Standing near the window, on her own at the edge of the crowd, her hands folded in front of her, is Miaow. Without discussing the situation with either Rose or Rafferty, she has apparently made a decision. She wears the “schoolsiest” dress she owns, and yesterday she bought a hair rinse that would emphasize her new highlights. Her hair is even redder than it was before. She does not look toward Boo or Da.
She’s tough, Rafferty thinks. But that doesn’t mean she can’t break your heart.
The front door opens, and a group of people emerge, calling out words of parting. There is a general movement inside, people getting ready to go back to their lives. Soon enough, Rafferty knows, Arthit will be left alone to spend the first night in this house without Noi by his side. To begin something new.
IT’S ON THE coffee table, centered in front of him, still sealed. The side of the envelope that told him not to come into the bedroom is facedown, revealing the sealed flap. Kosit stands to one side of the sofa and Rafferty to the right. It seems wrong somehow for them to come too close to him right now.
Arthit looks up. He says, “Well.”
“Well,” Rafferty says. The look on his friend’s face makes him want to burst into tears.
Arthit breathes deeply, leans forward, and uses both hands to pick up the envelope. As he does, Da comes into the room, stops suddenly, and then goes to Rose and whispers something to her.
“What?” Arthit says.
“Oh,” Da says, blushing scarlet, “it’s…um-”
Rose tells him, “She says there’s someone sitting next to you.”
Arthit’s eyes go to Da. He blinks as though to clear his vision, and then he says, “Thank you.”
He opens the envelope.
51
BANGKOK MAN ARRESTED IN BABY-SELLING SCHEME
Exclusive to the Sun by Floyd Preece
A Bangkok businessman with alleged ties to the underworld was arrested yesterday by Bangkok police on charges of running a complex and highly profitable operation that purchased, and in some cases stole, infants in order to sell them to wealthy foreigners.
Wichat Kangsomthong, 57, was taken into custody at his offices on Sathorn Road in Bangkok’s Yannawa district. Police officials acknowledged that the arrests were in part a reaction to two earlier stories in the Sun detailing the sale of babies at costs in excess of 1.2 million baht to foreigners, mostly European. The infants, both Thai and Cambodian, were taken from their birth parents and given temporarily to beggars who were “protected” by Mr. Wichat’s syndicate.
In addition to facing charges of kidnapping and enslavement, Mr. Wichat is being investigated for violations of international human-trafficking laws because some of the children were allegedly transported across borders. Some of these charges carry the potential of life imprisonment.
Author’s Note
Many of the Thai names in this novel, both surnames and nicknames, are invented. While the visitor to Thailand may be overwhelmed by the sheer length of Thai surnames (five or six syllables in some cases), the names of the oldest families are quite short. Relative newcomers to the kingdom are asked to submit several potential surnames, one of which will presumably be approved, and adding a syllable or four is the easiest way to retain something approximating a family’s original name without duplicating the name of an existing family. Therefore, the odds are quite high that all people who share a surname are related. This means that a writer should be careful about using a “real” surname, especially for an unsympathetic character, since that could be construed as libel.
I also made up some of the nicknames, aiming at simplicity and memorability, since there are so many characters.
And I should probably stress that the Bangkok in this novel (and the earlier ones) is a fictional environment, inspired by a real one. Distances have been compressed here and there, and some geographical liberties taken, primarily because it would be impossible to maintain a thriller’s pace while stranded in Bangkok traffic. Those of you who find it difficult to believe in the Bangkok that’s depicted here should know that millions of people feel exactly the same way about the real-life city.
But the unstable political landscape presented here is not, in the main, fictional. It’s a defining fact of present-day Thailand, and no one can say how it will ultimately play out. In fairness, it should be pointed out that murder and assassination play virtually no role in Thai politics. But, of course, this is a work of fiction.
Acknowledgments
First place in the gratitude parade goes to Jonathan Whipple, who told me about a card game in which one player won the right to write another’s biography. This situation allowed me to cut by about thirty percent the amount of time it took me to get Poke into trouble. The game also gave me the alternating series of opening chapters that contrast the rich, uselessly throwing money away high above the pavement, with the people who scuffle for survival on the sidewalks.
Profuse thanks are due to my editor at Morrow, Peggy Hageman, who helped me to focus the book more precisely and to clarify some confusing story points, all the while acting as though the improvements were entirely my idea. My former editor, Marjorie Braman, suggested some key plot elements, among them the return of Superman, that made the book stronger. And my agent, Bob Mecoy, went over the manuscript with a critical eye and a mental X-Acto knife to tighten things up and reinforce some of the bearing beams.
The book’s wet, wonderful jacket is the work of James Iacobelli. And the manuscript inside the jacket had the benefit (as have all of Poke’s adventures) of an enlightened copyedit by Maureen Sugden, who knows her Hokusai from her Hiroshige and suggested literally dozens of improvements. Still don’t know about some of those commas, though.
This book, like all the others, was written mostly in coffeehouses in America and Southeast Asia. I’m especially grateful to the people at Novel Cafe in Santa Monica, California, and Bee Bee Cafe in West Los Angeles, as well as to those angels of mercy who fed me and kept me caffeinated in Phnom Penh, at Corner 33, Black Canyon Coffee, and Freebird. Coffee World in Bangkok also gets some of the blame.
As always, the writing of this novel had a soundtrack, courtesy of an overstuffed iPod. Most frequently played were Bob Dylan, Rufus Wainwright, Rilo Kiley, Vienna Teng, Shawn Colvin, Conor Oberst, John Prine, Vampire Weekend, Angelique Kidjo, Emmylou Harris (always and forever), Mary Gauthier, Elvis Costello, Rihanna, Delbert McClinton, Taylor Swift, Patti Griffin, Calexico, Over the Rhine, Ryan Adams & the Cardinals, the perpetually heartbreaking Townes Van Zandt, TV on the Radio, The Hold Steady, Tegan and Sara, and Kyung-Wha Chung. And about four hundred others.
My deepest and most heartfelt thanks go to the person I’m blessed to share my life with, my wife, Munyin Choy-Hallinan. As this book’s first reader, she helped me make parts of it better and strengthen (or at least plaster over) its weaknesses. Without her, it would never have been finished.
About the Author
TIMOTHY HALLINAN has written ten novels and a work of nonfiction. He divides his time between Los Angeles and Southeast Asia, primarily Thailand, where he has lived off and on since 1985. For more than twenty years, he ran one of America’s top television consulting firms, advising many Fortune 500 companies. He has also taught writing. Hallinan is married to Munyin Choy.
www.timothyhallinan.com
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