The rental turned out to be a silver Nissan Armada, with just enough room for Alex to sit in the passenger seat and the three of them to cram into the rear. Spencer gave Allie a half smile as she tried to get comfortable. “You can sit on my lap if you want.”
“I imagine I’m not the first girl to get that offer,” Allie said. “Has it ever worked?”
“You might be surprised.”
Drake chuckled. “Nothing surprises me after a ride in your Lambo, Spence. Although I still think that some orange shag carpeting would dress it up nicely.”
“Maybe some fuzzy dice?” Allie quipped. “Ooh, how about one of those ‘Ass, grass, or cash, nobody rides for free’ bumper stickers? We have them in every color of the rainbow out in cow country.”
“I liked the car,” Drake said. “Very Hollywood Eurotrash, if that’s what you were shooting for.”
“Screw all of you. It does zero to sixty in under three seconds.”
Allie elbowed him. “Hey, at least it’s practical for hauling groceries or lumber or whatnot…”
Uncle Pete might not have been the slowest driver in Thailand, but he was certainly in the running for the title. By the time they made it to the hotel, it was well past lunch time, and they were grateful to crawl from the cramped rear seat.
The hotel lobby was opulent, and two bellmen scurried to take their bags. Uncle Pete stayed in the car, obviously feeling out of place in the lavish digs. He had given everyone a card with his cell number on it and told them to call if they needed anything. After confirming that they were being attended properly, he pulled away at the speed of a geriatric snail.
“Want to try the hotel restaurant?” Drake suggested as he signed the register.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Spencer asked. “Why not find a hole in the wall and try dining like the locals?”
Allie made a face. “Two words: monkey brains.”
“I believe you can special order them if they’re not on the menu,” Drake said.
They took the elevator to the penthouse level after getting settled in their rooms, and had a delicious medley of Asian fusion cuisine, each dish better than the last. When they were finished, Spencer burped audibly and patted his stomach. Allie looked horrified, and he shrugged.
“In many countries burping is intended to express satisfaction with a good meal,” he said.
“I can’t wait to hear what other bodily emissions might be celebrated,” Drake said.
“In Thailand, nose picking is also considered acceptable in polite company,” Spencer added.
“How charming,” Allie said. “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home.”
“It’s important to understand the culture if you’re going to get the most out of a trip to exotic lands.”
“How about we find the statue and leave? Does that work for you?” she fired back.
“I can see you haven’t gotten into the spirit yet.” Spencer drained his water glass and raised it to the waiter, who nodded and rushed to retrieve a frosted steel pitcher. “What do you make of Uncle Pete?”
“He seems harmless enough,” Drake said. “Although kind of a schemer.”
“That’s to be expected. He’s making ends meet however he can. You get to know the type after a while. They get addicted to the easy money of being snitches and facilitators. The agency depends on that, I bet.”
“I think he’s sweet,” Allie said. “I wonder what color Lambo he drives?”
“Definitely not mustard,” Drake said solemnly.
“You just can’t let it go, can you?” Spencer griped, but they could tell he was enjoying the ribbing.
“You should see if they have a lift kit for it, like my FJ. That would be radical. Off-road rubber. Mud and snows.”
“Ha, ha.”
A server arrived with the water and replenished their glasses. Another one spirited their plates away and was back moments later with a dessert menu. Allie waved him off with an eye roll. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to take a nap. I forgot how much fun it was to miss a night’s sleep.”
“I’m with you there. Spencer?” Drake asked.
“Might as well. Doesn’t seem like anything’s going to happen until tomorrow, at the earliest, judging by what Uncle Pete said about the permits. I’ll leave Alex a message and let him know we’re going down for the count. We can check supplies tomorrow, and then if we’re still waiting on the bureaucracy, at least make it to the border so we’re ready to rock when we get the okay.”
Drake’s room was on the same level as Allie’s; Spencer’s was two floors above, and he said his goodbyes and left them in the elevator.
“Wild about Spencer’s situation, isn’t it?” Drake asked, making small talk so they didn’t stand in silence.
“He’s a big boy — he got himself into it. He can dig himself out. My money’s on Spencer rebounding.”
“Sounds like the hedge fund may have lost his money.”
“What’s the old saying about diversification? Pigs get slaughtered?”
“Ouch. But you’re right.”
The polished steel door whispered to the side, and they stepped into the marble-floored hall. “Allie, I wanted to tell you that… Kyra? She’s just the neighbor. Nothing else.”
Allie sighed. “I’m beat, Drake. Can we discuss it some other time?”
“I thought it was important to clear that up.”
“I hear what you’re saying. But I’m pretty overwhelmed by everything that’s happening right now. Let’s talk about it later.”
Drake took the hint. There was no point pushing the subject. Fatigue, overload from responsibilities, adjusting to new circumstances, being in a strange country where she didn’t speak the language and couldn’t understand what people were saying, trepidation at going into the jungle again… Drake tried to imagine what was going on in her head, and sneaked a look at her as they walked together toward their rooms. He didn’t have a clue.
“This is mine,” she said, stopping at her door. “Sleep well. Maybe ring me around dinnertime.”
“Okay.”
Drake wanted to say more. Much more. He wanted to tell her about how she haunted his dreams, how he had imagined being with her, how much he wanted to hold her, to feel her lips on his, press her against him.
None of which he did, instead continuing to his room, feeling as alone and dejected as he could remember.
Chapter 12
Uncle Pete arrived at the hotel the next morning looking like he had slept in his clothes, and waited while Drake and Allie gathered their things. When they returned to the lobby, he was standing outside the front doors, smoking and trading jokes with the valets in Thai. He spotted them emerging from the entrance and dropped his hand-rolled cigarette in the sand top of an upright ashtray.
“Good morning. Car over there,” he said, motioning to the parking structure across the street.
“No cops to bribe today?” Allie asked.
“I on a budget,” Uncle Pete replied with a wink.
They followed him to the SUV and were not so quickly on their way. Traffic was nearly stopped in the downtown area, a sea of brake lights stretching as far as they could see, tuk-tuks and motorcycles weaving through the coagulated morass of vehicles.
“Where are we going?” Drake asked.
“To office. We have all stuff you ask, but you need inspect while we still here, so you think of anything else, we buy before we go. Not much by border. Laos nothing but jungle, so this last chance.”
“You have an office?” Allie asked.
“More like shop. It travel agency. Guide tours. That kind thing. Very popular with farangs.”
“Farangs?” Drake echoed.
“Thai word for white people. It not insult,” Uncle Pete lied.
“That’s okay. I mean, we’re the minority here,” Allie said. “Is that your day job?”