Victor Methos - Plague

Two men sat in a café and wiped the sweat from their brows with silk handkerchiefs. This time of the season Bangkok was sweltering; it felt like an oven that had been left on too long. It was also the tourist season and the sidewalks and streets were packed to the point that you couldn’t walk more than a foot in front of you without bumping into somebody else.

“I fucking hate this place,” Conrad Moore said. “It’s too hot and the food is awful.”

Tyrone Booth finished the last gulp of his Tsing Tao beer and waved to the waitress for another. He took a piece of his spicy chicken and reached below the table, letting his Pomeranian finish it off before licking his fingers.

“I love the food. You never got to liking spicy food. If you did, you wouldn’t be knockin’ Thai food at all.”

“It’s spicy ‘cause there’s not much sanitation here and the spices kill the bacteria. It has nothing to do with flavor.”

Conrad sighed and looked out the windows onto the busy street. They were seated in a corner booth away from the rest of the public in the restaurant, a place that was supposed to give them privacy but instead made their waitress ignore them.

He’d been to Bangkok before, at least three or four times. The prostitutes were some of the best in the world in his opinion. Not that he really needed to hire prostitutes. He’d learned that flashing enough cash can get you just about any woman you wanted-at least the type of women that he wanted. He’d go to bars and pick up some nice twenty-three-year-old. They’d take his limo straight to his Gulfstream and fly to the Caribbean or Mexico for a weekend. He would do what he wished however many times he wanted and then drop them back off at the airport.

But prostitutes were much better. They knew they were whores and they would get into what fantasies he wanted for that night. Plus, there was no need for the pretense of telling them he was going to see them again or having to talk about himself. There was a whorehouse not two blocks from here, one of the best in the city, and he wished like hell he was there right now.

“Where’s your man?” Conrad said.

“He’ll be here.”

“He’s an hour late.”

“So?”

“So I have places to be.”

“You’re a private contractor, C. Where do you think you gotta be right now?”

“I don’t know, maybe getting drunk with some Thai whore instead of watching you slurp down eel soup.”

“He’ll be here,” Tyrone said, remembering the soup in front of him and taking a sip from the bowl before wiping his mouth on his hand. He fed another piece of chicken to his dog.

It was another ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Tyrone finally said, “He’s here.”

Conrad saw a man in a black suit and a black button-down shirt walk into the restaurant. He wore aviator sunglasses and his hair appeared wind-swept, like he’d ridden a motorcycle here. The man looked over the restaurant before finally spotting Tyrone. He smiled and walked over.

Tyrone stood up and they shook hands. “How you doin’, Robert?”

“Good good.” The man reached down and petted the dog. “Glorious day, gentlemen. How’s business?”

“Good. This is the man I was telling you about, Conrad Moore.”

“Pleasure,” the man said, shaking hands. “Robert Greyjoy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Conrad said. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

“None of them true, I assure you.”

Conrad gave a forced smile and reached for his water. He took a sip, hoping that Robert would speak first, but he just stood there with a pleasant expression on his face and stared at him. Despite the fact that he was impeccably dressed and perfectly pleasant, something about him creeped Conrad out. His calm, Conrad figured. This was a multi-million dollar deal; he should at least be a little nervous.

“I was just watching television in the hotel,” Robert said.

“Oh yeah?” Tyrone said. “I don’t think this Asian TV is too good. All game shows.”

“No, I was watching Sesame Street on satellite.”

Conrad looked to Tyrone and then back. “The kids show?”

“Oh yes yes yes,” Robert said. “I learn more from Sesame Street than I ever do reading Foreign Affairs or the New York Times. Sesame Street is a kind of…cultural barometer. In the sixties, they were using research to educate children. The moon landing had just occurred and science was on the forefront of everybody’s mind. America had been told we needed more scientists. In the seventies, with Vietnam and Watergate and the recession, Sesame Street became more pessimistic and began teaching practical skills for children to enter into the workfield. The eighties had more businessmen and celebrities than any other era. By the end of the eighties, with the Savings amp; Loan and the stock market crash, businessmen were replaced by civic heroes likes cops and firefighters.

“You could even break it down by year and see the evolution of America that way. It, like America, became more and more diverse. Now, however, it’s a different story. They’re teaching extremely basic skills, things that children that age should already know. And the characters are more extravagant but lacking in depth. It’s a reflection of ourselves with all this celebrity worship and a disdain for all things intellectual. I think Sesame Street will predict the fall of our nation much better than any media outlet. They’ll begin to have characters, as they’re starting to now, that are homeless, or socialists, or felons. Then they’ll give up and begin teaching children just enough to get by. How to be manual laborers or soldiers or whatever else the dominant profession of a declining society will be.”

Conrad stared at him without saying anything and was relieved when the waitress finally came over and Robert ordered a Tonight or Never, one of the strongest mixed drinks there were. Conrad, for whatever reason, felt uneasy with that too.

“So,” Conrad began, “Ty was telling me you’re in mergers and acquisitions.”

“Among other things.”

“And you work for who again?”

“I didn’t say.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“You ended that sentence with ‘again’ but I never told you who I work for in the first place.”

Tyrone fed some more chicken to his dog and said, “See, I told you he was all secretive.”

“Secretive I can appreciate,” Conrad said, “but mysterious I can’t. Clearly I’ll need to know a lot more about you before I broker this deal. We’re talking primo government contracts; easily worth ten million. I’m not just handing them over to the first schmuck that Ty refers.”

“There’s no need to be rude, C.”

“I’m not being rude. You want me to give the subcontracts to this ‘guy’ that you somehow know but you won’t tell me how and now he’s sitting here telling me he won’t tell me what company he works for.”

“You don’t require the contracts any longer,” Robert said. “Within the year you’ll be banned from bidding on all government contracts due to ethical violations. That’s why you need to get rid of them. It has nothing to do with charity and you’re not doing me any favors. If anything, I am doing you and your company a favor by taking them off your hands while they’re still worth something.”

“How the hell did you know-”

“They say you’re not a true arms dealer unless you’ve sold weapons to the enemies of your own country. Until your bullets and bombs have killed your kin. How many of your kin did your weapon shipments kill, Mr. Moore? A hundred? Two? A thousand?”

Rage bubbled in Conrad’s gut and his face turned a bright red. He threw his napkin on the table and rose. “I don’t know what kind of information you and this other bastard have, but I never did anything illegal. And I don’t appreciate you inferring that I did.”