Jake Needham - Killing Plato

“Say whatever you want. Don’t make no difference to me.”

“You’re not here to take Plato Karsarkis back,” I said, “because the Thais aren’t going to extradite him.”

CW’s eyes shifted onto mine and stayed there. He stared at me like a fish gazing out of a tank.

“You’re here to kill him.”

“ What ?” CW reared back away from the table. “We’re here to do what ?”

“I saw the intercepts, CW.”

“I don’t know what you saw, you sorry motherfucker, but whatever it was, it was a crock of shit.”

CW reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a telephone that looked like an Ericsson. He slammed it down on the table so hard that for a moment I thought he had broken it.

“ That’s what I use to talk to Washington, dickweed. I don’t even use email.”

“You amp;r?›“squo;re not using email to communicate with Washington?” Now it was my turn to feel ambushed. “Not at all?”

CW shook his head. “If what your Thai spy buddies showed you were real intercepts rather than something they just made up, they weren’t intercepts from the United States Marshals Service. We ain’t hired killers, Slick. We’re just here to haul this asshole back to Washington and then he’s somebody else’s problem.”

“But then why not get the Thais to agree to extradition? Surely Washington could do that if they really wanted to.”

CW consulted a spot somewhere over my shoulder and seemed to think for a while before he answered. “We’d like to do it all nice and legal, Slick, but you’re a smart guy and you know how things work out here. The government of the United States of America isn’t gonna be pushed around by a bunch of third-world peckerwoods who’ve been bought and paid for.”

“So you’re going to kidnap Karsarkis. Is that about the size of it?”

“What do you expect me to do? Just stand around holding my dick in my hand?”

“Certainly not in Phuket. Not when there’re so many people here willing to hold it for you.”

CW didn’t laugh and he didn’t smile. He just pointed his forefinger at me.

“We’ll do what we have to do,” he said. “And don’t you forget it.”

Two guys came in and sat at a table not far away. They glanced over at us briefly but without any obvious interest. I made them for Irish. It’s hard for Irish guys to be inconspicuous at a beach resort, regardless of how hard they try. They were slim and hard-looking with reddish hair cut very short and skin so pale they both glowed like a pair of Japanese lanterns. I wondered if the men were part of Karsarkis’ IRA bodyguard or if they were just a couple of Paddy sex tourists recouping their strength for another run at the massage parlors.

“You think that’s right?” I asked CW. “You happy with that?”

“With what?’

“Kidnapping a man. Putting him in chains and dragging him out of the country with a gun to his head no matter what the Thais might have to say about it.”

CW shook his head very slowly at me while his eyes watched the Irishmen. “We don’t use chains.”

I noticed he didn’t mention anything about the gun-to-the-head part.

“I was exaggerating,” I said. “For effect. But I’d still like an answer to the question. Do you think it’s right?”

“Ah, put a sock in it, you little shit. Who the fuck do you think you are, sitting there all high and mighty and passing judgment on me? Do you have the slightest idea who we’re dealing with here? Do you know who Plato Karsarkis is , Slick?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t think so. He funnels his hot oil deals through all kinds of companies-”

“I know all about that,” I said.

“Oh, do you now?” CW looked at me with what seemed to be genuine curiosity. “Then where do you think the money from those deals actually goes, Slick? What do you think it pays for? When some bastards plant another nail bomb at an embassy or blow up another discoth amp;?ther disegrave;que, you just remember you had a nice civilized dinner one night with the man who gave them the money they needed to do it. You think about that and you tell me how you feel when you see kids lying on the ground with their arms and their legs blown off. You tell me then you know who Plato Karsarkis really is.”

I said nothing.

“Karsarkis is the motherfucking devil, Slick. I shit you not. He does business with arms dealers and terrorists; he launders money and passes it to people who shouldn’t have it; he bribes some people and kills the ones he can’t bribe. He’s everywhere, and he’s nowhere. He is a wisp of smoke, and when things go wrong, he’s gone.”

CW stuck his hand in front of my face and snapped his fingers.

“Like that.”

I almost slapped his hand away, but I didn’t.

“Did he kill Cynthia Kim?” I asked instead.

“I don’t care.” CW’s voice crackled like dry leaves. “If he didn’t, he killed a thousand others.”

I gazed out at the road and watched a middle-aged man roar by on a motorbike, two little children wedged on the seat between him and the handlebars.

“I’m taking Karsarkis back however I have to do it,” CW went on when I didn’t say anything. “I’m gonna jack that fucker up and then haul his ass back. After that somebody else can decide what to do with him.”

I said nothing.

“And as for you, my little friend, you better stay the hell out of my way. I can put your dick in the dirt anytime I want to. You got that, boy ?”

I looked back at CW and caught him full in the eyes. Very slowly he turned his head away from me, moving it carefully, like a man with a bad headache who didn’t want to make it any worse.

“You don’t frighten me, CW.”

“Why not?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“Because you’re a little man in a big game,” I said. “And you don’t even know what the game is . I like you, but the truth is you don’t matter here. You’re just an extra in somebody else’s big scene.”

A tired-looking old woman with a leathery face shuffled over to the table carrying two slabs of barbequed ribs and dishes of coleslaw and beans. The edges of the slabs were crusty with blackened fat and the meat was deep red and moist-looking. CW and I sat in silence as the woman put the plates in front of us, then shuffled away again and returned a moment later with a bowl of sauce. It was deep mahogany in color with chunks of green jalapenos floating in it. She also brought a glass jar filled with toothpicks and two hand towels in plastic packets.

The ribs were so tender I didn’t even need a knife to separate them. I pulled the smallest one off the end of the rack and dipped it into the sauce, then chewed away the meat. I dropped the bone on the plate and glanced up at CW. He seemed to be concentrating on his food.

Neither of us talked much while we ate and the subject of Plato Karsarkis didn’t come up again. When we were finished, I paid the check.

After that, I drove CW back to Patong and left him at the Holiday Inn.

I spent the night a?t Panwaburi, the same hotel where Anita and I had stayed the last time we had been in Phuket. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea, but I did it anyway. The next morning I had coffee and toast from room service, then I got in the Cherokee and headed for Plato Karsarkis’ house. Karsarkis wasn’t expecting me-at least not as far as I knew-but there wasn’t anybody else left for me to annoy.

The day was so bright the air seemed almost white. The world was a cloud of light veined with streaks of blue. I couldn’t remember ever experiencing light that intense before. Although my sunglasses were as dark as pitch, the day scratched at my eyes like sandpaper.