by Jake Needham
“She’s out. Somebody’s having a birthday party at the Oriental.”
My response was automatic and I immediately regretted it. Why did I owe Tommy an explanation for anything? After all, he had gotten into my apartment somehow and was lurking there in the dark waiting to ambush me when I came home. In my book that hardly entitled him to start asking questions, much less to get any answers.
“Okay, fine.” Tommy’s voice filled the room with a hearty, good-natured boom. “That’s good.”
I wondered what was good about it from Tommy’s point of view.
“How did you get in here?” I asked.
“You ought to be more concerned about how I’m going to get out of here, Jack. That’s what I’d be worried about if I were you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t you just sit down? This won’t take long.”
Tommy tapped the Montecristo against a green celadon bowl he had put on the floor by the chair to use as an ashtray. He smiled slowly in what I gathered he thought was a reassuring way. Other than grabbing Tommy and flinging him bodily through the living room window, I didn’t see what else I could do. And that didn’t seem like too hot an idea, so I sat down.
I watched Tommy as he smoked quietly, smiling in a vague sort of way and looking off in the direction of the lights along Ploenchit Road. He had a soft, almost pink face, and he wore plain, black-rimmed glasses. His dark hair was neatly cut and he was conservatively dressed in a dark suit that was neither snappy nor expensive, a white shirt, and a plain tie with a muted pattern. He didn’t seem to notice that I was looking him over or, if he did, to care very much.
“You weren’t expecting me tonight, were you, Jack?” he asked, still looking out the window.
“I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
“But you should have been, Jack. You should have been.”
He took a quick draw on his cigar and twisted his head toward me when he exhaled, pointing his free hand toward the humidor that was sitting on a desk across the room.
“You want a cigar or something?”
“It’s my apartment, Tommy. If I want a fucking cigar, I’ll get it myself.”
He nodded slowly at that, but I noticed he had stopped smiling.
“Okay, here it is,” he said.
Tommy tapped the arm of the chair lightly with his fingers.
“We asked you to stay away from the Asian Bank of Commerce, Jack. We asked you nicely. Then we find out that you’re still asking all kinds of questions about the ABC; you’re searching through people’s houses and looking at their personal papers; and you’re pitching all these crazy conspiracy theories. Why would you do things like that, Jack? Are you trying to fuck with us?”
“Well,” I said, “I guess that qualifies as getting straight to the point.”
Tommy started smiling again, but this time it was in a way I didn’t much like. I thought about asking him how he knew all that, but decided it would be pretty much a waste of time.
“You see, Jack, the way it works around here is that I’m responsible for looking after some things.”
“Things like what?”
“Money. Banking. Investments.” Tommy puffed at the Montecristo again and I started wishing I had taken him up on his suggestion that I have one, too. “You know the things I’m talking about.”
I didn’t know, but I nodded anyway.
“Those things get fucked up and some people start thinking that I fucked up. Suddenly that would make me a problem for them. And I don’t want anything like that to happen. I don’t want to be a problem for these people. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“I can understand that,” I said.
I still didn’t have the slightest idea what Tommy was talking about, but I figured that if I let him keep talking, eventually he would tell me.
“But you see here’s the thing, Jack. When Barry told me that he had brought you in on the whole deal, I started worrying.”
I stared at Tommy. “You mean Barry Gale?”
Tommy nodded.
“Barry told you what?”
“That he’d brought you in to help with some problems at the ABC.”
“Look, Tommy, I’ve seen Barry Gale exactly once in the last two years, and I promise you that he didn’t bring me into anything.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, Tommy. That’s so.”
“Well, Jack,” Tommy pulled a face. “I’m having a little trouble there.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Barry also told me something else.”
“Yeah?”
“He told me you were looking into how the ABC had been disbursing its funds recently, that you were looking for some assets of theirs that had gone missing.”
“Well, if you believed that, Tommy, you’re shit out of luck.”
Tommy took another puff and then he turned the cigar around and examined the ash that had built up at its tip as if he was looking for something that might be hidden in it.
I waited, but Tommy didn’t say anything else. The longer the silence went on, the more threatening it felt, so I started talking again.
“Look, Tommy, Barry Gale showed up here in Bangkok right out of the blue last week. He told me—”
“I know what he told you,” Tommy interrupted.
Then Tommy went back to his cigar again, leaving it entirely up to me to carry the conversation. I wouldn’t have minded so much, but not knowing what we were talking about was a considerable handicap.
I decided to give Tommy a little jab, just to see what developed. “So I guess it was your people who swung Howard off the Taksin Bridge, huh? And that would also no doubt be your people following me around town instead of the FBI or the CIA.”
I thought Tommy looked startled for a moment and then tried to cover it by drawing slowly on the cigar and carefully tapping off the ash against the bowl at his feet. It was a technique I had used on a few occasions myself when I wasn’t sure what was happening, so I thought I recognized a slight opening. I pressed him before he could regroup.
“Didn’t know I’d picked up on your flunkies, did you, Tommy? Maybe you’d better find yourself some higher quality guys.”
Now I could see clearly how surprised Tommy was. I figured I was on a roll and kept pushing.
“The real question, of course, is why you have guys tailing me in the first place. It wouldn’t be that you’ve lost Barry Gale, would it? That you think by sticking with me you can find him again? Because if it is, you’re shit out of luck there, too. I have no idea where Barry Gale is.”
Now Tommy was staring at me as if I had gone mad.
“What the fuck you talking about?” he snapped.
“I’m talking about you having me followed.”
Tommy looked disgusted. “What do you take me for, Jack? I’m not some criminal; I’m an official of the Thai government. If I wanted to know where you were, I’d just stick a bug up your ass.”
He snorted and started to turn away, but then he stopped. “What’s this shit about the FBI and the CIA?”
Okay, so maybe I had that part wrong. I tossed out a hapless-looking gesture to buy some time to decide where to go from here. Under the circumstances, it came easily.
“It was just a figure of speech,” I said. “I’ve had a feeling that someone is following me, but I don’t know who it is. I guess I’m still just spooked by Barry Gale showing up the way he did.”
“Yeah,” Tommy nodded, “he’s a spooky kind of guy.”
I could see that my mention of the CIA was still turning in Tommy’s head, so I tried to change the subject before he had any more time to think about it.
“I’m really enjoying your little visit, Tommy, but are you going to tell me anytime soon what it is you want?”
“Yeah, Jack, I’ll tell you right now.”
Tommy bent over and punched out his cigar in the celadon bowl with a half-dozen stabs that looked jus
t as harsh and brutal as he obviously wanted them to. Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his hands, and stood up.
“Forget about the ABC, Jack. Back off. Do you understand me?”
“I’m not involved with the ABC, Tommy, and I’m not helping Barry Gale. There’s nothing for me to back off from.”
Tommy turned and walked out of the living room and I followed him into the entry hall. He opened the front door, but then he stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder.
“That’s not the way I hear it, Jack, and I usually hear things right. I’ve warned you to back off and I’m not going to warn you again. Get as far away from the ABC as you can. Believe me, it’s the only thing you can do now.”
I was in some kind of game that nobody wanted to tell me the rules for and I felt like a fool. I didn’t like being a fool and something in Tommy’s tone made me angry.
“Yeah? And what are you going to do if I don’t back off, Tommy? Kill me?”
“You know better than that, Jack. Thais are gentle people with peaceful hearts. We’re not violent like you Americans are.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Then, on the other hand, you know Bangkok, too, Jack.”
Tommy let his eyes hang on me through the pale blue haze of cigar smoke drifting in the apartment.
“It’s tough to get much done without occasionally having somebody shot.”
In the dim light and still air the cigar smoke began breaking into long, spiraling wisps, elegant little whorls that floated gracefully away into the darkness at the ceiling.
“Good night, Jack. Thanks for the cigar.”
THIRTY THREE
I WENT BACK into the living room and got a Montecristo out of my humidor. After cutting it and lighting it, I dropped down in the same chair where Tommy had made himself at home, crossed my legs, and sat staring out at the city. Sometimes I really did wonder what I was doing in this place.
Bangkok was an enigmatic city at the best of times, a place where the mystery of what you couldn’t see was surpassed only by the ambiguity of what you could. But it was also a place of sensual immediacy and lush, transporting power. Something magical always seemed to be dangling just out of reach.
Living in Bangkok, I sometimes felt like I was playing out a scene from The Third Man—lurking warily in the shadows; picking my way through markets, temples, and bars; dodging gangsters, conmen, and terrorists; trolling the streets of the city like Holly Martins searching the back alleys of Vienna for Harry Lime in 1945. Holly Martins did have one thing on me, however. At least he knew what he was trying to find.
The Kingdom of Thailand thrived on its contradictions and it was with these contradictions that it contrived to seduce you. Thai people were generally placid and charming. Somehow they had combined Buddhist stoicism and the upheavals of modern life into a brew of ambivalence that beguiled the Western soul. Mai pen rai—never mind—was the national motto. Who could resist that?
Eventually I gave up thinking about it all and went to bed. Anita still hadn’t come home and I lay there wide-awake, helpless to turn off the conversation with Tommy. There was something in it I was missing, I was certain of that; but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was no matter how often I played it back in my mind.
There was at least one thing that was clear enough, however: I was up to my ass in something I didn’t understand and I was sinking fast.
I was pretty sure nobody but Dollar Dunne or Barry Gale could tell me what was actually going on. Other people might have part of it—people like Stanley and Beth and Tommy—but I was certain now that only Dollar and Barry had all of it. I had to find at least one of them, but which one should I start looking for? Maybe it didn’t matter. I had no better idea where to start looking for one than I did the other.
Actually, to tell the truth, my prospects of finding either of them didn’t seem all that great. I noticed Barry hadn’t bothered to leave his number with me when we had met at Took Lae Dee and, what with him being dead and all, I doubted he would be in the book. And as for Dollar, from the way his house had been ransacked, I didn’t figure he had left a forwarding address with anyone either.
There had been something in the way Tommy spoke about Barry Gale that left me with the feeling he knew exactly where Barry was, but from the message he had delivered that evening I was equally sure he wasn’t going to tell me. After all, how could Tommy not know where Barry was? Surely Tommy was able to keep track of just about anybody in Thailand who he wanted to. What was that he said to me? If I wanted to know where you were, I’d just stick a bug up your ass.
That was a pretty funny line. At least it was for a Thai spy.
I tried again to get to sleep, but there was something in my conversation with Tommy that worked at me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but I just couldn’t get my hands around whatever it was long enough to grab on to anything solid.
A few minutes later, thinking again what a funny crack that had been, there it was.
I’d stick a bug up your ass.
I jumped out of bed, pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt, slipped into a pair of loafers, and went straight down to the garage.
I got into the Volvo and lowered the top, and then I got out again and tried to stand exactly where I had seen the man in the dark blue suit standing when I had caught him leaning over my car in the faculty garage. When I bent forward just the way he had, my hands ended up where the steering column passed underneath the dashboard. I ran them carefully over the bottom of the column and up under the dash. Now that I knew what I was looking for, it didn’t take me long to find it.
The man had hidden the device behind the ignition wiring. I carefully pulled it loose and stood there weighing it in my hand. It was a tiny black plastic box half the size of a cell phone. At a glance, it even looked as if it might be a part of the car, but it had a small magnet attached that held it firmly to the back of the dashboard and I didn’t think Volvo put its cars together with magnets.
I examined the little box, wondering what its range was. That was probably why I had never seen anybody following me. They didn’t have to stay close enough to me to be seen. Whoever had planted the tracking device was probably just holed up somewhere with their feet on a desk, drinking lousy coffee and watching a little red dot crawl around a big wall map. Tommy had seemed genuinely puzzled when I accused him of having me followed and now I understood why.
I stood there in the silent garage holding the gadget for a while, then I walked down a few parking slots, squatted behind a big Mercedes with heavily tinted windows, and snapped the thing up into a hollow in its rear bumper. I rattled it a couple of times to make certain it was secure, then I stood up and wiped my hands on my T-shirt. The Mercedes belonged to an elderly man I only knew enough to nod to, but rumor had it he was a local godfather who controlled a lot of the underground casino action in Bangkok. There was also a widely-held view that he had a great many interesting political and military connections.
My neighbor’s travels would probably prove highly entertaining for whoever it was sitting out there watching that little red dot. I chuckled to myself about that all the way back upstairs.
TUESDAY IS MY busiest teaching day. Two lectures, a seminar on developing effective financial plans for start-up companies, and scheduled office hours for students who want to come in and suck up a little keep me pretty busy all day. I threw myself energetically into all of it, hoping that it might help me to clear my head, but whatever else I was doing my thoughts kept coming right back to the problem at hand.
I had to find either Barry or Dollar and work out what the hell was going on. If I didn’t, I would keep flailing around until I drowned or somebody put me out of my misery. It really was just that simple.
Talking to Stanley had been interesting, and listening to Tommy’s threats had been a real kick, but it seemed to me that I had been doing very little recently other than talking and listening. Something a lot more energetic wa
s clearly called for if I was going to get this monkey off my back.
The time had come for me to hit the streets. To roll up my sleeves. To start digging. Any of those clichés would cover it fine. The idea was simple enough. If I really wanted to find either Dollar or Barry, I was going to have to get off my ass and do it.
The only real problem was I had no idea at all as to how to go about finding somebody who didn’t want to be found. Fortunately, I thought I had a way to cover that. Someone who was no doubt a lot better at that sort of thing than I was came to mind.
Mango Manny probably had eyes and ears in places most people didn’t even know were places. I didn’t know what Darcy had told Manny about me and I couldn’t guess what he might be prepared to do to help me out, but I figured there was only one way to find out for sure.
When my last student appointment of the day was over I went home and made myself a tuna sandwich and some iced tea. Anita was still at her studio so I polished both of them off sitting alone at the kitchen table and flipping through the International Herald Tribune. After that, I showered and changed into khaki slacks, a white shirt with a button-down collar, and a blue blazer. Then I got out the Volvo and drove over to Q Bar.
It might be a little early to check out the action, but it was exactly the right time to find out if a semiretired British hit man with connections to all the wrong people might be willing to do me a little favor.
THIRTY FOUR
Q BAR IS a stylish two-story structure of raw concrete and black glass set off by itself on a quiet back soi in Bangkok’s fashionable Sukhumvit district. Half obscured by groves of gum trees and tall stands of spindly bamboo, it looks less like a bar than the home of a very hip witch nestled away deep in a cartoon forest.
Nevertheless, a bar it is, although hardly just another pedestrian saloon. The place is a shifting kaleidoscope of gorgeous Thai women and flamboyant gay men, flat-eyed Chinese millionaires and hard Israeli hustlers, chubby Arab conmen and twitchy German smugglers, eager American drug runners and expressionless Japanese gangsters. Q Bar is nothing less than a Whitman’s sampler of the international riffraff that Bangkok sucks up like a vacuum cleaner, and by eleven every night it is crammed top to bottom with the beautiful people. Everyone who is chichi enough to count for anything in Bangkok has to turn up at least once a week or risk losing his standing.
