But as she went back downstairs she saw him reach into the drawer where he kept his Beretta pistol beneath a pile of underwear.
Mike Fleet was twenty-six years old, a young man from California who’d gotten to Vietnam just as the Americans were withdrawing. “I never did get to see enough of this part of the world,” he told them when they’d welcomed him upstairs, “so I decided to stay over here and bum around for a few years.”
“It’s a long few years,” Crawford pointed out. “The war ended in ’75.”
“Yeah. The time does pass quickly when you’re havin’ fun.” For just an instant Madame Wu thought she saw the mask of innocence slip. Then it was back in place as the young American said, “I want to learn to kite fight like you, Mr. Crawford.”
“I’m just Crawford here, son. And if you stay you’ll just be Fleet. The locals don’t have time for two names — not when they’re making bets before a match.”
“Then you’ll teach me?”
Crawford eyed him for a moment before replying. “Maybe.” He got to his feet. “Come on — I’ll take you along to the Pramane Ground while I try out a new kite.”
It was some time before Madame Wu could close her curio shop for an hour and join them. When she reached the open space north of the palace she saw that Crawford had turned the kite string over to Mike Fleet, who was guiding it well, listening while Crawford coached him on every movement.
As Madame Wu stood watching from the edge of the field she was joined by the Englishman, Bates. “I see that young American found Crawford.”
“Yes,” she replied. “He came to my shop this morning.”
Bates nodded. “Seems like a nice chap.”
Presently the two Americans ceased their sport and walked over to Madame Wu and the Englishman. “He’s got the makings of a champ,” Crawford conceded, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “Come back tomorrow, Fleet, and we’ll put up both kites at once and spar a bit.”
“You mean that?”
“I mean it.”
Mike Fleet left with a grin on his face.
“Where do all these young Americans come from?” Bates wondered aloud. “What in God’s name brings them to Bangkok? Is it drugs, or women, or what?”
“We have plenty of both,” Crawford replied. “He sure didn’t come all this distance to learn kite fighting.”
Later, back at the apartment, Madame Wu asked, “Do you want me to prepare your pipe?”
Crawford shook his head. “Not yet. Come here. I want to talk. I want to tell you about Vietnam.”
“There is no need.”
“I want you to know about it in case anything happens to me.”
“Crawford — you will live forever!”
He laughed and took her in his arms. “I believed that myself once, when I was younger.”
“All right,” she agreed. “Tell me about it.”
“When I was in the army,” he began, “in 1970, right before I came here and met you, I was given a great deal of American money and sent on a mission into the jungle. I was to meet a man and pay him to assassinate one of the North Vietnamese leaders. The assassination would have been carried out by powerful explosives which would also have killed a great many innocent people. It was war, they told me — and innocent people die all the time in war.
“I knew it was true. I’d seen a village destroyed by napalm just the week before. Well, I went off on my mission, but somewhere along the line I decided it was time for the killing to stop. I never met the man in the jungle, I crossed over into Cambodia and kept going until I reached Thailand. I moved along the coast, sometimes paying native fishermen to take me short distances by boat.”
“But why would they want to kill you for that?” Madame Wu asked. “What you did was a good thing, not bad.”
“That depends on how you look at it. I imagine there are people back home who figure I betrayed my country and lost the war all by myself.”
“It was a long time ago, Crawford.”
“Nearly ten years now,” he agreed.
“Why are you telling me now? Because you fear this boy who has come looking for you?”
“He’s no boy. He’s twenty-six years old. Old enough to be a trained assassin.”
“Why would they send a trained assassin when any one of a hundred persons in the crowd could kill you at a kite fight?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“And if you fear him so much, why have you agreed to teach him to kite fight?”
“Maybe I’ve got some crazy idea of winning him over. Maybe I figure if he gets to know me well enough he won’t be able to kill me.”
“And maybe you’re wrong about him.”
“We’ll see,” he said quietly.
They held a mock kite fight the following evening and though Crawford cut up the younger man’s kite quite badly, Fleet managed to stay in the contest for nearly an hour. Then they switched kites and Crawford demonstrated the techniques of soaring and gliding by which the smaller kite’s long tail could be used to entangle the star points of the larger kite. The young man learned fast, with an intensity Madame Wu could only admire.
But at the end of the evening she had a question for Fleet while Crawford gathered up the fallen kites. “The other morning when you came to my shop — I saw you watching it the night before.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I was trying to work up my courage. Finally I decided to wait till morning.”
“I see.”
“He’s a great man, Crawford is.”
“I think so,” Madame Wu said. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to him.”
“You speak English quite well,” Fleet observed, studying her closely for the first time. “Did Crawford teach you?”
“The Americans taught me. Crawford was the last of many, but the most important one. After Crawford, I want no more teachers.”
“What about this man Bates?”
“He was a doctor once, but when he came here a few years back he was a merchant, employed by a British company. He doesn’t talk much about his past. No one does in Bangkok.”
“Does Crawford?”
Her eyes searched his face. “He talks to me. Why do you wonder?”
Mike Fleet shrugged. “I don’t know. I asked him about Vietnam and he changed the subject. Hell, we were both there! I thought he’d want to talk about it.”
“Some things are better left in the past.”
Bates had appeared from somewhere to speak with Crawford and when they parted Crawford came over with the kites to where Fleet and Madame Wu stood waiting. “Bates says the Pakistani wants a rematch.”
“Will you give him one?” Fleet wanted to know.
“It’s customary. One rematch — like in championship boxing.”
“When?” Madame Wu asked.
“Tomorrow evening.”
“I will need to free more eels.”
Crawford’s eyes twinkled. “What’s the matter? The last batch run out of steam already?”
“For the major kite fights a new ritual is needed.”
He smiled at Fleet. “I taught her everything I know about business but she still can’t face a decision or a kite fight without releasing her eels.”
“She’s a fine woman,” the younger man said. “I wish I could find one half as good in this city.”
“There are new ones arriving every day from the rural areas. Some say there might be as many as two hundred thousand prostitutes in Bangkok.”
Fleet blushed at his words. “I don’t mean a prostitute.” Crawford turned to Madame Wu. “Tell him what you were when I found you, Anna.”
She sucked in her breath and said, very quietly, not looking at either of them, “I was a bar hostess at the Café of Floating Lights. Crawford took me away from that and set me up in business.”