He slammed his empty glass down on the counter. The noise echoed through the bar like a gunshot. A few of the regulars looked up in annoyance, but they glanced away after meeting the man's gaze. There was something unnerving about those strange, beautiful eyes set in such a hard face.
"Bolshe! More vodka! And no more of this cheap ssatt! I want top shelf! Beluga, bitch!"
The bartender was a stocky, pretty girl whose dark skin and silky black hair were typical of girls from the northwestern Isaan region. She hurried over, and set another glass down on the counter.
"No Beluga, sir," she said with her brightest forced smile. "Stoli OK? Good Russian Vodka!"
"Bah, Stoli is also ssatt! All you have is piss here!"
The bartender's smile flickered. "Stoli OK, sir?" she repeated.
The man nodded, and looked away as she poured his drink. He turned to another man, who was sipping beer from a tall, frosted glass a couple chairs down at the bar. He was wearing a white T-shirt, olive green pants, and battered suede desert boots. He was taller and lankier than the Russian, and his body had the lean, taut look of a natural athlete.
"What is with this bar, eh?" the Russian grunted. "They call this vodka? Swedish ssatt, Finnish ssatt, even Russian ssatt! All piss, I say."
The man down the bar gave no response. He did not look up from his beer.
A tall, lighter-skinned bar girl with thick, wavy brown hair sat down on the stool next to the Russian. She wore black hot pants, a black bustier top, and scarlet high heels. She leaned towards the Russian and spoke into his ear, arching her back and making sure to give him a good view of her cleavage in the process. "Hey, mister, you have nice eyes. Buy me drink?"
She was stunningly beautiful, and her sudden appearance seemed to improve the Russian's mood. His wide, blue eyes drank her in, and she leaned back as his unnerving stare traversed her body. "Sure, baby, I buy you a drink. What's your name?"
"I'm Naiyana. What your name mister?"
"I am Alexi. Alexi Rudov. Delighted to meet you."
He took her hand in his. She let him caress it for a moment, then tried to pull it back. He gripped it tight in his fist. The muscles in his arms bulged. She giggled and tried to play it off. "You strong, baby. Big, strong man."
The bartender set down a drink in front of the girl, without asking. It was a lady drink, a tiny bit of alcohol mixed with fruit juice and club soda. Despite its low alcohol content, it cost 150 baht, about twice the cost of a normal drink.
The Russian, Alexi, nodded his approval, and the bartender drifted away again.
"You have pretty hands," he said, his large, meaty paw engulfing her tiny fingers. She laughed as she sipped her drink with her free hand.
"You like?" she asked. "Come upstairs with me. I treat you good. 2000 baht."
Alexi Rudov twisted his lips into a smile. He threw back his head and laughed. "Da, da, I fucking love Thailand. Drink up, my lovely. I take you back to my hotel room. Long time, 4000 baht. I want to take my time with a piece of ass this fine."
The girl sipped her drink and smiled, but her brow furrowed in concern. Maybe it was the way he gripped her hand, or the unnerving stare, and that lazy, floating eye. Something about the man led her to shake her head. "No, baby, I only do short time. 2000 baht, we go upstairs, right now. I make you feel so good."
"Short time" was bar girl slang for a quickie. A brief shower upstairs, then sex in a somewhat private room that contained little more than a bed, a night stand, and a box of condoms. Once the client finished, they would go back downstairs, and that was that. "Long time" would mean an all-night affair, usually at the client's hotel room.
Alexi jerked up on her arm, and she gasped as he pulled her to a standing position. Her glass tipped and rolled off the bar. It shattered on the ground, as its sweet, sticky contents spilled across the counter.
"I'm not spending a thousand dollars a night for a suite at the Hilton so I can fuck in some flea-infested shit hole. You come with me. I want to enjoy my time with you."
The girl struggled to free her hand from his grasp. She no longer bothered faking a smile, and her eyes were wide with fear. "No, baby, short time, OK? I only do short time!"
Alexi raised his free hand back, and the other patrons in the bar looked away. There was no mistaking the gesture. Everyone knew that, whatever happened next, it would be safer not to get involved in yet another drunken brawl over a bar girl.
Alexi swung his arm forward in an open-handed slap, but jerked to a stop midway. Someone was holding his arm in a firm grip.
It was the man from the end of the bar. The few patrons fished crumpled baht notes from their pockets and meandered away into the rain. A couple slid inside the dark interior of the bar, to enjoy the striptease show.
Alexi found himself staring into the man's unblinking eyes. They were emerald green, and as cold and hard as the gemstones they resembled. His face had the tan skin and dark stubble of a local, an ex-pat who could no longer bother to shave or slather on sunscreen on a daily basis. There was a slight hollowness to his features, a haunted shadow that hung over his face, beneath his short, swept back brown hair.
"You heard the lady, short time only," the man said. His voice was low, but it cut through the noise of the rain like a steel blade. "There are hundreds of girls working the street, and in weather like this, I'm sure you can have your pick."
Alexi stared at the man for a second. "Take your hand off me," he said, enunciating each word.
The man removed his hand. Alexi squinted at him. "Who the hell are you? Have we met?"
The man looked Alexi in the eye and shook his head. "No. You don't know me."
Alexi glared at the man, and looked him up and down.
The man was known by many names throughout town. Few knew his true identity. In Pattaya, most knew him as Mark Waters, a shady farrang ex-pat with a questionable source of income and an intimidating stare that tended to silence unwanted questions.
His real name was Thomas Caine.
"Let's drink," Caine said. "This day is shitty enough as it is." He gestured to the bartender, and she hurriedly prepared two vodkas on ice.
Alexi let go of Naiyana. She took a few steps back, but did not leave the bar.
"Something about you looks familiar to me," Alexi said.
Caine shook his head. "I said you don't know me. I don't know who you are either, and I don't really care. Do you want a drink or not?"
"Come on, baby," Naiyana pleaded with Alexi. "Let's go upstairs. We have good time. I lots of fun, you see!" He ignored her.
A shadow crossed the bar. Caine looked up and saw a second man step up behind the Russian. He was taller, and his arms and shoulders bulged with thick ropes of muscles beneath a skin-tight black T-shirt.
Caine sighed.
"Who I am is not so important, I guess," Alexi said. "But please, meet Gregor. Gregor is happy to make your acquaintance. And you will see, he is very important man."
The bartender slid the two drinks over to Caine and Alexi. Alexi ignored his. Caine picked up his, and took a long sip. "Funny, he doesn't look it."
Alexi laughed. Gregor took a step forward. "Well, my friend, when the police fish you out of the gutter, with a face full of broken teeth, maybe you will change your mind."
Alexi threw some bills on the counter. "But, please, first enjoy your drink. It's on me."
He stormed out of the bar, leaving Gregor behind. The big man cracked his knuckles, and stepped towards Caine.
CHAPTER THREE
As Gregor moved in to strike, Caine held the base of his glass in his right hand and swung it against the bar. The glass shattered, leaving a pair of jagged, glittering shards attached to the base.
Gregor was huge, but he moved like a diesel truck. Caine watched the muscles in his assailant's shoulders compress as the man wound back for a punch. Like a tree felled by a lumberjack, Gregor's massive right arm swung through the air in a powerful blow, but he had telegraphed the direction of
the attack.
Using a small, lightning fast movement, Caine slid left and stepped inward, closing the gap. The punch sailed past the right side of his head, just missing his face. He kept his right arm up tight against his face as a guard.
As Gregor's momentum carried him forward, Caine struck with his left fist, landing two quick rabbit punches to the man's right side. With any luck, he thought, I'll bruise the bastard's liver and end the fight quickly.
The big man struggled to regain his balance. Caine pivoted and lashed out with the broken glass. The weapon sliced across Gregor's forehead. Naiyana, still watching from the sidelines, screamed as a curtain of red blood spilled down the big man's face.
Gregor roared in fury. He charged forward, lashing out wildly with his powerful arms, but the blood in his eyes blinded him. Caine ducked under the wild swings. He waited ... waited ... at last, Gregor paused, panting from exertion. Caine saw his opening, and struck.
He punched straight out with his left hand. The jab struck Gregor's chin. Caine winced as he felt the crushing blow against his knuckles, but he didn't slow his assault. He leapt forward, following the punch with a swift right elbow strike. Gregor stumbled backwards. He reached up, wiping the blood from his face. His eyes were clear now, and they gleamed at Caine with a hateful stare.
Caine threw a right hook, but this time Gregor was ready for him. He blocked the punch with an outside left hand, and hooked it around Caine's arm in the process. As Caine struggled to free his arm, the big man sliced in with his elbow, knocking Caine's face left, then right.
The power of the two blows was immense. Caine stumbled back as Gregor let go of his arm. The force of the second elbow strike had spun him around. He fought to clear the haze in his mind, as he felt two strong arms wrap around his chest.
The grip tightened, and he was heaved into the air. He gasped and coughed as his breath was driven from his lungs. The grip tightened even more, and a red haze fell over his vision. He kicked his feet backwards, but they dangled uselessly in the air. He couldn’t make contact with Gregor's knees or shins--and even if he could, he doubted he could strike with enough force to make the beast of a man release his hold.
Gregor grunted again and ratcheted his arms tighter together. Caine felt the pressure compress his ribs and knew they would crack if the man heaved him up into the air again.
He reached out with his arms, struggling to grab something, anything he could use as a weapon against Gregor. His flailing hand felt cold glass and liquid: Alexi's drink. The man had refused to touch it before he had slinked away. Caine grabbed the glass and swung over his shoulder, striking Gregor's wounded face.
Gregor roared in pain. The vodka washed across the bloody gash in his forehead, sending a spasm of stinging pain through the huge man's face.
He did not release his grip, but his arms involuntarily flexed as the pain ran through his body. Caine slid down a few inches, and he felt his feet touch the floor.
He swung his head backwards, and the top of his skull smashed into Gregor's nose. The man uttered something between a groan and a sneeze, and dropped Caine. As Caine hit the ground, Gregor stumbled backwards a few steps, cradling his broken nose. Rivulets of blood streamed between his fingers.
Caine sucked a lungful of breath and spun around, wasting no time in pressing the attack. With Gregor's hands occupied, Caine leapt to his feet and swung his left leg forward in a savage kick to the man's solar plexus. Gregor bent forward, grunting as the kick knocked the wind out of him.
Standing over Gregor, Caine grabbed a beer bottle off the bar counter. He swung it straight down, smashing it onto Gregor's skull. The glass exploded, lacerating his fingers and burying tiny sparkling fragments into Gregor's head.
Gregor collapsed to the ground like a rag doll.
A low groan escaped his lips, and then he was silent. Unmoving.
Caine stood where he was, panting. I've gotten sloppy, he thought. Stupid. There was no reason for the fight to have gone on as long as it had. No reason for it to have started in the first place. He could have handled it a million different ways. Why had he chosen violence?
No, he thought. Don't lie to yourself. This is who you are. This is why you can't go home.
This is why you had to leave her. Rebecca...
"He dead?" Naiyana asked in a quiet voice, interrupting Caine's thoughts.
He looked at Gregor's body, and shook his head.
"I don't know. But if he's not, he's gonna be pissing blood when he wakes up."
A stream of Thai profanity erupted from the beautiful girl's mouth. Caine couldn't understand most of it, but obviously she was upset.
"Hey, Naiyana, just calm down. It will be...." He held up his hands and noticed the blood streaming from the gashes left by the shattered glass.
Sirens howled in the distance. Their mournful wailing grew closer. Caine knew what that meant. The Royal Police were on their way. He had bribed the police in the past--payoffs to look the other way when he smuggled shipments of counterfeit handbags or stolen iPhones. But a body, a violent altercation, blood ... he couldn't take the chance that they might arrest him, even temporarily, and run his prints.
"Come, come, follow me," Naiyana said. "We go out the back!"
Caine followed her into the bar. She grabbed a clean towel from the kitchen as she herded him towards the rear service door. "Here, wrap your hand."
Caine nodded, and wound the white cloth around the gashes in his hand. The towel was quickly stained a mottled shade of pink as his blood soaked through the rag.
"What wrong with you? You crazy?" Naiyana muttered.
"Something was off about that guy," Caine said. "You saw it yourself. That's why you wouldn't go back to his hotel room."
The beautiful girl nodded as they turned the corner on the small corridor that led behind the kitchen. "He bad man I think, but I talk him into short time. We bang; he leave. Now instead, big mess. And where I find another guy in this weather? I got kid to feed, you know!"
"I know, Naiyana. I'm sorry. I was just worried for you."
Naiyana opened the rear door, and the thick, hot air from outside exploded into the corridor. Caine squinted out into the alley that ran behind the bar. It was as devoid of life as the flooded streets out front.
Naiyana put her hand on his face, and her expression softened. "You are good man, I know."
Caine shook his head. "No, Naiyana. I'm not a good man."
"You good to me. You look out for me, other girls, too. But sometimes, when I look in your eyes..." She hesitated. "Sometimes, I see something inside you, looking back at me. Something scary."
The sirens outside grew louder. The beautiful girl leaned in close, and her skin smelled of baby oil and jasmine. She kissed his cheek. "You go now. Take care of hand. Stay low for while. I come see you later, OK?"
Caine nodded. "Right."
He headed out into rain.
"Hey!" Naiyana called after him.
He turned, and saw her leaning in the doorway. Her smile was radiant, and for a second, he felt as if the sun had managed to pierce the clouds above with its dazzling rays. "Thank you," she said. "You good friend to me."
He waved and started away, quickening his pace. Within a few minutes, the bar, the blood, and the body of the big Russian man were all left in the gloom behind him.
CHAPTER FOUR
Caine stared out the window of his small, sparse apartment. The place was clean, to the point of being sterile. No art hung on the walls; no pictures of family or loved ones sat on his desk. He never knew if he would have to leave in a hurry, so he kept his furniture and belongings to a minimum. The place felt empty.
The building was far enough away from the walking street that the noise of the crowds was usually a distant murmur. But tonight, the only sound he heard was rain pelting the windows and the muddy streets below.
He watched the sheets of water run down the cracked pane of glass. The street lights reflected a halo of red and green circ
les in the droplets on the window. He thought about what had happened earlier in the day. The fight. The blood.
Naiyana had said he was a good friend. Caine wasn't sure that was true. He looked back over his past, the things he had done. The lives he had taken. All in the interest of preserving democracy.
He suppressed a grim laugh. The interests he had been preserving were those of his handler, a high-level case officer in the CIA. Him, and other men like him. They claimed they were acting for the greater good, and Caine had believed them. Over the years, he had seen the cost their vision of the future claimed in blood, a cost they relied on others to pay. Caine had begun to wonder if the price was too high.
It had been Rebecca, a woman he had worked with briefly in the CIA, who had awoken something in him ... the ability to feel again, the desire to see more in himself. To be more than just a weapon, a blunt instrument sent out to murder.
Their affair was brief, but in their time together she had touched him. Changed him. But it was that love, that desire to change, that forced him to remove her from his life.
Caine was betrayed.
To cover up an unsanctioned black op, his handler arranged to have Caine and his partner disappear.
Caine saw his partner murdered in cold blood, gunned down by the targets they were sent to eliminate. Caine managed to survive the attack, but suffered through a period of brutal captivity and torture. And when he finally escaped and returned home, he discovered the ultimate betrayal. His country believed that he was the traitor responsible for his partner's murder.
Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0) Page 2
