They drove in silence. The taxi had to wait ten minutes before turning off the street and on to a four-lane highway. Despite the wider road, traffic was still moving at a snail’s pace.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked. It had been more than an hour since she’d left the hotel.
‘Not far.’
Flecks of rain peppered the windscreen and the driver switched on the wipers. The shower swiftly became a downpour and even on full power the wipers were unable to cope with the cascade of water. The traffic came to a standstill.
‘Is it always like this?’ Jennifer asked.
‘It’s the monsoon season,’ said Bird.
‘How long does it go on for?’
Bird shrugged and pulled a face. ‘Until it stops,’ he said. His face was impassive and Jennifer had no way of telling if he was joking or not. She smiled anyway.
The traffic began to move and the taxi turned off the main road. They made a series of turns, seemingly at random, and Jennifer had the distinct impression that the driver was deliberately trying to confuse his route. Eventually they stopped in front of a bar with black tinted windows.
‘We are here,’ said Bird. The driver pulled an umbrella from under the front passenger seat and handed it to Bird. They climbed out of the taxi and Bird used the umbrella to shelter them both.
The bar seemed to be closed and Bird rapped the door with his knuckles. They heard footsteps, and the sound of a key being turned and bolts being drawn back, then the door opened a fraction. Bird said something in Thai and the door opened further. Behind them, the taxi pulled away from the kerb and drove off into the rain.
Bird motioned for Jennifer to go first. Jennifer was suddenly apprehensive. She didn’t know Bird, she had no idea where she was, or what she was getting in to. She suddenly remembered that she hadn’t told the office where she was going. Bird smiled. It was an honest and open smile. Jennifer considered herself a good judge of character, and she felt that she could trust him. She returned the smile and stepped across the threshold, her misgivings forgotten.
It was dark inside and it took her eyes several seconds to get used to the gloom. To the left was a line of booths, all empty. To the right, a scattering of Formica tables and chairs, also deserted. There were several television sets suspended from the ceiling and a small podium with banks of speakers on either side. The door closed behind her and she jumped. The man who’d opened the door for them was small and had a withered arm that he kept pressed close to his chest as if it was hanging in an invisible sling. He slipped past her and went over to a well-stocked bar where a barman in a stained sweatshirt was half-heartedly polishing a glass.
Bird shook the umbrella and slotted it into a stand by the door. He waved Jennifer over to one of the booths. ‘Please sit,’ he said.
Jennifer looked at her watch pointedly. ‘I can’t stay long,’ she said.
‘I understand,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But you can surely have a drink while I talk, yes?’
He seemed genuinely eager to please and Jennifer nodded. ‘Gin and tonic,’ she said. ‘Ice and lemon if you’ve got it.’
Bird spoke to the barman in Thai and joined Jennifer in the booth. Jennifer was facing the door and she noticed that the door had been bolted. She swallowed as the feeling of apprehension returned.
Bird turned to see what she was looking at, then smiled reassuringly. ‘For privacy,’ he said, as if reading her mind.
‘Sure,’ she said, more confidently than she felt. ‘So, what have you got to tell me?’
‘It’s about Warren Hastings,’ said Bird, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘He’s not who he says he is.’
Jennifer leaned forward, too, intrigued. ‘Yes?’
Bird nodded. ‘Warren Hastings isn’t his real name.’
Jennifer took her notebook and pad out of her handbag and flicked through to an empty page. ‘And his real name is . . .’ she said, urging Bird on.
The man with the withered arm returned, balancing a tray with his good hand. He put Jennifer’s drink down in front of her and gave Bird a bottle of Singha beer. Bird raised the bottle in salute. ‘Cheers,’ he said, then more slowly added, ‘Bottoms up,’ as if he was unsure how to pronounce the phrase.
‘Cheers,’ said Jennifer, and she clinked her glass against his bottle. It was hot and airless in the small bar and Jennifer drank gratefully. Bird watched her over the top of his bottle.
Jennifer put down her glass. ‘What is his real name?’ she asked.
Bird smiled thinly. ‘I think that is information you should pay for.’
‘Do you have proof?’
Bird nodded. ‘Yes. I have proof.’
‘Documents? Photographs? What exactly do you have? My newspaper won’t pay for rumour or innuendo.’
Bird picked up his bottle again. He waited for her to lift her glass, then toasted her. ‘Cheers,’ he said.
‘Cheers,’ she said. They both drank. Jennifer was beginning to feel light headed. There was a tumbler full of paper napkins on the table and she pulled one out and wiped her forehead.
‘Are you feeling all right?’ Bird asked.
‘Just a bit hot,’ she said. Her hands were sweating and she was having trouble keeping a grip on her pen.
‘You are very pretty,’ he said.
‘What?’ she said, confused by the sudden change of subject.
Bird reached over and stroked the back of her wrist. ‘You’re a very sexy farang,’ he said, grinning. There was something unpleasant about the smile, she realised. Something predatory, a wickedness that hadn’t been there before. She was suddenly afraid and pulled her hand away.
‘Let’s stick to the Hastings business,’ she said.
‘I think that business is now over,’ he said. She saw him look over her shoulder and she turned quickly. Her head swam and she fought back a feeling of nausea. As her eyes focused she saw that two more men had joined the barman. They stood leaning against the bar, hands in their pockets. The man with the withered arm was sitting on the podium, staring at her. Jennifer shivered. She could barely keep her eyes open.
‘We’re going to have so much fun with you,’ said Bird, reaching for her hand again.
Jennifer tried to get to her feet but the effort was too much for her and she slumped forward, her arm sweeping her glass from the table. She heard it shatter on the floor and then she passed out.
THE PAIN SHAFTED THROUGH Ray Harrigan’s stomach like a lance and he grunted. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said.
The Canadian looked up from his food. ‘What’s up?’
‘Stomach cramps,’ he said. He winced again and squatted down on his heels. ‘Jesus, it hurts.’
The Canadian held up a spoonful of rice. ‘Food poisoning, you reckon?’
Harrigan rolled on to his bed and hugged his stomach. ‘I don’t know, but it hurts like hell.’
The Canadian looked at his spoonful of rice for a few seconds, then he shrugged and swallowed it.
‘I need a doctor,’ groaned Harrigan.
‘Yeah, and I need cable TV,’ said the Canadian. Harrigan continued to moan so the Canadian put down his plate and went over to him. There were beads of sweat on Harrigan’s forehead and his hair was damp. ‘You’re burning up,’ said the Canadian.
‘Is that a professional opinion?’ Harrigan grunted. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ He drew his knees up against his chest into the fetal position. He began to breathe in short, sharp gasps like a weightlifter preparing to lift. ‘You’ve got to give me something,’ said Harrigan.
‘I haven’t got anything,’ said the Canadian.
Harrigan grunted. The pain seemed to be getting worse, though it was already more than he could bear. ‘You have to give me something.’
‘Ray, I keep telling you, I haven’t got any medicine.’
‘What about your smack? That’ll kill the pain, won’t it?’
‘You want heroin?’
‘I can smoke it, you said. It’s a painkiller, right?’
>
The Canadian rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Sure.’
‘So I’m in pain.’ He moaned and shook his head from side to side as if to emphasise the point.
‘I can see that, Ray. But you can’t smoke it. I haven’t got any foil.’
‘What? What’s that got to do with it?’
‘You have to put it on a piece of foil, and then hold it over a flame. That’s how you get the smoke.’ He put a hand on Harrigan’s shoulder. Harrigan put his hands between his legs and bit down on his lower lip as he grunted with pain. ‘I’m sorry, man,’ said the Canadian.
Harrigan didn’t reply. His shirt was soaked and rivulets of sweat dripped down on to his mat.
‘Look, Ray. If you want, I can, you know, give you some smack.’
‘You said . . .’
‘You can inject. I’ve got a clean needle. Never been used. Pristine.’
‘I hate needles,’ said Harrigan through clenched teeth.
‘Yeah. You said.’
Harrigan rolled over so that he was facing away from the Canadian. He began to shiver uncontrollably. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually.
‘Okay what?’
‘Don’t fuck me around.’ Harrigan’s teeth began to chatter. ‘Get the stuff ready.’
JENNIFER HEARD VOICES, INDISTINCT as if far away at the end of a long, long tunnel. Whispering, then laughing. She felt as if she were enveloped in a feather quilt, as if everything around her were soft and fuzzy. She swallowed and there was a funny taste in her mouth. It was hard to breathe, something was pressing down on her chest, something heavy. Something that moved. Something hard and wet forced itself between her lips. She began to choke but then suddenly she could breathe again. She was lying on her back and she tried to roll on to her side but something was preventing her. She tried to move her arms but they felt as if they’d turned to stone. There was no feeling, no response when she tried to raise them. The weight returned to press against her and she felt her legs being pushed apart.
The voices became louder but she couldn’t make out what was being said. There was more laughing. She was hot. Very hot. She wanted a drink of water. Something was pounding against her, moving quickly, thumping into her groin. It didn’t hurt, in fact it was quite pleasant, and Jennifer smiled to herself. She was dreaming, she realised. She was in bed, safe and warm, and she was dreaming. Her hair was over her face and she wanted to brush it away but still her hands wouldn’t move. She swallowed again. There was something bitter in her mouth. Her eyelids flickered. It was light. She must have overslept. She wondered what the voices were. Maybe she’d fallen asleep with the television on. She tried to drift back to sleep, back into the dream, but the light was insistent and so were the voices. Men’s voices. The pounding between her legs became faster, more frantic, and she felt something deep inside.
She opened her eyes. There was a face looking down at her, a face contorted into a grimace of pain. It was a man, with two gold teeth at the front of his mouth. His eyes were closed and his nostrils flared as he snorted. For the first time she became aware of his breath, rancid and stale like old cheese. She turned her face away. There was another man there, holding her arm. And behind him another man, bare chested and smoking a cigarette. The man on top of her went suddenly still, then laughed. It was a bark of triumph. The room seemed to spin and she closed her eyes. The man rolled off her and she tried to close her legs. Something was stopping her. She opened her eyes and looked down towards her feet. Bird was there, grinning and holding her left leg. The barman was gripping her other ankle with both hands.
The barman said something to Bird and they both looked at her. Bird let go of her leg and walked out of her vision. The man with the withered arm sat down on the bed. He reached out with his good arm and stroked her breast. Jennifer was aware of what he was doing but she couldn’t feel anything. It was as if it was happening to someone else.
Bird appeared at her side. He was holding a bottle in one hand, and a cloth in the other. ‘What are you doing?’ she tried to ask, but she was unable to form the words and all that came out was a low moan. Bird said something to her but his voice sounded a million miles away.
Another man, big with rippling forearms, stood next to Bird, unzipping his jeans. Jennifer shook her head, but even as she did she knew she was powerless to resist. Her stomach lurched. There were a dozen Thai men in the room, maybe more. They were all around her, laughing at her, pointing at her. The big man climbed on top of her and this time she felt a sharp pain between her legs. Tears sprang to her eyes, tears of frustration. The feeling was starting to return to her left leg and she tried to kick him away but she was too weak and he was too strong. He moaned as he pushed himself deeper inside her. He arched his back and grunted, and then it was over and he lifted himself off her.
Bird thrust the cloth over her face and she breathed in sickly sweet fumes. She threw her head to the side but Bird’s fingers gripped her cheeks and forced her back on to the bed. She tried holding her breath but it was futile. Bird waited until she’d taken half a dozen breaths before taking the cloth away. She gasped for fresh air but she could feel consciousness slipping away. Bird took off his trousers and stood at the end of the bed, holding his erection and laughing at her. He said something in Thai and she felt herself being rolled over on to her stomach. She realised what Bird was going to do and she tried to beg him not to but the words wouldn’t come. Her head was twisted to the side and all she could see was the man with the withered arm, grinning at her. Bird climbed on to the bed. She was suddenly embarrassed. No man had ever done that to her before. Ever. She’d never let a man even touch her there. She felt Bird lie on top of her and then force himself inside. There was surprisingly little pain, she realised, and then she passed out again.
HUTCH WOKE TO THE sound of the cell door being opened. Four uniformed police threw a man in and then clanged the door shut. They watched him through the bars as he got unsteadily to his feet. It was the second Nigerian.
Joshua was lying next to Hutch, fast asleep. Hutch shook him by the arm. Joshua opened his eyes and grunted. When he saw his friend he began to laugh. It was a deep, booming sound that echoed around the cell. The two men embraced and slapped each other’s back. They spoke to each other in their own language and Joshua laughed even louder.
‘You won’t believe what Julian did,’ said Joshua.
The policemen went back down the corridor. Hutch sat on the floor and the two Nigerians followed his example.
‘They gave him the same stuff they gave me,’ Joshua continued. ‘But the Thais didn’t watch him closely enough. The condoms kept coming out, and Julian kept swallowing them. The Thais couldn’t work out what was going on.’
Julian grinned. He looked around for a sleeping mat. When he realised there was none to be had, he lay down on the bare floor, seemingly unconcerned by his surroundings.
‘Why?’ asked Hutch. ‘Why did he bother? They’d get the stuff eventually.’
Joshua shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s crazy.’
Julian’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep already.
‘He said we’re going to be in court tomorrow.’
Hutch sat up straight. ‘How does he know?’
‘We have a lawyer. The lawyer told him.’
Hutch’s heart began to race. If the Nigerians were going to court, maybe they’d be taking him, too. He’d been arrested at the same time as them. Maybe Winter’s plan would work after all. If he was transferred to Klong Prem prison tomorrow, he might still have a chance of getting to Harrigan and finding a way out before the police discovered that he wasn’t carrying drugs and he was released.
THERE WAS SOMETHING PRESSING against Jennifer’s knees, something hard and unyielding. She tried to open her eyes but it felt as if the lids had been sewn shut. In the distance she heard a deep growling noise, like some huge prehistoric animal proclaiming its dominance. She swallowed but her mouth was painfully dry and her tongue seemed to have swollen t
o twice its normal size. She heard voices, and an engine being revved. Her neck was sore and she tried to arch her back but there was something hard behind her, something that prevented her from moving. Images flashed through her mind: Bird in the bar; the men in the room; the cloth against her face. The horror and the shame flooded over her and she opened her eyes. Eighteen inches from her face was a curved metal surface. She turned her head and felt the bones in her neck grind together. She was rammed in a circular metal container, with her knees up against her chest. She closed her eyes again. It was a dream, a horrible dream. Maybe it had all been a nightmare, right from the start. Maybe she was still in her hotel room, asleep in the queensize bed. Maybe the American was even in bed beside her.
The growling roar intensified and she felt its vibrations come up through her backside. She opened her eyes again. It was no dream. She tried to move her arms but they were jammed against the metal. She forced her head back as far as it would go. There was sky above her head, grey clouds moving slowly against a black background, and to the right was the towering skeleton of a building under construction: girders and scaffolding and concrete beams.
Jennifer opened her mouth to call for help. Maybe she’d been in an accident. A car crash, perhaps. She was okay, she was alive, somebody would come and rescue her eventually, she just had to stay calm.
A man appeared above her, his head silhouetted against the clouds. She shook her head, clearing the hair that had fallen across her face, and peered upwards.
‘Help me,’ she said. Her voice was little more than a croak. The head disappeared. Jennifer groaned and tried to move her hands again. She was naked, she realised. Totally naked. It didn’t make any sense, she thought. What had happened to her clothes? Where was she?
She looked up again. High overhead flew an airliner, a red light flashing from one wing. Another head appeared. She recognised the face. It was Bird. He was grinning.
‘Help me, please,’ she gasped.
Bird turned away and gestured with his hand, motioning for someone to come closer. The roaring noise wasn’t an animal, she realised, it was machinery. An engine, and tyres crunching across gravel.
The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 22