Big Mango (9786167611037)

by Needham, Jake

  Eddie watched Bar fold his handkerchief into a triangle and wrap it over his nose and mouth like he was getting ready for a game of cowboys and Indians. He glanced down at the black muck through which the boat was plowing and then back toward the garbage that was spiraling in their wake. He didn’t have a handkerchief, so he just crouched down and tried to breathe as little as possible. The spray off the boat’s bow misted back over him like dirty water flowing from a shower.

  For the next ten minutes they plowed steadily through the fetid canal, the high-pitched yowling of the boat’s engine obliterating every other sound. Eddie watched the darkened city on both banks. It was a crazed and tangled world that rolled past his eyes: soaring towers of glass and steel; rickety, wooden shacks on the verge of sliding into the water; marble shopping palaces sheathed in lights; empty lots strewn with garbage and sleeping bodies; glittering hotels with expensive automobiles around them; massive slums of tarpaper shanties packed under bridges; and roads that, even after midnight, were still snarled with traffic and enveloped in clouds of exhaust smoke.

  A giant numeral, a three drawn in white neon and surrounded by a circle, loomed on top of a dark building on their left, but Eddie had no idea what it might signify. He saw another lighted sign that read HILTON INTERNATIONAL float past on the right and disappear behind them in the darkness. Not long after that, the boat’s engine cut out and they glided silently into a rotting wooden platform moored underneath a concrete bridge.

  Bar paid the boatman and then led them over a metal ramp and up a set of steps cut into the concrete of the bridge supports. Crossing the busy road at the top of the steps, they walked down a block and turned left onto a smaller street, then left again into a tiny alley. Soon they were facing a metal gate set into a concrete wall. It looked to Eddie almost exactly like the gate at the Forty Winks.

  There was another group of young boys waiting outside this gate, too, all wearing white shirts, dark trousers, and bow ties exactly like the other boys had been. They seemed to know Bar well and greeted him with smiles and nods. When they pushed the gate open, Eddie could see another line of parking bays hung with dark vinyl curtains. Most of the dim red lights over the parking bays were lit.

  “What’s this one called?” Winnebago asked Bar.

  “The Sixty-Nine.”

  “A hell of an improvement over Forty Winks,” he said.

  They passed through the gate and looked around as it clanged shut behind them.

  “It seems just like the other place,” Eddie said to Bar.

  “Yeah. Probably a thousand of these in Bangkok.”

  “And do they know you at every one of them?”

  “Pretty near,” Bar admitted as they followed one of the boys down the driveway between the darkened rows of vinyl curtains.

  They bid each other goodnight under the fronds of a scraggly coconut palm that rattled softly in the warm breeze and then they were each shown to a room by one of the boys. Nobody suggested a nightcap. They were all too drained of thoughts and emptied of words.

  Eddie lay awake for a long time after that counting the boats as they roared by on the canal and watching himself in the mirror on the ceiling above his bed. Eventually he slipped off to sleep. It was sometime in the early morning and, for a few hours at least, he was adrift in a deep and dreamless world and didn’t think once about piles of money abandoned in a burning city, or even about a Vietnamese intelligence agent with smooth skin and slim ankles.

  Twenty-Nine

  EDDIE left the Sixty-Nine just after eight the next morning. He let himself out through the gate, the bow-tied schoolboys there the night before having vanished like apparitions in the daylight, and turned right following the directions Bar had given him.

  A narrow, cracked sidewalk stretched out in front of Eddie, empty except for a line of food vendors carts closed and draped with tarpaulins. Two scruffy dogs dozed in the shade. They raised their heads as Eddie passed and almost immediately lost interest in him. The sun had barely cleared the surrounding buildings and Eddie was able to keep mostly in their shade, but still the heat poured over him like scalding water. Before he had taken fifty strides, he was already sweating.

  He could see the main road a couple of hundred yards away. It was thick with traffic and out there beyond it lay the rest of Bangkok. The gossamer fragility of the night had disappeared as completely as the boys at the gate and now the city looked harsh to Eddie, even menacing.

  For a second he flashed back to his mornings at the Buena Vista, eating breakfast and watching the Mason Street cable cars rotating on the big turntable down at the end of Hyde. He could be there right then, he supposed, sipping strong black coffee from those white ceramic mugs that looked like they had been stolen from a Mississippi truck stop, maybe even flirting a little with Suzie just to keep his hand in. But he wasn’t drinking coffee in San Francisco. He was running from Vietnamese Intelligence and the United States Secret Service, hiding out in a Bangkok whorehouse, and strolling down a potholed alleyway to meet a CIA agent so they could have a conversation about $400,000,000 that had been stolen from the Bank of Vietnam more than twenty years ago. It was enough to give a man a serious case of whiplash.

  When Eddie got to Soi Nana, it looked just like Bar told him it would. To his right was the bridge over the Saensaeb Canal and the stairs on which they had climbed up from the boat the night before. He walked slowly toward the bridge, scanning the shops and street stands across the road, and he was almost all the way there before he saw the place that Bar described.

  A purple Kawasaki whined by like an angry lawnmower, an entire family of four sandwiched together on the seat, and Eddie sprinted through the traffic just behind it. Entering the cool darkness of the open-fronted shop, he saw a dozen plain wooden tables scattered around, each with three or four folding metal chairs. The place was empty, and Eddie wondered for a moment if it might not be open yet; but as he settled onto one of the chairs, an old woman shuffled slowly out of a rear door, crossed the room, and placed a cracked mug filled with coffee in front of him. Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out a handful of paper packets containing sugar and creamer, dropped them on the table, and shuffled away again. She hadn’t left a spoon, Eddie noticed, but he decided black coffee would do fine.

  “Thank you,” Eddie called after the woman, but if she heard or understood or cared, she gave no sign. She disappeared through the rear door without looking back.

  The coffee was surprisingly good, but before he had drunk half of it, Eddie began wondering if the old woman would reappear to fill his cup again or if he would have to hunt her down to get more. Even before the thought was fully formed, Eddie pushed it away, thoroughly annoyed with himself. He really was sick of looking at the world that way. All his constant anticipating of future difficulty was the single most annoying legacy of a legal education. Why couldn’t he just enjoy his coffee because it was good? Why did he have to ruin it by wondering where the next cup was coming from, even before the first cup was finished?

  As he was reflecting on the emotional handicaps with which his profession had burdened him, a taxi pulled to the curb on the other side of Soi Nana. Eddie watched as Chuck McBride got out and crossed the road. The man hardly looked like a spy although, when he thought about it, Eddie supposed that was probably the general idea.

  McBride was wearing rumpled khakis, a white polo shirt open at the neck, dark-colored running shoes, and a black baseball cap with gold letters across the front. When he came closer, Eddie was able to read the letters. They said CIA.

  Walking straight to the table, but taking his time about it, McBride pulled out a chair. He sat down slowly and peered off into the middle distance as if Eddie wasn’t there at all. Almost immediately, the rear door opened again and the old woman shuffled toward them with another cup of coffee. She repeated exactly the same cycle that she had gone through before: the chipped mug, the packets of sugar and creamer dumped on the table, and no spoon. Eddie called after her for mo
re coffee as she turned away, but she disappeared out back as if he had never spoken.

  Eddie glanced at McBride, who was gently blowing on his coffee, his face expressionless. “I know,” Eddie said. “This is Thailand.”

  McBride nodded slightly in acknowledgement and sipped tentatively at his coffee. Finding it to his liking, he tossed back a big gulp. He said nothing, but he studied Eddie over the rim of his cup with a steady gaze.

  “What’s with the hat?” Eddie asked after the silence had dragged on for a while.

  McBride rolled his eyes up as if he could actually see it, and then rolled them back down again. “Embassy softball team,” he said.

  “Doesn’t the CIA prefer you guys to be a little less conspicuous?”

  McBride looked disappointed, like a man who’d been telling a long joke and had suffered the indignity of his listener interrupting before he got to the punch line.

  “What’s a few initials among friends?”

  “Yeah, that might be true,” Eddie nodded. “Among friends.”

  McBride shook his head a little as he sipped at his coffee again. “My, aren’t we witty this morning? Put us on television, they ought to. Master-fucking-piece Theater.” He smiled with his face but not with his eyes. “So what are we here to talk about, Dare? That money Harry Austin liberated from ‘Nam in ‘75?”

  “Then you know about it.”

  “Of course I know about it. I know everything about it. I’m good at my job.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?’

  McBride snorted, but he didn’t answer.

  “What about Lek?” Eddie asked

  McBride held up his right hand and wiggled it, although what that was supposed to signify, Eddie had no idea. Then he grinned and made a circle with his thumb and right forefinger, pumping his left forefinger in and out of it several times.

  “Are you…?” McBride asked Eddie.

  Eddie just looked at him.

  “Yes? No?” McBride prompted. “Well, whatever. You’d better keep a close eye on her either way, Dare. She’s—”

  “Vietnamese Intelligence,” Eddie finished.

  McBride blinked at that. “You got that all by yourself?”

  Eddie nodded and McBride bobbed his head around briefly making Eddie think of one of those little football player dolls with a spring for a neck that you found glued to the dashboards of ‘67 Chevys.

  “I’m impressed,” McBride said after a few moments.

  “I live for that.”

  McBride ignored the wisecrack. “What else you get? You find out she’s a hitter?”

  “A what?”

  “You know…” McBride made a little gun out of his thumb and forefinger and pointed it at Eddie “…bang! bang! They use her mostly for the subtle stuff, like when they need to slice something out of somebody before they put them away.”

  Eddie said nothing.

  “Anyway, I’m glad you called me,” McBride went on. “I want to know what you and Tonto are up to.”

  “I thought I called this meeting.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, you did. But I don’t give a shit.”

  McBride leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and lowering his voice slightly. Eddie gathered that was mostly out of habit since there was no one else anywhere near them.

  “You don’t know where Austin stashed the loot, do you?” McBride said.

  Eddie looked away and didn’t answer.

  “No, of course you don’t.” McBride bubbled air out through his lips, making them pop. Then he leaned back in his chair.

  Eddie started to say something, but McBride held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Before you even ask—no, I don’t know either.”

  Eddie was anything but surprised to hear McBride say that.

  “Why are you fucking around here, Dare? You don’t really think you can just wander around Bangkok like an idiot until you just stumble over where Austin hid it, do you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you somehow figure Lek would leave you alive to enjoy it, even if you did?”

  “I don’t think she’s—”

  “Oh, I know,” McBride interrupted again, raising his voice. “You’re a big, tough white guy. You’re not afraid of a cute little Asian chick with a tight ass, are you?”

  McBride clicked his teeth together a few times, grinned viciously, and slapped his open palm sharply against the table.

  “Come to Jesus here, Dare. Let me give you a little background. Lek’s father was Chinaman, a triad Red Pole, and she learned her trade from him. Everyone’s shit scared of her and they should be. She’s the meanest little cunt you’ll ever meet.”

  McBride shook his head theatrically. Eddie could see that he was like a lot of American diplomats and intelligence people who had hung around Asia longer than was good for them. On the outside, they seemed to be nothing but flabby drunks; but on the inside, they were as tough as street whores.

  “She learned to use choppers from her daddy,” McBride went on. “You know, those things like long butchers knives with the little notches on the edge that make such a fucking mess going in and out. She’s good with them, I hear. So quick she can cut just the muscles in your arms or your legs and then there you are.” McBride made a gesture of helpless submission. “You’re alive, but you can’t move. You just lie there while she cuts on you some more. You bleed while she asks you questions and you’ll tell her any fucking thing, Eddie, just any fucking thing she wants to know to make her stop.”

  “Guys like you always have to dig up a monster from somewhere just to get the kiddies into bed, don’t you, McBride? Lek isn’t going to kill me. She thinks I can find Austin’s money.”

  “And what if you can’t, Eddie? You think then she’s just going to watch you go back to Frisco and forget all about it?”

  McBride let that sink in for a moment and then went on.

  “I hear she really hates white guys. That’s why she flashes her ass around to taunt us.” McBride spread his hands again. “We came into that piss-poor little country of hers with our big money and our loud mouths and just took it over, fucking the women and killing the men. Hey, it’s no wonder she hates us, huh? Now that I think about it that way, she probably wouldn’t kill you, Eddie, even if she got sick of waiting for you to dig up the dough. She’d probably just cut off a few parts of you for laughs.”

  Then, just to make sure Eddie hadn’t missed his point, McBride leaned back, dropped both hands to his crotch, and gave a long whistle.

  “Subtle is just a little too hard for you, isn’t it, McBride?” Eddie said, shaking his head. “What do you expect me to do now? Piss all over the floor in sheer terror and then jump into your arms and make you promise to protect me forever?” He threw his hands in the air. “You guys are such assholes.”

  “Hey, Dare, don’t bust my hump here.” McBride seemed more amused than irritated by Eddie’s outburst. “I could be your best friend, you dumb shit. You have no idea at all what you’re up against.”

  “I may have a better idea than you think,”

  McBride loosed a disgusted sign and stretched his arms behind his neck. “Goddamned tourists,” he said, “you’re all alike. Two days out here and you all turn into Lawrence of fucking Bangkok.”

  A black motorcycle pulled to the curb in front of the shop and the driver slowly turned his helmeted head in their direction and racked the throttle. It might have been Eddie’s imagination, but he thought he saw McBride tense and slide his hand toward his waistband. Just as Eddie was about to fling himself to the floor underneath the table, a little girl in a pink dress appeared from out of nowhere, jumped on the back of the bike, and locked her arms around the driver’s waist as he roared off.

  Eddie focused on a spot high on the wall and willed his breathing to return to normal. He kept his face empty and didn’t look at McBride until it did.

  “Is it my turn now?” he eventually asked into the relative silence that fell after the motorcycle h
ad sped away.

  “Yeah, sure.” McBride seemed to yawn slightly, although whether it was real or just an affectation, Eddie wasn’t sure. “What’s on your mind, Dare?”

  “I want you to watch my back while I look for the money.”

  “You want…what?” McBride sputtered, caught genuinely off balance. “Why the fuck would I do that.”

  “I knew Captain Austin better than anyone. Given some time and a little luck, I can find that money, but I can’t do it with people hanging all over me trying to take it away.”

  Chuck McBride looked as if he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “And tell me why, exactly, would I do something like that?”

  “Because then I’d turn it over to the CIA. All except for five million, which is exactly what Lek offered me. I think that’s a fair deal.”

  “Yeah, it’s a hell of a deal, Dare.” McBride’s eyes were twinkling now, and Eddie didn’t know what to make of that. It was anything but the reaction he’d expected. “On the other hand, I think you may be laboring under a false assumption here. You obviously think we give a shit about that money.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope. Not even one tiny turd.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Look, Dare. That’s a can of worms nobody in his right mind ever wants to open up again. We start scratching around about what really happened in Saigon back in ‘75 and Christ only knows what kind of monsters are going to come tumbling out of the closet. It took us long enough to get the fuckers in there and slam the door. We sure as hell aren’t going to be the ones to open it again.”

  “Then why is the Secret Service looking for the money?”

  “Window dressing. Standard government bullshit. That’s all it is. And of course, Reidy’s an idiot who thinks he is going to make his career on this. There’s that, too, but that lame jackass couldn’t find his asshole with both hands and a floodlight.”