A luxuriant, emerald-green lawn bordered with mango, oak, and gum trees stretched fifty yards or more from where we stood to the polo field on the south. To the east a thick grove of tall palms protected the deep lawn from the intrusion of the city. The trees were hung with white fairy lights and wicker tables and chairs had been set up under them in small groups. Formally-dressed people mingled on the lawn, while a string quartet played Mozart on a platform almost hidden under a bank of white orchids. The night was a study in jade and auburn sprinkled with black and white.
“Jack!”
I heard the voice calling me and looked around.
“Over here, Jack!”
A hand was flapping at us from a group of men standing near the center of the lawn so I took Anita’s elbow and we started over. About halfway there the crowd parted and I saw that the hand belonged to a government official I saw around town occasionally.
Anita went back into her stage whisper.
“Do I know him?”
“I don’t think so.”
I kept my eyes on the group and tried to answer Anita without moving my lips.
“His name’s Tammarat something or another, but everybody calls him Tommy.”
“Another Citibank guy?”
“Nope. Officially, he’s a deputy to the spokesman for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But if you don’t already know that he’s really something at the NIA, he’ll be happy to drop hints until you get the idea.”
“NIA?”
“The National Intelligence Agency.”
Anita glanced over to see if I was joking.
“You mean he’s a spy?” she asked.
“Yeah, something like that, I guess.”
“A Thai spy?” Anita was beginning to giggle. “Who does he spy on? Laos?”
“Jack, Jack!” Tommy rushed toward us before I could think what to say to that and clasped my right hand with both of his like a politician working the crowd. “And this must be the famous Anita.”
Anita couldn’t hold back any longer. She burst out laughing, and Tommy’s manner changed abruptly. His eyes went flat, examining first her and then me.
I improvised. “There was this joke I heard yesterday when I was in Hong Kong, Tommy, and I told it to Anita while we were walking in. I think she just got it.”
“Ah…” Tommy looked at me without expression. “That must be why you’re late tonight. Telling funny jokes is very time-consuming.”
“Waiting for Anita to get dressed is very time-consuming.”
I felt Anita’s hand brush my elbow. “Jack, I see Laura over there. Would you excuse me?”
She favored Tommy with her most charming smile, waied and slipped away.
I didn’t know anyone in Bangkok named Laura, of course, and I was certain that neither did Anita.
TWENTY
Tommy watched silently until Anita had disappeared into the crowd, then he placed his hand in the small of my back and nudged me in the direction of the men he had been talking to.
“Come over here a minute, Jack. I want you to meet some people.”
Tommy made the usual introductions all around, and as usual I missed almost everyone’s names except for the last man Tommy introduced.
“Jack, you know Manny Marcus, don’t you?”
“Q Bar?” I asked as we shook hands, and the man nodded without saying anything.
Mango Manny’s double-breasted black jacket was buttoned tightly over his paunch and with it he wore a yellow tie, black shirt, and huge diamond ring. His thinning hair, unnaturally black, was slicked back against his skull and even in the low light it glinted and glistened. In spite of the darkness, Manny wore gold Cartier sunglasses with very dark lenses. I knew the shades were Cartier because they said so on both earpieces.
“Some mutual friends of ours recently suggested I call you,” I ventured carefully, not sure how much I should say but not wanting to pretend I had never heard of Manny either.
Manny took off his Cartiers, folded them carefully, and pushed them into his breast pocket.
“Too bad you didn’t,” he said.
“I didn’t see any reason to bother you.”
Manny let his eyes linger on mine for a moment. “No,” he said, “you probably wouldn’t.”
While I was still trying to work out what that was supposed to mean, I felt Tommy’s hand on my back again.
“Jack, I need to talk to you about a little business matter without bothering our friends here.”
Tommy mumbled apologies to the group and then nudged me away out of their earshot. He draped one arm over my shoulders and lowered his voice.
“Do you know where the squash courts are?”
Tommy’s question didn’t make much sense so I didn’t answer right away. Was Tommy about to challenge me to a squash game? That didn’t seem likely.
“The squash courts, Jack. Are you listening to me?”
“I heard you. Why are you asking me about squash courts?”
Tommy looked at me levelly.
“They’re out near the main entrance,” he said. “Just on the other side of-”
“I know where they are.”
“Then why didn’t you just say so?”
“Even by your standards of non sequitur, Tommy, I thought you were kidding.”
“This is no time for jokes, Jack. You are walking in deep shit, my friend, and I’m trying to help you here.”
He paused, but I stayed poker-faced. What the hell was Tommy talking about?
“I want you to go to the squash courts at exactly ten and wait there. Someone wants to talk to you.”
“Who-”
“Just be there, Jack,” Tommy interrupted. “And for Christ’s sake try to be discreet about it for once in your life, would you?”
Then he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away from me without a backward glance.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was a quarter to ten so I spent the next few minutes wondering what I was going to do. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of Anita across the garden, but I got a distinct impression she was keeping her distance. I wasn’t sure I blamed her. So far the cast of characters she had encountered in my company made that look like a smart choice.
An unnaturally thin German girl dressed in arty black cornered me for a few moments against the rose bushes and gushed on about a television documentary she was making concerning female homosexuality among the hill tribes. Then two English stockbrokers I knew spent a few minutes trying to convince me that the Thai stock market was just about to take off. It all added up to standard Thai cocktail party chatter: nothing but sex and money.
At five minutes to ten I looked around for Tommy, but he was nowhere to be seen. Helpless to resist the intrigue, I abandoned my empty glass on a nearby table and headed toward the club’s front entry. Anyone who saw me would probably assume I was going to the toilet, but instead of turning left I turned right just past the bowling green and went through the door to the squash courts.
Only a single dim light was burning, so I flipped on the big overheads and looked around. All three courts were empty, of course, as were the wooden bleachers that rose a half-dozen tiers behind each of them. Feeling a little silly I sat down in the first row behind the court furthest from the door and waited. The bright lights glared off the white walls, throwing my reflection into high relief on the glass back wall of the courts. I thought I looked a little fuzzy.
After a few minutes the door opened and a young, well-dressed man stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him. He was tall for a Thai and lanky, and he moved with a confidence that made him look a little dangerous. I had never seen him before, I was sure of that, and the expression on his face suggested that he had probably never seen me before either.
“You Khun Jay?”
The man’s voice was polite, but he seemed a little twitchy. He had such a thick accent that I saw it was going to be difficult understanding whatever it was that he wanted to tell me.
“Jack, not Jay. It’s Jack Shepherd.”