The Windup Girl (31 page)

The cheshires yowl again as Somchai watches. "I've killed thousands of them. Thousands. I've killed six men in my life and never regretted any of them, but I've killed thousands of cheshires and have never felt at ease." He pauses, scratches behind his ear at a bloom of arrested
fa' gan
fringe. "I sometimes wonder if my family's cibiscosis was karmic retribution for all those cheshires."

"It couldn't be. They're not natural."

Somchai shrugs. "They breed. They eat. They live. They breathe." He smiles slightly. "If you pet them, they will purr."

Jaidee makes a face of disgust.

"It's true. I have touched them. They are real. As much as you or I."

"They're just empty vessels. No soul fills them."

Somchai shrugs. "Maybe even the worst monstrosities of the Japanese live in some way. I worry that Noi and Chart and Malee and Prem have been reborn in windup bodies. Not all of us are good enough to become Contraction
phii
. Maybe some of us become windups, in Japanese factories, working working working, you know? We're so few in comparison to the past, where did all the souls go? Maybe to the Japanese? Maybe into windups?"

Jaidee masks his uneasiness at the direction of Somchai's words. "It's impossible."

Somchai shrugs again. "Still. I could not bear to hunt a cheshire again."

"Then let's hunt men."

Across the street, a door is opening and a Ministry worker steps outside. Jaidee is already crossing the street, sprinting to catch the man. Their target strides to a rack of bicycles and bends down to unlock a wheel. Jaidee's club slides free. The man looks up and gasps and then Jaidee is on top of him, baton swinging. The man has time to raise an arm. Jaidee swats it aside and then he is inside the man's reach and clubs him across the head.

Somchai catches up. "You're fast for an old man."

Jaidee smiles. "Take his feet."

They lug the body back across the street, slipping into the puddled blackness between the methane lamps. Jaidee goes through his pockets. Keys jingle. He grins and raises them to show the prize. He ties the man quickly, blindfolds and gags him. A cheshire drifts close, watching, a molting of calico and shadow and stone.

"Will the cheshires eat him?" Somchai wonders.

"If you cared, you would have let me kill them."

Somchai ponders this, but doesn't say anything. Jaidee finishes binding the man. "Come on." They jog back across the street, slip to the door. The key enters easily, and they are inside.

In the glare of electricity, Jaidee stifles the urge to locate light switches and plunge the Ministry into darkness. "Stupid to have people working so late. Burning all this carbon."

Somchai shrugs. "Our man may be here in the building, even now."

"Not if he's lucky." But Jaidee has the same thought. He wonders if he will be able to restrain himself if he catches Chaya's killer. Wonders why he should.

They slip through more lighted halls. A few people are still present, but no one gives them a second glance as they stride by. Both of them walk with authority, have the air of men others must defer to. Jaidee acknowledges others with a quick inclination of his head as he walks past. Eventually he finds the records offices he requires. Somchai and Jaidee pause in front of glass doors. Jaidee hefts his baton.

"Glass." Somchai notes.

"You want to try?"

Somchai examines the lock, pulls out a set of tools, sets to work probing the aperture, massaging its tumblers. Jaidee stands beside him, waiting impatiently. The corridor blazes with light.

Somchai fiddles with the locks.

"Eh. Never mind." Jaidee hefts his baton. "Move aside."

The shattering is quick; the sound echoes and fades. They wait for footsteps but there are none. They both slip inside and proceed to rifle through the cabinets. Eventually Jaidee finds the personnel files, and then there is a long period of examining poor photographs, of setting aside ones that seem familiar, sifting, sorting.

"He knew me." Jaidee mutters. "He looked right at me."

"Everyone knows you," Somchai observes. "You are famous."

Jaidee grimaces. "You think he was at the anchor pads to collect something? Or just there for the inspections themselves?"

"Or perhaps they wanted whatever was in Carlyle's holds. Or some other dirigible that aborted arrival and dropped in Occupied Lanna, instead. There are a thousand possibilities, no?"

"Here!" Jaidee points. "This is the one."

"You're sure? His face was narrower, I thought."

"I'm sure of it."

Somchai frowns as he scans the file over Jaidee's shoulder. "A low-level man. Not important at all. No one with influence."

Jaidee shakes his head. "No. He has power. I saw the way he looked at me. He was at the ceremony when I was demoted." He frowns. "There is no address information from him. Just Krung Thep."

The sound of scuffling comes from outside. A pair of men stand in the broken doorway with their spring guns drawn. "Hold!"

Jaidee grimaces. Clasps the file behind his back. "Yes? There is a difficulty?" The guards step through the door, survey the office.

"Who are you?"

Jaidee looks at Somchai. "I thought you said I was famous."

Somchai shrugs. "Not everyone loves
muay thai
."

"But still, everyone gambles. They should have at least placed bets on my fights."

The guards come closer. They order Jaidee and Somchai onto their knees. As the guards come around to secure them, Jaidee lashes out with an elbow. Catches one guard in the gut. Whirls with a knee that slams the man in the head. The other guard fires a stream of blades before Somchai hits him in the throat. The man falls, dropping his pistol, gurgling through a broken windpipe.

Jaidee grabs the surviving guard, drags him close. "Do you know this man?" He holds up the picture of his target. The guard's eyes widen and he shakes his head, tries to crawl away towards his pistol. Jaidee kicks it out of reach, then kicks the man in his ribs. "Tell me everything about him! He's yours. Akkarat's."

The guard shakes his head. "No!"

Jaidee kicks him in the face, drawing blood. Gets down beside the mewling man. "Tell me, or you follow your friend."

Both their eyes travel to the gurgling man, strangling on his own crushed airway.

"Tell me," Jaidee says.

"No need for that."

At the door, the object of Jaidee's hunger stands.

Men pour in through the door ahead of him. Jaidee draws his pistol, but they fire and blades slash into his gun arm. He drops the pistol . Blood pours. He turns to run for the office's windows, but men tackle him, skidding on the wet marble. Everyone goes down in a tangle of limbs. Somewhere far away, Jaidee hears Somchai bellowing. His arms are yanked behind him. Zip straps bind his wrists in rattan bonds.

"Tourniquet that!" the man orders. "I don't want him bleeding to death."

Jaidee looks down. Blood is welling out of his arm. His captors staunch the flow. He's not sure if he's lightheaded from blood loss or the sudden lust he has for his enemy's death. They yank him upright. Somchai joins him, his nose pouring blood, his eye closed. Teeth red. Behind him on the floor, two men lie still.

The man studies the two of them. Jaidee returns the gaze, refusing to look away.

"Captain Jaidee. You were supposed to have entered the monkhood."

Jaidee tries to shrug. "My
kuti
didn't have enough light. I thought I'd do my penance here, instead."

The man smiles slightly. "We can arrange that." He nods to his men. "Take them upstairs."

The men yank him and Somchai out of the room, drag them down the corridor. They reach an elevator. A real electric elevator, with dials that glow and designs of the Ramakin on the walls. Each button a small demon's mouth, and busty women playing
saw duang
and
jakae
around the edges. The doors close.

"What is your name?" Jaidee asks the man.

The man shrugs. "It's not important."

"You're Akkarat's creature."

The man doesn't answer.

The doors open. They come out on the roof. Fifteen stories into the air. The men shove him and Somchai toward the lip of the building.

"Go on," says the man. "You wait up here. Over by the edge, where we can see you."

They point their spring guns and order him forward until he and Somchai stand at the lip, looking down on the faint glows of the methane lamps. Jaidee studies the plunge.

So this is what it is to face death. He stares down into the depths. The street far below. The air waiting for him.

"What did you do with Chaya?" he calls back to the man.

The man smiles. "Is that why you are here? Because we didn't return her to you soon enough?"

Jaidee feels a thrill of hope. Could he have been wrong? "You can do what you want with me. But let her go."

The man seems to falter. Is it guilt that makes him hesitate? Jaidee cannot tell. He is too far away. Is Chaya dead then, for certain? "Just let her go. Do what you want with me."

The man doesn't say anything.

Jaidee wonders if there is anything he should have done differently. It was brash of him to come here. But she was lost already. And the man has made no promises, no taunts to suggest she is alive. Was he foolish?

"Is she alive or not?" he asks.

The man smiles slightly. "I suppose it hurts not to know."

"Let her go."

"It wasn't personal, Jaidee. If there had been another way. . ." The man shrugs.

She is dead. Jaidee is sure of it. All part of some plan. He shouldn't have let Pracha convince him otherwise. He should have attacked immediately with the full power of his men, taught Trade a lesson in retribution. He turns to Somchai. "I'm sorry about this."

Somchai shrugs. "You were always a tiger. It's in your nature. I knew that when I came with you."

"Still, Somchai, if we die here. . ."

Somchai smiles. "Then you will come back as a cheshire."

Jaidee can't help a bark of surprised laughter. It feels good, this bubbling noise. He finds he can't stop. The laughter fills him up, lifting him. Even the guards snicker. Jaidee catches another glimpse of Somchai's widening smile, and his mirth redoubles.

Behind them, footsteps. A voice. "Such a humorous party. So much laughter for a pair of thieves."

Jaidee can barely master himself. He gasps for breath. "There must be a mistake. We just work here."

"I think not. Turn around."

Jaidee turns. The Trade Minister stands before him. Akkarat in the flesh. And beside him. . . Jaidee's hilarity leaves him like hydrogen gusting from a dirigible. Akkarat is flanked by bodyguards. Black Panthers. Royal Elites, a sign of the palace's esteem to have them on his leash. Jaidee's heart goes cold. No one in the Environment Ministry is so protected. Not even General Pracha himself.

Akkarat smiles slightly at Jaidee's shock. He surveys Jaidee and Somchai as though examining tilapia in the market but Jaidee does not care. His eyes are on the nameless man behind him. The unassuming one. The one. . . Puzzle pieces click into place. "You're not Trade at all." He murmurs. "You're with the palace."

The man shrugs.

Akkarat speaks. "You're not so bold now, are you Captain Jaidee?"

"There, I told you you were famous," Somchai murmurs.

Jaidee almost laughs again, though the implications of this new understanding are deeply troubling. "You truly have the palace's backing?"

Akkarat shrugs. "Trade is in ascendancy. The Somdet Chaopraya favors an open policy."

Jaidee measures the distance between them. Too far. "I'm surprised a
heeya
like you would dare come so close to your dirty work."

Akkarat smiles. "I wouldn't miss this. You've been an expensive thorn."

"Do you intend to push us yourself, then?" Jaidee taunts. "Will you stain your own
kamma
with my death,
heeya
?" He nods at the men around them. "Or will you try to put the stain on your men? See them come back as cockroaches in their next life to be squashed ten thousand times before a decent rebirth? Blood on their hands for killing in cold blood. For the sake of profit?"

The men shift nervously and glance at one another. Akkarat scowls. "You're the one who will come back as a cockroach."

Jaidee grins. "Come then. Prove your manhood. Push the defenseless man to his death."

Akkarat hesitates.

"Are you a paper tiger?" Jaidee goads. "Come on then. Hurry up! I'm getting dizzy, waiting so close to the edge."

Akkarat studies him. "You've gone too far, white shirt. This time, you've gone too far." He strides forward.

Jaidee whirls. His knee rises, slams into the Trade Minister's ribs. The men are all shouting. Jaidee leaps again, moving as smoothly as he ever did in the stadiums. It's almost as though he never left Lumphini. Never left the crowds and the roar of gamblers. His knee crushes the Trade Minister's leg.

Fire crackles in Jaidee's joints, unused to these contortions, but even with his hands tied behind his back, his knees still fly with the efficiency of a champion's. He kicks again. The Trade Minister grunts and stumbles to the building's edge.

Jaidee raises his foot to drive Akkarat over the precipice but pain blossoms in his back. He stumbles. Blood mists in the air. Spring gun disks rip through him. Jaidee loses his rhythm. The building's edge surges toward him. He glimpses Black Panthers grabbing their patron, yanking him away.

Jaidee kicks again, trying for a lucky strike, but he hears the whine of more blades in the air, the whir of pistol springs unwinding as they spit disks into his flesh. The blooms of pain are hot and deep. He slams against the edge of the building. Falls to his knees. He tries to rise again, but now the spring gun whine is steady—many men firing; the high-pitched squeal of releasing energy fills his ears. He can't get his legs under him. Akkarat is wiping blood off his face. Somchai is struggling with another pair of Panthers.

Jaidee doesn't even feel the shove that sends him over the edge.