A Killing to DIE For

by P Gaseaux

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Tanaka stretched and yawned. He shivered. He’d cranked up the air-con full-bore after returning from the streets and dozing off. Thrashed around for a blanket, anything to warm up then he sat up and stumbled to the curtains, thick brown ones that cloaked the room in darkness; mid-day according to his wristwatch on the bedside table, that Seamaster his ex-wife had given him. He managed to get the hot water running; he showered and afterward sat on the bed before changing. Wanted to take a walk around, maybe a taxi. See some of the city. Had a couple of hours to kill. Then the phone by the bed rang:

  “Mistah-Tanaka. Good afternoon. Some friends to see you…can send him up, okay-mai?”

  A minute or so later a knock at the door. Tanaka opened it a fraction, it was the translator’s brother, accompanied by another man. Police-General Leepakchai was in uniform but the other one wasn’t.

  Tanaka shook hands with Leepakchai and invited them in, they sat. He reached and put on his watch, stealing a peek at it.

  “I should apologize, PK -- we’re a little early.” He turned quickly to the other man who sat saying nothing, still had sunglasses on. Indoors…

  “Something came up.” He turned to the other man. “This is a friend of mine.”

  Tanaka stood and shook the man’s hand. But no reply, nothing…unsettling. Something had spooked Leepakchai.

  Tanaka wanted the info he’d asked for. “Gentlemen, I was going to get some tea or coffee sent up. Or would we like to head downstairs for something?”

  Leepakchai nodded but the second man spoke now: “Do not trouble yourself, Mister Tanaka. We were just passing through. Just as you are.”

  ‘Just as you are.’ Didn’t sound right.

  “Well, I’m just on a short vacation, sir…I’m sorry, and I didn’t catch your name.”

  The second man muttered something to Leepakchai who removed from his pocket the image of JJ Hatfield and unfolded it. Then he rose and paced to the window, opening the curtains some more, staring into the distance. Tanaka noticed the man’s complexion, his arms. The guy was lean and wiry; he turned and removed the ray-bans, carefully placing them in his pocket and withdrawing a cigarette that he lit with a silver Zippo. Tanaka watched, intrigued by the huge orange ball of flame that shot up from it. Some local brand, the smoke was strong. Just like Turkish tobacco; stank the room out.

  “We have located where your friend is staying, PK,” said Leepakchai. He took some paper and handed it over.

  Tanaka studied the address and name of the place, an easy one to remember: some joint called the ‘Malaysia Hotel’. A number and underneath the address in Thai. The script flowed, it was artistic.

  “Show that to anybody, they can assist. Or we can take you if you wish-”

  “No, that’s all right. I can manage. Thanks anyhow.”

  “Then we’ll be on our way, Mister Tanaka,” said the second man. “Oh, when you locate your friend…you can get a lift to the airport with General Leepakchai.” He squinted. “Sometimes the taxis here are not the most reliable.”

  Now they stood and they moved to the door.

  “General, any luck with the other person -- that lady?” asked Tanaka.

  They stopped and turned, could’ve heard a pin drop.

  “I’m sorry, I could not…we were unable to locate this person,” said General Leepakchai.

  The second man turned around and came back through the door. Stood close to Tanaka. “How do you know her?” he asked.

  Tanaka thought quickly. “Uh…I met her in Manila airport. We had breakfast together. She told me I should get in touch but I lost her email-”

  “So somehow you got her image-capture from passport control at Manila Airport?” He gave Tanaka an even harder look, and shook his head. “Must have been some breakfast you shared…”

  “Well…not sure if General Leepakchai -- sorry -- Lek, my friend here told you. I’m a cop…” Tanaka chuckled nervously. “Sure she wouldn’t mind. You know how it is.”

  “Your friend, huh?” The man’s face hardened, ice-cold. “This person does not exist on our records. Maybe she hasn’t returned to Thailand in a long time. Maybe she had fake travel documents. These things happen.”

  The second man spoke for a while to Leepakchai; he stared at Tanaka, and then strode out to the elevator.

  “Sorry we couldn’t help. You call me and I’ll take you to the airport.”

  Tanaka forced a smile through the veil of lies. “Thank you, sir. And I’ll check on your sister Aroon, when I get back.”

  “You’ve done more than enough, PK. Be safe.”

  In the foyer the elevator made a ‘ping’ sound and they visitors were gone.

  On the street below they stood, General Leepakchai and the other man who had lit yet another cigarette. They said nothing for a while then they strolled to a silver Mercedes ‘Kompressor’ with red plates and the second man opened the door. He hopped in the passenger’s seat; the driver was a bull-necked man in a safari suit.

  “I apologize for this but we weren’t to know,” said Leepakchai.

  “No problem so far. But I would ask you one thing -- keep an eye on them. Two days, then get them out of here. I don’t care how you do it, arrest and deport them if you have to.”

  Leepakchai checked his vehicle; it was still double-parked in the same place, his sergeant at the wheel. The twin-cab started was idling, rattling as diesels do. He turned round and stepped back on to the curb.

  “Anything you say, General Kitti-khorn.”

  Both of them being generals as they were, in this town the police would defer to the military. Always.

  Tobacco fumes still lingered in the room, late afternoon by now. The mini-bar, that iconic draw card of any hotel. Tempting by day and a noisy compressor that keeps you awake at night. So enticing...three different brands of local as well as German and Japanese beer, other drinks and cashews. All of it past the ‘use-by’ date, the beer was probably fine but to drink one now would have written off the entire day. Tanaka picked out a plastic bottle of mineral water and returned to the window. At a cost but not as high as the cost of dehydration or stomach illness, though. He could feel the heat outside even though the room was cool. Condensate had formed on the outside of the plate glass and every now and then a droplet zigzagged down. He followed the droplet as it snaked its way downward, it joined with the others then disappeared.

  He kept two notebooks always -- old-fashioned scribbled ones that couldn’t be altered; if one was pulled for evidence he always had a second. The official one could be tendered in trials. That one was with his other stuff at HQ but he had another, identical to the first. He flipped through the pages: dates, times; in fact everything from Jackson’s call that night right up to now. He thought about Jackson’s death. Billy Bob Hatfield’s death.

  Dead people all over the place, they led a trail right to this point, just like Hansel and Gretel.

  Peered out the condensate window and braced for it -- that menace. They’d be watching him now, his every move. Might as well make the trip in style, they’d given up the place Hatfield was staying; they’d expect him to go straight there.

  He had one single thing in his favor -- he looked just like they all did, just like a local so he had to dress like one. Don’t try to speak. At the reception he hired the valet-car, a black Nissan. Looked flash, logo on the side and black…make it easy for his observers; lull them into a sense of security. Act deaf-mute, smile a lot and wave the hands like a deaf-mute. Nod at everything. And try not to perspire too much…

  The ‘Hotel-Malaysia’ was the same age as Special Agent Tanaka. If these walls could talk they’d have more stories to tell than the Dead Sea Scrolls. The GIs came, they left, the travelers and hippies came, they left, and then came the junkies, then the whoremongers who also moved on, along with the girls. The Orient’s very own serial-killer, Charles Sobhraj and his
groupies had once sat in the lobby here and lured backpackers to their deaths. The Manson Family of the East. Nowadays it was gay scene, while the junkies still drifted round the laneways like zombies, ethereal figures…seen and never heard, from time to time carried out in bags to be cremated. No name, no next of kin, just ashes and a certificate to the consulate. The smack in this city was still pure as it was in the old days.

  The GIs couldn’t have ever imagined it now. JJ Hatfield couldn’t have imagined the place now. He was easy enough to find.

  Tanaka felt walked in the lobby of the pre-fab building then through to the swimming pool; he heard the ruckus and followed it. He shuddered -- there was the old guy, next to a whole lot of empty beer bottles knocked over and a half full bottle of Bourbon next to him. Hatfield was soaked in sweat, looking terrible and muttering and cursing out loud. He squinted when he saw Tanaka then tried to sit up, toppling the bottle as he lurched forward.

  “Well, speak of the devil. Man, you just don’t know when to quit, do you?” Hatfield picked up the bottle and thrust it at Tanaka. “Welcome to my old R and R, Special Agent!” He coughed. “C’mon, have a drink with us.”

  Tanaka cringed and checked out the poolside. A couple of other westerners, about his age. Bodybuilder types. One of the Europeans on his belly, face-down getting massaged from a local youth, at the other end a group of teenagers hanging around…not a female to be seen. He turned back to Hatfield and gently prized the bottle from the big leathery hand.

  “Hey…enough for now, don’t you say?” Tanaka spoke softly, soothing, trying to calm the atmosphere a little. The air felt electrified. Wet, dripping; about ninety and a total lack of sunlight. Just overcast grey. The group at the other end; they were staring. So was the western man nearest them.

  Hatfield spluttered and grinned like a demon, then shook his head. “Used to come out here during the war, just our lil’ gang…” He pointed to the lobby. “See that there coffee shop? Had a harem to us, a whole bunch of ‘em. Used to give ‘em names…days of the week, you know…Girl-Monday, Girl-Tuesday, Wednesday…never remember their names…”

  Then he stood up and teetered, he sneered at the other foreigners. “Full of damn queers!” He growled at the others. He shook his fist and shouted across the pool: “Fairies!!”

  “Hey, asshole.” The foreigner nearby stood. “Say something? Wanna repeat that?” The voice had an American or Canadian accent, with a lisp but the man was big.

  Muscles in his shit…

  Tanaka moved in front of the old guy. The group at the end of the pool started wandering over now and the one getting the massage sat up. This looked ugly. This could get ugly -- it was Bangkok, being an FBI agent meant nothing; possibly made matters worse.

  About to be lynched…lynched and drowned.

  Tanaka stiffened and straightened up as the bodybuilder walked toward them, Hatfield completely out of his mind and grumbling on, oblivious to the danger striding over in the form of a gay-porn-star with a fake tan. There was never any sunlight in this city.

  “Hey, asshole.” Wannabe porn actor got close then grabbed at the old guy, Tanaka stepped in then Hatfield somehow got up. They started swiping at each other, lurching to and fro; Tanaka in the middle trying to separate them. The others who had been staring from the other end were moving in for the kill.

  It may have been pure instinct; Tanaka grabbed at his wallet and tore at it, whipping out the card the policeman had given him. He held it up and stood in a stance like a karate student. The first teenage hoodlum snatched it, shot a look at the card then passed it to his buddies; same reaction as a winning lotto ticket. It stopped the hostile group of Thais in their tracks. The gay crowd noticed this too; they moved back. With his left hand Tanaka forced Hatfield back into the deckchair behind, knocking over the bottle of spirits.

  “That’s right, gentlemen,” whispered Tanaka in a hoarse voice, all the while struggling to contain the adrenaline. His eyes darted round the area, expecting a piece of rebar, a brutal haymaker from one of the Thai boys or a heavy ashtray on his skull.

  “You heard my friend,” he continued, trying to control his breathing. “As it happens I really am a special agent…and this card belongs to a good friend of mine…a general with the Thai police force. They’re probably watching us.” He held the card higher. “Tell you what. The old guy wishes to apologize. So do I for that matter. We’ll be on our way, now and I’ll promise you one thing…” Tanaka drew a deep breath as a couple of the masseurs spoke to each other in Thai then glared back.

  “Any of you so much as lay a finger on me or this man and a thousand cops’ll land on this place and destroy everything here.” He nodded behind to Hatfield. “Through your rooms, your computers and your bank accounts -- everything.”

  Ever so slowly Tanaka crouched down beside Hatfield who had at last shut up. “We’ve gotta get you upstairs and get you a shower.” The old guy was soaked, he was a mess. “No more trouble from your end, okay?” Hatfield nodded sheepishly; he now realized he wasn’t popular here. He grunted as Tanaka pulled him to his feet.

  “Shower!”

  The two of them lurched through the lobby and Hatfield freed himself, he didn’t need propping up since the heat of the moment had sobered him up. “Wait here damn it, I’m not a three year old. I can take a shower on my own, for Chrissakes.”

  “Well don’t act like one then.”

  Second time Tanaka had heard him cuss. Then again he’d sunk enough spirits to run a T-Model Ford up the side of Mount Everest. He stood in front of Hatfield: “Listen to me…” He pulled the image of Anna from his pocket and unfolded it. “I’m trying to track her down. Take it you had the same thing in mind? You oughta walk away…told you to leave it to me.”

  Hatfield gave Tanaka a puzzled look this time, as if he didn’t quite get it. Almost looked hurt. “You never would have come here if I hadn’t, am I right in saying so?” he mumbled.

  They made it through reception under the baleful stares of all and sundry. Hatfield stumbled up the stairs and out of view and before Tanaka could follow his cell phone buzzed -- it was set for international roaming and it was the first text he’d received in a few days. He looked at the screen, a number from the States, not any of his contacts:

  ‘TO TANAKA/ MY BRO SPK TO ME/ YOU ARE DANGER PK TANAKA/ LEAVE NOW.’

  Tanaka dialed the number. When it answered it was Aroon, the translator.

  “Get out of Thailand now,” she blurted.

  “Says who?”

  “Just leave now. This is dangerous. The army is involved…Thai army. I tell you more but only when you return.”

  The line went dead. Tanaka tried calling back, no luck. He looked around; nowhere to be found, the old guy must be up in his room. He crossed to reception and asked one of the girls where Hatfield’s room was. She only looked blank.

  Unexpectedly, there was a huge noise outside the lobby from the direction of the hotel pool. Like a storm wave breaking and water rushing, then people running about. Tanaka raced over to the door and his heart sank and blood froze.

  Hatfield had jumped.

  Pandemonium and ambulances, shaken and stirred as the emergency vehicle crashed through the streets. The same gay sex-tourists who’d wanted to beat them up earlier on pitched in and helped get him out of the pool -- unconscious. Hatfield staring up from the gurney and Tanaka glaring back, all the time blinking. This time pure anger.

  The ambulance pulled in at an ICU somewhere and that’s where Tanaka got that feeling, this vacation could turn out to be a very expensive one indeed. He’d had to swipe his credit card, rejected, an urgent call to his hotline then accepted…second time lucky. They wheeled him off. This was turning ugly, the old guy could send him broke at this rate.

  The physician, a well-spoken doctor, came in and talked briefly -- minor bruising and winded, along with a burst ear drum on the right hand side.
The ICU was in a major hospital; they only cared about payment but the standards were good.

  Just like the medical system back home.

  Tanaka waited and paced up and down the hall. Kept going to the nurses every ten minutes badgering them -- more blank looks, no smiles -- it was emergency section this time. He gave up and lay down on a line of plush lounge chairs on the ground floor.

  Tanaka was shaken out of his slumber by a security guard with one of the medical staff in tow. It was daylight. They led him up to a room.

  The old guy was awake now but Tanaka just glowered at him. Hatfield wheezed slightly and chuckled. “That’s nothing,” he said. “I used to jump from a balcony on the fourth floor last time I stayed here. New Year’s Eve 1971, to be precise.”

  “Lucky you didn’t kill yourself. What were you thinking, anyhow?” Tanaka sniffed. Sat down on the end of the gurney. Stared into space, what now; what to do…

  Hatfield moved to sit up, he groaned. “Look, I know I haven’t been too smart. I just wanna find the guys-”

  “We’ve been warned off,” said Tanaka. “Thought I’d struck it lucky before I came after you. Met a lady in DC who is a certified translator. Her brother’s a big-shot cop -- some general. He told me where to find you.”

  “You know, PK…I don’t have much time. Got about one-year-tops.”

  “Your liver?”

  “Maybe self-inflicted, maybe Agent Orange, or maybe a combination…who knows.”

  ‘Agent Orange’. Jolted Tanaka’s memory…

  “Tell me, how does that senator come into this? He scared the pants off my bosses.”

  Hatfield rolled his eyes. “We still keep in touch. He was a graduate of West Point. One of a handful of black commissioned officers; the first I ever worked under. Good family from Chicago, his pop was also a soldier who became an inventor. Discharged, started some automotive business after the Second World War and struck it rich…”

  The old guy sat up, and the memories flowed now.

  “Our old CO was shipped out with malaria. Nathanial Henry was on the ground a whole week and they sent us down to a demolitions job on some bunkers near Cu Chi in the delta. Told us the place was empty, we walked straight into an ambush. Cut a long story short he was hit, we lost a couple’ve marines and we had to wait till nightfall before we could get out.”

  “Lemme guess…you saved his ass?”

  “And maybe his career.” Hatfield was lost in thought for a moment. “Least the guy was honest though-”

  “Before he entered politics,” said Tanaka with a grin.

  “Yeah. Pretty much sent the dispatch as it happened. That’s how I got the Silver Star.” He looked at Tanaka with a guilty look. “That day after you came up with Roy Hernandez, I was mad as hell. Had nobody else I could talk to, so I called the senator at his home, bawled him out. Sorry if-”

  “Never mind. If you hadn’t my superiors would have dumped it back on Philippines Station.” Tanaka turned and clasped Hadfield’s shoulder. Images of Jackson’s murder came to mind but he didn’t mention this to the old guy, not right now.

  “JJ, promise me one thing. Don’t move from this room. I mean it. I’ll be back in a day and then we’re leaving while we still can. You’ll be safe here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Tanaka stood up and over Hatfield who’d lain back down. “I’ll try ‘n’ locate Anna. See what she has to say for herself.”

  “Hey, Tanaka…”

  The agent stopped at the door of the emergency room and raised his eyebrows but the old guy waved him away. Hatfield stared at the door for a few minutes. You’d have to be the most persistent sonofabitch I ever seen, he thought. He shuffled, he tried to get comfortable. His side hurt.

  Tanaka had done all the counter surveillance courses at the bureau; little call for it in Financial Crimes and he was rusty but finally he could put the training to use. He casually strolled down the corridor of the hospital then into a service elevator just as a janitor was closing the door. The cleaner gave him a strange look but nothing more. At the basement he walked through a plant and generator room before ascending a flight of stairs then out an alleyway behind the building into the early morning light where he flagged a taxi. It took him two or three blocks then he jumped on the back of a motorcycle that rode another block, he dismounted and kept walking till he found a building that housed an array of stores specializing in computers and other electronics. He didn’t stop or look back at any stage. Rode two floors up on escalator stairs and found a place that sold re-birthed laptops, rest of the place hadn’t opened. Student types, he asked a few and they returned blank looks. Finally a nerdy female with braces; most likely a college student. Coke-bottle spectacles. Shy but she spoke English well.

  “I need some assistance with something.”

  The young woman spoke with a squeaky voice: “You want to buy laptop? Blackberry? Have velly good quality-”

  “I need to log on to something. I need information.” Tanaka unfolded the image of Anna and passed it to the student with a five hundred Baht note. “Quickly.”

  She pouted and began tapping. The passport scan also had Anna’s name in the all-important Thai script. After a while the student turned the screen to Tanaka.

  “Cannot do,” she said.

  Tanaka saw for himself: things that were all blacked out. Censorship! It was impressive here; the Kingdom had one of the world’s most effective internet censorship programs, often staffed by volunteers and other people very similar to the young person sitting next to him. Primarily to block out inappropriate websites and anything else deemed defamatory to Thai society or culture. He had to be cautious and move quickly. The student was scowling now.

  “Go into ‘web-dot-archive-dot-org’. Type in these letters-”

  “I know; I know Mistah…”

  She typed and they waited. More links appeared, this time some of them showed. One tiny image caught Tanaka’s eye.

  “That one!”

  It was a front page from a local news rag, years old the censors had missed. Her alright -- Anna -- same black suit, on the steps of some building. She looked exactly the same, except for one thing: she was flashing a broad smile like a celebrity. The teeth were her real ones back then. She was surrounded…army officers behind; news cameras in front. Tanaka leaned across and hit control-plus and tapped, expanding the image.

  “Read it out, please. What does it say?”

  The student’s lips moved slightly as she scrolled down and by now another of the shop’s employees had moved behind watching with interest. She looked up at Tanaka, then at the young man standing behind. She was serious and stern but her expression became one of fascination.

  “Mistah, dis abou’ some years ago,” the student blurted out. “This story; it say she have some company. Banking! Oooei…this lady velly smart…she catch some people who try to steal from our government. Velly big money, Mistah…”

  “Where was the picture taken?”

  “Newspaper! She come outside from number-one law courts here in Bangkok. All people -- government of Thailand; judges, lawyers -- want to listen she side of the story.”

  Tanaka leaned back and the wheels on the chair rolled slightly. He wanted to know more, but no time.

  “What is the name of her company? Does the article say?”

  The student started checking the search engines; equally curious now. The results led to two websites; different names but same location, Tanaka could tell from the street numbers but everything else was unintelligible.

  “Please. Write this down in Thai. I need to show a taxi.”

  Tanaka flipped the scan and grabbed a pen. The male shop assistant started writing and Tanaka got to his feet; it was then he saw the computer screen had frozen. The student was tapping away to no avail, becoming more anxious as she pounded the keyboard. Tanaka backed away, taking the piec
e of paper with him, leaving the jammed computer and the shop staff to figure out how to reboot it.