The Fear Artist (16 page)

“Is problem,” Vladimir says, shaking his head regretfully. “Money problem.”

“You don’t even know what I—”

“Before, when you come here, we have not seen you on teewee.”

“Teewee?”

“Television,” says Dr. Evil. He smiles. Janos, whose name Rafferty doesn’t remember at first, is doing his best to look like he doesn’t know anyone at the table.

Rafferty says, “Bye,” and turns to go.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Vladimir’s tufted knuckles close around his wrist.

Rafferty yanks his arm away. “I didn’t come here to meet Alfred, and I didn’t come to chat. In fact, now that I think about it, what I need is someone who used to be CIA.”

“Shush,”
Vladimir says, leaping to his feet. “We can try, yes? They say maybe you not so smart, maybe we can bleckmail. I say to them no, no, he wery smart, but they say
amateur
, you are amateur. Look, look. Three of them, one of me. I am outwoted, yes?” He tries a smile, but the corners of his mouth weigh too much and the smile collapses.

“It’s interesting that you raise the subject of money,” Rafferty says, suddenly aware that all four of the men in the next booth are staring at him. When he looks at them, they lower their eyes in unison. “That’s what I came to talk about, too. But maybe I came to the wrong place.”

“No, no, no. Vladimir is here. You talk to Vladimir. These guys, they joking, always joking, but Vladimir, never joking. You think Vladimir funny?”

“No.”

“You right. Vladimir wery not funny. Vladimir tragic. Only Russian is tragic, ewerybody else just little bit sad. You talk, I listen.”

“Fine. But no committee. These guys stay here. If you want to bring them in later, there should be enough to go around. Or you could just sell me.”

The men at the table Vladimir just vacated give him wide, innocent eyes, except for Dr. Evil, who says in his rustling-silk voice, “It could be very dangerous to sell you.”

“It could be fatal,” Rafferty says.

“So we’ll all come,” Dr. Evil says, putting both hands on the tabletop.

“No. If you guys are going to go conspiratorial, I’d rather you do
it when I’m not around. I’m talking to Vladimir right now, unless Vladimir says different.”

Vladimir says, “We talk.”

“Good.” He turns to Vladimir. “Coming?” and walks out of the bar.

Vladimir follows him down the sidewalk and around the corner. Once they’re out of sight of anyone who might put his head out of the bar’s doorway, Rafferty stops. They’re midway between streetlights.

“That guy,” Vladimir says, “That guy Alfred. Kill you easy, kill you for fun.”

“I’d add him to my list, but I’m running out of paper.”

“Just telling you. Some guy, no problem. This one, problem.”

“And you, are you a problem?”

“I am mercenary.” Vladimir shrugs. “Now Sowiet Union is dust, yes? Now all mafia, no room for honest spy. So you pay me, I am loyal. See? No bullshit.”

“I need help.”

“And I need money.”

“I haven’t got any.”

“Then good-bye.”

“But I will have.”

Vladimir says, “Call me when you do.”

“Here’s the deal,” Rafferty says. “It’s a problem of chronology. I need work done now but I won’t have money until later.”

“This is problem, yes, but
your
problem, not mine.”

“Look, if you’ve got other fish on the line, shine me on. If you want to take a chance on me, do some work now and I’ll pay you later.”

“How much later?”

“Two days, three days at most.”

“And how much money?”

“Five thousand dollars, if you get what I want. If you don’t, I’ll pay you fifteen hundred for your time. But if you get what I want, there will be more money to come.”

“This is gamble.”

“That’s what it is. But it’s a gamble for me, too.”

“How? I am working for free—”

“You may be free, but I don’t know how that makes you trustworthy.”

Vladimir shakes his head very slowly, the picture of someone who’s just heard something he can’t believe. “Then why you talking to me?”

“Because I don’t have any choice.”

“Sure you do. You have Pierre and Alfred and … and … and the other one.”

“Janos.”

“Janos.” He mimes slapping his forehead. “Guy is brilliant. Why not them?”

“Just something about you.”

He nods knowingly. “Is because I am tragic. Tragic people,
only
tragic people, know what is true, yes? We born, we get old, we die. Ewery now and then a little jiggy-jig. But at end,
poh
, dust and stink.”

“And this is reassuring how?”

“Other people, they don’t know. They little bit like the crow, you know? Want ewerything shiny. See money, they think, ‘I can get new shoe, can get fency watch.’ This make them happy, little bit, for short time. Then they want something new. But me, someone like me, we know shoe and fency watch, somebody take when I am dead, not even say thank you. We know only thing we can keep is in
here
.” He strikes the center of his chest with a clenched fist. “I am mercenary, but I am not traitor mercenary. Somebody buys me, I stay bought. Unless they dead.”

“When I’m dead, you can betray me with both hands.” The two of them regard each other. “In or not?”

“What you are asking?”

“What Murphy’s been doing since Vietnam. What brings him to Thailand.”

Vladimir is shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

“Where he’s living here.”

“No. I am not going to be asking where Murphy is living. My life is not beautiful dance, but I like it better than death, yes?”

“Get somebody else to ask.”

“This is cold,” Vladimir says with an admiring expression. “ ‘Get somebody to die’ is what you saying.”

“I guess so,” Rafferty concedes. “Yes or no?”

“This person who will die. What do I pay them?”

“As little as you can get away with. And if you really think they’ll get killed, pay them in installments.”

“Hah,” Vladimir says. “You think like spy. This is big compliment to you. How I get in touch with you?”

“Give me your cell number. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Wery disappointing. No trust.”

“I’m changing phones every day.” He takes out the current throwaway and keys in the number as Vladimir recites it. Then he says, “Good. I’ll call you.”

“Wait. Some things I can give you right now. But I am standing here too long. We go back.”

“No, we don’t go back. We go somewhere else. There must be another bar around here.”

“Is,” Vladimir says. “You follow.”

“M
URPHY DISAPPEAR AFTER
war in Wietnam,” Vladimir says. He’s got an enormous hamburger in front of him, three layers thick, accompanied by a deep-fried onion the size of a hand grenade and beer in a sweating mug. They’re in a restaurant that calls itself the Philadelphia Hamburger Pub and is unconvincingly decorated with old black-and-white pictures of a city that, Rafferty assumes, is Philadelphia. Kids in tattered clothing run through sprays of water from hydrants. Black people on stoops gaze warily at the camera. It’s a little bit of America, even if it’s not one of the bits the State Department peddles.

“AWOL?” Rafferty has a beer himself, the first Budweiser he’s drunk in years. After the fat flavor of Thai beer, it tastes like carbonated butterfly urine.

A shrug. “Don’t know. But many people looking for him.”

“Why?”

“You kidding me, yes? For kill him. Many people want to kill him. Ewen some people on his side want to kill him.” He takes an enormous bite out of the burger, chews on it for a moment, then parks part of it in his cheek. “But no, not AWOL. When he comes back, he is working with Americans. Maybe he is here all along, but out of sight, working for Americans.”

“Government?”

“No, no. I tell you, he is fixer, yes? He is fixer for business. So … priwate.” He tilts his head left, right, left. “Well, okay, maybe little bit CIA.”

“Fine,” Rafferty says. “Fixing what?”

“You pretty young, but maybe you remember then, after Wietnam, Southeast Asia wery poor. Cities smaller, farmlands bigger. America look here and see, ‘Hmmm, cheap labor.’ They still not talking to China then, so cheap labor here look wery good to them.”

“And.”

Vladimir’s eyebrows rise at Rafferty’s tone. “And also they think, ‘Southeast Asia, Communist ewerywhere. Domino, yes?’ So they make long plan. Make business, make gowernment people rich—you know, kickback and stuff—make economic ally and then bring in army, make military ally. This is why here, Thai army and American army wery close, ewen now.”

Rafferty sees Murphy, sitting like a king in that official interrogation area. “So. Murphy.”

“Yes. Murphy. American company want to open, mmmm, garment factory in … in Cambodia. They go to Cambodia, find space, give money to owner. But then someone call and say gowernor need money. Police need money. People who make permit need money. Many, many permit. Company think, ‘
Hmmm
. Maybe no good.’

“So somebody, somebody American, say to company, ‘Talk to Murphy.’ And Murphy, he say, ‘Can do, give me money.’ He go to Cambodia, pay ewerybody, pay not so much as company because he pay all these people many time, yes? They see him, they make big smile and open their pocket. Some money left ower, Murphy take. Okay, now American company need sewing machine, many sewing machine. Sewing-machine company, maybe in Indonesia, need to pay police, need to pay gowernor, need to pay ewerybody. Murphy, he take care of them all, keep some money. You understand?”

“Yeah. He’s the navigator, and he pockets some change every time the ship has to make a turn.”

“But not finish yet. He goes to Cambodia customs office and pays them to let the sewing machine in, takes some money. He goes to labor contractor, gets him to lower money per hour and split difference, some for him, some for Murphy. Not give lady one
dollar sixty for hour, give one dollar twenty. Ewery hour, forty cent, split fifty-fifty. Three hundred girl, forty cent ewery hour, one hundred twenty dollar ewery hour, ten hour ewery day, sewen day ewery week.” He closes his eyes for a second, lips moving silently. “So eighty-four hundred dollar ewery week, fifty-fifty. Small money, but ten factories, fifteen factories, not small anymore. Maybe forty, fifty thousand ewery week.”

“Jesus,” Rafferty says, looking for the waitress to trade in his beer. “He could buy a new shirt.”

“And one more thing. Some small boss in maybe, Cambodia, gowernment boss, make problem. Murphy say, ‘Let’s talk,’ small boss say, ‘Fuck you.’ So maybe he gets acid attack, not too bad, only half of face, maybe only one eye. Small boss say, ‘Sorry, no more problem, ewerything your way.’ If he make more problem …” Vladimir points an index finger at Rafferty’s head and drops his thumb.
“Poh.”

The waitress is leaning against the counter, gazing wide-eyed at the opposite wall, so Rafferty gives up on ordering. “All this is private industry?”

“Hah,” Vladimir says, leaning back in his chair. “Sure, priwate company, but information is ewerywhere, yes? And Murphy have operation ewerywhere now. Forty year he been doing this. Probably he hear more than anybody. Who is up, who is down. Where army is building camp. Where harbor is being dug more deep. ‘The business of America,’ ” he says, startling Rafferty, “ ‘is business.’ This is your Calwin Coolidge, yes? Business is the foot in the door. And eweryone buy information.”

“You wanted to know who he was working with.”

Vladimir says, “Sorry?”

“When I described him. You asked me who he was working with.”

Vladimir shrugs. “People will pay to know. Small money, but they will pay.”

“But when I told you, you looked very surprised.”

“Of course,” Vladimir says. “I think maybe you tell me DuPont or Ford or Reebok or something. But no. You tell me Major Shen.” He sits back and pokes his index finger into the cleft in his chin.
“This is different,” he says. “This maybe ewen important.” He rubs at the cleft again, obviously thinking. “Tell you what: I gamble you, you gamble me.”

“What’s the bet?”

“I work first, you give me money later, this is okay. Like we say. But when you learn more about Major Shen and Murphy, about what they doing, why they come together, you tell me. Maybe I let you keep some of your money.”

Rafferty says, “I trust you and you trust me.”

For a moment Rafferty thinks Vladimir will smile. Instead he nods and says, “Yes. Like we friend.”

I
N THE BACK
of the cab, he dials Helen Eckersley again, gets the same ring and the same request not to break her heart, which he again ignores.

Something in him wriggles uneasily at the fact that she isn’t answering the phone. He waves it off and turns around again, looking through the rear window, trying to make sure that his new friend isn’t following.

And it’s only because Rafferty is looking out the back window that he sees them.

The cab is nearing Khao San, approaching the hotel where he slept the first night. As the cab passes it, two men come out of a doorway and watch the car go by. Then they turn and face the oncoming traffic.

“Turn right,” Rafferty says. “Soon as you can.”

The driver looks up into the mirror. He’s been chewing on an unlit cigarette for as long as Rafferty’s been in the cab, and it’s turned transparent and brown with spit. “But you said—”

“I know, but I feel like turning right. Every now and then, I just need to turn right.”

The driver says, “American?”

“How’d you know?” The cab sways as the driver cuts the wheel.

“I just know. Why do you keep looking behind you?”

“Same thing. Sometimes I want to turn right, sometimes I want to look behind me. I’m an American conservative.”

There’s another cheap hotel halfway down the block. Once
again he sees two men, just loitering, wearing everyday clothes, but something about them announces they’re a matched set. “Tell you what,” Rafferty says. “I’m not happy with my hotel. Why don’t you drive me past two or three more, cheap but not too cheap. You don’t need to slow down—I can tell at first glance.” His imitation-leather bag and his changes of clothes are in the hotel room, and so, he realizes with a sinking sensation, is the theatrical makeup he uses to darken his skin every day. And his passport.