Devil's Due: A Thomas Caine Thriller (The Thomas Caine Series Book 0) (2 page)

The child stared at him in silence.
 
Guenther spoke a few more words to her, but it was clear she could not understand him.
 

"What do we do?" Sarah asked.
 
"We can't just leave her here."

"Excuse me, I help you?" a singsong male voice asked.
 
Sarah and Guenther turned to see an older Thai man standing next to them. He was tall for a local and looked to be in his forties.
 
His navy blue polo shirt and khaki shorts looked crisp and brand new, and his body was lean and athletic.
 
He was carrying a large canvas duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder on a leather strap.

Above his dark brown eyes, his brow was furrowed in concern.
 
"Heard little one crying.
 
She lost?"

Sarah looked the man up and down.
 
She turned to look at the Westerner in the Hawaiian shirt, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, man, we think some pervert dude was stalking her," Guenther said.
 
"She looks scared."

The older man kneeled in front of the little girl and spoke to her in Thai.
 
Sarah couldn't understand what he was saying, but the tone of his words sounded reassuring.

The little girl stared at him with wide eyes and nodded.
 
She continued to grasp Sarah's hand.

The man reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a small plastic bag of dried fruit.
 
He opened the bag and held it out to the girl.
 
She gingerly reached in, grabbed one of the fruits, and stuffed it in her mouth.
 
The man looked up at Sarah.

"Dried plums.
 
They my favorite when I was her age.
 
Taste like candy."
 
He grunted, stood up, and dusted off his knees.
 
"She too scared to speak, but she must be lost.
 
There's a police box at end of the market.
 
I take her there; they find parents."

He reached his hand towards the girl and spoke to her again in Thai.
 
"Ma Kab Chan.
 
Come, come, little one."
 

The girl looked up at Sarah.
 
She looked back at the man, shook her head, and shuffled behind Sarah’s legs.

"Look, she's scared. She doesn't want to go," Sarah said.
 
"Let's just call the police, and they can meet us here."
 

Guenther gave Sarah a condescending look.
 
"Babe, come on, you want to wait here all day for the police?"
 

Sarah stared daggers at Guenther, then turned to the older man.
 
"No offense, sir, but we don't know who you are, and she doesn't seem to want to go with you."

Sarah saw a ripple of anger crossed the man's features.
 
He seemed about to speak, but then hesitated.
 
He nodded.
 
"Yes, yes, of course, you right.
 
Sorry, just want to help the child.
 
Tell you what.
 
I go to police, bring them back here."

He lowered his duffel bag to the ground.
 
"You wait here with child.
 
Watch my bag, OK?
 
Very heavy!
 
I be right back."

The man wandered off down the market.
 
Within a few seconds, he was lost in the shifting crowd of tourists and vendors hawking their wares.

Guenther pursed his lips and uttered a low whistle.
 
"OK, that was a little odd."

Sarah shook her head.
 
"I don't know. I don't see the Hawaiian shirt guy anymore, and something about that other guy was weird."

Guenther laughed.
 
"Jeez, babe, don't be so paranoid.
 
You don't trust anybody!"

She looked down at the child, who returned her gaze with wide eyes.
 
She lowered her voice.
 
"OK, then why did he leave his bag?
 
They say you're never supposed to take a stranger's bag. What if it's full of drugs?"
 

Guenther hefted the bag off the ground.
 
"Well, if it is, we hit the jackpot 'cause this thing weighs a ton!"

"That's not funny!"

"Come on, let's check it out."
 
Guenther pushed through the crowd and walked to the side of the market, where the constant stream of people thinned out to a low trickle.
 
Sarah and the child followed, hand in hand.
 

"Guenther, I don't like this!
 
Do you know what the sentence here is for drugs?"

Guenther turned his back to the crowd.
 
"Keep your voice down!" he hissed.

He zipped open the bag.

The little girl began to cry again, and her face turned bright red.
 
Sarah pressed up against Guenther to peer over his shoulder.
 
"Well, what is it?"

"Just a second, can you quiet her down?"

Guenther rummaged through the bag, pulling out a bundle of cheap t-shirts.
 
"It's just stupid t-shirts, tourist stuff ... oh, fuck!"

Kneeling, he gingerly set the bag on the ground.
 
Sarah caught a glimpse of electrical wires and two large, clear cylinders taped together.
 
Each cylinder was filled with a yellowish, crumbled powder.
 
A red LED light attached to one of the wires was flashing.

"What the hell is--" she began, but Guenther grabbed her arm.
 

"Sarah, shut up and run!"

Sarah scooped up the screaming girl and ran. She'd gone only a few steps when suddenly everything she could see, hear, or feel was blotted out in a giant ball of orange fire.
 

She screamed, but the sound was silenced by the explosion.
 
She felt her body move and had just enough time to realize she was not running.
 
She was flying through the air.
 
Her skin was burning, but she felt no pain.
 
Her eardrums and eyeballs ruptured from the shockwave, and blood cells in her lungs exploded as her body was torn apart.
 

As the pinpoint of white light that was her consciousness dimmed out, a dying thought flickered through her mind.
 
This was true infinity... infinite blackness.
 
Infinite darkness.
 
Infinite possibilities reduced to an infinity of cold, black space.

A light but steady rain washed the grime and residue from the roofs of the go-go clubs and beer bars that lined either side of Soi Six, part of Pattaya's infamous red light district.
 
It was early October, near the end of the rainy season for Thailand.
 
Normally, the afternoon sun would have already heated the air to a stifling ninety degrees or more.
 
Instead, the unending drizzle of rain cooled both the climate and the wallets of visiting tourists.

Today, once again, the rain had kept the crowds away.
 
Only a few diehards, old men with beer guts stretching the seams of their cheap, local T-shirts, ventured out into the downpour.
 
They meandered through the rivers of filthy water that rushed down either side of the street, occasionally stopping to haggle with bored-looking bar girls.
 
Despite the lack of customers, the girls looked like they would rather go back to painting their nails.

The atmosphere in Ruby's Club, a beer bar towards the end of the street, mirrored the gloomy weather outside.
 
Music blasted from the bar's speakers, but it seemed unable to drown out the sound of the falling rain.
 
A beautiful bar girl dressed in a sexy school uniform danced on the center stage, spinning around a gleaming chrome pole, but the motley assortment of locals and regular customers paid her no attention.

The few customers in the place sipped lukewarm glasses of beer from the front patio bar and watched the rain falling into the street with quiet, detached reflection.

The sole exception was a lone man standing towards the center of the patio bar.
 
He was of average height, but his arms and back rippled with muscle beneath his slim-fitting, black linen shirt.
 
Everything about him seemed hard and angular.
 
His hair was buzzed military short and worn in a Caesar cut.
 
His nose was slim and hawk-like.
 
His eyebrows were two dark slashes, cutting across his forehead.
 
The only soft thing about his face were his eyes.
 
They were large and almond-shaped.
 
Delicate black lashes blinked, revealing bright, baby blue irises.
 
His left eye had a lazy tic, and seemed to dart and roll towards the edge of his face.

He slammed his empty glass down on the counter.
 
The noise echoed through the bar like a gunshot.
 
A few of the regulars looked up in annoyance, but they glanced away after meeting the man's gaze.
 
There was something unnerving about those strange, beautiful eyes set in such a hard face.
 

"Bolshe!
 
More vodka!
 
And no more of this cheap ssatt!
 
I want top shelf!
 
Beluga, bitch!"

The bartender was a stocky, pretty girl whose dark skin and silky black hair were typical of girls from the northwestern Isaan region.
 
She hurried over, and set another glass down on the counter.

"No Beluga, sir," she said with her brightest forced smile.
 
"Stoli OK?
 
Good Russian Vodka!"

"Bah, Stoli is also ssatt!
 
All you have is piss here!"

The bartender's smile flickered.
 
"Stoli OK, sir?" she repeated.

The man nodded, and looked away as she poured his drink.
 
He turned to another man, who was sipping beer from a tall, frosted glass a couple chairs down at the bar.
 
He was wearing a white T-shirt, olive green pants, and battered suede desert boots.
 
He was taller and lankier than the Russian, and his body had the lean, taut look of a natural athlete.

"What is with this bar, eh?" the Russian grunted.
 
"They call this vodka?
 
Swedish ssatt, Finnish ssatt, even Russian ssatt!
 
All piss, I say."

The man down the bar gave no response.
 
He did not look up from his beer.

A tall, lighter-skinned bar girl with thick, wavy brown hair sat down on the stool next to the Russian.
 
She wore black hot pants, a black bustier top, and scarlet high heels.
 
She leaned towards the Russian and spoke into his ear, arching her back and making sure to give him a good view of her cleavage in the process.
 
"Hey, mister, you have nice eyes.
 
Buy me drink?"

She was stunningly beautiful, and her sudden appearance seemed to improve the Russian's mood.
 
His wide, blue eyes drank her in, and she leaned back as his unnerving stare traversed her body.
 
"Sure, baby, I buy you a drink.
 
What's your name?"
 

"I'm Naiyana.
 
What your name mister?"

"I am Alexi.
 
Alexi Rudov.
 
Delighted to meet you."

He took her hand in his.
 
She let him caress it for a moment, then tried to pull it back.
 
He gripped it tight in his fist.
 
The muscles in his arms bulged.
 
She giggled and tried to play it off.
 
"You strong, baby.
 
Big, strong man."

The bartender set down a drink in front of the girl, without asking.
 
It was a lady drink, a tiny bit of alcohol mixed with fruit juice and club soda.
 
Despite its low alcohol content, it cost 150 baht, about twice the cost of a normal drink.
 

The Russian, Alexi, nodded his approval, and the bartender drifted away again.

"You have pretty hands," he said, his large, meaty paw engulfing her tiny fingers.
 
She laughed as she sipped her drink with her free hand.

"You like?" she asked.
 
"Come upstairs with me.
 
I treat you good.
 
2000 baht."
 

Alexi Rudov twisted his lips into a smile.
 
He threw back his head and laughed.
 
"Da, da, I fucking love Thailand.
 
Drink up, my lovely.
 
I take you back to my hotel room.
 
Long time, 4000 baht.
 
I want to take my time with a piece of ass this fine."

The girl sipped her drink and smiled, but her brow furrowed in concern.
 
Maybe it was the way he gripped her hand, or the unnerving stare, and that lazy, floating eye.
 
Something about the man led her to shake her head.
 
"No, baby, I only do short time. 2000 baht, we go upstairs, right now.
 
I make you feel so good."

"Short time" was bar girl slang for a quickie.
 
A brief shower upstairs, then sex in a somewhat private room that contained little more than a bed, a night stand, and a box of condoms.
 
Once the client finished, they would go back downstairs, and that was that.
 
"Long time" would mean an all-night affair, usually at the client's hotel room.