Brett Battles - Little Girl Gone

“But I think my friend Daeng here can.”

26

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Christina said, then motioned for Mr. Prem to follow her back to the door they entered through.

As soon as they were gone, Daeng held out his hand. “Don’t expect me to call you Mr. Harper.”

Logan was surprised. He had assumed Daeng was Thai, but the man’s accent was pure American. They shook hands. “You can call me Logan.”

Daeng must have sensed the confusion in Logan’s voice, because he smiled, then said, “Hollywood High, class of ninety-nine.”

“You’re not from Thailand?”

“I am. But that’s not what you’re asking, is it? I was born here, but went to live with an aunt in Thai Town in Los Angeles when I was just a kid. I’m Thai on my dad’s side. My mom?” He held Logan’s gaze for a moment. “She was Burmese.”

Logan realized that explained Daeng’s reactions earlier while Christina had been talking about Burma. Hopefully, it would make Daeng more motivated to lend a hand. “So can you help me track down the van?”

Daeng smiled. “And here I thought you were going to give me a challenge.”

As they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Christina’s place, a car that had been parked down the street drove over and stopped at the curb. The driver jumped out, and opened the back door. He had the same tough look as Daeng, only with much shorter hair.

Daeng let Logan enter first, then he slid in after him. Before the driver had even climbed back behind the wheel, Daeng was unbuttoning his shirt. “She likes us to dress up when we talk business. I refuse to wear a suit, but I figure I can at least wear one of these.”

As he pulled it off, Logan noticed that Daeng’s upper body was covered in colorful tattoos—a tiger on his shoulder, a serpent wrapped around one arm, and, taking up much of his back, the Buddha.

The driver handed back a T-shirt, and Daeng pulled it on. On the front was a picture of Einstein sticking out his tongue.

“So where are we going?” Logan asked as they sped down the street.

“I don’t really have as much use for Mr. Prem as Christina does, but sometimes he’s helpful. He did get us the van’s license number after all. Thought maybe we’d pay the owner a visit.”

“You know where he lives?”

“I will soon enough.”

Logan allowed himself to relax a little. He wasn’t at a dead end. This was exactly the kind of help he needed.

The streets were now much easier to get around than when Logan had taken his little suicide ride through the city on the back of the motorcycle. In fact, Daeng’s driver seldom had to slow at all, except at lights. Logan was even getting used to the feel of riding on the opposite side of the road from the one back home. Thailand, like several Asian nations, drove British style.

They were on the road for a little more than five minutes when Daeng received a call. When he finished, he said, “The van’s owner lives way out on Sukhumvit . It’s going to take us a little while to get there, so if you want to nap, this would be a good time.”

Any lingering effects Logan had been feeling from the sleeping pill had been completely negated by the evening’s events. He was wide awake. “I’m fine.”

Daeng shrugged. “Your call.”

Logan stared out the window, watching the city go by. It appeared most people had finally packed it in for the night, but every once in a while he’d see a couple of street vendors still set up along a sidewalk, surrounded by customers enjoying a late-night meal.

After a bit, he glanced at Daeng. “You, uh, work for Christina?”

Daeng grunted a laugh. “No. Sometimes our paths cross, that’s all.”

“What is it she does?”

“A little bit of everything, I think. She’s been here forever. Knows everyone, knows what buttons to push and which asses to kiss.” Daeng smiled. “How old do you think she is?”

“I don’t know. Forty-seven, forty-eight. Something like that.”

“Sixty-one.”

“You’re kidding .” Not that Logan thought sixty-one was particularly old anymore, but she hadn’t looked even close to that.

“Not kidding. I think she has a plastic surgeon on retainer, but don’t quote me on that. She’s been here since the war.”

“The Vietnam war?” Logan asked, surprised again.

Daeng nodded.

“She couldn’t have been much out of high school,” Logan said.

“The way I heard it, that would be about right.”

“What, exactly, did you hear?”

Daeng hesitated for a moment, then said, “Apparently she had a brother in the Army who’d gone MIA. She came here because it was the closest she could get to the war. She used to hang out in places where soldiers took R&R, trying to find someone who might have heard something about her brother. She even paid a few of them to try and find him. One guy did it for free. He was the one who found him. But by that point her brother was only dog tags and bones. After that, instead of going back to the States, she just stayed.”

“I wonder why she stayed.”

Daeng shrugged. “I heard this story from someone else. Christina never talks about her past, at least not to me. Maybe none of it’s true.”

A little further on, the driver slowed, then said something to Daeng. They talked back and forth for several seconds, then the driver moved into the right lane, and made a U-turn at the next break. Keeping his speed low, he moved all the way over to the left.

Daeng said something and pointed ahead, then said to Logan, “It’s just down that soi .”

At first Logan wasn’t sure what he meant, then the car turned on a small road—a soi he guessed—and drove half a block down before stopping at the curb.

Daeng looked past him out the window. “That’s it.” He nodded at the building across the street.

All three of them got out and crossed over to it.

The apartment they were looking for was on the third floor. Logan was surprised when they got there to find three men waiting in the hallway outside the apartment’s door. There were several hushed greetings, and he quickly realized these men were with Daeng.

One of them rushed ahead, and instead of knocking on the door, he just opened it.

Daeng went in first with Logan right behind. They passed through a small entryway and into a living room. On a couch was a short, doughy man who couldn’t have been more than forty. He was dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, and looked nervous.

There were two more of Daeng’s men in the room. One was standing near the couch, while the other was in a doorway that led to the rest of the apartment.

Daeng spoke in Thai, and the man in the doorway answered. Seemingly satisfied, Daeng led Logan over to where the pudgy man was sitting.

“You speak English?” he asked the man.

“ Nitnoy ,” the man said nervously. “A little.”

“Okay, then we’ll talk in English.”

The man eyed Logan for a moment, then looked back at Daeng. “Please no hurt me. Me, my family, we do nothing.”

“No one’s planning on hurting you.” The guy looked like he didn’t understand, so Daeng spoke in Thai, translating what he’d already said, Logan assumed. The man responded in kind, but Daeng shook his head. “English, remember?”

Logan leaned over to Daeng and whispered, “His family’s here?”

“Wife and son in back.”

Suddenly Logan didn’t feel so comfortable about the situation.

“You have a van you rent?” Daeng asked the man.

“Have two van.”

“Okay, two then. You drive one of them?”

“Yes.”

“And the other?”

“My wife brother.”