Paying Back Jack (18 page)

In-your-face confrontation was never a good technique for negotiating a lower penalty in Thailand; meek, playful, sorrowful—that was the path to the two-hundred-baht fine. Casey had a lot to learn about the art of expat living. McPhail decided to make a note to that effect. Standing in the heat of the day, it occurred to him that Calvino already knew this much about Casey, but he had to write something down to earn the two hundred bucks.

SOMPORN HAD GONE AWOL from Zapper three-nine on the advice of his wife's fortune-teller. His wife rarely made a decision unless she first checked with Tanat, asking for his advice on place, time, and position. Somporn's decision to run for parliament had not been made until Tanat had given his blessing. With his daughter's marriage and the election closing in, Somporn and his wife had been spending a great deal of time with the skinny, dark-skinned guru, who favored business suits, gold rings, and betel nut in the late afternoons. His roughness added a natural edge, giving him credibility as he closed his eyes, hands folded on the table, smiling, as if glimpsing some spectacle in another world.

Tanat was seated at a table on the terrace of the Oriental Hotel beside Marisa, the sister of the man who was marrying Somporn's daughter. He held her hand up, his index finger tracing the lines of her palm. He stopped, lips pursed, head nodding, and then continued until he had traced each of the lines. “A very good hand,” he said. “You will have three children and die at eighty-three years old. Your husband will be foreign, and his work will take him away for many days at a time. When you are fifty years old, you will come into money.”

A large red-and-white striped umbrella provided shade from the overhead sun. Juan Carlos, the bridegroom-in-waiting, sat on the other side, leaning forward. Tanat had read his hand several times. “Don't eat eggplant or walnuts. They are bad for your liver.” That was all Juan Carlos had remembered from the last reading.

Seated at the table were his future family, Tanat, a feng shui master, and another
maw doo
who specialized in reading skulls and faces, though he'd recently branched out, entering the amulet business. Marisa thought her brother's future mother-in-law had put together the equivalent of a movie star's complement of trainer, nutritionist, and hairdresser. They had come together for one last examination of the Spanish brother and sister. Marisa and Juan Carlos had grown up in Catalan culture; they could, in a way, understand the values, traditions, and love of family shown by the Thais. A vapor trail of superstition hung above the table, streaking the conversations with sentiments from an old, traditional culture. For a moment, she almost felt at home. But that feeling passed and a more disturbing picture snapped into focus.

Several close friends of the bride's father stared into their menus as waiters hovered, ready to take their orders. They joked and laughed, stretching out the time. But despite the laughter, there was an undertone of seriousness. A lot was at stake: power, family, and influence. Marriage was a serious matter. Running for parliament was a serious and dangerous matter, too. They watched Marisa smoking as if they'd never seen a woman smoke before. It didn't bother her. She drew in another lungful and slowly exhaled.

When Marisa studied her future sister-in-law's features, she could detect what had been transplanted, softened, and made more elegant from her father's face. Somporn's face next to his daughter looked more like a first draft, a beta version of what would be realized in his children. Kalya's face had certain echoes from the father, but Marisa concluded that she had drawn more from her mother. Niran, her brother, sitting next to the mother, had her full lips and large eyes. A younger version of his father, he fiddled with a gold cigarette lighter. The whole family had been smiling since they'd arrived with their entourage of gurus, courtiers, bodyguards, advisers, and relatives.

“When I am elected, I will help my people,” said Somporn.

Somporn had no policies to sell; he felt he didn't need them. He showed up at gatherings with his funny stories and lots of good jokes, and he relied on his wit and faux upcountry charm act to ensure victory in his district. He understood Thais voted for people they liked, and to be liked, a candidate must have a good heart. And that was
all that mattered. Pundits said Somporn's manner reminded them of Thaksin, the old prime minister who had been overthrown in a coup but had shown resilience in a political comeback. The campaign act left Marisa cold; she couldn't find a flicker of insincerity when he uttered such pronouncements. That was the most disturbing discovery: a politician who had convinced himself that pursuing his self-interest advanced the interest of the public.

Lawan, the mother, solid and determined, looked regal with her narrow mouth and intense eyes that constantly surveyed the people at the table. She had a clean jawline, though age had softened it. An early version of that jaw had been inherited by the bride. The resemblance was striking, as if the template of her jaw had been molded onto Kalya's face. Marisa imagined those features appearing on the faces of Juan Carlos's children. What got passed on was success; what got left behind died or disappeared into an unmarked grave.

Leaning to one side, the bride's mother nodded and stared at Juan Carlos and Marisa as she listened to a running commentary from the maw doo, who nervously fingered the amulet hanging from a gold chain around his neck.

The Chinese claimed the discovery in ancient times of the science of determining people's essential characteristics from their faces. Lawan asked the guru, who was buttering a piece of bread, about her future grandchildren's lives behind faces much like that of Juan Carlos. The next generation was a constant worry for the Chinese. She had an air of quiet resolution, a firmness of purpose. Lawan left little doubt that she was the power behind her husband's empire and had urged him to run in the election.

The bodyguards and retainers gave her special deference, as if to publicly demonstrate her status as someone who was more than just Somporn's wife. The Somporns had carefully guarded their daughter. A good marriage was everything: legacy, political advantage, and a merger. Somporn had a habit of talking up populist programs. But the family's contempt for the peasant class was only exceeded by their fear that one night they might wake up and find a horde around their beds with long knives ready to slit their throats. That fear had propelled Somporn into the political limelight. It was a fear renewed as he looked at Juan Carlos, the farang, who sat across the table smiling, unaware of what was at stake.

“Juan tells us that you work for the UN,” said Lawan, the sunlight catching the huge diamond on the finger of her right hand.

“I work on a children and women trafficking project.”

Lawan smiled and nodded, a position at the UN conferred, amongst the Thais, a high status upon the person. She seemed to like that Marisa was an official, brushing over the nature of her assignment. It was the position that mattered.

“You look like your brother,” said Somporn to Marisa.

“We're twins,” said Juan Carlos.

“Who is older?” asked Lawan. An important question for Thais, whose informal address depended on whether someone was older or younger.

“I am older,” said Marisa.

“By five minutes,” said Juan Carlos.

The table huddled as whispers shot around in Thai.

Having a twin brother who looked better than her had generated a long trail of comments since childhood. Each of them had, in their way, suffered from the comparison, and the two had been drawn closer together as a result. She was critical of herself. Marisa believed that she was two degrees short of beautiful; that shortfall dropped her into the high end of ordinary beauty. The extra two degrees had instead gone to her brother. A man should never be more beautiful than a woman; it violated a fundamental law of nature.

It wasn't the twin status that had drawn the group's collective attention, however. Juan Carlos and Kalya were holding hands beneath the table, fooling no one. What would voters think if Somporn's daughter were found to be holding hands with a farang? One of Somporn's advisers whispered in his ear. Somporn continued to smile and nodded. So long as the hand-holding occurred out of sight, under the table, like much of what took place in Thai society, there would be no problem. He was confident that his daughter knew the rules and understood the sensitivities of Thai voters as an election approached.

The wedding banquet discussion was suspended as everyone studied the banquet menu. There would be a ten-course Chinese meal with shark's fin soup. They were to be married in a country where the soup wouldn't cause a problem for a politician, and bits of dead shark would enhance his reputation. Tanat insisted that exactly 503
guests should be invited. But the number of friends and family exceeded Tanat's auspicious number by twofold. It was an election year. Somporn asked him to reconsider. They compromised on 888 guests. An independent-film-sized budget had been set aside for an acclaimed Dutch filmmaker who had been following Juan Carlos and Kalya. The couple had been filmed shopping in designer shops in Siam Paragon, walking on the beach in Hua Hin, where the family had a seaside mansion, riding horses, playing golf, and dancing at a disco. All of this footage was being edited down by the filmmaker and would later be inflicted on the captive audience of 888 guests before they were served any food. The wedding would be a
ngan chang
—an elephant event, one to display the status, wealth, and power of the family.

“Ever since we watched Dr. House on a fifty-inch flat-screen, I can't look at a regular TV without thinking I'm sneaking a look through a peephole.” Lawan laughed at her own joke.

Kalya smiled and immediately changed the subject. “Mother, it's not the size of the screen. It's the quality of the program.”

Marisa lit another cigarette from the last burning ember of her previous one.

“I predict you will have lung problems in later life,” said Tanat.

That didn't take a fortune-teller to guess. “I'll take my chances,” said Marisa.

Kalya's parents, at first, had been disappointed that Juan Carlos was a farang; in many ways, the love match represented a wasted opportunity for business, political, and social advancement. They had hoped to marry her into another well-connected clan, one that could deliver a block of voters from the northeast region of the country. Kalya had given them no option but to accept her choice. They were still adjusting to a middle-class farang becoming part of their family.

Kalya tried to make small talk with Marisa. “Juan Carlos told me you've also been a journalist.”

Somporn leaned forward. “You have done many things for someone so young,” he said.

“You might consider working for the family,” said Kalya, who was trying a two-for-one deal. She couldn't help herself.

“I'm happy in my work. I like to think I'm making a difference.”

One of the associates whispered, “Communist.”

“Franco did his best to wipe out our culture, our way of life. He failed. In Catalonia you find proud people who never forget their heritage.”

The table fell silent. A long-tail boat roared past, filling the conversational gap.

Marisa's rescue came in the form of a waiter. Young and handsome, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, he drew attention away from her as he approached with a small whiteboard with Somporn's name written on it in blue marker. He rang a small bell as he wound his way down to the terrace level. One of Somporn's
luk nongs
spotted the boss's name, leaned over, and nodded toward the waiter. Somporn excused himself from the table and followed the waiter into the hotel lobby. Marisa got up at the same time. “If you'll excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”

At the bell captain's desk, Somporn was handed the phone. His mistress was on the other end. “Why did you turn off your phone? Where are you?”

He cupped his hand around the phone and explained that he was at the Oriental Hotel hosting a party for his daughter and her future husband. The mia noi went silent and then screamed at him. He held the phone away from his ear.

“You say I'm important, but you don't care about me.”

“It's not like that. Of course I care. But I need to do this for my daughter.”

“What about me?”

There was always the same outstanding question: What about me? A question those in his political party asked as well. And his wife, and his daughter. It was a universal question that boomed through his dreams.

Marisa saw him in the lobby talking on the phone. He was turned away so he didn't see her as she walked toward him. She heard him whispering into the phone for understanding. It didn't take any imagination to know he was having a clandestine conversation with a woman.

When he turned around and saw her standing a foot away, he looked startled but recovered quickly. “Tomorrow, I can make an appointment. I'll call later once I have my diary to confirm the time.” He handed the phone back to the bell captain.

The mia noi's voice screamed out through space, “Confirm the time? Remember who you are talking to!”

“Some clients can be awkward,” he said.

“So can most women,” she replied, smiling.

Somporn thought for a moment. “You are a clever woman. Like your brother, you will become part of our family. All families have secrets. I'm certain you'll agree that we must always keep our secrets.”

“A man with a secret leads a secret life,” she said.

Once they'd returned to the table, Somporn acted as if nothing had occurred. He launched into a politician-like speech on all of the wonderful attributes of his future son-in-law. He disclosed his post-wedding plans for Juan Carlos. He would be appointed as vice president of international marketing. With nine languages and five dialects, Juan Carlos was exactly the kind of man who could guide the company to new ventures abroad. And what was an empire without expansion plans? Either advance or retreat. And Juan Carlos had come along just as Somporn was planning the advance of his commercial interests in Europe. If his political party, the Love of Motherland, formed the next government, Somporn had been promised the foreign ministry. Juan Carlos would be an asset if that were to occur.