Bulletproof Mascara: A Novel

by Bethany Maines

  “You’re not going to make it,” Val yelled, climbing out of the tuk-tuk.

  “I’m going to make it,” muttered Nikki, as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and took the turn. “Lean!” she screamed, as a rear wheel came off the ground.

  Val and the driver were clinging to the tuk-tuk by their fingers and toes, their bodies extended as far out as possible to counterbalance the weight shift. The tuk-tuk rounded the corner on two wheels and then came down with a grinding thump, as Nikki accelerated into the straightaway. The motorcycle had slowed down for the turn, but was now speeding down the alley toward an open courtyard. They were near the river somewhere, but Nikki couldn’t tell where. She had the gas pedal wedged down and grinned as she saw the distance narrowing. She could feel Val looking at her, but ignored this. The driver began to yell something again, pointing toward the end of the alleyway.

  “Holy shit,” Val said, pointing also.

  “Holy shit,” Nikki repeated, seeing the elephant walking across the mouth of the alley, its massive gray hide blotting out the sunlight. The man, showing a fearlessness Nikki had to admire, squeaked past the elephant, while Nikki slammed on the brakes and came to halt with the smell of burning rubber wafting around them. The elephant, upset by the ruckus, stamped and trumpeted, while its handlers yelled and waved sticks. One of the handlers turned to them and smacked the tuk-tuk with his stick.

  “Delicate elephant!” the handler shouted.

  “We could get out and run after him,” Nikki offered, her fingers still clamped to the steering wheel, ignoring the yelling.

  “Yeah, you go ahead and walk under the delicate elephant,” Val said. “I’ll wait here and see how that works out for you.”

  The elephant finally moved on, and Nikki edged the tuk-tuk out into the courtyard, where the motorcycle lay abandoned in the middle. Nikki realized they were closer to the river than she had thought. The courtyard was really a wide strip of pavement before a ferryboat launch. The actual boat was obscured by a plethora of shops that spilled out into the street.

  “The ferry,” said Val, and Nikki nodded, already breaking into a run. They elbowed their way to the edge of the river only to see the man waving to them, his bright shirt flashing at them from the deck of a ferry as it carried him across the river.

  “Damn,” swore Val.

  “Sorry,” said Nikki.

  “Sometimes life gives you elephants,” Val said with a shrug.

  They made their way back to the courtyard only to find the tuk-tuk driver waiting for them, cell phone in hand.

  “Police!” he yelled at them.

  Val opened her wallet. The driver’s fingers hovered over the key pad on his phone. Val pulled out a credit card. Nikki let Val take care of the negotiating and went back to the entrance of the alley, looking for the object that had fallen out of the motorcyclist’s pocket.

  “Cash,” she dimly heard the tuk-tuk driver say in a very firm tone of voice. There were plastic pieces scattered across the pavement. Nikki picked one up, examining it.

  “But of course,” agreed Val, pulling out a stack of baht. Nikki heard a click as the driver’s cell phone was flipped shut instantly.

  “What have you got?” Val asked, her shoes clicking on the pavement as she approached.

  “A CD,” said Nikki, holding up a sliver of mirrored plastic. “Self-burned. Not commercial. Useless to us now, I’m afraid.”

  “Too bad,” said Val.

  “But if it was burned off of a clinic computer, then we’ve still got a chance,” Nikki said, and Val nodded again, slower this time.

  “Who’s to say it came from the clinic’s computer?” Val asked. “We don’t even know this is related to Lawan’s disappearance.”

  “Of course it is!” exclaimed Nikki, looking up at her. “Because . . .”

  “Because?” Val prompted.

  “It has to be. I mean . . . it’s so suspicious.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Val, staring after the ferry. “Suspicious. Let’s go back to the clinic. I do want to take a look at Lawan’s office. You!” she shouted at the tuk-tuk driver, who was anxiously examining his vehicle. “How much to go back to the clinic?”

  “No!” yelled the driver, and he started his tuk-tuk, driving off as if he thought Val would hijack it again.

  “Some people have no sense of humor,” Val said. “Come on, let’s go get a cab.”

  Laura was waiting for them when they returned to the clinic, anxiously shifting from foot to foot.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she said. Her hair had been disordered in the earlier tussle. Nikki watched as the ambassador’s wife began to straighten it, patting it back into place with an unconscious and practiced hand.

  “Were you able to apprehend the assailant?” she asked with a polite smile, calm and order apparently having been restored.

  “No. Um, sorry,” said Nikki, feeling deeply embarrassed. Somehow this was even worse than being failed by Mrs. Boyer. She’d never failed an assignment where the outcome actually mattered to someone. “We lost him behind an elephant.”

  “Oh,” Laura said, nodding, as if that explained everything.

  “The orderly,” said Nikki, “you know him?”

  “Yes,” said Laura, nodding again. “Amein. He’s worked with us a long time. I don’t understand why he ran.”

  “He ran because you yelled at him,” Val said, her tone stopping just short of insulting. “Why did you yell at him?”

  “He was coming out of Lawan’s office. He gave something to that man. There aren’t supposed to be unauthorized guests in the clinic. Something wasn’t right.” Laura was clearly struggling to explain what had been an instinctual reaction.

  “It was suspicious behavior,” Nikki said, and Laura’s shoulders straightened.

  “Yes, it was suspicious. That’s exactly what it was. And then they ran. They wouldn’t have run if they weren’t doing something wrong.”

  “Ah yes, presumption of guilt—such a democratic ideal,” said Val, brushing past Laura on her way to Lawan’s office.

  “We don’t really have any facts yet,” Nikki said, trying to strike a more conciliatory note.

  “This is Thailand,” said Laura. “Facts are . . .” She shrugged. “It’s like my darling James says, ‘Facts aren’t always what they appear.’ You have to trust your instincts.”

  “Is that what diplomacy is all about?” Nikki asked, attempting to keep Laura’s attention focused on her and not on Val. Val’s patience for the ambassador’s wife was clearly paper lantern thin. “Following your instincts?”

  “No,” said Laura. “I think diplomacy is more about finding the appropriate facts to justify something you’ve already done.”

  Ahead of them, Val snorted in laughter. “Sounds about right,” she said, opening the door to Lawan’s office and flipping on the lights. “Now let’s find some facts to justify chasing a man halfway across the city.”

  It was a small room—square and formed by the same concrete blocks as the rest of the clinic. The furniture was minimal. A metal-and-veneer desk and a chair faced the door, a slightly padded chair sat in front of the desk. A pile of papers covered the seat. To the right of a door was a bench with only one cushion on it and several binders where the other cushions should have been. Three middle-height bookshelves took up the left wall, piles of papers interspersed between knickknacks and a water pitcher and set of glasses. Behind the desk, two tall filing cabinets filled the space under windows that streamed sunlight onto the desk. One of the windows had been blocked out with the missing pillows from the bench.

  “Has it been ransacked?” asked Nikki, looking at the mess in dismay, her hopes of an orderly search, followed by orderly clues, rapidly disappearing. She stared at the peculiar blocking of the window in confusion.

  “Glare,” said Val, sitting down at the desk. “On the screen,” she explained, gesturing between the window and the computer screen.

  “It’s not usua
lly this messy,” said Laura, looking embarrassed and starting to tidy, moving piles closer together and clearing seating space. “It looks like she left in the middle of one of her projects.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Val, randomly opening drawers. Her quick, apparently careless movements reminded Nikki of her search of Mrs. Merrivel’s desk.

  “Lawan, she gets these ideas,” said Laura, looking around rather hopelessly. “She’s one of those people who connect things.”

  “Connect things?” Val repeated, tapping a cigarette on the side of her pack.

  Laura sank down on the bench, arms full of papers, and stared distractedly into space.

  “Lawan . . . some people,” she said, starting again, “they become experts in one field. They know everything there is to know about that one thing. But Lawan knows a little bit about everything. It’s like the more she learns the more she can put things together in new ways.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Val, lighting up, her eyes focused on Laura.

  “Well,” said Laura, “she figured out that recycling plants employed more women to wash bottles, so she lobbied for stricter polices on litter and incentives for building recycling plants, thus ensuring that more women would be employed in something other than the sex trade, which means fewer people with STDs, more stable family units, and more children who get education. That’s the kind of thing that an outsider can’t really get about Thailand. Lawan knows more about Thailand, not just because she’s Thai, but because she understands all the forces that go into making up Thailand. That’s what makes her so influential in politics. She knows why.”

  “Why what?” asked Nikki, rescuing a precariously tilted picture frame from under a leaning pile of files. The labels were in Thai, but they looked like patient records.

  “Why everything,” answered Laura. “If you know why someone is behaving like they do, then you know what their goal is and you can affect their behavior.”

  “Leverage,” said Val. “She’s talking about angles and leverage. Your girl Lawan knows where to apply pressure.”

  Laura nodded. “Only, now I’m afraid she’s misjudged how much pressure to apply.”

  “Well, what’s she been pushing for now?” Nikki asked, turning the picture frame around in her hands.

  “Stronger antiterrorist measures,” said Laura, shrugging. “More cargo searches in the ports, more identity and paper checks. That kind of thing. She’s been supporting a bill that’s going in front of the legislature shortly.”

  “Maybe the government wanted to keep her quiet,” suggested Val.

  “It’s a popular bill,” said Laura with a shrug. “It hasn’t been particularly controversial. Everyone wants to feel safer.”

  “Hmm,” said Nikki, finally looking at the picture in her hand. It was of Lawan and a smiling little girl in a school uniform. The little girl had her arms around Lawan’s neck, and they both appeared to be laughing at whatever the photographer was saying.

  “That’s Lawan’s daughter, Lindawati,” said Laura, noticing the direction of Nikki’s gaze. “She goes to school in Canada now. After the coup in 2006, things started getting a little difficult for political activists, and Lawan was worried about her daughter’s safety. She should be back soon, for vacation. Lawan was . . . is looking forward to it. I called the school when Lawan went missing. I thought she might have gone there, but they said they couldn’t confirm or deny her presence.”

  Laura’s head drooped, and she sniffed.

  “Mrs. Daniels,” Nikki said, not knowing what to say.

  “You’ve just got to find her,” Laura said. “Even if she missed my conference, which she never would have, there is no way on earth that she would miss being home for her daughter. Something bad has happened to her, and you’ve just got to find her.”

  “We’ll find her,” Nikki promised, and Val shot her a dirty look. Nikki returned it with wide eyes and a shrug. What was she supposed to say?

  “Laura,” Val said, sitting up and leaning her elbows on the desk, “we might not find her. We’re going to try our best, but you have to face the fact that she might be dead.”

  “No,” said Laura, in a flat refusal.

  Val took a deep breath and let it out in a gusty sigh. “Well, all right then, Jenny put the kettle on, because it’s going to take us a while to sift through this mess.”

  “I’ll bring you some tea,” said Laura, sitting up with a smile and bustling out of the room.

  “It was a figure of speech,” Val said, but it was too late. Laura was out the door already.

  “Actually, it’s an Appalachian folk song,” said Nikki, apropos of Jenny and the kettle.

  “What?” Val said, looking at her sideways. “Come on, shift your butt,” she said before Nikki could respond. “Let’s get started on this.”

  “How?” Nikki asked, looking in dismay at the mountains of paperwork.

  “Piles,” answered Val. “Like with like. And as soon as the major surfaces are clear, I want you to look at the computer.”

  It was dark by the time the cab driver dropped them off at the hotel. They trudged through the lobby and up to their rooms. Nikki was really looking forward to dinner, and a long night’s sleep. Her first day as a secret agent had not been everything she hoped it would be.

  Their search of Lawan’s office had been a bust. The piles of papers had consisted mostly of patient files and clinic records dating back to the inception of the clinic. Her computer was half in Thai, and therefore half a mystery to Nikki. Their search of the physical premises had turned up a missing pair of Laura’s earrings, a stash of chocolate kisses, and a program from a kickboxing match shoved down behind everything in the bottom drawer. In all, the room had been evidence of a very busy woman and not much else.

  They had almost reached their rooms when Val’s cell phone rang.

  “Laura?” Val said, answering the phone. “Yeah . . . Laura, what are you doing? Saw him? Saw who? Coming out of . . . yes, following him was a bad idea. Going in where? No! Laura?” Val looked in irritation at the phone. “Damn,” she said, looking at Nikki.

  “Problem?” asked Nikki, feeling a surge of adrenaline.

  “Yeah,” said Val, but spoke no further as she dialed a number and put the phone to her ear. “Not answering. Stupid woman.” She slapped the phone shut angrily.

  “Go change your clothes,” she said to Nikki. “We’re going back out. Freaking amateur hour,” she said, shaking her head.

  THAILAND III

  Rock the Party

  Nikki ran to the bathroom for a frantic grooming effort, but she still didn’t feel entirely presentable by the time Val pounded on her door.

  “Let’s go!” Val snapped, phone pressed to her ear as she continued to walk down the hallway without waiting for Nikki. She of course had managed to throw on something that looked hot and functional at the same time.

  “Here,” she said, tossing Nikki her phone, “just keep hitting Redial until she answers.” Nikki took the phone, hit Call, and put it to her ear. After several rings it went to voice mail.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Laura Daniels. I’m unavailable right now, but please leave a message after the beep and I will return your call as soon as possible. If the matter is urgent, please call my assistant at . . .” She gave a phone number and signed off.

  It was the most official message on a personal phone that Nikki had ever heard. She was about to comment on it, but Val was already pulling her into a cab. “The Eden,” she said to the driver. “And step on it.”

  “Did you really just say ‘step on it’?” asked Nikki.

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “No, I’m just glad we’ll always have Paris.”

  “What?” said Val. “Sometimes you say the weirdest shit.”

  “Cliché. Detectives. Humphrey Bogart. Casablanca,” said Nikki sheepishly, trying to explain the chain reaction of thoughts that had occurred. Val looked skeptical.

  “Yeah. OK.
Meanwhile, back in reality. Laura Daniels, our Idiot of the Week, spotted the orderly returning to the clinic and decided to follow him. She tracked him to a nightclub downtown, but cut out before she could give me any further details.”

  “Why didn’t she call us?” asked Nikki.

  “Because she’s an idiot,” Val snapped. “Keep trying to raise her on the cell phone. We’ll try to find her before she gets herself killed.”

  “What about the orderly? What are we going to do about him?” Nikki asked.

  “Nothing,” replied Val. “Nothing,” she repeated, cutting off Nikki’s interruption. “First we make sure Laura’s safe, and then, if it’s the guy—and that’s a big if—we can deal with him later. Got it?”

  “OK,” Nikki said, mostly agreeing. It was a sound line of logic, but it was boring.

  The cab pulled up in a long line of cabs and various other vehicles for hire. The cabbie pointed down a street crammed with a wild assortment of ages, races, genders, and gender-benders. The bar girls strutted the streets in outfits that were revealing and, to Nikki’s eye, ill-fitting. For all their vinyl and fishnet, they didn’t look particularly sexy. They looked bored. The sixty-year-old men they were with looked in better spirits, or at least drunk.

  “I feel like I’ve wandered into the dirty section of the video store,” Nikki said. “These guys don’t actually believe those girls like them, do they?”

  “Who knows? The male ego is capable of amazing feats of self-deception. Come on, let’s go find Eden.”

  Eden turned out to be the club with the longest line. Nikki tagged after Val, her eyes on the crowd. As usual in a crowd, she felt left out. She wasn’t quite sure how to behave or where to look, so she ended up watching everyone. Watching the cues that passed between couples, the boredom of the bar girls, the fistfight that was on the point of breaking out between a naval officer and someone who was probably a marine, based on his haircut. The street was lined with shops and food stalls—purses and bright fabrics beckoned—and illuminated with Christmas lights and Japanese lanterns hanging overhead. The crush of people seemed slightly claustrophobic. Squinting through the crowd, Nikki caught sight of someone who looked oddly familiar. She caught her breath and stood up on her tiptoes, trying to get another look, but he was gone. She shook her head. She was dreaming again. After nearly six months, when was she going to forget about him? Even if by some enormous coincidence he was in Thailand, it wasn’t like he was going to remember her. Rousing herself from depressing thoughts of a missed romance, she looked around for Val and saw her cutting a swath through the line. A “drop-dead” glare to the bouncer was all it took to secure her entrance.