“Nothing else in the envelope when you opened it?” Chuck asked.
“Not a thing.”
The picture was a snapshot of some young American marines. A few of the men were in combat gear and the others in fatigues, but they were all standing in a ragged group, their arms flung haphazardly around each other’s shoulders, mugging for the camera. Oddly, one man was off a little from the rest of the group. He was straddling what had once apparently been a straight chair, but was now little more than some broken sticks of wood. He was looking off to the side, watching something outside the frame with what appeared to be great interest, which put his face largely in shadow.
What got Chuck’s attention about the photograph was the same thing that had scared the bejesus out of Bar when he first saw it. Three bright red circles were scrawled on it: two around the heads of men in the large group and the third around the man in the chair, the man whose face couldn’t quite be seen.
“You say that Dare and Jones got shit like this?”
“They said they got photos with circles around their heads, but I didn’t see them. Maybe they were different.”
“And you’re sure you don’t recognize any of these guys?” Chuck held up the snapshot in his left hand so that Bar could see it and tapped the back of it with his right forefinger.
“I think the two guys with the circles in the big group are Dare and Jones, but I’m not sure.”
“How about the guy in the chair?”
“I can’t see his face. I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’s an officer,” Chuck suggested. “Somehow the prick looks like an officer.”
“Well…maybe it’s Austin.”
Chuck blinked, but he didn’t say anything. He ran his left hand through his crew cut again, and then looked up at Bar.
“This picture scare you?” he asked.
“No.”
Chuck looked skeptical and Bar reconsidered.
“Okay, maybe a little, but mostly it pisses me off. I don’t like being threatened, and I especially don’t liked being threatened by some cowardly fucker who hides behind a dark visor and then comes at me when I’m minding my own business riding down the street.”
“Meaning…” Chuck rolled his hand in a gesture that suggested Bar still hadn’t gotten to the point and Chuck would be grateful if he would hurry.
“Meaning I wasn’t sure whether I was going to help Dare or not, but this…” Bar pointed at the picture lying on the desk, “more or less puts us in the same boat now. So I guess I’m in.”
“In the same boat? How does it do that?”
“Look, Chuck, the photo is obviously a threat.” He waved a finger toward it. “If that’s Austin in the chair, and I’d bet you it is, we know he’s dead. And it’s not too hard to guess that the other circles mean Dare and Jones are next if they don’t stop poking their noses where they don’t belong.”
Bar chewed on his lip for a moment.
“Don’t you get it, Chuck? Whoever sent me this picture is warning me that I could be on his list, too.”
“So what. You’re not involved.”
“So what? It pisses me off, Chuck, that’s so what. I’m not going to sit here and be threatened in my own home.”
“I thought you were on the back of a motorcycle.”
“Don’t be such a literal bastard. You know what I mean.”
“You sure it’s not just the ten grand that’s got you all revved up?”
“It doesn’t hurt. But no, that’s not it. Not anymore.”
Chuck suddenly seemed to lose interest in Bar’s state of mind. “You want to get a drink somewhere?”
“It’s not even lunch yet, Chuck.”
Chuck shrugged, not seeing the point of Bar’s sudden interest in the time of day.
Bar thought about it and then realized he couldn’t see the point either.
“Sure,” he said, “why not?”
***
THE Texas was their favorite hangout during the day. No women, no pool table, just a real saloon with drinks that didn’t taste too strongly of Bangkok’s pungent tap water. Ping, the day-shift bartender, wasn’t any more honest than the other bartenders in town, but at least he was smart enough to water his drinks with bottled water. That was a touch of class Bar liked.
Bar also liked the small sign over the door at the Texas that announced in four languages: NO FIREARMS. When he and Chuck had first started going there, he allowed for the possibility that the sign was supposed to be a witticism like the signs at the Hard Rock Cafes that said NO NUCLEAR WEAPONS; but after they had been in the Texas a few times and he had gotten a close look at the people who hung out there, Bar realized that the sign wasn’t a joke at all.
Chuck had a beer to warm up, then switched to Johnny Walker Black in a tall glass with a lot of ice and a little soda. Bar could tell that Chuck was working himself up to something, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Finally Chuck snorted a couple of times and cleared his throat. Here it comes, Bar thought to himself.
“This Austin guy you mentioned. He was a captain you said?”
“Yeah.”
“And he was the CO of these guys, Dare and Jones?”
“That’s what they said.”
“This guy who hired Dare, the one who said he was a general, was he Austin’s CO?”
“I doubt it. Dare told me he didn’t know the guy and I don’t see why he’d lie about it.”
Chuck considered that, weighing its implications, although Bar couldn’t offhand see why.
“Did either Dare or Jones see Austin again when they got out of the marines?” he asked after a moment.
“They said they didn’t.”
“Ever hear from him?”
“Not that they mentioned.”
Chuck drew little slashes with his forefinger in the condensation on the side of his glass. “And you didn’t know him?”
“Harry Austin?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I didn’t know him.”
Bar caught Chuck’s slightly raised eyebrows, but was still working on what that signified when Chuck drained his drink and waved the empty glass at Ping.
“He was a local,” Chuck said. “I thought you knew all the local farangs.”
“Well, if he was, I didn’t know this one. Did you?”
Chuck nodded slowly. “I had him under surveillance for a while.”
“What?” Bar barked. “You telling me DEA was following this guy?”
Chuck rolled his head around a little before he answered. “We had a brief interest in a guy named Harry Austin who was a retired marine captain with a couple of tours in ‘Nam.”
Chuck did the thing with his head again.
“It’s got to be the same guy,” he said. “How many Captain Harry Austins could there have been around here?”
“How long did he live in Bangkok?”
“For a while. I don’t know for sure.”
“Was he dirty?”
“Maybe,” Chuck shrugged. “Maybe not.”
Bar didn’t push. It always took Chuck a while to get a whole story out, but eventually he would get wherever he was going.
“So you didn’t know him?” Chuck asked Bar again.
Something was beginning to work at Bar. Maybe he had known Harry Austin and didn’t realize it. Maybe the guy had been using a different name, something not all that unusual for foreigners in Bangkok.
“Bangkok isn’t that big a place if you’re a white guy,” Chuck prompted.
“Look, Chuck, I’m sure I never met anyone here called Harry Austin. Now, if he was using some other name—”
“Nope. As far as I know he was just plain old Harry Austin. We put him on our watch list because he seemed to live pretty good without any source of income. Finding an American like that in Bangkok usually leads to something interesting if you look close enough.”
Chuck took a long hit on his drink and rattled the ice cubes a couple of times to get Ping started aga
in.
“He had a penthouse in a big condo on the river, but we couldn’t find any bank accounts in his name anywhere or any other sources of funds. So, when we finally got around to doing a bag job on his place—”
“Bag job?” Bar interrupted.
“Yeah.” Chuck looked a little defensive. “You know. He was out one day. We went in and looked around.”
“You broke into his house? The DEA broke into a retired marine captain’s house in Bangkok because they wanted to know where his money was coming from?”
Chuck looked annoyed. “It wasn’t a house. It was a condo. I already told you that.”
“And in your mind that somehow makes a difference?”
“You want to hear what we found or don’t you, you sanctimonious prick?”
“Oh, sure. You being a law enforcement officer of the United States government and sworn to uphold the law and all that, I guess it’s okay for you to tell me what you found in this American citizen’s house that you broke into for absolutely no reason. I guess that would be okay, wouldn’t it?”
Ping put a fresh drink in front of Chuck and he took a hit.
“Damn straight. I say it’s okay, it’s okay.”
Bar tilted his head back and waited.
“Porno,” Chuck grinned. “A bunch of it. Mostly local girls.”
“So Austin was in the porno business?”
“I don’t think so. It looked more like a hobby to me.”
Chuck cupped his left hand and made the predictable pumping gesture in front of his crotch.
“Seems a little hard to imagine a guy living in Bangkok and jerking himself off,” Bar said.
Chuck nodded sadly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.”
Bar waited a moment, and when Chuck offered nothing else, he asked the obvious question. “So, what business was Austin in?”
“None that we could find any evidence of.” Chuck made a show of scratching his head. “Still don’t know where his money came from, but he had a pretty nice apartment and a couple of expensive cars. Sure didn’t buy them out of his marine retirement pay.”
“Maybe he inherited a pile.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure that was it.” Chuck raised his eyebrows. “Unless of course he was just walking along one day and found it. That might be where he got it.”
“Why didn’t you just ask him?”
“I would have, but he was killed before I got around to it. Hit and run, the cops said. Driver fled the scene.”
The last part didn’t surprise Bar at all. In fact he would have been astounded if Chuck hadn’t added that. After every traffic accident that had ever occurred in Thailand, the driver always fled the scene, usually accompanied by any police who might have had the misfortune to witness the incident. ‘The driver fled the scene’ was a phrase rife with local poetry and represented nothing less than an honored and solemn ritual deeply ingrained in Thai life. Thailand was a driver-fled-the-scene kind of country.
“But it was an accident, wasn’t it?” Bar put the question cautiously. “You’re not telling me that Austin was murdered, are you?”
Chuck pulled a couple of different faces while he pretended to think, but neither one gave much away. “I don’t know. We pulled the surveillance off before it happened and nothing has turned up since then, at least not until you came waltzing in this morning with that picture and your cockamamie story about Dare and Jones. Anyway, file’s closed now.”
“Then I guess that’s that.”
“Maybe not.” Chuck sloshed his drink around. “I may know someone who can tell you something about the good captain. You interested?”
Bar nodded.
“I could probably arrange for you to buy Lek and me a couple of drinks one of these days,” Chuck said.
“Just tell me when and where.”
“How about the Stardust?”
“Fine.”
“You know how to reach Dare and Jones?”
“Yeah. They’re at the Oriental.”
“They would be,” Chuck grunted. “Anyway, bring them along, too. Tonight okay?”
“Who’s Lek?”
“Be patient, man. Let’s just go one little step at a time here.”
“What’s the big mystery, Chuck?”
Chuck ignored the question. “About nine. Okay?”
Chuck dropped a purple banknote by his empty glass, tossed off a quick little salute, and was out the door before Bar could ask him anything else.
Twenty-One
EDDIE was planning to go back to the Little Princess that evening but, after Bar Phillips called, he changed his mind. Bar told Eddie about the motorcyclist and the snapshot as well as the story he dragged out of Chuck McBride about the DEA’s interest in Harry Austin and Eddie quickly agreed they would meet him at the Stardust at nine instead.
Charlie Wang had owned the Stardust almost as long as Bar had been in Bangkok. It was an old mansion near the beginning of Soi Suan Phlu just past Sathorn Road. Local legend had it that the place had been the home of some deservedly forgotten general who found himself on the wrong team in a military coup and wound up shovelling snow in Copenhagen. Regardless, Charlie owned it now, and over the years he had built it into the Bloomingdale’s of Bangkok’s nightshift.
Eddie and Winnebago met Bar in the Thai restaurant on the Stardust’s second floor. After he ordered paad thai and Carlsbergs all around, Eddie took in the expensive furnishings, the fresh-cut flowers, the wood-paneled walls, and the subdued lighting, but his eyes lingered longest on the elegant hostesses who seemed to be everywhere. After their drinks arrived, Bar pointed to a wide staircase suitable for a remake of ‘Gone With the Wind.’
“There’s another dining room on the third floor. Very plush. Serves what Thais think French food is supposed to be. Then there’s a karaoke bar on the fourth floor, and a barbershop, a steam room, and a massage parlor downstairs.”
“Sounds real good to me,” Winnebago nodded.
“Yep,” Bar wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll bet this is the only place in the world where you can eat escargot, have your hair cut, sing ‘Feelings,’ and get your dick sucked—all at the same time.”
While Winnebago was still trying to work out what to say to that, their food arrived. Bar wolfed down half his plate in a few bites, belched in satisfaction, and then waved his spoon around. “I like this place a lot better than the restaurant upstairs.”
“Yeah, I guess Thai food in Bangkok must be pretty hard to beat,” Eddie agreed.
“Food’s got nothing to do with it.” Bar chewed thoughtfully on a noodle. “Charlie insists on having men wait the tables up there. He thinks it’s more sophisticated or some crap like that. Look around here.”
The women working the floor of the restaurant were all dressed in silk sarongs. They glided effortlessly from table to table, placing their high-heeled feet as gracefully as ballet dancers. Their inky-black hair glistened in the light and, as they turned this way and that, their waists looked so small Eddie thought it had to be some kind of an optical illusion.
Bar kept one eye on the door watching for Chuck and his guy to turn up while Eddie and Winnebago finished their food and eyed the hostesses. When Chuck finally did make his appearance, Bar was surprised to see he was with a woman rather than a man.
That was a problem with Thai nicknames, Bar knew. Many of the most common ones—names like Lek—were used interchangeably for both sexes, and there were even quite a few nicknames that also covered people who fell somewhere between the generally accepted definitions of the two sexes, people that Bar was certain could be found nowhere else but in Thailand.
Bar picked up his Carlsberg and shook it at Eddie and Winnebago to get their attention. They followed his eyes and watched Chuck McBride and his companion cross the room.
The woman wasn’t much more than five feet tall, and she was very slight and looked very young. Like so many other local women, however, she appeared at first glance a decade or two younger than she rea
lly was and, as Chuck and the woman came closer, Bar decided she was more likely forty than twenty.
“This is Lek.” Chuck looked Eddie and Winnebago over as he pulled out chairs for himself and the woman. “Which one of you is Dare?”
Eddie lifted his right hand and wiggled his fingers.
“Should have known,” Chuck grunted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Winnebago asked, leaning forward.
Chuck ignored him and addressed Eddie. “So you say you’ve been hired to find out what happened to this guy Austin, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“Who hired you?”
“If I knew, I probably wouldn’t tell you. But I honestly don’t.”
“Bullshit.” Chuck fixed Eddie with an unblinking gaze. “Lawyers don’t get involved in things without knowing who they’re working for, even if they won’t tell you when you ask them.”
“I didn’t intend to. It just worked out that way.”
Chuck nodded a few times, but Eddie knew it had nothing to do with signifying agreement.
“Bar told me a cock-and-bull story about you meeting some guy after you got here who claims to be a general,” Chuck said. “He’s supposed to be this mysterious client of yours?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Eddie figured that was stretching things only slightly.
“You had lunch with him in a private dining room on the top floor of the Regent?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s a crock.” Chuck leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Look, Dare, I know this shithole as well as any white man ever could, and let me tell you something. There ain’t no dining rooms on the top floor of the Regent, private or otherwise. There’s nothing up there but regular rooms and a couple of suites.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you. That’s where I had lunch with the man who paid me to find out what happened to Harry Austin.” Eddie tried to return Chuck’s stare, but now Chuck was looking off across the room and he couldn’t catch his eye. “You’re a real hard on, aren’t you, McBride?”
Chuck just grunted again.
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