Breathing Water (29 page)

“Okay,” Arthit says. “Tell me about that ridiculous bandage on your hand.”

“This is courtesy of what I think of as the
other
side, meaning not Ton’s guys. I thought it was Ton’s side at first, but it wasn’t. Is this complicated enough?”

“I have extensive training,” Arthit says. “Cosmic string theory is complicated. Imaginary numbers are complicated. This is just two bunches of thugs tussling over a blanket, and you’re unlucky enough to be the blanket. Does the hand hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t let it slow you down.”

“That’s what I needed. Sympathy.”

“Tell me about the money,” Arthit says, touching the bag with his foot.

“It’s Ton’s. I thought I’d enjoy spending it to stick his finger in a socket. And I’m hoping we’re at a point where we might be able to do that.”

“Hoping,’” Kosit says. He reaches down and pulls out one of the drawers in the dresser and puts one foot up on it. “Might be’ at a point. This is all very reassuring.”

“Why?” Arthit says. “Why are they any more vulnerable now than they were before?”

“Because they know that things aren’t working. They thought they had me under control, but now they know they don’t. They thought Thanom could put you on ice, but he couldn’t. Wichat, who’s probably involved in this, is worried about some kid wandering around who could bust his baby racket open. Nobody knows where we are or what direction we might come from. This is the kind of situation that makes people improvise, makes them do stupid things to get the world under control again.”

“But what was the point in the first place?” Kosit asks. “I mean, what were they all after?”

“Arthit called it,” Rafferty says. “It’s politics. Ton’s side, which is the elite who would hate to see Pan elected, aimed me at people who don’t like him. The kind of people who might spill the dirt if there were dirt
to be spilled. We know—lots of people know—that there’s dirt back there, but I think there’s one thing, one horrific thing, people
don’t
know about, except as a rumor of some kind, and they wanted to see whether I could find it, so they could use it against him if he decides to run for office. The other side, call it the pro-Pan side, tried to scare me off because they were
afraid
I’d find the dirt, and they don’t want anything to surface that could keep him from getting elected. Whatever it is, Pan has managed to keep it a secret till now, and that’s why none of those biographies got written: He bought people off, or threatened them, or burned down a printing press.”

Arthit says, “Any idea what it is?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what we talked about the very first night, after the card game. It’s the missing step from ambitious thug to budding billionaire. At some point Pan acquired a guardian angel, and he did it by doing something unforgivable, something indelible. Something that could destroy Pan, and probably the guardian angel, too, if it came out. And I think it had to do with a fire. He was burned a few months before he made the leap. I located half a dozen fires in that time frame, but I think the one we want is a toy factory.”

“I remember that,” Kosit says. “It was awful.”

Arthit says, “Have you not listened to the radio today?”

“Actually, Arthit,” Poke says, “that was high up on my to-do list, but I haven’t gotten around—”

“Then you
don’t
know,” Arthit says. “This is no longer a hypothetical discussion.” He sits up and leans forward, grunting as he stretches his lower back. “I sat here, in this awful room, with nothing to do, and in self-defense I turned on the radio. Big story. Pan’s office announced today that he’s going to hold a press conference on Monday. The spokesman wouldn’t say what it was about, but all the radio commentators seem to think he’s going to announce that he’s running for office.”

“Monday,” Rafferty says.

“Day after tomorrow.” Arthit draws a deep, slow breath and blows it out. “The day of Noi’s cremation.”

“Well, then,” Rafferty says. “We’d better get going.”

“Finally,” Arthit says. “Where?”

“First,” Rafferty says, “we’re going to a camera store to spend some
of Ton’s money. Then we’ll go down to the Indian district and spend some more of it to buy stolen goods. Third, we’ll go see some street kids, and after that we’ll pay a compassionate visit to someone in the hospital.”

“Compassion,” Arthit says. “One of my favorite words.”

T
hey haven’t been out of the taxi more than a minute when Rafferty sees the first one, but only because he’s looking. The kid is about nine years old, dirty enough to have spent most of his life underground, and he’s lurking on the other side of a line of parked cars, watching them through the windows.

Rafferty says, “See him?”

Kosit, who is toting a big shopping bag, says, “See who?”

“Exactly,” Rafferty says. “Nobody sees them.” He turns to the kid and waves him over, but the boy squints at Kosit’s uniform and takes off at a run, and then two others appear, both girls, visible but just out of reach, dangle themselves in sight for a second, and sprint in different directions. It’s the same maneuver they did when they stole the wallet from the man who’d been following Rafferty.

“The old skyrocket,” Arthit says approvingly. “Everybody goes in different directions, and the fastest kid runs last.” One of the girls, thin as a piece of paper, with an explosion of fine hair framing a nervous, high-boned face, has slowed and is watching them over her shoulder. “That one,” Arthit says. “Nobody’s going to catch her.” He takes
a couple of steps in her direction, and she accelerates like a startled hare, threading her way between the cars on the road and disappearing around a corner. “Olympic caliber,” Arthit says, coming back.

“It’s down there somewhere,” Rafferty says, thumbing over his shoulder at the Chao Phraya. All three kids had put the river behind them when they ran.

“Sure it is,” Arthit says. “If they run east, home is west.”

“Boo says it’s a shack, nothing but weeds and mud on either side of it. Just old wood with a tin roof. Right along here somewhere.”

They walk the cracked, weedy sidewalk that runs along the top of the riverbank. Across the river the city’s lights are beginning to flicker on, casting long yellow threads over the surface of the water. The sky is deep blue-black above them, reddening to an eggplant purple at the horizon. The river exudes a dark, sweet brackish smell.

Two more kids approach them from the front, and Rafferty turns to see the other three coming up from behind. They all look wary. “Put your hands on your wallets,” he says. “They’re artists with wallets.” To the speedy girl, who has come closest, he calls, “Where’s Boo?”

“Don’t know Boo,” the girl says, slowing. Her eyes are on Kosit, and she’s ready to run again.

“Oh, sure you do. Look at me. I was the guy in the garage this morning when you helped my wife and kid get away. On Soi—”

“Soi Pipat,” she says, and she gives him a big grin. “We were good, huh?”

“Amazing.”

Arthit says, “You can really run.”

The girl says, “Sometimes I need to.” She looks back at Rafferty, then over at Kosit, with a passing glance at Arthit. “You didn’t have cops with you this morning.”

“They’re okay,” Rafferty says. “Boo knows this one.” He angles a thumb at Arthit.

The girl grabs her lower lip between her teeth. Then she swipes her nose with an index finger and says, “They’re down there. Near the water. You want to see them?”

“Sure. But I need to talk to Boo, too.”

“Then we have to hurry,” the girl says. She gives Kosit another critical glance. “You’re sure about the cops?”

“Look at the bag, the one in uniform’s carrying,” Rafferty says. “He’s Santa Claus. Why do we have to hurry?”

She turns toward the path and says over her shoulder, “Because we’re going to work soon.”

“Actually,” Rafferty says, “you’re not.”

IT’S TWENTY THOUSAND
baht,” Rafferty says, passing the fold of currency to Boo. “It’s to keep the kids from going to work, pay for food and stuff, and buy a little of their time.”

“For twenty thousand you can have them for a week,” Boo says, fanning the bills. The only light in the room is a yellowish glow from four kerosene lanterns, one placed in each corner, a cautious distance from the wooden walls. The flames throw golden highlights on sweaty foreheads and noses. “What do you want them to do?”

“Hang around on the street. Be invisible. Stay out of reach.” Rafferty has one arm around Miaow, who is not only sitting closer to him than usual but actually leaning against him. Her knees are raised, and she has both arms wrapped around them, folding herself into the smallest space possible. She hasn’t said a word. Rose sits several feet away, watching them both. Da is clear across the room, as far from them as possible, with Peep out cold in her lap.

“Out of whose reach?” Boo asks.

“Everybody’s. Send them in threes, so they can do the…the…”

“Skyrocket,” Arthit says.

“I remember you from before,” Boo says to Arthit. “You were at Poke’s. Aren’t you a cop anymore?”

“I’m on leave.”

“Cops are always cops.”

“Speaking of cops,” Rafferty says, “this is Kosit. Kosit has some toys.”

“I’m Officer Santa Claus,” Kosit says. “Is there something I can put on the ground? I don’t want this stuff to get dirt in it.”

“Here,” Rose says. “Real cashmere.” She takes the shawl, folded in half, off her lap and spreads it on the dirt floor. Rafferty starts to protest, but it doesn’t seem worth it.

“Get two of those lanterns,” Boo says to the room at large, and
immediately two of the smaller kids jump up and thread their way through the seated children, lanterns in hand. Boo takes them and sets them on either side of the cashmere shawl.

“Here goes,” Kosit says, clearly enjoying himself. He reaches into the bag and brings out several black objects, then dips back in and gets more. When he’s finished, there are eight of them, sleek and compact, made of gleaming plastic and shaped like cylinders, small enough to fit easily into a child’s hand. “Look,” Kosit says. He picks one up, unfolds a small screen on one side, holds the cylinder up, and moves the barrel slowly across the room. Then he turns it around and pushes a button, and suddenly kids are scrambling over one another to get closer, to see their own lantern-lighted faces on the tiny video screen. “You’re all in the movies,” Kosit says.

“You think everybody can use these?” Rafferty asks.

“Are you serious?” Boo says. “They’re
kids
. Kids can figure this stuff out while they’re sleeping. You’re the guys who read the directions.”

“They need to keep them out of sight,” Rafferty says. “Under their shirts or something, until they absolutely have to pull them out. And the people they’re photographing can’t see them.” He picks one up. “Watch. The screen swivels up, so you can look down at it. Hold the camera at chest or even belt level, just don’t bring it up to the eye. Anything held up to the eye is a dead bust.”

“Anything else?” Boo says. “I mean, anything we can’t work out ourselves?”

“Yes. I’m deadly serious about them staying out of reach. If anyone even looks at you, beat it. Walk away. If they come after you, run. But these things have a zoom lens, so don’t get close. Is that understood? Because if it isn’t, we can forget it right now.”

“Relax,” Boo says. “This isn’t as dangerous as what they do every night. Sooner or later one of the pedos is going to grab a kid and hold him hostage while he tries to talk his way through the cops.”

At the word “pedos,” Arthit and Kosit both look up at Boo. Before they can ask a question, though, Rafferty says, “But I’m not responsible for that. They’re not doing that for me. They’re doing
this
for me, and they’ll be careful, all right?”

“Pedos’?” Kosit demands, his eyes narrow.

“I’ll tell you later,” Rafferty says.

Boo says, “Who are we watching?”

“A bunch of guys,” Rafferty says. “You’ve met Pan and Dr. Ravi, so you should be on the team at Pan’s place, but stay out of sight. Officer Kosit has pictures of most of the others.”

“They just brought me along to carry stuff,” Kosit says. He reaches back into the bag and takes out a manila envelope. From the envelope he withdraws several black-and-white photographs, pulled from police files by the patrolman who helped him arrest Rafferty. He puts the first one on the shawl.

“Wichat,” Boo says sourly, looking down. “Some of us already know him by sight.”

“I do,” says the girl with the exploding hair.

“Okay,” Boo says, “you and two others will be on Sathorn.” To Kosit he says, “Who else?”

“A cop,” Kosit says, putting a photo of Thanom on the shawl. “This is someone to be very careful of.”

“Looks like a monkey,” Boo says.

“He
is
a monkey,” Arthit says. “He’s the world’s only man-eating monkey.”

“And there’s also a rich guy,” Rafferty says. Ton looks up, startled by the camera, in one of the photos taken at the malaria event. Captain Teeth glowers over Ton’s shoulder “The guy just behind him is not anyone to get close to.”

Rafferty spreads the pictures out. “There’s one more,” he says. “But we haven’t got a photo. He’ll probably be with these two, or with the one with the bad teeth, there, in the picture. You’ll pick them all up at the house where the rich guy, whose name is Ton, lives, or maybe at his office.”

“You have addresses?” Boo is examining the photos one at a time.

“Sure,” Rafferty says.

“And what you want…” Boo says.

“I want everything they do, wherever they go. And I’ll say it one more time: I want the kids to stay as far away as possible. I’d rather have bad pictures, or no pictures, than to have a kid get caught. Teams of no fewer than three, so they divide up if they get chased.”

“Phones,” Kosit prompts.

“Right. Here’s how you talk to me, and to each other, if anything happens.”

Kosit upends the bag, and a dozen cell phones, all makes and several colors, cascade out. “Stolen and resold,” Kosit says. “Although as a cop I’d never say that. The SIM cards are all new, bought for cash. Prepaid up to five thousand baht each. No records, nothing that can be traced.”

“And one each for you and Rose,” Rafferty says to Miaow, picking up two of them. “Get out your old ones.”

Not speaking, Miaow shifts her weight so she can reach into her pocket. She comes up with her phone, holding it without looking at anyone. She seems to be staring through the nearest wall and all the way across the river. When Miaow moves, Da’s eyes go to her. Rafferty takes the phone and hands it to Rose, who’s holding her own.

“Throw them in the river,” he says.

Rose nods, but for the moment she puts them on the dirt floor.

“Are we clear on all this?” Rafferty asks Boo.

Boo puts down the photos and picks up one of the phones. “Starting when?”

“Right now. I’ll give everybody money for moto-taxis. Just wave the bills at them. And listen, if anybody gets something out of the ordinary—for example, if any of these people meet each other—I want a phone call the moment you’ve got your video and you’re out of sight.” He gets up, dusting his jeans, and Arthit and Kosit follow suit. “I’m going to say it again, and I’m talking to every single one of you. If you’re in any kind of danger, forget the video. Just run.”

“We already know about running,” says the girl with the exploding hair.

“Good,” Rafferty says. “Let’s get started.”

“
SHE NEEDS TO
work it out for herself,” Rose says.

“She and Arthit,” Rafferty says. “Nobody needs my help.” They have their arms comfortably dangling from each other’s waists, and they stand only a few feet from the edge of the water, now just a black, flat, featureless plain with an upside-down city glittering near the opposite shore.

“Don’t be silly,” Rose says. She turns and lightly kisses the side of his neck. “You help just by being there.”

He leans toward her, forcing her to prolong the kiss. “That’s not enough.”

“She can’t confide in you,” Rose says. “She doesn’t know what’s wrong. All she knows is that she doesn’t fit anywhere. Not at school, not with the kind of kids who used to be her friends. She’s somewhere between here and there, and no one in either place really accepts her.”

“We accept her.”

“Come on. We’re wallpaper. In a kid’s life, the only people who really exist are other kids. Parents are like large, troublesome stuffed animals.”

“So what you’re telling me, in your tactful Thai way,” Rafferty says, turning to face her and cupping her chin in one hand, “is that I should keep my mouth shut.”

“Until she asks you,” Rose says. “Which she probably won’t.” She looks up at him for a moment, and then she says, “I never tell you how handsome you are.”

“And I know why.”

“Don’t even try that,” she says. “You know perfectly well how women look at you.”

“They sense solidity,” Rafferty says. “They know I’ll keep a fire burning in the mouth of the cave and that there will always be a haunch to gnaw on. Even if I put them in danger all the time. Rose, I’m so sorry about—”

“What they
know
,” Rose interrupts, “is that you’d give them a great time if you decided to pile on.”

Rafferty says, “Pile on?”

Rose leans forward and brushes his lips with hers. “Go away,” she says. “Do what you and Arthit have to do. Be careful. Watch out for Arthit. I don’t know how much he wants to stay alive. And don’t worry about Miaow. She’s tougher than you are.”

Rafferty says, “Pretty much everyone is.” He starts to climb up the bank but turns back and says, “Get rid of those phones.”