by Harlan Wolff
“No, on floor was Ivan, he sick when he wake up, throw-up on floor. Sergey is other one.”
“Does Sergey hit you a lot?” Carl asked, and she just shrugged her shoulders. The waitress came to the table, and the dancer ordered orange juice and the Havana salad.
When the waitress was out of earshot, the dancer leaned across the table, “Now, may ask who you are?”
“It was my baby that Nadia was carrying,” he told her.
She squinted her eyes and studied him for a while.
“You not her type,” she told him.
“What is her type?” Carl asked.
“Very stupid and rich,” she told him. “You are rich?”
“Not really.”
“Hmmm, and you really private-eye, like in movies?”
“How could you know that,” Carl asked her.
“Nadia tell me,” and the dancer smiled at him, “but she say you have horrible beard.”
“I shaved it off the morning she died, she never saw me without it though. We weren’t on speaking terms the day she was killed.”
“Why, what you do to her?”
“I am not sure I did anything. Some days she would be angry at me for no obvious reason.”
“That just a Russian thing, too many cold winters,” the dancer told him offhandedly.
“But she wasn’t Russian, was she? Nadia was Serbian.”
“She tell you that?”
“No, somebody else did.”
“Better to be Russian, in this she was right, hard to get job for Serbian. And she have bad uncle, better she forget Serbia.”
“She told you about her uncle?”
“Sure, we sleep with customers together, nothing to hide between us. You know she was prostitute?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Ha,” the dancer exclaimed, “so not good detective then.”
“It seems not,” Carl said in agreement.
“You love her, your Nadia?” the dancer asked.
“I liked her, but as you can see, I didn’t know her very well.”
“You think anybody know anybody?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Ha, so you not completely stupid then?”
“That depends on whether you catch me on a good day or a bad day.”
“Ha, I like you,” she told him. “You are funny man.”
“What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Anya is name, and you are famous Carl?”
“She told you that too?”
“Sure, she said have own cuddly teddy bear, name is Carl.”
“Anya, if I am going to find out who killed her I need your help.”
“What you do when you find out?” she asked. Carl just looked at her and didn’t answer. Anya nodded her head in approval, and said, “You think Anya can help, how can I help?”
“I need to know everything about her. She made an enemy while she was in Bangkok, and I need to know who that was.”
“She was bad girl, Carl. She do many bad things.”
“But she was your friend,” Carl said.
“Sure, we work together for a while.”
“So, what happened?”
“I don’t know. She go work for big man, have desk in nice office, I don’t see her no more, only talk on telephone.”
“Do you know this big man’s name?”
“Sure, he is boss, name of Milos, have a nice office too, but Milos not so nice.”
“How did she get the job?”
“He boss at Bomba. Milos, he own many things.”
“Is he in the habit of giving office jobs to dancers from Bomba?”
“Never, but Nadia she is Serbian, like him. When he hear this, he give her job in nice office. Nadia clever girl, even been to university in Vienna.”
“Do you know what she did in his office?”
“No, because secret. Secret work she tell me. You find out what bad business they do in nice office, and maybe then you know everything. She tell me many things, never about work, so it must be horrible thing she can’t tell me.”
“Was she well paid for this work she did?” Carl asked.
“Dancer, not much money, hard life, but when she works nice office she buy nice things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Many things, she like very much nice shoes.”
“Why did you say she did bad things? What did you mean by that?” Carl asked her.
“She says what she do is bad thing, and when prostitute says something bad then cannot be small thing, so I believe her. To everybody else, she lie all the time, yes, but not to me.”
“What did you think she meant? If you had to guess what she was up to? What could it be?”
“I told you, she never tell me,” Anya said.
“Make a guess.”
Anya studied Carl for a while, then she folded her arms and said, “Maybe she tie man up like dog, stick cucumber up arse, then send photograph and ask for money. This one way for prostitute to get rich.”
“Is that a guess?” Carl asked.
“Maybe, yes sure, a guess. But why she buy expensive video camera, like for making movie? You can tell me why? So maybe my guess, good guess. Maybe Anya better detective than Carl.”
“Do a lot of girls do that?” he asked.
She unfolded her arms and placed her hands on the table, “Nobody do that. Crazy to think prostitute can fight with rich man. A prostitute want war with oligarch? I think no. This not only very bad thing but is stupid too.”
“So why do you think she did it?”
“Nadia crazy, not like other people. She is never scared, not for anything. She live for revenge on men, like to see them crawl and beg. Crazy lady, is Nadia. You know this already, No?”
“I didn’t know much. Like you said, I’m not much of a detective.”
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure,” Carl told her.
“Why you still want to do this? She lie to you, pretend she is nice girl, fuck you in your head. She make you a foolish man, a thing to laugh at, but when I tell you she is very bad, you show no feeling. A man is supposed to be angry now, no? Ego broken, your heart feeling not so good, so you should hate her, no? Is easy for a man to hate prostitute, no? I look at you I see no anger. Why you not hate her now you know these things about her?”
“Probably because I’m not as nice as you think I am, and maybe there are things I have to feel guilty about, but mostly because if I don’t do it, nobody else will. Everybody is good at one thing, and I’m good at this. Maybe that’s why I will do it.”
“I like you,” she told him. “And when done this thing, when is over, you ever want Russian prostitute treat you nice, you come see Anya, OK?”
“OK, Anya, I might just do that,” he told her, and they both laughed.
CHAPTER 23
“When in doubt, have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand.”
– Raymond Chandler
Carl had decided the White Tiger bar was to be his new office in Bangkok, so he had gone straight there from Castro’s. He sat at his usual table in the corner, with his back to the wall, facing the door. It was shortly before six, and he was the only person there, apart from the chubby woman behind the bar, cleaning up. The rest of the staff wouldn’t start arriving until long after the sun went down. Carl was pleased with his choice of office; he liked peace and quiet when he was working, and the cleaner was sulking and didn’t talk to him anymore.
Carl’s pipe smoking and thoughts were rudely interrupted by the arrival of the Russian heavy from the night before. Not the one George had knocked out, who had later puked on the floor, but the other one, the one Anya had called Sergey. The grumpy Russian thug sat down opposite Carl and slammed a gun down on the table. It was a Colt automatic and big enough to make one hell of a hole in people. After waving it about and staring menacingly at Carl for a while, he spoke,
“You listen carefully, don’t move or I will kill
you,” he said. “If you are still in Thailand tomorrow you are a dead man. I am giving you one day to go away, forever.”
“Forever is a long time, are you sure that was the message?” Carl asked, studying the man’s face.
“Forever! If you come back, you die,” the thug hissed through clenched teeth.
“Do all you Russian gangsters work off the same script? And how come you all have the same haircuts, Sergey?” Carl asked the Russian thug with the crew cut.
Carl saw that Bart Barrows had come in and taken a seat at the bar. The cleaner handed him a cold bottle of beer, and Carl wondered if the cleaner was in business for herself, because the bar wasn’t open for hours yet. He figured she probably bought beer at the 7/11 around the corner and sold it for a profit when nobody was looking.
“Don’t try and be funny or I will shoot you,” the heavy told him.
“Your English is not bad,” Carl told him, taking a puff from his pipe, “where did you learn it, in prison?”
“You want to make jokes, so maybe I shoot you anyway.”
“No you won’t,” Carl told him. “Here’s the thing, if you were really sent to kill me you wouldn’t be sitting in front of me. You would have waited till it got dark, ridden up behind me on a motorcycle, and shot me in the head and left me dead and bleeding in the gutter. But you’re here instead, sitting at a table, in a public place, with witnesses, snarling at me like a Rottweiler. So here’s the real deal, your boss sent you to scare me off, well done, you’ve been here, and you can tell him you’ve done what you were told, but I already know he didn’t tell you to shoot me, so that means you can just fuck off.”
“The heavy pointed the gun at him and said, “Keep talking, and I’ll put a bullet in you.”
“Go on then, pull the fucking trigger,” Carl told him, “you think I give a shit? But you won’t shoot me, will you?” Carl put his hand on his glass and slowly slid it forward to the middle of the table, then took his hand back. “Now, here’s my counter offer: you leave right now, or I’ll pick the glass up and put it in your face. What will you do then? I imagine you quite like your life in Thailand, but do you like it enough to want to spend the rest of it in a Thai prison?”
The Russian moved his chair back with a screech and stood up. “Next time I see you I am going to kill you,” he told Carl.
“Blah-blah-blah heard it all before. Go and tell Milos that I’m coming for him soon,” Carl said, and the Russian showed surprise that Carl knew his boss’s name. “Yeah, that’s right Sergey, I’m coming for all of you, and I suggest you all go home and start packing your bags. Me? I’m staying, I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
The Russian thug hesitated as if he was about to say something more, but Carl was standing up too, so the Russian took a step backwards. Carl came from behind the table and followed him until he reached the door. From outside the door, the thug shouted, “Next time we meet, I will fuck you up.”
Carl closed the door and walked over to the bar and took the stool beside Bart. “I see you’re in one of your fire and brimstone moods,” Bart said, not taking his eyes off the chubby cleaner behind the bar.
“I haven’t even fucking started yet,” Carl told him.
“What the hell was that, an attempt at assisted suicide?” Bart asked as he swivelled his barstool and turned to look at Carl.
“I’m not the suicidal type. When people are threatening to kill me, I get grumpy, and I don’t care anymore. It’s like a switch that kicks itself off. It always scares the fuck out of people because no sane gangster wants to take on an insane person. Nobody ever fights a lunatic.”
“He could have just shot you, then he wouldn’t have to fight you.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. The worse the situation gets, the less I give a fuck.”
“So, it’s true what they say, it takes a psychopath to catch psychopaths. Do you know what you are getting yourself into?” Bart asked.
“Probably not, so isn’t it about time you told me?”
“Yeah, I reckon it is. You’d better get yourself a drink,” Bart told him, so Carl ordered a beer from the chubby girl, and Bart started telling him a story.
CHAPTER 24
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
– William Shakespeare
Carl wandered around Soi Cowboy and got to his hotel around midnight. He found Maria Brajik sitting in the lobby, waiting for him. The flight from Vienna had landed a couple of hours ago and Maria looked tired, and her clothes were rumpled. When she saw him she got up from the sofa and gave him a hug and kissed him on both cheeks, “I want to know who killed my sister,” she told him. “I’m here to help, and I’m staying until it’s over.”
“That’s great,” Carl told her.
“So, sit down and tell me everything that you’ve accomplished so far,” Maria demanded.
“I’ve had a bit to drink tonight, Maria; better we talk in the morning,” he told her.
“Nadia told me about your drinking. Do you know you smell like a distillery? Is it a good idea to get drunk when you are supposed to be out looking for my sister’s murderer? It seems highly irresponsible, and I’m not impressed.”
“I assure you, it’s the most important part of the process. Now, go to bed and we can talk in the morning.”
“I was expecting better from you than this,” she told him sternly.
“I’m not going to stand in the lobby arguing with you all night. Anybody would think we were married, the way you’re carrying on. Go to bed Nadia, get a good night’s sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Nadia?”
“Sorry, I meant Maria,” Carl said.
Maria pulled a face and stormed off. Bloody hell, Carl thought, she reminds me of her sister. He watched her go to the elevator then sneaked off and went the other way, down the stairs to the hotel bar in the basement. Getting told off by beautiful women always gave him a thirst.
Carl found George and Clouseau sitting in the hotel bar. The police sergeant, having tired of room service and screwing himself silly was finally back in circulation. Carl assumed the thin, pale-skinned girl had received her marching orders, and was making her bow-legged trek back to Soi Cowboy, her purse stuffed with money. Carl was pleased to see his friend sitting with George, grinning his trademark grin, and holding a bottle of beer in his hand. Three Musketeers are always better than two. Carl winked at him and said, “Here, at last, Clouseau? I was worried about you. Another day and I would have sent out a search party.” The sergeant’s expression turned sheepish, because he was, like most Thais, shy and easy to tease.
“How was your day?” George asked.
“Not boring,” Carl told him. “And then Maria showed up. I just met her in the lobby.”
“Maria?” George asked.
“Nadia’s sister, from Vienna,” Carl told him.
“So, that’s where you were?” George said.
“Yes, in Vienna, didn’t I tell you?”
“No,” George said, “you didn’t.”
“Vienna?” Clouseau asked.
“While you were upstairs fucking that poor girl’s brains out, I went to Vienna for the weekend.”
“And you came back?” Clouseau asked him.
“Sure I came back. We’ve still got a murder to solve,” Carl told him.
“But you must know you will be arrested soon,” Clouseau told him. “I know the major, and he will find some way to get you, for sure.”
“Yes, he will try, and I am expecting it. But, right now I need a drink. Tomorrow we will have a meeting and make plans. There are four of us now, and you’ll like Maria. You’ll like her a lot. She tells me off all the time, just like Nadia did.”
George and Clouseau smiled. The thought of Carl getting told off appealed to them. That was probably the thing they missed most about Nadia. If Maria was going to berate him, they both liked her already.
“I want you both to be careful from now on, looking over you
r shoulders, because I seem to be attracting undesirables all of a sudden, and I don’t want anybody caught in the crossfire,” Carl told them.
“Crossfire means shots from two directions, but you don’t have a gun, so how does that work? How do you intend to defend yourself? What are you going to do, catch the bullets in your teeth and throw them back at them?” George said.
“Don’t get bloody technical on me, George. Just be careful. I don’t want any collateral damage.”
“Says the man who likes to paint targets on himself,” George said.
“You worry too much,” Carl told him.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me about these undesirables you met today,” George said.
“Not now, George, but we can talk about it tomorrow.”
“I’ve got a gun,” said Clouseau.
“You hang on to it,” Carl told him.
“Carl doesn’t like guns, he thinks it’s more fun without one,” George said.
“Christ on a bike,” Carl said, “I’ve just been told off by Maria in the lobby. Can you give it a rest?”
“What’s Maria like?” George asked.
“Well, she’s um, she’s….. um…”
“Oh dear,” George said, “that pretty, eh?”
“Can’t say as I noticed,” Carl told him with a smile.
“What’s she like?” asked Clouseau.
“Like Nadia with glasses and a suit. Anyway, you’ll both find out tomorrow, because we will all have a meeting, and I’ll tell you everything. The library will make excellent war rooms.”
CHAPTER 25
“Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here!
This is the War Room.”
– Dr Strangelove
Jack Burke knocked on the door just after 10 o’clock in the morning. When he came into the room, it was obvious the head of hotel security was worried. Jack cleared his throat, always a sign what he was about to say wasn’t going to be good news. And, just as he was about to speak, a slim black woman walked out of Carl’s bathroom wrapped in a towel. “Oh, Jack,” Carl said, “did you ever meet my cousin from Johannesburg?”
Jack was immediately uncomfortable because apart from being a closet racist like most Englishmen with nostalgia for empire, he assumed Carl had picked up one of the African prostitutes from the Arab quarter, and he didn’t approve of such things in his hotel.
