The Honourable Assassin

by Roland Perry

  The second round ended.

  ‘She is stinging him,’ Dr Na observed. ‘But can she keep dancing away?’

  ‘I think so. She reminds me of Muhammad Ali. Her motto could be “Dance like ballerina, sting like a hornet”.’

  Cavalier kept an eye on the other side of the ring. In the latest break, of two minutes, he was alert to Mendez standing, cigar in hand. The Mexican looked unhappy with what he was seeing. He was escorted out of the stadium for a smoke, and Cavalier trained his binoculars on him as he jammed the thick cigar into his mouth. A guard stepped forward to light it as Mendez pushed angrily through an exit.

  Jacinta once more refused to rest. She wai’d the Buddha with more intensity than before. She again jumped to her feet before the bell and was ready to go. The Russian wandered to the ring’s centre, his right fist higher. He would have been frustrated by not landing even a minor blow on Jacinta with it. But he, and everyone who had followed his career, knew that he would keep wading into his opponent, waiting for that one small opening. Jacinta backed away, pedalling hard.

  Halfway through the round, she landed a flying kick to his midriff that would have felled anyone else. The Russian was winded for a second time, but this time he did not look to the rope for support. He simply tripped forward. Suddenly he had her exit moves covered. He threw his body at her and gripped her torso. He threw her to the canvas so hard that she bounced.

  Cavalier glanced up to see Mendez returning to his seat in excitement as the Russian fell forward to smother her. Jacinta just managed to wriggle away. They were both soon on their feet again, and she kicked hard at his ribcage, with a close short stab, rather than one of her fliers. The Russian flinched. He grabbed his side in pain and growled like a bear that had been shot. Jacinta circled away warily, so that he was almost stationary in the middle and spectators became giddy watching her wheeling tip-toe moves, reminiscent of an Irish dancer’s.

  Mendez was on his feet again, urging the Russian on. The fighter wanted to trade blows. He stopped and appealed in frustration to his support team. He did this a second time, dropping his hands, and leaving his body and face exposed. Jacinta ran straight at him, with two ripping punches and an elbow to the face. The video screen showed, in slow motion, his face being pushed in. Blood again sprayed the ring, and Jacinta’s pink shorts.

  The bell marked the end of round three. The crowd stood, cheered, clapped and chanted ‘Ja-cinta—Ja-cinta—Ja-cinta’, which echoed in the closed stadium, the walls throbbing with her name. Cavalier trained his binoculars on her. She was sweating, having ridden a few kilometres on her imaginary bike. He focused in on her face as she slumped on the stool for the first time. At that moment, Mendez strode out of the arena again, intent on another cigar. He yelled abuse at someone, possibly Kritov, as he departed.

  After a minute, Jacinta demonstrated she had not forgotten the Buddha, by falling to her knees again and waiing him. The Russian, by contrast, was a mess. His seconds worked feverishly to stem the blood flow. The referee hovered close, inspecting their progress. He checked with the Russian’s team and then signalled the fourth round could proceed. Everyone, especially Jacinta, knew that if she collected him on the nose once more, the fight would be over.

  Cavalier lowered his glasses, leaned across to an excited Dr Na, and said: ‘She’s got him. She’s facing him at the right end of his career. Ten years of that cage stuff ’s left him injured. But only someone with her speed and skill could exploit his weaknesses like this.’

  The bell rang as Mendez returned to his seat. Goulov now really looked like a Russian bear on its hind legs. He stuttered into the fray, his knees unsteady, his left shoulder dropping out of sight, and his nose in the air to avoid more bleeding. But still the wily brute had a trick or two to play in his desperate bid to win. He aimed not at her head, but her breasts.

  ‘She’s had hormone treatment,’ Dr Na said. ‘Her breasts will be her tender spot. One of his trainers must have realised it.’

  The Russian now punched at her chest, occasionally making contact and causing Jacinta to flinch. Hundreds in the crowd protested. Many, especially the women, jumped to their feet and hurled abuse at the big man. She kept backing away. He kept flaying, even with his left glove. He connected a few more times, and once she doubled up and backed away to recover. She countered with two more heel blows to his knees. He slipped once but climbed to his feet in a cumbersome manner, leaning his right elbow on his right thigh as he did so. This time, the referee let him up without a count.

  The Russian tried a few kicks but what had been a weapon for him in earlier fights was now a liability. Jacinta eased away and crack! She crashed the side of his head with a spinning back kick. The Russian went down so hard that he shook the ring. The referee moved to count him out. Goulov’s team begged the referee to let him take the full count. He was on his feet at nine. Jacinta, pale-faced and in pain, delivered the coup de grâce—a running flying kick to the jaw. The Russian was unconscious before he hit the canvas. His team threw in the towel. A collective gasp from the spectators turned into the biggest roar of the night. The referee did not even bother with the count. The Russian was prone and motionless. His team, having never seen their man in this situation, jumped into the ring in a panic.

  The referee took Jacinta to her corner, holding her glove as if he were a gentleman guiding a princess. The crowd was cheering so loudly that Cavalier couldn’t hear what Dr Na was yelling in his ear. In any case, he was concentrating on Mendez, who once more took out a cigar as he was escorted from the building by his twenty-man entourage of guards. Higher up in the stand, the junta generals were applauding, indicating they had backed Jacinta, before they too began to make their exit.

  The Russian was soon propped on a stool. A bucket of water was thrown on him, a little unceremoniously. He was slapped. Smelling salts and something stronger were administered to him. The crowd stopped cheering and there was a strange lull as Jacinta waited and watched. Then she strode across the ring—no arrogant prancing now—and bent forward, waiing him. She found an unbloodied spot on the Russian’s cheek and kissed it. The crowd clapped and roared their approval. Fifty media cameras and a thousand phones recorded the moment. The Russian’s expression contorted into something between a smile and a grimace. Jacinta bowed and wai’d him again, in a sign of true sportsmanship and respect.

  Then she turned and deeply wai’d the Buddha. The referee raised Jacinta’s right hand high, in official recognition of her victory.

  BEFORE THE KILL

  Cavalier watched Azelaporn leave. He knew the police chief had made a huge financial killing on the night: first, with his share of the gate and TV rights; second, from the money he had put on Jacinta to win. He looked happy enough. Cavalier shook hands with Dr Na, who could not wait to grab his winnings. They said farewell, with Cavalier promising to call him on his next visit to Thailand.

  He reached an exit in time to see Mendez and his guard waiting for the arrival of two stretch limousines and four Humvees. Not wanting to be noticed, Cavalier eased through the exiting crowd back into the stadium and then moved off towards Jacinta’s dressing-room. Guards blocked him. He scribbled a note for her on a piece of paper and gave it to one of them, along with a five-hundred-baht note for him.

  Five minutes later, the guard escorted him into the locker room. Cavalier walked straight into the two African women, who were naked and drying off after showering. They didn’t bat an eyelid and directed him into another room, where Jacinta, in only shorts, was slumped on a chair, crying. He breasts had multiple bruises. Cavalier didn’t know whether to stay or go. When Jacinta saw him, she made an obvious effort to compose herself and beckoned him in.

  He popped the cork of a bottle of champagne sitting on a bench and poured out two glasses. ‘You’ve just done an incredible thing,’ he said, putting the glass in front of her and pulling up a chair. ‘I’ve never seen anything like that in my life, and I’ve watched sport of all kinds.’

&
nbsp; Jacinta looked up, and managed a smile through her running mascara and smeared lipstick. ‘What happened to your beautiful salt and pepper hair?’ she asked as she wiped her nose with a tissue.

  ‘I like it shorter in this heat.’

  Jacinta looked at the glass of champagne and then sipped from it.

  ‘You must come a long way down from such a mighty effort,’ he said. ‘Your adrenalin’s pumping still. It’ll take hours to climb back from such a dizzy height.’

  ‘Do you know what that’s like?’ she asked, her voice steadier.

  He was reflective for a moment. ‘I have an idea,’ he said with the hint of a smile.

  ‘You’ve been in big sports events?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said, clinking glasses. ‘You should be celebrating! You’ve beaten the unbeatable!’

  ‘I’ve paid a price.’ He waited for clarification. She drank more champagne before saying, ‘I’ve lost my power.’ Her eyes welled up.

  ‘I don’t think so!’

  ‘You don’t understand. I am lowering my testosterone and increasing my oestrogen. I was very lucky that I could finish it early. Another round . . .’ she stopped and wiped her eyes, ‘and I would have been slaughtered!’

  ‘It didn’t look like it,’ he said, a solicitous hand on her shoulder.

  ‘He really hurt me in that last round.’

  ‘I saw what he was doing . . .’

  ‘They’re my weak spot,’ she said, wincing as she touched her breasts tenderly. ‘I love them! I hate them being abused like that!’

  Cavalier put his arm around her as she cried. ‘They’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘And you can bet the Russian is a lot more hurt and upset than you are. He may never recover or fight again. You will.’

  ‘That was my last fight,’ she sniffled. ‘In another year, I’ll be beaten up by someone like him. Maybe worse.’ She continued: ‘He kept telling me he was going to crush my windpipe. I’ve heard that sort of threat before. But the look in his eyes was something I’d never seen.’

  ‘He has crushed windpipes.’

  ‘I was aware. I was more frightened than ever before.’

  ‘Why don’t you recover from this and then make a decision on your future later? Are you taking a few days off?’

  ‘Huh!’ she grunted. ‘Azelaporn has given me a day. I must report to him on Thursday.’

  ‘To protect Gaez?’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she muttered as she poured herself more champagne. ‘Do you think I should retire?’

  He took a breath and reflected. ‘It’s often good to quit when you have a little bit left,’ he said, ‘but when you’ve rested and thought about what happened, you’ll have an answer.’

  Jacinta touched his hand affectionately. ‘If it wasn’t for your advice—’

  ‘Uh-uh!’ he said, cutting her off. ‘You were in that ring, I wasn’t.’

  ‘But your capacity to spot my opponent’s weaknesses gave me the focus I needed.’

  ‘I’m happy to have helped,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek, ‘but I still owe you.’

  Jacinta smiled. ‘You must take care,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘It’s a crazy, unpredictable time. My boss . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think his newfound position of power may have gone to his head,’ she continued. ‘He is making some dangerous deals, just when the junta generals are saying they will clean up police corruption.’

  ‘They gave him the top job . . .’

  ‘Sure, but they could easily take it away from him, if he overdoes it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be a good thing?’

  ‘Yes, but I am in his team. I’d lose my job too.’

  When Cavalier couldn’t find a taxi outside the stadium, he decided to walk and test his strained Achilles. He could feel the injury, but the pain was mild and only impeded his normal stride a fraction. He reached Sukhumvit, where the traffic was stationary. Shocked, he realised he was close to the Mexican convoy, locked in the sea of cars. He had walked three and a half kilometres at the same speed as the convoy had crawled along the road. The gridlock eased a bit but he still reached Nana only thirty metres behind the convoy, which swung right towards the plaza of sex bars. As he strode towards Soi 10, he could see Mendez and his men alighting at the entrance He stopped at a pharmacy next to the Majestic Suites.

  ‘I haven’t been sleeping too well,’ he told the chemist in Thai. ‘Could you give me something that will help me rest through the night?’

  The pharmacist sold him sleeping tablets, telling him that two would ensure six or seven hours straight.

  ‘And what would three do?’

  ‘It wouldn’t do any damage but you would be a little dopey the next day.’

  Cavalier walked out of the pharmacy and stopped in front of the Majestic Suites. Several protester groups were milling on street corners. He looked across Sukhumvit to where police were strolling in a single line through the crowds of tourists at the hundreds of stalls. He glanced up and could see about fifty soldiers lined up on a footbridge. There was a disturbance close to him. Some people were objecting to the protesters blocking their path. Punches were thrown. Cavalier stepped into the hotel just as the front window started to shake from people pushing against it.

  The altercation was soon over and the Thai maître d’ asked Cavalier if he wanted to dine.

  ‘I was just avoiding that fracas,’ he said as he picked up a menu. ‘But I was looking for a place to eat tomorrow night.’ He ran his finger down the wine list. ‘Ah! You stock Margaret River!’ He looked at the menu. ‘Hmmm. I like this.’

  ‘Would you like to book, sir?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Cavalier walked past the Nana Skytrain station, which was above Sukhumvit. Ominously, another two hundred or so soldiers, all armed, were standing watching in the direction of the milling protesters. It seemed that Gaez’s supporters were about to break the truce that was set to be over in two more days. He stepped up his pace along Sukhumvit. The park next to Soi 10, Chuvit Garden, was open but only to soldiers, of which there were at least a hundred more.

  He reached Galleria 10, where he found Waew Ing waiting for him in the lobby. She was wearing a tracksuit and running shoes. She shook his hand warmly and inquired about his Achilles, which, he told her, had improved faster than he’d ever known it to. She beamed a thank you as they took the lift to his sixth-floor room. At her request, he stripped naked.

  ‘I do not wish to fight your underpants when attending to your glutes,’ she said matter-of-factly. He smiled.

  An hour later, when Waew was leaving, rioting in the nearby streets had become dangerous. She was forced to wait in the lobby before hotel security informed her she couldn’t leave.

  ‘But my two cats!’ she protested.

  ‘Have they enough food and water?’ Cavalier asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’ll be okay.’

  ‘But they will fret!’

  ‘You can leave here when the curfew’s lifted, at 5 a.m.’

  Waew sent a text to her neighbour, asking her to check on her cats, and accompanied Cavalier to his room for the night.

  ‘My bed can be split in two,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, stroking his arm. ‘Khun Rafferty was right. You are a gentleman.’

  Sporadic fighting continued until about 2 a.m. Three hours later, Waew showered and dressed, and went on her way to find a motorbike ride to her home in the city’s west. She had agreed to give Cavalier his massage later that night, protests permitting.

  Over breakfast at Viva, he received a text from Gregory: ‘Polly has a theory. She thinks your new best friend “J” may be Labasta’s executioner.’

  ‘Motive?’ Cavalier texted back.

  ‘Polly thought you might have found that out.’

  ‘“J” has just had the toughest fight you could imagine.’

  ‘You disagree with Polly?’

  ‘It’s down to opportunity. She�
�s avoided being assigned to protect “M”. She won’t be near him.’

  ‘If she was off duty, she could stalk him.’

  ‘I appreciate Polly’s analysis too, but she’s wide of the mark on this one.’

  Later that morning, Cavalier discovered on the internet that last night’s protest had been isolated to Asok and a few streets west to Soi 8. Gaez claimed that he had not arranged it and apologised to the public, although pointedly not to the junta, for the breaking of the truce by some of his ‘eager lieutenants’. The junta generals were critical of his incapacity to marshal and control his supporters. They had warned that they would take firm action against any soldiers who proclaimed their support for him. Gaez had countered by saying that there were ‘too many men under arms’ who backed him. Civil war would result if the junta ‘tried anything’.

  This was the first time civil war had been mentioned in public. All news websites picked up on it and the papers editorialised. The Bangkok Post had a banner headline: ‘Gaez Threatens Civil War’. But a small single-column story was headed more sedately: ‘Junta Leaves Truce in Place’.

  Midmorning, Cavalier phoned Jacinta, to ask if she was okay.

  She replied, ‘Very, very sore, thank you.’

  ‘Better take it easy today.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to! I’m not fit for anything else. And would you believe it? My chief has given me the night off tonight! Actually said I’d earned it! Honestly, I can never work him out. He even tried to sound sympathetic. I guess he is extra pleased with his money killing on me.’

  ‘What will you do? Celebrate?’

  I’ll have a two-hour massage to begin with. I’m meeting my friend Siriporn tonight. We’ll have a little cry together. She saw the fight last night on TV and thought I was going to die . . . And you? What are your plans?’