Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0)

by Andrew Warren

  He knew that any further contact with Rebecca would only put her in danger. He had brought death to her doorstep. The only way to keep her safe was to allow others to believe him dead. So, he disappeared.

  Caine knew how to survive off the grid. He used his contacts and criminal connections to make a meager living on the outskirts of society. He had been trained to operate invisibly, leaving as little sign of his presence as possible. It wasn't a fulfilling life, but it kept him and those he cared about safe.

  Deep down, he feared that all the bloodshed, all the pain and suffering he had caused, was a curse. He could never escape it. No matter how far he ran, violence and death were always just a few steps behind him.

  Now, violence had followed him to Naiyana.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Caine paced across the studio apartment. He peeled back a small piece of tape that covered the peephole in the door. The tape was a security precaution. It kept people outside from being able to look through and track his movements, watching for him to block the light.

  Looking through the tiny fisheye lens, he saw Naiyana standing in the dark hallway. She cradled a bag of groceries in her arms. He opened the door

  "Naiyana, you know you don't have to--"

  The beautiful girl rolled her eyes. "Khx phak kxn, just let me in." Caine smiled as she pushed past him and entered the apartment. “Cops give you a hard time?” he asked, as he shut the door behind her. “Did the Russians come back?”

  “Cops come, ask questions. I flirt, they leave, just like always. And you know how many Russian’s we get in bar? They all the same, think their money make them kings. I can handle them.” She set the groceries down on the counter and surveyed the room. "You been living here how long? Place always look empty. You need a plant!"

  Caine laughed. "Trust me, plants aren't my specialty."

  Naiyana gave him a hug, and Caine winced as her arms brushed against his ribs. She looked him over with concern, and wrinkled her nose. "Still sore, huh? You smell like xu. You take hot shower. I cook."

  Caine didn't speak much Thai, but he knew the word "xu." It meant excrement. He locked the door, replaced the tape, and trudged towards the bathroom.

  "You hungry tonight?" Naiyana called from the kitchen.

  "Starving!" Caine shouted back as he stripped off his sweaty shirt and turned on the shower.

  "Good. I cook lots. Keep you healthy for next time you fight."

  Caine stuck his head out the door as he waited for the shower to warm up. "What makes you think there's a next time?"

  He heard pots and pans clattering in the kitchen. Naiyana leaned out and smiled at him. "Men like you, always a fight."

  Caine shook his head, closed the bathroom door, and stepped under the scalding hot water.

  A few minutes later, he was showered and seated at a tiny folding table they set up near the kitchen. Naiyana had cooked a simple green curry, and the smells of cumin, ginger, and chicken wafted through the apartment. Somehow, the smells of Naiyana's cooking transformed the small, spartan space into something else. To Caine, for the couple of hours she was there, the empty apartment became a home.

  Caine lifted his chopsticks to his mouth and devoured another bite of the spicy dish. He washed it down with a sip of cold beer from a frosted glass. "How's your brother doing?" he asked.

  Naiyana made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Oh, Taavi? So much trouble, that one. He get into a fight today, too. Black eye." A look of concern flashed across Caine's face, but Naiyana smiled and shook her head. "Don't worry, nothing serious. Just boys being boys."

  Caine looked up at her as he shoveled more food in his mouth. "If you say so. Just make sure he keeps away from the street gangs."

  Naiyana took a sip of beer and pushed at the food on her plate with her chopsticks. "He crazy, but not stupid. I tell him you won't be there to save him next time."

  "I didn't save him," Caine said. "I just talked to some people. Made them see it was in their best interest to leave him alone." Caine smiled, but a dark glint flashed in his green eyes.

  Naiyana smacked his hand. "Don't be so modest! You save his life. I owe you."

  Taavi was Naiyana's younger brother, a street thief who sold tourists cheap trinkets, and sometimes lifted their wallets in the process. He had run into trouble with the organized crime gangs that ran the area. Caine had used his connections, and a few well-placed threats, to straighten things out.

  After that, Naiyana had shown up at his door, offering to reward him the only way she knew how. He turned her down. He was lonely, and she was beautiful, but it just didn't feel right. The next day, she showed up with a basket of fresh chicken and vegetables from the market. Again, he tried to turn her away, but without saying a word, she brushed past him into his tiny, dismal apartment. She found her way to the kitchen and cooked him dinner.

  She had repeated this simple act of kindness once a week, every week since. Now, he looked forward to Naiyana's home-cooked meals and their conversation afterwards. Somehow, she had become his closest friend, despite the fact that she knew nothing about him or his past.

  When Caine's plate was clean, Naiyana poured him another beer and cleared the table. She turned from the the sink and watched as Caine sat down on the small bed, wincing in pain.

  Naiyana walked over and sat next to him, her face filled with concern. "Hey, you hurt bad, huh?"

  "I'm fine," Caine said. "Just need some rest."

  "Naiyana shook her head. "Let me see. Shirt off, now."

  "Naiyana, I--"

  "No buts," she snapped. "Shirt off, lay down. Now!"

  Caine sighed, but did as she said. Naiyana whistled as her eyes danced over Caine's toned, muscular abdomen. The skin above his ribs was mottled with ugly purple bruises.

  "Big strong man, huh? That other guy bigger, though. He mess you up. Wait here."

  Naiyana got up and rummaged through her purse. She grabbed a tube of ointment and sat back down, straddling Caine's body. Caine shifted, trying to push her off.

  "Naiyana, come on."

  The beautiful girl laughed, and pointed her finger at him. "Hey, don't get any funny ideas. Serious business here!" She began to rub the ointment on his bruises. Caine gritted his teeth as her fingers pressed into the sore, tender flesh.

  "My mother use this ointment on my father, after tree fall on him," Naiyana said. "Now, I use it when I dance. Good stuff, it help."

  "Thank you, I appreciate it."

  She shook her head. "I keep telling you, it nothing. You help me; I help you."

  Naiyana's finger traced the small white scar that sat just above his chest, near his shoulder. "What happen here?"

  Caine sat up, and Naiyana shifted her weight off of him. She sat next to him on the bed.

  "That happened a long time ago. In Japan."

  Naiyana picked her beer up from the floor and took a sip. "Another fight?"

  Caine ran his fingers through his hair. "Not exactly. I tried to help someone. Things got complicated."

  "But you did help them?"

  "Yeah. I did."

  "You save their life, too, I bet. I told you. You good man; you do good things."

  Caine exhaled. "Listen, it's getting late, and I'm exhausted. You should go. Make sure your brother gets home safe."

  Naiyana met his gaze. Her deep brown eyes were warm and seemed to smile with a life of their own.

  "Why do you fight for me?" she asked in a soft voice. "Other guys, they want this, or they want that. You don't want anything. You help me, look out for me, look out for my brother. All I do is cook you dinner."

  Caine stood up and put on his shirt. "Today, you said you saw something in me, something scary?”

  Naiyana nodded. “Sometimes. But that not all I see."

  Caine sighed. "At night, I have dreams. Nightmares, terrible things. Things I've done." Caine touched the scar on his shoulder. "That person I told you about, the one I helped?"

  Naiyana nodded.r />
  "Used to be, that memory was enough to keep the nightmares away. Not anymore. But when you come here, somehow I feel at peace...."

  "No nightmares," Naiyana said.

  Caine nodded. "You're a good fried to me, too, Naiyana."

  "I'm glad," she said as she stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. She kissed Caine on the cheek. "Remember, good and bad in all of us. Yin and yang. People look at me; they see bad things, too. But I see more. You need to see more in you."

  Caine called her a cab, and she left his apartment, smiling at him one last time as he shut the door behind her.

  That night, the sound of the rain and the throbbing pain in his muscles kept him awake for several hours. But when he finally drifted to sleep, he was at peace.

  He did not dream. He slept like the dead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The rain continued to drench Pattaya the following day. That afternoon, Caine met with a contact at a beer bar just off the walking street to discuss a possible business opportunity. His contact was a small, unassuming man who wore round glasses and a white linen suit. His name was Eugene Lee, and he owned a factory in Taiwan that was churning our replica Rolex watches.

  With a flourish of his hands, Lee set a sample of his wares on the bar counter. He beamed with pride. "Real one made in Switzerland, cost many, many baht. This one use Japanese movement, only 100 baht!"

  Caine sipped his drink and looked around to make sure they were unobserved. The place was dead, as the rain continued to drive away customers. He hefted the watch in his hands. The workmanship looked good. The second hand moved in a smooth continuous sweep, rather than the choppy ticking motion of the cheaper counterfeits.

  He set the sample back down on the bar. "Save the sales pitch. My job is to get them into the country. Selling them is your problem."

  Caine threw some cash down on the counter. "That's for the drinks. Let me know when you have enough merchandise to move. Oh, and some free advice? There's only one 'X' in Rolex."

  After he left the meeting, Caine walked down a series of back alleys and side streets. He kept away from the main drag just in case the Royal Police were still looking for him. He doubted they would bother to keep looking for a farrang who had beaten another farrang in what would surely be reported as a bar fight over a girl. And Caine had some pull with the Pattaya cops, since he already gave Police Chief Battang a cut of his smuggling revenue. Still, he saw no point in taking chances.

  As he walked through the rain-drenched streets, Caine felt a familiar sensation, one he knew intimately. A tingling on the back of his neck, a feeling that something was wrong. A half-heard sound, a barely glimpsed shadow, something observed on the edge of his sensory awareness told him he was not alone. He was being followed.

  Caine continued walking at the same pace, giving no indication to his tail that he knew anything was wrong. He turned a corner and exploded into motion, leaping over a fence made of rusted chicken wire and wooden rods. He found himself in the backyard of a tiny apartment complex. Rows of colorful sarongs and other laundry hung from a line, now soaked by the rain. Caine wondered why the owner had not brought them in once the rains had started. An empty chicken coop took up the far corner of the muddy yard, and deep puddles of murky water dotted the ground.

  The place seemed to be abandoned. Caine was silent as he moved around the puddles and wedged himself in a dark, tiny space behind the chicken coop. The wood of the coop was cracked and weathered. By looking through a hole in one of the side planks, he could see through the fence and observe the alley path. He doubted whoever was following him would be able to spot him.

  A few seconds later, Caine heard the splashing of footsteps making their way down the alley. A lone figure stood across from the abandoned apartment building, looking left and right, as if trying to determine which way Caine had gone.

  Caine didn't recognize the man. He was a local, with black hair and a young but tempered face. He looked over average height, and he was wearing a black waxed jacket over jeans. His clothes were soaked from the falling rain.

  After a few minutes, the man gave up and walked further down the alley. Caine waited a moment, then leapt back over the fence. Dropping into a crouch, he stalked down the alley, until he caught sight of the man. He didn't recognize him, but he had a strong aversion to people following him--and he found himself consumed by a paranoid flame of anger. Who was this man? What did he want with him? Was he another of the Russian’s goons? The Royal Police? Or had the CIA finally caught up with him? Which of his many enemies had chosen to take action against him?

  There was only one way to be sure.

  Caine closed the distance between him and the Thai man. The alley was ending up ahead, and he had only a few seconds to make his move before they would exit onto a main street. As he moved, Caine's foot slipped on a patch of mud and dropped into a shallow puddle with an audible splash.

  Caine muttered a silent curse.

  The man spun around, his arm dropping to his rear waistband. But Caine was already moving. He slid to the man's side and slapped his reaching arm down and away. At the same time, he pivoted forward, driving a straight punch to the man's face. As his target staggered backwards, Caine slammed his forearm against the man's throat, and pushed him into a tiny alcove between two buildings, out of view of the street. His target grunted in pain as his back slammed against a brick wall.

  Whoever the man was, he had good training. He threw up his left arm and twisted to the side, trying to break free of the pressure Caine's arm was exerting on his throat. Caine kept him pinned against the wall and drove his knee up, striking into the man's solar plexus and forcing the air from his lungs in a gasp of pain.

  Caine spun the man around, and slammed his arm down on the back of his neck. Using his free hand, he did a quick frisk of the target's waistband and removed a Glock 19 9mm. He scanned the alley again to confirm they were alone, then pressed the gun’s barrel against the man's spine.

  "You have something you want to say to me?" Caine hissed. "Spit it out."

  The man coughed and sputtered as Caine increased the pressure against his neck. "You Mark Waters, right? My name Satra, Satra Watana. Detective Watana. Chief Battang told me look for you."

  Caine pressed harder, slamming the man's face against the brick wall. "Bullshit!"

  "It's true," Satra gasped. "Check ID. Jacket pocket."

  Caine slipped the pistol into his waistband and used his free hand to frisk the man's jacket. Sure enough, his fingers touched a slim leather badge case. He pulled it out, flipped it open, and found himself staring at a shiny metal badge, engraved with the symbol of the Royal Police.

  He tossed the badge onto the sodden ground. "Fine. Tell Battang I pay him and I pay him well. His cut's not getting any bigger, not matter how many dirty cops he sends my way."

  The man shook his head, sending a spray of rain droplets through the air. "No, not like that. I'm clean, dammit. Good cop! Battang said you have skills, training. You outsider. You can help me."

  "Help you do what?"

  "Girls missing. Kidnapped. You can help me find them."

  "What girls?" Caine growled.

  "Bar girls. Girls no one miss."

  Caine eased up the pressure on his throat. "Battang said to find me? Why? Why would I help you?"

  The man coughed. "He say you strange man. Maybe you will help; maybe you won't. Police can't do anything. But I watch you. I see you fight for that girl other day. I see you keep an eye on her. You protect her. These girls ... no one looking out for them. Just me."

  Caine dropped his arm and stepped back. "If you're lying to me, I swear...."

  The man fell to the muddy ground, spitting and gasping for breath. He looked up at Caine, and his dark brown eyes burned hot with anger. Then the anger faded into a calm, determined stare. He took a deep breath, stood up, and looked Caine in the eye. "No lie. Follow me. We talk. I buy you beer."

  Caine sighed, and gestured to the street.
"Fine. Let's go."

  They stepped out of the alley, and Satra groaned as he raised his arm to hail a taxi.

  "You want my advice?" Caine said. "Next time lead with the free beer."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Satra took them to a local bar on the outskirts of the city. If the place had a name, Caine didn't know it. There was no sign outside, and no writing on the old, peeling door.

  Inside, it was little more than a shack, filled with long, splintering wood tables and round stools. An old tube television was mounted in the far corner, and a Muay Thai kickboxing match was playing on the blurry screen. The excited cheers of the audience pierced the quiet mumbling of the locals who sat at the bar. The only other sounds were the rain outside and the clinking of liquor bottles tipping into glasses.

  Caine walked ahead of Satra, and chose a stool that faced the entrance. The bartender, a middle-aged man with a copper-tanned face and skin like leather, shouted for their order from behind the counter. Caine ordered a Singha beer, and Satra asked for a glass of Mekong whiskey on the rocks.

  A fresh-faced teenage girl wearing jeans and a T-shirt brought them their drinks. Satra spoke to her in rapid-fire Thai. She nodded, memorizing his order.

  As she rushed back to the kitchen, Satra turned to Caine. "You like bar food? I order gap klaem, small plates. We eat, then we talk."

  Caine nodded and scanned the bar. He saw no sign of danger, so he watched the kickboxing match as he sipped his cold beer.

  The food arrived quickly. Gap klaem, or "drinking snacks", consisted of a variety of small dishes that were almost always served alongside alcohol in bars. The girl set down several plates, and Caine and Satra began snacking on bites of yam khai kem, a cold salad of pickled hardboiled eggs. A few minutes later, Caine's throat was burning from the spicy heat of pu pad prik pao, crab cakes fried with egg and a hot pepper paste.

  Caine cooled his fiery tongue with a long sip of beer, then set the bottle on the table. "I appreciate the meal, but I don't like being followed. What's this all about?"