The Night Trade (A Livia Lone Novel Book 2)

by Barry Eisler

  “The same guy you’re worried set you up?”

  “I see your point. But if I just keep things general, we ought to be all right. Hold on.”

  He pulled out a cell phone and called someone. “No,” he said. “No, I didn’t get him. I don’t even think he was here. There were three operators, though, who I just barely survived, no thanks to you, I might add.” There was a pause. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, I just need to git. Can your geek squad pop the locks on every floor in the fire-escape stairwell?” Another pause. “Don’t you worry about which floor, you just have your guys pop all of them.” Pause. “When? Five minutes ago would be nice, but I’ll settle for right fucking now, thank you very much.”

  A second later, there was a loud metallic clack from the door behind them. Livia pulled it. It opened.

  “Good to go,” Texas said into the phone. “I’ll check in again when I’m settled. And you best look into why this thing went so damn sideways. ’Cause somebody knew I was coming, that is for damn sure.”

  He clicked off and powered down the phone, then slipped it into the shielded case.

  “Let’s put yours in, too,” he said. “Better not to take chances.”

  She realized it was a Faraday case. And that her phone was still on. With everything that had happened, she had forgotten to turn it off.

  She didn’t like handing over her phone, but under the circumstances, a Faraday bag made sense. In fact, she should have been carrying one herself. Seattle PD couldn’t track a powered-down phone. But she didn’t know what Homeland Security was capable of. She turned off the unit and handed it to Texas, who enclosed it in the case and then, to her surprise, handed the case to her.

  “Here,” he said. “Keep it in your bag. With two phones, it’s a little thick for the bellyband, and I don’t want anything in the way of my gun, besides.”

  That also made sense. She put the case in her bag, then pulled off the wig and glasses and stuffed them in, too. She wanted to look different from what witnesses might be describing. She arranged everything to make sure the Glock was on top, easily accessible.

  They went through the door, then moved quickly down a long, wide corridor, passing guest-room doors, the plush carpet and high ceiling creating a hush that felt bizarre after the club’s viscera-grinding electronic music.

  “Hey,” Texas said. “Hey. Slow it down. We’re just hotel guests now, remember? Maybe heading back to our room for an amorous nightcap.”

  She looked at him, still enraged at having been so close to Sorm and being forced to abort.

  “I’m not saying that’s actually happening,” he went on. “But you gotta act as if.”

  “I know how to act as if.”

  “Well, I expect you do, I can see that. But right now, you’re acting as if we’re having some kind of tiff. So that’s what anyone who encounters us is going to see. And I can work with that if you like, of course. But I think it would be less unusual and therefore less noticeable if we could pretend to get along for a little while. At least until we’re out of the hotel.”

  “We’re getting along fine.”

  “You see, that’s what I’m talking about. When you say it like that, it just doesn’t sound like your heart’s in it.”

  She heard the elevator chimes from down the corridor, about fifty feet away. “Shit,” Texas said. “Take it easy, now. We ain’t gonna shoot anyone till we see the whites of their eyes, okay?”

  “Stop telling me what to do.”

  “I meant it more as a suggestion. And here’s another one. Get your arm around me now. Act as if.” He put a hand on her waist and pulled her close. She stiffened, again wanting to sweep his legs and leave him there while she went on alone.

  “Here on Earth,” he said, “it’s customary to relax and enjoy this kind of human contact. And if you don’t, people will notice.”

  She heard the elevator doors open. A second later, two uniformed hotel rent-a-cops turned into the corridor and started heading toward them. Their pace and posture were relaxed—a routine patrol, not an emergency. But still she stiffened.

  Texas squeezed her close. “Easy, darlin’,” he whispered into her ear. “Easy. Just two strolling lovers, lost in the rapture of their mutual desire . . .”

  He waved to the guards, and she saw him give one of them a wink as they passed.

  She didn’t like any of it. But it seemed to work. And she understood the purpose was operational. Or at least part of the purpose. With this guy, she realized she just wasn’t sure.

  They took the elevator to the parking level and went out through a side exit, each of them scanning for trouble as they moved. There were a dozen police cars parked around the hotel, and approaching sirens from more. And a lot of gawkers lined up, trying to figure out what was going on. But the two of them just kept walking arm in arm through the warm Pattaya night until they were clear of the hotel grounds, and no one paid any attention.

  “I parked my bike at the pier,” Texas said. “Let’s head that way. Don’t you worry. We’ll get Sorm. Just not tonight.”

  When Little pulled that shit, it felt like forced teaming. But with Texas, somehow it didn’t. And besides, he was obviously no friend of Sorm. They’d do better together than at cross purposes.

  But that didn’t mean she trusted him. She didn’t trust anybody.

  22

  In just a few minutes, they had nearly reached the pier. Dox couldn’t figure this lady out. She was obviously a pro, though what kind he couldn’t quite say. And any pro would know they’d do better walking arm in arm like lovers than like two strangers who didn’t like or trust each other. She had to know it wasn’t real for him, he was just acting as if. Or, okay, maybe it was a little bit real, she sure was pretty and there was definitely something about her, and besides, after a gunfight didn’t everyone want to be held at least a little?

  He saw the bike in the lot—easy to spot because of its size—and instantly realized something he should have thought of earlier. “Hang on,” he said. “My helmet’s chained to the bike, but we need to get you one, too. They don’t enforce helmet laws out here so strictly, but we don’t want to take a chance on some cop looking for a bribe. Plus it’ll prevent anyone from seeing our faces.”

  It took only a moment to find a guy pulling off his helmet after parking. “Hey,” Dox said, whipping out a Benjamin and pointing to the helmet. “A hundred US for that helmet there. Deal?”

  The guy looked at him like he didn’t understand. Which he probably didn’t.

  Well, it was always dumb to just talk louder when someone didn’t speak your language, but maybe money was different. He pulled out another Benjamin and extended the bills with one hand while pointing at the helmet with the other. “Two hundred, sir. And that’s my last offer. Take it, or live with regret for the rest of your life.”

  The guy gave him a big wai and a bigger smile. He took the money, handed Dox the helmet, then headed off, probably to buy new headgear and spend the excess on various forms of Pattaya bacchanalia. Dox handed the helmet to the woman and they kept moving.

  They came to the bike. Dox unlocked and shouldered the chain, grabbed the helmet, and started to swing a leg over the seat.

  The woman put a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “I’m in front,” she said.

  She might as well have told him she would fly them to the moon. “Look,” he said, feeling flummoxed, “this is a Kawasaki Z800, a touch big for a little lady like—”

  “Maybe I’m not as little as you think. Or you’re not as big.”

  “Well, that stings, I won’t lie.”

  “Get on in back.”

  “Look, it’s customary here and throughout the civilized world for the man to ride in front. Doing it the other way is just going to get us noticed.” He might have added, or killed in a crash, but thought that might be a tad incendiary under the circumstances.

  “You’re wasting time.”

  He wanted to argue, but she
seemed so determined. Plus he couldn’t think of anything else.

  “Fine,” he said. “I hope you know how to ride.” He also hoped no one, and especially not Rain, would ever learn about this.

  She pulled on the helmet and held out her hand for the key. He scowled, but that only made him feel more helpless. “Fine,” he said again. He handed her the key. She swung a leg over the seat. He pulled on his helmet and got on behind her.

  She fired the ignition, revved the engine, and turned her head toward him. “Hold on tight,” she said.

  “Fine,” he said yet again, feeling like an idiot. He put his hands on her hips.

  “Tighter,” she said.

  “Well, all right, then.” He clasped his hands around her belly. Damn, her stomach was hard and flat. Whoever she was, she was in some shape.

  And damn, it was a good thing he’d listened when she told him to hang on, because she hit it suddenly and hard, the back of the bike fishtailing in the dirt as she accelerated, but she compensated instantly with her body weight one way and then the other, and never seemed other than completely in charge. At the street at the edge of the lot she accelerated more, leaning into the turn and showing great throttle control, then rocketed ahead to the intersection and turned again, carrying a ton of speed through the corner. Dox clung to her, bug eyed under the helmet, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

  In under three minutes, they were heading northeast on Route 7, the main road back to Bangkok. “Wait,” Dox shouted over the whine of the engine. “We don’t want to go to Bangkok. Make a right on 36 up there ahead.”

  She didn’t even slow. “I have another lead on Sorm in Bangkok.”

  “Look, generally in my life when strange men show up unexpectedly and try to kill me, for at least the next day I try to avoid doing anything that might be predictable. So please indulge me—we can always go back to Bangkok, I just don’t want to go there right now. Go southeast on 36—it’ll take us to Rayong and Saeng Chan Beach. We’ll spend the night there and use another route into Bangkok tomorrow.”

  He knew his advice was sound—as sound as advice ever got. And she was obviously a pro, so she must have already known what he was saying made sense. But even so, he could tell she was struggling.

  “I know you want Sorm bad,” he said. “But you gotta also want him smart.”

  Even as he said it, he realized he was getting himself into a potential jam. He wasn’t supposed to kill Sorm, after all. He’d even promised Vann and Kanezaki he wouldn’t. But he was certain this woman sure as shit was going to kill Sorm or die trying, and now he was practically offering to help her. Well, he’d have to figure all that out later. For now, they just needed to get safe.

  He didn’t know what he would do if she ignored him and tried to stay on Route 7. It wasn’t as though he could grab the handlebars. But luckily it didn’t come to that. She slowed as they approached the sign for 36 and turned smoothly onto it.

  An hour later, they were in Rayong. Dox hadn’t been here in probably a decade, but even at near three in the morning, he could tell it hadn’t changed much. Palm trees, low-slung buildings, and not a Walking Street all-night party scene in sight. Apparently, being an hour farther south from Bangkok than Pattaya, it had been spared the overdevelopment suffered by its more famous coastal cousin.

  They drove slowly east on the beach road, everything sleepy and still under a low crescent moon, the waves of the Gulf of Thailand to their right breaking white along the sand.

  “See how they’ve done the beach in all those semicircles of sand and stone?” he said. “Like half moons. That’s where the name comes from. Saeng chan means moonlight.”

  She turned her head slightly. “Where are we going?”

  “All right, I can see my attempts at playing tourist guide have come to naught. Just keep heading up the beach road. There’s a little place where I used to stay, back in the day. I’ll bet you it’s still here.”

  And it was. Paradise Cottages and Spa was the name—a collection of thatch-roofed bungalows strung out along the south side of the road, directly across from the semicircles of the beach.

  The woman parked the Kawasaki, and Dox dismounted. He was glad the gravel lot was dark and empty so no one could witness his shame as he got off the back of the bike. Still, he had to admit she could ride and then some. He pulled off his helmet. There was a breeze coming off the water, and the night air was pleasantly cool. He could smell the ocean—a clean, salty smell Pattaya had buried under diesel and concrete.

  And another smell—durian fruit. There must have been a tree nearby. Most Westerners hated the smell, but for him, it was one of the delights of being in Southeast Asia.

  The woman cut the engine and pulled off her helmet. He was quick to extend a hand. “Key, please.” He half expected her to argue, but she didn’t. It was his bike, after all. She handed him the key.

  “What are we doing now?” she asked.

  He was grateful to be back on familiar ground, at least somewhat in charge. “What we do now is get a room. Just one room, ’cause we have a lot to talk about. Not to mention—”

  “You want us to act as if.”

  “Just act is all. I’m not trying to take advantage of you.”

  He thought she was going to argue, but she just said, “I know.”

  That threw him. He couldn’t get a fix on what made her cooperative and what turned her obstreperous.

  “Oh,” he said. “Well, good. And you know I might put on a little show for whatever tired clerk we encounter, right?”

  She swung a leg off the bike and dismounted. “Yeah, I’m starting to pick up on that.”

  “Well, it’s just a show. I got two ways of hiding—one is to be invisible, and the other is to make a spectacle of myself. Each has its advantages and disadvantages.”

  She laughed. It was only a little, but it was the first time he’d seen her do it. He liked it. It made him strangely happy to know it was even possible, and to think maybe he was the cause.

  “You, invisible?” she said. “That I’d like to see.”

  He smiled. “Well, that’s the thing—you wouldn’t see it. That’s the whole point.”

  “Okay, then, you just let me know when it happens.”

  “Deal. But for now, it’s going to be more spectacle. So when we go into that guest-reception bungalow over yonder, I’m going to put my arm around you. ’Cause we’re a couple of semi-randy homo sapiens whose pheromones mixed at a bar a while back, and who are now planning on acting on their mutual attraction here at Paradise Cottages and Spa.”

  He’d been trying to make her laugh again with that. But instead she frowned. “You don’t have to talk to me like that,” she said. “I’m not an alien.”

  That threw him again. “Well, hell, I know that. I’m sorry. I was actually just trying to make you laugh. I liked when you did it a minute ago. You have a nice laugh, and that was the first I’d heard it.”

  For a moment, she didn’t respond. Then she nodded and said, “Let’s just go in. I’m tired.”

  He couldn’t figure her out. All he knew for sure was she was carrying an almighty weight and couldn’t find a way to set it down.

  They went in. He put his arm around her as promised, or as warned, anyway, and without being prompted she did the same. Under any other circumstances, he would have been glad—that she was listening, that she trusted him, hell, maybe even that she was starting to like him. But the way she did it seemed so reluctant. And somehow sad. He wanted to prompt her again about acting as if, but decided it just wasn’t worth it. It was three in the morning in Rayong. Nobody was going to notice an incongruity as minor as an Asian woman seeming reluctant about a big white guy having his arm around her.

  Hell, he thought. It’s probably not even a damn incongruity. It’s probably more the damn norm.

  Either way, the clerk, a teenager who’d been out cold with his head on the desk when they came in, didn’t seem to give a shit. He wiped
his eyes, took Dox’s cash, and handed him a key. Dox thanked him, and he and the woman went back out and walked along a gravel path lit by dim footlights until they found their bungalow.

  It was a nice place, and just as he remembered it: spare but cozy, with polished wood floors, white sheets, and French doors that opened right onto the beach. The lights were on a dimmer, and he kept them low so as not to attract insects. He opened the doors—Rain would have considered it an unpardonable breach of security, but for God’s sake, Dox himself hadn’t known until ten minutes earlier that this was where they were going—and the room was immediately filled with the sound of the ocean, not fifty feet away.

  He smelled the durian fruit again. “Mmm,” he said. “I love that smell.”

  “Durian?” she said from behind him.

  He stood there for a moment, his eyes closed, just enjoying the smell of the fruit and the sound of the waves. “You bet. Call me strange if you like, but it’s one of my favorites.”

  She didn’t answer. He glanced back at her, and she was staring at him with the oddest expression.

  They’d stopped at a convenience store on the ride in and picked up some sandwiches, chips, and bottled water, and after a moment the woman got up, tore the bag open, and started devouring one of the sandwiches. He walked over and did the same. Being in a gunfight made a person ravenous. It increased all the appetites, in fact. He’d have to watch himself. She was pretty and he liked her, and he was definitely suffused with that incredibly alive feeling you could have only when you’ve survived someone trying to kill you and you got to kill him instead. But she sure didn’t seem a fan of human contact.

  They stood and ate wordlessly, and the sandwiches and half the water were gone in minutes. “Whew,” he said, holding back a belch. “I needed that.”

  She nodded.

  “I think we’ve got some notes we ought to compare,” he said. “But I could use a shower. If you’d like, you’re welcome to go first.”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded again.

  “Hey, when I come out of that bathroom, you’re still going to be here, right?”