“To the right,” Pan says. “Five or six on each side.”
“We could get this done a lot faster with some help.”
“I’m the only one who knows what it should look like. Who knows what it did look like.”
Dr. Ravi says, “It’s just theater. Just a press conference.”
“It’s everything,” Pan says.
Boo has been so glued to the window that he’s caught completely by surprise by the shape at the door, the man who is suddenly standing just outside it, and it takes him a moment to recognize the voice that says, “No. It’s not quite everything.”
Pan turns, and his hand goes to his belt, but Rafferty says, “Don’t.” He’s got a gun in his hand, the gun Boo gave back to him, pointed at Pan’s substantial gut, and he pushes through the door, and the two cops follow him into the room, both holding guns in a way that looks loose and expert.
Boo moves right, signaling to Tee. When the boy stands up, Boo holds an imaginary camera to his eye and points Tee to the window he’s been watching through. Tee nods and wades through the weeds, and the last man to go through the door, the cop in uniform, glances back at the sound, registers the boy, and then turns around to face the room again.
“What’s this about?” Pan demands.
“Oh,” Rafferty says, “it’s a long list. Let’s start with you pulling the gun from under your shirt with two fingers and holding it out. Thumb and little finger, on the handle only. Barrel down.”
Pan says, “There’s no need for this,” but he does as he’s told, and Arthit comes forward and takes the gun. He puts it beneath his own shirt and then backs away again, his gun still aimed at Pan.
“So that’s one thing,” Rafferty says. “And then there’s this.” He turns to the window and waves Boo in.
Pan waits as calmly as though he’s just enduring a pause in the conversation. He pays no attention to the guns that are trained on him. But when Boo comes through the door, he takes a sudden breath, and then his eyes close briefly. When they open, they are fixed on the floor.
Rafferty says, “Surprised to see him?”
“I’m surprised to see any of you,” Pan says, but his voice is mostly air, and he still has not looked up. Color is climbing his face.
“You sold him,” Rafferty says. He is speaking Thai. “You. The hope of the poor and downtrodden. You sold him and a little girl who doesn’t have anything in the world except a baby that isn’t even hers. You sold them to a gangster who was going to kill all of them, except the baby. All he’d do to the baby is sell it.”
Pan keeps his eyes on the floor, but Dr. Ravi is staring at Rafferty as though he’s suddenly begun speaking in tongues.
“And you didn’t even have to,” Rafferty says. His voice feels like it’s being squeezed through a very small opening. “You could have bought Peep out of petty cash.”
Pan’s pink mouth contracts and loosens, then contracts again, and he says to the floor, “I tried.” The dog, which has been standing next to Dr. Ravi, eyeing the newcomers, hears something in Pan’s voice and goes and sits at his feet, looking up, concerned. Automatically, Pan reaches down and scratches the dog’s ears.
Rafferty says, “Oh, well, you tried. That makes everything all right.”
“He wouldn’t do it,” Pan says. “He wanted-he wanted-to deal with it his way.” He straightens up. The dog paws at his pants leg, wanting more, but Pan ignores it. “He was afraid she’d talk, the girl would, to someone. He was afraid you’d arrange for her to talk to someone.”
“And that made sense to you. So you said, ‘Okay, here’s where she is. Go kill them.’”
Pan says, “It wasn’t like that.”
“No? What was it like?”
“Wichat…knows things, from when we worked together.”
“Right,” Rafferty says. “He knows what happened here. That makes him dangerous, since you’ve decided it’s worth selling who you are in exchange for power.”
Dr. Ravi says to Rafferty, “Wait a minute. What side are you on?”
“Forget it,” Rafferty says. “So you were wrong. Get over it.” He comes another few feet into the room and looks at the arrangement at the far end. The lights are focused to create a sort of stage on which eleven blackened and sagging sewing machines have been arranged in a loose semicircle with a space in the middle. Two enormous photos of the burning factory have been put up on the smoke-black walls. Set in the space between the sewing machines is the platform Pan stood on when he gave his speech at the Garden of Eden. On the floor in front of the platform, ringed by the ghostly machines, is a heap of burned shoes, curled and shriveled fragments of leather and charred cloth, half-melted rubber.
“Are those really from this fire?” Rafferty says, pointing at the shoes. He can barely speak.
“Yes,” Pan says.
“And you’re using them,” Rafferty says, “for a photo op.” He spits on the floor.
“What happened here-” Pan begins.
“I know what happened here,” Rafferty says. “I know everything. I know you tried to save people. I also know you’re the one who locked them in. And I know how you used their deaths to make yourself rich, to get backing from people who normally wouldn’t have pissed on you. Porthip because he felt you earned his support and Ton because he decided that he’d better own you if you were going to run for office. And you sold yourself to him.”
“No, he just thought I did,” Pan begins. “But, really, I-”
“And when you sold yourself, you also sold the people who died here. Is there anything left? Is there anything you haven’t sold? And who did you sell it to? Everything you were supposed to stand for. You sold it to a man who hates the people you grew up with, squeezes blood out of them at every opportunity. You know, the kind of people you used to be, the kind of people who died here. And now you’re going to…to what? Cash in on their deaths, right? You’re going to use these people’s deaths as currency to buy votes.”
Pan says, “You don’t understand. Porthip, Ton-people like Ton-own this country. They’ve owned it forever, and they’ll never let go of it until there are people like me in office. People who are the real Thailand, not the Chinese Thai who have had everything for centuries. People like that will never share power with-”
“People like that?” Rafferty says. “People like that? I know about people like that. The woman I married was whored out by people like that. But let me ask you, Mr. Man of the Soil, how much of yourself do you think you can sell before you become people like that? A girl whose river was stolen, a baby snatched from its mother, a street kid. You were going to sell them. The people who died here, you’re going to use them. Who the hell do you think you are now?”
Pan’s eyes are everywhere. He clears his throat and says, “I-”
“Don’t bother,” Rafferty says. “It’s all over your face. Look, even the dog’s given up on you.”
And in fact the dog has gotten up and is walking toward the door, looking past Boo. And then he stops and his ears go up, and he lowers his head and begins to growl.
“Poke,” Arthit says, but the door is suddenly crowded with men, and in front of them, with Captain Teeth’s arm around her throat and his gun at her head, is Da. Even with death touching her temple, she keeps an arm wrapped tightly around the cashmere shawl that holds Peep.
Boo takes an involuntary step toward her, but one of the men racks his automatic, and the boy freezes.
“Not one move,” Captain Teeth says. “Nobody. Not one move. Anybody twitches and the girl and the kid are dead on the floor, got it?”
No one speaks. The only sound is the husky growl of the dog, its head now low as it looks up at Captain Teeth.
“I count three guns,” Captain Teeth says. “I want those guns turned around slowly, so you’re holding them by the barrel. Do it now.”
Rafferty, Arthit, and Kosit reverse their guns so the handles are pointing toward Captain Teeth.
“Good. Now hold them up
in the air, way up. Good, good. And turn around so your backs are to us. Now bring down the hands with the guns, hold them out shoulder length, arms stiff, by the barrel. I don’t want to see any bent elbows. Bring the arm slowly behind you and just stay there.”
Rafferty hears feet moving, and then the gun is removed from his hand. A moment later Captain Teeth says, “All of you, turn back around. Slowly. All the way around.”
When Rafferty is facing the door again, he sees Captain Teeth, still clutching Da, at the center of a group of five men, three of whom hold automatics. They have come several feet into the room, with the door at their backs. Kosit, Arthit, and Rafferty are several feet apart, and eight or ten feet beyond them, near the podium on the other side of the hill of burned shoes, are Pan and Dr. Ravi. Nearest the gunmen, the dog at his side, is Boo.
Captain Teeth makes a show of looking inquisitively around the room. “Where are they?”
“Where are who?” Rafferty says. “The whole world’s here.”
“Your honey. And the kid. We know they’re here.”
“You’re wrong,” Rafferty says.
“Okay, fine. Be an asshole. You,” he says, giving Da a shove that nearly makes her stumble. “Over there. With Fatso and the little guy.” He points his gun at Boo. “You, too, hero. Over there. Take your dog with you.” As Boo moves, the dog resists being led, holding its ground and growling. Boo lets go of him and joins the others. Captain Teeth turns back to Rafferty. “And you and your friends. Over there, with everybody else. Makes you easier to shoot.” He waits there as people move awkwardly through the obstacle course of shoes and melted machines. “Nobody behind anybody, okay? Side by side.” He looks at the setup. “What were you going to do, make a movie?”
“I want to talk to Ton,” Pan says.
“I’ll bet you do. But right now I’m more concerned with our missing girls. One more time,” he says to Rafferty. “Where are they?”
“They’re not here.”
“Bullshit. It was your sweetie’s phone that got us here in the first place. I’m not asking again, I’m just shooting somebody. You, Mr. Policeman.” He aims at Kosit.
“Wait,” Da says. “I had the phone. I took it, and when you called, I answered it.”
“Sure.” Captain Teeth turns to Rafferty. “You ready to see your cop friend die?”
“It was me,” Da says in a strangled voice. “Someone called, and I said hello, and then they hung up.”
Captain Teeth stares at her for a moment. “How many times did you say hello?”
Da swallows. “Once.”
Captain Teeth says, “Show me the phone.”
“I…I don’t have it. He, I mean Boo, he took it away from me, and-”
“Fine. Right. You had it but you don’t have it. You two,” he says to two of the men with guns. “Go through this building, every fucking room. Look under stuff. Look up at the ceilings. There’s a woman and a kid here somewhere, and I need them.”
One of the men glances around and says, “I’d rather stay here.”
“And I’d rather be in bed with five college girls. But I’m not. Get going, or I’ll leave you here when we go back to the city.”
“Okay, okay.” The man who argued looks at the other man who’s been chosen. “Do we have to split up?”
“You can go piggyback for all I care. But find them.”
With obvious reluctance the two men leave the lit room and enter a hallway that leads to the back of the building.
Pan says, “You’re making a mistake.”
“Well, you’ve got the experience to know,” Captain Teeth says. “You’ve fucked up so bad that nobody needs you anymore.”
“Ton,” Pan says. “I need to talk to Ton. He and I can work this out.”
“He’s finished with you. Just shut up and wait. Someone shut that dog up.”
“It doesn’t belong to anybody,” Boo says. “It lives here.” The dog is showing its teeth now, the hair along its spine bristling.
“Well, let’s fix that.” Captain Teeth lowers the barrel of his gun and sights over it. There’s a sudden movement in the group of people between the sewing machines, and within the second it takes Captain Teeth to look up again, Pan has his arms wrapped around Da’s shoulders and is crouched behind her, using her as a shield as he backs toward the door.
“I’m leaving,” he says. He takes a few more steps backward, pulling Da along next to him. Da’s eyes scour the room, looking for help.
“Fuckup,” Captain Teeth says, and he brings the gun up and shoots Da.
The bullet lifts her off her feet and slams her back against Pan. He grabs her by instinct, but then her legs crumple beneath her and she’s dropping, her mouth open in amazement, as she tries to bring the other arm up, tries to get it under Peep. Pan staggers forward, pulled off balance by her weight, and he looks down at her face, at her wide, sightless eyes. The generator, which has been coughing outside, shuts down, and slowly, in the new silence, Pan lowers Da to the floor, his eyes on hers all the way down. At the last moment, he slips a hand beneath her head as it nears the concrete. When she is flat on her back, he eases his hand out from under her and his head comes up, his mouth gaping, and a scream rips itself loose from the center of his belly, a scream that threatens to empty even a man so large, and he stands and spreads his arms, making an even bigger target, moves carefully around Da, and takes two steps toward Captain Teeth.
Captain Teeth fires again, and Pan staggers a half step back, arms still spread as though in invitation, and then moves forward again. Captain Teeth fires again and again, and as Pan shudders and falls, there are shots from Rafferty’s left, and he turns to see Arthit pouring fire into Captain Teeth, using the gun he took from Pan, and as Captain Teeth goes down, Arthit turns and fires at the three men left in the room, dropping one of them, and the other two break for the door and disappear into the night.
The dog ignores the shooting and goes to the heap of clothes and blood that is Da, standing over her as Peep starts to cry. The dog begins to howl.
Kosit goes to Captain Teeth’s body and grabs his gun, then charges back into the factory, after the other two men. Rafferty and Boo drop to their knees on either side of Da, and Boo picks up Peep and rocks him, tears streaming down his face. Rafferty is probing Da’s wrist for a pulse when he hears the shots from the rear of the factory. And then it’s quiet except for the dog’s howls.
The factory is a flickering wash of red and blue lights. “It’s over,” Rafferty says into the phone. He is sitting in a patrol car. “It’s not the ending you wanted, but it’s over.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ton says on the other end of the phone.
“Pan’s dead. So are three of the people you sent after him. You might want to be on the lookout for the other two. This place is wall-to-wall cops. There’s nothing to tie any of it to you-”
“I should think not.”
“Except a videotape of Pan talking about his arrangement with you. The quality’s not real high, but there was plenty of light, and what he said will have quite a bit of news value.”
A pause. When Ton speaks, Rafferty can hear the strain in his voice. “No one will use it.”
“Maybe not. Maybe not for a couple of years, maybe not until things have changed. But things will change, and when they do, these tapes will just be waiting. And do you think there’s a chance the new guys will want to nail you by the wrists and ankles to the pavement on the expressway and back a truck over you?”
“Hypotheticals.”
“Here’s something that’s not hypothetical: My wife and my daughter and I are going home, and we’re going to live there safely and happily, without worrying about looking over our shoulders. And as long as we stay that way, happy and safe, the copies of these tapes will be at the bottom of the ocean. So to speak. But the minute something happens to any of us, they’ll bob up again. These are people you’ll never in a million years be able to identify, people I
don’t even know, two or three removes from me, who will know exactly what to do with the tapes, who to give them to. And they will do it, if anything happens to my family and me. Is that clear?”
“As I said, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
After a moment Ton says, “I don’t deal well with irritation. The tapes sound irritating.”
“Well, they won’t be, as long as you-”
“And what about you? You have the potential to be irritating.”
“I won’t be. I’ve got people to protect.”
“Yes, you do,” Ton says. “Go home.” He hangs up.
Rafferty folds his phone, closes his eyes, and listens to the ambulance siren die away in the distance.
50
A Formless Nimbus of Light
The living room of Arthit’s house is crowded and noisy. The seat of honor-the reclining chair Arthit bought to watch the American cop shows he and Noi used to laugh at-is occupied by Noi’s mother, a tiny woman with a prodigiously concentrated energy field that keeps her daughters and grandchildren spinning in tight orbits around her. Her wispy silver hair, thinning and uncontrollable, creates a formless nimbus of light around her head that Rafferty thinks is an appropriate effect for a gathering that follows a cremation.
Arthit sits in full uniform on the couch, behind the coffee table. His eyes are red-rimmed, but he’s laughing almost unwillingly at something that’s just been said by the husband of one of Noi’s sisters, an appointed official in a minor province, someone who would have been on Ton’s side if it had come to that.
“He’s going to be all right,” Rose says, following Rafferty’s gaze. “He’s a good man, and he had years and years with a good woman. Everything but the end was a blessing. And who knows about the end? Karma is complicated. Maybe that was a fire they both had to go through.”
“At least he can be a cop again,” Rafferty says. “The kids’ video makes him a hero. He’s the one who took down the thug who killed Pan.”
Breathing Water: A Bangkok Thriller pr-3 Page 34