He sat quietly across the table from me with his face resting in the palm of his hand. After a moment of reckoning, he lifted his head. His eyes were glassy. He let out a breath of air before a hint of a smile appeared on his face. “What are you thinking?”
That’s the Kyle Kang I know.
“My supervisor is figuring out the best way to brief law enforcement in all those cities. I’ll tell you now, I have no interest in becoming the poster child for the case and heading out on tour to help.”
“That would suck.”
“Our time would be better used in locating the guy behind the game. There’ll be plenty of egomaniacs vying to be the one who locates and captures the killer in their city—a competition between the various agencies.”
“Very much. I can see Rome bragging that they got their guy first or some crap like that.” Kang drained the last of his coffee.
“The truth of the matter is, the only way to dismantle the game is to take down the person behind it. There are plenty of nut jobs out there willing to sign up and play.”
“You want to keep playing the game?” Kang questioned.
“So long as we have access to the Carlson’s account, we have to keep trying. It’s the only way forward for us.”
“One problem though:” Kang said, “Cavanaugh.”
Captain Richard Cavanaugh was Kang’s supervisor, and he hated that I had roped his detective further into a case that should have been closed. To lessen the politics and help Kang out, I’d had the bureau officially take over SFPD’s part of the investigation to keep Cavanaugh from messing with it. The FBI had informed the rotund captain that I needed Detective Kang to help us indefinitely. Cavanaugh didn’t have the balls or the political clout to fight us on it.
“The case is ongoing, and you’re still helping the bureau. There’s nothing he can do to stop you.”
“Okay, problem solved, but I still don’t understand how playing the game is an advantage for us. The San Francisco part of the game is finished. The next step is Bangkok. Wait. Tell me that’s not what you’re thinking.”
I grinned at Kang. “Clear your schedule.”
Chapter 5
Creep. Creep. I am the Creeper. Who will get lucky tonight?
The lone figure weaved his way through the mix of anxious men entering the small soi, a side street just off Sukhumvit Road, the main artery that ran through the middle of Bangkok. Even with the colorful neon lights casting a bright wash of dancing spotlights across the sidewalk and nearby buildings, he was almost invisible. Careful to move neither too fast nor too slowly, he avoided overtaking and made sure not to sidestep. To the crowd of tourists that surrounded him, he was never there.
He continued along the lively side street, his gait vanilla and his mind focused on finding a pretty prize for the night. He’d had many in the last few days, though none could give him the satisfaction he wanted and needed. He was on the verge of giving up on this location and trying another.
Which one of you pretties? Who will it be? The Creeper is here. Creep. Creep.
He passed one of the many sidewalk bars, eyeing his competition—loudmouth farangs drinking cheap Thai beer and listening to booming dance music. He watched them eagerly partake in the nightly courtship with half-naked women who gyrated for their attention.
Young and attractive, they would slither across laps, hug hairy arms, poke at doughy bellies, and dole out endless smiles and laughter. In return, the men would lavish these women with riches from the bar: a watered-down lady drink that earned the women a 40/60 split with the establishment. Here on the tiny strip, the farangs were kings and the barstools were their thrones.
The Creeper only sneered. Pathetic sex tourists with second-rate women were what he considered the bunch to be. He deserved better. He left the sidewalk and headed into Nana Plaza, where the go-go bars were. The dancers were the cream he craved.
It was nearing ten at night at the plaza. The best dancers were on stage, and almost every seat had a warm body occupying it. But not for long; it was pairing time. One by one, the men took the prettiest women off the shelf and back to their hotels or a nearby short-time hotel, though it wasn’t always up to the man.
The women, especially the prettier ones, had complete control over who became a customer of theirs. As with any business, the women all sought the best men—those who weren’t problematic and who had money to burn.
Some of the ladies hedged their bets on the best-looking farangs. Others opted for those whose pockets were stuffed with cash, and still a few held on to a strategy of finding the drunkest—one who would surely pass out the minute they got back to his hotel room. Of course, she would have requested payment up front.
The Creeper circled the first floor of the plaza, moving in and out of each bar. He was looking for the one, but nothing caught his eye. If he was disappointed, he showed no signs. He inhaled deeply. The city’s humid night air had been soured with the scent of beer and heavy doses of cheap perfume.
Remaining optimistic, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and a half a dozen more bars offering more opportunities to find what he wanted. But the Creeper wouldn’t need to look any farther than the bar to his left. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her—a glimpse, really, but her long, black locks against her creamy white back was enough to draw him into the club.
He entered, took a seat near the door, and ordered a beer from the server who appeared seconds later. He avoided eye contact and unnecessary conversation and instead focused on his prize.
Where did you go? You can’t hide from the Creeper.
He scooted his chair against the wall so that his back was flush. He tucked his chin down and kept his bottle near his lips. He pulled his black baseball cap down farther, obstructing his face. Satisfied, his eyes went to work, shifting from side to side, searching. Halfway through his beer, he spotted her.
She had exited the dancers’ room in the far corner, opposite where he sat, and was even more beautiful from the front. She wore a white bikini with matching pumps that made her appear to hop with each step. He glanced around the room. He wasn’t the only one who had noticed the unattached beauty. The wolves were circling the lamb. He had to make his move, even if it risked drawing attention to him.
He set his beer down and walked straight toward her, intercepting her seconds before a drunken farang got to her. He quickly baited her with the promise of lady drinks, and she pounced.
He brought her back to his table near the door, sitting her down and shielding her from the many eyes that still bore through him to get to her. He ordered five lady drinks, knowing she would not drink more than one, but it sent a message. He wanted her.
He smiled. She smiled. He told her his name—Johan from Johannesburg. Not true, but it didn’t matter because her reply was, “Ban from Bangkok.”
“You come here often?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I prefer Soi Cowboy, but I was in the neighborhood.”
“I work Soi Cowboy, at Shark bar, but I come here to see if better. I try this bar for a couple nights.”
Lucky you.
They continued with small talk for another twenty minutes. She had already made a pretty penny off him from the lady drinks, but he made sure she knew more could be made if they closed a deal. “Whatever your price,” he said, testing her willingness.
Was it enough to convince her? He couldn’t be sure; her eyes were still wandering. She had a choice, unlike the other women who didn’t quite have her looks. He engaged in more conversation and gentle thigh-rubbing. He focused on making her laugh. He told her how beautiful she was and got no response.
Stupid! She is told that a million times every night.
His conversation had to be original, clever at best. He had to entertain. There was no guarantee, yet he knew he had to have her. She was the one who could satisfy his desire, and the game.
Creep with me, Ban. You won’t regret it.
Chapter 6
Ban woke the next morning, surprised to find that she was still in her date’s bed. She rarely stayed the night, even if they paid for it and expected a second pop in the morning. But she had this time, not because this one was nice or because he was great in bed or because she was feeling lazy. She had stayed the night because a rope tightly secured her wrists and ankles to the bed frame.
How could I have been so careless? Over and over she replayed the events from the night before, looking for the mistake she was so sure she had never made. Ban had been in the game for close to four years—a seasoned pro. She had learned from others and from her own past mistakes on how to handle these men. She had a strict set of rules that she never wavered from. The most important were followed by almost all of the girls.
Rule One: Never finish a lady drink. She abided by that rule and never broke it, no matter how many drinks were bought for her, not even the ten that her one and only date of the night had purchased for her. She drank from a glass that she had personally taken from the hostess herself. No chance of it being spiked. She had all her faculties, as usual, never drinking more than a few sips.
Rule Two: Never, ever settle. Ban always got her asking price. Always.
Rule Three: Take charge of the situation. Control meant power, and power ensured safety. She always determined what they did and for how long. And last night, she did just that. She remembered everything from start to finish. He lasted for thirty seconds.
Rule Four: Condom. Condom. Condom.
Rule Five: Never accept any food or drink. Some devious men were known to drug their dates once behind closed doors. No matter how thirsty, no matter how hungry, a 7/11 was always a short walk away.
Rule Six: Leave the second they fall asleep. And they always did right after they had spent themselves.
But this time, things hadn’t happened as planned.
Ban struggled against the bindings that held her in place. They were tied tightly, and not a chance of slipping free of them existed. Her eyes canvassed the bedroom. The one window had thick curtains covering it, and she assumed it was shut tight.
She remembered how he had surprised her at the last minute when they had arrived at the old condo building. Ban never went to them unless it was with a regular.
“I’m sorry, dear. I thought I was clear that I lived in Bangkok and had a condo,” he said as he pressed his hand against the small of her back, ushering her forward.
Liar! She had no problem entertaining in serviced apartments or some of the new luxury condominiums that had been erected in the last three years, mostly because the men who stayed there were in Thailand on business, and their companies footed the bill. Almost every single one of them had a wife and kids back home. The odds of any of them being a psychopath fell on the minute side.
Those buildings were also equipped with CCTV cameras in the lobby, elevators and hallways. There were guards posted around the clock, and she actually had to leave her ID at the front desk in some of the buildings. She felt relatively safe in those well-appointed dwellings. But the older condos, well, any person could rent them, and there would be no way of proving that Ban had ever been there—the perfect variables for making someone disappear.
That aside, what really bothered Ban were the walls of the bedroom. They were lined with gray foam padding. It resembled large egg cartons and appeared to have been crudely stapled to the walls, while she was asleep. She swore it hadn’t been there last night.
A loud bump at the door caught Ban’s attention, then the sound of something hard scratching against the wood had her focusing. The sound wasn’t fast and repetitive but slow and drawn out. It dragged the length of the door.
A beat later, the door swung open. There he was, her date. He was nude except for a white thong. Hers. It barely contained him. His scrotum spilled out from both sides of the strained material.
He smiled as he shut the door behind him. He was knock-kneed, and the top of his wrists rested on his hips, as he puffed out his chest and pranced around the room delivering a bad Mick Jagger impersonation.
“Hello, my pretty. Did you sleep well?” he asked.
Ban’s thoughts were focused on how to escape, but first she had to regain control of the situation. “My arms hurt,” she cooed. “Can you release me? I want to play with you again.”
She was well aware of how vulnerable she was—nude and tied up. She tried her best to produce a sexy pose, but given her lack of mobility, struggled. She pouted and blinked her eyes, but it appeared to have no effect on the man who had grown content with watching himself in the mirror that sat on top of the dresser.
“Baby,” she called out.
He ignored her, walked over to a small table tucked away in the corner of the room and switched on a portable stereo. Suddenly the room filled with music, rock music, the type that most associate with noise. It was loud but not loud enough to annoy a neighbor. Ban felt her heart beat faster. She worried. What if this weren’t a game? What if she could not sweet-talk her way out of the situation? What if she had made a terrible mistake by saying yes when she should have said no?
She watched as he emptied the contents of a brown paper bag he had brought into the room with him: a plate and some sort of square metal instrument. She realized it was a multi-grater when he waved it at her.
“Untie me baby. Let me take care of you,” she tried once more.
He moved toward her, smiling but refraining from answering. He sat on the edge of the bed, near her legs. He put the plate down next to her and then pointed at the gray foam on the walls. “No one will hear.”
Hear what?
She watched him lay his hand against her shin and grip it gently. Her skin tightened immediately as she tried to jerk her leg away.
“Shhhhhh, don’t be scared.”
He placed his hand on her leg once more. The rough, dry skin of his palm scratched at her as he allowed his hand to glide over her. He guided his hand higher, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He stopped when he reached the inside of her upper thigh, allowing his index finger to trace tiny circles. His touch sent chills through her body—chills that were more likely to induce vomiting than sexual pleasure.
She wanted to pull away, to shake his violating paw off her, but instead, she held still. She wondered, if only for a second, if this was another sexual quirk of his. Would he get off soon? She continued to feign interest in hopes of a satisfying him quickly and securing her own release.
She forced another smile only to watch his disappear. He grasped a handful of her soft flesh, kneading it slowly between his fingers. She let out a moan and thrust her hips gently, all while screaming for help inside. She did her best to remain calm for fear that he would hear her rapid heartbeats. She oozed sexuality but struggled to hold back the tears. Ban prayed for control. She prayed for the strength to get through this. She told herself over and over, Make him happy. Get him off. Leave.
But Ban could no longer contain herself. A tear broke free and ran down the side of her cheek. Her bottom lip started quivering uncontrollably. The knocking of her heart thumped louder. Surely he could hear it over the music.
Hold it together, Ban. She couldn’t. He was no ordinary customer. He had gained control.
He released her thigh and picked up the grater. She watched as he placed it on top of her right thigh.
“Nooo,” she mouthed, moving her head back and forth for clarity.
The teeth of the appliance gripped her skin and tugged on it a bit.
“Please. I beg.” Ban pleaded once more, only to have her words go unnoticed.
“I like green papaya salad. Som tam, isn’t that what it’s called here?” He slid his tongue across the bottom of his lip before sucking it back into his mouth. “This might hurt,” he whispered before closing his eyes and drawing a big breath.
Chapter 7
Reilly had heard back from the higher-ups and, surprisingly, they didn’t want to expend too much manpower for the briefing. He was told that the Bur
eau’s time would be better served focusing on the problems of our own country. There was plenty of crime fighting to be done in the good old U.S. of A.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means we keep the brief simple. We send everyone the information we have and grant them an hour-long web conference to answer any questions. They’re on their own after that.”
“What about the mastermind of the game?”
“As far as my superiors are concerned, he’s not a concern. They think everyone should focus on nabbing the players. The mastermind, in their heads, is an unknown. They said the evidence you’ve uncovered, while promising, wasn’t enough to convince them that one exists.”
“Promising? What the hell does that mean? Look, if this guy found twenty psychopaths to play his game, surely he can find twenty more. Taking out the players doesn’t solve the problem.”
“Abby…”
“I’m supposed to just drop it. File it away like it’s not important.”
“Abby!” Reilly raised his voice. “I didn’t say that and I agree with you.”
“Huh?”
“I went to bat for you.” A smile stretched across Reilly’s face. “I know you want to continue playing the game, and the only way to do that is to go to Bangkok. They were against it. They didn’t want some rogue agent causing havoc in another country, but I convinced them we could trust you.”
I swallowed. “Of course you can.”
“I’m going out on a limb here. Don’t make me look bad.”
“I won’t so long as there are no idiotic provisions attached to this.”
“You need Bangkok’s okay on it. As soon as you pull the materials together, I’ll get them briefed and broach the subject of you working alongside their personnel.”
“You know me. I can’t be handcuffed, and I’m not running every move I make by someone over there. I can’t work that way.”
Lumpini Park (Abby Kane FBI Thriller - Chasing Chinatown Trilogy Book 2) Page 2