Lawrence Osborne - Hunters in the Dark

It was Simon he needed to find. But then again, did he really need to find him now? What would he do?

“I see,” he ended up saying, and his hands went limp.

She, however, roused herself and began to get up.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said.

They went slowly through the dead city and he asked her what she was doing now. She looked a lot more elegant than she had upriver, more composed and in command of herself, and she said she was working in a club and living with a friend of her mother’s in Toul Kork.

“Why were you at Colonial Mansions?” he said.

“I have a friend there. You know what I mean.”

“It’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Lot of people live there.”

“Yes, but still…”

It was vexing, but he couldn’t push the issue. She strode on ahead of him and he had to quicken his feet to keep up with her.

“Where are you going now?” he said.

“Home.”

“But — when was the last time you talked to Simon?”

“Some time ago. I not gonna see him again.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But if you see him—”

She let him come up level with her and she looked at him carefully and she felt sorry for him, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. She had felt sorry for him when she saw him at the river house, so lost and clueless.

“What?”

“Well, I want my stuff back.”

She sneered, “You never get it back. Get new stuff.”

“Can’t you help me get it back?”

“No.”

“Maybe I’ll go to the police then.”

Finally she stopped.

“Maybe,” she said, “the police are already near you. Did you know that?”

“Why shouldn’t I go to them?”

“I’ll say you liar. You won’t go to them — they are after you.”

“They are? Why are they after me?”

“I don’t know, do I? I think they are.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He was bluffing and they both knew it. She suddenly stepped into the middle of the street and raised her hand — she had seen a motodop far off under the glistening wet trees.

Then, as if relenting, she turned back to him.

“Where you stay?” she said.

“At the same place we were. The Colonial.”

She seemed immensely surprised, though it had been obvious enough.

“You better leave there,” she said adamantly.

“Why should I?”

“I said you better leave. I’m giving you advice.”

“I won’t leave.”

“All right.”

The motodop swept up and, almost without stopping, scooped her up onto the backseat where she sat sidesaddle and flashed him a parting look before the bike turned and roared away toward the boulevard. She stared at him as it did, and she smiled and waved and there was a strange innocence and fatalism in both the smile and the wave. It was as far as he was going to get with her, even if he did see her again. He gave up and walked back to the Mansions, defeated by her agility, and went up to his apartment and stewed in his brooding uncertainty for a long time, smoking cheroots and eating pistachios as he often did late at night. He walked about the room spitting the shells aimlessly and he circled around the great and ominous idea that his enemy was only a few yards away from him on the third floor, incredible as it seemed. Simon, asleep on a bed identical to his own and under the same roof. But it was not clear what he should do. He could ignore him and they could carry on with their exchanged identities for as long as they needed. Or he could go up now and confront him and they could have it out and bring it to an end and go back to being who they were really were. He could get his passport back and return to Elmer and nothing would be said about it. He could do that, but as soon as he understood that he could do it, he didn’t want to. It was just that he was forced to. He couldn’t ignore Simon for long. They would meet in the street, word would get around and everything would be ruined. It wasn’t much that would be ruined, but it was something he had created by and for himself and he didn’t want to let it go so easily. He began to feel agitated and paranoid the more he thought about it, and soon he had wandered into the kitchen and picked up a knife from one of the drawers. He wrapped it in a tea towel and slipped outside onto the landing. Then he went to the stairwell and up to the third floor. He then went along the third-floor landing, past the flowering balconies with their French-style iron tables, and past the series of darkened and curtained windows where not a single light was on. He had a feeling that one of these doors would suddenly snap open and a confused and sleepy Simon would stick his head out and he would have him — for a moment — at his mercy. But since he didn’t know which door it was, he could only pass it, and then pause by the stairwell at the far end and feel his hand shaking. The sweat dripped onto the floor and a cloud of moths crazed by the landing lights danced around his head while he collected his thoughts and realized that he had better go back down and replace the knife in its drawer. He locked his door and turned off the lights then sat by the window and looked up at the third floor. But then again, maybe he had leaped to an absurd and exaggerated conclusion.

Sothea — he knew nothing about her. Perhaps she had told the truth.

That bitch, he thought more calmly.

The following day, when he called Sophal, he told her that they ought to leave the city as soon as possible, even if it was only for a few days. In fact, having gotten up late, he went down to the lobby for his coffee and found Davuth almost at once. The policeman was dressed in a pale blue shirt and he looked much more handsome than he had the day before.

“I’ve thought it over,” Robert said as he sat down opposite Davuth and ordered a bagel and cream cheese with his coffee. The policeman looked up from his paper calmly and there was a faint merriment in his eyes, an unflappable disdain and patience. He knew at once that he had him. Robert fumbled with his words and they tumbled out too quickly. The sun distressed his eyes and he felt a headache coming on. “I’ve decided that I’d like to take you up your offer to go to Phnom Bayong. Can you give me a decent price? I’d pay you up front if you could bring it down a bit — I know you can. Can’t you?”

“I said sixty, didn’t I?”

“Yes you did.”

“So how much would you like me to bring it down by?”

“What about forty?”

Davuth was drinking a tall, ice-filled Coke through a straw and the crushed ice burbled as he sucked on it now.

“I don’t like bargaining about my prices,” he said coolly, looking Robert in the eye. “It’s not what I usually do.”

“Of course. But the thing is — my girlfriend and I are a bit hard up right now. However, we might need someone later on too. I mean—”

“I see what you mean. I like you, Simon. I’ve enjoyed our talks. So it’s fine by me if we say fifty. Can you do fifty?”

“I suppose I can.”

“Fifty is for a whole day. And there is a strong possibility that we will get stuck down there for a night, in which case I will not charge you any more than fifty.”

“Stuck?”

The policeman grinned and opened his palms. “The Mekong is flooded at this time of year. It’s a floodplain. We’ll have to take a boat part of the way.”

Robert’s face fell. “Oh, a boat. I hadn’t quite bargained on a boat.”

“Of course, the boat will be extra. Boats are not cheap.”

“That rather throws a wrench in the works then.”

“It’s all right. I have a friend down there who can throw in the boat. He owes me a favor.”