Bullet Beach (19 page)

‘The people downtown paint me as either a socialist or a Nazi. That's because they don't know the definition of either. I don't like the idea of somebody working real hard to set up a business honestly and then there's guys like Taupin who use insider knowledge, play fast and loose with regulations, and set up complicated business deals that blindside and bleed out their investors. That's why all these corporations have different names. When one goes rotten, the public doesn't associate the others with it.'

‘Kind of creating a brand name.'

‘Precisely. You have to take a special interest in him to put the pieces together and you'll never know when you have all the pieces.'

Cross told him about Edelman.

‘My point, exactly. Taupin is a predator in an angel's tutu.'

‘Angels wear tutus?' Cross asked.

‘Meanwhile,' Kowalski said, ignoring the interruption, ‘the guy trying to start a business on his own gets screwed over.'

‘Survival of the fittest, Kowalski,' Cross said.

‘Yeah, well I'm going to survive,' he said. He stood, went in the house. When he returned, he had a bottle of Scotch. ‘And I'm going to see to it you do as well. How are Maya and your folks?'

‘Maya's six inches taller, still tough as nails, and ready for first grade. She's going to be quite a woman.'

‘The problem is will first grade be ready for her?'

‘The folks are fine.'

‘You still trying to keep the farmhouse standing?'

‘Still trying. What are you up to?' Cross asked.

‘Trying to keep an eighteen-year-old male out of jail for having consensual sex with a seventeen-year-old female. Prudery dies hard here in the Midwest.' He laughed, shook his head. ‘They're five months apart in age, but they insist on going for statutory rape.' Kowalski poured them each two fingers of Scotch. Kowalski sat back. ‘Anything else I should know?' he asked.

‘It's a long shot, but on notes Edelman made, most of them about Taupin and money, he scribbled phone numbers. They had a Colombia country code.'

Kowalski's eyes widened. ‘He can't be into drugs. I mean he's a major league asshole, but he'd be out of his league . . .'

‘The girl in the trunk could be South American.'

‘You call the numbers?'

‘Don't speak Spanish.'

‘I do,' Kowalksi said.

‘Anything you can't do?'

‘I can't get Angelina Jolie to return my calls.'

They sat for a moment.

‘This doesn't make any sense. Taupin and women and drugs. Not at all his style.'

EIGHTEEN

Shanahan wouldn't have enjoyed himself had Maureen not been there. The waiting would simply be dead time. And the varieties of exoticism that existed at this southernmost tip of Thailand would not be so entertaining if he weren't seeing it through Maureen's eyes. Her curiosity and excitement were his.

Yesterday's dedication to look like tourists worked. They became tourists. Whether it was the splendor of the Wat Chalong temple, the flirtatious ladyboys on Bangia Road or the sweaty Muay Thai warriors in the boxing ring, they shared experiences that brought them even closer.

It was a new morning. Shanahan believed that to be safe they would play their game for one more day and begin the search tomorrow.

‘Have you dreamt of him?' Maureen asked as they breakfasted at the same place as yesterday when they met the man with the twitchy fingers.

‘Not since I've been in Thailand. Not once that I remember,' he said. He waited for the follow-up question. It didn't come. She was respecting his desire not to discuss his feelings. But he was feeling more relaxed about things. It wasn't that he came from some fast-paced world from which he would have to chill, it was because time was slowing, moving at a less urgent pace. But finding his brother hadn't become less urgent. Yet because of the pace, the air and the warmth, Shanahan found patience. He also believed – and it was uncharacteristic for him to believe without evidence – that Fritz was nearby.

‘We are still looking, aren't we?'

‘We are.'

Maureen ate the apple-like jujube at breakfast. It was one of the many tropical fruits not seen on the shelves of Indianapolis supermarkets. She had already tasted the juicy lychee and the sweet longan. Advised early by Channarong, she did not partake of the smelly Durian. In fact, some taxi drivers, Channarong told her, refused to pick up fares when the ugly fruit was included in the baggage.

‘Today?' she asked.

‘You decide. I saw you looking through the pamphlets last night.'

‘Let's plan on lunch in Phuket City,' she said. ‘They have an old town.'

‘Old towns are almost always worthwhile,' Shanahan said. ‘Ye Olde Papaya Shoppe.'

‘Sarcasm doesn't become you,' she said, giving him an ambivalent grin.

‘Old towns are charming like old people.'

‘I agree,' she said. ‘I'll be agreeing more as time goes on and so will you.'

Tourism dominated Old Town. The rest of Phuket City was what one expects of a more ordinary capital. It was neither quaint nor glitzy. It was, instead, the heart of Phuket Province administration and seemed oriented to meet the needs of its citizens rather than visitors. There was a locally well-attended outdoor food market, definitely not trendy. Basic grains, fruits and vegetables. The two of them had been the only Caucasian faces in the crowd.

As they had lunch at an Old Town eatery, amidst what Maureen's brochure called ‘Portugese Colonial' architecture, Shanahan looked over a map of the big island they were on to see at least a dozen other islands that could be reached by a small boat. Surrounding Phuket City were mountains of jungle. Surviving might be a problem but disappearing would be easy. While he could not get into Fritz's head exactly, he knew what most people do on the run, the places they hide and the other requirements of their survival – if nothing else, sleep and food.

Shanahan knew that his search was based on suppositions and speculations. Fritz could be up north around Chang Mai, still in Bangkok or some isolated Thai village. He could be in Vietnam or Cambodia. He could be in Las Vegas. Shanahan chose Phuket for two reasons. One, if he were some place else the odds were a billion to one he could figure out where. Two, he believed that because he left his last dwelling in extreme haste, he might have some unfinished business in Thailand, and Phuket was as far away from the ruby business as one could get and still be in Thailand.

If he couldn't be found here, Shanahan would be forced to give up his search. And he could console himself and perhaps confront his dream – he had at least tried to find his brother.

‘He worked alone,' Shanahan said to Maureen who seemed surprised he spoke.

She nodded.

‘He wouldn't be staying with friends. He's staying by himself. That means that from time to time he needs provisions. If he's down here, whether he's on some outlying island or somewhere in Phuket, he'll need something to eat.'

‘And drink, probably. He is a Shanahan.' It was Shanahan's turn to nod. ‘The market.'

‘Which one?' Shanahan asked.

At a hotel, Shanahan made the phone call to Channarong to the number of the throwaway cell he'd provided his Bangkok guide. Shanahan made his requests.

‘Tomorrow morning at ten a.m. I'll meet him there, his name's Billy, right? And he'll have it with him? Don't call me if you can't do it,' Shanahan told him.

They took a tuk-tuk back the 30 miles from Phuket City to their modest hotel near Patong Beach. They brought with them a bottle of rum and some tonic water for Maureen and whiskey and beer for Shanahan.

They sat outside as night fell, content to do nothing, say nothing, think of nothing, just enjoy the other's presence on the other side of the world. After a long and comfortable silence, Maureen spoke.

‘What are you thinking?'

‘Maybe this isn't the time to answer that question.'

‘Sure it is. Do we have secrets?'

‘Sometimes we do. Temporarily.'

‘C'mon.'

‘You know I'm not a religious person,' he said.

‘I know.'

‘If you need to have a service for me, please do. But I don't need one, don't want one.'

‘I know.'

‘I was thinking that I don't want to be in a box. I don't want to be put in a coffin when I die. I don't want my ashes in a box or a vase. I want the ashes to be tossed somewhere.'

‘Where?'

He was pleased that she wasn't upset by the subject of his thoughts.

‘Anywhere. On the lawn, in a park.'

‘In the lily bed?'

‘Good.'

‘And if I go first, the same thing.' She sipped her drink.

When night had fully settled, Maureen told him not to stay out too late. She went inside. He never knew anyone who sensed his moods so well. And he never knew anyone he loved as much. So strange for that to happen to him at this time in his life. He had been so ready to leave everything behind. She wouldn't, couldn't go first.

He might have slept and he might not have. He didn't know. But he became aware of movement near him. Someone was in the seat beside him. And somehow he knew it wasn't Maureen.

‘How did you find me?' It was the voice emanating from a vague shape in the darkness.

‘You've haunted me for a long time,' Shanahan said.

‘Have I?'

‘Yes. And it seems the other way around. You found me.'

‘You were on the trail. Anyone follow you?' Fritz asked.

‘Maybe. We think we've thrown him off the scent. How did you know I was here?'

‘I heard someone claiming to be my brother was asking questions. Thailand is a country of dark secrets. But if you're not afraid of the dark, you hear things. Then I saw you and your beautiful companion at the market in Phuket town.'

‘How did you know it was me? It's been a long time.'

‘I knew. What can I say?'

‘Are you in danger?' Shanahan asked.

‘Yes. Now, so are you.'

‘Let me see your hands,' Shanahan said.

There was enough starlight to make out hands coming toward him. The left pinkie was gone.

‘They weren't all that angry and they really didn't relish inflicting pain. They just wanted me to have a constant reminder not to mess with them.'

‘And are you messing with them?'

‘You have to remember that much about me.'

‘Why haven't you left Dodge altogether?'

‘I'm greedy. There is something I need to take with me. And it's difficult to get to at the moment.'

‘Rubies?'

‘Just one,' Fritz answered.

NINETEEN

It wasn't that the sound was loud, it was because it was strange – a combination of clicking and scratching, metal on metal. When his eyes opened the minimal light in his bedroom was gray, filmy. Cross pushed himself to focus and grasped what was happening. He rolled off his bed quickly. On his feet, he slipped on his jeans. He wouldn't have time to get to his gun and load it even though he was moving at the speed of light. The lock on his front door was an easy pick. He was surprised that the intruder wasn't already inside.

Behind the fireplace was a narrow space, used to house the broom and mop. The opening to it was behind a door that looked like a wall. He slipped inside and waited, hoping he wouldn't sneeze or cough, and tried to control his claustrophobia.

Cross heard the door open and he heard the creaking wooden floor in the middle room as the person crossed it. Cross wasn't frightened of a confrontation. Part of him wanted to engage. But he preferred, at this point, to see and not be seen, to think before acting. His life was on the line and he didn't want to do anything foolish. His place was small. It took less than a minute for the intruder to decide no one was home. Cross waited to hear the telltale creaking as the intruder made his way out. But no creaking came.

‘This is Eddie,' the voice said. Was the voice talking to him? Had he figured out where Cross was hiding? Cross waited.

‘Not here,' Eddie said, obviously on a cell phone. There was a pause. ‘I don't know. You want me to wait for him to come back?'

‘Shit,' Cross said in his mind.

‘If he stayed over somewhere he'd come back here to freshen up. I'll stick around until noon or so,' Eddie said.

Cross heard creaks in the floor. Judging by the direction, Eddie must have made it to the center of the room, probably at Cross's desk. Yes, Cross thought, hearing the metal wheels of his desk chair slide back. That meant he was facing the door, away from Cross's location.

There was no light in the little space he occupied. He had already moved what he could trip over to the other side. What else was in there? He felt around the dark space very slowly and found what seemed like an extension cord. It wasn't much; but it was something. And Cross couldn't wait for six hours. Not in there.

Cross heard his Mac computer go on. The guy was going to poke around, learn what he could. Smart, Cross thought. He'd have done the same thing. It was good for Cross. He wanted the guy's concentration on something other than his immediate surroundings.

He waited a couple of minutes and then slowly opened the space. He stuck his head out. He could see the back of the man's head. He could also see a .38 resting beside the computer – within easy reach. Cross focused on both those things and those things only as he moved toward the victim.