Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0) (9 page)

He knocked on the smoked glass divider that cut off the back of the limo from the driver's section.
 
With a mechanical hiss, the glass slid down.
 
The driver looked back at him.

"Yes, sir?"

"When we get there, just let me do the talking.
 
My friend is a heavy sleeper, so lean on the horn.
 
And turn up the music, OK?"

The driver smiled.
 
"Sure, boss, anything you say."
 
He turned a knob on the stereo, and Caine felt his eardrums pulse as the heavy bass of electronic dance music thumped through the cabin.

Caine smiled and gave the driver a thumbs up, which he enthusiastically returned.
 
With a hiss, the glass divider raised back up.

The limo pulled up to the gates of the white beach house.
 
Caine opened the door.
 
"We're here!
 
Everybody out."

As the girls piled out of the limo, laughing and chattering, the limo driver began pressing the horn.
 
Its bleating honk filled the night air, cutting through the thumping bass of the stereo speakers.
 
The girl with the pink hair bent over the trunk of the limo, and began setting up a line of white powder on a small mirror.
 
One of the other girls squealed with excitement and ran over to join her.

Another girl wearing a skin-tight black dress and six-inch heels slinked over to Caine and grabbed his arm.
 
"Wow, this your house, mister?
 
You big shot, huh?"

"No, this isn't my house.
 
My friend lives here.
 
He's the one paying for the party."

"You must have important friends, huh?"

"Let's find out," Caine said.
 
He walked up to the gate.
 
Its iron bars were gleaming white, like the rest of the house, and a small intercom box was mounted on a pole a few feet away.
 
Caine pressed the intercom button.
 
"Hey!" he shouted into the microphone.
 
"I'm here with the girls."

The intercom crackled to life.
 
A stream of rapid-fire Thai spat out of the speaker.

The girl raised her hand to cover her mouth.
 
"Your friend, he is very angry!”

"Well, he's about to get angrier," Caine said.
 
He pressed the button again.
 
"Hey, come on, the boss ordered six girls and a limo. I'm here with six girls and a limo.
 
Let's do this."

The intercom crackled to life again.
 
This time the voice spoke in English.
 
"We no order girls.
 
Wrong house.
 
You go away now!"

Caine turned back to the driver and gave him the thumbs up.
 
The driver smiled and turned the music up louder.
 
The windows of the limo rattled as deep beats pumped through the air.

Caine pressed the talk button again.
 
"Look, man, we got drugs, we got booze, and we're not going anywhere till I get paid.
 
So get that short, pudgy little guy down here, and let's take care of business!"

The girl leaned over Caine's shoulder and shouted into the intercom.
 
"Yeah, we bring the party bitches!"

"You tell him," Caine said.

He looked back at the limo and smiled.
 
Whatever was going on in the house, he was sure the last thing the occupants wanted was to draw attention to themselves.
 
And a limo full of hookers, drugs, and blasting loud music tended to draw exactly the wrong kind of attention.

A few minutes later, he saw the front door of the house open.
 
The man with the pock-marked face and balding head, the one Caine had pegged as a manager, came storming out.
 
He was accompanied by one of the muscle-bound thugs.
 
The manager shook his fist and shouted at Caine in Thai.

Caine adopted a relaxed pose and gave the men his best smile.
 
"Hey, boss!
 
Look at these girls.
 
Beautiful, right?"

The girl with pink hair looked up and rubbed white powder off her nose.
 
The other girls laughed.
 
"Come on, baby, let's go for a ride," she said.
 
"We show you good time, boss man!"

The thug pushed a button on a small remote control that hung from his belt.
 
The gate swung open.
 
Caine raised his arms and turned his smile up a few watts.
 
"See, I told you this guy likes to party."

The thug walked towards him at a steady pace.
 
He raised his arm.
 
He was holding a pistol, aimed at Caine's head.
 
His grip was typical "gansta" style, with the barrel of the pistol pointed down and the butt tilted sideways.

Amateur
, Caine thought.

The girls screamed and huddled behind the trunk of the limo. The manager walked up the driver's side window and pounded on the glass.
 
The window lowered.
 
He screamed in at the driver in Thai.

A look of fear flashed over the driver's face, and he turned down the music.
 
Only the low chugging of the limo's engine could now be heard over the night breeze.
 
In the distance, waves crashed on the beach, and a seagull cried from overhead.

The manager turned and glared at Caine.

"You make mistake.
 
People in this house, they want privacy.
 
No girls, no noise, no cops, understand?
 
You stupid man.
 
Leave now, or we clean up mistake.
 
We clean up you, farrang.
 
Got it?"

The man with the gun continued walking towards Caine.
 
His eyes were covered by cheap mirrored sunglasses, but there was no mistaking his twisted, leering smile.
 
Caine knew a killer when he saw one.
 
He could see his reflection in the thug's glasses.

Caine kept up his relaxed, friendly posture, but instead of backing away, he took a step towards the gunman.
 
He raised his hands slightly, as if to signal surrender.
 
"Hey, boss, all good.
 
Ladies, party's off, let's get back in the limo."

The girls muttered to one another in scared voices as they opened the door and piled into the back of the long, black vehicle.
 
Caine took another step forward.
 
The gun was only a couple feet from his head.
 
He saw the gunman sneak a sideways glance at one of the girls as she bent over to climb into the car.
 
It was just a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

Caine's left arm shot forward and pushed the gun sideways, towards his right side.
 
His fingers wrapped around the barrel, and he punched downwards, driving the gunman's hand down to his waist. The gun was now pointing ninety degrees to Caine's right, aimed towards the limo.
 
He knew had to act fast, or the gunman might squeeze off a shot and injure one of the girls in the car.

Even as the gun moved downwards, his right hand was winding back.
 
He snapped it forward, punching the thug in the face.
 
As the man stumbled backwards, Caine let the momentum from the punch carry his arm forward, sliding along the man's arm until he felt the cold metal of the pistol.
 
Now, both his hands held the gun in a firm grip.

With a powerful twist, Caine yanked the barrel of the gun, straight up.
 
There was a loud crack as the bones in the thug's trigger finger snapped.
 
The man screamed, and he loosened his grip on the pistol.
 
Caine yanked the weapon away and took a step back.

The thug bent over, cradling his broken finger. Caine swung the pistol butt down on the back of the man's head.
 
He grunted in surprise, and fell to the ground.
 
Caine kneeled down, clubbing him on the head once again.
 
The man would not be getting up anytime soon.

Panting, he turned and pointed the gun at the manager.
 
"You ... take out your wallet."

The manager froze, barely able to comprehend the sudden explosion of violence he had witnessed.
 
His beady eyes glared at Caine with surprise and fear.
 
"You crazy?
 
You try to rob this house?"

"Do it."

The man fumbled for his wallet and held it out to Caine.
 
Not moving, Caine kept his gun aimed at the manager.
 
"All your cash.
 
Give it to the girls.
 
They deserve a tip."

The man did as he was told, taking several thousand baht notes from his wallet and holding it out towards the limo.
 
The rear window rolled down, and the girl with the pink hair grabbed the cash.
 
The limo roared to life, kicking up dust as it drove in a circle around them and then tore off down the beach road.
 
Its red taillights disappeared over a hill.
 
Caine was alone with the man in front of the house.

He walked over to the short, pudgy man, spun him around, and frisked him.
 
The man was unarmed.
 
Caine took a step back.
 
"What's your name?"

The man was silent for a moment, but then spat out, "Lau.
 
Lau Somchai."

Caine pushed his shoulder with the barrel of the gun.
 
The man stumbled forward.
 
"OK, Lau," Caine said.
 
"I want to talk to your boss."

Caine clenched the fabric of Lau's shirt in his right hand and the gun in his left as he followed behind the shorter man.
 
He pivoted left and right, keeping Lau between himself and the other thugs that stared at them as they made their way through the house.

It was dark outside now, and the interior was dim, lit only by an occasional lamp or flickering TV.
 
The house was modern contemporary in style and decorated almost entirely in white.
 
The hired muscle, in their cheap shirts and knock-off jeans, looked out of place in the gleaming, pristine surroundings.

Lau led him out a set of sliding glass doors and down a staircase to a blue-tiled patio.
 
The sound of the waves was louder now.
 
The beach was somewhere out in the darkness.
 
Turning left, they walked down another flight of stairs.
 
At last, they emerged beside a shimmering, rectangular swimming pool.
 
The lights from the pool reflected across the water, casting a rippling glow over the patio.
 

A figure was hunched in a white plastic chair.
 
A few other chairs were set up around an outdoor patio table.
 
The figure was facing a large, flat screen TV that that been set up on a stand.
 
A dirty orange extension cord ran from the TV into the house, powering the Thai soap opera that flickered on the enormous screen.

"You one crazy farrang," Lau whispered as they walked towards the dark figure.
 
"You get in here, no problem.
 
But you never get out.
 
You die here."

"Just introduce me," Caine muttered.

He spotted several gunmen perched on the balcony above them, training their weapons on him.
 
He realized Lau might be correct.
 
If things did not go well, it was unlikely he would leave this house alive.

As they reached the table, Lau dropped to his knees.
 
The pudgy little man bowed, touching his head to the ground.
 
"Chao Mae, forgive me.
 
I fail you!"

The figure in the chair turned to face them.
 
Caine was surprised to see an elderly woman's face eying him with dark, sunken eyes.
 
She was dressed in a pink robe over her fluffy, white slippers.
 
A silk scarf held back her stark white hair, although a single gray curl flopped across her wrinkled forehead.

"Yes, you have failed me, Lau," the woman said.
 
"How many times have I told you, never interrupt my dramas?"
 
Her voice was low and raspy.
 
Caine could hear years of smoking and drinking in the harsh, scratchy tone.
 
Her eyes darted back and forth over his face, like a serpent's tongue.
 
"Who the hell are you?"

Caine eyed the old woman, but kept his gun trained on Lau.
 
"My name is Mark Waters."

The woman turned away and poured herself some tea from a metal pot on the table.
 
"Huh.
 
I'm old enough to know a lie when I hear one.
 
But what do I care?
 
None of my business what you write on your tombstone.
 
You can call me Anna.
 
Sit and have some tea, while things are still civil."

Caine watched as several gunmen moved down to the pool.
 
They hung just out of the light, keeping their weapons aimed at him from a distance.
 
He shrugged and walked over to the table.
 
Whoever this woman was, the men seemed to be protecting her.
 
His best chance to survive was to stay close to her.
 
She made a waving motion with her hand, and Lau stood up.
 
He glared at Caine, then turned and shuffled back into the house.