Russell Blake - Betrayal

The gladiator appeared as if by magic next to them with two beers on a tray. “Compliments of the management,” she said in a squeaky voice and then placed the drinks on their table. Onstage, the girl was walking around, brandishing the snake, which was a juvenile, barely four feet long. The crowd whooped, and the men in the bachelor party stamped their feet.

“Let’s go,” Jet repeated.

“Sit and drink your beer. Calm your ass down. You’re making a scene,” he said evenly and then raised his beer in a toast across the room to the bartendress, who for no reason either of them could fathom was wearing a Santa hat in addition to a red negligee. She winked at them and returned to wiping down the bar with a rag.

“I’m behaving consistently with our cover.”

“What did you do?” He took another sip.

“I made an offer to buy Lawan.”

He almost blew his beer through his nose.

“You what? Are you out of your mind? So you met Pu? Talked to him?”

“I want to help her. Somebody has to.”

“Not you. You don’t have to. That’s not your job. It isn’t why you’re here.” He took a breath. “How did it go?”

“Not so well. He refused.”

“What did you offer?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five hundred dollars? You’re low.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“You’re insane. For a girl you just met.”

“For a human being in trouble.”

“I gather he wasn’t interested?”

“Correct. By his calculations, she’s worth a half million to him.”

Rob whistled. “Wow.”

“Yes. Apparently, the money in child sex abuse is big.”

He drained his beer. “Okay. I agree we should get out of here. But you’ve just made it very difficult for us to come back. Ever.”

“It doesn’t matter now. We have the tracker in his watch. As far as I’m concerned, I never want to see this shithole again.” The schoolgirl was now performing a provocative dance with the snake, to the delight of the spectators, the music having slowed to a pulsing Middle Eastern beat, presumably evocative of snake charmers.

Jet pushed to her feet. “Come on. I’m done with this.”

Rob followed her to the exit after flipping two hundred baht onto the table. They were just pushing the curtain aside as a moan went up from the crowd.

“You leaving now? You miss the best part!” the street hustler admonished at the exit and then stepped out of Jet’s way when he caught a glimpse of her eyes.

Rob shrugged at him.

“Touch me, I break your arm,” she warned the man, who backed slowly away, his hands held high.

“Okay. Have a good night, lovebirds,” he sang with a cackle and then spun, off in search of more prospects.

“You handled that well,” Rob said as her boot heels snicked against the sidewalk.

“Don’t talk to me. I need a minute.”

“Sure thing. You just about blew our entire operation, but no sweat. Take some ‘me’ time. Why not?”

She threw him a black look and then slowed.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I thought you were pro. Mind telling me what the hell was pro about any of that?”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt. And it could have worked. Anyway, it was worth a try. No harm done. So we don’t go back to the club. Our job there is finished, anyway.”

Rob sighed. “I suppose it is.”

They resumed walking again and crossed the street to the next block. Tonight, the area was quieter than the prior evening, with only a few tuk tuks roaming the road in search of fares.

Neither of them had much to say. At the mouth of the alley where they’d parked, she hesitated. The area was as black as the night, the overhead light on the building by the car having burned out while they were inside. She was just about to warn Rob that something was wrong when a figure rushed out from the shadows and lunged at her with a knife.

Jet spun to the side and pitched her purse at the assailant’s head as she simultaneously blocked another blow from a second man who’d swung a hatchet at her shoulder. A third grunted as Rob executed a flying kick that caught him in the chest, snapping several ribs with a crack; he crashed against the wall, his machete falling harmlessly into the gutter. A fourth attacker stabbed at Rob with a wicked-looking stiletto, but he parried it and landed a series of rapid strikes against the man’s neck.

A gunshot rang out from down the alley, and Jet heard the distinctive sound of a bullet whiz by her left ear as she ducked, fishing into her purse as she dodged another swing of the hatchet. The knife wielder slashed at her, and she jumped back, tossing her purse to the side as she freed her pistol. She heard Rob grunt as the stiletto sliced his ribs, and then she slammed the butt of her gun into the side of the hatchet man’s head, dazing him.

The man with the knife lunged at her again, just as another shot boomed and a slug ricocheted off the brick wall beside her. She brought her weapon up and fired, blowing half the knife fighter’s face off, and then shot the hatchet man twice, point blank in the chest. Even as he was falling, she dropped to the ground and fired two more rounds down the alley at where she’d seen the shooter’s muzzle flash. Another shot rang out, grazing her leg, and she fired her final round at where she’d seen movement twenty yards away. If she’d had her Beretta, she’d have hit the shooter, but with the Sig Sauer it was dicey.

She heard a thunk from behind her and rolled to see Rob leaning against the wall, the gore-crusted machete in hand, his two attackers dead on the pavement. She grabbed her purse off the ground and launched herself at the alley mouth.

“Move!” she yelled, and then tore off without waiting for him. She rounded the corner as more shots followed her, blood streaming down her leg from where the bullet had grazed her quadriceps. Rob was behind her and was also oozing blood: from his abdomen. Jet slowed her pace.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll live,” he hissed. “You?”

“Same here. You have a gun?”

“Nope. Too dangerous carrying one in the club.”

“Good thing I was packing.”

He nodded. “Still got at least one shooter back there.”

“I know. In here,” she cried, then ducked down a pedestrian shopping area, the startled strollers backing away from the blood-sodden pair.

They continued running another two blocks, and then she slowed, taking cover in the shadows of a darkened building.

“What the hell was that?” Rob asked, gasping for air.

“Ambush. But question is who?”

“Lap Pu?”

“But why?”

“The kid?”

“Makes no sense. Could have been because of the money I flashed around, but that didn’t feel like a robbery. More like a hit.”

Rob frowned. “But if it was a hit, why the amateurs? Why not just gun us down by the car?”

“Good question. Did you notice that they were all pretty rough-looking? Not city rough. Outdoor rough. Their skin was like leather. I’ve seen that on Bedouins…”

“What now?”

She pulled some Kleenex from her purse; after tearing three loose for herself and pressing them against her leg, she handed Rob the packet.

“We need to get out of here.”

“I’ll call Edgar,” Rob said, pulling his phone free of his shirt pocket.

A twinge of anxiety tickled Jet’s stomach, but she couldn’t place what was causing it. She nodded to Rob, and he dialed Edgar’s number. After a few terse sentences, he hung up.

“There’ll be a car here within ten minutes. White Yaris.”

“And a doctor?”

“Already arranged. We’ll go straight there and get patched up.”

“So now all we need to do is stay alive till help gets here,” Jet said, eyes scanning the dark street. A motorcycle putted by, two locals astride it, laughing together as they bounced down the road.