But as much as Durrie had taught him, there were some rules Quinn discovered he could only use as guidelines. This one, it turned out, was one of those.
“Khun Jonathan.”
Quinn looked back. Natt had just come out the front door.
“I told you it’s a tip,” he said.
“I know is tip. I keep tip, no problem.”
He waited, seeing there was something else she wanted to say.
“Where he go?” she asked. “Where he go that he not come back?”
Quinn looked west down Sunset Boulevard. By the time Natt and Ice got off work at four in the morning, Nick would be at his destination. It seemed fitting that Quinn had sent him to Thailand. An hour after Nick was set up in a hotel room in Bangkok, just about the time his paralysis would begin to wear off, the police would come knocking at his door.
Well, not knocking. Barging in. That’s what they did when they got a tip that a major foreign drug smuggler was in town. In Nick’s luggage, they’d find the drugs planted by Quinn’s contacts in Thailand, more than enough to put Nick in a Thai prison for the rest of his life. Which seemed like a fair trade-off for the life he had been leading.
Quinn looked back at Natt, gave her a smile and a wai, then walked down the street toward his car.