Timothy Hallinan - The Queen of Patpong

"Patpong 2," Rafferty says. "But the Office isn't a go-go club. It's just a hostess bar."

Nit hears his remark, and Arthit puts the phone to his ear and listens. "That's why she went there last," he says. "She almost didn't bother." Into the phone he asks, "Is the girl there?" He looks over at Rafferty, who's shifting from foot to foot, and nods an affirmative. "You what?… Good, that's good. Smart of you." He puts a hand over the phone. "She only showed them the picture of Horner. Thought they'd give themselves away if they saw the other one."

"We need to get the girl."

Arthit points to the phone, which Rafferty takes to mean, Nit's got her. To Nit he says, "Most of your friends are over at the Thai Room, so you're close to them. Why don't you take her over there. We'll see you in a minute or two. Stay away from the windows." He lowers the phone and says to Rafferty, "Let's go. The Thai Room. If he goes into the Office, we'll be just up the street."

"Sure. As you said, away from the windows."

Arthit calls Kosit and, after that, Anand and tells each of them to head over to Patpong 2 once they've finished with the vendors.

"We should have sent people to all the hostess bars," Rafferty says.

"And we will," Arthit says. "Let's allow them a few minutes to eat, though. But, you know, men who frequent the go-go clubs don't usually visit the hostess bars. It's pretty much one or the other."

" 'Pretty much,' " Rafferty says between his teeth. " 'Usually.' I'm an idiot."

Seen from above, the Patpong district is a big capital H, with the two uprights being Patpong 1 and 2, named after the Patpong family, which has added considerably to its worldly riches, if not its store of good karma, by owning them. The cross stroke connecting the verticals is a nameless little stub of a street that's housed a long string of failed bars and restaurants, including one upstairs clip joint that changes its name so often Rafferty long ago stopped trying to keep up.

Patpong 2 is considerably sleepier than its big sister, with three or four struggling go-go clubs, a few restaurants, and six or eight decorous hostess bars, ranging from intimate to relatively vast. There's no night market. Where it can take fifteen minutes to plow through the people who pack the street from Silom to Surawong on Patpong 1 when the evening is in full swing, on Patpong 2 it can usually be done in one-fifth that time. Patpong 2 is less crowded. And a lot darker.

As they fight free of the crowd on Patpong 1 and enter the stub street, Arthit says, "I think we'll set up at the Thai Room. We can stay out of sight, and it'll take us less than a minute to get to the Office."

"Fine."

Arthit glances at Rafferty. "Problem?"

"Why was she there?"

"What do you mean?

"Why was she working tonight? Rose said he was with her constantly when they were together."

"He had things to do today," Arthit says. "Bust into your apartment. Kidnap Miaow, and maybe you. Find Rose. Kill everybody. Big day."

" 'He does one thing at a time,' Rose said."

Arthit stops walking. He looks like he's studying the air in front of him. "Maybe he just decided to put things on hold while he got rid of the only person who could tie him to the killings."

"Then why not earlier? Why not the night he painted our door red? Why not just come in and kill us all? Why wait until now?"

"Rose said he was having fun. When he painted the door."

A very drunk Japanese man bumps Arthit from behind and backs away, bowing, until he bumps into someone else.

"There's someone who'll be lucky to have a wallet tomorrow," Arthit says. He starts walking again. "Don't worry about it. Your idea was solid. We found the bar. We've got the girl. Everybody in Patpong is looking for him. He'll show, and we'll have him."

"It doesn't work," Rafferty says. "He sees us in the restaurant, paints the door to scare us, and then disappears. Rose guesses he's got a girl and he's busy with her, and that's apparently true. But suddenly he's back, kicking in the door to kill us, trying to kidnap Miaow. I understand why he wants us dead. Rose is probably the only person who can tie him to the killings. What I don't understand is why he's suddenly got time to pay attention to us. I don't understand why that girl is in the club tonight." He pauses. "Maybe it has something to do with John?"

"How would he even know about John?" Arthit asks. You and Kosit said he was around the corner and in that cab, going in the other direction, by the time John got hit."

"I don't know," Rafferty says again. "But there's something I don't understand, because she shouldn't have been in that bar."

"So," Arthit says, "let's go see her."

They cross to the far curb on Patpong 2 and head left, past a decent French restaurant, a little hostess bar, a blow-job dump, and a pharmacy. On their left are a couple of open-air bars that do most of their business in the afternoon, before the go-go clubs open. The men occupying the stools constitute a representative assortment of Caucasianus patpongus, mostly in their forties and fifties, mostly overweight, mostly drunk. Someone who looks like Horner, Rafferty thinks, would have cut through the competition like a bright new scalpel. Even before he met Rose, Rafferty knew that some of the Patpong girls were as susceptible to a romantic fantasy as any starstruck teenager. For every ten who saw the customers as ambulatory ATMs, there was always one-usually a new one-who still had her illusions.

The Thai Room is cold enough to hang meat in. Five of the women from Rose's agency, plus Kosit, are huddled together for warmth at a long banquette. Trapped dead center in the row between the table and the wall is a girl of nineteen or so with the kind of whole-new-race beauty the Thai genetic stew sometimes produces. She has skin the color of maple syrup, luminous eyes that seem to have been imported directly from India, a tiny and perfect nose, and an impossibly long neck that looks like it was made to be hung heavily with gold.

"Warm it up in here," Arthit snaps at the waitress who greets them, holding menus of phone-book thickness. The Thai Room will take a slap at approximating any kind of cooking in the world, but their approach to the Thai food they cook for Thai patrons is more painstaking. "And bring me whatever you're cooking for them."

"They ordered a lot."

"Pick the two items you'd feel most comfortable serving to a high-ranking policeman who's in a bad mood."

The waitress blanches and retreats toward the kitchen, with a detour at the thermostat.

Rafferty grabs a chair from another table, and two of the women shift their own chairs so he can sit opposite the girl from the Office. She looks everywhere but at him.

He says, "What's your name?"

The girl doesn't answer.

"Her name is Wan," Fon says. "She's not happy to be here."

"You should be," Rafferty says to her. Wan is busy moving her utensils around, trying to improve on the arrangement, her mouth a stubborn line. The plate in front of her is empty. He turns to Nit. "How'd you get her here?"

Nit says, "I bought her out." Two of the women laugh.

"Where's Horner?" Rafferty asks.

Wan shakes her head.

"This man," Rafferty says, holding up the picture.

"I don't know him," Wan says in Thai.

Nit takes the utensils out of the girl's hand. "Everybody in the bar identified him."

"I don't know him," Wan says again. She tries to push her chair back, but it bumps the wall. "I go now."

From behind Rafferty, Arthit says, "Tell you what. You talk to us or I'll take you to the monkey house."

Wan says, "So?" But her eyes have widened at the words.

"Where's his hotel?" Rafferty asks.

She offers a shrug so packed with resentment that it reminds him of Miaow. "How would I know?"