by Tom Stern
“How come you weren’t?” Kelley concentrated on his words. Kelley had long experience with the drunken slur marinating his speech. He tried to hide it.
“My place is behind the scenes. Running the show.” Burring out of the phone as: reh-nin’ they shew.
“Running the show? Can you show me where I can find King Pirate?”
“Not yet. But I – “
“You will. Sure. I’ll bet.”
Kelley heard a long intake of breath over the phone. He wasn’t the only fast-tempered Irishman in this conversation. But Kelley was drunk and depressed and didn’t give a shit.
Cuchulain stopped himself from an outburst. Evenly replied: “I was callin’ to say you did good work on Pulau Malak. I’m putting a commendation in your file.”
“I don’t want a commendation. I want King Pirate.”
“You and the rest of us. But you’re different. You’re a natural for this work. A lot of men sound hard, but they freeze in the moment. You’re not afraid of the violence.”
“Anastasia tell you that?”
“Didn’t have to,” Cuchulain said. “She had a camera mounted to her helmet. Sending live feed to IPC.”
“You didn’t tell me I was being recorded.”
“Not you, movie star. The raid. We save and review the video. Looking for the next lead.”
“That’s how you guys got the photos of Fong Sai Yuk and his ring.”
“Aye.”
Now Kelley was interested. “Find anything good?”
“Not yet. We’ll discuss in tomorrow’s debriefing.” A pause. Thinking. “I know you’re drinkin’. Maybe sometime we’ll toss one back together.”
“I can’t wait.”
Kelley hung up. Waited to see if Cuchulain would call back. He didn’t.
Dao Jia came back with two tumblers. Each filled with three fingers of good Scotch. “Was that your friend?”
“My boss. Callin’ to tell me I better not be too hung over tomorrow.”
“Sounds like you have a problem.”
She sat across from Kelley. Slid one of the tumblers his way. Lifted the other, tapped it in cheers against the rim of his glass.
“Who’s watching the bar?”
Dao Jia took her first sip. “Slow night. We closed early.”
She put her feet up in his lap. He idly stroked her bare leg. Kelley studied her face. A lovely oval mask fixed over years of hardship and pain. With this one, the storm was under the surface.
Kelley drank. Thinking: above or below, there’s always the storm.
He wondered about Anastasia’s storm. What she was doing. What she was wearing.
And that’s when she called him.
…
Kelley swerved his way into the bar at the East Ocean. It was an elegant restaurant. The kind of place with white linen on the tables in the main dining room. It had teak walls. It had orchids in Chinese vases. The Malay waiters wore uniforms. Kuala Lumpur was swiftly becoming the new economic strong man of Asia. With economic strength came luxuries. If you could afford them.
The East Ocean had everything to do with money and quiet gentility and nothing to do with Kelley. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been in a swank establishment. Even when he had the money, Kelley blew it on hookers and drunken binges and betting on fights. The type of women he ordinarily hung out with weren’t found in the East Ocean. Kelley didn’t know it existed. He’d had to ask the cab driver to take him there blind, hoping the Malay wouldn’t fuck him too badly. Kelley estimated the driver had tacked on an extra two miles. He didn’t mind; there was no way he would have gotten to the restaurant in a timely way otherwise. And he wanted to be here. Anastasia was here.
Kelley wondered why she wanted him to meet her here in particular. He got the feeling this was a woman who had three reasons for everything she said and did. He could tell from her voice on the phone. Something on her mind.
Kelley stuck out like a diesel engine at a dinner party. He hadn’t changed. He hadn’t showered. He wore a t-shirt and jeans and his rubber-soled kick-boots. He smelled of sippin’ Scotch. He smelled like a good cigar, and the sea breeze. Kelley actually smelled pretty good. But he looked like shit.
Kelley was too drunk to walk into a place like the East Ocean dressed the way he was without attracting notice. Guys like Kelley had places where they belonged. The East Ocean wasn’t one of them.
Kelley sauntered into the middle of the bar. Steadied himself on the edge of a table. Peered into the gloom created by artful eatery lighting. It was the kind of upscale restaurant bar that had a lot of mirrors and decorations and jade. The kind of shit that wouldn’t last five minutes in the bar where Dao Jia worked.
The two bartenders wore white shirts and bow ties and vests. The first guy to notice Kelley didn’t speak any English. So he poked the other bartender, who did.
“Sir? Can I help you?” What the hell are you doing in here?
Kelley ignored him. He spotted Anastasia in the corner. He crossed the room. Kelley dodged the bar tables like someone was throwing them at him.
He pulled up a chair. Anastasia glanced up at him.
“You’re drunk.”
“I am. It’s a mellow drunk, and warm. The kind you get from moderate consumption of good Scotch over a lengthy period of time.”
“Were you drinking alone?”
“Not if you’re counting the bartender.”
Kelley got used to the dim lighting. His eyes focused on Anastasia. She was gorgeous. She wore a sheer, white, silken dress. It accented her subtle curves. It brought out the light pink of her smooth shoulders. Anastasia looked like she’d just come from a dinner party at an ambassador’s mansion. But, as always, with the undercurrent of studied, feline sexuality. She gave him a slight smile. Kelley only then realized she had a mild overbite. If anything, the minor imperfection made her all the more attractive.
Kelley felt a presence behind him. Both bartenders. They’d followed him over. Repeated, “Sir? Can I help you?” Thinking he was a drunk guy hassling the most beautiful woman in the bar. He was drunk and she was beautiful, but it wasn’t what you’d call a hassle. Not with an invitation.
Anastasia caught the flash in Kelley’s eye. She darted a hand onto his elbow.
“He’s with me. I’m fine, thanks,” she quickly told the bartender in Malay. They hung around an extra beat. And left.
Kelley appraised her. “I’m glad you called. I was thinking of you.”
“What were you thinking?”
“About the bullet you took. I hoped you were all right.”
“I was wearing a vest.”
“You were,” Kelley said. “But I can still see the bruise through the material of your dress.”
Anastasia arched an eyebrow at him. “If you were concerned about my health, you could have just called.”
Kelley wasn’t quite sure how to answer her. He didn’t say anything. He watched her pale eyes search his face for clues to his thoughts.
“You smell good,” she finally said.
“It happens on rare occasions. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
Kelley sighed to himself. Nothing? Bullshit. There was always something. Nothing just meant she was going to take her sweet time getting around to whatever it was. He’d patiently wait while she tap danced around with small talk. Gradually warming up to whatever it was. Which meant she felt it was something she had to talk him into. Which meant a big something. After spending time with Dao Jia and her no-nonsense friendliness, this came as a disappointment. Kelley wondered if he had the patience.
“You dragged me across town for nothing?”
Anastasia laughed at him. “I thought you might want to engage in meaningless banter for a while.”
Kelley stood up.
That surprised Anastasia. It cracked her cool for a second. “Where are you going?”
“You’re wasting my time,” he told her in a mild voice. Tinged with the mela
ncholy still clinging to him; it had ridden with him in the cab, strolled through the doors of the East Ocean like a shadow.
Kelley headed for the door.
Anastasia followed after him.
…
“What’s the matter, Kelley?”
They were walking past a park on the nice side of town. Another place Kelley didn’t belong.
He ignored the question, said: “Why’d you call me?”
Kelley watched her internally debate several possible angles. But he wasn’t in the mood for subtle female bullshit.
He said: “You need something. Just ask.”
Now it was her turn to appraise him, wondering how he’d instinctively known her thoughts.
Kelley said, “Could you please just work up the courage to ask me whatever it is? You’re driving me nuts.”
Anastasia locked on him. She was a tough woman, ready to come in direct when the situation demanded it. “I need a place to stay. Just for tonight.”
Kelley gave her the noodle eye. They walked in silence for a moment.
Then he said: “You can’t stay at a motel?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. I need a place to stay, and I want to stay with you.”
“So you can see the dump I live in? Record it for Cuchulain?” Kelley asked. Her eyebrows made a little “v.” She didn’t get what Kelley meant. He thought it was cute. He pretended to examine her hair. “You’re not wearing a helmet, so where would you hide the camera?”
She got it. “Do you think we were spying on you? It’s standard for every mission.”
“I want to see the tapes.”
“You will. What about tonight? Your place?”
“First tell me why.”
“I can’t.”
“If your answer’s no, so is mine.”
She almost snarled: “Do you enjoy being an asshole?”
He stopped. Stabbed her with his glare. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You’re in a position of authority in a law enforcement agency. You’re used to everyone around you scampering around to do your bidding.
“I’m not everyone. I’m Ryan-fucking-Kelley. I could go to the dock right now, find a job, jump on a ship and leave you, IPC, King Pirate and all of this bullshit behind. Anytime. I am standing here talking to you purely because it’s my choice, right this moment. But that can change real quick if you’re gonna treat me like any other jerk-off. I saved your goddamn life.”
“Now you’re going to hold that over me?”
“Only as long as you act like you’re entitled to special treatment.” Kelley shook his head. “You know what? I don’t even care anymore. Call Cuchulain. Maybe he’s got a hide-a-bed he could fold out for you. Or Han. The way he looks at you, I’m sure good ol’ Han’ll be more than happy to have you over for a slumber party. See you around.”
Kelley put his hand up to hail a cab.
Anastasia slapped it down.
“I wish you’d quit making me chase you.”
Kelley opened his mouth to say something cruel. He didn’t. His eyes softened. He pressed a palm against his forehead.
“It’s not you,” he said. “I’m drunk and I’m in a shitty mood. I’m acting like a prick. Of course you can crash at my place. Whatever you want. It doesn’t matter why. I’m sorry.”
There was a pregnant moment. Anastasia weighed the option of vindictively throwing Kelley’s apology in his face. But she came in on the side of the angels. She touched his arm.
“You’re upset about your friend, the one King Pirate killed.”
“I am.”
She slid her arm up to his shoulder. “Do you want to talk to me about it?”
Kelley said: “No.”
A cab driver pulled up at the curb. The driver impatiently watched them. He’d zoomed across three lanes in the micro-second Kelley had his hand up, and now he was burning precious seconds watching the two Caucasians pour syrup. It was the first time he’d ever picked up whites. Were they all this inconsiderate?
Kelley and Anastasia got in. Kelley told the driver: “The Yin-Yang Hotel.”
They shot away into traffic.
Kelley and Anastasia let the space between them remain.
Anastasia said, “I broke up with my live-in lover. He has connections with law enforcement. If I check into a motel, he can find me. He would come to the room and keep the argument going. I don’t want to have that conversation with him tonight. Not while we’re upset.”
Kelley turned to her and said, “Okay.”
…
They stood in the doorway of Kelley’s shoebox dump at the Yin-Yang Hotel.
A tall man would reach out his arms and touch both walls with his fingertips. The window was the size of a dictionary. It was cracked. It wouldn’t open. Kelley flicked on the light. The bulb was so old it burned orange. The bed was tiny. It had a mattress bought used from an army surplus warehouse. A tattered sheet stretched tight across it.
A spider dangled from the ceiling. Hanging there at eye-level in the middle of the room, working its legs. Kelley scooped a trade paperback off the floor. He opened the book. Eased it up under the hanging spider. Slammed the book shut. Smashing the spider between pages 110 and 111.
“Fuckin’ hate those things.”
Kelley dropped the book back on the floor. It was The Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov.
Anastasia asked: “You like Russian writers?”
“Only the funny ones. Bulgakov, Chekhov. Can’t stand Dostoevsky. I don’t need help getting depressed.”
They awkwardly stood in the tiny space next to the bed. Almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Close enough that they could feel the heat from each other’s bodies. Kelley could smell her subtle perfume. He boozily met her eyes. Looked down at her lips. Only inches away.
Anastasia maneuvered away down the tiny aisle between bed and wall. “You don’t have much space.”
“It’s pretty intimate.”
“How are we going to do this?”
Kelley cocked his head at the second-hand military mattress. “You can take it.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Don’t worry, I’m a gentleman. I’ll ruck out on the floor.”
Anastasia looked at the floor space he indicated. There wasn’t enough room for his full height. He’d have to curl up like a dog.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I’d be putting you out like this when I asked. I should just go.”
Kelley waved off her protests. “You keep forgetting I work on ships. I can crash anywhere I want. Don’t worry about it.” To show his sincerity, Kelley patted the mattress. “It ain’t silk sheets at the Ritz, but the bed’s pretty comfortable once you get used to it.”
Anastasia eased herself onto the bed. Still taking in the tiny space. “Why a hotel? Don’t you want to have an apartment?”
“I’d hardly see it. Home’s wherever I hang my hat. These past few weeks in KL have been the longest I’ve stayed anywhere in a while.”
A green canvas ruck sack sat in the corner. The kind of sack men of the sea use to carry everything they own. Kelley dipped a hand into it, produced a bottle of sake. Wiggled it at Anastasia, Want some? She shook her head. Kelley took a healthy pull.
“We have to work tomorrow,” she admonished.
Kelley smiled at her. “I thought you were Russian.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m a drunk.”
“Mm-hm.”
Kelley conceded, stuck the bottle back in the ruck sack. Slapped at the bulging sides – it also contained his clothes – and dropped his head on it.
“G’night.”
Anastasia slipped off her shoes. They looked like they cost more than a month’s rent for Kelley’s room. She stiffly lay back on the mattress. Kelley was right; it was okay. But she was still uncomfortable. In the same way Kelley didn’t belong in the bar at the East Ocean, Anastasia was a completely incongruous presence in the Yin-Yang Hotel.
“Kelley?”
His eyes were already closed. “Yup.”
“In the night. If I have to… where do you…?”
“The can’s down the hall, to your left.”
“You share it with everyone in the hotel?” Horrified.
“Nah,” Kelley said. “Just everyone on this floor. G’night.”
Silence.
Eyes closed, Kelley heard her shift around on the mattress. Trying to find a position that would take her into slumber.
“Kelley?”
“Yup.”
“I can’t sleep with the light on.”
Without opening his eyes, Kelley reached up and flicked the switch. The room went dark, but for the errant illumination from the street lamp close to the window.
Darkness and silence.
“Kelley?”
“Yup.”
“My bruise hurts.”
Kelley opened his eyes. “Didn’t the doc give you painkillers?”
“I left them back at my… at the other place.”
Kelley again produced the sake. “Maybe this’ll help.”
Anastasia hesitated. Grudgingly leaned forward to take the bottle.
Kelley grabbed her wrist. He pulled her forward into a kiss. After a stunned moment, she replied in kind. Every kiss in Kelley’s life seemed like a warm-up for this one. It was hot. It was damn hot. Kelley wrapped his hard, calloused hands around Anastasia’s shoulders. Held her closer. Looking for an angle where he could slowly ease her back on the bed.
That’s when Anastasia abruptly yanked herself away and slapped him full in the face. It was a wallop. Kelley’s head spun so fast his neck cracked. He saw stars. No doubt about it, this was a woman with martial arts training.
“You son of a bitch! You said you were a gentleman!”
Kelley laughed: “I figured if you didn’t get a kiss, you’d never stay quiet long enough for us to get some sleep.”
Anastasia bounced up. “I knew I couldn’t trust you,” she hissed.
Anastasia got her shoes on. Pointed herself at the door. Kelley held out his hands for peace. She hesitated.
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he said. “That was uncalled-for. Hands off. You can relax. I’m tired. I just wanna sleep. And it’s too late for you to dig up a new crash pad. I’m sorry.”