Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) (5 page)

Even now, sitting a few feet off, puffing away on his millionth cigarette, he looked like a reincarnated dragon. Dry as one, too. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and adjusted her tudung, the silken headscarf that was the norm in the Muslim city. Although her long dress was pretty, in a medieval kind of way, the tropical heat made it stifling, excruciating for a woman who rarely bothered with panties.

She raised binoculars to check out the bright blue waters of the Gulf of Thailand for any sign of her father’s yacht. There were plenty of flights direct from Los Angeles to Bangkok, but her father and Kannon had felt it prudent to meet in neighboring Malaysia instead. That meant they’d landed in Hong Kong, caught a plane to Kuala Lumpur, then another connector flight to Kota Bharu. Gina felt as if they’d been traveling for weeks.

She turned to Kannon. “Do you think I should call Darae? Just to see how long they’ll be?”

He didn’t look at her. “No.”

She didn’t get it. What was wrong with making a quick call rather than sit here for who knew how long? Keeping the binoculars in position with one hand, she reached for her phone inside her purse.

Then she saw it.

“Ah, there she is!” Gina stood and pointed to a pale pink yacht that had appeared on the horizon. Kannon held out his hand, and Gina passed him the binoculars.

“
The Pink Pussy
,” he said, reading the name emblazoned in golden script on the bow.

Gina slung her purse over her shoulder. “
The Pink Pussy
cat. Check out the smaller font. Port authority made him add ‘cat’ so it wouldn’t be so raunchy.”

Tasanee giggled which escalated into snorts and girly laughter that drew disapproving looks from the males. Kannon drew a finger across his throat, and she instantly quieted. When he gave word that a powerboat had disembarked from the yacht, they gathered up their luggage and headed to the dock, a stray dog loping behind.

“I forgot about you dogs in Asia,” Gina said to it as she set her bags down at the edge of the pier. “Always coming to keep me company.”

“It could be rabid,” Kannon cautioned.

Oh, really. She let the animal sniff her hand, then gave it a good scratch behind the ears.

“Or have fleas.”

She tipped some water from her bottle into her hand and offered it to the dog. It lapped it dry and wandered off.

A few minutes later the powerboat eased up to the dock. The woman at the wheel was in her fifties, tall and busty for a Thai, her skin the color of cinnamon and her hair drawn into a high ponytail. Darae. One look at her and Gina wondered how it was that she could’ve stayed away as long as she had. She didn’t know how she got inside the boat but all at once she was there, hugging the woman who’d played mother and mentor.

“Sorry, Darae. Sorry,” she mumbled into the woman’s hair.

Darae pulled them apart and searched Gina’s face. “What are you sorry for?”

“I should’ve come sooner.”

A certain closed stillness passed over Darae, and after giving Gina one more affectionate squeeze, she opened her arms to Tasanee. “Oh, Tas. It’s so good to see you in one piece. We aren’t going to let anyone hurt you. And we’re going to make sure that Wakai pays for his crimes.”

“He certainly will,” said Kannon as he stepped aboard, bowing to Gina’s stepmother. “Hello, Mrs. Zaffini. I’m Kannon Takahama. I take it my assistant is already on board?”

“He is. And so are his two guests. We have Jarun in the hold, along with the driver that came to pick him up.”

Darae throttled the engine, wasting no time in returning to
The Pink Pussycat
. Gina pushed in close to her, stripping off the tudung that flapped uselessly about her head.

“Your father’s happy you came,” Darae yelled over the roar of the engine.

Gina steadied herself against the slam of the boat on the waves. “How is he? He wouldn’t tell me.” She gestured at Kannon.

“He’s looking forward to seeing you again,” replied Darae, sidestepping the question. “Ten minutes and you’ll be talking to him.”

Tingles, as fine as the water spray, misted down on Gina. Except it wasn’t the urge to shop she felt but the desperate need to get to her father. She fixed her eyes on the yacht.

“Your timing is good. We need you here, Gina,” Darae shouted on. “This is no ordinary scuffle. Alak’s very respected. You remember, few years back, Bangkok was cut up between so many foreigners, not to mention those horrible pedophile groups. He’s the one who put an end to them.”

“So he has a lot of enemies. That’s pretty standard for a crime lord.”

“He’s got a lot more friends,” Darae countered. “The people, especially those in the slums, love him, and the Thai gangs all either respect or fear him. Now overnight, Wakai’s murdered everyone in Alak’s inner circle and slapped him in chains. One way or another, order’s got to be restored. The trick is keeping his daughter safe while that happens.”

“So Tasanee’s a princess in peril?” Gina asked.

Darae turned her attention from the water to focus on Gina. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Don’t forget you are a mafia princess, too.”

Her stepmother had always been of the opinion that Gina belonged with her father and his world. The paradox was that the very act that had proven Darae right had also been the one that had caused Gina to choose another path. “No,” Gina said. “Not a princess. Not in peril.”

“Then, who are you? A receptionist? A single woman? A killer on the run?”

Gina absorbed each of the labels, wincing at the last one. She looked out across the water as the pink yacht grew closer and more real.

“Right now,” she said, “all I want to be is a daughter.”

Once her feet hit the deck of
The Pink Pussycat
, Gina flew up the stairs to the sky lounge where Darae had said her dad was waiting. By the time she cleared the stairs, the tingles were crackles and sparks, her entire body a live wire.

Vincenzo Zaffini sat in the shade of an awning, surrounded by young, brown, bikini-clad women. His loose shirt and pants couldn’t hide what had happened to his once big, strong body. His frame was skeletal and pale and so weak it couldn’t seem to hold itself up. His face was sunken, his hair gone. But his dark eyes still shone up at her the way she remembered.

Slowly, painfully, with the aid of his cane and two of his girls, he stood and opened his arms. “Welcome home, bambina.”

And as it’d been with Darae, she didn’t feel herself cover the distance, only that she was there, his thin arms wrapped around her, her arms holding him and holding him up. She felt him sway and loosened her hug, trying to find a way to let him sit back down on his own and yet give him the help he needed. When he was seated, she sank to her knees beside him.

“Thought a bullet would catch me before the cigarettes did,” he said softly to her. “Doctors say I got a while yet. Time enough for us to sort things out.”

She would not cry. She had no right to cry when she couldn’t be bothered to visit him in ten years. “I would’ve come earlier,” she whispered. “For you, I would’ve.”

He squeezed her hand, his grip tender in its weakness. “And I shouldn’t have smoked a pack a day. Point is, you’re here now. And for the time being, so am I.”

“You should hear your voice, Daddy. You really sound like The Godfather now.”

He leaned close. “Gina, bambina. God made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Her vision blurred and she swallowed hard. She touched her forehead to his hand and felt his other hand smooth her hair. “Purple, huh?”

“Yeah,” she choked out. “I wanted something different.”

He chuckled, a throaty exhalation. “You always wanted something different.”

She lifted her face to his. “Never wanted a different father.”

“It was another story when you were fourteen.”

“You can’t believe anything a fourteen-year-old girl says.”

He stroked her cheek. “Good. Sometimes—sometimes I wondered.”

Why? Why had it taken her ten years? For a decade she’d done nothing, not been there for him. He never ever smoked in her presence, a promise he’d made to her mother and kept even after she’d died. If she’d been around more, he would’ve smoked less, maybe he would’ve even stopped.

There were footsteps behind her. She turned her head enough to see Darae’s gladiatorial sandals, Tasanee’s flip-flops and a pair of black polished shoes. She stood.

“Give them to me.” She stuck out her hand. “Your cigarettes.”

Kannon’s face got very neutral. Just as she was certain he’d refuse her, he relinquished them. She sent the pack like a Frisbee over the railing.

Zaffini’s organization was made up entirely of females and transsexuals, their turf the city’s gentlemen’s clubs, massage parlors and upscale bordellos, of which they owned the lion’s share. Known as The Pink Stilettos, they dealt in sex and secrets, with more than one of them turning a blade in the back of her father’s enemies. They regularly mingled with the fringes of society, yet every one of them was staring at her as if she were a lit stick of dynamite.

She was aware of the futility of what she was doing, that it was all too late. Then again, when had she ever accepted any authority, even that of fate?

Kannon tore his gaze from the railing. “That was my last pack.”

“Don’t care. I don’t want anyone smoking on this ship.”

“Does that apply to me, too?” Vincenzo Zaffini rasped.

She ignored his question and sailed on. “Daddy, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Kannon Takahama. We go back years.”

If her father wondered how that was possible, he didn’t let on and instead bestowed on Kannon his blazing wide smile, the smile everyone said she’d inherited. In his emaciated state, it looked ghoulish, though he spoke steadily enough. “Your reputation precedes you, Kannon. Your boss spoke very highly of how you took care of Erawan Boontan.”

“I owe Mr. Montri a great deal. I’d appreciate any assistance you can give.”

Vincenzo Zaffini folded his thin hands over the jade head of his cane. “There’s a reason he chose me to be Tasanee’s godfather. Alak Montri and I have been friends for twenty years. My organization prides itself on discretion and information. My best girls are already on the job, and I have associates who’ll help, too.”

Kannon bowed, and Vincenzo’s attention turned to Tasanee. “Your father is a great man, Tas. No matter what happens, I want you to know that you still have a family. And you will have vengeance no matter what the cost. You understand?”

Tasanee pressed her hands together at her forehead and bowed deeply. “My father has always called you friend, Mr. Zaffini. Thank you for helping me.”

Good grief, Gina thought, all this kowtowing. It really was like a scene from
The Godfather
.

Kannon spoke. “My assistant and I have business to attend to below. Please excuse me.”

“That a nice way of saying you’re going to break out the thumbscrews?” Gina said.

Kannon addressed her father. “The sooner we do, the sooner we can learn what Wakai’s done with Mr. Montri.”

With an approving nod from her father, Kannon turned to walk away.

Gina stood. “Fine then. I’ll go with you.”

Kannon stopped, and looked to Vincenzo.

“Bambina,” her father said. “Let the man do his work. We both know you’re not tough enough for this.”

“Tough enough? I used to hang out in the worst parts of Bangkok!”

Vincenzo shrugged. “Sure. Under my protection.”

“I took care of the guys that were after Tasanee!”

“Must have been amateurs.”

Gina now remembered why she used to have the hugest fights with her old man. “Oh, is that so? What do I have to do to prove I’m as tough as you ever were?”

Vincenzo rolled his eyes. “Girl, you’re not as tough as I am now.”

That was ludicrous. Darae stepped forward. “How about we give Gina a chance, Vinny? Let her go down and help Kannon with the—questioning. Let’s see what she’s capable of.”

Vincenzo Zaffini twisted his mouth in reluctant agreement. Before he could change his mind, Gina marched away. “Come on, Kannon. Let’s go downstairs and get some answers.”

On the stairwell that led down to the yacht’s underbelly, she found herself blocked by a tall Japanese man, his frame lanky but still well-muscled beneath his suit.

“Ryota, this is Mr. Zaffini’s daughter, Gina,” Kannon said by way of introduction. “She’s here to help with the questioning.”

Gina didn’t miss the dubious look they exchanged. “What, you two have a system I’d be messing with? Good cop, bad cop?”

“More like bad cop, worse cop,” Kannon replied.

The two men thought she was going to screw up and she very well might but, at the moment, she couldn’t stand for there to be one more ounce of pain anywhere. Not while she could prevent it. “So you’re going to try to beat it out of them, are you? You don’t think by now Wakai would have figured out we have them? Even if they spill their guts, he’ll have covered his tracks. Any information is going to be worthless.”

“They’ll name names. People. Places. Leads we can use to hunt him down. Nobody can cover their tracks completely, especially now we have eyes and ears throughout the city.”