“What the hell?” Nick said, his eyes growing as wide as they could go at the sight of the two new arrivals. “Jesus. Please, just let me go.”
Howard and Donahue took a quick look, and both noticed the pictures on the bathroom mirror.
“Whoa, dude,” Donahue said. “Not your best angle.”
“I take it his visits to these places were not exactly welcome,” Howard said.
“No, they weren’t,” Quinn confirmed. “And these aren’t all of them.”
Howard looked back at Nick. “You’re a sick son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“What are you guys going to do to me?” Nick asked.
“Go ahead and cut him down,” Quinn said to Howard. “I’ll be right back.”
He returned to the den, grabbed a pen off the desk, and retrieved the final printout from the printer. When he got back to the bathroom, Nick was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his wrists and ankles still restrained.
Quinn set the printout on the counter. “You’re going to sign this,” he told Nick, then held the pen out to him.
“What is it?” Nick asked.
“Does it matter?”
Nick’s gaze flicked from Quinn to the other men and back, then he took the pen awkwardly in his hand. “I don’t know if I can write like this,” he said. “Maybe if you take this tape off.”
“I think you’ll do just fine.”
Donahue heaved Nick to his feet and helped him get to the counter. The printout was a letter to Nick’s wife.
Carol,
By now you’ve seen the pictures, so there is no need to explain why I left. You don’t have to worry about me coming back, either. I won’t. The only thing I’m taking with me is some clothes. I’m sorry. I’m very sick, and can no longer pretend that I am not. The last thing I want is to hurt you any further. You will never hear from me again. I promise you that.
Nick read the letter, then looked at Quinn. “You’re going to show her the pictures?”
“No,” Quinn said. “You are. I was never here. Now sign it.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not going to—”
Quinn pulled Nick’s gun out of his jacket pocket. “Sign it.”
Looking like he was about to cry, Nick signed the letter.
“Good,” Quinn said.
He took a piece of tape from the dispenser he’d brought in for the pictures, and hung the letter on the mirror below the gallery of Nick’s exploits. He then removed the picture of Nick and his wife, folded it, and put it in his pocket. The doctor probably wouldn’t want a visual reminder of her mistake hanging there with the other shots.
“Time to go,” Quinn said.
“Go where? Where are you taking me?” Nick asked.
“Away.”
Quinn opened the box Howard had given him. Inside was a preloaded hypodermic.
Nick seemed to be stunned into silence.
“This is a little something we call IRBD,” Quinn said.
“No. Please. I’ll do whatever—”
“That’s short for ‘I’d Rather Be Dead,’ ” Quinn went on. “See, this is going to paralyze you for the next thirty-six hours. During that time, you’ll be aware of everything that’s going on, but unable to do anything about it. The unfortunate side effect is, you’ll permanently lose your voice.”
“Oh God! Why?”
“It’ll make traveling a little easier for you.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace where others will deal with you.”
Before Nick could say another word, Quinn plunged the needle into his arm. After that, it was only a few seconds before the drug took effect.
For the second night in a row, Quinn went to Taste of Siam for dinner. This time, when he came in, Natt eyed him warily from the bar.
“Sawadee khrap,” he said to her as he sat down.
“Sawadee ka,” she replied somewhat reluctantly.
“Singha, please. And I’ll go for the pad kee mao tonight. Extra spicy.”
“Okay, Khun Jonathan. Whatever you want.”
As she retreated to the kitchen, Quinn looked around the restaurant. It was a little earlier in the evening than it had been the previous night, so there were fewer customers. The karaoke hadn’t started up, and he didn’t see Ice anywhere. For a few minutes he wondered if maybe she had the night off or had decided not to come in at all, worried that Nick might return. Then he heard the restroom door open at the back of the other half of the restaurant, and a few seconds later, she walked down the aisle to the karaoke machine.
He watched as she started setting everything up. When she finally noticed him, she froze, a worried look on her face. Apparently Natt had told her about their conversation outside the kitchen. He waved her to come over, but she stayed where she was.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Just for a minute.”
Natt came out of the kitchen, grabbed a beer out of the cooler and carried it over to Quinn. Seeing her friend behind the bar seemed to break Ice’s resistance, and she came over and joined them.
He looked at Ice. “You can go back to your apartment now.”
“No,” she said. “Cannot. He might—”
“He won’t.”
She stared at him, her look telling him she wanted to believe what he said, but unsure if she could.
“Never?” Natt asked.
“Never. Neither of you will ever see him again.”
“He move away?” Ice asked, still confused.
“Yes. He moved away.”
Finally, he could feel some of Ice’s tension dissipate.
“You sure?” she asked.
“One hundred percent.”
The corner of her mouth curled up just a bit. “Okay,” she said, her tone still cautious. “I believe you.”
He glanced at Natt. She looked relieved. No doubt she’d been worried about whether she should have talked to him at all. “I believe you, too,” she said.
Later, when Ice was back at the karaoke machine, singing and smiling and laughing, Natt leaned across the bar and whispered, “You not just say that to make Ice happy, are you?”
“No. I said it because it’s true.”
She was silent for a moment. “What kind of man are you?”
He shrugged.
She locked eyes with his, her gaze boring deep into him. Finally, the trace of smile began to form on her face. “I know answer. You good man,” she said, then wandered off.
Once he’d finished eating and drained the last of his beer, Quinn said, “Check, please.”
“No check,” Natt said.
He looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?”
“You no pay.”
“That’s not necessary. I want to.”
“Nick really gone?”
“He’s gone.”
“Then you no pay.”
Knowing he would never change her mind, he pulled a twenty out of his pocket and put it by his plate.
“I tell you, you no pay,” Natt said, picking up the twenty and holding it out to him.
“Tip,” he said.
She frowned for a moment. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay,” she said, her frown turning playful. “Khob khun ka.”
A curious thing happened as he stood up. The two other waitresses ran over, put their hands together and bowed their heads in a traditional wai, and said, “Thank you for coming.”
As this was going on, Ice handed the karaoke mic to a customer and hurried over.
“You leaving?” she asked.
“Yes,” he told her.
“Come back soon, okay?”
“I will,” he said.
She gave him a deep, respectful wai. “Khob khun ka, Khun Jonathan.”
He retuned the wai, then headed outside. If his mentor Durrie had still been around and known what he’d just done, he would have been shaking his head. “Didn’t you listen to anything I taught you?” he would have said. “Never use your training to help someone on the outside! What do you say to that?”