Dead Girl Beach (4 page)

The next day, Seabury sat outside on the back porch of his bungalow at Pier One Resort—a stone's throw from Sunset Beach. The beach was lesser known and less frequented than its more popular neighbor, Sunrise Beach—a fifteen-minute walk from where he sat reading his newspaper.

Sun up, sky blue, a beautiful morning. Already, the 9:00 a.m. warmth of the air was starting to make him perspire. He went in and took a shower, changed into tan chinos and a white, cotton shirt, put on his deck shoes, came out, and sat down. He'd just picked up the paper when his cell phone rang.

“Good morning, Jailbird,” Lawan's voice came over the line.

“Hey. Thanks for springing me loose last night.”

“You owe me dinner, something fancy. I have the night off. So, I'm calling in my marker. Can you do?”

“Only if you wear that short black mini…you know. The one that turns all the guys on. Remember, the one I bought—”

“Yes. You're a generous guy, Seabury,” she cut in, “…when it counts. Please forgive my less-experienced sibling, Suma, for trying to hit you up for money to buy Arun a vegetable farm. I don't know where she comes up with these crazy ideas, but I'm glad you didn't give her the money.”

He remembered buying Suma a drink three nights ago in the Riser Room when she'd asked him for the money, and he'd told her no. He noticed the abrupt change in her mood and recognized her bipolar condition taking control. His older brother Benjamin had the same disorder back in Honolulu. Seabury was born there. His mother and father had died there. The disorder led to Benjamin's eventual suicide, so it was easy for Seabury to spot bipolar symptoms in other people. Suma—who eventually left in a huff—definitely had the disorder.

“I don't mean to be unkind,” he told Lawan. “But I'd be wasting my money. Arun just doesn't have a good head for business.”

“No, you're right. He doesn't.” Lawan agreed.

She couldn't talk long and had to go. She hung up moments later, with the promise she'd call him later to firm up plans for their date.

Seabury settled back in a wooden chair and stared out at the ocean. Spending a few hours last night in a holding cell made Seabury realize how much he enjoyed being on the other side of the bars instead of behind them.
Nobody knows what freedom means until they've lost it
, he mused while thinking about Billy Brooks, his cellmate.
Are you Barmy?
No, he wasn't crazy, and he felt pretty good right now, breathing in the fresh morning air. Though, he felt a bit sad for Billy. Poor guy might be in for a long time. Narcotics trafficking was serious business here.

A quarter mile away, the Thong Sala Pier bristled with crowds coming to and departing from the island. Ferryboats and high-powered speedboats docked at the pier. Some boats were already out on the azure blue sea going over to Koh Samui Island, or onto the mainland at the town of Surathani. Seabury watched them from the shadows of the back porch when a car pulled up on the street out front. A horn honked and kept honking until he got out of the chair, went around the side of the bungalow, up the walk bordered by palm fronds, and out toward the street.

Greta Langer sat on the passenger's side of a four-door Honda Accord—a surly smile working at the corners of her thin mouth. A bald guy behind the wheel stared across at him. For a moment, Greta sat watching him with a boorish expression, not quite mean and ornery but not quite polite and friendly, either. She rolled down the window and, like a light switch going off inside her head, her smile quickly changed into a sneer. She raised a hand shaped in the form of a gun. Then, she rocked it back and forth, pantomiming his death by gunshot. As he stepped onto the sidewalk and moved toward her, the car clanged into gear and roared off down the street; a wave of laughter trailed from the open window.

Bennie Zee powered through the water of his indoor swimming pool early that afternoon. The pool was located on the ground floor of his large, colonial mansion. At the poolside, his twenty-year-old, strikingly beautiful, and curvaceous Indonesian girlfriend. Clad in a yellow string bikini, she held his towel and waited.

“The man's waiting in your office, Darling,” she yelled across the water. “He's been there twenty minutes.”

Bennie Zee heard her voice but kept swimming. “Another lap, and I'm finished.”

Bennie resurfaced for air, his face and goggles parallel to the surface of the water. His lips shriveled up in a rubbery glob, and his lungs worked hard, devouring huge gulps of air.

Today, as usual, he swam across to the other side of the pool. Over and back, over and back, getting in a brisk workout.
Too many cigarettes
, he thought as he entered his final lap, leaving a trailing wake behind him. Way too many. I need to stop…or else. He didn't like the alternative if he didn't stop smoking.
I could actually end up croaking. Holy, sweet Jesus! Perish the thought. I'll quit. I'll stop, today
.

The sudden epiphany seemed to buoy him as the cigarettes were definitely cutting into his stamina, shutting down his wind. The Australian crawl he'd learned as a boy at Saint Stephen's Catholic Boarding School for Boys in Kowloon—across the bay from Hong Kong—felt laborious, now. His arms and legs were lead, and his lungs were on fire.
I have to quit the goddamn cigs. Now. Immediately
.

He swam down, back, and completed the final lap. His girlfriend handed him the towel as he slipped from the shimmering green domain behind him.

“My appointment…tell him I'll be right in.”

Removing his swimming goggles, Bennie toweled a shock of premature gray hair. He had toweled down his small, trim, and muscular body when his girlfriend, Aanjay, flipped open her cell phone and dialed a secure number inside his office. On the other end, a stout, bald, and snub-nosed man picked up the receiver.

“It's okay. Yeah. Yeah.” He chuckled.

Aanjay closed her phone. “All set.” She smiled at Bennie then disappeared into the mansion.

Bennie left for the change room, showered, and came back out wearing a denim shirt and tan chinos. He walked around the edge of the pool with its harsh smell of chlorine, down a long and dimly lighted hall, and crossed through the sliding glass door into his office.

The man was already inside and slipped from the shadows toward him.

Bennie motioned to a chair, and the man sat down. Then, Bennie scooted around a small, oak desk near a row of file cabinets and slipped quietly into a burgundy chair.

“How was your flight?”

“Good. Brussels is cold this time of year. I'm glad to be away.”

Bennie stared across at him, his expression suddenly serious.

“I need it done this afternoon,” Bennie said candidly. “You know, what we talked about last week?”

“I do. I am here for that purpose.”

Bennie grinned. Over the years, he'd gotten used to the thick, blunted sound of Bram Beckers's Belgian accent. In spite of his stilted, no-nonsense, and annoying style, Bennie knew that Beckers was the right man for the job, because he was efficient and inexpensive. He could get the job done in a way that no imported Hong Kong thug or local hit man could, and Bennie wanted it done.

“You have your iPhone?”

Beckers nodded.

 “Good. Take a picture. Then, I'll know it's done the way I want it.”

 “You know the fee?”

Bennie paused and looked at Beckers, annoyed by the remark.

“Of course.”

Beckers ran a hand over his bald, melon head.

“I use the K-Bar knife, the fee goes up another $5,000.”

Bennie smiled. “Are you trying to shake me down, Bram?”

“You said nothing about using the knife when we talked earlier. I use the knife, it costs extra.”

“I'll transfer the $25,000 to your bank in Zurich—once I see the picture in your phone.” Bennie paused. “Oh, yeah…one more thing.”

Becker's bushy eyebrows narrowed above small, emerald eyes.

“Make it vicious.” Bennie rolled back in his chair and locked his hands behind his head. “I want this sonofabitch to suffer. I want to see blood…lots of it.”

Beckers cracked a dry smile. “As you wish.”

Bram Beckers left the room. A moment later, he slipped into the wheat-colored Camry parked at the side of the mansion, drove down and out the front gate, and slipped unnoticed into the late, afternoon light.

“I fixed you a tuna sandwich,” Aanjay said to Bennie. She set a porcelain plate down on the glass table beside the pool with lemongrass juice and black coffee beside it.

“Looks good.” Bennie spread a white cloth down on the lap of his tan chinos and stared up at Aanjay. She had pampered, powdered, and her makeup was flawless. Black eye-liner. Tweezed eyebrows. Full, red lips. A splash of perfume coming off her slim body. She had dark, almond eyes set in a lean, attractive face, twice the width of two folded hands. There was the thick, black hair and the gold rinse running through it. She was a well-kept woman. Worth the money—nothing short of a king's ransom—that he spent on her.

Aanjay stared over the rim of the coffee cup. “So, you think that maybe…”

“I know what you're going to say, Aanjay. Yes, maybe I should have, but well…” He shrugged, “…you know.”

“I'm finding it hard to believe that you did that. Let that girl keep her job after all the trouble she's caused. Late people—that's not you, Bennie.”

“Which means exactly what?” He spoke with a mouthful of tuna fish and washed it down with a swallow of lemongrass juice.

She stirred some sweetener into her coffee and looked back up at him. “I'm not trying to criticize, Darling.”

She spoke English with a slight singsong accent and slurred some of her words. Bennie wouldn't be associated with anyone who couldn't speak English or wasn't refined or educated—all the things lacking in his own street-smart, thuggish nature.

Aanjay sipped her coffee. “It's just that I think you should have let her go. Who needs a headache like that? It must be difficult for you, is all I'm saying.”

“I'll take care of it.” Bennie chewed his sandwich, drank juice, and drank some coffee. “In case you're interested, here's the story.”

“I know the story. That's what bothers me.”

Bennie's eyes narrowed on his girlfriend.

“Mister Tanaka was upset.” Aanjay put down her coffee. “You know him. He has too much class to show it.”

Bennie leaned over in his chair. “I know all about Koji Tanaka. He's a Big Spender who jets in from Tokyo twice a year. He comes here for the same reason all sex tourists come to the island—to drink and bed a different girl each night he's here. Tanaka has deep pockets, and the girls guzzle down shots of Tequila and lick salt and lime juice from the backs of their hands, but hey. Who's complaining…not me. Not when a shot of Tequila costs seven dollars U.S. I get rich and loved many times over by my Hong Kong bosses.”

“The girls also get a third of each drink sold,” Aanjay said. “The house gets the rest. Yes, it's good business, but not with that girl here. She's trouble waiting to happen. I still think you should have fired her.”

Bennie shook his head emphatically. “No…no way. Lawan Songsiri sells a lot of drinks. If I let that pain-in-the-ass sister of hers go, Lawan goes with her. I can't let that happen. You know what they say about good help.”

“Still, you can't afford that headache, either.”

“Let me worry about that, Aanjay.” He checked his watch and ate another bite from his sandwich. “Besides, I had Lawan practically on her knees and begging me not to fire Suma. ‘Please Bennie. Don't fire her. I know she's young, and she has that temper, but please, Bennie. I'm begging you. Don't fire her. I'll take care of her. I'll watch her, I promise.' It was hilarious.”

“What about the other girls?” Aanjay's eyes narrowed. “If you don't fire Suma, aren't you going to lose face with them? Is that what you want? Do you know what it means to an Asian man? Well, do you?”

Bennie laughed. “I'm not worried about it.”

“You might if your bosses find out about the money.”

“That I loaned to Arun Songsiri?”

“Well, you never got it back.”

“That's being taken care of.” He raised a hand.” So, don't worry about it.”

Arun borrowed six million baht—approximately $200,000.00—from Bennie to pay off gambling debts. Then, out of the blue, he won the Thai lottery for the same amount he owed Bennie. Now, he was hiding out somewhere with the money and not paying off the debt.

After all I've done for that jailbird fuck
, Bennie thought.
That loser
.

“Are you okay?” Aanjay asked.

“Fine, but I gotta go.”

Bennie gulped down the last few bites of his sandwich, stood up, and crossed the room. Aanjay glanced up from stirring sweetener into another cup of coffee and watched him race out the door.

Benny's car was a fiery red SL550 Roadster, which he drove beneath rows of banyan trees bordering his driveway and out the front gate. He gave the scarecrow guard a two fingered salute, passed through, and drove down the street toward the highway. He was on his way over to Lawan's condo to pay her a little visit—get her to admit that she knew where Arun was hiding and talk about Suma.

Suma was lazy. She wouldn't hustle drinks. That was the main reason he didn't like her. It wasn't her looks that bothered him. She wasn't ugly, but she sure as hell wasn't pretty, either. The chemistry between them just wasn't there, like when you see a pretty girl walking down the street and all you can think about is how she'd look naked in your bed. Well, he never felt that way about Suma. Her real name was Sumalee—which wasn't such a bad name, come to think of it. Everybody ended up calling her Suma anyway, for Christ sake. After that, everything about her just seemed to disturb him.

At 3:00 p.m., it was hot and humid. The sun glanced off the hood of the car. Bennie roared off into the fierce tropical heat with a reckless fury.