Jake Needham - Killing Plato

“I could, probably. But I’m not.”

“Plato Karsarkis is a fugitive from the United States, Jack. You don’t mean to tell me you’re unwilling to help the United States Marshals Service apprehend a dangerous fugitive, do you?” CW tilted his head and widened his eyes in a gesture so corny and theatrical I almost laughed out loud. “I thought you lawyers were supposed to be officers of the court, supporters of the law. That’s right, isn’t it, Jack?”

“Let me see if I understand this, CW. You’re planning to kidnap a man who I gather is legally in Thailand and smuggle him out of the country and back to the United States. Do I have that right?”

“We’re going to do what we have to do to-”

“You’re running a kidnapping operation in violation of both local and international law and you’re lecturing me about being an officer of the court?” I just shook my head. “Man, now I’ve heard it all.”

“You’re still an American, Jack. Have you forgotten where your loyalties lie?”

“No, CW, I think I’ve got all my loyalties in pretty good order, and fuck you for asking. By the way, you’re not on my list.”

“Then you’re not going to help?”

“I will not be a party to a kidnapping in Thailand or anywhere else. Not by you, not by the fucking President of the fucking United States. Is that clear enough for you?”

CW tapped on his glass with his forefinger and let the silence run for a while before he spoke again.

“You’re making a big mistake here, Slick.”

“And exactly why is that?”

“Well…” CW sighed and shifted his weight on the barstool. “You saw those photographs. We could-”

“Whoa,” I said, raising both hands, palms out. “Is it time for the part of the program where you threaten me? Because, if it is, you need to understand this: I don’t deal with threats very well. Particularly threats from cops and other government types. I start thinking about testifying to Congressional committees about government corruption. Just can’t help it.”

“Hear me good, Slick. I’m going to take Plato Karsarkis down. If you get in the way, I’m going to take you down, too. I’m telling you that as a favor, not as a threat.”

“I’m not part of this, CW”

“Well, Slick, you ever heard that line that goes, ‘If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem?’“

“Listen very carefully to me. I am only going to say this one time. I am not part of your problem. I am not part of your solution. I have a nice life here in Thailand and I am not going to screw it up. Not for Plato Karsarkis, not for you, not for anyone.”

“You really think it’s going to be that easy? You think you can just walk away from all this and that will be the end of it?”

“Yep, I do. From now on, just think of me as Switzerland.”

‹. amp;raway frop width="1em" align="justify"›“He’s reeling you in just like a big, dumb old fish, Slick,” CW shook his head, “and you don’t even know it.”

“You’ve been a cop too long, CW. You smell shit everywhere.”

“He’s settin’ you up, boy.”

“Look, this may come as a real shock to you, pal, but I’m a grown man and I make all my own choices these days. Only people who’re greedy or stupid get set up, and I’m neither.”

“Whatever you say, Slick,” CW shook his head slowly again. “Whatever you say.”

There wasn’t much more of any consequence left to talk about after that and CW seemed to lose interest in me once I had made it clear I wasn’t going to be any part of whatever he was planning. York and Parker had left while CW and I were trading insults in the back of the bar and it wasn’t very long before I wished CW a nice life and left, too.

I walked out of the Blue Lotus and back to the Holiday Inn, then I drove all the way to the hotel with the top of the jeep down. A breeze had come up from somewhere and I thought the wet night air slapping against my face might clear my head by the time I got back, but it didn’t even make a decent start. I parked the jeep in the hotel lot and walked down the hillside toward our cabin.

About the time I passed the swimming pool, still and empty in the darkness, I started wondering if maybe CW did have a point after all. There might be something sticking to my shoe that wasn’t going to be nearly as easy to scrape off as I thought.

Perhaps Switzerland was a little too much to hope for.

It was Monday afternoon and Anita and I had been back in Bangkok for less than a week. If there was ever a vacation glow at all, it was already pretty much gone. Something was clearly out of rhythm with Anita. I had no idea at all what it might be and I couldn’t imagine that just flat out asking her would get me very far toward finding out. Still, I had students to see and courses to teach so I wasn’t worrying a lot about it. Instead I was smoking an afternoon Montecristo in my office, feet on my desk, reviewing my notes for the next day’s lecture in my tax havens course.

The subject of tax havens was surprisingly popular with the kids. I have always thought it was probably because the sorts of places we talked about absolutely reeked with international intrigue and distant romance: places like the Cayman Islands, Liechtenstein, Hong Kong, Luxembourg, and Monte Carlo. Any discussion of tax havens immediately conjures up riveting stories of a world awash with drug barons tucking away narco money, terrorists laundering arms money, and third-world ministers hiding bribe money. And the idea of all those naughty people whooping it up in Monte Carlo while giving the rest of us the finger is absolute catnip to a room full of business students casting about for the quickest possible road to undreamed-of riches.

In spite of the strange vibrations Anita udehad been emitting ever since we got back, on the whole I felt pretty good. A few days of hanging out at the beach had left me with a nice tan and a clear head. Best of all, I had successfully evaded all further conversation with Anita about buying a vacation house in Phuket. I figured I just might be on a roll.

At least I figured that until about six when my telephone rang. Bun, my secretary, had already gone home for the evening so I answered it myself. Looking back, I should have let it ring.

“Hello.”

“Professor Shepherd?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sanilee Dare.”

The woman’s voice was on the breathy side, but pleasant. She spoke American-sounding English and, like her name, her accent struck me as about halfway between Thai and American. Still, I had no idea at all who she was.

“I’m sorry, but are you a student?”

The woman laughed and it was a nice laugh.

“I showed you and your wife a house in Phuket last week. I’m Nok, remember?”

She laughed again before I could say anything. “I’m devastated. Thank God most men remember me a lot better than you do.”

I apologized to the woman for not recognizing her name, but I finessed her flirty approach to reminding me who she was. That could go nowhere good.

“I have some really good news for you, Jack.”

Nok may have been Thai, but she had apparently embraced the annoying American habit of jumping right into addressing everyone by their first name at the earliest possible opportunity. I guess it didn’t really matter one way or another, but I’d always hated that and it put me in the wrong frame of mind to hear the rest of whatever she had to say.