile. She had a spirit about her that Tyrone liked. A spark. Just for a second, he allowed a wild idea to enter his head. He imagined taking her away and polishing her up like in that old Julia Roberts movie. He thought she would look good, all polished up.

  ‘I borrowed some cash,’ Michelle said eventually, looking straight at Tyrone. ‘I borrowed some cash from Jimmy Penh.’

  ‘And the drugs,’ Leisler prompted.

  ‘Yes, and the drugs too,’ she said. ‘I borrowed some cash, and I borrowed some drugs.’

  ‘What was it?’ Leisler asked.

  ‘Khmer,’ she said. ‘Khmer and cash. It was a business loan from Jimmy Penh. He knows what Khmer is, right?’

  She looked from Tyrone to Jake Leisler and back again.

  ‘Indulge me,’ Tyrone said.

  Indulge was a good word. It sounded cool. Like he was calm under pressure. He hoped it would impress Leisler. He was on probation after all. A small part of him hoped it would impress the girl, too. He figured she was just the girl to fall for a gangster.

  ‘Khmer Ice,’ she said. ‘Happiness, in tiny little packets.’

  ‘But you didn’t pay up,’ Leisler mumbled.

  ‘No,’ the girl said, and a shadow fell across her face. ‘I’ve fallen behind on my payments. People are paying me late, and so I’m late paying Jimmy. And now here you are.’

  She stopped talking and the burble of the television seeped back into the room.

  ‘That’s pretty much the whole story,’ Leisler said.

  Michelle nodded.

  ‘That’s it,’ she sighed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Leisler said to her, turning to his appre
ntice. ‘Did she explain it okay, Tyrone? Did you understand the story?’

  Tyrone took a moment to drink her in. She had a delicate gold chain around her right ankle, and it was shaking. Tyrone liked the feeling of power that he had over her. He let his eyes wonder back along her smooth legs and all the way up her body until he met her gaze.

  ‘Sure Jake,’ he said. ‘I understood the story just fine.’

  ‘Good,’ Leisler said, and he turned back to the woman and shot her twice in the head. The ugliness of it hit Tyrone in the stomach like a freight train. For a long minute, he did nothing. He just watched. Watched as the blood seeped from her. Watched as Frank got to work. Tyrone could see that the girl was jerking slightly, like she was having a fit. Despite the gunshots, she was not entirely dead. Frank paid no attention to the movement. He was already butchering. He spread two black bags on the floor in front of the couch and rolled her onto them. She twitched again, like there was an electric current running through her body, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Frank either didn’t notice or didn’t care. In his bag he had an electric carving knife. The sort that people use to carve turkey at thanksgiving. Frank used it to take off the girl’s legs. It took him about five minutes to get the job done, during which time the flat began to fill with the acrid smell of the overworked electric motor. It was a smell Tyrone Olmsted would have to get used to, eventually. But this time, the first time, it stuck in his throat. He stood transfixed for a long while, watching Frank going about his macabre work.

  ‘No need to bother with the arms,’ Leisler explained. ‘As long as you get rid of the length, nobody ever asks questions.’

  Tyrone nodded. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. The girl seemed to stare at him with her blank white eyes. Frank had stuffed the legs into one of the black bags and was sealing them in with the duct tape.