Missions from the Extinction Cycle (Volume 1) Page 14

  Pui nodded. “That’s right. Drink a lot. Same as always.”

  “You’ve seen them before?”

  “Oh, yeah. Lots of times.”

  “Were they with anyone? Any of the girls?”

  She shook her head. “No. They just play pool and drink.”

  “Did anything happen? Unusual?”

  “The black one—he the one die?”

  Hal nodded. “That’s right.”

  “He almost get into fight.”

  Hal’s pulse quickened. “A fight? With who?”

  Her eyes darted to the side. “You sure you no want massage? I very good.”

  “Who did he almost fight, Pui?”

  “Couple guys.”

  “American?”

  She shook her head again. “No. Thai. Bad men.”

  “Bad?”

  “Gang.”

  “Which one?”

  Pui pulled away from him, suddenly less friendly. “They leave. No problem.”

  “That’s great. But which gang?”

  “Cobra Boys.”

  Hal didn’t recognize the name, but it didn’t mean anything that he didn’t. There were hundreds of Thai gangs involved in human trafficking, drugs, weapons, extortion, robberies, even murder for hire.

  “So they left, and then the Americans left?”

  “Not for while.” Her face told him that she was unwilling to continue that line of questioning. He shifted gears.

  “You said you’d seen them before. But they never bought girls?”

  “No. Just drink. And the one die, he bring a girl couple times. I think he like her lots.”

  “You recognize her?”

  Pui shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Hal intuited that she knew more. “No games, Pui.”

  “Maybe I know her name.” She yawned. “Want to lie down?”

  “No. I want you to tell me who she is.”

  Pui smiled. “My mother need operation.”

  Hal decided to play along for the further extortion. “Most of Thailand needs an operation.”

  She mentioned a number. The equivalent of twenty dollars—double what he would have had to pay to sleep with her. She sensed his reluctance and slid closer. “I tell you name and then we play some?”

  “How much do you know besides her name?”

  “I know some.”

  Hal fished his money from his pocket and counted off the cash. Pui snatched it away as though he was going to reconsider, and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts.

  “Girl name Aranya. She used to dance, but now too good for it.”

  “Aranya. That’s it?”

  “She friend of plenty people. Soldier boy. Bad men.”

  “The same bad men who wanted to fight?”

  Pui shook her head. “No. Just bad men.”

  “Where can I find her?”

  “She used to dance at Poodle Club.”

  “But not anymore?”

  “No.”

  Ten more minutes of questions didn’t yield any further information, and Hal rose, his patience exhausted, the remnants of his hangover thudding in his temples. Pui looked up at him from the bed and smiled, the expression far more knowing than her years. Hal leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “How do I get out of here without the clerk seeing me?”

  She winked. “No way. You stay while.”

  He exhaled loudly. “No. I can’t.”

  “Have to.”

  “Pui, it’s not me that gets into trouble if he sees me. Either way, I have to go.”

  The pout returned. “Maybe you quiet, you sneak by.”

  Hal nodded. “I’ll be extra quiet. Probably best if you don’t try to go back to work tonight, Pui. You made your money.”

  “I no go nowhere.”

  He believed her. “I’m going to turn the lights out now so he doesn’t see the door open. Be good, Pui.”

  “I real good. You come back, I show. You want me long time.”

  Same story Hal had heard hundreds of times before in Thailand. Peasant girls from the north wound up in the big cities as prostitutes, there being no money at home, and their families starving. Most turned hard by the time they were really adults, but Pui had probably only been in the game for a short time, judging by her demeanor and eagerness to connect with him. All the girls dreamed of the same thing: a rich American deciding they liked their Asian friend and taking them across the ocean to the land of plenty.

  Hal switched off the lights and waited for his eyes to adjust, and then cracked the door open and peered out. The courtyard was in shadows, the only light by the office, and with a little luck he might just make it out without catching the clerk’s eye. Music drifted from the open doorway of the office, which would help mask the sound of his footsteps. Hal stepped outside and pulled the door closed, wincing at the snap of the lock.

  He edged along in the gloom and, when he was across from the office, slowed further, eyes locked on the reception counter. The clerk was sitting behind it, staring up at something to the right of the door—probably a television.

  Hal stood in the darkness, the minutes creeping by, and then the man’s face changed, stretching and contorting…and he sneezed, hard.

  Hal bolted for the front gate and was through in moments, his boots silent on the moist dirt as he trotted toward the main drag, where he hoped Sunan would still be waiting.

  — 6 —

  Nick elbowed Cody in the dark as they walked toward the rear gate of the air base. Both were still dressed in civilian clothes, with an overnight bag over their shoulder, Nick with a baseball cap pulled low over his brow. They reached the guard post, where four Thai soldiers sat listening to the radio. One of them looked up as the pair of airmen approached, and nodded when he saw who it was.

  Nick returned the gesture and they continued past the guards without comment, boots crunching on the gravel. The air was still sweltering even at night, the scent of jungle intermingled with jet fuel and exhaust. Nick lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke at the moon, and then offered Cody one. Cody shook his head.

  “No, thanks, man. I’m still rough from last night.”

  “First thing we do tonight is fix that right up,” Nick said.

  “Maybe buy a bottle…but we’re not to go out, remember?”

  “That’s what I meant, man. Ease up. We grab some frosties and some rum, kick back, and groove.”

  Cody nodded. “No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves.”

  “You aren’t worried about going AWOL?”

  “Nah. We just have to stay out of sight until the cops move on to whatever.”

  “What do you think happened with Kyle? You think it was related to…our thing?”

  “I don’t know what to think. That’s some freaky shit, though. I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, Kyle could deal, you know? Must have been a bunch of them to be able to take him down so fast.”

  “Think it was the dudes from the bar?”

  Cody frowned. “I don’t see that, do you?”

  Nick drew another long drag. “Not really. I just hope it isn’t…doesn’t involve us.”

  “Why would it? Think about it. We haven’t pissed anyone off. Everybody’s happy—we’re all getting paid, right? No, this is something different. Besides, the other two victims were torn up the same way. They got nothing to do with us.”

  “Not completely true. You know that.”

  Cody shook his head. “He was just a grunion. He didn’t know squat. You need to relax some, bro. Maybe we should get some Thai stick to go with the brews. Settle your nerves right down, right?”

  “Twist my arm.”

  They continued down the road until they arrived at a rusting sedan behind a grove of trees. Nick felt under the front fender and straightened with a key in hand, and Cody swung the passenger door open. Five minutes later they were putting along the road to Pattaya, the headlights dim, the jungle stretching toward the sky on both sides. Cody fiddled with the r
adio and found a station that was playing Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold.”

  “Can you believe this guy’s got a career? I can strangle a cat and make it sound better than that,” Nick complained.

  “I dig it. It’s got soul.”

  Nick threw him a doubtful look. “Maybe the Thai stick isn’t a great idea. You’re going soft in the brain if you think that whining’s good.”

  Cody shrugged. “I don’t give you shit over the ugly-ass broads you chase.” Cody paused. “Probably ladyboys anyway.”

  They continued on in silence, the radio playing the American Top 40 interspersed with rapid-fire Thai from a disk jockey who sounded like he was after a job in Motown. When they arrived at the outskirts of Pattaya, Nick fished a scrap of paper from his pocket. He squinted at the numbers on the exteriors of the run-down houses and then ground to a halt in front of a dark brown single-story that was falling to pieces. Cody grimaced and shook his head.

  “Let’s find a market. We can drink it pretty,” he suggested.

  “Doubt there’s enough hooch in all Thailand for that,” Nick said.

  “Home sweet home. Cockroaches are probably bigger than my foot.”

  “Get some extra cigarettes in case some want to smoke. Don’t want to piss them off.”

  Cody sighed. “I hope this isn’t going to take weeks.”

  Nick threw a final glance at the house and put the car back into gear. “Me too. Bad enough being stationed in this backwater, but having to stay in this dump…almost makes me want to put in for a transfer to the line.”

  Cody laughed harshly. “Not me. At least we don’t have to worry about Charlie coming out of the brush while we sleep.”

  “Not that I’m going to get much, the way you snore.”

  “Come on. I’ll buy the first round of hundred-proof earplugs.”

  Nick gave the old car gas and they rolled away from the house. “You’re on.”

  ***

  Colonel Hedges bounced along the road to town in the passenger seat of an olive green Jeep, his driver with his eyes glued to the treacherous ribbon of asphalt, the darkness around them complete. They arrived at a village, little more than a scattering of shacks along the road, and the colonel leaned into the driver.

  “Pull over up by the market,” he said.

  The driver nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The vehicle drifted to a stop in front of the dimly lit entrance, and the colonel stepped from the Jeep and walked into the store. Several minutes later he emerged with a bottle of Coke, and after taking a long swig, walked to a pay phone mounted on the wall, deposited a coin, and dialed a number.

  “Hello?” a voice answered in Thai.

  “I need to speak to your boss,” Hedges replied in English.

  The voice called out to someone in the background, and Hedges listened as footsteps approached on a hard floor.

  “Yes?” a different voice said in English.

  “I have a problem.”

  “How can I help?”

  “The police questioned two of my men. I got them off the base so they couldn’t continue the interrogation, but I don’t like the direction it’s going. I overheard the last of it, and I have reservations.”

  “Who on the force? We know just about everyone.”

  “It wasn’t one of the Thai police. An American.”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t understand.”

  Hedges offered a short summary of Hal’s assignment. When he was finished, the voice on the phone sounded troubled.

  “This murder. I read about it. Did it involve…”

  “No.”

  Another pause. “What do you need us to do?”

  “Keep an eye on the men. I can’t afford to have them surface while this investigator is still here.”

  “But if it’s not related to our business, why are you worried?”

  “I don’t need that can of worms opened as a by-product of the investigation.”

  “Can of worms?”

  “Situation. A euphemism.”

  “Ah. Well, if you think the risk is significant, perhaps a more permanent solution is prudent?”

  The colonel hesitated. “We can’t have any complications.”

  “I understand. But there might be a way that eliminates any further digging.” The voice spoke for a minute, laying out an option. When it finished, Hedges sighed.

  “It’s tempting; however, it could cause more problems.”

  “What is your saying? Dead men tell no stories?”

  “Tales. Tell no tales.”

  “Where are they located?”

  Hedges was silent, his mind churning over the implications of the call. Eventually he answered, and when he mentioned the address, his voice was barely a whisper.

  The voice matched his tone. “Do not worry, my friend. We shall solve your problem. You can demonstrate your gratitude however you like when we are successful.”

  “It absolutely can’t lead back to us.”

  “It won’t.”

  Hedges hung up and returned to the Jeep. His driver was staring straight ahead, awaiting instructions. Hedges checked the time and shook his head. “Change of plans. Back to the base.”

  — 7 —

  Hal awoke to a persistent rapping on his door. He groaned as he forced himself to his feet, his hair matted on one side, sleep crusting his eyes, insect repellant slicked on every visible area of his skin.

  “Yes?” he called out.

  “Sir, there’s a phone call for you.”

  Hal checked his watch. Eight a.m. He’d been asleep for five hours, after a long night with Sunan that had yielded nothing but sore feet and fatigue.

  “Okay. Give me a minute.”

  Hal donned civvies and made for the door. A uniformed airman was waiting outside and led him down the hall to an administrative area, where he indicated a desk with a phone. “We’ll transfer the call there,” he said. Hal took a seat, and the phone jangled thirty seconds later.

  He raised the headset to his ear. “Yes?”

  “He struck again late last night,” Sunan said. “I got a call this morning at home.”

  Hal absorbed the news. “That’s a manic cycle.”

  Sunan grunted assent. “Can you get a ride to Pattaya?”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  “Write this down. I’m heading to the scene now.” Sunan gave him a street and number and then hung up. Hal stood and approached the airman, who was waiting a discreet distance away.

  “I need a ride to Pattaya,” he said.

  The airman nodded. “The colonel said you get whatever you need. When do you want to leave?”

  “Five minutes ago.”

  The ride to the crime scene took too long for Hal, who shifted impatiently in the passenger seat of the Jeep as another airman drove. When they arrived, they found themselves facing a row of police vehicles, roof lights strobing off the surrounding home façades, the area as run-down as any in Pattaya.

  Sunan was standing by a van, writing in a notebook, a dour expression in place, when Hal walked up to him. He looked up at Hal and shook his head.

  “It’s ugly. Looks like the pair didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Pair?”

  Sunan nodded. “It’s the two men you interviewed at the jail.”

  The blood drained from Hal’s face. “What?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What were they doing here?”

  “I have no idea.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go in and take a look.”

  “You’ve already been, obviously.”

  “That’s right. But I want to hear your impressions.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  Sunan barked a harsh laugh. “Of course not. Nobody knows anything, and everyone’s blind, deaf, and dumb.”

  “At least they’re consistent.”

  The inspector led Hal past a group of uniformed officers and through the door of the house, where a forensics technician hovered around
two corpses on the floor. The tech looked up at the new arrivals and hastily made way for them.

  Sunan and Hal stood over the victims, who were bloated and swollen in the rising heat, their skin discolored and shredded from defensive wounds on their arms.

  “What do you make of it?” Sunan asked.

  “Looks like the photos of the ones you showed me.” Hal paused, squinting at the corpses. “Except…their throats.”

  Sunan nodded. “Exactly. They were slit, not torn out. An important observation, because we never allowed that detail to be published.”

  “But the other wounds match…”

  “To a point.” He gestured at a nearby table. “See the drug paraphernalia? Looks like they scored.”

  “I still don’t understand why they were off base. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Someone wanted this to look like the same killer. We can start there.”

  “But why?”

  “Because they wanted them dead and wanted to stick the blame on the serial killer. That’s my working assumption.”

  “And you’re sure it isn’t just a change in the MO?”

  Sunan shook his head. “I doubt it. The other three victims all had their throats torn out. That was one of the most unusual aspects of the killings. These had them cut—you can see a blade was used. And given the amount of blood and the condition of the defensive wounds, I’d guess those were inflicted after they were already dead, not before. Forensics will be able to tell us for sure, but it looks to me like this is a copycat. I’d also bet that they were killed elsewhere and moved to the floor.”

  Hal sighed. “Great. An already complicated case getting worse by the minute.” He scanned the room. “Where do you think they were killed? You mean a different location?”

  Sunan frowned. “No. Sitting down over there by the table with the drugs is my guess.” He slowly turned toward the entry and then back to the rear door by the kitchen. “The killers came in through there. You can see the latch is broken. They probably had guns, which is why the victims didn’t run.”

  “Or maybe they knew them?”

  “Also possible. But even if so, they wouldn’t have sat still while they had their throats cut. That’s why I’m guessing guns. There are also some faint bruises on their wrists that are consistent with having been tied up. So my take is the killers entered, one of them bound them while the other held a gun on them, and then slit their throats.”