Eastern Shadows, page 14
“How much have you kept from me?” Shane asked after they’d left the scene in Hall’s truck.
“Nothing, but I sure as hell know One-Hair. He is not someone you can cross.” Hall shuddered. “Why do you call him One-Hair? He is so ruthless…”
“Then it’s not a coincidence, seeing him up there, and now he’s here?”
“No way. He’s following you for sure.” Hall shook his head. “One-Hair…what a bad name. More like a tiger. From what I hear, he will hunt you down and eat your bones.”
Shane glanced out the side window. It had started to rain, blurring the glass. All he could make out were blobs of light shooting by as they sped across town. He asked, “Could One-Hair have been involved with what’s been happening? With Jared, or maybe Tony?”
“Maybe he killed both,” Hall said. “He’s an enforcer. He knows how to kill people.”
“You think he’s trying to pin it on me?”
“I think he sends you a warning.”
“Sounds like I’m in trouble. What’s One-Hair’s real name?” Shane didn’t dare look over at his friend. He had said and done his share of dumb things, but Hall had never laid into him like this—all over a misnomer.
“Dunno. Nobody does.”
The traffic light in front of them flicked from amber to red.
“The sois,” Hall said, glancing down a shadowy road as they cruised through the pink light. “The streets, I mean. They’ve got eyes. Always watching.”
Shane turned this over in his mind. Less than an hour ago, he witnessed the cops pull up to the hostel, thinking he had lost his biggest lead. Now he knew better. Despite the danger, Shane was buzzing over the One-Hair sighting. “We’ve been barking up the wrong tree,” he said.
“That’s a new one for me. What does that mean?”
“Jared. He’s a pawn—a victim, and I should’ve seen it.” Shane shook his head. “Always just a victim, nothing more…”
“So, who knows about Ploy?”
“Wanchai.”
“Why do you think that? Other than he is Ploy’s dad…”
Shane slapped his own head, jostling the thoughts around. “Lemme sleep on it. Drop me off at my hotel, and I’ll call you in the morning.”
“You’re the boss,” Hall said. “Stick with me. I can get us through this. Now that we know we’re being followed, it’ll be easy to lose’em.”
Shane hardly slept, wondering who might be watching. He also dreaded the call to Emmy to tell her Jared was dead.
By the time he picked up the phone the following day, the police had beaten him to it. They ID’d Jared from the wallet in his bag and rang up the landlady in Lampang after figuring out where he was staying. It was she who broke the news to Emmy.
Emmy didn’t say much on the phone, mulling over the call she would now have to make to Jared’s wife. Shane was glad she didn’t probe. He didn’t want to tell her he had been the one who found the body.
He and Hall hit the road again an hour later.
“Nobody’s following us, I promise,” Hall said. He popped the clutch, stomping the gas half a second before the light turned green.
“You’re sure?”
“They know where you’re staying. And I bet they saw us at the Fountain last night, but…”
“But what?” Shane asked as Hall skidded around a tight corner.
“With the way I drive, there’s no chance they’re still around.”
The night before, when falling asleep became useless, Shane’s mind traced over the connections to Wanchai. If he were to bug them enough about it, the police would have to look into this angle, and, corrupt or not, Lieutenant Chongrak was the only one he knew to turn to. Hall fought against a return trip to the station the entire way there, but he drew a blank when Shane asked him for a better option.
“I learned more about Chongrak,” Hall said. “She’s tough, man.”
“What do you mean?” Shane asked.
“That drug bust was only the start. People say she takes down guys who are ‘untouchable.’ Arrests in Rangsit went up when they put her in charge.” Hall paused. “And so did what the police call ‘justifiable homicides.’”
Shane glanced at his friend, impressed by his expanding English vernacular. “And the city’s okay with her dishing out justice at the end of a gun?”
Hall nodded his head. “She does her job. I guess that’s all that matters.”
Knowing crooks were on the lookout, Hall was more willing to park closer to the police station this time. The stifling lobby hadn’t changed since their last trip, although it was less crowded. They switched their approach, patiently waiting until their turn came.
Chongrak entered the lobby. She looked the same as Shane remembered. He knew that, come hell or high water, she would look undaunted even if the sky were falling. They shuffled down the corridor and into her office.
“How have you been?” Chongrak asked as if she hadn’t almost forced them out of the building the first time they visited.
“Busy,” Shane said. They shouldn’t tell her everything they were up to—at least not yet.
“Yes. I’ve heard some reports. Two Americans dead. I think you knew both of them, Shane. The deaths don’t look related. But what if someone thought they were connected?”
“Wait,” Shane replied. “Two dead?” He had decided to play dumb. Nobody knew he had tailed Jared to his final stop in life.
The police chief frowned. “You did not know that one of Ploy’s friends was killed last night in Bangkok?”
Shane threw up his hands, hoping the look of surprise he’d conjured seemed genuine. “I had no idea.”
“No matter,” Chongrak said. “Maybe the deaths really aren’t related.” Her smile rang hollow.
Shane knew that, inside Chongrak’s head, the words “International Incident” were flashing in giant block letters. Part of her knew that Shane was involved with both of them. But even if she did suspect there was a connection, would she bring it to light? He thought of the corruption that probably existed within her own precinct. Could it handle that much scrutiny?
No, Shane thought. She’s not going to chase this down.
And if she did, they would need a sap—someone to pin it on. The idea of roping Shane, yet another American citizen, into this would only crank up the heat she and her country would take. She wouldn’t want that.
“It seems like you’ve made a mess of your investigating,” Chongrak finally said, snapping Shane out of his musings.
Shane told her what he knew about Wanchai.
“This Nick person told you Ploy talked to her father?” Chongrak asked after he finished.
“Or someone connected to him…”
Chongrak’s eyebrows lifted.
“...allegedly,” Shane added, now wondering how much he should trust what came out of Nick’s mouth.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you boys. This…vagabond following you doesn’t sound familiar to me.”
“But I know who he is,” Hall said. “He’s dangerous.”
Shane thought this might have been the first time Hall, who slunk back in his chair when Chongrak looked at him, had spit out a complete sentence in her presence. Up to this point, the police chief probably thought he couldn’t understand English.
“Maybe,” Chongrak said coolly. “I still can’t do anything without more information, or more signs that you’re being followed.”
Chongrak turned to her computer, scanning over something on the screen, then redirected her focus back on them. “I hope my message last time was very clear. Stay out of our case. I thought your questions were harmless, but I was wrong. Connected or no, finding a dead body in Thailand doesn’t happen to all tourists. But that’s out of my jurisdiction. So is the death of Ploy’s friend. Maybe I could help if someone is following you, but I don’t know enough.”
Shane fixed his gaze on the wall.
“Shane,” Chongrak continued. “If you’re that worried, and you won’t go home yet, maybe you could do something different. Have you ever thought of spending some time in a wat? You could buad—become a monk, I mean. It could clean you of all this…violence.”
Another wasted trip, Shane thought as they got up to leave.
Chongrak said, “I hope this is the last time I see you.”
“I knew it, man, but you just had to go back there,” Hall said after they sat down for lunch. “It’s like you think that ice queen will save your ass one day. She won’t. And I still think there’s a leak. Someone’s talking to Wanchai for sure.”
Shane and Hall had gone looking for something to eat after the station visit, settling for a food stand beneath the thang duan, marked by a blue tarp hanging over the staff’s heads.
“I thought she’d let up a little,” Shane said, pushing some mystery vegetables to the side of his plate. “But I guess we’re on our own. So, you still think she’s feeding all this to someone? Wanchai?”
“I didn’t say it was her, but it’s weird that One-Hair,” Hall grimaced as he said the name, “found you so fast.”
“You think we lost him?”
“For sure, bro. No one follows us.”
“Then I have an idea. Wanchai’s company’s got chain offices everywhere, don’t they?”
“What are you thinking?”
“Know where their Rangsit branch is?”
Hall typed something on his phone. “It’s by Khlong Three. That’s very close to here, but what is there to see? It’s just a little office.”
Shane pulled out his phone. He looked up the article he’d read back in the States—the one about Arboria’s shady dealings in Southern Thailand. He handed the phone to Hall. “Skim through this. If Wanchai is in any way involved with Ploy, tell me you don’t think Arboria is worth checking out.”
Hall’s finger moved up and down as he scrolled through the article. “I see. Maybe other people in the company know something.”
Shane took his phone back and pocketed it. “Exactly. Know thine enemy, Hall. We need to learn more about Ploy’s dad. Plus, I’m a journalist. Of course I’m gonna look into this guy’s background.”
He pushed his plate forward, sensing daggers shooting from the eyes of the cook into the side of his head, scrutinizing him for how little he had eaten.
“Should I get the truck?” Hall asked.
“No. First, we’ve got an errand in Pratunam. We’d be in traffic all day if we drove.”
“The Skytrain?”
Shane waved in the direction of the nearest elevated train station. “Let’s go shopping.”
CHAPTER 15
Arboria
The Skytrain soared—a flash along the rails. It was an hour later, and they were back on the train, heading north. Shane rode in one of the middle cars, marveling at the tangle of intersecting transit routes on the overhead map.
“The BTS stretches pretty far these days,” he said to Hall as they sped closer to Rangsit. A few years ago, they would have had to endure a forty-minute cab ride after the end of the Skytrain line to reach the khlongs. Gliding into the heart of this new station would cut that ride to five.
Once they were off the train, Shane found a cabbie willing to drive like a speed demon for extra cash. They needed to rush—Shane had called ahead to their destination, and they now had an appointment at Arboria.
Shane slipped from the car when they arrived. Hall cracked the door open on the other side, stepping onto the street with an undersized slip-on loafer.
“Come on,” Shane said. “There’s no one out here to laugh at you.”
Hall jerked his burly frame from the blue taxi. “Is this really a good idea?” He adjusted his glasses. “I can’t see out of these things. And they make me look like Asian Harry Potter.”
Shane brushed a spot of dirt off the back of his friend’s plum jacket. The shoulder seams looked ready to burst. “You wouldn’t like it at a wizard school,” he said. “There’s no weight room.”
Faux alligator-hide briefcase in hand, Hall was a sight in his business suit.
Clad in a single-breasted gray number, Shane eased his grip on his matching case. The pair cleaned up nicely with their glad rags on and their shirts tucked in.
Hall tugged at his sleeves, trying to stretch them over his bare wrists. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
They had ransacked the suit shops of Pratunam before finding a place willing to part with some extra merchandise they had on hand. The tailor was mortified that they wanted to buy something lying around the store. He tried to jot down their measurements for a sleeker fit, insisting on waiting a couple of days for a custom cut rather than taking the ill-fitting clothes off the rack today.
Shane was insistent. They needed the suits now.
“What if I measure you for extra slacks while you’re here?” asked the tailor. “Would you like one pair? Or maybe seven?”
After finally getting on board with his unorthodox customers, the embarrassed tailor had to accept that they weren’t there to purchase a whole new wardrobe. He watched from the shop as Shane and Hall bound down the street in their new threads. Shane noticed him sticking his face to the glass as if he were looking for passersby, hoping they thought the pair had bought their clothes from a rival shop.
Now, walking along Khlong Three, Shane felt confident they would make this work, even if their threads weren’t ideal. Arm lifted, he checked the fake Rolex he had picked up during their shopping spree. He realized he had failed to notice a smudged fingerprint on the inside of the glass.
You get what you pay for.
“Our appointment is in three minutes,” Shane said. “I bet they’re already waiting for us.”
Hall burst ahead as if picking up the pace would end this ordeal sooner.
Shane hurried forward. “Wait up.” He adjusted his friend’s crooked tie. “Okay, you’re good to go. Let’s go do some magic, Harry.”
Hall threw up his middle finger.
They cleared the trees ahead. Set back from the main road by over a hundred feet, the Rangsit branch of Arboria Real Estate was unlike any other building Shane had seen in the boonies of Thailand—a glass dome with angles usually reserved for spaceships. A freshly cut lawn surrounded the structure, basking in the afternoon sun.
The dome’s surface shimmered with geometry, each individual shape distinctly catching the light. Shane thought of old sci-fi reruns he had seen on TV as a kid.
When did this place appear on the map? It screamed retro-futurism.
“Thirty-five years,” said the woman. She stuck out her hand. Solid gold bracelets jangled on her wrist beneath the sleeve of her red company blazer. Now it was Shane’s turn to tug at his sleeves, trying to hide the cheap Rolex.
“And you are Mr. Sterling Lockwood, yes?” asked the woman. “I am Pichaya—Pichaya Anong. I heard you ask our receptionist how long we work here. But we didn’t join Arboria until much later.” She gave a Mona Lisa smile, her ruby-red lips spreading across her powdered face like an allergic reaction. “The merging has given us much inspiration. We struggled until we could join them.”
“And what do you do here?” Shane asked as they crossed the lobby together.
“Branch supervisor.”
“Splendid,” Shane said, trying to talk the way he thought a wealthy investor would. He turned to Hall. “This is Mr. Anantrakul, my associate and local business contact here in Thailand.”
Hall gave a business-like wai.
“Sawat di kha,” Pichaya said as she returned the gesture. “Welcome to Arboria Real Estate.”
“Thank you for letting us come on such short notice. We were hopeful you would see us today,” Shane said, keeping up the sham formalities.
“Yes, Mr. Lockwood. A customer like you is most welcome. Hi-so.” She giggled. “You know that word?”
Shane smiled. “Yes, I know that word.”
A receptionist approached with two glasses of water on a silver tray. “Kin nam kon, na kha. Mai tong kreng jai,” she said as they grabbed the glasses and both took a drink. Hall’s eyes moved with the receptionist as she sauntered back to the chrome-accented front desk, her bottom swaying like a pendulum beneath her tight black pencil skirt. Shane gave him a subtle elbow to the ribs.
“If there is other food or drink you want, please ask,” Pichaya said. “Now, come this way.”
The two impostors followed their host. Cubicles lined the walls around them—prison cells to the nameless pencil pushers, each of whom stood as the trio passed, offering a respectful wai or a firm handshake.
“Who do they think we are?” Hall mouthed to Shane as they lingered two paces behind Pichaya.
Shane lowered his own voice to a whisper. “I told them we were property investors looking to scoop up some land on Koh Ling. You know, the place with the phony titles.”
“How much land did you tell them we want to buy?”
“All of it.”
It was a paper-thin cover story—they just needed to be there long enough to find a lead. Shane couldn’t yet say what that would be in the form of.
Pichaya turned, high heels spinning in place as the rest of her body rotated to face her clients. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.” Shane motioned for her to continue walking.
“Choen, kha. Please, come in.” Pichaya pulled the sliding door shut behind them as they entered her office.
The four office walls were made of clear glass panes. The room sat in the middle of the main floor, surrounded by busy workers scurrying back and forth between printers and coffee machines and then back to their fabric-lined pods. Each peered inside as they passed.
Poking around without someone noticing will be no easy task, Shane thought. They were in an oversized fishbowl.
“You are here to discuss property on Koh Ling,” Pichaya said. “Before we talk, do you know real estate laws in Thailand? You are a non-citizen.”
Shane clapped Hall on the back. His friend’s glasses nearly fell off his nose. “My proxy buyer is happy to help with the ownership formalities.”
