by R. J. Jagger
“Damn it.”
They headed back to the car. On the way Wing said, “We’ll head back to the loft. What we need to do now is get some quiet time and figure out if it’s best to kill Teffinger or Petchpon, or both or neither. If we’re going to kill one of them, we also need to figure out how we’re going to do it.”
“Teffinger scares the hell out of me,” Jamaica said.
79
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
FOR REASONS SHE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND, Prarie was drawn to Emmanuelle. They were supposed to go clubbing tonight but it probably wouldn’t happen, given the complications with Kanjana and the need to resolve Petchpon once and for all. Mid-afternoon, Prarie called Emmanuelle to say she wouldn't be able to make it. Before she could get two words out, the woman said, “You’re timing’s perfect. I’m going to get a massage. Do you want one? My treat—”
She didn’t have time and went to say so.
What came out of her mouth, however, was “Sounds yummy.”
“Just come up to my room, 1520.”
Twenty minutes later, she knocked on 1520. Emmanuelle opened the door with a wine bottle in her left hand and a short white bathrobe cinched around her body. She gave Prarie a quick kiss on the mouth, grabbed her hand and pulled her in. “Jean-Diddier’s not here,” she said. “We have the place to ourselves.”
She raised the bottle to Prarie’s mouth and tipped it back.
Prarie swallowed, but it came too fast and ran down her chin and neck.
Emmanuelle licked it off.
“I didn’t know you liked girls,” Prarie said.
“I don’t limit myself,” Emmanuelle said. “Life’s too short. Wait here, I have something for you.” She opened a dresser drawer, pulled out a bathrobe and tossed it over. “Here, take a shower and put this on. You don’t need anything underneath. The massages we’re getting are full body.”
Prarie headed for the bathroom.
At the door she turned and said, “How full?”
Emmanuelle laughed.
“Don’t worry, nothing will happen that you don’t want to.”
WHEN PRARIE GOT OUT, two young Asian women were in the room. Emmanuelle grabbed her hand, pulled her into the bedroom, dropped her robe to the floor and hopped into a king-sized bed, stomach down.
Her body was perfect.
Firm.
Flawless.
“Somebody won the gene pool,” Prarie said.
Emmanuelle grinned.
“Come on, get your ass down here.”
She hesitated, then obeyed, except she left her bathrobe on.
The Asian women got out of their clothes, every last stitch, then straddled Prarie and Emmanuelle and massaged their shoulders and upper backs.
Emmanuelle stared into Prarie’s eyes.
Prarie couldn’t look away.
Her bathrobe came off.
She didn’t care.
She didn’t care about anything except looking into Emmanuelle’s eyes and feeling the sensual touch of the woman on top of her.
When the massage went between her thighs she tensed ever so slightly but spread her legs. She was almost in the throes of an organism when the Asian woman turned her over onto her back and raised her arms up.
Then the woman straddled her stomach and ran her fingers gently down Prarie’s arms to her armpits, her breasts, her stomach.
Prarie closed her eyes.
The woman teased her nipples.
Her lips.
Her bellybutton.
She tilted her head down and ran her hair over Prarie’s body.
Then she did what Prarie hoped she would do.
She put her face between Prarie's legs and used her tongue.
So soft.
So wet.
So incredibly perfect.
80
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
LATE AFTERNOON, Jinka had a mandatory training session that she couldn’t get out of, which was all the same to Teffinger because he needed some down time to clear his head. He took a Tuk-Tuk to Soi Cowboy and got pulled into a bar by two of the dancers working the crowd out front. The place was dark, semi-crowded, not unbearably noisy and had a two-for-one drink special going. The women were scantily clad and liked to rub their bodies on him.
Good enough.
The bartender hadn’t heard of anything called Anchor Steam, so Teffinger ordered the next best thing, Bud Light, which the man had heard of.
He drank the first one in three large swallows.
Ice cold.
Then he cracked open the second one and took a sip.
The music was Thai pop.
Not bad, actually.
He was halfway through his second beer when his phone rang and Sydney Heatherwood said, “Are you still alive?”
He was.
“Hold on a minute.”
HE SPOTTED A QUIETER PLACE at an empty table near the back, away from the speakers, and headed over. “There’s so much stuff going on that you can’t even believe.”
Then he told her about Petchpon and the plan to kill him.
“Wow,” Sydney said.
“Yeah, I know.”
Wow.
Wow.
Wow.
“It’s like you turned into a different person since you left.”
“I am a different person.”
“I liked the old you better,” she said.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t do it?”
A pause.
Then, “There are two ways to look at it. You’re looking at it as taking a man’s life. The other way to look at it is that you’d be saving lives—Jinka’s for sure, plus the other woman on the wall, assuming she’s still alive, plus who knows how many others down the road.”
He grunted.
“You’re supposed to talk me out of it.”
“I would if I thought you were doing the wrong thing, but I can’t say that you are,” she said. “If you do it, will you be able to sleep?”
Good question.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, whatever you decide, I’ll support you,” she said.
“You’re more hardcore than I realized.”
He took a long swallow of beer.
“There’s something else, too,” he said.
Oh, yeah?
What?
“I DIDN’T MEAN for this to happen, but Jinka’s gotten into my head to the point that I don’t want to wake up in the morning and not have her there,” he said. “She’s going to come to Denver with me.”
Silence.
“I’m happy for you.”
“She’ll need friends,” he said. “I’m hoping one of them will be you.”
“No problem.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Well, a little bit of a problem, if you want to know the truth.”
“Don’t worry, she’s nice.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
81
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Afternoon
FROM THE TERRACE OF WING’S LOFT, Bangkok unfolded below in all directions like a flat spiraling monster. Wing watched it with a white-knuckle grip on the railing, trying to make sense of his life. The more he thought about killing Teffinger, the more he didn’t like it. He had never killed anyone. Plus there was the obvious problem that Teffinger was a jungle animal in human form. He wouldn’t go down easily. More important that anything, however, was that Wing resented giving the blackmailer control.
He wasn’t born to be anyone’s bitch.
Let the asshole do his own killing.
If Wing gave in and did the act, then the man would really have him by the balls.
No.
Killing Teffinger wasn’t the answer.
Killing the blackmailer was the answer.
SUDDENLY JAMAICA APPEARED at his side. She put her arm around his shoulder and looked at the hor
izon.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded.
“I’m 80 percent sure Petchpon is the man blackmailing me,” he said. “It still bothers that we didn’t find the photos though. I don’t want to kill anyone until I’m positive.”
Jamaica frowned.
“That may never happen,” she said. “We’re out of time. We need to decide what to do with what we have.”
Wing exhaled.
“I’m going to ask Teffinger point-plank who wants him dead. I’m going to tell him what’s going on. With any luck, he’ll be grateful to me for not killing him. Maybe he’ll join me in going after the person behind all this. If not that, maybe he’ll at least fake his own death.”
He looked Jamaica in the eyes.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Honestly?”
Yes.
Honestly.
“I’m glad you’re not going to kill someone innocent,” she said. “I’d stick by you if you did, but I’m glad you’re not. You need to be careful approaching Teffinger, though. Remember, his girlfriend Jinka is a detective. If Teffinger tells you who wants him dead and that person then ends up dead, he’ll know you did it. If he tells Jinka, then she’ll know you did it. She might feel duty bound to take you in, even though you indirectly spared Teffinger’s life.”
Good point.
Very good point.
He put his arms around her.
And squeezed tight.
“The conversation with Teffinger needs to be face to face,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because the whole thing’s too strange,” he said. “If I just call him, he’ll think it’s a joke. He needs to be able to read my vibes and tell I’m serious.”
Right.
That made sense.
“When?”
Wing looked at his watch.
“As soon as I can find him,” he said. “Let’s go.”
82
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Night
TWILIGHT ROLLED OVER BANGKOK, then a black night set in. Kanjana was off somewhere in the heart of that night, in the throes of a surveillance investigation for a client whose identity she was keeping secret, even from Prarie.
Prarie sat on the deck of the canal house.
Sipping wine.
Listening to the water sounds.
She checked her watch, 9:19 p.m.
At 9:30 she’d take a shower, then head out for a night on the town with Emmanuelle and her model-hunk, Jean-Didier. The killer wouldn’t show up tonight, not after coming just last night. Still, Prarie kept her knife at her side. If he did show up by chance, she’d kill him.
Enough was enough.
Her mind wandered.
She pictured digging in the sand under a hot sweaty sun and having the shovel hit a buried keg, the first of many, each filled with hundred and hundreds of priceless coins. She pictured buying an Italian villa overlooking the aqua waters of the Mediterranean.
She pictured herself set for life.
At 9:30 she drained the last of the wine into her mouth, stood up and headed for the shower.
SHE GOT OUT OF HER CLOTHES and studied her body in the mirror as the water warmed up. With a little work she could be as nice as Emmanuelle.
Her stomach was taut but plain.
She should get her naval pierced.
Maybe get a tattoo too, not exactly like Emmanuelle’s, but something of that general size and nature.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Would the night end in a threesome?
Prarie's brain tingled at the thought.
She studied her face in the mirror, then opened her mouth and imagined Jean-Didier sticking his cock between her lips. She closed her eyes and pictured herself on her back with Emmanuelle straddling her, playing with her nipples, before moving up and burying Prarie’s face between her thighs.
She opened her eyes.
A seriously sexy face looked back at her from the mirror.
She stuck her tongue out.
Then wiggled it.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
Emmanuelle.
THE WATER WAS UP TO TEMPERATURE. She stepped in, pulled the curtain behind her and put her head under the spray. Her hair filled with water and got heavy. The water soaked through and made its way to her scalp.
It felt good.
She lathered up her hand.
Then put it between her legs.
Oh, yeah.
So nice.
So perfect.
She closed her eyes.
A second passed.
Then another.
Then another.
Suddenly the curtain ripped away.
And strong hands grabbed her.
83
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Evening
AFTER ALL THE GOOD CIVIL SERVANTS left work for the day, Teffinger and Jinka drove to District 8 under a darkening twilight sky that would soon morph into a Bangkok night. They parked where they should and headed to Jinka’s office, ostensibly working late on a case if anyone asked.
The floor was empty.
Not a light was on in any of the rooms. They shuffled papers in Jinka’s office for a few minutes then snuck to Petchpon’s office and closed the door behind them.
They didn’t turn on the overhead lights.
Instead they used flashlights.
Jinka booted up Petchpon’s desktop computer and said, “I just crossed the line. If someone busts in, I’m fired.”
Teffinger locked the door.
“Just for good measure,” he said.
When the display terminal lit up, the light seemed blinding. Jinka dimmed it as far as it would go and then began searching the files, playing a long shot.
Minute after minute passed.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Keep looking.”
“We’re wasting out time.”
“Look for anything weird,” he said.
“I am.”
“I know, I’m just saying.”
Five minutes passed.
Two minutes passed.
Four minutes passed.
“Wait a minute,” Jinka said. “Here’s a file called Recipes.”
“Does he cook?”
“Let’s find out.”
She opened the file. The first two pages were recipes. The third page, however, was something quite different, namely a list of PINs and numbers. Halfway down was the one she was looking for.
Safe.
29-32-45-08-13.
She read the numbers to Teffinger as he turned the tumbler.
It didn’t open.
“Start over,” he said.
She read the numbers again.
Teffinger turned the tumbler, carefully, making sure he landed on every number perfectly.
It didn’t open.
“Start by going to the left instead of the right,” Jinka said.
He did.
It didn’t open.
“Let’s try them in reverse order,” she said.
He tried them.
“Bingo,” Teffinger said.
“You got it?”
“Oh, yeah, baby. I got it. I got it good.”
INSIDE THE SAFE was a leather suitcase. Inside that were a number of female items.
Earrings.
Necklaces.
A Rolex watch.
Lipsticks.
“Mother lode,” Teffinger said. “I knew they’d be here. Was I right?”
Jinka smiled.
You were right.
They digitally photographed every item individually, then restored the office to the way they found it and got the hell out of there.
They encountered no one.
AT JINKA’S APARTMENT they played the Millennium Hilton security tapes that showed Aspen Leigh the night she checked in.
“There!” Teffinger said, hi
tting pause.
“Where?”
“See the watch she’s wearing? That’s the Rolex from Petchpon’s safe.”
Jinka compared the screen to the digital photograph.
“They look the same but it’s hard to tell.”
Teffinger pulled out his cell phone and call Jena Leigh, Aspen’s sister. “Quick question. What kind of watch does Aspen have?”
“Teffinger? Is that you? Do you know what time it is?”
“Just tell me.”
“A Rolex. Why?”
“Nothing specific,” he said. “I have to run. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Teffinger—”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
He hung up and looked at Jinka.
“Rolex.”
“I know, I heard.”
A KNOCK CAME ON THE DOOR. Jinka answered to find a cabbie standing there.
“Is there someone here named Teffinger?”
“Yes, why?”
“There’s someone who wants to talk to him.”
“Who?”
The man looked past her, locked eyes with Teffinger and said, “I’m going to take you to a meeting. It won’t take long and it’s very important.”
“A meeting with who?”
“That’s all I know,” the man said.
Teffinger almost said no.
Instead he headed towards the door.
“I hope you’re not wasting my time.”
Jinka followed but the man held up a hand and said, “You’re supposed to come alone.”
Teffinger stopped.
Then told Jinka, “I’ll be right back.”
“Teffinger, don’t go.”
“This is too mysterious to not go,” he said.
“It’s Petchpon. He’s going to kill you.”
Teffinger got serious.
“I hope you’re right.”
84
Day 4—August 16
Thursday Night
WING WAITED ALONE, deep in the shadows of a bridge, next to the river. After a long time, headlights came to a stop on the road above him. A car door opened, words were spoken, and a man maneuvered his way through the darkness towards him.
