"Some people probably respond to it better than I do."
Elson says, "Pretty much everybody responds to it better than you do." He drops the money on the desk. "In that office, when I said I'd told you to shut up and you said you forgot, I damn near laughed."
"Shame you didn't. Things might have gone a little better."
"We're where we are," Elson says. He comes back to the bed and sits, facing Rafferty. "I've got a million questions," he says. "This all seems very sweet, but not if my ass is going to be hanging out there, getting rained on."
On cue, a gust of wind slams against the window, rain hitting the glass like bullets. Elson bares his teeth at it and says, "How can you live here?"
"I like it."
"This is my first monsoon," he says. "One is enough." Behind him, through the window, the wind is lashing palm trees around as though they were peacock feathers. "Such a great word, 'monsoon.' I expected something-oh, I don't know-something more romantic. Girls in sarongs hanging on to palm trees or something."
"You're in Bangkok. You want girls in sarongs hanging on to palm trees, I can probably give you a phone number."
Elson actually grins. "Bullshit."
"Monsoons grow on you. And this one's going to be a dilly."
Elson regards the storm with a little more interest. A huge palm frond whips past the window, and he turns back to Rafferty. "So. I get the money, the North Korean and his connections-"
"You'll have to get those out of him yourself."
"Fine. And the big guy who's also in the game and who torched the CIA man."
"PrettymanRafferty says, surprised at his own vehemence. "Arnold Prettyman. He wasn't much, but he had a name."
Elson lifts a palm, fingers pointing up, and wipes it back and forth, erasing the words. "Okay, okay, he had a name. I'm going to tell you something else I shouldn't. There's a folder in that desk over there. You're in it. You're not the cleanest guy in the world, but you're not the dirtiest either. Some people say nice things about you. I should have read it before I busted in on you."
"You've read it now," Rafferty says.
"Yeah, and it's enough to make me wonder what you're getting out of this." "Something that was taken from me." Elson lowers his head and regards Rafferty over the top of his glasses. "Yours legally?" "To the extent that anybody belongs legally to anybody else." The agent's lips purse as though he is going to whistle. "People?" Rafferty nods. "People you care about." "Are you married?" Elson hesitates and then says, "Yes." "Got kids?" "Two." "What would you do to get them back if someone took them?" Elson's face empties while he thinks about it. "Anything." "What about the lines?" "If my family's involved? Fuck the lines." "Pretty much the way I feel." "I'm sorry to hear it. And not to be a prick, but that's your issue and I'm sure you're going to take care of it. On my end of things, what do I do?" "You wait for me to call you around five this morning and tell you where it's going down. And I'll tell you then how it works, and you can pull out if you want to." "Why not now?" "I'm waiting to put a few more stepping-stones in place." "Great," Elson says. "You're working on the fly." "My turn to ask a question." Elson closes his eyes, drops his head, and puts his fingers wearily to his forehead, where the door hit it. "Why not?" "I've seen you flash that gun around. Are you any good with it?" For a moment Rafferty thinks Elson will smile again. Instead he says, "Better than you can imagine."
40
I'll Never Sleep on It Again Anyway
He's getting the rubies," Frank says on Rafferty's cell phone.
"The papers."
"He's not going to settle for the rubies and the papers." Rafferty is on his way home from Elson's hotel, in the backseat of a cab. He chose a cab instead of a tuk-tuk in deference to the rain, which has achieved epic scale. In four blocks they have passed half a dozen stalled cars and two accidents. The sidewalk neons are shapeless smears of diluted color, echoed on the wet pavement.
"What about the money?" Ming Li's voice comes from the bottom of a cave, and Rafferty has to press the phone harder against his ear to hear her. Frank has his cell phone on speaker.
"The money's an extra. He's not expecting it, so that could help. But let's face it, what he wants is Frank."
Ming Li says, "We've talked about this before. The answer is still no."
Frank says, "Ming Li. Don't talk, listen." Then he says to Rafferty, "Where?" "I'll let you know in an hour or two." "You can't give him Frank," Ming Li says. "Maybe you can think of something else." A car speeds by in the opposite direction, throwing up a five-foot wave that shatters against the windows of Rafferty's cab. His driver says the Thai equivalent of "fuckhead" and hits the horn in retaliation. "At the very least, we need to know where it's going to happen," Ming Li says. "You're not going to know, until the last minute, and neither will I. I'm letting Chu pick the place." "Are you crazy? If he picks the place, we can't set anything up." "That's exactly right. He's not stupid. One sniff of anything screwy and he's gone. He'll kill everyone and disappear. And he'll still be after you. He'll be after you until either he or Frank is dead. We have to end it here, and that means he thinks he's in control and that he's going to get everything he wants." "Poke's right," Frank says. "I know Chu. He's not going to walk into anything that could be a setup." "So we're going to let him set us up?" Ming Li says. "He won't get a chance," Rafferty says. "I'm going to give him fifteen, twenty minutes between the time he sets the place and the time we walk into it. And I'm ninety percent sure I know where it'll be." "How?" Ming Li asks. "I'm going to force it," Rafferty says. "Send Leung with the box. I'll talk to you in an hour." He closes the cell phone, looks out the window, and resigns himself to the fact that he's not going to be able to see where he is until he's home. He digs a business card out of his shirt pocket and dials the number on it. "Kosit," says the leather-faced cop. "This is Rafferty. How's Arthit?" "No word yet. The doctors are still in there." "I need to see you." "Um," Kosit says, "I'm not sure I should leave here." "This is for Arthit. Believe me, he'd want you to do it." "What do you mean, it's for Arthit?" "It's between you and me. Are you okay with that?"
"I might be. What is it?"
"Fine. You be the judge." He tells Kosit about Noi, about Rose and Miaow, and about the meeting with Chu.
"Worse and worse." Kosit sounds as drained as Rafferty feels. "What do you want me to do?"
"I'll tell you at my place."
Kosit says, "Somebody's got to be coming out of Arthit's room soon. Give me half an hour. If we don't hear anything by then, I'll leave. And listen, for Arthit I can get you a hundred cops, if you need them."
"Thanks," Rafferty says. "But I think Arthit would say we don't need them." ONLY ONE JAR of Nescafe this time. The color should vary. Rafferty stirs it in, examines the tint of the water in the washer's tub, and rummages through the cabinets until he finds a tin of powdered green tea. He can hear the hair dryers whirring in the other room, broken occasionally by the sound of women laughing. Fon comes into the kitchen, lugging two very heavy-looking plastic bags from Foodland, conveniently open twenty-four hours.
"They've only got two left," she says. "We've practically bought them out." She grunts as she lifts the bags to the counter. "I got your glue, too."