Lost Innocence: The Accused. Part One
Page 13
TWENTY-THREE
BO WAS driving, hopping from lane to lane and listening to Harvey on the phone. He finished his call and noticed her amused look. “What?”
“…Nothing.”
“I have the address.”
“I think bad idea to go.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.”
“We better be.”
“I’m always careful.”
“One time you come back with lipstick on shirt.”
“That’s a different kind of careful.”
“And then next day you have coleslaw on lip.”
“Cold sore. I told you it was from a dirty glass.”
“It’s funny you have after night out at Nana.”
Harvey tore off a piece of paper from his pad and handed it to her.
“You want talk another topic now?”
“I’m just giving you the address.”
“…Writing not good.”
“I’ve just written it in the car.”
“So you say my driving not good?”
“Your driving is fine. Can you get us there?”
“Can and after I want fish and chip.”
“I told you, its fish and chips. There is more than one chip. Don’t you want to speak better English?”
“My English better than your Thai.”
“That’s debatable. Next you’re going to say you drive better than me, too.”
“I do.”
Bo took a few more turns, drove a while longer and they eventually arrived at a small restaurant.
“Is this it?”
“Think so. What we do?”
“We go in.”
Harvey and Bo were sitting at a table drinking espressos in a smoky, downtown restaurant. It was a small place, smelled of smoke and had old-fashioned lighting and black leather booths.
A skinny man with stubble shuffled over as if he couldn’t lift his legs. He stood over Harvey, lit up a cigarette, took a drag, held in the smoke then let it seep from his lips. “Mr Nawirat will see you now.”
They followed ‘Smokey’ up some stairs, through a passageway and into a back office. Harvey sniffed and recognized the smell of Japanese weed then saw a short man smoking it from behind a desk. He had mottled wrinkled skin and sat with eyelids drooped and shoulders stooped. Power and confidence emanated from his face.
“Thank you for seeing us.”
“Sit,” Nawirat grunted. He was dressed in a white shirt and wore chunky gold jewellery on both hands.
Harvey and Bo took a seat while ‘Smokey’ stood at the door puffing away.
“Speak,” Nawirat said through thin, pursed lips.
Harvey explained Puku’s predicament. Nawirat seemed to listen, yet appeared distracted.
When Harvey finished, Nawirat glanced up and squinted his eyes. “I’ve heard of you. You are some sort of PI?”
“Yes, I am Harvey Gould, PI.”
“It can be a dangerous job, being a PI.”
“Not really—”
“Not a question. Who owes me money?”
Harvey took out his phone and showed the picture of Puku. “This girl does.”
“Yes, she owes me seventy thousand baht.”
“I was told thirty.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
Harvey shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Liar liar, your pants are on fire.”
“Excuse me?”
“That was Al Pacino. You don’t know him.”
“Yes of course.”
“What do you want, PI?”
Harvey took out an envelope and counted some money out on the desk. “I want to pay off Puku’s debt. Here’s fifty. I’ll bring you the rest shortly.”
Nawirat scooped up the money, locked it in a desk then glanced up at Bo. “Is she with you?”
Harvey nodded.
“She has a pretty face and a fit body. I could sell her, make good money.”
Bo reached down for a throwing knife - Harvey stopped her. “She’s not for sale.”
“Then we’re done here.”