Russell Blake - Betrayal

“What has her week been like?”

The discussion lasted ten minutes, with Lawan describing the trip south, then being put to work in the club. As she went on, Jet seethed with rage. The little girl had been bought and sold like an animal. Even dogs were treated better. She slept on a mat in a tiny back room with several other children who were in similar circumstances. Lawan was the youngest. The others were twelve and thirteen, a boy and a girl. Lawan said she didn’t like either of them. They had emotional problems — the little boy was always angry, and the girl didn’t communicate.

“Tell her that we just want to talk to her. She doesn’t have to do anything. I want to know what she’s seen here, and everything about her,” Jet said, sitting on the bed after pacing the floor while listening to Lawan’s account.

Rob translated, and they spent the rest of the hour talking to her, listening to a story that was as tragic as it was commonplace.

“What can we do, Rob? How can we get the police involved? This has to be stopped.”

“I’ll ask Edgar, but my hunch is that, given the amount of protection Lap Pu has, they will have disappeared by the time anyone gets around to conducting a raid, assuming that any raid ever took place. This is one of those sad truisms of life here. Sometimes there isn’t anything you can do. It’s sickening, but true.”

“That’s not good enough. There’s always something you can do.”

“I know, but reality is that as horrible as this is, it’s not part of our mission. You know that. We need to concentrate on the objective.”

He was right. She knew it. This was a distraction they couldn’t afford. The logic of it was clear. But sometimes logic wasn’t everything.

“Rob, I want you to tell her that we’re sorry she is here, and that I’ll be back to help her at some point. I don’t know how, but I will.”

“I’m not going to tell her that. She’ll tell someone eventually, and then they’ll just move her, and that will be it. And not to be redundant, but again, that’s not our mission.”

She counted to ten, calming herself.

“You’re right, Rob. I’m sorry. It just makes me crazy to see this.”

“I know. It’s not doing anything for me, either.”

Jet got onto her knees, and Lawan came to her. She held the little girl’s trembling frame for a brief eternity, and when Lawan stepped away, a tear rolled down her cherubic cheek. Jet’s eyes moistened, but she shook it off and stood.

“Tell her that if anyone asks, all we wanted her to do was watch us. Think she can manage that?” Jet asked.

“I doubt anyone will ask, but okay, I’ll tell her.”

Precisely one hour after Lawan had arrived, another knock sounded at the door. She shuffled to the knob and unlocked it, and then threw Jet one final look, a combination of sadness, fear and misery. Jet took a deep breath and steeled herself. The mama-san entered and looked at the bed, which they had rumpled so it look used, and then inquired whether they would want anything more. Rob told her that no, everything was good. As they were leaving the rear area, two beefy bodyguards in double-breasted suits moved towards them down the wide hall, and they stepped aside. The goons brushed past them, trailed by a diminutive man in his late fifties, thick silver hair slicked back with gel, wearing a burgundy silk jacket and black slacks. Lap Pu was instantly recognizable from the photos she’d seen, but she didn’t blink when their eyes locked for a fleeting second. She turned to Rob and laughed, then whispered something, smiling. Pu’s gaze drifted past her, and then another guard brought up the rear, the bulge of his weapon straining the material of his suit.

Once back in the booth, Rob ordered another beer for them both and then leaned forward, as if telling Jet a joke.

“That was about as close as you could ask to get. But it looks like he’s got the troops with him. Good luck getting a tracking chip on him. That was a swell idea, but now…well, it looks pretty much impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible. But I agree that now’s not the time. We need to find his car and figure out a way to get the chip on it so we can find his house. I’ll need a distraction. Here’s where you earn your keep. Got any ideas?” she asked.

“I think we-”

The waitress interrupted them with two more cold beers, and by the time she’d collected payment, the music started blaring again. Time for more of the show.

They sat watching another half hour of seemingly impossible acts, each more depraved than the last. Halfway through the festivities, Rob proposed something that could work. It would take perfect timing, but it was their best chance. As the show wound down to a smattering of tired applause, he pulled out his cell phone and called Edgar.

Rob and Jet exited the club and wove their way drunkenly down the street, turning the corner on the alley that ran behind it. A gleaming black Mercedes sedan sat by the seedy emporium’s back door, the driver standing by the hood, smoking a cigarette. Jet laughed at some witticism Rob had uttered, and they stopped, she leaning against the brick wall as he moved close and kissed her.

Two men darted into the alley, one with a knife and the other with a chain, and before the couple could disengage, the shorter one slammed Rob in the back with the chain, screaming at him in Thai to give him his wallet. His companion repeated the demand in a guttural voice, and Jet backed away from them as Rob stood, aggressively facing the two.

They began circling him, the assailant with the chain swinging it over his head in a threatening manner as the one with the knife tried to flank him. Jet ran towards the Mercedes, eyes wide with fear.

“Help. Please. Help us,” she screamed in English, and then the two men attacked Rob in a flurry of motion.

The driver wanted no part of the scuffle, even when the woman begged him. He shook his head. Rob broke into a run and sprinted down the alley towards him. The driver shrugged away as Rob stumbled, falling to the ground, and Jet took cover behind the car. The men gave chase, and then seeing the driver, yelled at him.

“Move along, dog dick. Or you’ll be next,” the larger man growled at him from twenty feet away.

“That’s right, shitbird. This isn’t your fight. Get your candy-ass out of here or you’ll be sorry,” the smaller mugger snarled, with an ominous rattle of his chain.

The driver pulled a gun from his shoulder holster and held it aloft for the two men to see. A Nighthawk Custom chrome-plated.45. The two Thais stopped their advance and stood frozen before slowly backing away, then turned and broke for the alley mouth.

Jet removed the chewing gum from her mouth and stuck it below the back bumper and sank the tracking chip into it.

She stood and ran to Rob, who had paused near the wall of the building opposite the car, and threw her arms around him.

“Honey. Are you okay?”

“Oh, God. They almost killed us.” He turned to face the driver. “Thank you so much,” he said in English, and then repeated it in mangled Thai.

The driver waved him off, annoyed. Stupid farangs . What did they expect, drunk in this neighborhood? Idiots. He looked down in disgust at his half-smoked cigarette soaking in a puddle by his feet. Perfectly good smoke wasted.

“Thanks again,” Jet cooed, and then she and Rob continued down the alley away from the attackers and the club, the driver’s angry gaze following them until they reached the next street and turned the corner.

“The signal’s strong. We have a winner,” Jet said, holding the phone up so Rob could see the blinking red light.

“I’ll get a car. We’ll want to follow him, right?”