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  Three slim, pale-skinned Thai women appeared and climbed into the woman’s booth. As they greeted one another, Kate got the woman’s name. Nattiya.

  Kate zoned in and out of their conversation, became alert when the subject of boyfriends came up. Nattiya didn’t mention Saradet by name, but it was obvious whom she was talking about. Nattiya had met up with him a couple of nights ago at the boxing, gone to what she referred to as a rongram man ruud, a love hotel. The place Tavener had described.

  They talked too fast, used too much slang for her to understand the entire conversation. The upshot was Saradet was a tiger in the sack. Goosebumps formed on Kate’s skin as Nattiya told her friends they had plans tonight, a nightclub, and then back to the same hotel.

  Kate remained in the booth, very still, for several minutes after the women left. She got out her mobile phone, stared at the blank screen, thrilled and scared and sickened by the information she had, what it meant.

  She dialled Chance’s number.

  NINE

  Kate glanced around the hotel room, a group of people planning a crime, got a rush of Surfers Paradise, déjà vu.

  She would be inside the club, call Tavener when Saradet and Nattiya left, then phone Chance to give him the heads-up.

  Tavener would be outside, follow the two Thais, let Chance know when they were coming, advise him of any change of plans.

  Chance would be waiting at a bar around the corner from the love hotel. When he got the call from Tavener, he’d go to the hotel, wait for Saradet.

  Milo nodded between sips of his drink as they went over their roles. Nareth sat silently in a corner, tried unsuccessfully to fade into the shadows. Kate noticed how the big Thai watched Milo as closely as the others.

  When Milo was satisfied everyone knew their part, he stood, produced a gun from his jacket pocket. A masculine smell wafted off the well-oiled piece of metal, cut through the stale air in the enclosed space. Milo slid back the mechanism in an exaggerated gesture, aimed the gun at Chance’s face, leered.

  Kate felt the room tense. Chance didn’t flinch.

  Milo pulled the trigger. ‘Bang,’ he said. Karen jumped at the sound, a dull metal click.

  Milo flipped the gun over, handed it grip-first to Chance, laughed. ‘It’s short barrelled so you’ll need to get in close.’ The Cockney felt around his jacket pocket, pulled out a clip of ammunition. ‘You won’t need a spare. Saradet didn’t get where he was in Issarapong’s organisation by being good at paperwork. You don’t get him first shot, you won’t get another.’

  ‘What happens then?’ said Chance.

  ‘Chocolates, flowers, and a happy ending,’ said Milo. ‘What the fuck do you think happens? You and the rest of your merry band get to live, isn’t that enough?’

  Kate met Chance’s eyes, looked away. What about the woman? Chance was only supposed to kill Saradet, but Kate knew Nattiya couldn’t be allowed to live. She almost said something, stopped herself. There was no point.

  Kate paused at the door to her room, took her swipe card from her jeans pocket. She heard movement behind her, turned, found herself inches away from Milo’s face. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath rank with alcohol. He was alone.

  Milo snickered. ‘Men follow their dicks.’

  ‘What?’ She pressed herself against the door to her room, tried to put some space between her and the Cockney.

  ‘You said it yourself, the other night about Saradet and his woman going to the love hotel. ‘Men follow their dicks.’ Clever and true.’

  He took a step forward to make up the ground between them.

  ‘Mind you, reckon that’s something a bird like you would know from experience.’

  Kate ignored the innuendo. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Thought you might fancy a nightcap.’ Milo’s face twisted around the words, was aiming for suave but it came off a threat.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Come on. Big day tomorrow, everyone’s tense, couple of kitchen sinks, a spot of charlie, take the edge off.’

  ‘You ask me, Milo, you’ve already had enough.’

  Milo put one hand over her shoulder, rested it against the door behind her. ‘Don’t faff around, love, you’re pulled.’

  ‘By you? You must be high as well as pissed.’

  Milo’s eyebrows narrowed, he withdrew his hand. ‘What, saving yourself for Mister Identikit?’

  Kate said nothing.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Milo held her stare for a few moments more, walked away.

  When he’d disappeared around the corner, Kate stepped into her room, closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it. She realised she was holding her breath, exhaled deeply.

  ‘Jesus Christ, what a complete sleaze.’

  She didn’t move for several minutes, half expecting Milo to return. When she was certain he wasn’t coming back, she kicked off her sandals, did a hundred-and-eighty-degree sweep of the sterile surrounds. Her possessions filled one bag, everything else in the space was ordered, cheap and disposable.

  She found a half-empty pack of cigarettes, took a saucer to the window, parted the heavy curtains, gazed down at Chinatown as she lit up. Bumper to bumper traffic, crowded footpaths, everything bathed in multi-coloured neon. She felt totally cut off from the sea of humanity ten stories below. A few muted sounds penetrated the thick glass. Otherwise all she heard was the crackle of tobacco from the tip of her smoke. Kate noticed a dull ache deep in her chest, thought it might be the rough Thai cigarette, realised it was loneliness.

  She finished her cigarette and lay down on the bed. Nicotine and adrenaline coursed through her. She knew sleep wouldn’t come.

  Kate walked barefoot down the hallway, knocked hard on Chance’s door.

  He peered at her, poked his head out, looked in both directions down the empty hallway.

  ‘Only me,’ she said.

  He was naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. She remembered him lying on a bed in the cheap motel in northern New South Wales, in a town whose name she had forgotten. His body bruised and battered then, now looked strong and clean, a thin pink scar on his shoulder the only reminder of the time.

  ‘What is it, Kate?’

  ‘I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Enough what?’

  ‘Don’t play fucking innocent. I’m sick of it.’ She took a step forward, conscious she was mimicking the behaviour toward her only moments earlier, shrugged the feeling off. ‘I can’t do anything about what happens tomorrow night, Saradet, Issarapong, Milo, but I can do something about you and me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sometimes you’ve got to dance with the one that brought you.’

  She pulled his face onto hers, kissed him, broke away. He tasted earthy, the unshaved bristles rough against her skin.

  He broke away, looked directly into her eyes. ‘This is not the time.’

  Kate placed a hand on his hard stomach, moved down, felt his semi-erect penis through the thin fabric of the boxers.

  ‘Your head may think that—’ she smiled up at his crooked face, strangely tender in the dim light, ‘—but the rest of your body disagrees.’

  He reached under her T-shirt. She felt a flood of warmth as he cupped one of her breasts. ‘It’s going to get complicated.’

  ‘It already is.’

  She kissed him again, pushed him inside, kicked the door closed behind her.

  TEN

  Chance picked up the cigarette from where it sat on the edge of the metal ashtray, drew on it hard as he looked at the empty mobile phone screen.

  Nearly midnight and the bar still swirled with activity. Dozens of foreign men, twice as many women. People shouted above the blare from a large flat-screen TV showing a soccer match. The men were drunk, the women increasingly aggressive as closing time loomed, and with it the prospect of being left without a customer for the night, their smiles as genuine as the Viagra and designer T-shirts for sale at stalls along Sukhumvit Road.

  Fresh
meat when he’d first arrived three hours ago, Chance had battered away advances from several Thai women who’d wanted a drink, to sit with him. Now the working girls left him alone, hunted for better prospects.

  The bar was the last in a long line of watering holes on both sides of the street. Further on the street curved left, became quieter, small businesses, all closed for the night, guesthouses and hotels, including the one used by Saradet and his girlfriend.

  The love hotel was two stories tall, a car park underneath the building, individual parking spaces, each with a curtain that could be drawn to prevent prying eyes scoping out the number plates and make of customers’ cars. The only security was an old guy in a wood-panelled office in the entrance foyer next to vending machines selling condoms.

  It had been more than an hour since Kate had called to tell him Saradet had left the club with his girlfriend. It was the first time they’d spoken since she’d left his bed that morning. Chance could sense she wanted to say something else, ended the call before she could, told himself he needed to keep the line free.

  The televised crowd roared as a player scored, the noise echoed by the men in the bar. Chance picked up his cigarette just as his phone rang and the screen lit up with a single word: Tavener.

  ‘They stopped for a bite but they’re moving again,’ said Tavener. ‘Estimated time of arrival is five, ten minutes tops.’

  Chance mashed out his cigarette, threw a wad of crumpled Thai baht notes on the table. He paused at the entrance to the bar, stuck another note in a plastic cup held by a beggar who sat cross-legged on the narrow footpath, a filthy infant asleep in her lap. She grinned; the grime and poverty etched on her face made her appear much older than she probably was.

  A travel agency sat opposite the hotel’s entrance, faded posters in the window. Chance leaned into the shadows under its awning to avoid being seen by a passing foreign couple, checked out the price of cheap tickets to Europe and the United States.

  Headlights appeared in the distance. As the vehicle edged closer, he recognised the familiar shape of Saradet’s Benz. Chance withdrew the pistol from the pocket of his denim jacket, checked the safety was off. He jogged after the vehicle as it slowly turned into the hotel parking lot, went down the incline into one of the parking spots under the building.

  The curtains were already drawn across the parking spot by the time Chance arrived. He ducked in between the heavy pieces of fabric, crouched at the rear of the car. Heat emanated from metal and a heavy smell of exhaust hung in the enclosed concrete space. Saradet stood by the front passenger’s door, faintly illuminated by the overhead light inside the car.

  Chance walked around the car, placed the pistol against the side of Saradet’s head. Chance allowed Saradet to swivel his head slightly, his dark eyes moving between Chance and the barrel of the pistol. Chance slowly squeezed the trigger.

  ‘Wait,’ said the woman, half out of the passenger’s seat.

  Kate had said nothing about her speaking English.

  He kept the pistol trained on Saradet. The woman slid the rest of her body out of car, stood in front of him in a black cocktail dress with generous cleavage. Ice-blue contact lenses gave her eyes an animal-like appearance. Chance searched his memory for her name. Nattiya.

  ‘Whoever is paying, we’ll give you more,’ said Nattiya. ‘You’ll be rich and we can be out of Thailand in twelve hours, disappear.’

  Saradet said something in Thai.

  ‘Issarapong sent you,’ she translated. It wasn’t a question.

  Chance knew his hesitation answered the question. Saradet smiled.

  ‘Tell your boyfriend to put both hands on the car roof,’ said Chance.

  Chance patted Saradet down with one hand, held the gun in the other. When he was satisfied the Thai was unarmed, he prodded him in the direction of his girlfriend. The two Thais stood with their backs against the concrete wall, looked at him expectantly.

  Chance smiled. ‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk.’

  ELEVEN

  They cut a deal in the Muay Thai-themed room Saradet had booked for his tryst with Nattiya. It had a round bed, blue-tinted lights inlaid into the floor around the base, a replica of a boxing ring, a bar with several stools, mirrored walls and ceiling. The lighting made the three of them look ghostly, but it was the mirrors that particularly unnerved Chance. His new face stared back at him, strange and unfamiliar, like a fourth person in the room only he could see.

  The old receptionist hadn’t batted an eyelid at two well-dressed Thais sharing a room with a rough looking farang, passed Saradet the key, told Chance in laboured English to be careful, several guests had broken a leg showing off their kick-boxing skills in the ring, returned to his newspaper.

  Chance told the two Thais to sit in the middle of the ring. He sat on the bed, the pistol on his knee, while they talked.

  Issarapong had two reasons for wanting Saradet dead.

  He’d discovered Saradet had been skimming from his operations, the money stashed in a bank account in Dubai, ready for him and his mistress to relocate to the Middle East.

  Saradet’s face became visibly angry as he spoke and Nattiya struggled to translate the flow of words. It was a familiar underworld story. Faithful lieutenant sheds considerable sweat and other people’s blood in the course of years of service on behalf of his boss, only to be passed over, in this case in favour of the boss’s spoiled, foreign-educated son. Worse, the son puts his trust in an untrustworthy farang drug dealer to help him.

  ‘You mean Milo?’

  Saradet launched into a stream of Thai invective at the mention of the name. Nattiya didn’t bother to translate.

  According to Saradet, he wasn’t the only one dissatisfied. Issarapong’s organisation was coming apart like a cheaply made shirt, as rival factions, kept in check by the father’s legendary ability to inflict violence, sized up one another and prepared to make a move. Saradet wanted to get out now before the bloodletting started.

  ‘You said there were two reasons he wanted you dead,’ Chance said when Saradet finally finished talking. ‘What’s the second?’

  Nattiya said nothing, flicked her boyfriend a nervous glance.

  Saradet nodded.

  ‘Photographs,’ she said.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Issarapong doing things of a personal nature.’

  ‘You’ve got pictures of him fucking somebody? Doesn’t sound enough of a reason to have someone killed.’

  ‘That would depend on who it is.’

  ‘Can you get hold of the photographs quickly?’

  The woman nodded.

  Nattiya was a savvy negotiator and Saradet seemed happy to let her do the talking. When they’d nutted out the details, Chance took his phone from the pocket of his denim jacket, keyed in Tavener’s number.

  ‘Where are you?’ he said when the American answered.

  ‘On my way to Huey’s, as arranged.’ The three of them had agreed Tavener and Kate would meet up at Huey’s old bar, wait for Chance to show. If they hadn’t heard from him in three hours they were to consider themselves on their own.

  ‘Change of plan,’ said Chance.

  ‘What the hell you talking about?’

  ‘No time for details, you’re just going to have to trust me on this. I think I’ve got a way we can get out in front of this thing.’

  Chance heard the American exhale loudly. ‘Okay, what do you need me to do?’

  Chance looked at his watch. Just past one.

  ‘Do you know Thermae?’

  An infamous bar on Sukhumvit, Thermae acted as a magnet for working girls from all over the city and stayed busy all night. Chance suspected the American would have come across it on his nocturnal travels around the city.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Be there in an hour.’

  ‘Pardon me for saying so, but now don’t exactly seem like an opportune time to get my ashes hauled.’

  ‘Saradet’s girlfriend will meet you there,
hand over a package. Be sure you’re wearing that stupid fishing hat of yours.’

  ‘What’ll be in the package?’

  ‘Money and photographs.’

  Tavener started to protest but Chance cut him off. ‘Take the package, head back to Huey’s place. Call me when you get there.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Meet you there later.’

  ‘What about Milo?’

  ‘This works out, he won’t be able to touch us.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t?’

  ‘Just do what I ask.’

  Chance checked his watch. He figured an hour should be enough time for Nattiya to get the photos and the money and meet Tavener at the bar, add another hour for the American to get to Huey’s place and safety.

  ‘If Saradet’s girlfriend hasn’t turned up by two, get out of there, get Kate, run. If I don’t turn up by dawn, keep the money and the photographs, run. Anything seems out of the ordinary or wrong, run.’

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, son.’

  ‘So do I.’ Chance breathed deeply. ‘And, Tavener, this goes wrong, promise you’ll look out for Kate.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Chance hesitated. ‘You going to wish me luck, old man?’

  ‘That’s your problem,’ replied Tavener.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You believe in luck.’

  The terms of their deal were simple. Three hundred thousand dollars, half of the emergency escape fund Saradet had at Nattiya’s condo, delivered to Tavener, seed money for the three of them to get out of Thailand and start fresh in another country. The photographs for added insurance. Once Nattiya made the drop, Chance would cut her boyfriend loose and the two of them would be free to spend the rest of their lives living in domestic bliss among the sand dunes and camels.

  Chance glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes until the deadline for Tavener to call. He perched on the bed, the pistol next to him, a semi-circle of butts on the floor around his feet, listened to muffled sounds of footsteps in the hallway, grunts and groans from the room next door.