“He’s the hospitality committee?” Spencer asked in a low voice. “Couldn’t they find a hungry crocodile?”
“Pete’s charm grows on you,” Alex said. “Like fungus.”
The rental turned out to be a silver Nissan Armada, with just enough room for Alex to sit in the passenger seat and the three of them to cram into the rear. Spencer gave Allie a half smile as she tried to get comfortable. “You can sit on my lap if you want.”
“I imagine I’m not the first girl to get that offer,” Allie said. “Has it ever worked?”
“You might be surprised.”
Drake chuckled. “Nothing surprises me after a ride in your Lambo, Spence. Although I still think that some orange shag carpeting would dress it up nicely.”
“Maybe some fuzzy dice?” Allie quipped. “Ooh, how about one of those ‘Ass, grass, or cash, nobody rides for free’ bumper stickers? We have them in every color of the rainbow out in cow country.”
“I liked the car,” Drake said. “Very Hollywood Eurotrash, if that’s what you were shooting for.”
“Screw all of you. It does zero to sixty in under three seconds.”
Allie elbowed him. “Hey, at least it’s practical for hauling groceries or lumber or whatnot…”
Uncle Pete might not have been the slowest driver in Thailand, but he was certainly in the running for the title. By the time they made it to the hotel, it was well past lunch time, and they were grateful to crawl from the cramped rear seat.
The hotel lobby was opulent, and two bellmen scurried to take their bags. Uncle Pete stayed in the car, obviously feeling out of place in the lavish digs. He had given everyone a card with his cell number on it and told them to call if they needed anything. After confirming that they were being attended properly, he pulled away at the speed of a geriatric snail.
“Want to try the hotel restaurant?” Drake suggested as he signed the register.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Spencer asked. “Why not find a hole in the wall and try dining like the locals?”
Allie made a face. “Two words: monkey brains.”
“I believe you can special order them if they’re not on the menu,” Drake said.
They took the elevator to the penthouse level after getting settled in their rooms, and had a delicious medley of Asian fusion cuisine, each dish better than the last. When they were finished, Spencer burped audibly and patted his stomach. Allie looked horrified, and he shrugged.
“In many countries burping is intended to express satisfaction with a good meal,” he said.
“I can’t wait to hear what other bodily emissions might be celebrated,” Drake said.
“In Thailand, nose picking is also considered acceptable in polite company,” Spencer added.
“How charming,” Allie said. “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home.”
“It’s important to understand the culture if you’re going to get the most out of a trip to exotic lands.”
“How about we find the statue and leave? Does that work for you?” she fired back.
“I can see you haven’t gotten into the spirit yet.” Spencer drained his water glass and raised it to the waiter, who nodded and rushed to retrieve a frosted steel pitcher. “What do you make of Uncle Pete?”
“He seems harmless enough,” Drake said. “Although kind of a schemer.”
“That’s to be expected. He’s making ends meet however he can. You get to know the type after a while. They get addicted to the easy money of being snitches and facilitators. The agency depends on that, I bet.”
“I think he’s sweet,” Allie said. “I wonder what color Lambo he drives?”
“Definitely not mustard,” Drake said solemnly.
“You just can’t let it go, can you?” Spencer griped, but they could tell he was enjoying the ribbing.
“You should see if they have a lift kit for it, like my FJ. That would be radical. Off-road rubber. Mud and snows.”
“Ha, ha.”
A server arrived with the water and replenished their glasses. Another one spirited their plates away and was back moments later with a dessert menu. Allie waved him off with an eye roll. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to take a nap. I forgot how much fun it was to miss a night’s sleep.”
“I’m with you there. Spencer?” Drake asked.
“Might as well. Doesn’t seem like anything’s going to happen until tomorrow, at the earliest, judging by what Uncle Pete said about the permits. I’ll leave Alex a message and let him know we’re going down for the count. We can check supplies tomorrow, and then if we’re still waiting on the bureaucracy, at least make it to the border so we’re ready to rock when we get the okay.”
Drake’s room was on the same level as Allie’s; Spencer’s was two floors above, and he said his goodbyes and left them in the elevator.
“Wild about Spencer’s situation, isn’t it?” Drake asked, making small talk so they didn’t stand in silence.
“He’s a big boy – he got himself into it. He can dig himself out. My money’s on Spencer rebounding.”
“Sounds like the hedge fund may have lost his money.”
“What’s the old saying about diversification? Pigs get slaughtered?”
“Ouch. But you’re right.”
The polished steel door whispered to the side, and they stepped into the marble-floored hall. “Allie, I wanted to tell you that…Kyra? She’s just the neighbor. Nothing else.”
Allie sighed. “I’m beat, Drake. Can we discuss it some other time?”
“I thought it was important to clear that up.”
“I hear what you’re saying. But I’m pretty overwhelmed by everything that’s happening right now. Let’s talk about it later.”
Drake took the hint. There was no point pushing the subject. Fatigue, overload from responsibilities, adjusting to new circumstances, being in a strange country where she didn’t speak the language and couldn’t understand what people were saying, trepidation at going into the jungle again… Drake tried to imagine what was going on in her head, and sneaked a look at her as they walked together toward their rooms. He didn’t have a clue.
“This is mine,” she said, stopping at her door. “Sleep well. Maybe ring me around dinnertime.”
“Okay.”
Drake wanted to say more. Much more. He wanted to tell her about how she haunted his dreams, how he had imagined being with her, how much he wanted to hold her, to feel her lips on his, press her against him.
None of which he did, instead continuing to his room, feeling as alone and dejected as he could remember.
Chapter 12
Uncle Pete arrived at the hotel the next morning looking like he had slept in his clothes, and waited while Drake and Allie gathered their things. When they returned to the lobby, he was standing outside the front doors, smoking and trading jokes with the valets in Thai. He spotted them emerging from the entrance and dropped his hand-rolled cigarette in the sand top of an upright ashtray.
“Good morning. Car over there,” he said, motioning to the parking structure across the street.
“No cops to bribe today?” Allie asked.
“I on a budget,” Uncle Pete replied with a wink.
They followed him to the SUV and were not so quickly on their way. Traffic was nearly stopped in the downtown area, a sea of brake lights stretching as far as they could see, tuk-tuks and motorcycles weaving through the coagulated morass of vehicles.
“Where are we going?” Drake asked.
“To office. We have all stuff you ask, but you need inspect while we still here, so you think of anything else, we buy before we go. Not much by border. Laos nothing but jungle, so this last chance.”
“You have an office?” Allie asked.
“More like shop. It travel agency. Guide tours. That kind thing. Very popular with farangs.”
“Farangs?” Drake echoed.
“Thai word for white people. It not insult,” Uncle Pete lied.
<
br /> “That’s okay. I mean, we’re the minority here,” Allie said. “Is that your day job?”
“Yes. Do temple tours, city tours, beach tours…whatever you want.” Uncle Pete looked slyly at Drake in the rearview mirror. “This very friendly, easy place. Anything you think of, I get. Anything,” he repeated, his meaning clear.
“That’s good to know,” Drake said, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was headed. “How far is it?”
“Over on other side Nana Plaza. Near river.”
“Nana Plaza?”
“You never hear? It famous. That, Soi Cowboy, and Patpong.”
“Dare I ask what it’s famous for?”
Uncle Pete laughed. “Sex, of course! Millions farangs come for sexy tour. It big business.”
“That’s legal?” Allie asked.
“Gray area. It tolerated and regulated, so like everything Thailand, depend.”
“Do you have any daughters?” Allie asked.
“No. Just two sons.”
“How would you feel if you did, and they went into the sex trade?”
Uncle Pete frowned. “Most bar girl come from north, which very poor. This only way they make real money, send back, take care family. We don’t judge – it financial, not moral question,” he said, mispronouncing financial.
“So you agree it’s immoral?” Allie pressed.
“If million farang want come and spend lots of money, I got no problem. We don’t see same way you do. Lot of farang must like, ’cause they happy-happy customer!”
“I think it’s sick,” Allie said, obviously disgusted.
“So you no want special massage later?” Uncle Pete said, deadpan. “How ’bout you, Mr. Drake? Want meet nice ladies?”
“Um, no, thanks,” Drake said.
“You no like girls?”
Drake sputtered a denial. “No. Or…damn, I mean, yes. I like girls just fine. I just…no, thank you.”
Uncle Pete’s eyes narrowed and he gave Drake a knowing glance. “Ah. Maybe you like meet ladyboys?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
Allie couldn’t resist the bait. “Ladyboys?”
“Oh, very popular. Most look zactly like girl. But with different…stuff.” He rounded a corner and pointed at a group of youngsters in black miniskirts standing in front of a bar. “See? Ladyboys.”
Allie and Drake gawked at the gathering. “Those are…boys?” Drake asked unbelievingly.
“Not boys. Ladyboys,” Uncle Pete corrected.
Allie nudged Drake. “What’s that song? ‘Lola’? Don’t worry, I won’t judge you.”
“I appreciate your tolerance in the matter, but no, thanks.” Drake shook his head. “I would have thought they were female.”
“If that’s your story, hey…” Allie said, and Uncle Pete laughed.
“Sound like she got your number, Mr. Drake.”
“It’s all in fun,” Drake said, blushing at the unwanted attention.
“Uh-huh,” Allie said.
Uncle Pete’s shop was close to the Chao Phraya River that snaked through the city, near the port in a run-down part of town. The exterior was painted bright red with gold lettering in Thai and English. Allie eyed it with a smirk. “Happy Time Tour Enterprise Company, huh? Sounds like you have your marketing down, Uncle Pete.”
“Many happy customer. Lot of repeat. Everybody enjoy seeing sights, you know?”
“I’ll bet,” Allie muttered just loud enough for Drake to hear. “Sounds like we’ve got the Thai version of Caligula driving us around.”
“Judge not, said the wise man,” Drake said.
Uncle Pete held the door open for them and they entered the shop, which consisted of three desks, one obviously his, and the other two occupied by young Thai women. Uncle Pete didn’t introduce Drake and Allie, instead leading them into the rear of the building, where there was a small storage room just large enough for a car. Stacks of Coach purses, Louis Vuitton handbags, and Tumi luggage were piled next to racks of Versace silk shirts and exotic furs, most of them protected species, from what Allie could tell.
Uncle Pete walked over to three backpacks sitting beside several cardboard boxes. “Here stuff. Tents, machetes, water pills, sun cream, first aid, flares, lighters, knives, whole deal. All genuine real, finest kind.”
Allie came over to the gear and began inventorying it as Drake eyed the shirts. “I suppose these are all genuine, too?”
Uncle Pete laughed. “Almost. But silk. From China. Over there, everything pirate, you know? Even a Mercedes all fake. 500 SL. Look completely real. Made in China.”
“I thought China cut down on piracy,” Allie remarked from behind the equipment pile.
“That what news say. Now lots made in Vietnam and Cambodia. Same-same, different side border. But I only buy best kind.”
“So only high-quality pirated fakes.”
“Best kind,” Uncle Pete repeated.
Allie smiled. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less. You’re an honorable man.”
Uncle Pete thumped his chest and offered her a yellow grin. “Zactly. Uncle Pete top shelf, no bad days. Don’t worry, be happy. You see anything you like, I give you super special price. My cost. Practically free today.”
“I don’t think I’ll need a Vuitton duffle in the jungle.”
“Very styling. Popular. Make you look Richie Rich, for sure.” He looked her over. “Maybe Rolex or Cartier? Look real. Best available.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Maybe for friend?” Uncle Pete tried. Seeing he was getting nowhere, he turned to Drake. “You? Gold President, like Warren Buffet?”
“I don’t think he wears a President,” Drake said. “Drives a Buick, too, I believe.”
“I go get. Maybe for your other friend?”
“No, thanks.”
“Wife? Neighbor wife?”
Drake had to laugh at the little man’s persistence. “Nope. But I appreciate it. Really.”
“Okay. I got Viagra and Cialis, too. Make you strong like bull.”
Drake moved over to Allie. “You look like you could use a hand with that.”
She slid to the side and leaned toward Drake. “Irony is clearly not a big part of Thai culture. Although he would do well on a used-car lot.”
“I suspect Uncle Pete is quite an entrepreneur,” Drake agreed. “I hear he sells Buffet his Rolexes.”
“I thought it was Chinese Benzes. Hard to keep up.”
Ten minutes later they had inventoried everything and packed it all into the three backpacks. Uncle Pete hoisted Spencer’s bag and they carried the other two to the SUV, and after loading the backpacks inside, the enterprising little Thai turned to them. “Headquarters say maybe you talk to girl mom. She here in Bangkok. Want see you.”
“Christine’s mother is here?” Drake asked, surprised.
“She crazy worried. Wanna be close by.”
Allie nodded. “Makes sense. If my child went missing, I’d be on the first plane wherever she was last seen.”
“Sure, let’s go talk to her, then,” Drake said.
~ ~ ~
Christine’s mother was staying at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, in a penthouse suite with a breathtaking view of the city. She greeted them at the door, a handsome woman with graying hair, still beautiful despite the stress of the situation and the accumulation of years. Allie and Drake could immediately see the resemblance to Christine.
“Thank you so much for coming to see me. I’m going out of my mind here with no word,” Margaret said, after offering them coffee.
“I can understand,” Drake said.
“When are you going in?”
“Tomorrow. We’re hopeful we can find the…site,” Allie said.
“It’s just all such a blow. So tragic. Christine’s so young, and although we don’t always agree, she has a good heart.”
There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Drake simply nodded.
Margaret felt beside her
for her purse and removed her wallet. She fumbled with the inserts, found a dog-eared photograph, and passed it to Drake. “This is her on prom night. She was gorgeous. So full of joy, of promise for the future. The picture doesn’t do her justice.”
Christine was radiant in a formal dress, looking older than a high school senior. Allie scooted closer to see, and Drake held out the snapshot.
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” Allie said.
“You have no idea. In person she lights up any room she’s in. She’s one of those special personalities. She could be anything she wanted, I always told her.” Margaret fished another photo from the wallet. “And this is Christine on her seventh birthday.” She held it out with trembling fingers and dropped it. “Oh, damn.”
Drake recovered the photograph and studied the image. Margaret gave a muffled sob and quickly recovered, brushing a tear from her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight. “I promised myself I would be strong.”
“You’re doing fine. This has to be hard,” Allie sympathized.
“You have no idea. After Arthur and I divorced six years ago, it affected Christine more than I like to think. I can’t help but blame myself for this. Maybe if we’d stayed together, she wouldn’t have gone off in search of whatever she was looking for, would have been more at peace…she took it really hard. That was the start of her wild period. Just the usual college stuff, but she drifted away from me as she grew up, until one day she announced she was going to China. Didn’t ask. Just told me, like it was an afterthought. And now…”
Drake handed Margaret back the photos. “Mrs. Whitfield, we’re going to do everything possible to learn what happened. If your daughter’s alive, we’ll find her and get her out of there. You can count on us.”
“Blakely. Margaret Blakely now. I went back to my maiden name after the divorce.” She gave a small smile that was hard to interpret. “I’ve heard the jungle is dangerous. Everyone says it’s a snake pit,” she went on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask you here to watch me blubber.” She stood and moved to the wet bar, poured herself three fingers of Johnny Walker Blue, and waved the bottle at them. “You want a cocktail?”
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