The Solitary Man (27 page)

THE SONG WAS 'MY WAY', the singer a tall girl with shoulder-length permed hair and a sky-blue evening dress that reached almost to the ground but did little to conceal her ample breasts. She stood in front of a large-screen television which 214 STEPHEN LEATHER showed pictures of a young Thai couple walking hand in hand through the streets of Paris while the words to the song scrolled across the bottom.

'Decisions, decisions,' said Billy Winter, swirling his brandy and Coke around his tumbler. 'I really don't know which one to choose, mamasan.'

The mamasan was in her sixties, wearing a sequined dress that tried but failed to bolster her sagging figure. She smiled, showing gleaming white teeth that belied her age, and put a bony hand on his arm. 'Why choose just one, Khun Billy?' she said.

Winter cackled and sucked on his cigar. 'Why indeed, mamasan? Why indeed?' He drained his glass and surveyed the half a dozen girls in vibrant-coloured evening dresses who were sitting at a neighbouring table. 'Who else would you recommend?' he asked.

'Som is always popular,' said the mamasan, nodding at a girl in a skintight red dress with waist-length hair that would have done credit to any shampoo commercial, and a cleavage that could have trebled brassiere sales. She had the face of a schoolgirl, unlined and innocent, and she covered her mouth with a petite hand as she giggled at something on the television screen.

'How old is she?' asked Winter.

'Eighteen,' said the mamasan.

Winter grinned. Som was fifteen, at most. 'I hope she's not too popular,' said Winter, the cigar clenched between his teeth.

'All our girls are checked regularly,' said the mamasan. 'They have a general check every month, and they're tested for AIDS every three months. If the girls are sick, they cannot work.'

'So, what about the girl who's just started singing? Tell me about her,' said Winter.

The mamasan looked at Winter for a few moments, then turned to look at the new singer, who was struggling to keep up with the words on the screen. She had short hair with a fringe and was wearing a tight black dress cut low at the front that only emphasised how boyish her figure was. She wasn't the type that Winter normally went: for, but there was a fearful look in her eyes that appealed to him. 'Ah. Geng. She is a new girl. She only started work last month.'

Winter took the cigar out of his mouth and jabbed it in the girl's direction. 'How old is she?'

'Eighteen.'

Winter grinned. 'Pretty little thing,' he said. Geng stumbled over her words and tried frantically to catch up with the music.

'Inexperienced,' said the mamasan. 'I have had complaints. Sometimes she isn't very enthusiastic'

The lift doors at the far end of the bar opened. All the girls in the bar immediately brightened and turned on their smiles. It was Bird, carrying a notebook. He ignored the display of young flesh and headed straight for Winter's table.

Winter raised his brandy glass in salute. 'Bird, pull up a hooker and join us,' he said brightly. 'You're just in time to help me choose.'

Bird handed the notebook to Winter, sat down and ordered a Singha beer from the mamasan, who spoke to him in Thai. They continued to talk as Winter flicked through the notebook. Most of it was in spidery shorthand but there were several notes in capital letters. The mamasan poured Bird's beer and then went over to talk to the cashier.

Winter looked up from the notebook. 'She was thorough. The DEA, the cops, the detention centre, Hong Kong. And she's getting his passport checked out.'

'Yes. I saw that.'

'And the lawyer. Kriengsak or whatever his name was. He's still around?'

A waitress walked over with a dish of salted peanuts which she put down next to the bottle of brandy. Bird stayed silent until she washout of earshot. 'He's taking a close interest in the case. He was at the hearing. The girl who works for Hutch was there, too.'

Winter picked up the notebook again. He opened it and found the page he was looking for. 'Chau-ling Tsang?'

'Tsang Chau-ling,' said Bird. 'The family name comes first. She's back in Hong Kong now, at Hutch's kennels.'

Winter nodded. 'Hutch has tried to dissuade them from poking their noses where they're not wanted?'

'Yes. But the girl is continuing to pay the lawyer's fees.'

'We can't have the lawyer screwing things up for us. The time might come when Hutch decides he wants to find a legal way out 216 STEPHEN LEATHER of his predicament. We have to make sure that he doesn't have that option.'

Bird whistled softly through his teeth and shook his head. 'Khun Kriengsak has connections in Bangkok,' he said. 'Political, social and legal. He is very well known, very influential. His brother-in-law is a general in the army; he is related by marriage to the Royal Family; two of his brothers are high up in the police. Getting rid of a farang journalist is one thing; a man of his status . . .' Bird left the sentence unfinished.

'Money isn't a problem,' said Winter. 'Whatever it takes.'

'It's not a question of money,' said Bird. 'Khun Kriengsak is untouchable. I wouldn't be able to find anyone to do it.'

Winter looked at Bird through narrowed eyes. 'What about you?'

Bird avoided Winter's glacial stare.

'Well?' Winter pressed.

'I wouldn't do it either,' Bird said after a pause of several seconds. 'They'd move heaven and earth to find out who did it. A murder like that wouldn't go unpunished.'

Winter stared at Bird, and then smiled. It was a baring of the teeth, as artificial as the smiles of the girls at the neighbouring table. 'So if we can't get the lawyer, we get the person who's paying his bills. I've never yet met a brief who worked for free.'

Bird nodded slowly. 'I can send someone,' he said.

'Soon?'

'Tomorrow.'

'Soon enough,' said Winter. He patted Bird on the back and waved his cigar at the mamasan, pointing at Bird's empty glass once he'd attracted her attention. 'Have another beer, then help me choose my playmates,' he said. He jabbed his cigar in the direction of the singer. 'What about her?' he asked. 'What do you think?'

Bird nodded. 'Pretty girl.'

Winter pointed at another young girl who was sitting straight backed and smiling for all she was worth. 'What about her? Apparently her body massage drives you wild. I can't make up my mind between the two.'

Bird grinned and scratched the scar on his cheek. He looked across at the mamasan and then back at Winter. 'It's a guy, Billy.'

Winter stared at him in astonishment for several seconds, then he shook his head. 'Nah,' he said. 'You're pulling my chain.' He narrowed his eyes and stared at the girl. She pointed between her cleavage. 'Look at those breasts,' he said. 'You can't tell me that's a guy.' Bird shrugged. Winter drew on his cigar and exhaled slowly. He looked at the singer, then back to the girl. 'How can you tell?' he asked.

'Thai girls are short. He's tall. The hands are big, too.'

Winter looked. They were long and elegant with perfectly painted nails. But Bird was right, they were big. They weren't a woman's hands. He nodded.

'And the breasts are too good. They're definitely implants.'

Winter sat back in his chair. 'Bloody hell,' he said. He drained his brandy glass and slammed it down on the table. 'Looks like it's going to be Geng, then.' He waved over at the mamasan and pointed at the singer, who had given up trying to sing and was now humming along to the music.

'What about Hutch?' asked Bird. 'When are you going to talk to him?'

Winter flicked ash from his cigar on to the carpeted floor. 'A day or two,' he said. 'I want him to sweat for a little while longer.'

HUTCH WOKE UP WITH a raging thirst and three more mosquito bites on his left arm. He'd left the antihistamine cream in the detention centre and had no idea when he'd be able to get more. He sat up and stretched. His back ached and the skin around his ankles was red raw. The fluorescent lights had remained on all night and he'd had to pull his shirt over his head to get some relief from the brightness. Many of the prisoners had strips of cloth which they draped over their eyes, so Hutch figured that the lights were never switched off. He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.

Joshua was already awake, sitting with his back to the wall. The Nigerian waved a greeting. 'Sleep well?' he asked playfully.

'How come you're so cheerful?' asked Hutch.

Joshua shrugged. 'This is gonna be my home for fifty years or so, so I might as well make the best of it.' He had a plastic bottle of water by his side which he tossed to Hutch.

Hutch drank gratefully. 'Where did you get this from?' he asked.

Joshua nodded at the big Nigerian sleeping next to him. 'Baz. He's a friend of a friend,' he said.

'How long's he been here?' asked Hutch.

'Eight years.'

Hutch looked around the cell. Eight years, he thought. How could a man spend eight years in a hellhole like Klong Prem and remain sane?

'My lawyer said I could buy myself a better cell. Is that right?'

Joshua nodded. 'Baz says there are private cells. The prisoners buy them and pay a monthly rent. Then they can choose who they want to share with them.'

Hutch exhaled through his teeth. The way the prison was run made no sense at all.

'It's Thailand,' said Joshua, as if reading his mind. 'Money gets you anything here. My friend was telling me that at the old prison, rich Thai prisoners would pay other men to serve their time.'

'What about money? How do I get it?'

'You don't. You get vouchers every day to buy stuff, but the rest of it stays in the book. The trustys arrange to transfer it between accounts, and they take a cut.'

Hutch's stomach growled. He had to use tlie toilet, and soon. He stumbled to his feet and carefully threaded his way between the legs of sleeping prisoners. The squat toilet was covered with a layer of dirty brown crud and Hutch wrinkled his nose in disgust. He had to hold on to the concrete wall to balance himself over the toilet. The smell was nauseating and he tried to hold his breath as long as possible. Joshua laughed at his predicament but Hutch failed to see the funny side. His shit came out in a liquid stream. Afterwards he splashed water on himself but he still didn't feel clean. He pulled his cut-off jeans back up and hobbled back to his place. Before he could sit down there were cries of 'Kao, kao' from the lower level.

'Breakfast,' explained one of the Hong Kong Chinese prisoners. 'Kao is Thai for rice.'

Two trustys appeared at the door to the cell. They passed eggs through the bars of the cell, one for each man, and then slid a tray of plastic bowls through a narrow gap at the bottom of the bars. Hutch picked up a bowl and sat down with it. It was greenish water with a spoonful of rice in it. 'This is it?' he asked Joshua.

Joshua spoke to the other Nigerian in his own language. 'We get this or something like this twice a day. That's why they said we should buy our own.'

Hutch sipped the soup. It was lukewarm and tasted of nothing. The egg was raw. He cracked it open on the side of the bowl and tipped it in, then stirred the mixture with his finger. The broth wasn't hot enough to cook the egg and the semi-congealed mixture made his stomach heave. He put the bowl on the floor. One of the Hong Kong Chinese pointed at it eagerly. 'Okay?' he asked, nodding furiously.

'Go ahead,' said Hutch.

The Chinese grabbed the bowl and bolted the soup down as if afraid that Hutch would change his mind.

Matt woke up and rubbed his eyes. 'What's happening?' he asked. 'What time is it?'

'Six o'clock. Breakfast.'

Matt stood up and walked painfully over to the bars. There was one bowl left on the tray, but it was empty, and there was no sign of his egg. He cursed and kicked at the tray, forgetting that his legs were chained. He stumbled and grabbed at the bars to keep from falling. Tears welled up in his eyes and he began to sob. Hutch looked away, embarrassed.

A brown-uniformed guard walked along the catwalk, swinging his key chain. Pipop followed him. Hutch made his way over to the bars and leaned against them. He kept his eyes down and stared at the key as the guard inserted it into the lock. Pipop shouted in Thai and the prisoners began to gather up the empty bowls and stack them on the tray. All around the catwalk prisoners were spilling out of their cells, carrying towels and soap. Hutch and the rest of the prisoners were counted out by Pipop, and they 220 STEPHEN LEATHER joined the rush down the stairs and out of the building, hurrying as fast as they could in their chains.

The bathing area was behind the building, and prisoners were already sluicing themselves down with water from large tubs. Hutch found a plastic bowl which he used to throw water over his arms and legs. He took off his glasses and put them in his shirt pocket, then sloshed water over his face. The sun was already burning hot and he was soon dry. He still felt dirty, though. The water had washed away the sweat but not the grime that he'd picked up from the cell floor. Joshua came over to him, taking small, mincing steps. The chain linking his ankles appeared to be several inches shorter than Hutch's. Joshua handed him a bar of white soap with a grin. Hutch was impressed with how quickly the Nigerian had got to grips with the system. He even had a threadbare towel slung around his massive shoulders.

Hutch washed again, gave the soap back to Joshua, and rinsed himself. A trusty with gold braid on one arm of his Tshirt appeared and barked commands. The prisoners began to stream back into the building. Hutch was one of the last to get back to the cell. Matt was still standing by the bars in exactly the same position as when Hutch had left. Hutch patted him on the back, but couldn't think of anything to say to the man.

The prisoners put away their washing gear and squatted down by the cell door. Pipop and another trusty arrived and took a head count, then led them back down the stairs and out of the building. Hutch kept stopping to pull up his socks so that they would provide some relief from the rough manacles. Each time he did one of the trustys would scream at him in Thai.

The prisoners were shepherded into another building. Inside the factory, stacks of timber were piled up next to rows of ancient wood-turning machines, lathes and saws. To the right were semi-finished articles of furniture: desks, chairs, dining tables and bookcases. The floor was covered with a thick layer of sawdust. Most of the prisoners went immediately to their assigned places but Hutch and the rest of the new arrivals stood around, not sure what to do. Pipop came over and brusquely ordered them to different parts of the factory. This time he spoke only in Thai.