"You believe him?"
Heinrich shrugged. “I do not care. I help him as a friend, and I help him for the realization of potential. He has the ability to be a great calculator, another Nakamura. But he must learn to compete."
"Colin was saying something like that."
Heinrich fingered his shirt. “This was not purchased from calculations. Neither my hotel room. I am a motivator, I liberate human potential. And you know, I am good at this. I have held seminars for Siemens, Mercedes, Beh-Meh-Veh. All these people I can motivate, but I cannot motivate Anthony.” He sat back. “What do we conclude from this?"
"Perhaps it's because those people were competitors, like yourself, Heinrich."
He nodded unhappily, and then said, “I want to know, who is this woman who wishes to help him?"
* * * *
Walking back to Pantip past the mats on the pavement (plastic toys, children's clothes, mobile-phone cases) and the food carts (fried chicken, gelatin sweets, freshly squeezed orange juice), I was starting to wonder about Atiya myself. After I finished with Heinrich I'd phoned her at work. She agreed to pay for a couple more days searching, which was pretty decent, all things considered. But I doubted she'd go much longer without some concrete results.
Inside the mall an audience had gathered. On the whiteboard it said quarterfinal. The stage was still empty, but off to one side a pear-shaped Chinese man was pacing like a boxer, his chunky fists clenching and unclenching. The emcee was there, again in high heels and another tight black body suit. I had a feeling that, for this particular audience, she was as much of a draw as the competition itself.
As soon as she saw me, Malinee waved me over. “You just miss Mr. Ann-tony's friend.” She came out from behind her desk and walked me down past the stage. “He went . . . there.” She pointed to a guy in light blue jeans, sneakers, and a dark blue cotton shirt. As he turned, I saw a pair of aviator sunglasses hooked onto the front pocket. The Least Geek Geek competition had a winner. “Thanks, I'll go and have a word. Just right now. Thanks.” I waited till she'd gone back to her desk, then followed him up the escalator to the second floor. He ignored the food court and took a brief, incurious stroll past the shops. When someone offered him a packet of porn CDs he grinned and patted the man's shoulder, as though to say, you don't think I can't get the real thing? At the end of the corridor of shops he went out to the car park. I followed and watched him click his key fob to pulse the headlights of a black Toyota Fortuner. I scribbled the license plate on my palm and went back inside to phone Mana.
"Vijay, this had better not be the same case."
"No, no, quite different. It's the usual thing, this one. You know, forty-something guy, young wife. He thinks she's playing away from home and instead of doing the sensible thing and talking to her about it, he hires me. Anyway, I saw her getting into this Fortuner and I know hubby wasn't driving."
I could hear him tapping keys. “That's good to know, you don't want to . . . this guy's even older. She left her husband for a sixty-five year old?"
"Oh well, you know how it is. Trading up sugar daddies."
"His name's Boonchai Wongsawat and he lives out in Tungkru. The address is Phutta Bucha Road, Soi forty-four and the house number is . . . Vijay, it's a triple nine, if this guy can—"
"Great, just what I needed. Bus coming, I've got to dash. Bye, Mana.” I wrote the address on my forearm and looked at it. Thought: Why am I never carrying a notebook when I need one? Then thought: It was a triple nine address.
In countries where people believe in fate they also believe in luck, and in Thailand nine is a lucky number. The Ministry of Transport auctions off license plates containing only nines, and the highest possible combination —two Thai characters followed by 9999—goes for around ten million baht. The same fetish applies to house numbers. If you have enough pull you can see to it that your house gets a big nine combination, irrespective of the street's number sequence. Which made Khun Boonchart old money and serious influence.
I left the air-conditioned cool of Pantip to get an expressway bus that would take me across the river, out to the suburbs of Tungkru. But “express” was the wrong word for the caravan of hot, exhausted metal we joined, and by the time we'd come off the toll road it was three p.m. I was starving. So I had lunch at a curry shop and asked which bus would take me to Phutta Bucha.
By the time I'd got there it was almost three thirty. Soi 44 was a narrow, straightish lane. At its entrance there were a couple of motorbike taxi guys sitting at a stone table under a tree, playing draughts with bottle tops. I waved away their offers and strolled down, keeping to the right-hand side where the shade was. The mouth of the soi was all shops—hairdresser, general store, pharmacy, then further in it was residential, houses behind high walls, and about a kilometer down, number 999. This wasn't so much a house as a compound, with five saloon cars lined up outside. High vanilla-white walls were topped by cobalt blue metal spikes. The same shade of blue had been used for the ornate metal gates set at each end of the compound, almost twenty yards apart. It was hot and still and, away from the mouth of the soi, relatively quiet. I walked up to the gates and peered inside. In the center of a gravel courtyard was an oval fountain where two faux Roman cherubs were being cheerfully soaked. Behind that, white walls, white Doric columns, and broad white steps leading up to an entrance of black-tinted glass that revealed nothing. At either end of the courtyard was a covered area for cars. The black Fortuner was parked here, next to a silver Mercedes. And lots of free, shaded space.
The buzz of an engine came from behind me and one of the motorbike taxis swept past, a middle-aged woman on the back, seated sideways with her shopping in her lap. I looked up to where the bike had come from and saw the other taxi driver was looking down the soi. I had the idea he was watching me, and as I strolled back up to the entrance, flapping out my wet T-shirt, it seemed that was indeed the case. At least as far as I could tell, given I couldn't see his eyes behind his dark glasses.
I stopped in at the general store, bought two bottles of Fanta from their refrigerator, and carried them over to the taxi driver. He was a big, dark-skinned guy whose corded forearms were covered with blue protection-from-evil tattoos. I handed him one of the bottles, and he took it in a silent, matter-of-fact way, like a tribute that was owed to him. I sat where his friend had been.
It's a given in Bangkok that any long soi will have a bunch of motorbike guys making a living from ferrying people down it. And it's a given those guys will know far more about the life of the soi than the soi's residents realize.
I said in Thai, “It's really hot."
"Really hot."
We were agreed on that then.
I ran the cold bottle along my forearms.
"So, the house down there. Nine-nine-nine. What's going on?"
"What do you think?” If I couldn't make an intelligent guess, why should he help me?
"Lots of shaded parking space inside, but cars parked out in the heat. For a house a long way down a soi, away from nosy people, from the wrong kind of cops. Cops who haven't been paid off. I think it's a casino."
His dark face split into a very white grin. “That's what we all think.” He shrugged. “No one knows for sure. The visitors don't use us; they all have cars."
"But it's the same people who keep coming?"
He nodded. “In the afternoon there's older women. Hair up here and small handbags. In the evenings it's mostly men. On Friday nights a Jaguar always comes, leaves very late."
"I bet you can remember the license number.” He could as well and I keyed it into my phone, as it was just getting silly scribbling on myself the whole time. “What else stands out?"
"There's a Chinese-looking guy, bald head, comes in an old red Mercedes. He left very angry one night, drove very fast. Almost hit my friend.” He glugged down some Fanta. “Have a young woman with him usually. Suey. But when he was angry he left by himself.” He shrugged. “Many of the cars have tinted windows.
At night you can't see much."
"Think I could get a game there?"
He looked troubled. "Pii* . . . why would you want to do that? I'm not looking down on you, but I'll speak straight. You can't afford it. This game is for rich people.” I let him convince me and then we went on to other things, football and politics and how business was. Still concerned, he gave me his phone number and said if I wanted a game he could find a much cheaper one from his brother-in-law.
* term of respect for someone older
As I was walking back to the bus stop he called after me. "Pii. You thought it was a casino . . . just from the cars?"
"That wasn't the only thing."
* * * *
"Twenty-one, right? That's the game you can win at?” It was late afternoon. I was back in the office chatting with Doi. She frowned. “I don't think you win at anything. The casino win."
"Most of the time. But for twenty-one it's different. I remember reading about this someplace. It's the only game with a memory. They put four decks into the shoe. Every card that comes out changes the probability for the cards that are left. If you keep track of everything that's been played and keep calculating the odds, you know when to bet against the house."
"Vijay, I think it's so difficult."
"There's a bunch of people in this city right now who could do it for fun."
I thought about Colin Krasinsky, in the top zero point zero zero one percentile of calculators and still no lingerie model girlfriend. And unlike Heinrich, no motivational speaking to bring the money in. So what did he turn to? And then you had Atiya, who was apparently altruistic enough to hire a private detective to find someone she'd met just once, in a McDonald's. Or in a different reality, had fallen out with her Mercedes-driving sugar daddy and now needed a new source of funds. I decided I wanted a chat with both of them, together.
First I phoned Colin and found that he hadn't left for Ko Samet after all, but was still in the city. ("Just thought I'd check out Patpong, eh?") I told him I needed his help in finding Anthony and as he let me convince him, the scales of my suspicion dropped in his direction. Then I phoned Atiya and told her the same thing, and when she let me talk her into phoning in sick at the bank and coming to meet me, the scales righted and were level again. I leaned back in my chair with my hands behind my head thinking about the two of them, and suddenly I realized that, while picking him out was going to be difficult, I did actually know where Anthony was.
* * * *
At close to eleven in the morning Doi went to get him. She was supposed to stay in touch with me by phone and had her sister Lieng and her brother-in-law Oot along to help. It wouldn't be easy, given that none of us had seen the guy, but I had an idea of what they should look for. Meanwhile, I was in the food court at Pantip, which was filling up fast. I was sitting with a glass of iced tea at a table for four and was constantly waving away people who wanted to know if the seats were taken.
Colin arrived first, carrying over a bowl of noodles. “I'm quite getting into the food here. And it's like, sixty p. for lunch. So what's the score with our Anthony?"
"Looks like he wandered into some sort of trouble. Or was led into it."
"Yeah?” He looked mildly interested. “Poor bugger.” I like to think I'm good at spotting when people conceal things, mainly because I get so much practice. My clients hardly ever tell me the whole truth, and never in the divorce cases. Who can face the whole truth about a failed marriage? But it had to be said, Colin was very good at putting up a front. Or was completely innocent. “Someone convinced him to try and get rich."
Atiya came over. She hadn't bought any food and was again in her tight purple skirt and purple blouse. “Vijay, I have to go back this afternoon. If I miss a whole day I need a doctor's note.” Colin was looking at her with interest and obviously wondering what she'd said. I introduced the two of them and explained why she was looking for Anthony. He leaned over the table. “I'm a calculator as well, y'know. Tell me any five digit number."
She gave him a tight smile. “It's okay, I believe you."
I said, “So about Anthony. I think he was card counting in a casino.” I added for Colin's benefit, “This is a gambling-mad country where gambling is illegal, other than the state lottery. So basically, you get underground casinos everywhere. I think he won big in one and they put the frighteners on him. And I think one of you already knows this.” Colin and Atiya looked at each other. Colin put up his thumb. “Nice one."
My mobile went. Oot said, “Vijay, I think I saw him. A guy with binoculars. But then I lost him."
Atiya said, “What nice one?"
"Oot, tell Doi and Lieng, maybe he's heading their way."
"Figuring out about the card counting."
"I don't know what's card counting.” She looked genuinely puzzled. I said to Colin, “How's it go, zero point zero zero one percentile but still no Porsche?"
"So?” He looked genuinely puzzled as well. There's usually a point where I figure people out, but it didn't seem to be happening. I went back to Atiya and said in Thai, “It's good of you to pay me to find Anthony. I just wonder what you get out of it."
"I get to know he's safe. What's wrong with you?” Colin's phone rang and he answered it. While he spoke into the phone she said, “I don't know about counting."
Colin looked up from his phone and said, “Eh, mate, Anthony's just called me. He says there's someone following him."
"Tell him not to worry."
"Ant, don't—” Colin put the phone down. “He's rung off. What was that about?"
"Why was he phoning you, I wonder?"
"Remembers my number, doesn't he? He's a calculator.” He grinned at Atiya. “Like I am.” Then he said to me, “But he doesn't have a mobile, if that's what you mean. Must have been phoning from a call box."
I dialed Oot, bent under the table, cupped my hand over the phone and whispered in Thai, “Find the public phones. That's where he is."
Atiya said in English, “What are you doing? Why you being so strange?"
"I'm being strange?” I asked, straightening up.
"You are a bit actually, mate,” said Colin.
My mobile rang. Oot asked, “Where are the public phones?"
"I don't know. That's why I asked you to find them. Try Doi."
Atiya said, “Doi from your office?"
"I think you should both know, my life has contained many people who've tried to deceive me."
"See, this is a bit weird as well,” said Colin.
I said to Atiya in English, “He went to a casino in Tungkru. Phutta Bucha.” She looked blank. “You fell out with your previous source of funds.” She was looking at me as though I was mad. “Then a guy in a McDonald's tells you he's a human calculator and the baht signs go up in front of your eyes. Why else would you come to me?"
"I came because my friend tell me. She live in Chinatown. She said you work hard and don't charge much.” She crossed her legs and gave me a haughty, triumphant look. “And you know what else? She said if I wore this skirt you'd give me a discount.” This is what you get for being a good Samaritan.
Colin leaned across the table and said, “I can vouch for her."
"You've only just met her."
"Yeah, but I know about people. DHSS, innit? We get all the scams."
Atiya smiled at him. “Thank you."
I decided to raise the stakes. “The reason I called you both here is that I already know which one of you set up Anthony.” They both turned to me, then Colin looked over my shoulder, waved his hand, and frowned. I turned back. “What is it?"
"Heinrich. I thought he'd seen us. Never mind."
"What would Heinrich be doing here? He's competing tomorrow."
"I told him what you said, about finding Anthony. I thought he'd want to know.” Damn.
"So, Vijay,” Atiya put her chin on her palm. “Which of us is it?"
"Neither, now that I come to think of it. It's Heinrich."
My phone ra
ng. Oot was panting. “Vijay . . . I found the phones . . . no one there."
"Okay, keep looking.” I stood up. “Come on, we're going to get Anthony."
"But we don't know where he is."
"Of course we do. He's here, where else would he be? He doesn't know this city and besides, he couldn't keep away. He's up on one of the higher floors with a pair of binoculars, watching the whiteboard for the next set of numbers.” I said to Colin, “You and I will try and find Heinrich. I think he's figured that out.” To Atiya I said, “You try and get to Anthony, you're probably the one person he trusts."
"So I pay you to find Ann-tony and now I'm finding him.” She stalked off. Colin watched her hips sway down the food court and said, “I'd have given her a discount as well.” Then his phone rang. He answered and said to me, “Anthony. Says there's still someone after him."
"Tell him not to worry. It's a friend of mine."
"Ant, relax, it's a mate."
"Big guy, sloping shoulders?"
Colin repeated the description and said to me, “No, slim guy, polo shirt, aviator sunglasses."
"In that case tell him to run like hell."
Colin waved the mobile. “Gone already."
We started pushing our way to the escalator. It wasn't easy. I'd chosen this time because I wanted to be sure the Championship had started, but the problem was the place was now packed out. As we jostled our way up the steps I phoned Oot. “Where do they put the public phones here?"
"They fix them in the wall."
"I mean where, Oot?"
"It's out towards the car park. The corridor to the toilets."
We ran around to the next escalator, dodging bodies and banging shoulders. “What was Heinrich wearing?"
"Light blue shirt, sort of patterned malarkey."
We levered our way up the next escalator. On the corridor above I couldn't see any such shirt. “Come on, we'll go up again.” We ran around and my phone rang. Lieng asked, “Vijay, twenty-five thousand baht for a notebook computer, you think it's too much?"
"Lieng, the guy with the binoculars? Remember? Could you concentrate on finding him for two minutes?"
AHMM, May 2011 Page 6
