Big Mango (9786167611037) (24 page)

He looked down at the photographs again and
saw, not the past, but a blurry message from the future. He could
sense a door swinging open somewhere. But where did it lead? He had
no idea.

Chuck took the papers back from Eddie, swung
his feet flat onto the floor, and put the list of names on the
table in front of him. Then he started to run his finger carefully
down it.

“Thomas Mark? Ring a bell?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Eddie reconsidered
briefly. “No.”

“Marion Morris?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. “I think
he might have been a guy we called Bang-Bang, but I’m not
sure.”

“Heluska Jones?”

“That’s me,” Winnebago spoke up and everybody
looked at him.

“So how’d you end up nicknamed after an RV?”
Chuck seemed genuinely interested.

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie pointed to the
list. “Why are we doing this?”

Chuck ignored him and kept reading. “Effrun
Carter?”

“Wasn’t that Donkey?” Winnebago asked
Eddie.

“Could’ve been. I think his name was Carter,
but I never heard of anyone called Effrun before.”

“Patty O’Connell?”

“No, but he sounds like a black guy.”

Chuck gave Eddie a long look. “This list
doesn’t really interest you a lot, does it, Dare?”

“It’s bullshit. I already told you. I’m not
sure about anybody on that list other than Winnebago.”

“That’s not true. You’re sure about at least
one other guy.” Chuck smiled and tapped his forefinger on the top
sheet. “Rupert Edward Dare. There’s even an address and telephone
number here: 469 Grant, San Francisco. 415-555-7104. Those both
right?”

“Yeah, they’re right. What’s your point?”

“My point?” Chuck reared back in his chair
and folded his arms. “You’re connected to Harry Austin, Dare. You
claim that somebody hired you to find out what happened to him, but
that’s crap. You’re in this for yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Eddie said.

But he thought to himself, well, maybe it
was.

“Suit yourself,” Chuck said. “But I’m not
going to sit here all night and let you blow smoke up my ass. I’m
done.”

“So you’re not going to help us?” Eddie
asked.

“Hey, I’m an agent of the United States
government, not a fucking PI.”

“You’re a cop and I need your help.”

“Nah, I’m not a cop. I’m just a DEA observer
out here. I got no jurisdiction in Thailand. I observe.” Chuck drew
the word out as if he really enjoyed the sound of it.

“That’s it?” Bar looked surprised. “You’re
not going to do anything at all for them.”

“Sure. I’ll do something for them. I’ll tell
them what this is all about. Dare already knows, of course, but
maybe it will help him out to understand that I know, too.” Chuck
spread his hands and leaned forward in a gesture of mock
confidentiality. “This has something to do with money.”

“Everything’s got something to do with
money,” Bar snorted.

“Yeah, but this has something to do with a
shitload
of money.”

Chuck shot a look at Lek, but Lek didn’t seem
to notice. She continued to stare expressionlessly at the
tabletop.

“I think Austin was involved in some kind of
scam while he was still in the service,” Chuck said. “Maybe a few
other people were in on it, too.”

Chuck looked pointedly at Eddie for a long
moment and then he went on in a casual voice.

“Now it seems like somebody has worked that
out besides me. These pictures here…” Chuck waved toward the copies
stacked on the table, “were obviously a warning to Austin that the
game was up; the time had come for him to share the money he had
scammed.”

“Are you saying that somebody murdered Harry
over money?” Lek’s voice seemed to come from a distance and
everyone looked at her.

“Yep.” Chuck’s nose twitched.

“What about the other pictures?” Bar
demanded. “The ones we got.”

“Whoever sent them figures that Dare knows
something; maybe even how to get at the money now that Austin’s
dead. The pictures sent to Dare and Jones were a warning to them
stay away and leave the dough to whoever killed Austin. The picture
you got means you’d better not get involved either.” Chuck paused,
reviewing his words. “How does that sound? Pretty sensible?”

“Who are these people you’re talking about?”
Eddie asked.

“How the fuck should I know?” Chuck’s eyes
were hooded, a shooter’s eyes. “You want to know who’s after you?
Don’t come crying to me, Dare. Kick some ass and take some
names.”

“Forget it,” Eddie answered. “I’m just a
middle-aged lawyer from San Francisco. Soldier of fortune stuff is
way over my head.”

Chuck looked pensive, but he didn’t say
anything. He reached down with his forefinger and sketched a little
design on the tabletop as if he were drawing a map.

“So what now?” Bar eventually asked him.

Chuck stopped drawing on the table and
yawned, stretching in a way that Eddie thought was particularly
unconvincing. “I’m tired. I’m going home,” he said.

“That’s fine with me.” Eddie pushed back his
chair and stood up. “I’m sick of all this attitude, McBride. I’m
out of here.”

“What?” Bar was puzzled. “You just had four
guys try to grab you on the street and now you’re just going to
walk back outside?” He turned toward Chuck. “How about getting them
some protection at least?”

“Oh, jeez, sure,” Chuck nodded. “I almost
forgot. I’ll just call Bubba right now and get you covered around
the clock. Maybe the Secret Service is available. How about that,
Dare? Would you like Secret Service protection?”

Eddie examined Chuck’s face closely, but he
quickly decided that irony was beyond the man and dismissed his
reference to the Secret Service as nothing more than a
coincidence.

“I’m serious, Chuck,” Bar went on. “Somebody
may be waiting outside right now. What do you expect these guys to
do?”

“I don’t have the first fucking clue, Bar.”
Chuck stood up and held the door open. “Don’t get lost, Dare. Just
follow the hall all the way to the left and it will take you right
out to the main gate.”

“Oh, man,” Winnebago said, as he stood up to
follow Eddie. “Like I asked for this shit or something.”

Eddie glanced back when they got to the end
of the corridor. Chuck McBride was still standing with Bar and Lek
at the conference room door. Bar was talking and angrily chopping
at the air with his hands, but Eddie sensed Chuck was only
pretending to listen. Instead, his eyes were following Eddie and
Winnebago intently and his face nearly glowed with excitement.

All at once, Eddie got it.

McBride had known for a long time that Harry
Austin had hijacked the Bank of Vietnam’s reserves in 1975. He just
didn’t know how Austin had managed it or what he had done with the
money. Eddie was willing to bet that McBride had been hot on
Austin’s trail once. He had probably gotten so close he could
almost taste it, but he had been pushed out of the game when
someone killed Harry and he wanted back in.

Just when McBride had almost given up on
finding a way, Eddie had appeared like a sign in the sky. McBride
didn’t know if Eddie had been part of Harry Austin’s scam or not,
but he knew for sure that somebody thought he had been. Best of
all, whoever that was seemed to be closing in on Eddie fast,
looking to get at whatever was left of the Bank of Vietnam’s money
through him. Just as they had once, no doubt, tried to get at it
through Harry Austin.

Now Eddie knew for sure he wasn’t going to
get any help from the embassy. McBride wouldn’t let that happen.
McBride’s game was to use Eddie to draw the opposition out into the
open. He wanted to keep Eddie dangling out there, a hopelessly
conspicuous white man stumbling around Bangkok, a slow-moving,
easy-to-hit target. McBride was setting a trap, and he had picked
Eddie for the cheese.

Opening and closing his fists, his gaze
lingering on McBride, Eddie felt transported for a moment by
righteous anger, but it quickly faded. Keeping his eyes locked on
McBride’s, Eddie slowly lifted the middle finger of his right hand
until it pointed straight at the ceiling.

Then he turned away and walked out the door
and was swallowed up by the languid, pungent soup of the Bangkok
night.

FLAGGING
down the first taxi
he saw, Eddie slid in, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back
against the seat while he left Winnebago to convince the driver to
take them to the Oriental Hotel instead of to a massage parlor.

Eventually the taxi pulled away, turned right
into Rama IV Road, and immediately bogged down in heavy traffic.
Eddie concentrated on the flaking paint of the green and white bus
wedged in next to them until he slid into something approaching the
edge of sleep. He teetered contentedly there until Winnebago gently
shook his arm.

“You awake?”

“Mostly,” Eddie yawned as he straightened
up.

“My new friend here…” Winnebago tilted his
head toward the driver ,”has offered to show me some of the…ah,
sights of town.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You coming?”

Eddie fumbled at his sleeve until he tilted
his wristwatch up into the light. It read a little after
eight-thirty and that immediately confused him. How could it be
eight-thirty? They hadn’t even gotten to the Stardust until
nine.

As the cobwebs cleared, it occurred to him
that he hadn’t reset his watch to Bangkok time and that it must be
eight-thirty in San Francisco. But was that morning or night? He
tried briefly to work it out, but San Francisco had become such a
vague concept for him that he suddenly realized he didn’t care.

“Many number one girl!” the driver sang out
jubilantly. “Give you good price. Two for one deal.”

Eddie looked around and noticed they had
barely covered a mile in the crawling traffic. He saw the Dusit
Thani Hotel on their left and knew that they were just edging into
Silom Road a few hundred yards north of Patpong. It would still
take another half hour at least to make it back to the Oriental
through the traffic. Maybe more.

“What are we doing in this shithole,
Eddie?”

Winnebago’s question had a wistful sound to
it, and Eddie glanced over.

“Why don’t we just get laid a few times, eat
some Thai food, and go back home?” he asked.

Eddie didn’t know exactly what to say to
that—actually he had to admit the idea had an extraordinarily
sensible ring to it—so he settled on a vague nod and closed his
eyes again.

It had all started out as a frolic, an
adventure to be played for laughs, a harmless, middle-aged lark in
exotic Bangkok. The general had waved a big bag of money at him,
tossed in the romance of faraway places, and Eddie had gone gaga.
Now here they were, hip deep in something scary and out of control,
something that had an unfathomable momentum all its own. Worse,
Eddie figured they were sinking fast.

Winnebago was right, of course. Eddie really
had no doubt about it. The only sensible thing for them to do was
to get the hell out of there while they still could and head for
home. And yet…

“What are you thinking, Eddie?”

“Nothing.” He paused, trying to decide.
“Everything.”

Winnebago chewed that over.

“Look, maybe you’re right about going back,”
Eddie finally said. He glanced at his watch again and then out at
the bedlam of Silom Road. “Let me out here. I’m going to wander
around a little and think about it. We’ll decide tomorrow.”

“You going to be safe on your own?”

“I think the fireworks are over for tonight.
Besides, Patpong is so crowded that Bill Clinton could be out there
cruising and no one would notice.”

“Then you think it’s okay if I—”

“Go on,” Eddie cut in. “We’ll catch up at the
hotel later.”

Eddie waved the driver to the curb and got
out. Before he closed the door, he bent down and fixed Winnebago
with a stern look.

“Don’t forget about protection.”

“Don’t worry, man,” Winnebago said pointing
to the taxi driver. “My new friend here will take good care of
me.”

“That’s not the kind of protection I meant,
Winnebago.”

***

SILOM
Road was a carnival
from another planet. Sounds, sights, and smells battered Eddie
until he felt almost weightless. Shouldering through the tourists
trolling the street market and the expats looking for action, he
couldn’t help but think back to the graceful ease with which Bar
had moved through the same crowds and he allowed himself a moment
of envy at his friend’s mastery of such an intense and overwhelming
world. That made Eddie think of Lek again and then he remembered
that she was probably still with Bar. He wondered if he ought to
envy Bar that, too.

A vendor’s display of copy watches caught
Eddie’s eye, and he stopped and picked up a black Casio that had
enough knobs on it to do everything but tune in CNN, and for all he
knew it did that, too. Perhaps he would get it for Mike, he
thought, but that made him remember his call to the States that
morning and left him feeling flat.

He weighed the Casio in his hand, thinking
how good it looked for a fake, and he saw the old woman behind the
stand peering at him. She had the puckered, sad face of someone who
has lived far longer than they had ever expected, a peasant’s face,
brown and flat with the skin pulled down her cheeks and hanging in
flaps under her neck. The woman’s eyes tightened and Eddie tried a
smile, but she would have none of it. He laid the watch gently back
on the table and she glowered at him as he walked away.

When Eddie resumed his slow progress down
Silom, he could feel eyes following him as he walked. He was
certain of it. A half dozen teenaged girls eating sticks of satay
at a small table on the sidewalk whispered to each other as he
passed. An old man slicing chunks off a watermelon stopped cutting
and followed him with narrowed eyes. An Indian tailor hovering in
his shop watched him through the front window, playing
hide-and-seek with him behind mannequins wrapped in tight, shiny
suits.