Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) (32 page)

“You knew what he was up to?” asked Gina.

“Not until we were on the way to the service. In the car he handed me the files. Explained what he was going to do. If I’d known any sooner I would have tipped you off. Lucky for Tasanee you were able to handle the situation. Have to say I was very impressed.”

She retuned his compliment with a squinty-eyed look. “So impressed you couldn’t give me a sign you were still on my side?”

“So distrustful that you thought I had to?”

Gina blew out her breath. “Touché.”

And grinned. The cheek of her. A week without that grin and he’d felt himself drying up. He was going to bust if they didn’t get all this sorted out. Because after seven days, he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t going through the rest of his life without her cheek.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Wakai was at the top of the list.”

“Yes.”

“Except you let him out on his own reconnaissance.”

“Yes, as per our agreement with Jarun. Hurt like hell to let him walk.” Kannon winced. “Or the equivalent thereof. Dropped him in the elevator and sent it to the penthouse.”

“That wasn’t very kind.”

“Wasn’t kindly disposed.”

“You going to tell me where we’re going?”

“You going to stop asking me a whole bunch of other questions so I can?”

“Technically—”

He cut her a look.

“Yes, I am. Right now.” And another grin.

He had to look away or he’d pull over and drag them together, and they wouldn’t be driving anywhere for a good long time. “Only way to save Tasanee is to get her from the rakshasas fast. Only way to make that happen is to have Wakai’s cooperation, and to get that, we’re going to need an ally both sides trust.”

“Who is?” she prodded. His turn to smile. Let her feel a little frustration, too.

Turning down a narrow lane he parked in the first available spot. “Jarun.”

Gina looked around. “Jarun? We’re practically in Chinatown. He lives here?”

“That’s what we’ll find out.” He opened his door. “Best to walk the rest of the way. Come on.”

Sempeng Lane was a very long, very narrow street that bisected Bangkok’s Chinatown, its dimensions so tight that in parts Kannon could have touched both sides by stretching his arms. The winding passage was flanked with small shops running in a seemingly endless procession, selling every conceivable kind of product—though mostly shoes, cheap jewelry and hair accessories—all at prices lower than anywhere else in the city.

“Wherever you’re taking me, looks like you’ve been there before,” said Gina, walking in Kannon’s wake. Even in the cramped quarters people made room for him.

“Not specifically,” he replied over his shoulder. “I’ve walked this cursed street a hundred times before.”

Gina’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “Really?”

“This is Zoe’s favorite place to shop,” he explained. “I used to chaperone her and Tasanee almost every weekend.”

“Isn’t that a little overprotective?”

“They wanted me to come. Seems they got better deals when I was around.”

Reaching a small stand selling freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice, Kannon paused, looking down at the old woman who was running the place. The woman stared with an apprehensive smile, her eyes swelling with fear. Like the waiter in the restaurant, he scared people, even when he didn’t intend to.

Luckily, he had Gina. “Hello, ma’am,” she said as soothingly as she could over the noise of the crowd. “We’re looking for—”

In the reflective corner of his sunglasses, he caught sight of Jarun. “There!” He charged into the crowd, scattering the densely packed shoppers like squawking chickens. Jarun had apparently been heading back to the stall with a large basketful of pomegranates when the two men had spotted each other, and now he was striding toward him like an irate rhino.

“You’ve crossed the line this time!” Jarun yelled, his face as red as the fruits he was carrying.

“I’m here to talk.”

“Oh yeah? Well, talk to this!” Snatching up a hard fruit from his basket he hurled it at Kannon, then setting his load down, commenced firing away.

Kannon deflected the fruit with his hands and forearms, one of them exploding, scattering both him and surrounding bystanders with bright red juice. Ducking, he darted to Jarun to kick aside the basket. He seized Jarun’s wrist before a punch could connect. “Will you calm down! I’m not here to fight!”

Jarun yanked his hand free. “Then what were you doing scaring my mother?!”

Was this what it was all about? He glanced over at the old woman who whispered something to Gina. She translated. “She says he’s really a good boy.” Her gaze skittered to the surrounding shopkeepers who in a show of support or outrage, had started to surround Kannon brandishing canes, bottles and a cricket bat.

“Stay there. I’ll take care of this,” he told her. So, of course, she came to his side, and began public relations with the mob, gesturing at him and other shopkeepers. In minutes they were chatting and laughing, and any who might’ve still had a bone to pick with him now settled for dirty looks before wandering off.

Kannon turned to Gina. “I’m not going to ask what you did because it worked, and that’s all I care about.”

She smirked. “You might care next time you come here shopping with your daughter. Then you’ll be paying.”

Jarun was still looking murderous. Gina brought her lips to Kannon’s ear. “I think he’d like an apology for threatening his defenseless little mother.”

“I didn’t—” Kannon exhaled and turned to Jarun. He manufactured as contrite a face as his fuming mind permitted. “I apologize for any misunderstanding that has arisen as a result of my behavior.”

Jarun looked over at his mother who was staring with shoulders sagged at the mess of pomegranates. “You should make it better by cleaning up the mess.”

“I didn’t—” Kannon exhaled again. If it wasn’t that he needed the scum’s cooperation, he would’ve shoved the entire basket down his throat. As it was, this was all payback for his earlier interrogation of Jarun. Without waiting for his answer, Gina began hustling around the fruit, tossing undamaged pomegranates in one basket, damaged in another, ordering him to take the baskets back to the stall. It was all done in no time flat.

“Now,” Kannon gritted out. “Now, can we please sit down for ten minutes? To talk.”

Jarun pointed to the stall. “Fine. But this better be important.”

At the back of the stall, Gina sipped on a glass of juice as Kannon tried to get the worst of the sticky red fluid off his suit.

“I thought you said you were going to arrange for Wakai and me to leave,” Jarun complained. “It’s been nine days. Nine days!”

“I said I would and I will,” Gina said.

“And what about Victoria? I thought you were going to deal with her.”

Gina slammed down her glass. “Jarun! I said I would and I will. Now, can we talk or do you need something other than your pomegranates squeezed?”

Jarun looked from one to the other of their faces, and agreed.

Wakai contemplated the mummified corpse of the infamous Si Quey Sae Urag, arguably the worst serial killer in Bangkok’s long and sordid history. Worst one ever caught, anyway. The monster’s shriveled body stood hunched, enclosed in a glass case resembling a white telephone booth. The killer’s leathery skin was dark from the embalming process, the face bearing an expression of morbid interest in whoever gazed upon it.

After being cooped up in his penthouse for a full week, with only Victoria and his thoughts for company (rakshasa didn’t count), it would seem peculiar to others that his first excursion was to a medical museum. The place was housed in Bangkok’s oldest hospital, and abounded with bizarre medical curiosities. All around him were preserved bones and organs, stillborn babies in jars of formaldehyde and a hundred other grotesque displays.

His mother had once worked as one of the hospital’s groundskeepers, and left in charge of his little sister, he’d snuck into the museum with her. Both had been fascinated by the place, though for very different reasons.

For him, it was a welcoming departure from the chaos that marked their lives in 70 Rai. A sterile and ordered sanctuary from the filth, violence and misery that was his home and neighborhood. He could look at the body before him and take comfort that even such an abomination as Si Quey—murderer, cannibal, child killer—could be contained. That cold intellect could prevail over chaos, and that even a nightmare could be neatly boxed up and put on a shelf if one was disciplined and dispassionate enough to do it.

His sister was a different story. Whereas he longed for control over the horrors of Bangkok’s underbelly, she ached to become one of them. She’d gazed upon the mummy with solemn admiration, like a pilgrim visiting the sacred remains of a saint. He’d known even then that she was insane, but the museum had inspired him. If he was smart enough, he could protect her. Veil the worst of her desires from the authorities, neighbors and, most importantly, his psychologically frail mother.

Now he realized that Victoria was the reason their mother had been so brittle, and why suicide had been, for her, the logical conclusion. Life, Wakai had learned as he’d looked at the bleeding corpse of his mother, really was an option.

An option the man he most feared had extended to him. After revealing Montri’s location, he’d not expected Kannon Takahama to set him free. Not even with Tasanee as their hostage. Not even with Gina Zaffini underwriting Kannon’s own promise. Yet he had, and Wakai had spent the week considering the whys and wherefores of it.

His phone rang, shattering the silence of the exhibit room. Montri. Well, well. It had only taken a week. “Good to hear from you, Alak.”

“This isn’t Montri.”

Gina Zaffini. It took a moment for Wakai to find his tongue. “May I ask why you’re on Alak’s phone?”

Despite the hatred she must feel for him, the woman’s tone remained as calm and collected as when they’d been on the boat. “I’m afraid both of us have miscalculated, Mr. Wakai. You thought you could control Alak by holding his daughter hostage, but he is ready to sacrifice her to take you down. That isn’t something I can tolerate.”

The news hit him like a hammer. “You…killed him?” Wakai tried to keep the shock from his voice. “How did you get by—?” Of course. “Kannon Takahama.”

“Kannon’s a friend of mine,” she asserted. “As are several of the most powerful gang leaders in Bangkok. And that makes me believe that we can both still get what we want. Let’s cut a deal, shall we?”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. No sooner did he seem to have control than it was snatched away from him. Would Alak have truly been so ruthless? Could his daughter have meant so little to him? Perhaps in his desperation to protect Victoria, he’d projected too much of himself onto his old boss, expecting the same kind of familial devotion. He remembered what Montri had said while on his knees in Wakai’s apartment, remembered Montri’s ruthless observance of his principles. Wakai loved Victoria, and had mistakenly believed that his old boss was capable of the emotion, too. What would happen when Ek found out? He eyed the grisly displays, the sight depicting any number of unpleasant possibilities.

“Who else knows about this?”

“Aside from you and I, only Kannon and a couple of trusted others,” she replied. “I know that this must upset your plans, Mr. Wakai, but I believe that we can still work together.”

There was something about Gina Zaffini that made him want to believe. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because I’m guessing our motives are similar. I want to protect Tasanee. You want to protect your sister. We’ve both done what we’ve had to do to keep our families safe.”

“Then we’ve both got a major problem,” he said. “I’ve promised control of the city to the Cambodians. That’s the only reason they haven’t laid a finger on Tasanee so far. Without Alak, I don’t see how I’m going to deliver on that, so things aren’t looking very good for either of us at the moment.”

“They’d have been a lot worse if I hadn’t stopped Montri before he declared war on you,” she countered. “He was ready to do exactly that at my father’s memorial service.”

She was implying she’d saved his life, that therefore he owed her. He wasn’t playing that game. He was sticking to chess. “All you did was buy a little time. I left Alak alone this past week so that he could heal from his injuries and bury his friend.” This was partly true. The other part was he didn’t want to make the first move, in case it was the wrong one. “The Cambodians are already impatient with the delay.”

“Then we’d best come up with a plan PDQ,” she said. “Otherwise we’re both going to wind up as dead as the people in that museum you’re in.”

Wakai almost dropped his phone in shock. “How did you—?” Again, he answered his question, with a variation. “Your lover.”

Her quick inhalation confirmed it. So, Kannon had developed a weakness, one who thought she could blackmail him. He let her prattle on. “Like I said, Kannon’s a friend of mine. And so are a lot of other dangerous people. If I’d wanted to harm you I could have easily done so. The fact that you’re still breathing is a show of goodwill. You’re a very smart man, Mr. Wakai. But I’m pretty smart myself. If we work together, I think we can both benefit.”