“That leaves the lever,” Rafferty says.
“It leaves a lot of things,” Kosit says. “The hinges on the suitcase, for example. You need to oil them so they’re almost friction-free.” He opens and closes the suitcase several times. “Too much resistance,” he says.
“I’ve got oil. What about the lever?”
“I can fix the lever. But you need more . . .” Kosit searches for the word, then brings his hands slowly together and pulls them apart quickly.
Rafferty says, “Shit. Well, it’s not the end of the world. I don’t think I’ll need this. It’s just insurance.”
Kosit sits back, looking doubtfully at the suitcase, at the mess they have made. Then his face clears, and he points at the mattress. His eyebrows come up in a question.
“Sure,” Rafferty says. “If the next four or five hours go wrong, I’ll never sleep on it again anyway.”
He gets up and goes into the living room to get the books and an X-acto knife. The production line is in full swing. The dryer, with the last load in it, is running in the kitchen. Two women crumple or fold the bills and smooth them again. Another chooses one bill out of four or five and makes a small mark with a felt-tip, either black or red, like those used by banks. Fon has taken to writing random phone numbers with a ballpoint pen on every tenth or twelfth bill. She passes the bills on to Mrs. Pongsiri, who sorts the baht and the dollars into two stacks and smooths them again.
Suddenly Mrs. Pongsiri breaks into a laugh and then reaches over and swats Fon lightly on top of the head. The other girls gather round to look at the bill, and then they all laugh. Rafferty reaches for it and turns it over. It is an American hundred. In the slender margin at the edge, Fon has carefully written, “Love you long time.”
Getting into the spirit, Mrs. Pongsiri says, “Roll up some of the American hundreds. Roll them very tightly and then unroll them again.”
Kosit, framed in the doorway to the bedroom, eyes her narrowly for a moment and then says, “Good idea.”
“Americans in my club,” Mrs. Pongsiri says, hurrying the words. She has apparently just remembered that Kosit is a cop. “They do that all the time, and then they inhale something through it.”
“Probably vitamin C,” Kosit says. “I’m sure there are no drugs at your club.”
“Very high-end,” Mrs. Pongsiri agrees.
“What’s the name of your club?” Kosit asks.
“It’s called Rempflxnblt,” says Mrs. Pongsiri, sneezing most of the word into her palm. She presses an index finger beneath her nostrils. “Sorry. It’s the perfume in the fabric softener.”
“Mrs. Pongsiri my mama-san once,” Fon says cheerfully in English. Mrs. Pongsiri blanches. “Same-same with Lek and Jah. Very good mama-san. Never hit girls, never take money.”
“Almost never,” Lek says, and the other women laugh again.
Lek is wrapping rubber bands around the stacks: ten thousand dollars per stack in American hundreds, one hundred bills in each stack of thousand-baht notes. She ran out of rubber bands ten minutes ago, and the women removed a remarkable variety of elastic loops from their hair. Mrs. Pongsiri traipsed down the hall a second time and came back with a box containing enough scrunchies to style a yeti. Rafferty is a little worried about the predominance of beauty products, but he figures if the stacks are mixed up enough, they won’t be so conspicuous.
With a thwack, Lek snaps a bright pink scrunchie around a wad of thousand-baht notes, and Rafferty’s cell phone shrills. Every eye in the room goes to him as he opens the phone and puts it to his ear.
“Coming up,” Leung says. “With a surprise.”
“What I don’t need right now is a surprise.”
“This is a surprise you’d rather have now than later. You might want to meet me in the hall.” He hangs up.
“How much more?” Rafferty asks the women.
“Halfway done,” Fon says. “We kept some to speed things up.” The other women laugh, some more heartily than others.
“If you do,” Rafferty says, “take the stuff on the coffee table. It may not be as pretty, but it’s real.” He pulls a dozen hardcover books of approximately the same size off the shelf and heads for the bedroom. He has just dropped them in front of Kosit, who is sitting on the bed, which has a long rip in it where the policeman worked out a spring, when the doorbell rings.
“Listen,” Kosit says. “The bedsprings aren’t enough.”
“Well, Jesus,” Rafferty says. He can barely focus on the problem. “Use anything.”
Kosit shakes his head. “I don’t know—”
“Use those,” Rafferty says, pointing to the stun grenades hanging from Kosit’s belt. “That ought to open things up.”
Kosit tilts one up and lets it drop back. “I’m not sure. The pins are hard to pop. They take a good hard tug. I don’t know if the lever—”
The doorbell rings again. “Please,” Rafferty says. “Solve it.” He goes back into the living room and opens the door, just enough to squeeze out into the hallway.
Leung stands there, water dripping off the end of his nose, a canvas bag hanging from his shoulder. The gun in his hand is pointed at the fat cop and the thin cop. Pradya and Sriyat, Rafferty thinks. The fat cop, Pradya, tries on a smile.
Rafferty looks at the three of them, and an overwhelming weariness seizes hold of him. He leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to find a way to make this new development work to his advantage. When he opens his eyes again, Pradya has given up on his smile. “You,” Rafferty says to Sriyat. “Go back to Chu. Take your time, but go back. Tell him whatever you want. Tell him Leung caught you, I don’t care. Tell him we kept Pradya.” Sriyat doesn’t even nod, just turns to ring for the elevator. “Do you still know which side you’re on?” Rafferty asks.
Sriyat turns his head a quarter of the way, his mouth a taut line. “Not much choice,” he says.
“Make sure you remember that,” Rafferty says. To Pradya and Leung, he says, “Come on in. I’ll try to find you someplace to sit.”
!41
The Deal Just Changed
ery fucking cute,” Rafferty says into the phone. “Sending those clowns after Ming Li.” “You changed the rules when you lied to me,” Chu says.
“Oh, gosh,” Rafferty says, “and we’d established such an atmosphere of trust.” His eyes scan the room. The fat cop, Pradya, sits on the couch, head down, with Leung standing over him. The women paw through the rubies in the box, their eyes wide. Leung is watching their hands. Kosit is busy with the suitcase in the bedroom.
“You’ve been in contact with Frank,” Chu accuses. “All along.”
“No. Just the past eight hours or so. He called me with some news, and I didn’t want to share it with you.”
“What news?”
“Don’t get excited about this. In the end you’ll be happy about it.”
“I’ll decide what I’m happy about. What is it?”
“He sold your rubies.”
“Yes,” Chu says, dragging the word out. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to tell me that. Just out of curiosity, how much did he get?”
“About a million four.”
“Dollars, of course.”
“Sure. Even with you on his tail, he’s not going to sell them for a million and a half baht.”
“He could have gotten more. I assume you have the money.”
“I’ve got better than that. I’ve got the money and I’ve also got the rubies.”
“You’ve got . . . you said he sold them.”
“He did.”
“Then how did you get them?”
“Violence,” Rafferty says. Leung looks over at him and grins.
“You’re better than he is,” Chu says. “Better than he was in his prime.”
“Don’t make me blush. Here’s the deal: The money evens things up. You have three items of Arthit’s and mine, and I have three items for you. We’re going to make one trade at a time. No promises
, no IOUs, no payment for future delivery, no address left behind where we can find them. Cash for Noi, in the flesh. Rubies for Rose. Frank for Miaow.”
Chu says, “Have you looked in the box?”
Careful, Rafferty thinks. “Frank popped the lid and showed me the stones. That’s a lot of rubies.”
“Didn’t you go through it? After you got it back?”
“Why would I? I don’t know anything about rubies. What am I going to do, weigh them one at a time?”
“Mmmm,” Chu says.
Rafferty waits.
“I want Ming Li, too.”
“Not part of the deal.”
“The deal just changed.”
Rafferty says, “Hold it. I need to think.” He looks at Leung, whose eyes have returned to the women’s hands. Pradya is frankly listening to the phone call, but he looks away when Rafferty catches him. “Buy her from me.”
“Buy her? With what?”
“The rubies. Ming Li for the rubies.” Now Leung is looking at him, and he’s not grinning. Rafferty shakes his head.
“No,” Chu says. “She’s a bonus, for the trouble you’ve caused me.”
“Half the rubies.”
“You really are venal,” Chu says, almost admiringly. “You’re giving me your father and proposing to sell me your sister.”
“It’s a dysfunctional family.”
“Two handfuls,” Chu says. “In front of me. You can dip your hands into the box and bring up as many as you can hold. Put them in your pockets and give me the girl.”
“Four.”
“Two, and that’s the end of it.”
“Okay. Two.”
“Send her to me now.”
“No. Nothing gets traded on the basis of futures. No deferred transfers. Payment in one direction, person in the other. Right there, on the spot.”
Chu says, “It sounds like you don’t trust me.”
“That’s funny,” Rafferty says. “The last person who said that to me was Arnold Prettyman.”
Chu doesn’t even hesitate. “What a peculiar name. Since we’re both putting everything on the table, I’m assuming you have some safeguards in mind.”
“Lots of them.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’ll have your guys on hand, and I’ll have my own. I’m keeping one of your guys with me—the fat one, Pradya, I kind of like him—and he takes charge of Frank. He’s got a cell phone. He’ll call you when we pick Frank up. You can even talk to Frank, if you want to make sure he’s with us. I arrive with the money. You have someone bring out Noi. We swap, right there. Cash for Noi. The rubies and Frank—and Ming Li, I guess—are out of sight until they’re needed. You can’t shoot me or you lose everything else. I can’t shoot you because you’ve still got Rose and Miaow, and your guy, Pradya, could pop Frank. With me?”
“So far.”
“Then one of your people brings out Rose, and one of my people brings out the rubies.”
“Who? Who are your people?”
“Only one of them has skills. The people who bring out your items will be girls from Rose’s agency. Former go-go dancers.” He can feel
the women look up at him.
Chu laughs. “Go-go dancers? In costume?”
“They’ll be in their underwear.” Fon’s mouth drops open. “Nowhere to put a weapon. Just wet girls.”
“In my youth,” Chu says, “I was partial to wet girls.”
“I’ve looked at a few myself.”
“What then?”
“Then it’s Frank for Miaow and Ming Li for my share of the rubies.”
“Very tidy. And when we’ve finished our exchanges?”
“My people will be out of sight, out of range. Sitting in a car with the engine running. You’ll have everything, including Frank. You can have half a dozen guns on me, since shooting me won’t get you anything back. We say good-bye, and you leave.”
“Leaving is always the sticky part.”
“So I’ve heard.” He crosses his fingers. “What do you suggest?”
“I choose the place,” Chu says instantly, and Rafferty relaxes. “I’ll give you a general direction and call back a few minutes before you’re due, to tell you exactly where you’re going. Pradya will tell me where you are and who’s with you when I call. I’ll have people watching you arrive, just to make sure there aren’t a dozen cops behind you. If I see anything I don’t like, I kill the hostages, and you’ll never lay eyes on me.”
“You choose the place?”
“Of course.”
“We could be walking into a setup.”
“Why would I set you up? This is business. I’m not going to kill all these people if I don’t have to. Bodies everywhere? That could come back to sting me. We Chinese come from villages, we live with hornets. We know better than to punch holes in the nest. I get what I want, you get what you want, and we shake hands. The hornets stay home.”
“I’m not happy about you choosing the place.”
“Think of it as an opportunity for greater understanding. Learning that you don’t actually run the world can be a valuable lesson. Perhaps we should both consider this interaction a step toward enlightenment.”
“Gee,” Rafferty says. “How can I say no to that?”
“You can’t,” Chu says. He hangs up.
Rafferty folds the phone and says, “Let’s pack the money.”
AN HOUR LATER Lek says, “It’s going to be cold.”
“It was colder in the bar,” Fon replies. “Didn’t you bathe in the rain in your village when you were a kid? I remember waiting with my shampoo every time it got cloudy.” She has sacrificed the rubber bands in her hair to wrap money, so she roots through Mrs. Pongsiri’s box of scrunchies for a color she likes, a heavy twist of hair wrapped around her free hand. “Anyway, it’s for Rose.”
“Done,” Kosit says, carrying the suitcase into the room. Judging from the slump in his right shoulder, it’s heavy. “I only fastened one clasp because you’re going to need a hand free. Just remember to put it down flat. Keep the handle toward Chu.” He sets it carefully on the couch. “And if you pop the lever, don’t look down at it.”
“Is it going to work?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
“Jesus. Couldn’t you lie to me?”
“It’s foolproof,” Kosit says.
His cell phone rings.
“Kosit,” he says, and he looks up at Rafferty, and then his eyes bounce away. “Yeah, yeah. What’s he say?” He closes his eyes as though he is praying. “Fine,” he says at last. “Thanks for the call.”
Rafferty’s forehead is suddenly wet. “What?”
“He’s stable. They’re still worried about shock and infection, but if he makes it through the night, he’s got a chance.” He wipes the back of his hand roughly over his mouth. “I’d kill for a beer.”
“You don’t have to exert yourself. Got some in the refrigerator.”
“No. I’d pass out. I feel like I’ve been awake for a week.”
“We’ll have one later. Together. When this is over.”
“With Arthit,” Kosit says. “We’ll all go—” he says, but he’s cut off by his phone, which is ringing again. He pats his pockets frantically before realizing it’s still in his hand. “Kosit,” he says. He listens for a second and then says, “Fine.” He folds it, looks at it like it just materialized, and puts it in his shirt pocket, tapping it once so he’ll remember where he put it. “Car’s downstairs,” he says. “White Toyota, pulled out of the impound lot. No antennas, no fancy paint job. No super-duper ultra-
beam halogen headlights. Looks like every other car in Bangkok.”
Rafferty nods. “Ladies?”
For a moment he doesn’t think they heard him. The women sit absolutely still as the silence stretches out. Then Fon reaches into the front of her T-shirt. When her hand comes out, it has her Buddhist amulet in it. She puts it between her palms, presses her hands together in a praying position, and rais
es them to her face. She bows her head. One by one the other women repeat her movements. Last of all, Mrs. Pongsiri fishes inside her silk blouse and brings out a golden amulet on a heavy chain. She brings her hands around it and lowers her head. They sit there, five women whose lives have been almost impossibly difficult, and offer their prayers for Rose, Miaow, and Noi.
Rafferty puts his hand on his own amulet, the one Rose gave him, and then he bolts from the room. He closes the bathroom door behind him and lets the sobs rise up and escape. It feels like they’ve been battering at the door for days. When he can control his breathing again, he throws cold water on his face, scrubs himself dry, and goes back into the living room. Fon, Lek, and Kosit are waiting at the front door, Kosit holding the suitcase. Leung stands behind Pradya, a cautionary hand on his shoulder.
Rafferty picks up the box of rubies and says, “Time for the swap meet.”
!42
They’ve All Got Their Little Hatchets
he chalkboard nailed to the wall says speciasl of the weke. Below the misspellings, which are hand-lettered in what looks like indelible paint, the board is blank.
“I hope that’s not my week,” Frank says.
Rafferty says, “We’ll try to see that it isn’t.”
Ming Li sips a watery iced coffee and says, “How do you find these restaurants?” She puts the glass down, and the sound when it hits the table makes Pradya, seated across the restaurant with Leung, jump. Pradya is on the phone with Chu, letting him know they have Frank. His hand is cupped over the phone, but Leung has leaned forward to listen. He glances up at Rafferty and nods.
“I guess we’re on,” Frank says. His forehead is beaded with sweat. One leg jitters up and down beneath the table, providing a rhythm track to whatever is going through his head. He looks at the tabletop, dips a finger in the condensation at the bottom of his own glass, and begins to draw a series of wet loops, like a stretched spring. Ming Li watches his finger move, as intently as if he were writing a secret language only they can read, and Rafferty briefly wonders whether it is. Frank’s hand is trembling, and he pulls it back and puts it in his lap.
Not surprisingly, given the hour, they are the only people in the restaurant, which is just off Khao San, a few blocks from the guesthouse. Fon and Lek are waiting in the car, chattering nervously. When the five of them came in, the waitress, who had been bent over a brightly colored book called Let’s English! had gotten up and turned on the television. During the ten minutes they’ve been there, Steven Seagal has killed a dozen people with no apparent change of expression.
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