 
## Till The Moon Falls

Conrad Johnson

Smashwords Edition

### COPYRIGHT © 2010 by John H. Byk

### All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

Preview more Conrad Johnson novels at http://johnbyk.blogspot.com

for Jenny Cura te ipsum

If the fully planned and conditioned world comes into existence... the restive species [humanity]... will be vexed no longer by its chatter for truth and mercy and beauty and happiness... if the eugenics are efficient enough there will be no second revolt, but all snug beneath the Conditioners, and the Conditioners beneath her, till the moon falls or the sun grows cold. -- C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

### Chapter One

When Oxman showed up for work that night, he could tell something was wrong right away. Jesse and Osterberg were talking quietly in the small office behind the hotel counter. They glanced at him through the crack in the slightly, opened door and then one of them shut it, cutting him off from the private conversation. He took the hint and sat down, flipping through the guest register pretending not to care. A strange, medicinal odor lingered in the air. Something that reminded him of a doctor's office. He rolled and lit a cigarette to mask it but it wouldn't go away. Finally, Osterberg came out of the office, carrying his beat up briefcase as usual and nodded at him before leaving. He nodded back. Jesse was staring at him. He could feel her jet black eyes boring into his back.

"It's all yours," she said and she walked past him and towards the door, stopping for a second and then half turning as if she had forgotten to say something so he watched her and waited.

"Just go with the flow, sailor," she said and then slid out of the hotel and disappeared into the night outside, her twenty something ass twitching with promise.

Oxman had been working at The Forecastle on the midnight shift for a month. Osterberg hired him, not because he was desperate for work, but because he thought he could handle the job.

"So you're a merchant sailor?" he had asked while scanning his application.

"That's right. Twenty years now. Been shipping here out of Seattle for most of that time."

"Why do you want a land job all of a sudden?"

"I smashed my knee falling into an open hatch," he lied. "Can't sail anymore."

Osterberg nodded and squinted at him like he couldn't care less and said, "I come from a tug boating family myself. We've been working the lumber mills in Puget Sound for a hundred years without the union's help."

"I'm not in the union anymore."

Osterberg squinted again and scratched his gray streaked, red beard.

"We get a pretty tough crowd come in here for rooms," he said finally. "Especially after closing time. The scum of the harbor seems to wash up here almost every night. I don't want no cry babies or people who ask too many questions. You take their cash, give them a room key and if they give you any trouble, you deal with it on you own. The cops are sick of coming here and I'm sick of talking to them."

"That's fine with me. Just one question."

"Minimum wage. Cash daily."

"That's not the question."

"What then?"

"Can I carry my gun? I got a permit for it."

"Mister, you can carry a fuckin' bazooka as long as you keep it concealed. All I want is to be able to sleep nights without some whining, desk clerk calling me up all the time about somebody making trouble."

"I'm a problem solver."

"We'll see about that. You start right away."

Jesse worked with him a couple of nights and showed him the ropes. She was the afternoon clerk, a petite, Native American girl without an ounce of fat on her body except in the right places. She treated him like a ghost, not believing that he'd last longer than the others but Oxman had no choice. He had to stick it out. He was out of options. His heavy drinking boiled over one night on a trip back from Valdez on a tanker when an annoying first mate wouldn't let up on him, so he pulled him off the ship's ladder when they docked and then pounded the crap out of him on the pier, his shipmates cheering him on. He was lucky not to get arrested but the incident left him relying upon public transit and food stamps when the Coast Guard took away his merchant card.

The desk clerk job was more boring than dangerous. He was big enough to scare away most troublemakers and the prostitutes with their johns never made any trouble. Everything was going fine until that night as he expected. Only the usual down time until the bars in Pioneer Square closed.

It was a weekday and time passed slower than normal after Jesse and Osterberg left and he couldn't stop glancing at the clock. It was like being on a long, sea voyage, just collecting pay for riding the waves. Endless nights staring at invisible horizons. Thoughts about love, life and the inevitable. Imaginings of what the next port might bring in the way of women. Battling the doldrums was easier than what was about to happen.

It was three in the morning when he looked at the clock for the hundredth time and felt the barometer drop, metaphorically speaking. Mrs. O., the woman in the red sequin dress who had checked into The Forecastle the night before came walking slowly down the staircase. Her face was pale like she was in shock. He had seen that look before on ships when guys got hurt on the job, sometimes just before they kicked the bucket. He stood up behind the counter and she stumbled towards him in her black high heels.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "Are you checking out?"

She didn't answer and stared right through him with glassy eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked again.

She scanned the small lobby as if she were expecting somebody to be there for her.

"What's wrong?"

"I...I..." she said before collapsing onto the floor.

Oxman ran around the counter to help her up and he led her to the office and sat her down. She began to cry and he noticed that medicine smell again and checked her pulse. It was racing and he looked her over for signs of bleeding but didn't find any.

"Try to talk," he said. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time."

He got her a glass of water and she sipped it slowly and then she grabbed his hand and pulled it to her chest. She moved it over her right breast and he got a little turned on. But then she moved his hand to her left one and quietly asked him to squeeze gently. Instead of flesh, he felt something else and pulled away from her.

"Close the door," she said and he did. "Unzip me."

His hands trembled as he opened the back of her dress. She was a beautiful woman and the soft, white nape of her neck invited a kiss but he resisted. When the top of her dress slipped off her shoulders, she pulled it down over her left shoulder, revealing a black lace bra. She reached into the cup and pulled out a wad of bloody gauze and held it in her hand before dropping it into her lap. Turning to him, she pulled the cup down and Oxman sucked in his breath when he saw there was nothing there but a vertical line of fresh stitches, bordered with tattooed, Chinese characters. Oxman had seen plenty of injuries before, guys with ripped flesh, torn limbs and twisted bodies who had been hurt at sea but never something like this on a gorgeous woman.

"You need a doctor," said Oxman, pulling the woman's dress up over her shoulder.

"No! No doctors! No cops!" protested Mrs. O as she struggled to get her dress zippered back up. "This happened here. Sometime between when I checked in last night and woke up a couple of hours ago."

"You're trying to tell me somebody surgically stole your breast while you were in your room? Hey! What's going on here? Is this some gag by Osterberg to try and rattle me or something?"

"Osterberg," she mumbled and her eyes turned glassy again.

Before Oxman could ask her another question, he heard the front door of the hotel open so he closed the office door behind him and went back to the counter.

"Can I help you?" he asked a short, bug eyed guy in a black leather jacket who looked like Peter Lorre.

"Did you have a woman check in here last night? Tall blonde. Thirty something? Good looking."

"Sorry, mister. I can't give out that information about our guests."

"Is that so?"

"That's so."

"You look like a reasonable man. Would a hundred convince you to bend the rules?"

"Not hardly."  
"Then how about this," he said, opening his jacket, revealing the butt end of a semiautomatic pistol sticking out of a shoulder holster.

Oxman got pissed off and pulled out his snub nosed, Ruger and pointed it at the man's face.

"Wanna see a trick? You look pretty reasonable right now, too. Like maybe you're in the mood for a magic show."

Bug Eyes put his hands up and smiled, showing a row of uneven, yellowed teeth and said, "Okay, my friend. You got the drop on me. That was pretty slick."

"I ain't your fucking friend and I'm dying to show you something better."

"Nope. I've seen enough. I've seen your face."

"Get the hell outta here before I cap your ugly teeth with hot lead. Back out the door slowly with your hands up."

The gunman kept smiling but he did as he was told and Oxman kept a bead on him until he left, and then he locked the hotel door behind him and shut off the lobby lights. Peering out the window, he watched the guy walk towards the docks in the dark, turning a corner at the end of the block until he was out of sight. The street was empty and he pulled down the window shades, put away his Ruger and went back into the office. Mrs. O. was trembling, holding onto to the arms of her chair like an airplane passenger riding out a tough landing. No doubt she heard everything.

"Mrs., you've some explainin' to do."

"Not here. I don't feel safe and I hurt."

### Chapter Two

Oxman called Osterberg and told him that it was way past bar closing time and the hotel was empty. He said he felt sick and needed to go home. He knew he was risking his job but it was better than waiting around for that shithead to come back, maybe with some backup next time.

"Are you sure the place is empty?" asked Osterberg in a sleepy voice.

"I'm sure. It's this damn, damp Seattle weather. Makes my knee act up really bad sometimes. I gotta go home and take some Vicodin."

"All right but don't make a habit of it," he said before hanging up.

Oxman wasn't sure if he meant the Vicodin or closing early. He waited in the dark lobby for a half hour, keeping his eye on the street before finally calling a cab.

The drizzle turned into a hard rain on the way back to his apartment. Once the flood gates open in the Seattle sky, especially in the winter, the downpour never stops. Oxman liked to compare it to having a pimple on your ass. It felt good to scratch it once in awhile but you really wish it were gone. Yet he liked it better than the brutal, Detroit winters where he had grown up. You don't shovel rain. And then there was Puget Sound. The constant sound of ship's horns in the bay comforted him, reminding him that there was always a way out.

At first when he moved there, he thought he found heaven on earth. It was his first duty station out of the Coast Guard but then anywhere can be paradise when you're young and full lipped. Still, it was a pretty place with mountains on the horizon that you could almost reach out and touch on a clear day. The streets were still safe to walk on at night back then, but all that had changed. What used to be a working man's town was now a world class city, full of skyscrapers, opportunistic Californians, Asian drug gangs and a population of third world immigrants that displaced the Scandinavian beauties that used to outnumber the men two to one. Paradise found. Paradise lost.

The taxi driver was Jamaican. Or Somali. Mrs. O. sat in the back of the cab with Oxman and looked a mess, just like the rain soaked, garbage littered streets that they drove through to get to his crummy, cockroach infested apartment on Capitol Hill. The driver dropped them off in front of the building and waited for a tip which he never got so he sped off and flipped Oxman the bird. _Beautiful,_ he thought. _A great way to end a perfect night._

Mrs. O. crashed in Oxman's unmade bed and he barely slept on the couch, watching for the faint, gray dawn to creep in through the apartment window like a weary tom cat sneaking back from a night on the town. He got up and jump started Mr. Coffee and rolled his first cigarette of the day, waiting for a revelation. Or at least an explanation.

Mrs. O. woke up mid morning and slowly came out of the bedroom, wearing the torn bathrobe that Oxman had lent her. She tried to fix her hair with her hands and said, "I'm sorry. I look awful in the morning."

"That's not true," he said honestly. "You sure look a lot better than you did last night. I like to see a woman in the morning before they put their faces on. That's when you can tell if they are a real beauty or not."

"And am I?" she asked.

"What?"

"A real beauty?"

"Sure you are. Do you want some coffee?"

"Thanks," she said and sat down at the kitchen table with him.

He poured her a cup and sat down again and said, "Someone was looking for you last night. And now they're probably gunning for me, too."

"I know. I'm sorry but thanks for helping me."

"Why not just go to the cops?"

"You don't understand Mister...Mister..."

"Oxman. Call me Johnny."

"Okay, Johnny. You don't understand."

"Then fill me in. You owe me that much."

"Yes. I suppose I do but I don't know where to start."

"How about with your name?"

"It's Betty. Betty Ostsee."

"Okay, Betty. Why did you check into The Forecastle a couple of nights ago?"

"I was hiding from someone."

"The grease ball who came in last night?"

"I don't know. I didn't see him but I heard his voice but didn't recognize it."

"Short, bug eyed fellow with a thyroid condition. Slick, black hair. Likes leather and guns. Does that ring a bell?"

"No."

"Who then?"

"I'm not sure. I've been getting anonymous letters and phone calls and letters lately."

"What kind?"

"Scary stuff. Creepy."

"For example?"

"One said, if you like your body the way it is then don't mess around with strangers."

"Meaning?"

"It's kind of personal, Johnny."

"So was the gunman in my face last night, honey. Time for sharing."

She sipped her coffee silently. _That's okay,_ he thought. He was in no hurry, especially when it came to beautiful women. He leaned back and puffed on his smoke and let the sound of the rain beating against the window fill the gap in the conversation. Finally, she looked him in the eyes. Hers were deep green. Like the ocean surface on a moonless night and just as hard to fathom.

### Chapter Three

"I'm a blues singer," she started. "My husband fell in love with me when he saw me in a club on Pine Street. At first I thought he was just like all the others, horny and dying for a quick fuck. But he wasn't. He kept coming to my shows, night after night, buying me flowers and expensive gifts. He had style so I fell for him and we got married five years ago."

"And now it's gone sour?"

"It's not that simple. He loved me enough but insisted I get breast enhancement surgery, you know, to help my career."

"And how did you take that?"

"I thought, why the hell not? Everybody else is doing it. It might even spice up our love life."

"And did it? Do both?"

"At first, yes."

"So what happened?"

"He started taking me on business trips around the world. I'd never been out of Washington State my entire life. Soon, I was going to places like London, Paris, Tokyo. It was a dream come true. He gave me unlimited credit and I used it. Bought the best clothes, diamond jewelry, shoes. Everything."

"I guess a girl can never have enough shoes. So what's his line of work?"

"He worked at a biotech company in Bellevue. I asked him exactly what he did but he said I wouldn't understand so I left it at that."

"Ask no questions, get no lies. Was that the deal?"

"Maybe. I don't know. All I can say is that he grew more distant from me and left me on my own more often and with a bodyguard."

"A bodyguard?"

"Yeah. A real hunk. Built like a linebacker."

"And eventually you started doing the monkey thing with him, right?"

"That's pretty crude, Johnny. I was lonely and I felt neglected."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to add insult to injury. I'm a little rough around the edges. Former merchant seaman."

"So you've been around a bit, huh?"

"Enough to know that people often hurt the one the love because they can."

"Have you ever been married, Johnny?"

Oxman didn't like talking about his past. He was good enough at swapping tall tales at the union hall but personal stories, especially emotional ones, always brought him down. That's what he liked best about merchant sailors. They were good at forgetting the past, content with watching memories break away like the wake of a ship at sea, leaving no trace upon the surface or below it.

"Yeah," he finally said, just so he could get more out of her. "Once in Thailand. I fell for a bar girl and we jumped a fire together with some monks and a few family members watching. That was the ceremony."

"Whatever happened to her?"

"I stayed in Thailand for a year until things got bad. Blame it on cultural differences. Her past. My past. I don't know. So I told her I needed to go back to sea to make some money so we could build a house on the beach."

"She didn't like that idea?"

"She didn't believe that I'd ever come back but I did. With a fistful of dollars."

"And that didn't please her?"

"I couldn't find her when I went back. Her folks told me she died in a car accident. It's the standard line they tell foreigners when they want to get rid of them. Hard to argue with a story like that. She die. Goodbye."

"What do you think really happened?"

"She probably ran off with someone else?"

"I'm sorry."  
"Don't be. Sailors and marriage were never a good mix."

"Sounds like an awfully lonely life."

"It can be if you let it get to you. Lots of guys drink too much and I did for awhile also."

"But you're sober now?"

"Sober enough to know that you're mixed up in some crazy, big time stuff and now I am, too."

"Do you want me to disappear also?"

"Why shouldn't I? I never asked for any of this."

"I need help and I can make it worth your while."  
"I'm doing fine, lady. Thanks, anyhow."

"I can see that," she said, looking around the cramped, dirty excuse for an apartment. "I'm talking about big money, Johnny. I've stashed away a few million behind my husband's back. I can pay you to help me."

"What good is money to a dead man?"

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"Meaning?"

"If you help me, we can move to anywhere in the world and start over."

"I like Seattle just fine. There's a Starbucks on every corner."

"I understand. A woman with one breast is not your cup of tea."

She leaned towards Oxman and picked up his hand and held it to her mouth and kissed it. No woman ever did that to him before.

"Thanks for saving my life," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Let me help change yours for the better."

### Chapter Four

_Endless promises,_ thought Oxman as she got up to take a shower and he sat back down on the living room couch. She was making him an offer that he couldn't help but to consider. He pictured her naked under the running water, the white flesh of her neck, her full lips and smooth hands gliding over her perfect body. The mutilation didn't bother him that much. In fact, it kind of turned him on a little. It would be nice to see those green eyes rolling back in her head when they made love.

He ordered a pizza and they stayed inside the apartment until late in the afternoon, watching reruns on television without talking much. He checked his watch. It was time to make a decision so he called up Jesse and tell her that he was still too out of it to show up for work that night. Betty popped one of his Vicodins and nodded off next to him on the couch. He was thinking again about calling the cops but he didn't like talking to police. They asked too many questions and they might even confiscate his Ruger. No. Better to figure something else out. Either get rid of the lady or take her up on her offer. The phone rang. It was Osterberg.

"What's goin' on?" he asked.

"My war wound's still acting up. All this rain, I guess."

"I got nobody for the midnight shift. I need you. You're tellin' me you just can't sit behind the counter for eight hours?"

"Not with the pain meds I'm on."

"If I pay you double, can you skip the pills and still come in? There's a Chilean freighter in town for a couple of days and I expect a lot of sailors will be looking for a room tonight."

"Ask Jesse to pull a double shift. She's young. She can handle it."

"She says she's got big plans tonight. Don't leave me in a bind, Oxman."

Oxman wanted to tell him to take the shift himself but that would probably get him fired so, instead, he asked if he could bring a buddy along.

"That's okay, but you pay him, not me."

Bruce the Moose was Oxman's longtime, sailing partner out of the union hall and he called him up after Osterberg hung up. Bruce was nearly twice his size and four times uglier. When arguments flared up on ship or at the hall, Bruce would ball his fists and start quoting Shakespeare and everyone shut up.

"Are you shipping out anytime soon?" he asked Bruce over the phone.

"Things are slow now. Nothing but beer time and squeeze," said Bruce.

"How about riding shotgun with me tonight at The Forecastle?"

"That dump? You gonna make it worth my while?"

"Come to my place. I got some show and tell. This is important."

"If it's not, I'm gonna keelhaul your ass."

"Be here in an hour," said Oxman and then hung up.

Betty was waking up. She lifted her neck like it was made of rubber and mumbled something. Then she put her head onto his lap and fell asleep again, curling up her legs close to her belly and he could see the smooth turn of her calves and her toenails painted blood red. He sat like that, waiting for Bruce, channel surfing until he found the evening news.

"Local police are searching for the missing wife of the president of the Bellevue based, biotech company, Genomics," said the pasty faced, pretty boy news guy. And then they posted a picture on the tube of the smiling faced woman who's head was buried in his lap.

"Mrs. Ostsee has been missing for three days," the reporter continued. "Her husband said he returned home to their Bellevue mansion and she was nowhere to be found. Her car was still there along with most of her personal belongings. Police have no leads at this time and anyone knowing her whereabouts are requested to contact them immediately."

Oxman clicked off the television and stared down at the golden mass of hair covering his loins. Betty was breathing softly but his heart was racing. The rain pounded harder against the window and he stared at it, watching the muted sunlight merge into dusk. _Could I technically be called a kidnapper at this point?_ he wondered. If not, he was sure a person of interest. He hand rolled another cigarette without shifting his body too much in order not to disturb the sleeping Betty.

A knock on the door. Oxman waited a minute and then reached over to the drawer on the table next to the couch and pulled out his Ruger. The knock again. Louder this time. And then he heard Bruce calling his name.

"C'mon Johnny! Open up! What gives? I'm soaking piss wet!"

"Hold on," said Oxman as he gently lifted Betty off of his lap and shifted her to the other end of the couch, slipping a pillow under her head. Then he opened the door for Bruce, sticking his head into the hallway and looking around to see if it were empty.

"Why the piece?" asked Bruce, pointing to the pistol in his hand. "And who's the woman?"

"Her name is Trouble. Sit down and I'll make us some coffee and tell you all about it."

"Are you bopping somebody else's woman?"

"Not the way you think," said Oxman and then he told Bruce everything that had happened up to the news report. Bruce listened without saying a word and then stared for a long time at Betty.

"She ain't hard on the eyes, is she?" he said. "Does she know the cops are lookin' for her?"

"I don't think so. She's been sleeping all day compliments of Vicodin and rain."

"Man, you should have plugged that greaser in The Forecastle."

"He just showed me his gun. He didn't pull it."

"Doesn't matter. It was a threat and you were lucky to get the drop on him. You would have had a mess on your hands but easier to clean up than what you got now."

"Tell me about it."

### Chapter Five

"So you're gonna rescue this damsel in distress? Is that your plan?"  
"My plan right now is to not be found with her, dead or alive."

"And you want me to cover your back, right?"

"Yeah. Temporarily. Got any other ideas?"

"Well, you made a good story about work tonight. I can hang with you. If you quit outright that would have been really suspicious."

"I know. But do you think I should just leave her here alone? That doesn't sound smart to me. She might panic or something."

"Tie her up."

"That's funny, Bruce. Not."

"Hey, I'm a sailor, too. My first instinct is to rope things down."

"Mine too, but this ain't some piece of cargo. We gotta figure something else out."

"I can call Suzie Wong to come stay with her for the night."

"You mean the hostess from the bar next to the union hall?"

"Yeah. She's let me dock in her port more than a few times. She's also good at keeping secrets."

"I'm sure she is. Okay. I guess we can do that. Give her a call and tell her to pick up some Chinese on the way over. I'm starving."

Suzie showed up an hour later and Bruce let her into the apartment and gave her a big bear hug and a kiss. She was a petite, Chinese lady who kept herself well. Not young anymore but still not quite the dragon lady. No doubt she had many men in her past and her slanted eyes were framed with a tinge of roughness but her smile was still golden.

"Is this who I'm babysitting tonight?" she asked, pointing a long, manicured finger towards Betty who woke up to the smell of chicken dumplings that Suzie brought with her.

"Betty, this is Suzie," said Oxman. "She's an old friend. She's gonna stay with you tonight while Bruce goes to work with me at The Forecastle."

Betty sat up on the couch and straightened Oxman's borrowed bathrobe. She looked lost and then a light came on in her eyes and she nodded and said, "I could use another shower and that food smells great."

"Okay, that's a good sign," said Oxman. "You go ahead and eat first. I need to talk to Suzie in private for a minute."

Oxman led Suzie into the bedroom and shut the door.

"Do you know who she is, Suzie?"

"Nope, and I don't want to. Bruce asked me to stay the night with her. That's all."

"Perfect. No phone calls in or out, okay? No visitors or answering the door unless you're sure it's me or Bruce. We'll be back in the morning."

"All right, Johnny," she said with a salute.

Oxman hugged her and caught a whiff of jasmine flavored perfume.

"You're a good sister, Suzie. A real shipmate."

They left the girls and went outside to catch the downtown bus to Pioneer Square. It was still raining. Bruce took the seat behind Oxman who turned around and quietly asked him if he was packing.

"My best buddy Sam Colt always rides with me," he said, patting his chest.

"My hero."

"Just don't get me killed tonight or I'll never speak to you again."

The brightly lit, bus interior contrasted with the dismal darkness of the downtown streets outside. Windshield wipers slapping away the rain, in tune with the flashing neon lights of porn shops, liquor stores and cheap diners. Bums, pimps and drug dealers stood under cover of building awnings, avoiding the wash that they badly needed.

It was only a fifteen minute bus ride to The Forecastle but it was through the roughest part of town. During the day, the area appeared normal enough with high rise condos built up along the edge of Elliot Bay and the foot traffic of office workers and tourists who flocked to Pike Place Market to buy organic foods and fresh fish, but when the sun dropped, the creeps took over. Although there was some decent night life in Pioneer Square, a few jazz bars and nightclubs, you'd be a fool to venture off on your own away from the main scene. Danger lurked in the side streets. Oxman didn't mind the seedy edge of downtown when he first moved to the city but it had grown worse over the years and reminded him now of some of the meanest neighborhoods he had seen in the world. _Maybe Betty's offer was worth considering,_ he thought. There had to be some big city left on earth that was safe to walk the streets at night.

Oxman and Bruce got off the bus near The Forecastle and, in spite of the lousy weather, the sidewalks were full of party goers. Live music exploded from the clubs onto the square and bar hoppers moved from one venue to the next. Osterberg was right about the Chilean freighter being in port. He immediately recognized the brown skinned, crew members with their rubbery gait and Spanish phrases as they mingled with the locals.

Inside The Forecastle, Jesse was behind the counter, arguing loudly with a Chilean sailor. He was about half Oxman's size and staggering drunk.

"No exceptions," she screamed at him. "You have to pay cash up front."

"What's the problem?" interrupted Oxman.

"He wants to reserve a room now and come back later and pay for it," said Jesse without taking her eyes off the focus of her shit fit.

Oxman stood next to the little squirt and said in Spanish to him, _"Se necesita pagar con dinero si tu quieres un cuarto. Ahora. No hay excepciones."_

_"_ ¿Quién eres ? ¿El hombre de esta puta? _"_

Jesse didn't know much Spanish but she recognized the word for slut and her body tensed like a cat ready to pounce.

"You greaser shit ball!" she yelled. "I'm going to cut off your tiny brown pecker and stuff it in your ear!"

The Chilean whipped out a stiletto and snapped the blade open but Bruce had stepped behind him and grabbed his hair, smashing his head down onto the solid oak edge of the counter. He slumped to the floor. Jesse leaned over and spat on him and said, "Throw his sorry ass out in the alley."

Oxman took his blade, checked him for any other weapons and Bruce helped him drag the sailor out through the back door, tossing him into a rain puddle that mixed with his own blood, oozing from the gash on his forehead.

"That'll leave a mark," said Bruce.

"Yep. Nice souvenir to take home from his travels."

Jesse was still pissed when they went back inside and she scrubbed the edge of the counter with a dirty rag to get rid of the blood. When she finished, she just said thanks, threw Oxman the keys and high tailed it out the front door.

"That's quite a tight, little package," said Bruce watching her exit.

"We probably did that guy a favor. I never saw her that mad before. God only knows what she had up her sleeve."

"I wasn't thinkin' about what was up her sleeve."

"Forget it. She's taken. Looks like we got a long night ahead of us."

"Just like old times, huh? Remember those Cubans down in Biloxi who tried to carve us up on the dock?"

"Yeah. Four of them against us two. I'll never forget the sight of you pounding the Castro out of two of them with a pallet board."

"Dios! Dios! he kept shouting. Sometimes you got to beat a bastard hard to get them right with God."

"Yeah. And their heads are as hard as cue balls. You gotta smack 'em just right to get English out of them."

### Chapter Six

The two sailors sat at the counter and swapped sea stories and played cards like they were hanging out at the union hall. No more drunks gave them any problems that night. As soon as one would walk in and see the two of them, they just plunked down their cash, took their room keys and staggered off to sleep. The johns with their hookers were even less trouble because the girls knew the rules and they knew how to keep their tricks under control. Oxman went back into the alley a couple of hours later to check on the sailor they dumped but he was gone. Then things got really quiet until five in the morning when the phone rang.

"If you want to see the Chinese broad again, tell us where the lady is," said the man's voice on the other end. Oxman recognized the voice of the slimy gunman.

"I think you got the wrong number," he said.

"No. I got your number all right, Oxman. And I got the slant eyed bitch, too. Listen up. Say something to your friend, honey."

"Johnny? Bruce?" It was Suzie and she sounded scared and then Bug Eyes came back on the line again.

"So you want to tell me where she is or do I take this cunt and cut her a new hole?"

Oxman looked at Bruce and then put his hand over the phone's mouthpiece.

"They got Suzie and Betty's gone. They want to know where she is."

Bruce grabbed the phone and growled into it.

"If you hurt Suzie, I'll dig you a new asshole, buddy."

"Who's this? The peckerwood boyfriend? Not the right answer."

Oxman grabbed the phone again and said, "We don't know where she is. We left them alone in the apartment. Leave Suzie out of this. She knows nothing."

"Oh? Your tone has changed a lot since you had that popper in my face last night."

"Look, I don't care about the lady. If I knew where she was, I'd tell you."

"You don't care about her, huh? That's why you took her home, huh?"

"She was hurt and scared so I wanted to help. That's all."

"Oh? A Good Samaritan? A real nice, white boy? A pistol packing, concerned citizen? You have no idea what you're mixed up in ass wipe."

"No, maybe I don't but I'm sure the cops do. I got a good memory for faces, too."

"Yeah? And I remember your stupid mug and you sound stupid now, too. Go to the cops. See what happens. This China girl is about to lose what's left of her good looks."

"I told you. I don't know where the lady is. What do you expect me to do?"

"You do my job and find her for me. You got twenty four hours starting right now."

He hung up the phone and Oxman looked at Bruce again.

"What's the plan, Johnny?"

"Call Uncle Jack. We need some more backup on this one. Sorry I got you into this mess."

"No time for apologies. Let's track down this bastard and save Suzie."

Uncle Jack McGee was the local union boss. He was corrupt as the Seattle winter was long but he took care of his members and he could get things done. Jack had connections up and down the coast and he knew the city's underworld like he knew the union contract, word for word. Bruce called and woke him up. Oxman listened as he explained the situation over the phone and Bruce listened silently for five minutes before hanging up.

"He said he'll put out feelers right away," said Bruce. "He's pissed about Suzie also. Got any other ideas?'

"Yeah. I'm gonna call an old Coast Guard buddy of mine, Mark Tapers. We both got discharged in Seattle together years ago. He's a big shot exec for some hi tech company now. Travels all over Asia doing business for them. Maybe he could tell me more on this Ostsee character."

Oxman dialed up Mark but only got his voicemail so he left a message asking him to call him back ASAP.

"No luck?" asked Bruce.

"Not there but he'll get back to me. I'm sure of it."

"I hope so. We ain't got much time."

"There's one more person I want to get a hold of right away. You stay at the hotel and wait for Jack to call back. Osterberg will be here in a couple of hours. Tell him my knee started acting up again and I had to go home."

"So where you goin' then?"

"Jesse's place," said Oxman and he went back into the office and looked up her address. She lived on Beacon Hill and he could make it there in less than a half hour. He pulled out his Ruger and flipped open the chamber and spun it to make sure it was fully loaded and then headed out the front door and grabbed a cab on First Avenue.

Beacon Hill used to be a nice neighborhood before the Vietnamese gangs took it over and drive by shootings became a local sport. It was close to downtown and on a clear day, you could see Elliot Bay and Mount Rainier from any of the streets. But at night, you'd better bolt your doors shut and draw your shades. Oxman didn't relish the idea of going there in the predawn hours but at least the rain had turned into just an annoying drizzle which was the best you could hope for in a Seattle winter.

The taxi dropped him off in front of her apartment building as the eastern sky was already turning gray. He knocked on her door, waited a couple of minutes and then knocked again, harder and louder.

"Who is it?" said Jesse from behind the door.

"John Oxman. It's an emergency. Open up, please."

Jesse cracked the door open but left the chain on it and looked him over with sleepy, red eyes and said, "What the hell do you want?"

"Let me in. There's been some trouble at work."

"Then call Osterberg. I don't care."

"If I call anyone, it'll be the cops. Is that what you want? Is your place clean enough for company?"

"Shit," she said and unhooked the chain and let him in.

"Are we alone?" he asked, centering himself in her living room. She was wearing black silk pajamas and standing barefoot in the semi-dark apartment, looking like a tiny ninja.

"I'm never alone. My spirit guide is always with me. Don't try anything funny."

Oxman put his hands up in the air and waited for Jesse to ask him to sit down but she didn't.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I want to know your relationship to Osterberg."

"He's my employer, dumb ass. You had to come all the way here in the middle of the night just to ask me that?"

Oxman checked around the tiny apartment and down the hallway where he guessed the bedroom was and he thought he heard a noise coming from it.

### Chapter Seven

"That's my cat," said Jesse, noticing his reaction. "What's it to you?"

"Calm down. This won't take long."

"It better not," she said, shifting a little in the shadows with one hand hidden behind her back. Whatever it was she was holding, Oxman didn't want to know so he got straight to the point.

"What do you know about this Mrs. O. who checked into the hotel a couple of nights ago? The book says you signed her in."

"What? Are you horny for a date or something?"

"Don't answer a question with a question."

"Listen, sailor boy. I like working with you. You always show up on time to relieve me and you've lasted longer than most but now I'm not so sure about you, anymore. I think you'd better get the hell out of here. Call the cops if you want. I don't care."

Jesse was wide awake now and her eyes blazed with anger. Oxman realized that he had overstayed his welcome. His desperation to save Suzie and to find Betty had forced him to act on impulse and that was dumb.

"Never mind," he said. "I'm really sorry, Jesse. It's probably all that Vicodin that's making me psychotic or something. Just forget about it."

"Okay, but I think you're the one that better do some forgettin'."

Oxman nodded and headed for the door and then stopped before leaving to ask her one last question.

"What's your spirit guide anyhow?"

"The cougar."

"That figures," he said as he left and she slammed the door shut behind him. He stood outside for a minute and then pressed his ear to the door and heard a man's voice from inside. The words weren't clear but it was definitely Osterberg's voice. Oxman tiptoed away and walked down to the street when his cell phone rang. It was Mark Tapers.

"John Oxman. How the hell are you? I just got back into town from Tokyo and got your message. What's up?"

"I need a lifeline, buddy."

"Woman trouble?" laughed Mark.

"Kind of. I was never as smooth as you with the ladies."

"That's what you get from going to sea all your life. Show me a merchant sailor with a normal love life."

"All right. This is different, though. I got mixed up in something bad this time. People are missing and I'm in the eye of the storm."

"So what can I do for you then?"

"Ever hear of a big shot, company man called Ostsee?"

"Sure. He's the Bill Gates of bioengineering. CEO of Genomics. They're on the cutting edge of nanotechnology. Aggressive research, marketing and god knows what else."

"What's nanotechnology?"

By this time, Oxman had walked some distance from Jesse's place and was standing in the shelter of a bus stop. The rain was starting up again and people were on their way to work. Oxman, at that moment, almost envied them. Their normal day jobs, sipping lattes, reading the morning paper and believing that everybody played by the rules.

"Are you still there?" asked Mark. "Where are you anyhow?"

"Beacon Hill. Go ahead. Fill me in on nanotechnology."

"Basically, it's an artificial life form created on the microscopic level that's used in all types of applications from clothing to medicine."

"Medicine?"

"Yep. Right now, the big breakthrough is creating computerized microbes that doctors hope to implant in humans to fight disease."

"Sounds like science fiction to me."

"The future is now. There's a lot of controversy about it, to be sure. Nobody really knows what the long term effects are but the profit potentials are staggering."

"So we're talking big money, big people and tiny particles?"

"You can say that. What's this got to do with you and Ostsee?"

"More to do with his wife."

"Are you banging her or something? That's way out of your league, sorry to say."

"No. Would you be able to contact him?"

"Probably. Our company does some business with Genomics and I met him a couple of times but why would you want to contact him about his wife?"

"I can't tell you anymore right now, Mark. Can we meet this morning somewhere? I don't have a lot of time to deal with this."

"Sure, buddy. I can clear my schedule for an old shipmate. Where do you want to meet?"

"How about Ivar's down at the waterfront in a couple of hours?"

"It's raining, Johnny. Can't you pick an indoor place instead?"

"Ivar's is better. Fewer people and I always feel more myself on the docks."

"Okay. Ivar's it is then. See you there."

Oxman felt lousy about dragging Mark into this but he had nowhere else to turn. He checked his watch. It was 7:30. Osterberg would be showing up at The Forecastle in half an hour and he figured he'd better get back to Bruce and let him in on this meeting with Mark. It was just a short walk from the hotel to Ivar's and maybe Uncle Jack had called Bruce back with some news. He hopped on the next downtown bus and slipped into a seat just like all the other working stiffs on their way to make another buck. But he was thinking about the possible pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Unfortunately, rainbows were far and few in between in Seattle.

Bruce was just as Oxman had left him, sitting behind the counter at The Forecastle. He could see the worried look in his eyes when he asked him about Jack.

"No word yet," said Bruce. "How about you? Any luck?"

Oxman told him about what happened at Jesse's place and his appointment with Mark and Bruce agreed to join him.

"Maybe we should rough up this Osterberg a bit when he comes in this morning," suggested Bruce.

"I don't think that'll help. Let's hear Mark out first. We can always come back later."

"Speak of the devil," said Bruce as Osterberg walked in the door, carrying his briefcase as usual, the rain dripping from his cap. They both stared at him and waited for him to speak.

"Any problems with the Chileans?" asked Osterberg as he hung his trench coat up on the rack behind the counter.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," answered Oxman.

"All right," he said, glancing at the register. "I'll take it from here."

Bruce was about to say something but Oxman grabbed his arm and stopped him. Osterberg noted the move and looked at Bruce and said, "Are you going to come back with your buddy again tonight?"

"Is there a problem if I do?"

"This is a one man job. I don't like or need two people doing it. If you can't handle it anymore then I'll find somebody else."

"I'm not ready to quit yet. I should be okay tonight."

"I hope so. I've cut you a lot of slack already and I've got a whole stack of applications to go through if I have to replace you."

Oxman held his tongue at the threat and it wasn't easy, especially since he knew that he had been at Jesse's that morning but he decided to play along for the time being.

"Okay, boss. I read you loud and clear."

"Good," said Osterberg and then went into the office.

Oxman jerked his head at Bruce towards the door even though he had second thoughts about roughing up Osterberg as Bruce had suggested. But a lifetime of dealing with thugs had taught him that you don't show your hand until you're sure you can collect. That time had not yet come. Osterberg certainly had something up his sleeve but Oxman needed more information before getting heavy with him.

### Chapter Eight

The two sailors walked down to Ivar's and they were the only people there so early in the morning. They ordered some coffee and clam chowder and sat down in an adjoining pavilion that barely offered enough shelter to block the wind and rain. They ate in silence, watching the seagulls landing and taking off from the rails off the pier along the dock. Elliot Bay was covered in a thick fog and their were very few boats moving through the water. The heavy, rush hour traffic of the Alaskan Way viaduct just above their heads countered the emptiness and inaction of the waterfront. Bruce was lost in thought and in no mood for conversation so they sat and waited for Mark to show up.

A shiny, new silver BMW pulled up to the curb in front of them. Mark stepped out and saluted, pulling his coat collar up around his neck against the weather. Tall, dark and handsome, Mark was an extraordinary person. A confirmed bachelor. He joined the Coast Guard right out of high school and moved up the ranks quickly. He was pegged for officer's training school but he had other plans. Instead, he went to college, earned a degree in computer engineering and became one of the most sought after consultant's in the field. He sat down at the table with Bruce and Oxman and got right to business.

"Genomics," he began," has supposedly developed a type of nanotechnology that makes RFID chips as obsolete as VHS players."

"RFID?" said Bruce.

"Radio Frequency Identification Device," said Mark. "They're tiny electronic chips used for tracking everything from cargo shipments to finding lost pets and even humans now."

"I heard about that," said Oxman. "They use them on Alzheimer patients who have a tendency to wander off."

"That's right, but RFID's are first generation. Nano chips are on the verge of replacing them but they're technically not chips. They merge and adapt themselves to the molecular structure of whatever material, artificial or organic, they are assimilated with and, essentially, become part of their host."

"Screw this high tech shit," said Bruce. "I don't even own a credit card or a cell phone. I just want to get Suzie back."

"Who's Suzie?" asked Mark.

So Oxman told him the whole story from beginning to end except he left out the part about Betty's offer because he wasn't sure if it were even true. Mark listened without emotion against the backdrop of swirling seagulls and the relentless downpour of rain that now totally obscured Elliot Bay. The world seemed smaller to Oxman, encapsulated in that little, semi shelter by the waterfront restaurant and he didn't know what to say until Mark spoke again.

"Ostsee is known for killing the competition. If he's got a product that will revolutionize biotech, he'll do whatever it takes to make the most out of it. Sell out anyone if he has to. Rumor is that he's even dealt with rogue states like North Korea or Myanmar before. His only loyalty is to his greed."

"If you know about this invention then so must others," said Oxman. "How would he keep it hidden until the cash is on the table?"

"He hid it in his wife's tit," said Bruce. It sounded like a punch line to a raunchy joke but nobody laughed. Mark stood up and checked his watch.

"That's all I could find out for now," he said. "I'll call you if I hear more."

He walked back to his Beemer and sped off, the wet tires spinning water like a dog shaking itself dry. Bruce watched him turn a corner and then said, "Time to pay Uncle Jack a visit at the union hall."

They hopped on the trolley that ran along the waterfront down to the Belltown district and got off at the bottom of a steep street that led up to the Seafarers Hall near First Avenue. The place was nearly empty with just a few men milling about in the lobby and some playing cards, waiting for a job to come in. Uncle Jack sat behind the counter, a short, wiry Irishman with a penchant for gold bling. A middle aged cracker who wore chain link necklaces, bracelets and rings on his fingers and a baby earring in his left hear. The King of Jobs.

"Let's go in back, boys," he said when he saw Bruce and Oxman and they followed him into the rear office where they sat down into slick, leather chairs around his mahogany desk.

"Did you find out anything?" asked Bruce.

"What the hell were you thinking, Oxman?" asked Jack.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. Whatever possessed you to get a job at The Forecastle, let alone get involved with Ostsee's old lady? Are you getting stupid from being on the beach for so long?"

Normally, Oxman wouldn't let just anyone talk to him like that but this was Uncle Jack and he knew that if he was being cussed out it was for his own good.

"Forget that," said Bruce. "What about Suzie? The clock is ticking."

"Take it easy, Bruce," said Jack. "I think I know where she's being held but we're dealing with something way out of our league here. There are some really heavy players on board this one."

"You mean like the mob?" asked Oxman and Jack scowled at him. Everyone knew Jack was connected to organized crime but it was taboo to even suggest it, let alone mention it to his face. He looked out for sailors anyway he could and because of that you were supposed to just keep your mouth shut and do your job.

"I asked around," he said to Bruce, "about this guy who came to shakedown Johnny at The Forecastle. Seems like, according to the description you gave me, he goes by the name of Dago, a wop hit man from New York. You're lucky to still be alive, Oxman. Not many people refuse him and live to talk about. You're one lucky bastard."

"If you know where Suzie is," said Bruce, "then let's just round up some apes and go get her. What are we waiting for?"

"We're waiting for Johnny here to tell us what kind of deal he made with this Ostsee woman."

"That's who they want," said Oxman. "Me and Bruce left her with Suzie at my place last night. Then we get this call from Dago and that's all I know."

"What really gums it up is that the cops are searching for her also," said Jack. "I'm surprised they haven't tracked you down yet."

"As far as I know, they don't know she was at the hotel and that I took her home with me. The only people who do are you and Bruce and maybe Osterberg."

"Osterberg?" said Jack, sitting up straight. "The old tug boat captain that runs The Forecastle? Why didn't you tell me he was mixed up in all this?"

"I didn't know. I wasn't sure and I'm still not."

"Why is that important?" asked Bruce. "If we know where Suzie is, let's just go get her."

"If we call in the meat hook cavalry, that's one thing," said Jack. "But if we mess with Dago, we mess with his employers also."

"And who would they be?" asked Oxman.

"Maybe Osterberg would know the answer to that one," said Jack. "The way I see it, he's possibly the weak link in this chain. Or so my gut says."

"So does mine," said Oxman and he told him about finding Osterberg at Jesse's place that morning.

### Chapter Nine

Bruce was white knuckling the handrails of his chair and Jack fell silent for a few minutes. It was a rat's nest of tangled rope between them and they all wanted to pull at a loose piece, hoping it was the bitter end that would unravel the mess. A freighter sounded one, long lonesome blast in the harbor below them, signaling it's departure from Seattle.

"There go the Chileans," said Jack as he stood up and looked out his window before turning back to face Bruce and Oxman. "I'm sure Osterberg doesn't stay at The Forecastle all day until midnight."

"I think Jesse relieves him for supper everyday at five when she comes in for the afternoon shift," said Oxman.

"Then we wait until five," said Jack.

"And do what? Treat him to dinner?" said Bruce.

"No. We put a tail on him. In the meantime, you guys lay low. I wouldn't go back to your place, Johnny. What about you, Bruce? You got a regular place in town?"

"I was staying with Suzie."

"Not anymore."

"What if we just hung around the hall?" asked Oxman.

"Hell no!" said Jack. "I'm not officially involved in any of this. Get my drift? Take a ferry ride. Go visit the Space Needle. I don't care what you do but stay out of sight until you hear from me. Got it?"

So Bruce and Oxman left the hall and walked up to First Avenue and stood on the corner waiting like a couple of soaked hookers.

"Maybe a ferry ride ain't such a bad idea," said Oxman and Bruce glared at him like he was ready to throw him overboard at sea.

"Dude, I'm dead tired and worried sick about Suzie."

"Well, you can't sleep. Then let's hop a ferry across the Sound to kill a few hours. Clear the cobwebs. C'mon."

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Just over to Bainbridge Island."

"And then what?  
"Beats me but I'm all adrenalin and I can't stand on this street corner forever."

Bruce couldn't think of anything better so they hopped the bus to the ferry terminal and bought a couple of tickets. Commuters from the island were still unloading into Seattle and Oxman felt good to be swimming against the tide. Drones on their way to earn a paycheck. He had never been chained to a desk his entire life except for the job at The Forecastle and that didn't really count as an office job.

As the ferry finally glided away from the pier, they went inside to the cafeteria and sat at a window booth, peering at the thick fog which covered the bay like a white, cotton blanket. There was something about the fog that Oxman liked. Sure, it could be a hazard to navigation but the eerie quality lent a mystical, womb like charm to the crossing. Sky meeting sea. melting reality into a timeless trance of shifting shapes that created a temporary bridge between the known and the unseen. It was like being half awake, part of your mind still trapped in a dream, trying to struggle its way back into consciousness. He looked around the cafeteria and saw a young woman sitting in a booth by herself on the opposite side of the deck. She was facing the window but when she turned, Oxman saw that it was Jesse and he nearly jumped from his seat.

"What's up?" asked Bruce. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Look," he said, nodding in her direction. "It's Jesse."

Before Oxman could say anything else, Bruce sprang to his feet and walked over to her. Oxman couldn't hear their conversation but he could tell by Bruce's body language that he wasn't being polite so he got up also and joined them.

"Fuck off!" said Jesse to Bruce.

"Take it easy, you two," said Oxman and he slid into the booth across from her and Bruce followed his lead.

"Tell me this is a coincidence," said Oxman.

"I don't have to tell you anything. It's none of your business what I do on my off time."

"Where are you going?" asked Bruce.

"To hell and back to fight for the likes of you, dumb ass."

Bruce started to say something but the ferry's fog horn sounded a long, mournful blast that cut him short.

"Are you guys following me?" asked Jesse. "That's stalking, ya know. Maybe I should call security."

"No need for that. We're just killing time," said Oxman.

"Is that so?"

"That's so."

"Killing time for what?"

"Killing time to prevent a killing."

"You're full of crap. What are you talking about?"

"We're talking about Suzie Wong. Does that name ring a bell?" said Bruce.

"No. Why? Should it?"

"Does Osterberg ring your bell?" asked Bruce again.

A cold fire started in Jesse's eyes and she looked away. Nobody spoke as the subtle movement of the ferry plying through the water underneath them created a sensation of movement that affected them all. Finally, Jesse turned her face back at Oxman and said, "If I show you guys something, will you promise not to speak a word to anyone?"

"That depends," said Bruce.

"On what?"

"On whether or not it will bring us closer to finding Suzie."

"Like I said, I don't know anything about this Suzie."

"So what do you want to show us then?" asked Oxman.

"Yeah. Care to share, sweetheart?" said Bruce.

"Who is this ape anyhow? You're gay lover?"

"He's my brother. He's just exhausted and worried about his girlfriend."

"Well, tell him not to call me sweetheart."

"Don't call her sweetheart, Bruce."

"Okay," said Bruce. "But we're running out of time. We need a miracle to help us now and I don't believe in miracles."

Bruce was part Native American, one fourth to be exact from his mother's side. His grandmother was full blooded Cherokee. So he didn't find it too strange when Jesse asked him, "Do you believe in spirit guides?"

"You mean like shamans and stuff? Yeah. Some of it."

Jesse smiled for the first time and the ferry's horn sounded again, signaling their arrival at Bainbridge Island.

"Okay, then," said Jesse. "Follow me to the car deck."

"Why?" asked Bruce.

"So we can get in my car, numb nuts. I'm going to show you something on the island if you're interested."

Oxman smiled to himself when he saw that Jesse drove a late model, powder blue Volkswagen. In spite of her tough, inner city persona, she was a Seattle, flower child at heart. Bruce climbed into the back seat like a gorilla squeezing into a cage, scowling the entire time. Oxman rolled down the passenger window and waited for the ferry to dock. The rain had finally stopped and the sun promised a breakthrough for the first time in days.

### Chapter Ten

"Remember," said Jesse. "You guys are my guests. I'm not supposed to take you to this place but I'm feeling good vibes."

"From your cougar spirit guide?" said Oxman.

"I heard stories in my family," said Bruce, "but I really don't know about that stuff. I got a pig and a rooster tattooed on my calf and that's about how superstitious I get."

"Those are sailor charms," explained Oxman. "Both barnyard animals that can't swim and they're supposed to help a sailor to get to land if he gets lost overboard."

"What about you?" she asked Oxman. "Do you have a tattoo?"

"I've got a dragon on my back. Got it in Bangkok."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I crossed the International Date Line on a ship. What about you? Everybody your age gets a tattoo these days."

"Sure," she said, shifting the bug into gear. "But you'll never see it."

"I'll bet it's a pussycat," said Bruce.

Jesse snickered and looked at him in the rearview mirror. This tattoo talk reminded Oxman of the one on Betty's chest. He only got a quick glance at it. If he had brains, he would have taken a picture of it. Might have been some kind of clue, but he wasn't thinking that far ahead at the time.

"We're almost there," said Jesse as she pulled off the main road onto a gravel, two track that led back towards the Sound. Oxman was wondering if this was some kind of set up. He moved to reassure himself that his Ruger was in place. Jesse noticed and asked if he was nervous.

"You're pretty intuitive, aren't you?" said Oxman.

"Relax. This is tribal property. The only crime here is poverty and despair."

They passed rows of crumbling shanties with rusted pick up trucks in front yards and little brown kids playing in the streets. He had never been on a reservation before and he was amazed at how run down it was, especially since it existed in the shadows of one of the world's most richest cities.

The Volkswagen pulled up to a one story, long log cabin that was the best maintained building on the reservation. Jesse honked twice and a squat, elderly woman with long, braided gray hair came cautiously out the front door.

"Hello, grandmother," said Jesse, waving to her as they all got out of the car. The old woman nodded and smiled but looked menacingly at Bruce and Oxman and said, "Why did you bring these men here, Little Cat?"

"Little Cat," chuckled Bruce.

"They seek help from the spirits."

"The spirits are guides for our people, not theirs."

"We won't be long, grandmother. It's very important. Please."

The old woman shook her head and held the door open for them to enter just as Oxman's cell phone rang.

"No electronic devices inside," said the old woman. "You have to leave it in the car."

"All right, all right," said Oxman. "Just let me answer this one call and I'll be with you in a second."

"That's probably Jack," said Bruce.

Oxman didn't recognize the number on the caller ID and before he had a chance to answer, Jesse grabbed the phone and threw it back into the VW and said, "That's a bad omen. Let it go."

"I have to know who's calling. Someone's life is at stake here."

"No more than fifteen minutes," said Jesse. "Or do you want to skip the whole thing?"

Oxman looked at Bruce and just shrugged and said, "There's nothing we can do in fifteen minutes, anyhow. Let's go to the show and see what's up."

They followed Jesse and the old woman into the darkened building and Oxman could smell incense burning. Native artifacts lined the walls. Long stemmed pipes. Feathered headdresses. Ceremonial costumes. Hidden speakers, he supposed, sounding a low chanting from somewhere in between the walls. Old black and white photos of serious looking Indians, long dead, hung in a row in the hallway they were walking down, and Jesse said they were tribal chiefs from the past. Finally, they reached the end of the building and stood in front of a closed door and the old woman turned to face Jesse.

"Are you sure about this, Little Cat?" she asked.

Jesse turned to Bruce and Oxman and said, "Do you swear not to tell anyone?"

Oxman nodded but that wasn't good enough.

"Say it out loud so the spirits can hear you," said Jesse.

"Okay, I swear it."

"And you, Bruce? Do you swear it also?"

"Yeah, sure. I swear it."

Jesse opened the door and let them into a tiny room and closed it behind them. It was pitch black and Oxman's eyes started to adjust to the lack of light, but all he could see was Bruce's hulking outline beside him. He was breathing heavily and said, "This is a trap. I know it."

Oxman was about to agree and he reached for his pistol when he felt the presence of another person in the room and then heard the shuffling of feet and the growing sound of chanting. They both turned to see a small person covered in fur and feathers with a cougar's head, dancing and spinning in a circle of soft, glowing light. The room brightened gradually until they could see a wall length photo hanging on one end of the room. It was a snapshot taken maybe a hundred years ago or more, blown up in size, and the chanting dancer was spreading its arms toward it and moving side to side as if trying to jump into the picture. Oxman stepped closer to the photograph and saw it was some kind of ritual scene. Indians were sitting around, motionless without expression and, in the middle of them, the camera had captured a blurred movement of a half man, half bird like creature, twirling in a semi circle.

"Jesse?" said Oxman to the dancer in the room. He thought it was her because the body size was the same but how could she have so quickly slipped into costume and entered the room without them hearing? The dancer just kept pounding its feet furiously and lifting its arms, circling him and Bruce until Oxman became the center of attention and the light faded again. The chanting died out and they were once again in total darkness and silence.

"Okay, that was cool," said Bruce. "Now what?"

The door opened and Jesse stood in the entrance, motioning for them to come out. If that had been her dancing, then she had made a supersonic change.

"What did you guys see?" she asked them.

"A shaman?" said Bruce. "Now can we get back to the cell phone?"

"Is that all you saw?" asked Jesse.

"I saw a photo on the wall."

"And what was in it?"

"Somebody with a bird's head. Maybe an eagle. I'm not sure."

"Then the vision was for you, Johnny," said Jesse.

"Vision?"

"Look," she said, opening the door to the room again. This time she flipped on the light switch, illuminating the small, empty room. The walls were bare. If somebody had moved that huge photo, they were quick and quiet.

"Now you must go," said the old woman firmly. "If you tell anyone what you saw here today, a terrible thing will happen to you."

### Chapter Eleven

Every night there was a different, young woman in Oxman's dreams. He often wondered if she were his soul mate, whoever she was. Sometimes she was blonde. Sometimes a brunette or redhead. She travelled with him through the ever changing dreamscape, full of adventures and places that he had been to or imagined he had been to. Perhaps it was his approaching middle age that stimulated these fantasies but sex was rarely involved with these fleeting sirens of the night. The bond was more emotional. The attraction, of course, was always mutual. He rarely dreamt of women that he had known in real life, except for his ex wife who starred in his nightmares. Jesse never appeared in his dreams but she hovered in his sleepless, exhausted mind on the way back to Seattle.

The skies had clouded over completely again and by the time they were underway on the ferry the rain, which never really went away, started falling again. Bruce had returned the call on the cell phone. It was Uncle Jack and Bruce refused to tell Oxman what he had said until they were separated again from Jesse when she went to the ladies room.

"Your Mrs. Ostsee may be gone," he said.

"What?"

"Jack said some dock workers saw a woman taken aboard that Chilean freighter that left port this morning."

"Where are they headed?"

"He doesn't know but he's checking."

"So what about Suzie, then?"

"That's where we're going now. It's possible she's still in Seattle and being held in an abandoned warehouse on Harbor Island. Jack's got some heavies lined up and we're going to check it out. We're supposed to meet him at the union hall as soon as we get back. Think you're up to it? You look pretty wiped out."

"I'm just tryin' to make sense of what we saw in that Indian lodge. Do you really think it was some kind of mystical experience?"

"I don't know. The Indian in me wants to believe it but the sailor in me says it's all some kind of hoax."

"Do you think Jesse is playing us? I mean it's more than a coincidence that we ran into her on the ferry today."

"Could be. I don't know. I don't trust her as far as I can toss her."

Jesse returned to the car and they stopped talking.

"What's all this about?" she asked.

"Maybe you tell us," said Bruce.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell us all, sweetheart. About your relationship with Osterberg. The reason you just happened to be here on the ferry this morning and what you know about Mrs. Ostsee."

"I told you not to call me sweetheart, bastard."

"Keep your claws in, Little Cat," said Oxman.

"Listen up you monkey heads. I go to the reservation regularly during the week. Maybe you guys should explain why you were on the ferry the same time as me. As for the rest of your asinine questions, I don't know anything."

She clammed up for the rest of the ferry ride and let us out of the car as soon as we hit the dock.

"That was smooth, Mr. Ex Lax," said Oxman.

"Look. I'm exhausted and worried about Suzie and I don't have time for diplomacy. If you want to keep being nice to her and try to get into her pants, good luck, but as far as I'm concerned, either she's a dyke or she's probably hiding something."

"Well, what should we do? Force her at gunpoint to go back with us to the union hall?"

"That might be the best idea you came up with so far."

"I was being sarcastic. Kidnapping is not in my job description."

"Tell me what is then? Helping mutilated, estranged wives of powerful men? Say, what's your real interest in this broad anyhow? I know you, Johnny. It's more than sex and definitely not love. She's loaded, right? And she made you an offer, right?"

"That's right. What the hell difference does it make to you?"

"That's it, Oxman. Get mad. That's the only way to find out the truth. So you got me mixed up in all this because this bimbo promised you a reward. Is that it?"

"Look at you, Bruce. You can still ship out and make money. Me, I'm grounded and living on dog food. Maybe I'm a sucker for a pretty face but I never thought it would go this far. You know, if I did, I would have cut her loose at the beginning. You know I would have."

Bruce lowered his head and didn't speak and they both stood there on the dock in the pouring rain on the edge of land and sea. The ferry sounded its departure horn again after loading up and Bruce scowled at Oxman and said to him in a voice he never heard him use before.

"You're the point man from here on in."

It was hard to get a guy like Bruce back on your team once that he felt you had crossed him in some way. Bruce's cold shoulder was huge and heavy and Oxman had seen him let guys get hurt on ships before when he could have said a word to prevent an accident. Bruce could look out for you or he could watch you slip and fall, depending on how you dealt with him. There was nothing Oxman could do at this point and they both knew it so he just tagged alongside him back to the union hall. The only way he could make things right again was to get Suzie back.

Uncle Jack was waiting for them at the hall and led them straight to his office and closed the door. A couple of goons were standing by his desk, mean bastards. The type you wouldn't want to get into a casual misunderstanding with. Oxman didn't care to guess about the relationship Jack had with these thugs but he knew why they were there.

"Johnny and Bruce," he said. "This here is Wild Bill and Slam. They're gonna help you get Suzie back but they don't do no pro bono work. This is costing me and the union but don't worry about it right now."

As big as Bruce was, Wild Bill made him look like a toy poodle and Slam had a knife scar on his face that ran from the side of his forehead down to his chin. They both wore aviator sunglasses and seemed incapable of smiling. When Jack sat down behind his desk, they towered over him, making him appear smaller than he already was. Oxman imagined they had demon wings hidden underneath their black leather jackets. Hit men from hell.

"So where exactly is Suzie?" asked Bruce. "Let's go get her."

"Cool your jets, Bruce," said Jack. "We gotta wait until dark before we make our move. These guys don't like being seen in daylight if you know what I mean."

"That's at least a couple of hours," said Oxman. "What do we do until then?"

"Here," said Jack, fishing a fifty dollar bill out of his shirt pocket and tossing it onto the desk. "Go have a quiet dinner somewhere and then come back. Has anyone called the cops yet?"

"Nope," said Oxman.

"Good, because this here meeting never took place. You never saw these guys and I don't know nothin'. Got it? Now you two get lost and come back at 7:30 sharp and wait at the bus stop on the corner of First. I got no more part in this."

"What about the Ostsee lady and the Chilean freighter?" asked Oxman.

"What about it? I told you all I know and that's more than enough. I'm helping you get Suzie back because she's a union friend. I don't care about no big shot's wife. Is that clear?"

When Jack asked you if his meaning was clear that was the signal that the conversation was over so Bruce and Oxman left the hall, still not talking to each other. Oxman followed Bruce up the street and quickened his pace until he caught up to him and Bruce stopped to look back at him.

"Hey, man," said Oxman. "I told you I was sorry. We're gonna get Suzie back tonight and then you can be my enemy forever but let's hang until then, okay? I'm gettin' too old to be losin' old friends, Bruce."

"This had better work out. Otherwise, you're not gonna wanna show your face around this hall again."

"Fair enough. Now can we go split that fifty and have some chow somewhere? I can't remember the last time I ate."

### Chapter Twelve

They caught the first bus headed toward Pike Place market and got a table in a restaurant overlooking the bay. Oxman figured Bruce was just as hungry and tired as he was, and if maybe they both had something to eat, the bad feeling between them would leave and Bruce might begin to understand his point of view.

"I gotta make a phone call," said Oxman after ordering and Bruce grunted so he stepped outside and called Mark.

"Hey Mark. It's me again, Oxman."

"What's up? You in jail yet? Need a bailout?"

"No, but I do need some more information."

"Information is my middle name."

"Do you still do business with the Coast Guard? Got contacts in high places?"

"Maybe. Depends on what you need."

"I need to know about a Chilean freighter that left port this morning and what its destination is. Can you find that out for me?"

"Hmm. I'll have to think of a good reason for requesting that info. I might not need to go to the Coast Guard for that. There are other channels, you know. The Guard is like the police. They get suspicious about everything. You know that as well as I do."

"Yeah. You're right. I do."

"I could think of some shipping angle, maybe. Say that I need them to pick up a container for me in their next port of call. Do you know the name of the vessel?"

"Sorry. I don't."

"That's all right. I'll track it down and get back to you. Give me a couple of hours. What do you plan to do with this information if you don't mind me asking?"

"Strictly confidential?"

"Strictly."

"There's a good chance the missing Mrs. Ostsee is onboard."

"So you're on a personal rescue mission, then?"

"Yeah. For her and for me."

"Well, just remember the Coast Guard motto. You have to go out but you don't have to come back in."

"Thanks for the warning."

"That's what friends are for."

"Thanks. I owe you."  
"Never mind. I'm living vicariously through your misfortunes and misguided adventures."

"That comforts me."

"Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Don't end up as fish food somewhere. Watch your back."

"I didn't know you were sweet on me."

"In your prison fantasies, maybe."

"Okay. Gotta go. Call me soon."

"Roger that."

Oxman hung up and put the cell phone back in his coat pocket and turned around to see Bruce standing behind him.

"What are you up to now?" he asked.

"Just tryin' to get a little info."

"From Mark again?"

"Yeah. If you must know."

"Don't tell me. You're tryin' to track down that Chilean freighter."

"That's right."

"You've gone off the deep end, Oxman."

"Have I?"

"That depends upon how Operation Rescue Suzie turns out."

"I hear ya."

It's hard to tell when night falls on a cloudy, rainy Seattle day. Sometimes, the sunset breaks briefly over the Olympic mountains on the western horizon like a stripper teasing you before slipping away off stage. On this night, there was no such hint of a better tomorrow. The rain just kept falling and the clouds got blacker until the city was dark and the night squeezed the last bit of daylight out of sight. Bruce and Oxman decided it was time to head back to the hall even though it was only seven. In spite of the rain, Oxman convinced Bruce to walk the short distance, believing that the rude weather would wake them up and jolt their senses for the coming action. At exactly 7:30, a black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the bus stop and Slam rolled down the passenger window and told them to get in.

"You guys are packing, right?" asked Wild Bill without turning around from behind the steering wheel.

"Yeah," said Oxman.

"Okay."

Slam was busy checking and rechecking what looked like a couple of Uzi's in the front seat. The sound of the actions snapping rattled Oxman's nerves like a loose anchor chain flying across the steel deck of a ship. Bruce sat next to him, calm and collected.

The windshield wipers of the SUV slapped a rhythm against the pounding rain. Oxman glanced at Bruce again. He had his Colt out and was spinning the chamber, making sure it was fully loaded. No doubt he was thinking about Suzie but Oxman couldn't stop thinking about Betty. Sure, he wanted to see Suzie safe again, but Oxman couldn't put aside the picture of paradise that Betty had painted for him. The thought made him feel guilty so he started thinking about Jesse and all that spirit guide stuff again. He pulled out his Ruger and checked it also, giving him something to do.

They turned right off of First Avenue and onto the road under the West Seattle bridge that led onto Harbor Island, an industrial complex of shipyards, warehouses and railroad tracks that led through a maze of stacked containers. Wild Bill cut the lights to the SUV and drove slowly through the darkness along the narrow roads that twisted between single story, tin roofed buildings surrounded by chain link fences and piles of rusted machinery. Oxman had walked through many port yards like this during his merchant travels in search of the nearest bar or telephone. The rough landscape suited their business perfectly. He thought about Mark and envied him in his clean office and nice clothes, driving an expensive car and never getting his hands dirty. _Living vicariously through me,_ he thought. How could anyone appreciate the constant touch of cold steel, the incessant roar of dull engines and the feeling that you were constantly on the move? The SUV pulled up about a hundred yards from a small shack at the end of the road and Slam spoke up.

"This is the place," he said. "You guys leave your guns in the car and follow us."

"What?" said Bruce. "Are you kidding me? Why?"

"Because we don't want any amateurs fucking this up. We got enough firepower. All we need you two for is to ID the guy and the girl."

Bruce and Oxman glanced at each other and thought the same thing.

"Do you want the girl back or not?" asked Slam, locking and loading his Uzi.

"Do as he says," said Wild Bill.

Before Oxman could say anything, Bruce pulled out his Colt and set it on the floor of the vehicle and looked at Oxman and nodded so he did the same.

"Let's go then," said Slam and they all exited the SUV as quietly as possible and walked slowly towards the shack. A dim light was burning from inside of it. The shades on the windows were closed but it seemed obvious that somebody was inside. The only question was who.

"You two follow behind me," said Wild Bill. "Slam, you bring up the rear."

They single filed their way to the shack that was perched on the pier's edge. About ten yards away from it, Bill stopped, turned and said to Bruce and Oxman, "You guys walk to each side of the building. Me and Slam are gonna bust in and catch them off guard. If the girl's in there, you'll know soon enough."

So Bruce walked around to one side and Oxman to the other and waited. Oxman saw Bill and Slam whispering before they split up and then Bill walked up to the front door of the shack, holding his Uzi in front of him until Oxman couldn't see him anymore. Then he heard a single shot go off like a steel hammer hitting an empty, oil drum but it wasn't from Bill's gun. Confused, he turned to see Bill walking towards him, removing his sunglasses and that simple movement made him realize what was going down.

Oxman turned and ran a few feet and then jumped into the cold, black water and heard another shot whistling over his head as he sank and hit the muddy bottom with his feet. He started frog kicking away from the pier and swam as far as he could underwater, holding his breath until his lungs almost burst and he had to go up for air. When his head broke surface, he looked around and spat out some slime, figuring he had made it about twenty yards from the dock. He could see the outlines of the two gunmen standing next to the shack and he heard their voices traveling clearly in the night. Near death experiences sharpen your senses.

"Did you get him?" asked Slam.

"Not sure. He went over the side as soon as I shot."

"Damn it. Let's toss this other one in and get out of here."

Oxman quietly started doing a survival stroke that he had learned in the Coast Guard to keep afloat. He circled his legs like he was riding a bicycle underwater while spreading his arms to push his head above the surface, just long enough to fill his lungs and then sink back under again, repeating the process. In warm water, you could stay afloat like that for days but it was cold and he knew that hypothermia would get to him eventually.

### Chapter Thirteen

A big splash at the edge of the pier. They had dumped Bruce's body into the harbor. The current of the river was pushing Oxman out towards the bay and he saw the SUV lights come on and heard the engine rev up and saw the vehicle turn around and drive away. Oxman could see some lights on the West Seattle side of the river so he took his shoes and pants off and tied the cuffs into knots, blowing into the legs and wrapped them around his neck, making an emergency life preserver. Crude but effective but it wouldn't last long, so he started swimming toward the lights, alternating strokes to conserve energy. And still the rain fell, hitting his face like a thousand birds shitting on him from the sky overhead.

Oxman felt born again after narrowly escaping execution. He had managed to swim ashore and find a biker bar that was just closing up on the beach. In spite of his condition, the bartender let him make a call to Mark who came and picked him up and took him to his place to dry off and get some sleep. When he woke up, he told Mark what happened and he listened silently.

"I know you warned me," said Oxman, "but there's no turning back now. I've got to find Mrs. Ostsee. Did you find out the destination of the Chilean freighter?"

"Thailand," he said, sitting in his blue, silk pajamas on a white leather couch. "And then Singapore."

"Then I've got to get a plane reservation right away. Can you take me to my place so I can get my passport and some luggage?"

"And what are you going to do when you get there? Storm the freighter on your own?"

"I have a friend in Bangkok. Maybe he can help me."

"Another union buddy? It sounds to me like you've been double crossed."

"No. He's not a union buddy and I don't know why Bruce and I were set up but, either way, I've got to get out of Seattle ASAP."

"I won't argue with that," said Mark, standing up and walking over to the window of his penthouse apartment which overlooked downtown Seattle. He surveyed the city for a minute and then turned back to Oxman and said, "But why head deeper into the storm? Why not forget about this broad and go south of the border for a couple of months and sip Margaritas and squeeze some brown ass for awhile?"

"Because I don't have the money to do that. I've got just enough to get me to Thailand."

"And then what?"

"And then we'll see."

Oxman still didn't tell him about Betty's offer. The secret had cursed Bruce so he kept his cards pressed tighter to his chest. Mark knew Oxman well enough to know that once he had made up his mind on something there was little anyone could do to change it so he agreed to help him.

The rain finally let up a little but the skies were still filled with dark, low lying clouds and Oxman thought about what a beautiful contrast the tropical sunshine in Thailand would make as Mark drove him to his apartment. He wanted to wait for him to take him to the airport but Oxman cut him loose.

"Okay, but here's my satellite, cell phone," he said. "Call me in Bangkok if you need to. I've got business connections there also if you need anymore help."

"Just to let you know, if I make it through this, I owe you a lot."

"It's nice to be remembered that way but I'd hate to picture myself in a situation so bad that I needed your help."

_That was cold,_ thought Oxman as he stood on the curb and watched Mark drive away.

When he got up to his apartment, Oxman stuck the key into the lock but the door was already open. He stood there for a minute, wondering if they were waiting inside for him. Mark had loaned him a spare Smith and Wesson and he pulled it out and pushed the door wide open like they do on the cop shows. The living room was empty but he kept the gun leveled as he stepped slowly towards the bedroom. Something didn't smell right.

He pushed the door open slowly and saw Suzie laying face up in his bed, stark white naked with her throat slit from ear to ear, her open, almond shaped eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She wasn't the first corpse or naked woman he had ever seen. He had fished out plenty of floaters during his time in the Coast Guard. All he could think of was that whoever had set him up would probably have the cops on his tail, so he got his things together, stuffed them in a duffle bag and locked the door behind him. He left his apartment and flagged down a taxi on the street to take him to Sea-Tac airport. Oxman ditched Mark's gun in a trash can in the airport bathroom, bought a ticket for Bangkok, crossed his fingers and made a phone call as he waited in the boarding area.

Toon met him in Thailand twelve hours later when he cleared customs. Oxman's friend was easy to spot in the sea of Asian faces waiting at the arrival gate. His wide grin, in contrast to the pasty faced tourists and seriously suited, business travelers was a welcome sight. Wearing a flowered, island shirt, khaki shorts and sandals, he approached Oxman and said, "Hello my friend." Then he clasped his hands together in front of his face and bowed his head in the traditional, Thai wai.

" _Sawadee_ , Toon," said Oxman as he returned his wai. "You have a car?"

"Of course. The tourist business has been good lately and I was able to buy a good, used Subaru jeep."

Toon and his family operated an exclusive resort on the north beach of Koh Samui island in the Gulf of Thailand. They had met years ago while Oxman was on shore leave. At that time, Toon was still a taxi driver and they ended up spending an entire night together, visiting after hour clubs and places that very few _farangs,_ or foreigners, who came to Thailand ever saw. Toon liked Oxman because he told him that he was originally from Detroit and Toon was a big fan of the boxer, Joe Luis. He invited Oxman to stay with him and his family on Koh Samui and he fell in love with the place, returning there every chance he got. Toon's business was small then, nothing more than an off the beaten path destination for hippie backpackers but, within a few years, an airport was built on the island and it brought in international tourists and huge profits for Toon who had previously just managed to eke out a living.

Oxman fell in love with Toon's beautiful, sister-in-law, Dah, but she respectfully acknowledged his affections yet kept her distance. Getting drunk every night with Toon and his friends didn't create a good impression on her but at least Oxman was able to break into the inner circle of male, Thai society. He worked hard at learning the language, respecting their customs and he even loaned Toon money when he could. The new activity on the once, quiet island started bringing in drug runners, prostitutes and other scammers and Toon wanted a gun so Oxman gave him the money to get one. He never asked him to repay him for it and this kept Toon in debt to him and he told Oxman that if he ever needed a place to stay in Thailand to just look him up.

"Are you on holiday, Mr. John?" asked Toon as they drove away from the airport, merging into the chaotic traffic that led them into Bangkok proper.

"I'm looking for a woman."

"No problem. Many women in Thailand for you, my friend."

"No, Toon. Not like that. I'm looking for a white woman, an American."

"None left in America?" he laughed.

"Very funny. No, this is a special woman. Very rich and very much in trouble."

"And very beautiful, yes?"

"Of course."

"Ah, rich, white and beautiful. Are you dreaming?"

"No. I'm in the middle of a nightmare."

"Maybe you need a few days at one of my beach bungalows to relax. I will take you to Samui in the morning."

"I can't, Toon. This woman is being smuggled into Thailand on a ship from Chile. Do you know the docks in Bangkok?"

"I know the Chao Phraya riverside like I know my wife's body. Remember, I used to be a taxi driver."

"And do you still have that gun I bought for you?"

"Yes, and many more at home now."

"Do you have it with you now?"

He leaned forward and opened the glove compartment and pulled it out, waving it like a small flag.

"Okay. Put it back. Thanks."

"Never leave home without it. Just like American Express, right? This is Thailand, you know."

"Yes, I know."

### Chapter Fourteen

That's what Oxman liked most about Toon. He was just like Mark. A rags to riches guy who never lost the edge off his wild side. Of course in Thailand, if you paid the cops off and stayed out of heavy drug smuggling, you could get away with almost anything except disrespecting the king.

"So I am free from my wife tonight," said Toon. "Let's go to some nightclubs. Just like old times."

"That sounds good but first you have to help me find out when and where this ship is docking."

"No problem," he said and whipped out his cell phone and started talking to someone in Thai. Oxman's language skills were rusty but he could understand a little of the conversation. Something about a _farang_ woman. A ship from Chile. Place and time. And then he hung up.

"We will find out soon," he said. "Now Thai style. Let's go have a drink. No problem. We find her for you. Anything you want, Mr. John."

"It's good to see you again, my friend. Your helping me out means a lot."

"You got it, Mr. John. Now let me show you something."

It was midnight in Bangkok and the traffic was thick as molasses but Toon wove his jeep in and out through backstreets, taking shortcuts until he finally pulled up in front of a gaudy nightclub, lit with purple, flashing neon lights. Oxman was jet lagged after the long flight and the sounds and smells of the city swirled through his senses like an intense déjà vu moment. The vibrant street life was filled with hawkers and open air grills. Saffron clad monks shuffled silently along the crowded sidewalks. The heat, humidity and smog choked his thoughts and culture shocked him, and he was thankful for Toon's smiling presence, guiding him through the tangled mess of third world turbulence. Oxman knew that if he were on his own, he would have been helpless and just struggling to keep an even keel but, instead, he felt relaxed and confident for the first time in days. Although this was a business trip, you can't visit Thailand without flavoring a bit of pleasure along the way.

A valet opened Toon's door and took his car to a secure parking lot and Oxman followed Toon into the nightclub, feeling fatigued but excited at the same time.

"Relax, Mr. John," said Toon, noticing his weariness. "You are with me now. My special guest. Nobody will bother you. I will handle everything."

"Thanks, Toon. If I pass out just make sure I don't wake up in a massage parlor with my pants gone."

Toon laughed and slapped him on the back as they entered the first floor of the nightclub. Inside, a sweet, young Thai girl was up on a stage, singing a melancholy love song in Thai. Tables were filled with friends sharing plates of food and buckets of Mekong whiskey as impeccably dressed, Asian boys hurried to keep their glasses filled.

Toon looked around the room and waved to a few people who waved back. He hurried Oxman along to an elevator and they went up to the second floor where the atmosphere was different. The lights were lower and, instead of boys serving the tables, beautiful young girls moved gracefully between groups of seated, drinking men watching a dimly lit stage. A half naked woman was gyrating slowly upon it, her movements exotically hypnotizing. The faraway look in her eyes transcended the shadowy leers, compelling her into a dance of forced sexuality, more erotic than any tweaked out, stripper in Vegas could mimic. This was Asian sensuality, shameless and incarnate, outpacing the Puritan constraints of American morality. The men watched her and spoke in hushed whispers as a stunning, statuesque hostess led them to a table. Toon ordered a bottle of Mekong and ice water and they began to drink, watching one beauty after another take the stage. But all Oxman could see was Suzie Wong's stiff, white face lying on his bed back in Seattle. He leaned toward Toon who was captivated by the show and said, "I don't have much time."

"Okay. I just wanted to show you something. Let's go, then."

Back in the elevator, they went up another level and this time a Thai man greeted them when the door opened. He checked Oxman over carefully and then waved them over into a small cubicle, lit only by shaded lamps on small tables. People moved in the shadows and Toon grabbed Oxman's elbow as he sat down across from him. There was barely enough light to see each other's faces and Toon sat motionless like a meditating Buddha. His sudden, long silence made Oxman feel uncomfortable and, although he trusted Toon, the look of inscrutability on his face unsettled him. He was about to ask him if they could leave when one of the most exotic, Thai women Oxman had ever seen slid into the cubicle beside him. She spoke to Toon in fast, low whispers and Oxman struggled to catch whatever he could of their conversation. Finally, she turned to him, smiled warmly and said, "My name is Daang. Toon asked me to keep you company for awhile. He has to go talk to somebody about your business. He will be right back."

Daang pressed up against Oxman, her warm, pliant body melting into his. She took his hand and whispered in his ear.

"You are welcome here, Mr. John. What can I do to make you pleasant?"

Oxman stared into her rich, brown eyes and saw a trained desire to please but he also knew that she could turn off the charm like flipping a switch if she needed to.

"Where are you from?" asked Oxman.

"Chiang Mai."

"They tell me the most beautiful women in the world come from there."

"Thank you," she said and pulled even closer to him, sliding her arm between his chest and bicep. "You are a strong man but something is bothering you, yes?"

"Yes."

"What is it. Do you speak Thai?"

" _Nit noy, krap."_

_"Dee mahk!_ Very good! Maybe you need a Thai wife to make you happy."

"No, thanks. I already tried that once."

"You just had the wrong woman."

"Or she had the wrong man."

"So you never want to get married again?"

"The first time for love, the second time for money."

"I understand. You are very practical, then."

"Very."

"Have you seen Chiang Mai?"

"Nope."

"Then you must come to my province sometime. I will ask Toon to bring you."

"Maybe. When my business is finished."

"You are a business man?"

"Yes. I'm a very important one."

"But you are alone without a woman. That is not good. That is not how life should be."

"How should life be?"

"Life should be filled with love and happiness."

"No suffering?"

"One should not seek suffering or pain."

"What do you seek?"

"I seek the path."

"Me, too, I guess."

Daang had wormed her way under Oxman's skin like a pro. She wasn't a dancer or a hooker. He could tell that. She was one of those rare, Indochinese lotus flowers that hover over a pond, begging to be lifted from the surface and caressed, asking very little in return except to be treated with dignity and respect. He would forget about her in a couple of days.

"Let's go, Mr. John," said Toon, appearing out of the darkness.

"Whatever you say, my friend. Excuse me, Daang. It was nice to meet you."

She reluctantly let Oxman slip away and offered him a wai which he returned.

"Please come to Chiang Mai, someday. You may find true love and happiness there."

"Will I find you there?"

"Maybe I will find you first," she said and Toon pulled him away with a hard tug on his sleeve. He looked back once more at her and saw her standing in the flickering lights of the table lamp like a vapor, ethereal and impossible to hold onto forever.

### Chapter Fifteen

"Where are we going now?" asked Oxman, following Toon as they exited the nightclub and got back into his jeep. "I tell you, my friend, I cannot take another step or sip another drink or even look at another woman. Jet lag. Very bad. I need some sleep."

"Then I will take you to my cousin's house in the country. Not far from Bangkok. Maybe a two hour drive. You sleep. Everything is under control."

"Did you find out about the Chilean freighter?"

"Yes, but don't ask too many questions. The less you know, the better. Thai style."

"Thai style. Right."

Oxman reclined in the passenger seat and closed his eyes, still feeling the seductive presence and remembering Daang's perfume. Maybe he should just forget about Betty and disappear into the Thai jungles. Maybe go to Chiang Mai and find a woman. But Toon's request not to ask too many questions reminded him of Osterberg and the similar warnings given to new employees at The Forecastle.

Oxman woke up at the crack of dawn in a bed covered with mosquito netting. The slowly rotating fan hanging from the ceiling above reminded him of where he was and how he got there. No more amorphous dawns like in Seattle. The sun shot straight up in Thailand, strengthening by the second, increasing the heat and humidity exponentially with each rise in degree above the horizon.

No air conditioning. Oxman was covered in a sweat. Again, he dreamt of a young woman. She was still floating on the edge of his sub consciousness, lingering in the recesses of some forgotten past or improbable future. Voices from somewhere inside the house brought him back to reality. He understood every word in Thai that he heard through the thin walls.

Put this in the water. Start the coffee. Clear the table. Sweep the floor.

They were female voices, both young and old. A couple of men were talking and he recognized Toon's voice. Oxman climbed out of bed and stretched his aching body and opened the window shutters and gazed out onto an endless field of irrigated, rice paddies. A graceful swan was hovering above them, circling with wings spread, dipping and rising with perfect fluidity. The smell of orchids and other exotic aromas filled his lungs and he breathed it all in, stretching his arms towards the tropical sun that was ballooning a hot orange. The swan landed on a dry patch in the middle of the rice paddies and stretched its wings and he thought of Jesse again back in Seattle. The spirit guide from the Indian lodge. Would he ever see her again? What was her role in all of this? Just then, his cell phone rang and he knew who it was.

"Hello Mark."

"Johnny! How's the weather in Thailand?"

"Hot and humid. What's up?"

"Your picture on the local news."

"Have the cops come to you yet?"

"No and if they do, I got nothing to say."

"Good man."

"Are you on the trail of Mrs. Ostsee? Have you found her yet?"

"I've got help here. I should know something soon."

"You need to find her and get this cleared up."

"Thanks for making my day."

"Sorry. Just thought I'd keep you up to date."

"No. I appreciate it. I'm still kind of jet lagged, that's all."

"I understand. Remember, I have connections there. Let me know if you need additional help."

"Thanks but the less people who know about this the better."

"Good deal. How about those Thai women, huh? I bet you're enjoying the sights."

Oxman wanted to tell him more but he didn't. Mark was a precious resource and a good friend and he didn't want him sticking his neck out too far and ending up like Bruce, so he just laughed and briefly described Daang.

"Wish I was there with you," said Mark. "On holiday."

"Yeah. A holiday with no cares in the world, surrounded by gorgeous, exotic, and willing beauties."

"Okay, buddy. Got to go now. Let me know if you need anything. Your adventure, awful as it is, is a thrilling counterpoint to my boring life of corporate meetings and butt sniffing, cocktail parties."

"White collar criminal envies blue collar fugitive. That's nice."

"Very funny. Stay in the shade. Talk to you later."

Toon opened the door to Oxman's room, greeting him with a broad smile and said that breakfast was ready. In the kitchen, Oxman was surprised to see a Thai man in military uniform with a pistol strapped to his thigh.

"This is my cousin, Chaang," said Toon. "And his wife, Mem."

"Pleased to meet you."

"How did you sleep?" asked Mem, a short, pencil thin woman who poured them all some coffee.

"Very good, thanks."

"This country air is better than Bangkok," said Chaang. "You can relax here for as long as you like since you are Toon's friend."

"Thanks, again. Are you a soldier or a policeman?"

"Chaang does many things," said Toon. "His government job is with the army but it doesn't pay much so, like most Thai people, he is involved with other business activities.

Toon didn't have to say anymore. Oxman knew enough about Thai society not to probe too deeply. More often than not, these "other business activities" were semi legal and government employees used their positions to get kickbacks from informants or building contractors to overlook safety violations.

"Toon was telling me about your, ah, situation," said Chaang. "He says you need help in finding a missing American woman. Is she your wife?"

"No. Just a friend who needs help."

"I see. And she is coming to Bangkok on a ship very soon?"

"Yes. A freighter from Chile that left Seattle a couple of days ago."

Mem said in Thai that she had some chores to do and exited gracefully, leaving the men to talk business. Toon said something to Chaang in Thai which Oxman couldn't catch and Chaang nodded in agreement before saying, "What will you do with this woman when you find her?"

"Probably make love to her."

They both laughed and Toon reached over and patted Oxman on the back and said, "You go to a lot of trouble for this woman, Mr. John. We have many beautiful Thai women if you want one. Good ones. Not bar girls. If you want to stay in Thailand, you can work for me. You can be my bungalow boss and live on the island. Good life for an ex sailor."

"I wish it were that easy, Toon. I need this woman to get me out of trouble back in the States."

"Are you a fugitive?" asked Chaang, lifting an eyebrow.

"I'm more a person of interest, right now. This woman has answers to questions that I need."

"I see. Then we must find her when she arrives. Most likely, the ship will dock at Klong Toey. That is a rough neighborhood."

"I've been there. I know it."

"I have friends in the shipping industry. After breakfast, I will call them and find out more, but for now, have some good Thai food but watch out for the chili peppers. You might get burned."

### Chapter Sixteen

That's the thing Oxman liked most about Thai people. You don't do anything serious on an empty stomach. If the spirits were on your side, or so they believed, everything would work out in your favor. Happy people pleased the spirits so it was best to satisfy your basic needs first before counting on them to help you. It was all a matter of heart. An angry stomach or a troubled mind invited bad spirits but a content body encouraged helpful ones.

So the men ate in silence until they had their fill and Mem returned to serve them some more coffee, and then they went out on the porch to smoke and talk some more. The conversation, which Oxman mostly understood, was between Toon and Chaang. They were discussing family matters, people they knew and things unrelated to Oxman until Toon's cell phone rang. He spoke a few minutes in rapid fire Thai and all Oxman could understand was the word _farang_ and then he handed the phone to Chaang who listened intently for awhile. He said some numbers and a time before hanging up.

"Are you ready, Mr. John?" asked Chaang.

"For what?"

"We are going for a ride. Toon will take us to Klong Toey now. Your ship will be arriving in a couple of hours.  
"And then what?"

"And then Thai style. You stay in the car and wait. Excuse us, please. Toon and I have to talk."

They went back inside the house and Oxman sat on the porch watching Mem scrub clothes by hand in a washbasin and hang them on an outdoor line to dry. He was still amazed at the vast expanse of land around him. The nearest house was a mile down the road. The daytime heat was already pressing down on him and he hoped for a breeze that never came. He looked back through the front window of the house and saw Toon handing Chaang a roll of cash which he quickly stuffed in his shirt pocket. They payoff. Now the deal could get underway.

Driving back into Bangkok was like returning from the open sea into a crowded, shipping lane filled with vessels bound for port. The unbroken emptiness of the countryside began filling up with roadside buildings and villages until the double lane, highway they were on merged into a gel of congested cars on the outskirts of the metropolis. Skyscrapers eventually overtook the skyline and they were soon in the thickest part of the city. Streets crowded with bumper to bumper traffic. Sidewalks filled with shoulder to shoulder pedestrians. Motorbikes

zigzagged in between stalled cars like pin balls on steroids. The morning sun was already obscured by a thick smog, turning the daylight into a ghastly orange like a Martian landscape. Oxman felt good sitting in the back of Toon's air conditioned, jeep. He felt like a mob boss, reclining in luxury as the peasants toiled outside in the stifling heat as his bodyguards drove him to his destination to do his dirty work for him.

"So what's the plan?" Oxman asked Toon as they got deeper into central Bangkok. He could recognize some buildings and he knew they were getting closer to the docks.

"We have people ready on the waterfront," said Chaang. "I have friends in Thai customs who will check the documents of anyone coming ashore."

"What if she's hidden in a container or something?"

"If she's as important as you say, I doubt they would treat her that way. They only do that to Africans or Burmese who are being smuggled into the country. Bucket shitters, we call them in Thai."

Toon laughed because even the poorest of Thais maintained strict, hygiene standards.

"And if they find her? Then what?" continued Oxman.

"I will be notified," said Chaang," and we will follow her to her destination. You relax, Mr. John. This is Thailand."

Oxman nodded. He knew that Thais hated confrontational scenes. Subtlety was the name of the game. Backroom dealing. Money under the table. Pre dawn raids. Violence as a last resort. Everything was set up like a chess game in advance that had to be played out with a minimum loss of face. Oxman was invisible as far as they were concerned, unarmed and unaware of the intricacies and sleights of hand that took place before his eyes like a spectator at a Chinese opera. How could he, a white man, possibly understand the hidden meaning behind graceful movements and off scene, stage tricks?

Toon inched the jeep through the crowded slums of Klong Toey, and curious pedestrians strained their necks, hoping to see through the tinted windows of their vehicle until they reached the dock where the Chilean freighter was due to arrive at any moment. An armed security guard stopped them at the dock gate and Chaang rolled down his window slightly and said a few words and the guard waved the jeep through with a salute.

"The ship is in the river under pilot control and will be docking soon," said Chaang as Toon parked along the wharf and slipped a CD into the dashboard. They sat and waited, listening to festive, pop music, watching shirtless, longshoremen strolling dockside, making preparations for the ship's arrival. Toon opened a bag filled with sweet rice wrapped in banana leaves that Mem had prepared for the men, and they snacked in silence until the bow of a freighter rounded the downstream bend of the Chao Phraya, guided by a small tug boat.

"There's your ship," said Toon and Chaang took out a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment and scanned the decks of the freighter.

"Do you see anything?" asked Oxman.

"Only some sailors handling lines. No sign of your woman anywhere."

"Let me see," asked Oxman and Chaang gave him the binoculars. He scoured the pilot house and gangway for a blonde head but didn't see one, so he handed the glasses back and finished his lunch.

The longshoremen moved closer to the water's edge and Oxman imagined himself on the deck of that freighter, preparing hawser lines and firing up the winches for tie up. He watched the slow, steady movements of the sailors and could almost sense the anticipation they felt, the same way that he had over a thousand times. The thrill of making landfall in an exotic port. The payoff in the captain's cabin. Cash in your pocket and ready to go ashore to absorb the sights, smells and sounds and anticipating a possible, new adventure. Shopping for rare items or just blowing off steam in a pub. Or idling through the crowds, fending off hawkers and pimps. He felt strange to be on the receiving end, and the long blast from the ship's horn, signaling its final approach nearly lifted him out of his seat. The hawsers from the freighter's deck were lowered to the waiting longshoremen, and the ship maneuvered into its unloading position with the forward bow thrusters pushing the surface of the river aside in foamy turbulence. After a few minutes, the gangway swung out from the ship's side and was lowered to the pier and a small squad of Thai custom officials walked up it to check documents and receive the bill of laden.

### Chapter Seventeen

It was at least another hour before the crew started to disembark. Chaang studied each face carefully through his binoculars. Sea weary sailors straggled off the ship, one at a time, rubbery legged and freshly shaven for shore leave. Some of them would hang around the dock for a few minutes, have a smoke and plan what they would do ashore before wandering off towards the gate and disappearing into the Klong Toey throng.

They sat in the jeep watching them all afternoon as the big dock cranes moved into position to start unloading the containers from the freighter. Toon kept changing CD's and it was starting to get on Oxman's nerves but Chaang kept his binoculars focused on the movements aboard deck, especially in the pilot house. He was well disciplined in his surveillance methods and that helped to calm Oxman down. Finally, the Thai custom officials started to leave the ship and Chaang put down his glasses and said, "I saw no sign of the woman anywhere on board."

"Maybe she's still there," said Oxman.

"That may be true but how can we search a ship that size? I can think of an excuse to get us on board but where would I begin to look?"

Oxman nodded his understanding. There were a million places on a cargo ship to hide a person and it would take a hundred men to scour it thoroughly.

"Maybe your information was bad," said Toon.

"No. She has to still be on board. There's no other explanation..."

Before Oxman could finish his thought, Chaang pointed his arm towards the bow of the freighter and yelled, "Look!"

A river longboat had pulled up along the outboard side of the ship and it started speeding up the Chao Phraya at full throttle. Chaang lifted his binoculars again but Oxman didn't need them. He could see there was a woman seated in the middle of the boat. The wind had blown the scarf off of her head and he recognized Betty's golden mane, flying in the breeze. A short man in a black, leather jacket and sunglasses was seated next to her, trying to cover her head again with the scarf.

"That's her!" yelled Oxman. "They're getting away!"

But Toon was already in motion and he spun the jeep around and sped towards the gate with his foot heavy on the pedal. The startled guard at the entrance slowly got out of the booth and waved his hand at the jeep, trying to slow them down but Toon ignored him and kept at full speed, honking his way through the crowded streets as people jumped out of the way. He turned left along a narrow side road that paralleled the river and drove a few blocks until he braked sharply next to a small pier that was filled with longboats tied up, their drivers standing around waiting for an assignment.

" _Reoh, reoh._ Hurry!" screamed Toon and they exited the jeep and he yelled at one of the drivers who motioned for them to get into his boat and they sped up the river in pursuit of the escaping Mrs. Ostsee.

Chaang jumped into the bow with his binoculars and Toon and Oxman sat in the middle. The full throttle roar of the engine deafened Oxman and he was amazed at how fast they were cutting through the water. By the time they got to within fifty yards of their target, the boat ahead finally realized they were being chased and sped up, opening the distance between them.

Oxman instinctively checked the river banks to try and gauge their speed. Towering temples lined the shoreline, interspersed between skyscrapers and condominiums. He could see a few, curious onlookers watching the chase, standing along the river's edge. Some pointed and then turned away. The Chao Phraya was as busy as any waterway he had ever been on and the longboats swerved between tugs, fishing boats and slow moving ferries. They were gaining on the getaway vessel and Oxman saw the man sitting next to Betty shakily stand up and point towards them. A puff of smoke flew from his sleeve and the gunshot was muffled by the roar of the racing engines.

"Give me your binoculars!" Oxman yelled at Chaang and he handed them to Oxman and pulled out his revolver and returned the gunfire. Oxman looked into the glasses and recognized Dago and sat down lower in the boat after Chaang started shooting. He wanted to tell him that he might hit Betty, but he could see that Chaang was shooting over the heads of the passengers in the boat in front of them. Toon put his arm around Oxman's shoulder and yelled into his hear, telling him to sit still.

The longboat ahead of them finally turned sharply into a small canal along the river's edge and they were forced to slow down to make their approach after it. The boatman checked his speed and they cruised into the waterway and saw the longboat with Betty, Dago and its driver pull up alongside a pier. All of them exited the craft quickly and climbed into a black sedan that was waiting for them. By the time they got to where the boat had docked, the car was speeding away into a city of ten million. Chaang hopped off the boat and onto the dock before it came to a complete stop and he managed to get a glimpse of the vanishing vehicle before it turned a corner.

"Did you see anything?" asked Oxman, coming up behind him.

"Yes," he said. "And it's not good."

"What do you mean?"

"They had government license plates."

"So what does that tell us?"

"It tells us that your woman is wanted by some very powerful people."

By the time the boatman took them back to Toon's jeep and was paid off, Oxman had a feeling that things had taken a turn for the worse, if that were possible. Chaang was continuously on his cell phone, making one call after another, speaking calmly but quickly. Oxman didn't understand a word, but Toon listened intently as he drove slowly through the congested traffic. When Chaang finished his series of calls, he spoke to Toon for several minutes in Thai and then turned to Oxman and said, "I hope you like Chinese food, Mr. John."

"What? Why are you asking me that?"

"Because we are going to a Chinese restaurant."

Toon laughed a little and then looked in the rearview mirror and saw that Oxman was not amused and said, "It's okay, Mr. John. Remember, this is Thailand."

"I'm getting tired of hearing that, Toon."

### Chapter Eighteen

Oxman dozed off in the back of Toon's jeep as they fought their way through traffic. After the boat chase and the exposure to the unbearable, midday tropical heat, he was exhausted. He asked Toon to pull over to a pharmacy and he walked in and bought a bottle of Vicodin with few questions asked. _Remember. This is Thailand._

Pretty soon, Oxman was floating and feeling no pain, once again enjoying the air conditioned comfort of Toon's jeep, isolated from the blazing heat and secure in his sense of personal protection. He started to daydream and made plans about what he would do once they found Betty again. Sure, it was a drug induced, fantasy but it was a nice escape from the harsh reality of betrayal, death and bad news that had plagued him for days. He imagined Betty and him living together forever, frolicking along some beach in the morning, spending hot, lazy afternoons under the shade of a swaying palm tree, followed by a romantic, candlelit dinner and endless lovemaking under the tropical night stars. Paradise, from a distance, reveals few blemishes or scars.

It was early evening when they pulled into the parking lot of The Golden Dragon, one of Bangkok's most exclusive Chinese restaurants. The brutal sun had long passed its zenith in the sky and was sinking into the smog filled horizon, but the humidity still hit him like an open oven door when he got out of the jeep. His head spun and his knees gave way as he leaned against the vehicle for a minute to catch his breath.

"Maybe you better wait in the car," said Chaang, seeing his condition.

"He needs to be there," said Toon and then he turned to Oxman and said, "Remember. You just listen."

"Who are we meeting?"

"Some very important people," answered Chaang.

"From the government?"

"Perhaps."

" _Sawadee kha,"_ said the beautiful, satin clad hostess who greeted them at the door and led them to a table. The Golden Dragon was an outdoor restaurant with overhead canopies that protected against the rain. A first class joint, complete with white coated, waiters, impeccably groomed and gracefully moving between tables covered in the finest linen. Exotic flowers and potted plants separated the tables, creating the illusion that each group of guests dined in their own secluded place. Oxman figured there must have been a few hundred tables as far as he could see before sitting down and his vision became blocked by the meticulously placed barriers of manicured, mini gardens and bamboo screens. A good place to do some private business.

Toon ordered for them and soon plates of steaming rice, seasoned seafood, garnished noodles and a variety of spices and soups appeared before them. Of course, a tray was brought alongside them with a fifth of Mekong and a bucket of ice and soda water, and the waiter mixed them all a drink. They were hungry and started eating immediately and, although the Vicodin was wearing off, the Mekong took over and balanced Oxman's mood once again until he felt calm, relaxed and even talkative.

"So how long do we wait here?" he asked Chaang who checked his watch.

" _Sabai, sabai._ Enjoy the moment, Mr. John. Things will happen."

" _Chok dee!"_ said Toon, lifting his whiskey glass in a toast and Oxman clinked his glass, although he felt the good luck wish was premature.

"When this is over," said Toon, "You will come to Samui and enjoy and relax with me and my family. If this woman you are looking for cannot be found or will not come with you then I will find you a nice, Thai wife to keep you happy."

Chaang laughed and said, "Toon is getting drunk. He promises all his friends paradise."

They ate and drank some more. The waiter constantly reappeared at the table, removing empty plates and freshening their drinks until Oxman felt the center of his gravity sinking. He nearly forgot why they were there and he began to wonder if he could just let it all go and surrender to the comforts of tropical delights.

But then he remembered what Mark had told him. The police in the States were searching for him and it was only a matter of time before they tracked him to Thailand. No. This had to be played out until the end.

Finally, the hostess who greeted them at the entrance, brought two Asian men, dressed in dark business suits, to their table. Chaang and Toon stood up and saluted them with a wai and they returned it but Oxman didn't bother with the formality this time.

After a few introductory comments between Chaang and the suits, they sat down and started talking. Oxman's Thai was coming back to him. Maybe it was the whiskey or the relaxed setting, but he caught the words "time, price, and location." Toon remained silent but listened carefully as Chaang handled the negotiations with professionalism in a level tone of voice. At one point, one of the suits stared at Oxman for a second and then turned to Chaang and asked in Thai, "What about this foreigner?"

As far as Oxman could tell, it was the first mention of him in the conversation and Chaang answered with _"No worries. He knows very little."_

The fatter suit grunted and never looked at Oxman again who didn't understand anymore of the conversation but judged by the tone that some agreement had been reached. Everybody stood up to wai each other again and this time Oxman joined them.

They all laughed at him, including Toon. Oxman felt offended because he was just trying to be polite, but his actions were mere comic relief and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. The men left the table and Chaang said to Oxman when they were gone that they knew where the woman was but it would cost a ransom to get her.

"How much?"

"One hundred thousand, US dollars in cash," said Chaang. "When we have the money, they will tell us where the woman is but we have to go get her by ourselves."

"I don't have that kind of money."

Oxman glanced at Toon who lowered his face and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. John. I want to help you but my family and business comes first. I can't loan you that much money."

"If you can get the money," said Chaang, "I will provide the means to rescue the woman. Don't worry about that. That is the least of our problems."

Oxman fell silent as Toon and Chaang stared at him, waiting for a response. Chaang was, no doubt, going to get a kickback on the finder's fee and Oxman didn't want to believe that Toon would also get a cut. If he told them the full story behind Betty's wealth, Chaang might be persuaded to get the money on his own but Oxman knew in his heart that it was a risk based on the desperate promises of a woman who may or may not pay off in the end.

The silence at the table grew unbearable. Oxman's comfort evaporated and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. No. It was better not to tell them the whole story and the promised pot of gold because they, especially Chaang, might just try to move in and claim the prize for himself. Once again, Oxman was forced to call a lifeline.

### Chapter Nineteen

"I need to make a phone call," said Oxman and he got up from the table, looking around the restaurant for a private place where nobody could hear his conversation.

"We don't have much time, Mr. John," said Chaang. "The woman will be moved again very soon. Possibly by tomorrow night. We have her here now if you can get the money."

Oxman nodded and walked away towards the rest rooms and pulled out his cell phone and called Mark. In all the years he had known him, he had never asked him for a dime. In fact, he had never asked anyone for money before so he wasn't sure how to do it so he just came straight out and told him he needed a hundred grand.

"Wow!" said Mark on the other end. "That's a serious amount, Johnny. How do you plan to pay me back?"

"When I get Mrs. Ostsee."

"So it's a ransom, then?"

"Yes."

"I trust you but why do you trust her?"

"Because I have no other choice."

"I have to think about this. So far, the cops haven't connected you to me yet and you're asking me to really go out on a limb here."

"There's no time to think, Mark. She's within my grasp here in Bangkok, and if I don't move soon I might not get another chance."

"Maybe I should come there and see for myself. I haven't had a vacation in awhile."

"You can if you want but I need the cash ASAP. Can you transfer it to a bank here in Thailand in my name?"

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"This woman must be worth something to somebody if she's being smuggled halfway around the world."

"Don't forget. She's also my alibi in Suzie Wong's murder. There's more at stake here than just money. We go back a long way and you know I wouldn't be asking you for help if it wasn't dead serious."

"I know, I know."

"So you'll do it then? Send me the money?"

"Yeah, sure. But I'll be coming to Bangkok on the first flight."

"If that's what you want."

"That's what I want. What bank do you want the money sent to?"

"Thai Farmers Bank. The main branch in Bangkok."

"Okay. I'll call you later and let you know when to meet me at the airport."

Mark hung up. Oxman could hardly believe the money was on the way. Getting Mark more involved was not part of his plan. He had already lost two friends and it bothered him to think that Mark might end up a floater also. But Mark was shrewd and Oxman had a gut feeling that something was behind Mark's motivation to help him out. Something more than just for old time's sake.

The scene at the table was as Oxman had left it. Toon and Chaang were still sipping whiskey and waiting silently for his return. He sat down calmly and took a sip of Mekong and rattled the ice around in his glass, feeling their eyes on him before he spoke.

"I'll have the money tomorrow," he said.

Toon put down his drink, brushed his hair back from his forehead and looked at Chaang who nodded.

"This will guarantee I get the woman, right?"

"This is Thailand. There are no guarantees."

"What? Are you kidding me? Are you saying it's a hundred grand, crap shoot?"

"Don't worry, Mr. John," said Toon. "Chaang speaks as a realist. He has read too many books. You'll get your woman. Let's go now. There's somebody I want you to meet."

Chaang caught a taxi in front of the restaurant and Toon drove Oxman to the outskirts of the city. It was well after midnight and traffic was finally beginning to ease up a bit. They arrived at a small, wooden house in the middle of a new housing development. The rooftop corners were curled in Oriental fashion and the garden surrounding it was fenced in. It was an oasis in a center of chaotic, high rise construction projects, surrounding by jackhammers still pounding away in the middle of the night.

"What's this place, Toon?"

"It's a sacred house. A monk lives here."

"Why are you bringing me here?"

"To help you find truth."

"I'm looking for a woman, not truth."

Toon ignored Oxman's comment and parked in front of the house. He led him through the gate onto a porch where a saffron clad, middle aged man sat smiling at them in a wicker chair. Toon bowed deeply and offered him a prolonged wai and Oxman did, too, but the monk did not return it.

"This is my American friend, Mr. John."

"I have been waiting for you," said the monk, inviting Oxman to sit down beside him.

"How did you know I was coming here?" asked Oxman.

"You have come a long way to achieve your goal," answered the monk in perfect English without responding to Oxman's question.

"You're right about that."

"What is your profession?"

"I'm a merchant sailor by trade."

"And what is your destination?"

"Excuse me?"

"A good sailor does not leave port without a destination in mind."

"That's true."

Nobody spoke for a couple of minutes, the sights and sounds of the nearby construction clanging in the night, contradicting this apparent moment of self reflection.

"When you are at sea," continued the monk, "how do you know when there are obstacles in your path?"

"I keep an eye on the radar."

"And what do you see on a radar screen?"

"Shapes, images that warn me of bad weather or other ships."

"But those images are only reflections, are they not?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you see a shadow on the radar screen, how do you know exactly what it represents?"

"I make an educated guess based on past experience."

"And are your guesses always correct?"

"Most of the time."

"But sometimes not, correct?"

"Sometimes they are only false echoes or ghost images that disappear."

"So you rely upon the accuracy of technology mixed with your subjective judgment to determine what lies ahead?"

"Yes."

"But in reality, anything you see on your radar screen is just a reflection of reality depending on your perception of it."

"I suppose."

"You see only possibilities, shapes of what you expect to be real, but you cannot be one hundred percent certain."

"Not one hundred percent, no."

"So what is truly real, then? What is it that you can be absolutely sure of that lies on the path ahead of you?"

Oxman didn't answer and the monk stopped asking questions. Toon watched both of them silently and then he stared up into the starless, city night sky. Finally, the monk spoke again.

"Would you like some tea before bed, Mr. John?"

"I didn't know we were staying here tonight."

"Yes. There is a special room prepared for you," said Toon.

"Just remember," said the monk. "This is a holy house. Please conduct yourself accordingly."

### Chapter Twenty

Oxman was tired and still jet lagged and he didn't feel like debating the issue, so he just led himself be led to an upper room with nothing but a straw mat on the floor to sleep on. Candles were burning in one corner, illuminating a human sized, Buddha covered in gold leaf. Oxman stretched out on the mat and the monk brought him a pillow and a blanket and said, "Good night, Mr. John. Sleep well and dream of your ancestors."

Contrary to the monk's wishes, Oxman didn't dream at all. The predawn light seeped into his room and he awoke feeling a strange presence in the room with him. His spine tingled and he heard a young woman's voice whispering in his ear. Jesse! She was trying to contact him through time and space and he turned his head but saw nothing and realized that he was still hovering between sleep and consciousness. Footsteps in the hallway. The door opened and Toon opened it slightly and whispered his name.

"Mr. John? Time to wake up. Did you sleep?"

"I think so. What time is it?"

"Six o'clock. We should get ready. Eat breakfast and drive back into the city. The banks open at eight."

Oxman rubbed his eyes as the room quickly began to fill with bright, early morning sunlight and he remembered that this was the day. Toon closed the door and his cell phone rang. It was Mark.

_"Sawadee,"_ he said on the other end.

"Where are you?"

"Stopover in Tokyo. I'll be in Bangkok at noon your time. Can you meet me at the airport?"

"No problem. Did you send the money?"

"Yep."

"Good. I'll be at the bank in a couple of hours to get it and then we'll pick you up at the airport."

"Excellent. See you soon."

Toon was fixing breakfast and the monk was nowhere to be seen. When Oxman asked about him, Toon told him that he was out on the streets with his rice bowl, collecting food donations. Oxman wanted to ask him about the conversation the night before but Toon was unusually silent so he didn't. He was also very quiet on the drive back into the city and Oxman was sure Toon was worried about the large amount of money that would soon be in their hands. Nobody liked carrying around a hundred grand, especially in a country like Thailand. Thieves in third world countries had a kind of sixth sense when it came to cash. At a red light, Toon opened his glove compartment and pulled out his 38 and double checked it.

"Do you really think we'll need that?" asked Oxman.

"No problem. Don't worry," he said and then shoved it back into place and continued fighting traffic all the way downtown without saying another word.

The rush hour traffic started well before dawn and they inched their way along the road into town at an aggravatingly, slow pace. A city of ten million on the move, one kilometer at a time. The air outside the jeep was already smoky hot and Oxman felt sorry for all the people crammed into standing room only busses on their way to work. Thais seemed to show no reaction to the heat and oppressive humidity, their faces expressionless like the Buddha that had watched over him during his sleep. It was socially unacceptable to show any emotion or discomfort and people bore the weight of their suffering in stoic silence. Oxman couldn't wait until this was all over and he was out of the country, or the city at least, relaxing somewhere with Betty at his side.

They got to the bank a few minutes after opening time and Toon miraculously found a parking space only a block away from the entrance. When Oxman opened the jeep door, the stifling heat nearly brought him to his knees. He started sweating immediately but Toon headed quickly for the bank and Oxman struggled to keep up with him on the crowded sidewalk.

Once inside, the climate was air conditioned again. Professional bankers in perfectly, pressed suits moved quietly among the desks and cubicles in the front office. A couple of them glanced at him and Toon but carried on with their early morning duties. A beautiful, young receptionist greeted them but Toon ignored her and walked straight back into a rear office. An older gentleman stood up at his desk and they exchanged a few words and then the man addressed Oxman in English.

"May I see your passport, please?"

Oxman handed it to him and he left the office and Toon sat down in a comfortable chair. Oxman studied his profile for a second and then sat down next to him. Toon was obviously proud of the way he skirted the bureaucracy and, soon, the man returned with some paperwork.

"Your cash transfer from Seattle has come through," he said. "You will need to sign these papers before we can give you the money."

He slid a few forms in front of Oxman across his desk but they were all in Thai and Oxman complained that he couldn't read them.

"Let me see," said Toon.

"They are just standard forms," said the manager. "This is a foreign transaction and it must be recorded and reported to the proper authorities."

"You mean the U.S. government, don't you?" asked Oxman.

"Precisely. Your Internal Revenue Service has long arms."

Oxman was wondering how long it would take for the IRS and the cops to make the link to him in Thailand. There was no time to waste. He also realized that if the Feds connected Mark to him, the law in Thailand was a complex morass of layers that would still allow him to get away if everything else worked out according to plan.

"Okay, Mr. John," said Toon. "Just sign the papers."

"How would you like your money?" asked the manager.

"In crisp, hundred dollar bills," said Oxman.

"That's a lot of money to be carrying around in Bangkok. Maybe you should open an account in our bank for safe keeping."

Toon said something again to him and the man nodded and left the office again. He returned with an assistant, carrying a medium sized, canvass bag which he put on the desk and opened, revealing stacks of neatly bundled Ben Franklins. The bankers stared silently at the money as Toon jumped up and started counting it and Oxman couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" asked the bank manager.

"It's only paper. Wood pulp." said Oxman.

"Very valuable wood pulp."

"Time to head for the airport," Oxman told Toon as they got back into his jeep and buckled in. He handed Oxman the money and he slid it under his seat. Toon was all business now with one hundred thousand reasons to keep him worried.

### Chapter Twenty One

"Relax," said Oxman. "Everything is going according to plan. Now we pick up Mark."

"Is this Mr. Mark a big man?"

"You mean is he rich?"

"Yes."

"I guess you could say that. He's not Bill Gates but he's doing pretty good. He's also low key. He doesn't like to show off his wealth, too much."

Oxman couldn't resist the urge to pull out the money and look at it again.

"Did you ever see that much cash before?" he asked Toon.

Before Toon could answer, Oxman felt a sharp bump from behind and the jeep lurched forward. Toon checked the rearview mirror to see who had hit them. The traffic was stop and go and they were on one of the busiest main roads leading out to the airport.

"Don't get out," said Oxman as Toon started to shift into park. He may have not learned much in Detroit but he knew a carjacking when he saw it.

"But there could be damage," said Toon.

"Fuck the damage. Get your gun out. This is a set up."

Oxman stuffed the money bag back under the seat as Toon went for his gun.

"Give me the gun. You focus on the driving."

Toon handed Oxman the 38 and turned to look behind them. A black SUV with tinted windows was on their tail. The traffic opened up a little and Toon stepped on the gas and tried to change lanes, cutting off angry, honking drivers.

"They got some balls," said Oxman. "Trying to hijack us in broad daylight on a crowded street."

"Maybe they are on drugs. Crazy out of their minds. Don't give a shit who sees them. Maybe they are even the police."

"Beautiful. I love Thailand."

Toon ignored Oxman's sarcasm and kept fighting traffic, swerving in and out of gaps as best as he could but the SUV was relentless and kept on their tail.

"They can't keep this up all the way to the airport," said Oxman. "How much farther is it?"

"About twenty kilometers."

"That's a long way to play cat and mouse. Are you okay?"

"As long as the traffic doesn't stop, I think so."

"What if it is the cops?"

"If it is, then they are bad cops, the same as thieves. We cannot stop for them or we will disappear along with the money."

The closer they got to the airport, the worse the traffic became. The SUV was now two cars behind them in the same lane. There was no room for either one to maneuver and they both crawled along with the pace of the other cars on the freeway. Oxman looked into the side view mirror and saw a motorbike coming up fast between lanes.

"They're making their move," said Oxman. "Two on a motorcycle. Both wearing full helmets. Coming up on my side."

Toon looked over his shoulder and saw them, waited for the right second to pull to the right and close the gap, cutting them off. Oxman saw the bespectacled, startled face of the driver in the car next to them as Toon bumped into him, the grating scratch of metal against metal.

"Get ready, Mr. John," said Toon.

Oxman looked behind them again and saw the motorbike swerve to Toon' side and pull up fast, the leather gloved hand of the driver revving the throttle, the high pitched whine of the cycle engine distinct and menacing.

It didn't take Oxman long to react when he saw the passenger on the back of the bike pull out a Tec 9 from inside his jacket. He pointed Toon's 38 and squeezed the trigger, shooting through the rear window of the jeep in a deafening blast that made his ears ring. The glass shattered and the motorcycle spun out and spilled its passengers onto the pavement, stopping all traffic behind them. The cars ahead picked up speed and Toon quickly widened the distance between the jeep and the SUV behind them.

"Did you hit them?" asked Toon.

"I don't know but you're gonna need some body work done on this jeep."

### Chapter Twenty Two

Bangkok International Airport was definitely not Disneyland. They made it there without any further incident, passing through the security gate of the parking lot that was manned by machine gun, toting militia men. Some of them looked suspiciously at the damage to Toon's jeep, but he said something that made them snicker and they waved them through.

"What did you tell them?" asked Oxman.

"I said my wife chased me out of the house this morning when she caught me with another woman and threw a stone at my window."

After they parked, Toon took the 38 and stuffed it inside his belt and Oxman grabbed the duffel bag full of cash. He wanted to keep it locked in the trunk but Toon wouldn't think of it.

"If we are still being followed," he said. "Thy will pop the trunk and the missing money will make a bad day even worse."

So Oxman slung the bag over his shoulder and followed Toon into the main terminal.

Cops were crawling all over the place, both plainclothes and undercover. Their main mission was to discourage and to intercept drug smugglers and they paid little attention to the groups of unwashed, Western youth who were on their way to the beaches. Big fish was on their menu. Pedophiles, gangsters, or anyone who could be blackmailed for the fun of it.

Oxman kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Toon's back as they got to Mark's arrival gate just while the passengers were deplaning.

"There's Mark," said Oxman. He wore a flowered shirt and pressed khaki pants, dressed like a Lonely Planet sophisticate.

"Good. He made it," said Toon.

"But there's somebody with him."

Oxman could hardly believe his eyes. Standing behind Mark in line, wearing faded jeans and a tight, white cotton tank top was Jesse, chewing gum like a bored teenager behind dark sunglasses.

"What the hell is she doing here?" said Oxman.

"Who?"

"That's Jesse, that dark haired girl behind Mark."

"So he brought his girlfriend along?"

"Not his girlfriend, Toon. He brought trouble."

"All women are trouble."

"Yeah, but this one rates in the Top Ten."

"How do you know her?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's just get them outta here and to some place where we can talk."

Mark and Jesse cleared customs without a hitch. A twenty something, Thai lady, stepped out of the crowd of waiting guests and snapped their picture and then disappeared. Oxman started to follow her but Toon grabbed his elbow and moved him towards Mark and Jesse. He offered them both a wai and said, "Welcome to Thailand." But Oxman didn't feel so cordial. Especially not towards Jesse.

"Why are you here?" he asked her directly.

"Johnny boy!" she said and threw her arms around him and pressed her compact body against his just long enough for him to start to want her.

Mark laughed and said, "She missed you and wanted to come along."

Oxman pushed Jesse away and started to say what bullshit that was but Toon interrupted.

"Let's go," he said urgently.

"Where?"

"There's a local flight leaving for Samui in half an hour."

"But what about our appointment tonight?"

"No problem. It's only a forty minute flight. We'll be back in time later."

The short flight to the island on a small, double engine prop plane was uneventful and there was little conversation between anyone. Oxman grabbed a window seat and stared down at the greenish blue waters of the Gulf of Thailand below, wishing he could be down there instead of up in the air with no control. At least on a ship you had the option of jumping overboard if things got too rough.

Toon became very talkative when the plane started circling Samui on its final approach. Clearly, he was happy to be home again.

"My wife will make us a great island meal," he said. "My family will be happy to see you again and your friends, Mr. John."

"Yeah. That'll be nice," said Oxman without much enthusiasm.

Mark smiled behind his aviator sunglasses and turned towards Toon and Jesse was filing her nails, watching Oxman out of the corner of her eye. She knew she would get the third degree soon enough after they landed.

A young, Japanese couple seated in front of them snapped pictures constantly out the window, capturing the beauty of sun splashed beaches, towering coconut trees and white crested waves rolling towards the shore.

"Welcome to Samui," said the smooth voiced pilot over the PA system as the plane gently touched down on the tiny airstrip. Toon was the first out of his seat and motioned for Oxman to follow him quickly. Mark and Jesse were not far behind, and they chatted and laughed liked vacationing honeymooners. Oxman had the sneaking suspicion that Mark had bedded her already because that's the kind of guy he was.

" _Sawadee kha,"_ said the beautiful, slim island girl who greeted all the exiting passengers at the gate with a wai. Copper skinned with a flawless complexion. Long, straight shiny black hair with a white orchid behind her ear. The air was pungent with tropical aroma, contrasting the stale smog of Bangkok. Toon signaled to a taxi driver waiting outside the airport and Oxman wanted to start questioning Mark and Jesse as soon as they got in the cab, but Toon silenced him and introduced them all to Sam the driver who was his cousin.

"I'm original Thai," said Sam and he was more dark skinned than any Thai man Oxman had seen yet.

"What does that mean?" asked Jesse.

"My ancestors came from South Asia, across the Bay of Bengal centuries ago. Northern Thais are mixed with many cultures like Chinese and Cambodian but my blood line is pure."

"You all look the same to me," said Mark.

Sam laughed and said, "And all you _farangs_ have big noses, too."

Toon said something to Sam in Thai and they both laughed.

"Everybody says they are original Thai," said Toon.

"How do you know for sure, then?" asked Jesse.

"Real Thais are natural sailors," said Sam. "They have the ocean in their blood."

"Then maybe I was a Thai in one of my past lives," said Oxman.

It was meant as a joke because they all knew he wasn't a Buddhist and didn't believe in reincarnation so nobody laughed. Jesse couldn't take her eyes off of Sam. He was a handsome devil and, in spite of his apparent poverty, he had an air of superiority about him that rivaled Mark's. Oxman thought about the morning he caught Jesse in her apartment with Osterberg and wondered what she had been doing with an old coot like him in her bedroom.

When they got to Toon's resort, the place was nearly empty because it was the off season and Toon's wife, Phi, ran out of the house yelling at him. Oxman understood her nagging Thai.

_Where have you been? Why didn't you call? There's work to be done around here. Blah blah blah.  
_ Toon sharply rebuked her and led everyone to an outdoor patio behind the house that faced the beach.

"Sit here," he said. "Dah will bring you some drinks. Relax and enjoy the view."

Toon took the money bag from Oxman and he followed him inside his house, not wanting to lose track of Mark's cash. Phi scowled at Oxman, but he didn't even look at her as Toon led him into their bedroom and showed him a floor safe where he stuffed the duffel bag and locked the door.

"See, Mr. John? Nobody knows the combination except me. Don't worry. You're safe here. Now let's go have some food and drinks with your friends."

Toon's sister-in-law, Dah, another island beauty with long legs and slender hands was already serving Mark and Jesse, and she smiled at Oxman when she saw him. He smiled back, the first genuine display of warmth he had shown anyone in days.

Oxman sat down at the table and was ready to start asking questions but the calming influence of the white, sandy beach lined with palm trees totally relaxed him as he sipped his cold beer. He just wanted to stretch out on a hammock and forget all about it. Maybe Betty wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe if he just went back to Seattle and tried to explain to the cops...

Mark shattered his daydreams and got straight to business. Jesse kept her sunglasses on and all Oxman could see was the reflection of the ocean and cloudless, blue skies in her shaded eyes.

"We've known each other for a long time, Johnny," began Mark as he sipped his drink.

"Two decades."

"That's right. You helped me when I went through my divorce and I've helped you through some tough times, also. You're one of my oldest friends so I've gotta be straight with you."

"Please do."

"I've done a lot of digging on this Mrs. Ostsee. You know by now how valuable and wanted this woman is."

"Tell me about it."

"I'll tell you what I can."

"First of all, tell me what she's doing here," said Oxman, pointing at Jesse with his beer.

"When I started digging around, I called up The Forecastle and she said she wanted to meet with me, talk to me in person, so I agreed."

"Yeah. He agreed," said Jesse like a defiant brat.

"I wanted to know more about Osterberg," continued Mark. "How he was involved with all of this."

"Why?"

"Just curious at first. But after Jesse and I met, well, one thing led to another and then..."

Mark reached out across the table and put his hand on Jesse's.

"So you guys are an item, now?"

"You can say that," laughed Mark.

"How could she resist?"

"It's more than that. I'm protecting her now. She can't go back to Seattle."

"Why not?"

"Osterberg is after her."

"Why would he be?"

"Jesse told me all about his operation. The Forecastle was just a front."

"A front?"

"Yeah. He's a smuggler. Drugs, guns, money laundering, fake ID's. You name it. He's got his hands into everything."

"And what does this have to do with Betty?"

"This is where it gets complicated."

"I'm listening."

"It turns out that Mrs. Ostsee, Betty, was being used to transfer nanotechnology."

"Now you're losing me."

"Ostsee was head of a research and development team that was secretly being funded by a government defense contractor. They developed a biological, robotic device that could mutate itself from a remote control operator halfway around the world via satellite. His team's product was so successful and important that it could change the entire way asymmetrical warfare is being conducted across the globe."

"Explain."

"Well, you already know what an RFID chip is, right?"

"Yeah. We already covered that."

"Right. Sorry. But that's electronic based with limitations and prone to battery and communication failures but nanotech is different, at least the kind that Genomics has developed."

"How so?"

"What this new product does is adapt to the human DNA and turns the person not only into a walking transponder so that their movements can be tracked anywhere on the planet, but it also has the potential to merge with the body's neural system, turning them into automatons with the flip of a switch."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about tracking and controlling people and making them do whatever you want them to do, even when they are continents away from the comforts of a computer screen."

"Holy shit! Are you serious? Is that possible? Is it even legal?"

"Possible? Most definitely. Legal? All is fair in war and technology in today's world."

"So let me get this right. Ostsee implanted this technology into his wife under the disguise of a breast augmentation so he could hide it for himself, hoping to make a deal with the highest bidder?"

"That's right. That's why he was taking her all over the world, negotiating while she shopped for the latest fashions."

"But she got wind of it and bugged out on him?"

"How would you feel if you found out that your wife had secretly implanted a device into your testicles without you knowing it so she could cut it out for money at the right time for the right place?"

"But if they got the device back by removing her breast, why is she still a threat?"

"That's the hundred thousand dollar question, Johnny. Does she know too much? I mean, did she know who her husband had struck a deal with? If so, he could have just whacked her but there must be something more to it."

"Yeah, but what?"

"It's her spirit guide," said Jesse.

Mark and Oxman both stared at her and waited for her to continue but she didn't.

### Chapter Twenty Three

The only Indians Oxman ever saw growing up in Detroit were the ones on television. He was raised Catholic and taught that all other faiths were pagan and led to damnation. Thus saith the pope. The first, real Native Americans he ever saw where stretched out on the downtown benches of Seattle, drunk or begging. To him, they looked like Hollywood extras that had been left behind long after the camera crews had departed. It took him years of reeducation to understand that Indians had a complex culture of varied beliefs and traditions that suited them just fine until they were snuffed out by the white man. Still, this spirit guide stuff was something he still had a hard time wrapping his head around.

"Jesse believes that we all have some animal that influences our life," said Mark. Oxman wasn't sure if he was defending her or just making small talk.

Jesse nodded and adjusted her sunglasses and then took another sip of her drink and said, "Some of us are aware of it, some of us are not."

"We talked about this already," said Mark.

"About what?" asked Oxman.

"Her idea is that the nanotech that was implanted into Betty altered her soul and affected her spiritual existence. Scientifically speaking, the people who are interested in this product want to know what the long term effects it has on people."

"So Betty's a runaway lab rat, then?"

"You can say that. Along with what she knows about her husband's business contacts, she's got to be retrieved and debriefed. We need to get her back."

"We? Why are you so suddenly concerned with her safe return?"

"Why are you?" asked Jesse.

"Because I fell in love with her. I want to help her."

"You? In love?" laughed Mark. "That's a good one."

"It happens," said Oxman.

"Tell me she didn't offer you a reward for helping her," said Mark.

"Don't insult me."

"I didn't meant to. What I meant was that this is way out of your league and you need some help, otherwise, we wouldn't be here right now, would we?"

"So you're purely motivated to help an old friend?"

"Now you're insulting me, Johnny. Of course I'm interested in the product but I want to see this turn out for everyone's benefit. Does friendship and profit have to be mutually exclusive?"

Before Oxman had a chance to respond, Toon came out of the house and interrupted.

"I have arranged our flight back to Bangkok this evening," he said. "You all should get some rest now. It's going to be a long night. My wife is preparing lunch and then you can take a nap in one of my bungalows or just relax on the beach for a couple of hours."

"Sounds good to me," said Jesse. "I'm dying to squeeze into a bikini."

"You're not going to Bangkok," said Toon to her.

"Why not?"

"No women. Too dangerous. You stay with my wife and family until we get back.

Jesse sulked but Mark encouraged her to put on her bikini and go for a dip. When she reluctantly left the table to change, Toon sat down.

"The last plane off the island is at eight o'clock," he said. "Chaang will be waiting for us at the airport. We meet his contacts in a bar on Soi Cowboy, give them the money, and they get the woman and bring her back for us."

"No offense," said Mark. "But can these contacts be trusted? Why can't we go along with them?"

"Thai style," said Toon. "Foreigners draw police attention."

"Bullshit," said Mark. "I stay with my money all the way."

"It's very dangerous," said Toon.

"It's a lot of money," countered Mark. "I'm not a virgin to Thailand. I know what kind of scams go down in this country."

Oxman told Mark about the river chase and the attempted car jacking to try and back up Toon but he wouldn't hear any of it. He was determined to go with the money or the money wasn't going anywhere. Oxman knew he wouldn't budge on this one.

"I'll take my chances," said Mark, downing the last of his beer and slamming the empty bottle on the table. It was a rude gesture and Toon frowned. Oxman tried to think of something to say to calm them both down but he didn't have to. Jesse emerged from her bungalow in a tight, black string bikini and walked slowly across the beach to the ocean's edge. _Goddamn, she was hot,_ thought Oxman and the men all stared at her as she splashed some water on herself, the sun glistening off her brown skin.

"That girl is really trouble," said Toon but Mark just laughed.

"That's the kind of trouble I like," he said.

Jesse dove under the water and emerged a few seconds later, holding her top in one hand. She smiled at the guys watching her as she waded slowly back to the beach, her perfect breasts, taut enough to bounce ping pong balls off of. She stretched out on the sand, letting the tropical sun bake her dry.

"I better warn her about sunburn," said Toon and he got up and started towards her but his wife was already out on the patio, yelling at him. He yelled back. She yelled louder with every step he took until he was forced to retreat. As he passed us on his way back to the house he said, "Thai women don't do that kind of thing in public."

Mark got a kick out of the whole scene and Phi gave them all the evil eye as she marched Toon back into the house. Dah came out and asked if they wanted anything else to drink, setting down a plate of fresh fruit on the table between them. They picked at slices of pineapple, coconut and mango in silence for a few minutes before Oxman asked, "What happens after we get Betty?"

"I need to take her some place for an evaluation."

"Where? Back to the States?"

"No. That's too dangerous."

"Where then? I'm not leaving her side."

"That's fine with me."

"So where then?"

"Tokyo."

"Japan? Why there?"

"I have business contacts there. It's all been prearranged."

"What if she doesn't want to go?"

"She'll go, all right, once she's convinced it's in her best interest."

"Hers or yours?"

"Everybody's, including yours."

"Spell out the end game, Mark. I'm a little slow."

Oxman knew that admitting intellectual inferiority to Mark would get him to talk more. He spit out a piece of pineapple onto the deck and lifted his chin arrogantly and said, "A medical team for a company that I do business with will run her through some tests. Hell, they'll even do a breast reconstruction on her when they're finished and then you two can fly off into the sunset together."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"What do these guys hope to find?"

"How the nanotech affected her neural system. This group has already developed a product similar to the one Genomics has but they haven't field tested it yet."

"Man, this is all beyond me. I didn't know I'd get involved in all this corporate, espionage shit. I just wanted to help out an injured doll."

"That's what you get for throwing her a lifeline."

"What do you mean?"

"You never jump into the water to save a person who's drowning. Don't you remember what they taught us in the Coast Guard? So now you're in neck deep, also. That is unless you want to exit the scene and stay here on the island with Jesse and the other women and forget it all."

"And how long before the cops in the States track me down? There's an issue with a corpse in my apartment, remember?"

"Yeah, you got a point there."

"Damn right I do."

"Don't forget about her husband. He's a ruthless bastard."

"I've rolled dude heavy before."

"Okay, it's your skin but if we get this woman, there can be no more contact between us until all this blows over."

"Understood."

### Chapter Twenty Four

Mark grabbed a mango slice and got up and walked towards Jesse on the beach. He turned and grinned at Oxman from the edge of the patio and then walked over to the sun bathing beauty, lifted her up off the beach and carried her into their bungalow. Oxman heard her laughing before the door was shut and, once again, found himself alone, gazing out at the sea, wishing he were out there, hauling a rope or steering a freighter. A slight breeze ruffled the palm fronds and caressed his skin. He turned to see Dah standing in the doorway of the house, smiling at him with bright, young white teeth. A tropical beauty like no other. Pure and sweet. The flower above her ear shone like a diamond and she was rubbing her bare feet against each other. _Another woman out of my reach,_ he thought and just smiled back at her and left the patio for his bungalow, feeling old and tired. It seemed like only a few minutes had passed after he had stretched out and closed his eyes on the bed when there was a knock on his door. It was Toon.

"Last plane for Bangkok leaves in an hour, Mr. John," he heard him say. "Time to get ready."

Oxman heard the waves lapping up against the beach outside and he stared up at the ceiling fan that rotated quietly, creating an artificial breeze that cooled him. _Maybe Mark was right,_ he thought. _Stay here. Forget the whole thing. Get a new identity or something._ But then he heard Mark and Jesse talking on the patio and he realized that finding paradise had its price and he had already put a hefty deposit down. Whatever was going to happen in Bangkok that night would not be the end of it. Another knock on the door. This time it was Mark.

"Are you coming or not, buddy?"

"Semper Paratus," said Oxman and opened the door.

Mark was standing on his bungalow stoop, dressed like Indiana Jones with a floppy hat and dark khakis. Oxman look past him and saw the shimmering surface of the Gulf of Thailand, reflecting the crimson colors of the setting sun.

"Let's roll," he said and Mark patted him on the shoulder and followed him back to the patio.

Jesse was still in her bikini but with the top back on, sitting at the table and talking softly with Dah. Toon was arguing again with his wife and Oxman caught snippets of their discussion. She was chiding him for taking off again so suddenly without telling her why, but he just kept defending himself without giving away details. Mark and Oxman sat down with the girls and soon Sam pulled into the driveway with his taxi and walked onto the patio, graceful as a cat in his movements.

"We have to hurry," he said. "The plane will be boarding soon."

He smiled at Jesse and she smiled back but Dah frowned. Toon came rushing out of the house with the money bag and said, "Let's go."

Mark leaned over and kissed Jesse on the forehead but she didn't respond. She was still staring at Sam. He didn't seem to care, so they all piled into the cab and drove off towards the airport.

Nobody questioned or stopped them at the security gate and Toon walked onto the plane like he owned it. Oxman grabbed a window seat again on the nearly empty flight and saw Sam standing next to his cab on the tarmac. He nodded at him and Sam held up his hand and made a pistol shape that puzzled Oxman. Before he had time to think about it, the plane began backing out of the gate and soon they were airborne again toward the City of Angels.

Chaang was waiting for them at Bangkok International. Toon introduced him to Mark and they all got into Toon's jeep to drive back into the city. Chaang had the rear window repaired while they were on the island and nobody talked about what happened earlier.

It was almost midnight and the traffic was still horrible. The contrast between Samui's tranquility and Bangkok's congestion depressed Oxman but Toon was energized and Mark kept his sunglasses on and sat in the back with him, taking it all in like it was a limo ride to a business convention.

"Have you ever been to Soi Cowboy?" Oxman asked Mark.

"Is it like Patpong? Hooker bars and fake Rolex watches for sale on the streets?"

Toon and Chaang laughed.

"So you know Patpong?" said Chaang, turning his head to look at Mark.

"Oh, yeah. Not only are the watches fake but so are some of the women."

"Lady boys," laughed Toon. "Easy to get fooled by them. Even Thai men do sometimes."

"They are masters of deceit," said Chaang.

"No lady boys on Soi Cowboy," said Toon. "Most foreigners don't go there, and if they do, they are experienced with Thailand."

"Lots of nice bars," added Chaang. "Nice, quiet places to drink and talk and the girls are not pushy."

"I'm not looking for girls," said Mark. "I never pay for sex."

"Everyone pays one way or another," said Chaang.

Mark took off his sunglasses and looked at the back of Chaang's head but didn't say anything. Oxman could tell he didn't like him much.

When they reached the crowded street of Soi Cowboy, Toon inched his jeep through the partying pedestrians until they pulled up in front of The Landing Zone, an expat bar that Oxman was familiar with. It was run by an American Vietnam veteran everyone called Zappa because he looked like the musician with his dark goatee and shoulder length hair. Zappa saw heavy combat and did too many drugs to return to the States, so he married a Thai woman and opened up a bar that catered mostly to Americans. The Landing Zone had a reputation for being a safe place to conduct business.

"Remember," said Chaang as they exited the jeep. "Let me do the talking."

"Fair enough," said Mark. "But you remember also that I go where the money goes or there's no deal."

Chaang said something rapidly in Thai to Toon that Oxman didn't catch but Toon just turned around and smiled and said, "No problem, Mr. Mark."

"No problem, no problem," echoed Mark sarcastically as they entered the air conditioned bar, escaping the humidity of the night.

"How's it going guys? Welcome to The Landing Zone," said Zappa who never left his post at the front door. He didn't remember Oxman although they had talked many times before but, then again, Zappa probably didn't remember much, which was a good thing.

A hostess led them to a table near the back of the bar, past a center stage filled with slim, Thai girls in swimsuits, pole dancing to classic rock. Jim Morrison and The Doors. Steppenwolf. The place was a tribute to the past, a place frozen in time, still reminiscent of the Vietnam War era when soldiers on R and R used to visit Thailand to get laid in a safe environment. Model helicopters hung suspended from the ceiling and posters of Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley lined the walls along with black and white photographs of Saigon before the fall.

It was a slow night and the bar girls outnumbered the men two to one and that suited Oxman just fine. Fewer strangers meant fewer spies and Toon ordered them some beers.

Chaang checked his watch. A half hour to go before the meeting and there was nothing to do but watch the dancing girls trying to seduce the men and try to get them to take them home for the night. After a few minutes, Mark spoke up.

"So how's this going down?" he asked Chaang.

"What do you mean?"

Toon translated the slang phrase and Chaang nodded and said, "We meet our contacts, show them the money and they take us to the woman."

"What if it's a double cross?"

"Double cross?" said Chaang, cocking his head like a dog that didn't understand its master's voice.

"What if they just take the money and run?" repeated Mark.

"That won't happen," said Chaang. "These men are professionals. Besides, I know where to find them. It is not enough money for them to cheat us and then risk their lives. Not to worry."

"Sure. Not to worry. No problem," said Mark into his beer and there was no more talk until Chaang's contacts showed up at the bar entrance.

### Chapter Twenty Five

Toon indicated their arrival by nodding his head in their direction and Zappa had a long talk with them before letting them inside. Oxman saw a slice of crimson, a wad of Thai money, pass between one of the men's hand and Zappa's, and then they were led by the hostess to the table to join them.

They were the same Chinamen from the restaurant and they sat down, ignoring Mark and Oxman. Chaang handled the conversation in that smooth, polished tone of voice he had. One of the suits turned to Oxman, catching him off guard, and asked in English, "Do you have the money?"

Oxman looked at Mark who was holding the duffel bag and he said, "Do you have the woman?"

The suit looked at him with contempt and asked Chaang who this _farang_ was and whatever Chaang said eased the tension so Mark repeated the question.

"Let's go get her now," said the suit and they all got up and left the bar. These Chinamen had tunnel vision. From the second they walked into the place until the moment they left, neither one of them looked around at anything or anyone except the people they had business with. _Well disciplined,_ thought Oxman.

Zappa held the door open for them as they left and walked back outside into the crushing humidity and crowded street. Oxman looked up and down Soi Cowboy. Half drunken, ex pats stumbled along with bar girls on their arms. Flashing neon lights and loud music poured into the street and you could easily see half naked, Thai girls lounging in doorways, trying to get customers to come inside for a drink.

Toon unlocked his jeep and motioned for Mark and Oxman to get inside as Chaang climbed into a sedan with the suits. Just before Oxman ducked his head inside the jeep, he glimpsed a white, middle aged man walking across the street with two, very young Thai girls at his side. He looked closer and couldn't believe his eyes. It was Osterberg!

"Hold everything, Toon!" said Oxman. "I see someone I know."

"No time, Mr. John," said Toon. "We have to follow in our car."

Oxman ignored him and jogged across the street to confront the owner of The Forecastle.

"Hey you!" he shouted at Osterberg, startling the girls beside him. He pretended not to recognize Oxman and tried to calm one of the girls who started stepping away. She couldn't have been older than fifteen.

"Do I know you?" he said to Oxman.

"Damn right you do. You're a long way from home, aren't you, buddy?"

"I think you got the wrong person, pal."

"I don't think so. What are you doing in Thailand picking up underage girls?"

Osterberg lowered his head and then told the girls in sloppy Thai to relax, that it was just a drunken _farang._

"Are you following me or Betty?" persisted Oxman.

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about, mate. If you want a girl, go get your own."

Toon was laying on the horn. He rolled down his window and yelled at Oxman to hurry up. The sedan with the Chinamen had already pulled away and was moving down the crowded street. Oxman could see Mark leaning over from the passenger's seat, motioning at him to get a move on also.

"I'll catch up with you later, scumbag," said Oxman and he grabbed one of the girls by the arm and told her in Thai, "This man's a killer and he has AIDS."

Her eyes widened in fright but Osterberg pulled out a fat roll of cash and held it in his hand for them to see. Poverty is a great aphrodisiac. Toon had exited his jeep and grabbed Oxman's arm, pulling him back to the vehicle.

"No time for games," he said and Oxman watched Osterberg vanish into the crowd with the girls still beside him and he yelled out at him one more time but nobody paid him any attention.

Toon shoved Oxman into the back seat of the jeep and Mark said, "What the hell was that all about?"

"Osterberg. Right here in Thailand. On Soi Cowboy."

"Well, there's no time for him now. We'll get to the bottom of that later."

Mark focused his attention again on the departing sedan and Toon hunched over the steering wheel, muttering curses under his breath. Oxman was soaked in sweat and the air conditioning in the jeep was on full freeze and the contrast made him shudder. He tried to calm down. All of Asia was a set up. He knew the best he could do was go along for the ride so he buckled up and waited, his head pounding and he reached inside his shirt pocket for his bottle of Vicodin.

They followed the sedan down the busy streets, squeezing through traffic jams. Oxman tried to keep track of where they were but it was very late and he didn't know Bangkok all that well. The motorcycle gangs were out, zigzagging their way through homeward bound commuters, looking for any open stretch of road where they could race at top speed for money or thrills. Sidewalks still throbbed with wandering pedestrians and people waiting for busses. Makeshift food stalls lined the avenues and Oxman was amazed at how customers could sit next to plumes of choking auto exhaust and suck down bowls of noodles without being affected by the pollution. Even this late at night, merchants hawked tee shirts and bootleg CD's from overstuffed booths and the prostitutes were out in full force, their jet black hair, still glistening wet from recent showers. It was easy to tell them apart from the honest, hard working office girls who looked tired and walked with quiet determination, hoping to get home after a long day of working for peanuts.

The sedan turned off the main road and headed down a quieter and narrower side street. Oxman could see they were getting closer to the Chao Phraya river because of the occasional ship lights that appeared between the buildings. Soon, they were in an industrial zone with nothing but shipyards filled with containers and tall, iron cranes that hung motionless like night birds asleep on their perches. It could have been Harbor Island in Seattle if Oxman believed in déjà vu, just like that night when Bruce got whacked and dumped in the bay. If these Chinamen were leading them into another trap, there was little he could do. Toon must have been thinking the same thing because he pulled out his 38 and put it on his lap.

"Do you really think you'll need that?" asked Mark.

"I want to be ready to bite back if I see a snake," said Toon.

"What about us?" asked Oxman.

"No guns for foreigners in Thailand."

"Bullshit," said Mark. "You leave us in the jeep with the keys in the ignition then. If we can't shoot, then we can run at least."

"I stay in car," said Toon. "Mr. Chaang is in charge."

"Mr. Chaang," echoed Mark. "Who the hell is this guy anyhow?"

Before Toon could answer, the sedan came to a quick stop about a hundred yards in front of a large warehouse along the river's edge. It looked completely empty with no lights on and nobody in sight. Toon stopped also and waited.

It wasn't long before another car, with its lights off, drove slowly from around behind the warehouse and started circling both our vehicles. Its windows were tinted and Oxman couldn't see anyone inside except the driver's darkened, silhouette behind the wheel. Toon calmly lifted his revolver off of his lap. Mark turned his head to watch the car's movement. Nobody spoke.

Finally, the sedan with Chaang inside pulled ahead about ten yards and stopped. It must have been some prearranged signal because the other car quickly pulled up alongside of it and Mark rolled down his window.

"Don't get out, Mr. Mark," warned Toon.

"I'm not. I just want to hear what's going on."

Chaang also rolled down his window and threw the money bag out onto the ground. It landed with a heavy thump that shattered the silence and Oxman's heart skipped a beat. The driver from the other car waited a few seconds and then got out to grab the cash. He moved quickly like a shadow in the night and scooped up the bag and got back into the car and shut the door.

"Where's the woman?" asked Mark.

"I don't know," said Toon.

"What the hell?" said Mark as the car with the cash sped off down the dock.

"It's a rip off!" yelled Mark. "Follow them, Toon!"

"Those are not my orders."

"Screw your orders! That's my money! They're getting away!"

And then Mark grabbed Toon's gun from his hand and pointed it at his head and shouted, "Drive!"

"Mark, wait!" pleaded Oxman but he could see his face burning with anger and Toon grabbed the wheel, frozen with indecision. Oxman knew what he was thinking. If Toon disobeyed Chaang's instructions, he would lose face and probably more, but Mark was determined and he ordered Toon out of the jeep, leaving him on the dock as he climbed behind the wheel and started off after the getaway car. He tossed Oxman the revolver into the back seat and said, "Use it, Johnny."

Oxman picked it up with a sweaty hand and looked back to see Toon standing alone in the night and said, "We can't leave him there like that, Mark."

"I had a feeling this was going to happen," said Mark, stepping on the gas to catch up to the escaping vehicle. "You can't trust these Thais."

"Maybe this was part of the plan," said Oxman.

"Part of the plan! Right! Shoot at the bastards!

"What if Betty's in that car?"

"My money's in that car! Forget about that!"

### Chapter Twenty Six

Oxman knew what Mark's intentions were as he drove the jeep at breakneck speed along the dock, swerving in and out between containers, hot on the trail of an unknown car. He felt his mind clearing with a rush of adrenalin like a crisis moment at sea when someone's life hung in the balance of your every move. Betty was just as good to Mark, dead or alive. So Oxman pointed the gun at his oldest friend and told him to stop the car. Mark turned briefly and looked at him and then back at the sedan he was chasing. Pressing the barrel of the gun to Mark's head, Oxman said in a voice that he hadn't used for years, "Stop or we're all dead!"

Mark started to laugh and then he slammed on the brakes, throwing Oxman forward hard against the back of the front seat. He turned around and reached over to wrestle the gun from his hands and they fought over it like two, drunken arm wrestlers. Oxman looked up and saw the car they had been chasing stop about twenty yards ahead of them.

"Look!" he said. "Wait a minute!"

The back door of the vehicle flew open and out rolled a hooded body onto the ground, and then the car sped off into the night, leaving them alone in no man's land.

Mark turned on the jeep's headlights and slowly approached the motionless body. Before the Subaru had come to a full stop, Oxman jumped out and ran towards it and pulled off the hood, revealing Betty's beautiful face, her hair dampened with sweat and sticking to her head. Her eyes were closed and her clothes torn and Oxman checked her for any signs of bleeding as Mark walked up to them and asked, "Well? Is she dead?"

The sedan with Chaang and the Chinamen had picked up Toon and pulled up beside them. Chaang stepped out and straightened himself like he was getting ready for a military inspection and walked stiffly towards them.

"Stupid _farang_ ," he said, shaking his head. "You will never understand Thai ways."

"What the hell are you talking about?" said Mark. "They were taking off with my money."

"No they weren't. They were going to drop her off at a different location but now you forced them to throw her out of the car like a piece of garbage. You are lucky they didn't shoot her. Is she dead?"

Oxman checked her pulse and put his ear to her mouth and felt her breathing. She was weak but still alive and unconscious.

"She needs a doctor," said Oxman.

"We take her to Samui," said Toon. "I have a doctor at home."

"That's an eight hour drive," said Oxman. "Why can't we just go to a hospital here in Bangkok?"

"Too dangerous," said Chaang, looking around into the night at the empty dock. "We could be followed and the hospital will be suspicious. Maybe call the police."

The driver rolled down his window slightly and said something to Chaang who just nodded and then they drove off. Mission accomplished. Oxman wondered how much of the money they got for their role but the thought left him quickly as he cradled Betty in his arms.

"No time to waste," said Toon as he got back into his jeep. "Get her in and let's go."

"Drop me somewhere where I can catch a taxi," said Chaang. "My job is done."

Toon nodded and Mark and Oxman carried Betty into the backseat and her head fell against Oxman's shoulder. Her hand reached out across his lap like a sleeping girl, grasping for a teddy bear.

"Maybe she's been drugged," said Mark but nobody responded. Oxman saw Toon reach down into the front seat and pick up the revolver and carefully place it back in the glove compartment. He gave Mark an angry look but never said another word about it. Chaang sat quietly in the front seat with his shoulders squared and Toon exited the industrial park and found a busy, main street to drop him off on.

_"Chok dee,"_ said Chaang as he left. Good luck. And they drove off, leaving him curbside looking calm and collected like he had just finished a long day's work at the office.

It was a couple of hours before they got through Bangkok's sprawling metropolis and started heading south on the highway towards Samui. The stifling silence in the jeep finally broke when Toon seemed relaxed enough again to slip a CD into the stereo and the soul melting sounds of love torn, Thai ballads filled the jeep. Only the occasional lights of a truck headed for the capitol briefly lit up the pitch black countryside and every time one of the trucks passed, briefly illuminating the interior of the jeep, Oxman could see Mark's face, stolid and staring straight ahead into the back of Toon's head. Betty began to shift a little in Oxman's arms and he checked her pulse again. It was still weak but steady.

"Can we stop for water somewhere, Toon?" asked Oxman.

"There will be a place soon. A truck stop."

Soon, the jeep pulled off onto a roadside, open air cantina. The parking lot was filled with trucks and rows of tables were lined up under canopies, filled with drivers and their women rides, eating, smoking and drinking.

"You all must stay in the car," said Toon. "If somebody sees foreigners, they might be suspicious and call the police. Maybe think you are drug smugglers."

"But I gotta drain it," said Mark.

"Drain it?" asked Toon not understanding.

"Go shoo shoo," said Oxman. "Me, too."

"We can stop alongside the road, later," said Toon. "Here, I will get food and water for us all."

And then he left, taking the keys with him.

"Exactly how well do you trust this guy?" asked Mark as he watched Toon walk away.

"He's helped me a lot before. His family's kind of adopted me. But, lately, I don't trust anyone, anymore."

"What do you mean by that?" snapped Mark.

"No offense, buddy, but you and I were almost in a gunfight back there."

"Hey, look. I'm sorry about that. I got carried away when I thought I was getting ripped off. We go back a long ways and we've helped each other in the past but things have changed, Johnny."

"How so?"

"The world has changed. Things are happening faster than you can imagine. You're still cruising at shipboard speed, plying the sea lanes at twenty miles per hours."

"I'm a prudent navigator. Remember all that Coast Guard training?"

"Yeah, but the high tech, business world is all about risk and speed."

"So you're traveling at light speed, now?"

"I guess you can say that and I'm doing quite well because of it."

"So anything or anyone that slows you down gets thrown overboard, right?"

"I work faster alone. When I'm ready, I'll slow down."

"What about Jesse?"

"What about her?"

"Is she expendable cargo, also?"

"Why do you care about her? I know you don't trust her."

"I know you don't either."

"But she is fine and she did come to me. I thought she might be useful."

"Like Betty here?"

At the mention of her name, Betty opened her eyes and looked up at Oxman. She didn't seem to recognize him at first but then she smiled and grabbed him tighter and said weakly, "I'm thirsty."

"She's coming around," said Mark. "That's a good sign."

"Is it?" said Oxman.

"Would you rather we found her dead?"

"No. Would you?"

"Not at all. It's harder to move a corpse around."

"But either way, she'd still be useful to you, wouldn't she?"

Before Mark could answer, Toon came back with a sack full of food and bottles of water. Oxman opened one and let Betty drink a little. Toon also passed around some sticky rice, wrapped in banana leaves and Mark peeled his meal open and ate quietly. Toon hit the road again, determined to drive on straight through the night until they reached the province of Surat Thani where they could catch the car ferry for Samui.

### Chapter Twenty Seven

"How can you drive non stop like this?" asked Mark. "Maybe one of us should take a turn at the wheel."

"No problem," he answered. "I got some _yah_ from one of the truck drivers at the food stop.

"What's that?"

"Speed," said Oxman. "The stuff that makes your world turn."

Dawn was breaking as they rolled into Surat Thani. Oxman felt he had dozed off at some point. Or he dreamt that he was in a dark car with a warm, female body pressed against his. Sometimes it's hard to separate reality from fiction. Sometimes the connection is so tenuous that the two overlap each other like a fog of subdued awareness. Mark was sound asleep, his head resting against the window of the jeep. Toon yawned behind the wheel and scratched his head, trying hard to stay awake. Betty hadn't moved at all but she was breathing regularly.

The Thai countryside had changed a lot and the growing daylight revealed a more tropical, less urban landscape. Deep in the southern part of Thailand, coconut groves stretched as far as the eye could see. A few, weathered old men, their skin tanned leathery, walked along the side of the road, shirtless with their hands clasped behind the small of their backs. They passed a pickup filled with coconuts piled high in the back. Trained monkeys sat on top, nodding their heads like fishing bobbers on a choppy lake.

"Where are we?" asked Oxman.

"Very close to the ocean," said Toon. "We will stop in town briefly for more food and water and then catch the ferry to Samui."

"Is it okay for us to get out of the jeep here? I really need to stretch my legs."

"Okay for you and Mr. Mark but the woman mustn't be seen."

Betty shifted a little and Oxman checked her pulse again. It seemed stronger. Maybe the water had helped her or whatever drugs they had her on were wearing off. He put his hand on her chin and lifted her face towards his and softly called her name to see if she would respond. She opened her eyes.

"John? From Seattle? Where am I?" she said dreamily.

"Your safe with me."

"I, I..."  
"Don't try to talk. You've been kidnapped and drugged and we got you back."

"I'm thirsty."

So Oxman gave her some more of what was left of his water and hand fed her some sticky rice but she didn't have much of an appetite. Betty just took a couple of bites and washed it down, but it seemed to improve her strength and she tried to sit up. Her eyes adjusted to the bright daylight and she looked around a little before putting her head back on his shoulder. Oxman stroked her hair and told her everything would be all right and she nodded.

The jeep slowed down as they approached the small cluster of stores and homes around the dock and the change in motion woke up Mark.

"How is she?" he asked, turning to look into the back seat.

"Better than last night. More alive than dead," said Oxman.

"It's good that all of us still are. Hey, Toon. No hard feelings, right? I got too excited last night. Sorry."

"No problem," said Toon and Mark interpreted this as a sign of forgiveness but Oxman knew better. It meant that Toon had completely neutralized Mark and would never let him come closer than was absolutely necessary. Simple Thai courtesy. Completely superficial and, for a moment, Oxman felt superior to Mark because he knew something better than him--Thai culture.

A few monks were out on the streets, covered from shoulder to ankle in their loose fitting, saffron robes and carrying their silver alms bowls in front of them. Little, old ladies placed morsels of fruit, sticky rice, boiled eggs and other scraps of food into them as they passed by. Shop owners swept the sidewalks in front of their stores and some coffee stands were already open curbside.

Toon pulled up to one of them and said they could get out and stretch their legs for a few minutes before they boarded the ferry. Oxman told Betty to sit tight, and she stretched out in the back seat as the men got out and sat at a table next to the jeep and drank small, strong cups of Indonesian coffee. Oxman rolled them all a cigarette and they smoked and waited.

The stall owner seemed to know Toon and they talked for a few minutes and Oxman caught bits of their conversation. Toon was asking him about any foreigners passing through the area but the owner said that since the airport opened up on the island, not many foreigners came through Surat Thani anymore. Mark put his aviator sunglasses back on and sipped his coffee, smiling at any pretty girl that walked by. Toon suddenly got up, bought a few bottles of cold water and told everyone to get back in the jeep.

Oxman felt good to be near the ocean again. They approached the ferry terminal and he rolled down the window to smell the salt breeze and it reassured him. Betty sat up and drank some more water but didn't say anything. Although Toon was still in the driver's seat, Oxman felt more in control once again as the jeep rolled onto the ferry and the boat left the dock to begin the short crossing towards Samui.

Only a few cars were on the ferry and the other passengers exited their vehicles to take in the scenery and some fresh air. Oxman suggested to Toon that it might be a good idea for Betty to do the same but he wouldn't hear of it.

"We are not safe until we get to my place," he said and then popped another CD into the dashboard and leaned his seat back to enjoy the ride with his eyes closed.

"What kind of music is that?" asked Betty.

"It's Thai," said Oxman. "You're in Thailand."

"Thailand? How did I get here?"

"That's what we all want to know," said Mark and she looked at him for the first time. Oxman saw her eyes widen and then she lowered her head and shook it in disbelief.

### Chapter Twenty Eight

The port at Samui was small but busy. Taxi drivers, hawkers, pimps and resort representatives milled about the docks, looking for tourists who wanted something or a place to stay. Toon waved to a few that he knew as they drove off the ferry but he didn't stop. He got right on the road that led out of town and drove north along the coast and Oxman felt more relaxed than he had ever been since arriving in Thailand. Toon, however, despite being home, seemed to grow more tense behind the wheel. Oxman was sure he was thinking of what to tell his wife.

Phi was chopping coconuts in front of the house when they arrived and she stood up straight and came towards the jeep, waving her machete and yelling at Toon.

"You leave me alone again to do all the work!" she yelled in English so they could all understand her anger and share the blame. Toon ignored her as best as he could and told everyone to go onto the patio. He went into the house, his wife nagging him all the way through the door. They heard them fighting inside but didn't care. Mark, exhausted, slumped into a bamboo chair, and Oxman helped Betty to a seat, doting over her like a grandfather. She looked a mess and she knew it.

"I really need a hot shower," she said so Oxman took her to his bungalow and gave her some soap and a towel and then went back out onto the patio. Dah was already setting up the table for breakfast and Mark leered at her lithe movements through his shades.

"Where's Jesse?" he asked her since she ignored him.

"She gone," said Dah, pouring them glasses of mango juice.

"Gone? Where?"

"Some _farang_ man come early this morning and take her away."

"What did he look like?" asked Oxman.

"Old man. Gray beard. Not very big."

"Osterberg," said Oxman. "Now there's a man after your own heart. Fast."

Mark put his head back and sucked in his breath, taking it all in when Toon came outside and asked Oxman if he could get some fresh clothes for Betty. Oxman nodded, never taking his eyes off of Mark.

"I told you Jesse couldn't be trusted," said Oxman finally. But Mark just turned his head towards the ocean and stared out at the horizon. A soft breeze swept in across the patio and then disappeared.

"Gone," said Mark.

"What do you think?" said Oxman.

"I think there's trouble in paradise."

Betty came out of the bungalow and they both turned to watch her walking towards them across the white, sand beach, her hair still wet and her mutilated body covered in a loose fitting, powder blue, silk sarong. She was smiling for the first time since they got her but Mark and Oxman just stared back at her without saying a word until she sat down at the table between them and said, "I'm starving."

Things had calmed down between Toon and his wife. He was back to work, paying his dues, washing dishes, sweeping the patio and picking up garbage around the house. Mark crawled off to sleep in his bungalow, not saying another word about Jesse. After all, his main investment was nearby.

Betty and Oxman strolled along the beach and he started to explain to her what he knew and waited to see if she could add anything. He told her about how Uncle Jack had double crossed him Seattle, Bruce's execution, Suzie Wong's body and the river chase in Bangkok. She listened silently, apparently more interested in the waves that slid in across the beach touching their ankles.

"What do you remember?" he finally asked her.

"The last thing?"

"Yeah. The last thing."

"Sleeping in your apartment. There was a knock on the door."

"Go on."

"I thought it was you and your friend coming back."

"But it wasn't."

"No. It wasn't. They came into your bedroom where I was and put a hood over my head and stuck a needle in my arm."

"Damn."

"Yeah. The rest is all a blur. I dreamt I was on a boat and people were speaking Spanish. But it was dark all the time. I didn't see any faces. I didn't see anything except that I'd wake up once in awhile and there would be a plate of rice and beans and a glass of water next to me. I slept a lot."

"They probably kept you drugged the whole time."

"Probably."

The sun rose higher and the temperature climbed dramatically in spite of the breeze that fluttered the palms.

"This is a beautiful place," said Betty again after awhile, taking Oxman's hand. "Am I dead? Is this heaven?" If so, I could stay here forever with you."

"No, you're not dead and I'm afraid it's not all that simple."

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"Mark wants to take you to Tokyo for some examinations."

"What kind of examinations?"

"I don't understand it all. Something to do with nanotechnology that was implanted into you by your husband."

"But that's gone, isn't it?" she asked, lifting her hand to where her breast had been.

"I know but a lot of people are interested in the long term effects if there are any."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I don't get it all. Maybe Mark had better explain it to you when he wakes up."

"But I'm safe now, right?"

Oxman put his arm around her and said, "Sure. Don't worry about that. I'm with you."

"I'm glad you were in The Forecastle that night, Johnny. You're an angel."

"I'm a fugitive, Betty, and I'm penniless."

"I told you. I have money. Lots of it. Enough for both of us to live like this forever. I owe you that much."

"Is that really enough?"

"What?"

"I mean your gratitude. We'll that keep us together?"

"Don't you have feelings for me, Johnny? You must, I mean..."

Before she could finish, Oxman pulled her towards him and kissed her full on the lips and she moaned a little and then pulled back and stared at him with those deep green eyes, magnified by the ocean.

"I think you do," she said.

"You know we're not kids, anymore. There's a lot going on here still."

"You mean my husband?"

"For one, yes. Who knows how long he'll keep looking for you. In fact, his men could be on the island right now."

"Then we'd better make plans to get out of Thailand."

"We need new identities," said Oxman.

"You mean passports and everything?"

"Yes."

"How can we do that?"

"You can do anything in Thailand if you know the right people and have enough money."

"Then I need to get to an international bank so I can access my Swiss account."

"But do you have any ID now?"

"No. But we can use yours and I can transfer my money online into your name."

"You really trust me that much?"

"You saved my life. Why shouldn't I?"

Oxman didn't know what to say. He wasn't planning to rip her off and she stared at him waiting for an answer. Just then, they heard a strange noise coming from the patio and turned to see what it was. Toon was shirtless and had a towel wrapped around his waist. He was flapping his arms and doing some kind of bizarre, Thai Chi dance, craning his neck and shrieking like a hawk. Betty and Oxman started laughing and he said, "Let's go seen what he's been smoking."

Toon grinned broadly and strutted around without stopping as they approached and he said, "Try this, Mr. John. Follow what I am doing."

"What for?"

"This is your dance. It came to me in a dream."

Oxman shrugged and fell into step behind him like an Indian in a pow wow dance, spreading his arms like a bird in flight. Betty laughed hysterically and sat down at one of the tables and watched them. They carried on for a few minutes together until Toon stopped and sat down next to Betty but Oxman kept it up, improvising his movements and feeling strangely elated and magically relieved of all the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders for the past week. He started chanting.

Women and children, first. Women and children, first. Women and children, first...

He repeated this mantra until he was practically yelling at the top of his lungs and Toon clapped his approval. Phi and Dah came out of the house to see what was going on and they stood quietly, watching Oxman as if he had lost his mind, but Toon pointed to him and said in Thai, _Jy dee,_ which meant 'good heart', and the women just nodded and went back inside.

Oxman finally got tired and stood on the edge of the patio, stretched his arms towards the ocean and breathed deeply, the salt air clearing his mind. Mark had heard the chanting and woke up, came out of his bungalow and sat down with Betty and Toon.

"Pretty early in the day to get stoned" said Mark.

"He was doing his spirit dance," said Betty. "Toon showed him how."

"Spirit dance?"

"You should try it, Mark," said Oxman. "It really works."

"No thanks. I'll stick to sex."

"Do you want a girl?" asked Toon. "I can get one for you."

"I brought one here and I'd like to find out what happened to her."

"I'll make some phone calls," said Toon and walked into the house.

### Chapter Twenty Nine

The south side of Samui island was different than the north. The ocean breezes that regularly swept in from the Gulf of Thailand rarely made their way across the mountainous spine that split the island in two. Also, there was a different family line that occupied the south and sometimes there were gang wars on the island like between the Hatfield and the McCoys which had intensified with the increased tourism. Lots of foreigners wanted drugs and sex and both families were fighting over who would supply them.

Jesse sat on the raised porch of a bungalow overlooking the receding tide on the beach that left stagnant pools, filled with stranded crustaceans. The brush on the south side of Samui also contained a variety of poisonous snakes that weren't found on the north beaches. She would have preferred to stay with Mark at Toon's resort but Osterberg called her on her cell in the middle of the night and hauled her away in the predawn hours. He had his own seaplane and pilot and they had made the flight from Bangkok during the night. It was anchored in the shallow bay in front of their bungalow and he came out onto the porch, looked at it for a minute and then sat down next to Jesse.

"Don't tell me you fell in love with him," he asked her. "You got a look like you miss him or something."

"He's a good fuck," said Jesse, still staring out at the beach.

"And I'm an old goat."

"I didn't say that."

"But you were thinking it."

"I was thinking about the money."

"So they went to get the woman? I saw them last night."

"That was their plan."

"My scouts tell me they saw her on the beach this morning with Oxman."

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for the servants to wake up and make us some breakfast."

"And then what?"

"Then we make a plan to get her back."

"You don't need me anymore, do you?"

"Not at this point, no, but I still want you working for me at The Forecastle when we get back to Seattle."

Jesse smirked and then stood up and leaned against the porch rail, her tight ass barely covered by cut off, blue jean shorts. Osterberg stared at it and said, "What's wrong?"

"This beach sucks. I like the one at Toon's better."

"Sorry to spoil your fun."

"Just as long as I get my cut. That's all that matters."

"You'll get yours. Don't worry, sweetheart."

She turned to him and said, "Don't you fuckin' call me sweetheart."

Osterberg laughed and went back inside and Jesse waited for a breeze that never came.

"Shit," she said to herself. "What a stink."

### Chapter Thirty

"Johnny tells me I'm a walking lab rat," said Betty to Mark after Dah served them breakfast. "I don't understand. What's this all about?"

"I'll try to be as non technical as I can," said Mark, sipping on his juice and adjusting his sunglasses. "But first I need some coffee."

They waited for Dah to serve them, and they sat around making small talk about the weather until Mark was ready to explain. Oxman knew he was going to try and sell Betty on going to Tokyo but that move had already been decided against. Still, he turned on the charm and started by asking Betty if she felt better.

"Much," she said. "Thanks."

"Johnny was right. You really are a beautiful lady."

"Thanks, again."

Oxman watched Mark with amusement. He was good. No doubt about that. He had seen him in action with many women before but Betty was cool, also. She listened casually, drinking her coffee and taking it all in like she was on a cruise ship, chatting it up with a handsome stranger.

"You know you're very valuable to a lot of people, right?" continued Mark.

"After being butchered, kidnapped and ransomed, I would say so," she answered.

"Do you know why?"

"Johnny explained some of it to me."

"Did he warn you about the possible, long term effects on your health?"

_Very good,_ thought Oxman, _appealing to her self concern. He was such a sensitive guy._

"There are doctors all over the world," said Betty. "I can get checked out in my own good time."

"Of course you can. But what we're dealing with here requires specialists trained in biotechnology. Something your average pill pusher doesn't know about."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

Mark leaned back and pushed his sunglasses closer to his eyes with the tip of his index finger like a professor about to explain a complex theory to an undergraduate student.

"Do you know what a macro cyclic tubule is?" he asked.

"Sounds like a computer part or something."

"It's more chemical than technological."

"Go on," said Betty.

"I'm talking about host-guest chemistry."

"I'm a music student. I don't know anything about chemistry or biology."

"Okay, let me explain then. A macro cycle is a circular molecule that can coordinate to a metal center. They arrange themselves like beads on a necklace. Macro cycles provide whole cavities that can completely surround guest molecules. Their ring shape allows them to be stacked, strung or surrounded by other molecules. I can tell you the names of different types but they wouldn't mean anything to you. Sometimes the different types work together. Sometimes they work alone. An important one for you to know about is a heme."

"What's that?"

"A heme is a biological macro cycle, the active site in hemoglobin."

"You mean like blood?"

"That's right. Blood. It's a porphyrin containing iron."

"Iron's supposed to be good for you, isn't it?"

"Normally, yes, but in this case it's not. This type of heme, synthetically produced, consists of an atom in the center of a large heterocyclic organic ring, a porphyrin."

"And what's a porphyrin again? It sounds like your talking in circles."

"In a way, I am. That's a good way to think about it. Circular structures."

"Okay."

"Porphyrins have four pyrole subunits interconnected at their carbon atoms via methane bridges."

"Now I'm really lost."

"Hang with me. I'll get to the point, soon. Porphyrins have very intense color. The meaning comes from a Greek word that means purple."

"The color of royalty."

"Yeah, that's true. Now cyclodextrins arrange themselves molecularly like beads on a string."

"The necklace thing again."

"Yeah, the necklace thing. Exactly. Cyclodextrins are a family of compounds made up of sugar molecules bound together in a ring."

"Necklaces. Rings and purple. Sounds fashionable."

"They're produced from starch," continued Mark, ignoring her comment. "The process used is called enzymatic conversion. Cyclodextrins are large ring molecules made of linked sugar units. Typically, they consist of at least four units in each ring. These tiny structures can travel through tissue, ah, flesh."

"You're scaring me now."

"They can work their way through and under skin because they are extremely tiny fibers. Sometimes they push outwards and even come through the skin by rotating in one direction."

"That's not a pretty picture."

"No, it isn't. That's what can happen when they mutate uncontrolled. They often appear white when they come out through the skin and contain swellings. Then they dry out and form crystals. Have you ever heard of Morgellon's disease, Betty?"

"No."

"It's a rare phenomenon and some experts in the medical community are researching it extensively. These sugary crystals dry up and fall into pieces after they are removed from the body."

"When they are detached from the biological host?"

"Now you're catching on. That's right. Now I'm going to tell you about cucurbituril."

"Is that a medicine for this disease?"

"No. There is no current treatment for Morgellon's. Cucurbituril are molecules that line up side by side to form a tube. The cavity of a cucurbituril has a nanoscale dimension with a height of about 9 angstroms, the outer diameter is almost 6 angstroms and the inner diameter is about 4."

"That's at the microscopic level, isn't it?"

"Correct. You must have picked up something in basic chemistry class somewhere."

"I hated chemistry."

"Anyhow, a cucurbituril is a big, round molecule consisting of several glycoluril units, each joined to the next one by two methylene bridges to form a closed band."

"Sounds toxic. Methylene, I mean."

"It's not organic or natural, that's for sure."

"So what does this all have to do with me? You've got me really scared now."

Mark took off his sunglasses for dramatic effect, leaned towards Betty and put his hand on hers, trying to calm her down.

"Your husband was working on a top secret project for Genomics," he said. "To create synthetic blood."

Oxman tried to follow as best as he could. Betty seemed to be doing a better job at understanding Mark than he was. But the mention of synthetic blood was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on his head.

"That's what all this about," said Mark. "The Morgellon's phenomenon is most likely the result of a biological experiment that got out of hand somehow and into the general population. The goal of these scientists is to create a synthetic, polymer network under the human skin using artificial blood in the veins. These fake blood cells made up of polymer protein and polyelectrolyte layers are designed to carry oxygen just like real blood cells."

"Oh my god!" said Betty, removing her hand from Mark's and covering her face.

"That's enough, Mark," said Oxman and slid over to put his arm around Betty.

"No, there's more," he said. "This is the most important part and the reason you're so involved in all of this."

"What's that?" asked Oxman, speaking for Betty who started to cry.

"Genomics engineered this technology and computerized it. Theoretically, humans who have this synthetic blood pumping through their veins can be remotely controlled like drones from anywhere on the globe. I'm sure you can imagine what great military and economic impact this could have in the wrong hands."

"I can't listen to anymore," cried Betty and she ran away from the table and onto the beach where she collapsed on the edge of a tide pool. Oxman and Mark watched her slowly get up and sit cross legged, facing the ocean, staring motionlessly at the horizon.

"You have to go to her," said Mark. "We need to get her to Tokyo to see what's going on in her body."

"You want me to help you convince her of that?"

"It's for her own good."

"And probably for your profit margin also."

Mark clenched his fist and lifted it slightly from the table, pointing it at Oxman and said, "Don't tell me you're mixed up, crazy in love with her and that's the end of the story."

"I won't say that, but I won't convince her to sell her soul to some white coats and cold blooded, businessmen."

"Listen, Johnny. This is big. This is global. What are you going to do with her? Sail away into the sunset? They'll come after you."

"And you? What if I told you to back off?"

"You still owe me a hundred grand."

"And if I paid you back would you let it go?"

Mark downed the rest of his coffee and leaned back in his chair again. Before he could answer, Toon came walking quickly out of the house and sat down in the seat that Betty had vacated. He looked at both of them and knew something was up so he waited a minute before telling them what he found out.

"The girl, Jesse, is on the south side of Samui," he said, "with an older _farang."_

"Osterberg, I'll bet," said Oxman.

Mark finished his coffee and looked at Betty. Oxman got up and walked to her and sat down beside her and they both stared out across the water like they were expecting to see something materialize on the horizon.

### Chapter Thirty One

Nobody spoke much to each other the rest of the day except when it was absolutely necessary. Even Toon's wife was unusually quite as she and Dah went about their chores, cleaning, cooking and washing clothes in domestic silence. Betty and Oxman took a siesta in their bungalow, succumbing to the heat and the reality that had enveloped them. He had that déjà vu feeling again of being on a long, boring sea voyage during which the sailors rarely acknowledged each other's presence unless it was time to perform some shipboard duty. Sometimes, the crossing was the hardest part of the trip. The monotony of collecting sea time, the awareness that when you reached your destination there would be an intense flurry of activity by both man and machine that would leave everyone exhausted yet satisfied in the end. And so they let the sun travel its course through the blazing, tropical sky until it sank towards the horizon, expecting nothing and everything to go right or wrong at any moment.

A knock on the door at dusk. It was Toon calling them to supper. Betty was still sleeping, her curvaceous body huddled next to Oxman's in a fetal position. He had thought about trying to make love to her but Mark's explanation worried him. What if she were contagious? What if his dick started growing tubular crystals? It would make a great joke at the union hall, that's for sure. All he felt safe doing under the circumstances was kissing her gently on her forehead until she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Time to get up," he said and cradled her in his arms.

"Must we?" she said sleepily, perhaps expecting more from him.

She placed her bare, silken leg across his lower body and started kissing him. It wasn't easy for Oxman to pull himself away and climb out of bed. He had never been with such a classy woman, somebody way above his pay grade, and he felt ashamed to resist her advances.

"What's the matter?" she asked, sitting up as he pulled on a tee shirt and jeans with his back turned towards her.

"I'm worried."

"About what?"

"About everything."

"You're turned off because I only have one breast."

"No, that's not it."

"Then what?"

"I dunno. Maybe Mark is right. Maybe you should be examined as soon as possible."

"So you think I'm a leper or something? Afraid to catch my disease? Is that it?"

Oxman didn't like the way women could back you into a corner. It cut against the grain of his free spirit. But there she sat, willing and half naked in a bed on a tropical island and he felt impotent so he lied.

"Who knows what the complications might be if we made it?"

"Complications," she repeated softly, lowering her head.

"Besides," he continued, sitting back down next to her, "We still need to get to the bottom of this."

"How so?"

"We have to find Jesse and Osterberg and find out what they're doing here and what they know."

"Why? Screw them. We can leave without them. Who cares?"

"The more we know, the safer we'll be in the long run."

Another knock on the door. This time it was Mark.

"C'mon you two," he said. "Let's eat and then go get Jesse. Toon is rounding up a posse."

Oxman opened the door and Mark peered over his shoulder and looked at Betty and asked, "Is she all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine. So am I. We'll be right out."

"Hurry up. Toon is in high gear," said Mark and then walked away.

"Please get dressed, Betty," said Oxman. "I'll meet you at the patio."

She didn't answer him but she grabbed a brush off the nightstand and ran it through her hair slowly in feminine defiance, buying time and collecting her thoughts and emotions.

Oxman left her alone and headed for the patio where Dah was setting the table. Toon was lighting the tiki lamps around the edge of the patio as night began to fall like a curtain. Sam was there, talking to Mark in a quiet voice and he looked up and smiled at Oxman when he saw him.

"Hello again, Mr. John," he said as Oxman pulled up a chair and Dah hurried out of the kitchen to bring them all ice cold beers.

"Hello, Sam."

"Sam knows where the girl is," said Toon, finally sitting down to join them. "We are going to get her tonight."

"Yeah," said Mark, still wearing his sunglasses.

There was something unearthly about Sam that mystified Oxman. He seemed to be always floating on a cushion of air like he was a holograph or a disembodied spirit. His quiet, inscrutable confidence, along with his graceful movements, and the way he spoke, suggested royalty. As Dah served them, she never took her eyes off of him.

"Where exactly is Jesse?" asked Oxman.

"She's in a bungalow on a south beach," said Sam.

"I know it's a small island but how did you find her so fast?"

Sam smiled, showing a line of pearl white teeth that contrasted with his bronze skin.

"Sam's the man," said Toon, grinning, his face reflecting the flickering tiki lights.

Dah had filled the table with plates full of steaming, grilled fish, boiled rice, herb filled omelettes alongside sliced pineapple and mangos. Phi came out of the kitchen and commanded them to eat and then sat at a table next to them and watched and listened. She wasn't a bad looking woman when she was quiet and Oxman liked the fact that her toenails were painted deep red, accentuating the copper color of her skin. It suggested a hidden sexuality, unlike most Western women who liked to shock and awe with their garish attempts at attracting the opposite sex. The rest of her body, except for her long, smooth arms, was covered from neck to ankle in a flowered sarong.

"Will it be easy to get her?" asked Oxman after taking a few bites of food.

"That depends," said Sam.

"On what?" asked Mark.  
"On how quiet we are."

"So it's a kidnapping, then?" said Mark, lifting his head and leaning back.

"We don't use such words in Thailand," said Sam.

Toon laughed and said something in Thai which Oxman didn't understand and Phi grunted in disgust.

"When do we go?" asked Oxman.

"Only Sam and I go," said Toon and Oxman thought Mark would object but he didn't. After all, he had no vested interest in the girl.

"What about the man with her?" asked Oxman, thinking about Osterberg.

"No problem," said Sam. "You want him, too?"

"Hell, yes. He's all mixed up in this. I saw him on Soi Cowboy last night."

"You did not tell me this," said Toon, pushing back from the table.

"I didn't have a chance."

"Who cares?" said Mark. "We got the woman. That's what's important. Once she's strong enough to travel, we're outta here."

At the mention of Betty, she stepped out of the bungalow and walked towards them across the beach. They all turned to watch her as she seemingly glided across the sand under the moonlight, her golden hair shining like a halo around her head.

_What a class act,_ thought Oxman. She wore a sarong like Toon's wife and her hips moved and swayed in tune with the ocean waves that gently lapped against the shore. When she got into the light of the patio, Oxman could see a pinkish, white lotus flower above her ear and when she smiled he felt himself trembling.

"Oh! Mrs. Betty!" said Toon, standing up and pulling out a chair. "Please join us. You must be hungry."

"I am," she said and sat down next to Oxman, giving him a quick, sideways glance. _Look at what you passed on, earlier buddy!_

"They found Osterberg," said Oxman. "They're going to get him and the girl later."

"What do we do while you guys are out lurking in the jungle shadows?" asked Mark.

"There is a night club in Bo Phut," said Toon. "Not too far away."

"Walking distance?" asked Mark.

"Better if you take a motor bike. I can lend you one."

"Cool. What about you and Betty, Johnny?"

"They better stay here," said Sam. "Safer."

"Are you sure?" asked Betty.

"Oh, yes," said Toon. "My wife has a gun and knows how to use it. She will watch you."

Oxman looked over at Phi who was leaning on her elbows, listening intently. Imagining her on the trigger side of a loaded pistol reassured him but frightened him at the same time.

### Chapter Thirty Two

After everyone finished eating, Dah cleared the table. Toon lent Mark his motorbike and sent him off in the right direction and then took off with Sam in his jeep. Oxman was alone with Betty again. They finished their drinks as Phi kept a watchful eye on them from inside the house, poking her head out the window from time to time, asking if they needed anything.

"Let's walk down to the beach," said Betty and she stood up and took Oxman's hand and led him to the water's edge. They sat down and stared at the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the now, black ocean.

"What are you thinking?" she asked him.  
"I'm thinking about the thousands of times I've done this before."

"Done what before?"

"Stare out at the night sea from some ship, alone in my thoughts."

"You're not alone anymore."

"That's right," he said and turned towards her, pulling her close. She lifted her face toward his and he couldn't resist kissing her.

"Hey! What's that?" she said suddenly.

"What?"

Betty pointed to some distant, twinkling lights on the horizon.

"Oh, that's Ko Phangan. It's a very small island, smaller than Samui and only accessible by boat. It's popular with backpackers and extremists."

"Extremists?"

"Yeah. They have a full moon party there every month. Probably going on right now. I hear it gets pretty wild. Lots of drugs and naked dancing around bonfires and stuff like that."

"You've never been there?"

"Nope."

"How long would it take to get there by boat?"

"Oh, probably around an hour. In fact, I know somebody who lives there. One of Toon's cousins. I've got an open invitation to visit anytime but I never took him up on it."

Betty looked over her shoulder back at the house and then again at Oxman and said, "Let's go there."

"What? Now?"

"Right now."

"One problem. We don't have a boat."

"I saw a small motor boat earlier today up on the beach. Just down a stretch."

"That's either Toon's or his neighbor's."

"So let's go. Let's borrow it. You're a sailor, right? You could get us there."

"Sure, but what about Toon's wife? And don't you want to wait for them to bring Jesse and Osterberg back?"

"Screw them. Let's give her the slip. Just tell her we're going for a short walk. She'll probably think we want to have sex on the beach somewhere. Before she knows what happened, we could be on our way."

"Wow! You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

"You like it, don't you?" she said and kissed him again, sticking her tongue deep in his mouth and rubbing her hands across his body.

"This is crazy," he said, trying to resist.  
"You know you want to," she whispered in his ear.

Since Oxman didn't respond, she got up and walked towards the house. He saw her talking to Phi in the lighted doorway and then she jogged back towards him, grabbed his hand and led him towards the boat. They found it tied to a post in the sand and Oxman told her to get in as he let loose the line and shoved it towards the water until it was completely afloat. Oxman hopped in and grabbed an oar and turned the boat towards Ko Phangan, gave a couple of tugs on the outboard motor and it fired up immediately. Soon, they were headed out to sea and Oxman kept the engine in low gear until they had gained some distance from the beach. Then he opened up the throttle and the bow of the boat lifted into the air. Betty was sitting on a cross plank near the bow and the wind picked up. She stretched out her arms and yelled, "FREEDOM IN PARADISE!"

### Chapter Thirty Three

The central highlands of Samui was a place few foreigners ever saw. Most visitors to the island clung to the beach resorts and the nightclubs that surrounded them. They had no idea about the nightly dramas that took place high up in the hills between the rival families that fought for control over Samui's lucrative and illicit activities that funneled money to the legitimate resort owners.

Men gathered in the smoke filled, pool halls and makeshift warehouses, deeply hidden in the jungle forests, to negotiate drug shipments and swap teenage prostitutes that had been kidnapped from Bangkok and brought to the island to work in cleverly disguised brothels. Local police sent their informants to make sure they were getting their fair slice of corruption pie.

More often than not, the negotiations were peaceful although tense. Sometimes, blood was shed because of a double cross or a misunderstanding. Above all, the rival factions wanted to maintain an appearance of peace and tranquility on the island so the tourists would keep coming. Sam and Toon hoped to strike a deal to get Jesse and Osterberg turned over to them.

The pool hall that they drove to that night was filled with the usual rival bosses and their bodyguards. Men with AK 47's patrolled the grounds outside of it and recognized Sam and Toon and let them through. Inside, each gang lounged around their designated side of the hall, drinking Mekong, smoking and talking in hushed voices. The neutral zone was the pool table where the bosses, or their chosen hands, would square off in a game of snooker. Cash was always on the table and the men discussed business as they played under a hanging lamp with a rotating fan to clear the air around the table.

Sam and Toon sat on bar stools on the side of the hall by their clan and ordered a couple of drinks and sat, observing the game taking place. Mongo, head chief of their family, sat at the end of the bar, surrounded by four bodyguards, and watched them for a few minutes before signaling them to come over and talk.

"I understand you want some _farangs_ that are being kept in Maret," he said to them.

He was an old man by Thai standards, around sixty, and he was short and wiry and wore a dozen, golden Buddha amulets around his neck for protection. If Oxman had seen him, he would have immediately thought about Uncle Jack from Seattle.

" _Krap,"_ said Toon, the polite, affirmative Thai expression.

"It is very unusual for us to get involved with _farang_ business unless they are intruding into our dealings."

"I understand," said Toon.

"It would look bad if something happens to them on the island."

"We just want to question them," said Sam.

"And must you take them to the north side to do this?"

"I, we, think it would be best. No harm will come to them."

"Tell me about this white woman you brought from Bangkok," said Mongo.

"She is very valuable to many people," answered Toon.

"Also to the _farangs_ staying in Maret?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"It will not be easy, then, to negotiate their transfer to you. A ransom must be paid. How much can you offer?"

Toon and Sam looked at each other.

"The payoff will come later," said Toon.

Mango laughed with a cackling cough and said, "You know how things work here. Cash only. What can you offer as proof of later payment? I cannot approach their boss without some guarantee."

Toon looked across the hall and saw Toadie, the rival gang chief, sitting at a table, playing cards with his bodyguards. He was also old, pot bellied and sweaty and he wore sunglasses, even in the dim light of the pool hall.

"I can pledge my sister-in-law. She's a virgin, young and very pretty."

Sam grabbed Toon's arm and said, "No," but Toon shook him off.

"Very well," said Mango. "The stakes are high. I will tell Toadie that if the _farangs_ are not returned safely in twenty four hours, then your sister-in-law will be handed over to them and you know what that means, don't you?"

Sam grabbed Toon's arm again and said, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I trust, Mr. John."

"With your family's life?"

Toon didn't answer him but turned back to Mango and said, "See if you can make the deal."

The old boss downed the remains of his whiskey glass, rubbed his wrinkled hands together and smiled, showing a golden tooth in a mouth that was mostly empty.

### Chapter Thirty Four

It was a long crossing to Ko Phangan and Oxman wondered if they had enough gas to make it. All he had on him was his passport, wallet, and the cell phone that Mark had given him. As they got closer to the island, he could see large bonfires scattered along the beach so he steered the boat for the main cluster of lights on shore, hoping to find a good landing spot.

"Keep your eyes peeled for a dock," he said to Betty and she leaned forward and cupped her eyes with her hands like she was holding a pair of binoculars.

"There!" she yelled, pointing towards a narrow pier that extended into the water.

Oxman cut back on the throttle and approached the pier with caution. The dock was simple and looked unstable but there were several small boats moored alongside it.

"Get ready to grab a forward line," he told Betty. "When I give you the word, grab it and jump onto the dock and hold the boat steady."

She moved to the bow and crouched with the line in her hand, ready to spring. Oxman found an empty spot between a longboat and small sailboat and pointed the bow towards it and cut the motor. They glided alongside and as the bow gently bumped into the pier he yelled at her to jump and she did.

"Now hold her steady," he said while grabbing an oar and pushing the stern up parallel to the dock and they both guided the boat slowly into its berth. Oxman jumped out and showed her how to tie the lines to the mooring posts.

"That was very professional. Very smooth," said Betty. "You really know your stuff."

"Coast Guard trained and union paid," said Oxman. "Let's go check out the party."

The boats tied up along the pier were empty but as they got closer to the beach, they could see large groups of people milling about. Most of them were foreigners, half naked and glowing red under the full moonlight, mixed with the leaping flames of bonfires that stretched up and down the beach in both directions.

As they stepped onto shore, a wild eyed, Thai man, half the size of Oxman with matted, unwashed hair, was stumbling around in circles with his arms outstretched, groping for something in the semi darkness.

"That guy is stoned out of his mind," laughed Betty.

"Get used to it. The party's just beginning."

People approached them as they strolled along the beach from bonfire to bonfire, offering drugs. Baggies filled with mushrooms, pills and magic marker sized, marijuana joints.

It was a "love in" and the plan was to just share your high and spread the joy. A lot of naked people danced around the fires, deep in a trance with their arms held up to the full moon, moving to the beat of techno music that blared from portable sound systems. It was Woodstock in Thailand and Betty enjoyed the scene, her eyes wide open and taking it all in. Somebody yelled at them from one of the groups sitting around a bonfire.

"Hey you two! Get naked!" and his command was drowned out in a chorus of laughter. A thirty something woman walked up to them. She was slender and topless, her perfect breasts swaying with each step she took. Long, wavy red hair fell down over her shoulders and she spoke to them in a British accent.

"Come join us," she begged. "We're a mature group. Not like most of these college kids who are blowing their minds beyond repair."

Betty looked at Oxman and he nodded so they followed her back to her circle of friends who sat, passing around a bong. The redhead introduced them to her man, a salt and peppered hair guy who was about Oxman's age. He offered him a cold beer and said, "My name is Jake. This is Brittany. Welcome to the party."

"Where are you two from?" asked Brittany.

"We're from the States. My name is Johnny and this is Betty."

"First time to a full moon party?

"Yep. First time."

"Well, relax and enjoy yourselves," said Brittany. "There's never any trouble here. Did you see our yacht anchored in the bay when you came in?"

"No, we didn't."

"We're on an extended holiday cruising the South Seas. Thailand is one of our most favorite places, especially Ko Phangan."

"It's so exotic," said Betty. "I've traveled a lot but I've never been anywhere like this."

"Why don't you take come clothes off, dear?" asked Brittany. "It's a hot night."

Oxman didn't have a problem removing his shirt but he wasn't in the mood to bare his ass. He saw Betty sweating and wondered what she would do, considering her recent mutilation.

"I just had an operation" she said to Brittany. "I don't care to show my scars at the moment."

"That's all right, honey. I understand. Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. No pressure here, right Jake?"

"None whatsoever," he said and took a big hit from a bong that was passed to him. He held it for awhile and then exhaled a plume of white smoke into the night air and gulped from his beer. Then he passed the bong to Brittany who did the same and handed it to Betty and said, "This is some awesome shit. Thai weed is killer."

"Killer," said Jake in a strange, drug induced tone of voice.

Betty held the bong in her hands, unsure of what to do.

"Here, let me help you, hon," said Brittany and she lifted the instrument to Betty's mouth and told her to suck in real hard as she lit the bowl with an ember from the fire. Oxman watched Betty inhale deeply, her cheeks collapsing at the effort.

"Now hold it in for as long as you can," advised Brittany.

Betty tried but started coughing up smoke after a couple of seconds and a ripple of laughter spread through the group.

"Wow!" said Betty, handing the bong to Oxman. "What a rush!"

Oxman didn't want to be a dud but he didn't want to get stoned either, so he pretended to inhale, lighting the bowl by himself and then put his head down between his knees, letting the smoke escape so nobody could see. He passed the bong to the next person beside him, a skinny hipster with a full beard and braided locks, who grabbed it like it was the last drink of water on earth.

Oxman could see Betty was stoned already and she pulled up her sarong to her waist, revealing her lily white legs and black lace panties. _Those need to come off,_ thought Oxman but he didn't say anything. Just sat there, quietly sipping his beer and watching everyone take bong hits and rubbing their naked bodies against each other.

Before long, Betty slid closer to him and started to move her hand down to his shorts. She slipped it under his belt and gently grabbed hold of his genitals and fondled them while blowing in his ear. _It's gonna be a helluva night,_ he thought and somebody tossed a log onto the bonfire and the flames shot higher into the air and everyone clapped.

"This is nice," said Betty. "Thanks for bringing me."

"After what you've been through, I guess you deserve a break from reality."

"You, too."

"Yeah. Me, too."

People were making out in the sand all around them. Oxman looked over at Brittany and Jake. She was stroking his dick and her eyes reflected the flames of the bonfire and matched the wicked grin on her face. Suddenly, a naked Thai man jumped through the fire, his cock and balls swinging wildly, and everyone hooted and clapped their approval. Oxman almost envied the fact that the guy felt no pain in his primal burst of ecstasy. It wasn't Oxman's idea of a good time but he figured he could do something to add to the show so he got up and started doing Toon's bird dance. Pretty soon, everybody else was up on their feet, including Betty, who tore off her panties and tossed them into the fire. Naked bodies gyrating everywhere and someone started a rumba chain around the bonfire. Somebody in the shadows who was operating the sound system slipped in some Mambo music and everybody put their hands on the hips of the person in front of them and they circled the flames to the beat, a chain of stoned, dancing lunatics.

Betty's hands were on Oxman's ass and he was holding on to Brittany as they all shook their way around the bonfire, the smell of smoke, sweat and tropical aromas filling the air. When the music finally stopped, everyone collapsed into their partner's arms and Betty pulled Oxman closer and on top of her, falling to the ground. She started kissing him and grinding her hips against his. Risk or no risk, it seemed the inevitable was bound to happen between them and it did.

### Chapter Thirty Five

As the fires smoldered and dawn started to break, Oxman looked around at the sleeping, naked couples wrapped up in each other and covered in beach towels. Brittany also lifted her head and said to him, "Why don't you two come and join us on your yacht for breakfast?"

"Sounds good," said Betty. "I could use a shower, also."

"Me, too," said Jake and they all walked to the beach and climbed inside a small, rubber dinghy and rowed their way out to the yacht.

"Make yourselves at home," said Betty, still topless and uninhibited as she climbed aboard, leading the way for the others.

Oxman had never been on such a beautiful boat before. It was a forty seven foot, two cabin Catalina. Teak wood trim. Brass railings on the decks and a luxury interior, complete with a full galley and custom leather seating. Jake pulled down a Formica dining table from the bulkhead and invited Oxman and Betty to have a seat as Betty started a pot of coffee in the galley.

"So what do you do in the States?" asked Jake.

"I used to be a merchant sailor."

"No kidding? So you've seen a bit of the world, too?"

"Enough. I'm settled in Seattle right now."

"That's a great place. We've sailed Puget Sound before. All the way up the inland waterway to Alaska. Absolutely beautiful scenery."

"How long have you been cruising?" asked Betty.

"Almost a year. I own an investment firm in England. Do you know anything about sailboats, Johnny?"

"My friend is an avid yachtsman. We've done a lot of coastal sailing and racing together."

"Did you hear that, Brittany?" said Jake as she brought them coffee and glasses of fresh squeezed, orange juice. Oxman had a hard time not staring at her breasts when she leaned over to set the tray on the table between them. They were flawless and without blemish, nipples perfect and pink.

"So we have a genuine seaman on board?" she said, smiling up at Oxman, noticing his gaze.

She went back into the galley and started frying some bacon and cracking some eggs.

"What are your plans in Thailand?" asked Jake.

"Not to stay long. Betty and I have to move on as soon as we can get a problem resolved."

"And what problem is that?"

Before Oxman could answer, his cell phone rang and he reached into his pants to answer it. It was Mark.

"Where are you?" he asked from the other end.

"Nearby. We met some people and we're hanging out."

"Well, you'd better get back to the resort ASAP. There's a, ah, situation."

"What kind of situation?"

"Toon and Sam were in an accident. It seems like their jeep ran off a cliff on the south side of Samui. The police found them this morning. Dead."

Oxman was stunned at the news and didn't say a word as Brittany returned from the galley and set down plates of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of them. Jake started eating immediately but Betty noticed that something was wrong.

"Excuse me," he said. "I've got to go out on deck. Get better reception."

"What's going on?" asked Betty. "Is everything all right?"

"Don't worry. Go ahead and eat," he said as he climbed out above decks and stood, staring out over the glistening surface of the Gulf of Thailand.

"Are you still there?" asked Mark.

"Yeah. Are you sure? About Sam and Toon, I mean?"

"Sure, I'm sure. There are a couple of cops here at the resort right now. They've been talking to Toon's wife for about an hour. They know about you and Betty and they're bringing in a special team of investigators from Surat Thani on the first ferry this morning."

"What about Jesse and Osterberg?"

"Who knows? All I know is that I can't go anywhere and they are scouring the island for you and Betty."

"Great. Now I'm wanted in Thailand, also."

"I'm cool. I've got an alibi. I picked up this bar girl last night and brought her back to the bungalow and we did boom boom all night. She's my witness."

"So what should we do?"

"Run like the wind and call me when you're safe if you can. I can't talk, anymore. Goodbye Johnny and good luck."

Mark hung up and Oxman leaned against the boat's rail, staring down at the clear, blue water below. Betty had finished her breakfast and came out on deck. She hugged him from behind and said, "How are you feeling, lover?"

Oxman told her the news and she squinted against the glare of the rising sun behind him.

"Hey! Who wants a shower?" asked Brittany, poking her head up from below decks.

"What are we going to do, Johnny?" asked Betty, ignoring her. "We can't go back there."

"I know. Let's go inside. I have an idea. But act casual and let me do the talking."

"Okay. I'll try."

"But we need more money. I don't have enough to get us very far."

"If they have Internet access on this boat, I can connect to my Swiss account and transfer the money to a bank here in Thailand."

"That might work."

So they went below decks and Betty helped Brittany wash the dishes as Jake took a shower. When he was finished, Oxman asked him if he could show him around the yacht. He did so with great pride like most boat owners, starting topside until they got into the pilot house where Oxman sat in the captain's chair and said, "This is way cool. You've got all the latest electronics. I'll bet you even have a satellite, Internet hookup."

"Have to," said Jake. "Got to keep in touch with my business back home."

"That's a coincidence."

"How so?"

"Betty was asking me earlier if she could check her email somehow. This damn cell phone won't do it."

"No problem. Go get her and I'll get her connected."

Oxman went to get Betty as Jake booted up the computer. He found her chatting with Brittany and giggling over coffee about the party last night. _Good girl,_ he thought, _playing it, oh so cool._

"Hey Betty," he said. "Jake says you can use their Internet access to check your email."

"Excellent! I'll be there in a minute."

Oxman went back to talk to Jake who was on the radio with someone. He quit the conversation when he saw him coming and said, "Just checking out the local weather, mate. No typhoons or anything on the way. Maybe we should go for a sail today."

"Sounds great."

### Chapter Thirty Six

Jake pulled out a navigational chart of the Gulf of Thailand and they both examined it.

"What's that?" asked Oxman, pointing to a spot on the southern coast of the mainland.

"That's Pattaya. It's a big, resort city. The U.S. Navy likes to dock its ships there for some R and R from time to time. You mean to tell me you never heard of it?"

"Well, yes I have, but I didn't know exactly where it was. When I come to Thailand I usually just stay in Bangkok or Samui."

"Pattaya's a rage, mate! But you wouldn't want to stay for more than a couple of days. Too Vegas like."

"How long would it take to sail there from here?" asked Oxman.

Jake punched some keys on his GPS navigator and then said two hundred miles.

"We've done it before. Twelve to fifteen hours, depending on the wind and seas."

Betty had finally made her way to the pilot house and looked around, impressed by all the electronic devices.

"Wow! This is space age," she said.

"Did you want to use the Internet now?" asked Jake.

"If you don't mind."

"Okay. I'll set it up for you and then I've got to go check the bilge pumps."

Jake left and Betty sat down in front of the computer and Oxman asked her if she was sure she could pull this off.

"No problem. First, let me search for an international bank in Pattaya. Hmmm. There are quite a few. Let's try this one. Bangkok Metropolitan Bank. Got it. Now I have to open an online account there. Give me your passport, Johnny."

Oxman handed it to her and she punched in his information and said, "Perfect. John Oxman now has a bank account in Thailand."

"Now what?"

"Now I access my Swiss account and transfer money into your new account."

"It's that easy?"  
"Yep."

Oxman watched her transferring the money and heard laughter from Betty and Jake in the main cabin outside.

"Sounds like they're having some fun," he said.

"The fun is just beginning for us," said Betty and pressed down on the ENTER key with a definitive flourish and said, "Done. There we go. 5 mil on its way to Thailand via satellite. Should be there tomorrow morning."

"Five million? U.S.? Are you kidding me?"

"What? Surprised? I told you I had money."

"Yeah, but I didn't think that much."

"Baby, I might have only one breast but I've still got both sides of my brain. Now there's only one problem."

"What's that?"

"How do we get to Pattaya?"

"In case you haven't noticed, we're on a sailboat. Jake suggested we go sailing today," said Oxman. "I know I could convince him to head for Pattaya."

"I still need a passport to leave Thailand," said Betty.

"Then we'll go to the passport gettin' place."

"And where's that?"  
"Back to Bangkok."

"You can do that, there?"

"Yep. I still have a friend that I haven't seen in a long time."

"An old lover, I'll bet."

"More like a business partner. Now there's one thing I have to do right now."

"What's that?"

"Get rid of this."

Oxman pulled out Mark's cell phone, opened the window hatch and tossed it out into the water.

"No way to trace us now," he said.

They went back into the main cabin, past Brittany and Jake's room. Their door was open and they were naked and making out on the bed. Brittany looked up at them over Jake's shoulder with the same evil grin that Oxman saw on her face the night before.

"What's there to hide anymore?" she laughed and so did Jake.

"Are you two going to be at it all day?" asked Betty.

"Nah. I'm putting on my bikini. Jake tells me we're headed for Pattaya.  
"Did you get your emails?" asked Jake, sliding to the edge of the bed.

"Yep. And when we get to Pattaya, I can access my bank account and pay you guys something for your troubles."

"No need," said Betty. "Just buy us a nice seafood dinner at a restaurant on the beach somewhere."

"You got it."

"I have a spare bikini, somewhere. Do you want to borrow it, Betty?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Just let me rinse out my sarong in the shower and I'm good to go."

"Well, that's it then," said Jake. "Let's get ready to set sail, mate."

"Lead the way, captain," said Oxman.

The two men went out on deck and Jake told Oxman to standby the forward anchor in the bow as he fired up the inboard motor and then stood behind the wheel in the cockpit.

"Start heaving her up," he yelled and Oxman opened a stainless steel box under the rail and flipped a lever. The anchor winch started pulling up slowly and the chain rattled up into the bow. Oxman carefully watched it until he saw the anchor at the water's edge and stopped the winch.

"Anchor's aweigh," shouted Oxman.

"Roger, that," said Jake and he started backing the boat away from the shoreline. Oxman surveyed the beach as he did. It looked like the aftermath of a zombie fest. Hung over lovers, many of them still naked, walked around smoldering bonfires, handing each other small parcels. _More drugs or food,_ thought Oxman. Nobody watched them pulling out of the harbor. He saw the boat they had taken from Samui, still tied up to the pier where they had left it the night before. It reminded him of Toon and, now, his widow. Somehow, he would have to make things right for her.

"Get ready to set the mainsail," yelled Jake as he finished turning the boat away from the island, straight into the rising sun that burned red, hot and huge in a cloudless sky. Oxman stood by the boom and when Jake gave the command, he latched the clew of the mainsail onto a mast shackle and flipped another switch and watched the sail rise mechanically, filling out with a slight curve from an offshore, early morning breeze.

"Release the jib!" barked Jake so Oxman climbed forward again and unfastened the ties on the forward sail and flipped another switch and the jib unfurled itself and caught the breeze and filled out, lifting the boat out of the water slightly and moving it forward faster. The work and movement invigorated Oxman as he felt once again fully in his element, in tune with the wind and the water, on course towards the end of the tropical rainbow of his imaginations.

### Chapter Thirty Seven

The cruise to Pattaya was straight forward, pleasant and smooth. Jake and Oxman took turns on the wheel and the Catalina glided along the surface like a well oiled machine. The wind was steady and the skies remained clear. It was hot but the sun felt good, drying everybody out from the night before. The girls took turns sunbathing on the bow and serving the boys refreshments at the helm. Jake didn't drink while underway and Oxman admired that. He was a prudent sailor and kept focused on sky, sea and sail throughout the trip.

"It's good to have some male company on board for a change," said Jake to Oxman. "Me and the wife have been alone most of the time."

"Yeah, the more the merrier, I guess."

"Sure, but you have to be careful with strangers, especially in this part of the world."

"How do you mean?"

"Lots of people with shady backgrounds. Criminals on the run and stuff like that. And then there are the pirates."

"Pirates?"

"Oh yeah! I've heard of yachts being overrun by gangs and the owners taken for ransom or just killed. Mostly down south in the waters around Malaysia."

"Terrorists?"

"More like opportunists. I've got guns on board, you know. Brittany is quite proficient with a firearm but more guns the better to fend of an attack."

"It's a big ocean. You'd have to be pretty unlucky to run into pirates."

"I guess you're right but it's all part of the thrill. Shouldn't give it too much thought."

"Not on a day like today."

"No need to think negative thoughts in paradise, right?"

"Right."

They made excellent time across the gulf and Jake estimated their time of arrival at Pattaya at around 1900. Just in time to secure the boat and get ready to hit the town when the night life was beginning. All Oxman could think about was the five million that would be waiting in a bank account for him the next morning. Beyond that, he had no plans except to take Betty back to Bangkok and try to contact his old friend, Nit, a savvy, spicy bar girl that he met years ago. They had hit it off well, traveling around the countryside together for weeks at a time. Even though they both knew the relationship was temporary, they grew fond of each other and managed to keep in touch over the years. She wrote him often and he would send her a few dollars when he had the chance.

Nit was a poor, country girl form Northeastern Thailand and had worked her way up in Bangkok's underworld by establishing a reputation of keeping herself clean and trustworthy. She once told him she could get him anything she wanted in Thailand, for a price, of course, and he treated her generously, unlike other foreigners who liked to dump on Thai women. Nit told Oxman that he had good karma. He didn't know about that but so far his luck had held out and he prayed it would for awhile longer.

The sun began its quick descent into the western horizon and Oxman could soon see the shore of the mainland growing closer. Pretty soon, the high rise condos of Pattaya began to appear and the wind picked up, completely filling the sails of the Catalina, pushing them faster to port.

"Get ready to make our approach," said Jake. "Go forward and standby to unhook the jib sail."

"Aye, aye," said Oxman. The girls had already gone below, having had enough sun for the day, and he could hear them chattering and laughing below decks as he stepped over the cabin on his way to the bow. He kept a sharp eye out for any other boat traffic or buoys that signaled the opening of the channel entrance.

"Come right ten degrees," yelled Oxman when he spotted the entrance buoy.

"Ten degrees right," repeated Jack, turning the wheel to starboard.

"Two hundred yards to the channel entrance," yelled Oxman.

"Release the jib," barked Jake and Oxman unsnapped the shackle and set the mechanized furler in motion and the sail tightly wound itself against the forestay and he tied it up. He could hear Jake starting the engine and they chugged slowly into the channel.

"Lower the main sail," commanded Jake and Oxman moved back to the main mast and pulled down the main sheet and helped guide it around the boom as it came down slowly under its own power and the force of gravity. The beach was clearly visible now and Oxman could see and hear groups of people walking along the promenade, some of them stopping to watch their approach.

"Standby the forward anchor," shouted Jake and Oxman went up to the bow again and tested the release mechanism, lowering the anchor just to the water's edge.

Mark slowed the Catalina to a dead crawl and inched his way among the many other yachts that were already moored in the shallow bay. He found a clear spot between two cruisers and kicked the motor in reverse and the forward motion of the boat stopped and they began to back down slowly.

"Drop the hook!" yelled Jake and Oxman pushed the release handle all the way forward until he heard the anchor splash through the surface, sinking to the bottom. The boat stopped its reverse motion and Jake cut the engine and threw out the stern anchor, securing their position just yards away from the beach. Oxman walked back to the cockpit to join him.

"Well done, mate," said Jake. "You're a top notch sailor."

"It's what I do."

He slapped Oxman on the back and said, "Let's go below and get ready for a night on the town."

Betty hugged Oxman as he entered the main cabin and kissed him. She was wearing white shorts and a billowy, sleeveless top that Brittany had loaned her.

"My hero sailor boy," she said and he could feel the warmth from her sun baked, skin against his body. Her shapely legs had become a fine shade of brown along with her arms and face. She seemed transformed by the ocean crossing and was oozing an electric sensuality that made his blood boil.

"Somebody's hungry," laughed Brittany and Jake embraced his wife also. The girls had been primping themselves for the night ahead and Jake and Oxman took turns taking showers as the girls mixed up some cocktails. They sat in the galley and drank for awhile until dusk turned into night and their hunger urged them to finally go ashore.

They climbed into the dinghy and headed for the pier.

"Remember," said Oxman. "It's my treat, tonight."

"Our pleasure," said Brittany as Jake rowed them to the dock and tied up the dinghy with chains, locking the small craft against the mooring poles.

"Is that necessary?" asked Oxman.

"Watch yourself in Pattaya," warned Jake. "Some folks here will try to steal the air you breathe."

They disembarked from the dinghy and walked hand in hand down the pier, two couples from beyond the horizon in search of a good meal and a great time.

### Chapter Thirty Eight

The streets were alive and filled with searching tourists. Motorbikes and bar girls tried luring them into neon lit bars, promising sex shows like they had never seen before.

"Be careful about the women," said Jake to Oxman. "Lots of lady boys around here."

"Yeah. Be sure to check their junk before spending money on the rummage sale."

Jake doubled over in laughter and said, "You got a great wit, mate. I like that."

"This looks like an interesting place," said Betty, pointing to a restaurant with tables that extended onto the beach. The menu seemed promising, and they could smell the shellfish steaming inside and saw the smartly dressed, Thai waitresses and waiters floating between tables, serving drinks and carrying hot plates of fried rice, spicy noodles, fresh fruit assortments and other delicacies, so they went in and got a table near the beach.

"Bring us a bottle of Mekong," said Jake to the Thai boy who instantly appeared at their table. He nodded and hurried off.

"Are you hoping to tie one on?" laughed Oxman.  
"We'll do it Thai style," he said. "Drink and eat our fill at the same time. You won't even notice it. After this, we'll all be in the mood for a good show."

"Bring in the freaks!" laughed Brittany and Betty took Oxman's hand and smiled at him. She was growing more beautiful everyday. The time spent under the sun, the flickering candlelight on the dinner table, the relaxed mood with their new friends. Everything worked to bring out a glow in her that warmed his insides along with the whiskey. It was the closest feeling to love that he had ever felt before. To top it all off, five million was on its way. _Maybe the storm had finally passed,_ he thought. It almost made him forget. Almost.

### Chapter Thirty Nine

"You shouldn't have promised Dah," said Sam to Toon as they drove away from the pool hall, headed for the south side of the island.

"Relax. No problem. We get the _farangs,_ hold them for a day and let them go. "

"What if they don't want to come with us?"

"They will," said Toon, pulling out his revolver from his waist band and showing it to Sam.

"You're crazy, Toon. All this because Mr. John is your friend?"

"He will pay me back. Don't worry."

"You think he has enough money to help you with your gambling debts?"

"I think the woman does."

"And what makes you sure you will see any of her money?"

"I will talk to Mr. John. He has helped me before. He will help me again if I explain to him I am in danger of losing my business."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes."

Sam shook his head but didn't say another word as they made their way down the hills toward Maret. Toadie, the boss of the gang that controlled the south side of the island, gave them the green light to get Jesse and Osterberg but they would only stay out of the way and nothing more for the time being.

The jeep reached the coastal road and Toon turned it towards Maret, passing ramshackle villages and stagnant inlets that reeked of human waste and rotting garbage. The beaches were black and rocky, unlike those on the north side, and very few tourists were tempted to bring their dollars to the leeward side of Samui unless it was for illegal transactions, mostly prostitution and drugs.

"It's a full moon," said Sam, looking out over the surface of the motionless ocean. "It will be hard to sneak up on the _farangs."_

"Hopefully, they will be sleeping," said Toon. "But we must be quiet like snakes."

About a quarter of a mile before they reached Jesse and Osterber's bungalow, Toon pulled off the road and parked. They could see the small cabin on stilts and it was completely dark.

"You wait here," said Toon. "When you see a light go on in the bungalow, you come and get us. That means I have them."

"Are you sure you can do this alone?"

"Not alone," said Toon as he grabbed his 38 and flipped open the chamber, spinning it to make sure it was fully loaded.

Sam got behind the wheel and watched him walk slowly towards the bungalow, a ghost in the moonlight. finally lost in the shadows and silence. He glanced at the green, luminescent digital clock on the dashboard. _3:30._ The night was completely silent and Sam lowered the window and stuck his head outside to try and hear anything coming from the direction of the bungalow. He strained his eyes to see better and thought about moving the jeep forward down the road just a few yards, but then a hand reached out of the darkness, covering his face and mouth and he felt the tip of cold steel against the base of the back of his neck. The last words he ever heard were, "Dah will be fucked by a thousand men before you see her in hell again."

The sea plane that had been anchored off the beach in front of Jesse and Osterber's bungalow came to life, its propeller engine sputtering and then whizzing into high gear as it turned towards the horizon. It skimmed across the flat, black surface of the water and lifted into the sky, like a slumbering, sea monster that was drawn by moonbeams towards another realm, hauntingly ephemeral.

### Chapter Forty

Oxman and Betty walked hand in hand behind Brittany and Jake down the main street of Pattaya past nightclubs filled with half naked women, fully visible from the street. He knew if he were alone, he would have been constantly hounded by the hustlers and hawkers, trying to draw people inside. But they left couples alone, only politely suggesting that they come inside to see the show. Finally, they all decided to go into a place that advertised on its marquee, "The Most Beautiful and Exotic Travesti Pageant in the World."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Oxman asked Brittany and Jake. "These are men masquerading as women."

"Why not?" answered Brittany. "Everything's ultimately an illusion and, besides, I hear that Thai transsexuals are the most stunning."

"Let's do it," said Betty tugging his arm.

"You don't say?" said Oxman.

"C'mon," insisted Betty, pulling his arm so he was led into a club between purple, silk curtains. A handsome, smiling young Thai man led them all to a booth beside the main stage. Oxman was still buzzing from the Mekong and only ordered mineral water and waited.

"Ladies and gentleman," said a Thai man, dressed in a white tuxedo who stepped onto the stage. "Welcome to the show. Witness the beauty, illusion and grace of Asia, the seduction! You won't believe your eyes!"

The lights lowered and the pounding rhythm of disco filled the bar. A giant, silver ball dropped from the ceiling, rotating and reflecting multicolored lights that shone off of Oxman's face, aggravating him. Dry ice fog covered the stage and a procession of gorgeous creatures entered it from the wings, strutting around each other in perfect, choreographed precision, flickering fans and feathers across their perfect, young bodies.

"Amazing!" said Betty transfixed. "I can't believe they are really all men!"

"Believe what you want," said Oxman.

The dancers turned more exotic, tossing their props into the audience until they were all topless and gyrating seductively in skin tight thongs that glowed in the light.

"How did they get such perfect boobs?" asked Brittany.

"Jealous?" said Jake. "You can get anything you want in Thailand. All you have to do is want it bad enough."

Suddenly, the music stopped and the lights cut off, leaving the place completely darkened and the small audience sat in anxious anticipation. Then the spotlights flashed on, focusing on each of the dancers who were completely naked, their arms stretched in the air above their heads, showing their tiny penises. Everyone clapped as they ran off stage in clicking, stiletto high heels, butt cheeks bouncing in supple allurement.

"Are you all satisfied? asked Oxman. "Now let's get out of here."

"Why so glum, chum?" said Jake. "That was amazing."

"If you say so."

Brittany and Betty were giggling like teenagers but Oxman got up to leave and they followed him. The doorman stopped and said, "There's a better show next. A live sex show. You don't want to miss it."

Oxman pushed him aside and when they were outside he said, "Let's go back to the boat."

"Why?" asked Brittany. "The night is still young."

"I've got business in the morning and I want to have my head on straight."

"You don't have to drink anymore, mate," said Jake.

"I know but I'd just rather call it a night, if you don't mind."

"Oh, all right. What the hell. There's always tomorrow. It has been a long day at sea."

They made their way back to the dinghy and then rowed to the yacht, the sounds of the nightlife following them below decks like a chorus of unrelenting sirens. Brittany and Jake had a nightcap in the galley and then went into their cabin and Oxman heard the door lock behind them and Brittany giggling again.

"Those two are always at it," said Betty as they went into their cabin and climbed into bed together. "They must be deeply in love."

Betty slid up against Oxman, her eager warm body begging for his touch. She put her head on his chest and asked, "Do you love me, Johnny?"

"I love you, Betty. From the first minute I saw you."

"But money changes everything, doesn't it? Tomorrow, we'll have millions."

"Change isn't always a bad thing."

"I hope not," she said and then fell asleep.

Oxman stared out the open porthole. He could see the starry, tropical night sky and the slightly waning, full moon. A small shadow crossed it. Maybe it was a cloud. Or an airplane. He wasn't sure. _I hope not, either,_ he thought and then fell asleep.

### Chapter Forty One

It was a sailor's dream. Waking up at the crack of dawn, the cool, ocean breeze blowing into the cabin through the open porthole. The early morning squawk of seagulls and the sound of fishing boats headed out to sea, their whining, high pitched engines music to Oxman's ears. There was something about the dull roar of machinery that comforted him. Predictable. Purposeful. Controllable. And this morning he had a beautiful woman in bed next to him with a big payoff waiting ashore. He reached out to gently touch Betty's ass. She moved slightly but didn't wake up so he climbed carefully over her and went out into the galley to start a pot of coffee.

Soon, Brittany came out of her cabin, topless and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. When she saw Oxman, she smiled and stepped towards him, her perfect breasts leading the way like magnets to steel. He was about to say good morning but when he opened his mouth, she embraced him and kissed him, rolling her tongue under his. Oxman was thrilled and shocked, thinking about Jake just a few feet away. Brittany grabbed his head and pulled her face away and said quietly, "Be a good boy and don't tell." And then she turned around and walked back into her cabin, leaving Oxman alone at the launch pad, the liftoff sequence fully engaged.

He completely forgot about the coffee pot and it started to boil over, so he grabbed it and poured himself a cup and climbed out onto the deck of the Catalina to try to clear the cobwebs from his mind. A few, early morning risers were combing the Pattaya beach, wading through the tide pools, but most of the town was still asleep. He sipped his coffee and watched the sun slowly lift above the horizon like a giant, orange balloon. It was another cloudless day and sure to be hot again. The sea was as calm as a mirror and he looked down over the rail of the boat and saw his own reflection, watery and detached. And then he thought about Bruce. Had anyone found his body yet? Bloated, decomposing and bleached white like so many of the floaters that he had scooped up out of the drink while in the Coast Guard. A wave of guilt washed through him. Many people had died helping him so far. Suzie Wong. Toon and Sam. He looked away from his reflection and told himself that it wasn't his fault. He hadn't forced anyone to do anything. But he was dying to find out what happened to Jesse and Osterberg. Was Mark safe? He was imagining what he would be telling the cops in Samui. A chill ran down his spine and he turned to see Betty standing behind him, still in her pajamas.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said, self consciously patting her hair with her hands. "I must look a mess."

"You're beautiful this early."

She smiled and stepped into his arms and hugged him and said, "Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up like this everyday?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean together. Somewhere on a yacht like this in some exotic place."

"Can't get much more exotic than Thailand."

"I know but we can't stay here."

"That's a given."

"So what's the plan, captain?"

"The plan is we wait for the banks to open and then get some cash and hightail it for Bangkok to find my old friend."

"What about Brittany and Jake?"

"What about them?"

"No goodbyes?"

"Nope. It's too dangerous."

"How so? Maybe they can still help us."

Oxman thought about Brittany's kiss earlier but before he could say anything, they could hear movement below decks. Jake stuck his head out the cabin door and said, "There you are. I thought you two had slipped away during the night."

"Abandon ship?" said Oxman. "For what reason?"

"There you go, mate," laughed Jake. "Come on down and have some breakfast."

He disappeared back into the cabin and Betty started to follow him but Oxman grabbed her arm and said, "There's something I was gonna tell you."

"I know," she said. "I can almost read your mind now. What is it?"

"Let's save it for later. Just stick with the plan and act like everything's normal."

"But it is, Johnny. Everything is working out like it was meant to be."

And then she pulled away from him and went down into the cabin and he followed like he had been following her ever since that night at The Forecastle. A hostage to fortune trailing a mutilated lady in distress.

Oxman thought it would be difficult to convince Brittany and Jake that he and Betty wanted to go ashore alone, but it wasn't a problem at all. They had both drank too much the night before and were content on just lounging around the Catalina for the day.

"Besides," said Jake, "I've got some maintenance work to do on the rigging and Betty wants to clean up the cabin and galley also."

"Can we get you anything ashore?" asked Oxman.

"No, thanks," said Brittany. "We'll go on later. You two go ahead and take care of business. Just tie a line to the dinghy and we can pull it back from the pier when we're ready. I'm sure somebody will be standing around to cast it off for us."

So Oxman and Betty went into town after breakfast. It was mid morning already and they waved down a pedicab and told the driver to take them to the Bangkok Metropolitan Bank. He sped them across town and dropped them off at the entrance.

"You wait here," said Oxman to Betty.

"Why?"

"Because they probably have security cameras inside and you don't want to be seen right now, especially with me."

"Oh, okay. Good thinking."

"Wait here with the pedicab and he'll take us to the bus station when I'm done."

Oxman gave the driver a hundred bill baht. He looked it over and nodded and put his sandaled feet up on the handle bars of the bike and leaned back to wait.

Oxman kissed Betty's cheek and entered the bank and went straight to a desk that had a sign above it that read "International Transfers and Money Exchange" and casually sat down in a chair in front of it. A smartly dressed, bespectacled Thai woman looked up and said, "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes, please. I'm expecting a money transfer from Switzerland."

"May I see your passport?"

Oxman pulled it out of his waistband and slid it across the desk to her. She examined it and then punched at her computer's keyboard and stared at the screen for a long time.

"This is a very large sum of money, Mr. Oxman," she said. "How much do you want to withdraw? We are only a branch bank and we don't have that full amount here."

"Can I get ten thousand U.S. in Thai baht, then?"

"One moment, sir," she said and then got up to get a bank manager. Oxman could see them talking in whispers and glancing occasionally at him from the opposite end of the bank. Finally, the manager, a middle aged man with clean looks and meticulous manners sat down where the girl had been sitting, and she stood behind him, letting her boss take over.

"Is there a problem?" asked Oxman.

"No problem, Mr. Oxman. We have as much available as you requested but are you sure you want to carry that much money around with you?"

"I've heard that before and I'll take the chance again."

"As you wish, sir," he said and then headed back towards the vault, returning after fifteen minutes with neatly bundled stacks of hundred baht bills. The manager counted the money as the girl watched, almost drooling, since it was probably a year's salary for her.

"Do you have anything to carry this money in?" asked the manager. "I can offer you a standard pouch but I suggest you put it in a briefcase as quickly as possible. There is a small department store just down the street that sells such accessories."

"Thanks for the tip."

"Is there anything else I can do for you then?"

"Yes. I'd like to transfer the balance back to a new, Swiss account. One in my name only."

The manager turned and said something to the clerk in Thai and then back to Oxman and asked him to follow him.

"Very well," said Oxman and he picked up the cash and followed the manager who sat him down at his desk in front of a computer and then stood off to the side. Oxman had never opened a Swiss bank account before so he didn't have a clue what to do, but he remained calm and just Googled for instructions. He found a website for Credit Suisse bank and, to his frustration, he discovered that in order to open an account, he had to call them directly. The manager watched him intensely and it made him feel uncomfortable, so he jotted the phone number down and stuffed it into his wallet and closed the browser window.

"Was there a problem, Mr. Oxman?"

"Well, I wanted to contact my financial advisor at the bank but it's after hours in Europe so I guess I'll wait until later."

"Thank you for letting us help you, Mr. Oxman. Enjoy your stay in Thailand."

"How could I not?"

### Chapter Forty Two

Oxman tucked the bulging, money bag under his arm like a running back protecting a football and left the bank. Betty was patiently waiting for him in the pedicab.

"Is everything, okay?" she asked.

"I couldn't get the full amount. They don't have that much here. We'll have to figure something out in Bangkok but first we need to do some shopping."

The pedicab driver took them to the department store down the road and dropped them off.

"Time to add a little style to our getaway," said Oxman. "Get yourself some fashionable, comfortable traveling clothes."

"What about you? What do you need?"

"A bodyguard," laughed Oxman and then grabbed her by the arm and inside the sliding doors of the store. The place was upscale, air conditioned and nearly empty of shoppers but full of willing clerks who were ready to serve them hand and foot.

Betty was quick, direct and practical in her shopping and Oxman liked that. She didn't spend more than an hour in the woman's section and ended up buying a couple of easy care, cotton blouses and a pair of printed Capris along with some comfortable sandals. Oxman picked out two polo shirts and some white khaki pants with lots of pockets, and then they went to the luggage section where he purchased a large duffel bag, suitable for carry on air travel and a plain, combination lock briefcase that was sturdy. He went into the changing room and stuffed as much money as he could into his pockets and put the rest in the briefcase. They left the store, ready for the road to Bangkok, deciding it would be safer and more comfortable to hire a taxi driver to make the two hour trip. One quickly agreed when he heard Oxman's offer of 500 hundred baht.

"Where are you going to in Bangkok?" asked the driver as they got onto the main highway leading out of Pattaya.

"Soi Cowboy," said Oxman. "Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, of course. A very popular place."

"How long to get there?" asked Betty.

"Two, maybe three hours," answered the driver. "If no traffic."

"I wonder what Brittany and Jake are thinking," said Betty.

"Do you really care?"

"They were very helpful and nice. We should have at least said goodbye."

"We couldn't risk it."

"I guess you're right," she said and put on the new pair of sunglasses that she picked up on the way out of the store and stared at the passing countryside.

There wasn't much to see on the road to Bangkok. It was a busy highway with new construction going on everywhere. It reminded Oxman of driving from Seattle to Tacoma. New suburbs turning into urban sprawl, burying a once pristine landscape into an endless row of strip malls and Holiday Inns. He tried to think of a place that he and Betty could go to in order to escape globalization once they got some new passports. Maybe South America? There had to be a good alternative, but he had never been a fugitive before so he didn't know the ropes. The taxi driver interrupted his thoughts.

"Where are you from?" he asked, looking at them in the rear view mirror. "America? Australia?"

"England," said Betty, obviously thinking of Brittany and Jake.

Her spontaneous answer gave Oxman an idea for an alias. He remembered reading Joseph Conrad's "Typhoon" at sea one time and the thought of the doomed ship's captain, Captain MacWhirr, the resolute, unwavering master who refused to surrender to fate. _Perfect,_ he thought, _I'll become John MacWhirr. Anglo and anchorless._

"John?" asked Betty. "What are you thinking? You seem distracted."

"I'm thinking of your new name."

She smiled and snuggled closer and leaned against him. The taxi driver smiled and asked, "Are you on your honeymoon?"

"Honeymoon, yes," repeated Oxman. "Thailand's a great place for lovers."

Before long, they entered the outskirts of Bangkok again, suddenly surrounded by crowded busses, cargo trucks, pick ups full of peasant, day laborers and motorbikes swerving in and out between traffic.

Soi Cowboy was different during the day. Gone where the carousing foreigners and sleazy bar girls. Shirtless, Thai men were unloading cases of beer and whiskey into bars along the strip, and servant girls swept the sidewalks, carefully cleaning the windows and picking up litter from the curbsides. That's one thing Oxman really admired about the Thais. They were determined to keep surface appearances clean and fresh. It was a never ending battle to fight off the fungus and germs that grew like wildfire in the tropical heat.

"Drop us off here," Oxman told the driver, pointing to a bar called Geronimo's Last Stand. It was the last place he saw Nit years ago. She was a bar girl and they spent a lot of days and nights together. If she didn't work there anymore, Oxman was sure someone inside could tell him where to find her.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Betty, following him inside.

"No, but I got nothing else."

Geronimo's was a typical, Soi Cowboy girlie bar with a center stage for pole dancing. A guy could go there and just drink and not be hassled if he wasn't interested in buying a girl for the night. Very low key. No pressure.

Since it was early, the joint was empty except for a young, Thai man sitting behind the bar, smoking and watching television. He stood up when he saw Oxman and Betty walk in.

"What you like?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Nit," said Oxman. "She used to work here."

"I don't know Nit but I'm new here. I will ask the owner. She's in back. Just a minute."

So Oxman and Betty sat at the counter and waited. She stared out the front window, watching some working girls walk by on their way to wherever in order to get themselves ready for the night ahead.

"Is this Nit a prostitute?" asked Betty.

"More like a friend."

"But you paid her for sex before, right?"

"That's in the past. We, ah, developed a sort of relationship."

"What kind of relationship can you develop with a whore?"

"Let me explain something to you, Betty. Most of these girls have no education. They can't afford one. They come from families in rural Thailand that are dirt poor and they sacrifice themselves so they can send money home to support their families."

"Nice way to put it."

"Nit was different, though."

"How so?"

"After the first time, she wouldn't take any money from me. She said I was different from the other foreigners. She just wanted to be with me for some reason. I think she loved me."

"And did you love her?"

"Not exactly."

"What exactly then?"

"Compassion, maybe. Understanding. I don't know. Sometimes you meet someone in life and things happen."

"So what did she do for you, then?"

"Well, whenever my ship laid over in Bangkok, I'd come to see her and take her out to dinner. Sometimes, we would take trips around the country and she helped me stay out of trouble or get ripped off or too drunk."

"So she became your fallen, guardian angel?"

"Does that bother you?"

"No. I guess it's what you needed at the time."

"Yeah, and although she never asked, I used to send her money from time to time."

"Are you now?"

"I'm older, tired of being alone if that's what you mean."

"So you'd settle for somebody like me?"

"Sure. You're rich, beautiful and I love you."

"In that order?"

"Not necessarily."

"Well, at least your honest and you did rescue me."

"Is that why you want to be with me?"  
"Touché."

### Chapter Forty Three

All this time, Oxman had also been occasionally looking out through the front window until he saw something that made him jump. Betty noticed his alarm and followed his gaze outside.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I just saw Jesse across the street talking to a Thai girl."

"What? Are you serious? Where?"

"She's gone now. I just caught a glimpse of her. C'mon. We better get outta here."

Oxman took her hand and led her behind the bar and into the kitchen. The bartender was talking to a stout, middle aged Thai woman and they both were shocked to see them come into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," said Oxman. "Are you the owner?"

"Yes I am. What is the problem? Why did you come back here?"

"We're in trouble. I need to find Nit. Do you know her? She used to work here. Do you know where she is now?"

"Are you John Oxman?" she asked.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Nit used to show me the letters you wrote to her. She said you were the kindest man she ever met. I can take you to her."

"Okay, but we need to go right now. Is there a back door?"

"Yes. Follow me," she said and then gave some instructions in Thai to the bartender who nodded and went out back to the bar.

"What did you tell him?" asked Oxman.

"I told him that if anyone comes asking for you to say that he doesn't know anything."

"Perfect."

"Now, follow me. _Reoh, reoh!_ Quickly, please!"

In the alley behind Geronimo's, a few Thai teenagers were sitting around on their motorbikes, waiting for a gig. Send a message. Run some drugs. Quick transport. Whatever came their way. They were fearless daredevils who often raced illegally at night down empty back roads for money. The bar owner said something to one of them and he nodded.

"You go with these two," she said to Oxman and Betty climbed onto the back of a bike and they were each handed a full, face helmet. Betty carried the duffel bag and Oxman pressed the briefcase between himself and his driver's back.

Within seconds, the bikers kick started their machines and sped down the alley and turned onto Soi Cowboy. As they roared down the street, Oxman looked around to see if he could spot Jesse. He saw her standing in front of a bar, casually talking to an older, white man. They passed them quickly but Oxman's neck almost snapped when he saw who it was. Uncle Jack from Seattle! Jesse and him turned to watch Oxman and Betty racing away on the motorcycles. Although both of their faces were covered with the helmets, Betty's golden hair was sticking out, giving her away as being a white woman. Oxman didn't doubt for a second that Jesse and Jack knew who they were, and as they turned the corner at full speed, Oxman's driver squeezed in between two cars. His legs weren't tucked in and Oxman's knee hit hard against the edge of a car bumper, sending a bolt of pain up his side. He screamed but the helmet and the roar of the motorcycle engine muffled his voice. Anyhow, there was no chance of stopping. All he could do was bite his lip and suck it in.

The drivers kept at full throttle, swerving through traffic for what seemed like hours as Oxman suffered in silence. Betty and her driver were right on his tail. Finally, the bikes turned off the main road and into the narrow side streets of Klong Toey, the ramshackle neighborhood of migrant workers, prostitutes and others who eked out a living along the banks of the Chao Phraya river.

They slowed down and pulled to a stop in front of a crumbling, tenement building lined with tiny balconies, dripping clothes that had been hung out to dry in the midday sun. Oxman got off the motorcycle, keeping his weight off his injured knee. Betty's driver came to a screeching halt right behind him and she got off her bike also.

"Number 333," said Oxman's driver, pointing to the entrance of the building in front of them.

"Thanks," he said and handed him a fifty baht note and he sped off without saying a word.

"What's wrong?" asked Betty, noticing Oxman's limp.

"It's an old war wound," he said. "We hit a car on the way here and aggravated it."

"I didn't know you were in the war."

"Neither did I. C'mon, let's get inside."

Oxman hoped there was an elevator in the dirty, old building but there wasn't one, so they found the stairway and slowly made their way to the third floor.

"Do you need help?" asked Betty. "You look like you're hurt pretty bad."

"I'll live," he said and found apartment 33 and rapped his knuckles hard on the door.

Nit opened the door and didn't recognize him at first until he smiled and said, "Hello, baby."

"Johnny!" she said and her tired face brightened until she saw Betty and then backed off a couple of steps.

"What you find me for?" she scowled. "I see you have a _farang_ woman now."

"Please, Nit. Let us in. We need your help."

She threw open the door and turned her back and walked into the apartment, letting Oxman and Betty follow her inside. Oxman closed the door and stood quietly, looking around at the nearly empty room. Paint peeling on the walls. A couple of stained mattresses on the floor and a stack of carton boxes for keeping clothes in beside them. In the corner, a small table with a chair in front of a mirror and a pile of cosmetics on it. Her tools of the trade.

Nit sat down cross legged on one of the mattresses and threw her long, jet black hair behind her head and didn't speak. Oxman sat down also, slowly and painfully on the other mattress, and patted his hand next to him, indicating that Betty should sit down.

"How's your family, Nit?" asked Oxman.

"Father very old. Mother very sick. Maybe die soon."

"And your younger brother and sister? How are they?"

"The boy goes to school. I send him money. He wants to be doctor."

"That's a good thing," said Oxman, realizing the kid's chances were slim to none. "And your sister?"

"She pretty now. She wants to come to Bangkok to make money. I never tell anybody at home what I do here. They think I work in department store and have nice clothes and nice apartment. Why you come here, Johnny? Why?"

Oxman stared at her and could see the toll that life as a bar girl had taken on her. She was barely thirty and still slim, maybe too slim, but he could see the sorrow lines behind the mask that she wore to face the world.

"I have lots of money for you if you can help us," said Oxman.

"Do what?"

"We need passports. We have to leave Thailand."

"You kill somebody? Sell drugs?"

"No, nothing like that. Believe me."

"I believe you, Johnny. You always good to me."

"Then you'll help us?"

"I will but you must promise one thing."

"What's that?"

"You will clear your mind of me when this is done. Never come back."

"I understand."

It was the Buddhist way of saying that a person had become a disappointment in one's life, that nothing you could ever do or say again could make a difference. Fate brings people to this irrevocable moment and suffering continues independently. No ill wishes, no regrets. Nothing but the ultimate separation of existence, the permanent change of destiny that would, hopefully, prevent future, unpleasant encounters, even in the next life.

### Chapter Forty Four

"Now I have a request," said Oxman.

"Yes?"

"Can you get me some strong pain pills and bring us some food? We can't leave your place until this is finished."

"Yes, I can. Give me one hundred baht."

Oxman knew it was way more than what she needed but he didn't argue. He reached into his pocket, gave her the money along with a solemn wai, signaling that this was the beginning of a new relationship between them. Strictly business. Nit took the money, got up and brushed her hair then quickly left the apartment.

"Think you can trust her?" asked Betty after she had gone.

"Up to a point, I guess. She wasn't to happy to see you with me."

"I'd be furious and looking for a way to get back."

"Yeah, but you're not Thai. No telling how far she would go."

"She seems willing to help."

"Because I promised her big money."

"How much do you think she'll want?"

"I don't know. She probably has to talk to some people first."

"Well, I guess we don't have many options."

"Nope. The kindness of strangers is our last one."

"What happened again on that motorcycle ride?"

"I saw Jesse on the street talking to someone I didn't expect to see."

"Osterberg?"

"No. A union boss from Seattle that stabbed me in the back when this all started."

"Are you kidding me? Is the whole world looking for us?"

"Seems like it."

"I'm sorry I've caused you so much trouble, Johnny."

"Hey, I'm the one that threw you a lifeline. Remember?"

"Yeah, but you could have cut it loose anytime. Why haven't you?"

"Because I'm crazy about you."

"It's not just my money?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"I suppose not. What happens if we do get out of Thailand? What next?"  
"Well, you really should be examined by a specialist. I believe what Mark told us on the island."

"I don't feel anything wrong."

"Yeah but you never know."

"Where could we find someone like that?"

"Good question. That's gonna take some research. After Nit gets back, I need to take some pain pills and a nap. When I wake up, I'll go find an Internet cafe and do some Googling."

"How bad is your knee? Can I see it?"

Oxman slid off his pants. His knee was turning purple and throbbing with pain. He grimaced when she touched it.

"You need more than pain pills, I think," she said.

"I probably need a whole new knee, now."

"So we both need medical attention."

"I can ice it up and wrap it for the time being. Do me a favor and see if there's a towel in the bathroom and run some cold water over it."

Betty came back out of the bathroom and applied a towel soaked in cold water around Oxman's knee. She had a nurse's touch and kissed his forehead when she was done. Then she laid down beside him and put her head on his chest. Oxman wanted to sleep but couldn't. The tropical heat stifled the air in the tiny apartment and he had a headache along with the pain in his knee.

It wasn't long before Nit came back, carrying small plastic bags filled with hot curry and a bottle of Vicodin. They sat up and ate while Nit watched them without saying anything. After they finished, Oxman swallowed a couple of pills and Nit said, "You will sleep now. Very strong medicine."

"What will you do?" asked Oxman.

"What you want me to do?"

"Make some phone calls. Talk to some people about getting us some passports. "

"Like I said, it will not be cheap."

"I told you. Big money."

Nit's face went blank and Oxman realized how completely vulnerable he was, putting his fate into this woman's hands and then quickly added, "But it's in the bank. I have to go to the bank, later."

"Okay," said Nit. "I will go talk to some people. You sleep."

"And don't tell anyone anything about us. Say only that you need two passports. Nothing else."

"I understand."

She looked at him and Betty one more time and then nodded. There was no point in saying anything else as she left the apartment and Oxman felt his body go numb and sleep make his eyes heavy.

"You have to promise to stay awake," he told Betty. "Don't be afraid to shake me hard if something seems wrong. And I mean anything."

"Don't worry. I will but I wish I had something to read."

"Here," he said, handing her the briefcase. "Count how much is there."

Then he put his head down and passed out, feeling strangely relieved like he had just let go of a tug boat's line, leaving the ship he was on to navigate its own way forward without any assistance.

Oxman slept without dreaming. When he awoke several hours later, the pain in his knee had gone down. The room was filled with shadows and it took a few minutes for him to realize where he was. Betty had fallen asleep next to him and Nit was in the room, sitting in front of her mirror and applying makeup. His eyes focused on her reflection in the tiny mirror on the table. He watched her curiously as she transformed her face into a painted mask of fixed determination. For Oxman, a woman's smile had always been the most attractive feature. He thought about Dah, Toon's sister-in-law, and her grinning innocence. In comparison, Nit's smile was tight lipped and harsh, all signs of a hopeful youth long gone. All that remained was the shell of her beauty, covering up years of hard living and countless nights spent with strange men. Nit noticed he was awake and turned her garish face towards him and said, "Better now?"

"Yes. I think so. What did you find out today?"

"There is a man who can make passports but it will take a few days."

"How much?"

"Fifty thousand baht for each passport."

Oxman was sure Nit would get a kickback but he didn't say anything except that he needed to go to the bank the next day to get that much money.

"Then I will take you to him," she said, standing up and straightening her short, black skirt and satin blouse. "Now I must go to work."

"Okay, be careful."

Nit didn't respond but simply stood above Betty and stared down at her like a vulture. Her gaze chilled Oxman but he didn't say anything. Before she picked up her sequin purse and left she said, "You must not leave. A girl will bring you some more food and water around midnight. Do not open the door for anyone else."

Oxman nodded and watched her slip out of the apartment. He stretched out on his back, his eyes wide open, watching the darkness fill the room. The noise from the street vendors, motorbikes and honking cars outside in the sidewalks below told him that another night of hustling was churning into gear again. And then Betty woke up.

### Chapter Forty Five

"Are you awake?" she asked, her voice small and distant in the now, almost pitch black room.

"Yes."

"How's your knee?"

"Better. Do me a favor and see if you can find a light switch by the door and flip it on."

"Okay."

Betty got up and Oxman could see the vague outline of her body moving across the room like a cat in the night. She found the switch and the room lit up with a florescent flicker from above until the bare surroundings became visible and depressing.

Betty rubbed the sleep from her eyes and turned to him, smiling in contrast to the clean poverty of their temporary prison cell. Oxman tried to stand up, putting some weight on his injured leg and then wobbled. Betty hurried to his side to keep him up.

"I'm okay," he said. "Just a little fuzzy from the drugs."

"Maybe some fresh air will help."

She helped him to the tiny balcony and they stood on it, staring down at the street life below. The night air was hot and heavy without a trace of a breeze. It made Oxman nauseous and he wanted to go back inside in case somebody spotted them, so he led Betty back to the mattress and sat down again.

"I'm hungry again," she complained. "Do we have to stay cooped up in here?"

"I'm afraid so. But Nit said she would send someone with food and water. What time is it?"

"I don't know."

"Ha! All this money and neither of us has a watch! I guess we'll just have to wait for a knock on the door."

"It won't be a long."

"How do you know?"  
"Just guessing. A woman's intuition."

"I'm going to try to take a shower, then. Maybe it will clear my head."

"Go ahead. Sounds like a good idea."

Oxman stripped and went into the bathroom and turned on the water and stood underneath it, letting his head soak for a few minutes until he heard a knock on the door. _Some food would be good,_ he thought and he quickly washed himself and wrapped a towel around his waist and exited the bathroom.

The first thing he saw when he came out was Betty sitting on the mattress, her eyes wide open with fright and staring towards the door. Jake stood there with a pistol in his hand, pointing it at her and said, "Hello, mate. Good to see you again. That was pretty rude of you two to leave us without saying a proper goodbye."

"How did you find us?" asked Oxman. "What do you want? Who are you?"

"So many questions, mate, so little time. You're standing there almost naked and dripping wet, hardly the position of an interrogator. Besides remember, I'm the captain. You're just a busted up, old salt on the run."

"Okay. You're holding all the cards. What's the game?"

"The game is about Betty, here."

"Are you working for my husband?" asked Betty. "Did he send you?"

"Your husband? He's just another player on the chessboard. He's not the king, that's for sure and Johnny here is just a pawn."

"And what are you?" said Oxman. "A bishop?"

"Glad to see you're not too stupid to follow the analogy. Actually, I'm quite impressed. Let's take it a step further and call it 'check', mate."

Another knock on the door. It caught Jake off guard and he turned his head. Oxman lunged at him, going for the gun. They rolled and struggled on the floor. Betty got up and picked up the towel that fell from Oxman and covered Jake's face with it. Oxman held down his gun hand with his knee and started pounding his fist into the towel until Jake's grip loosened and he let go of the gun. Betty grabbed it and pointed it at him as Oxman kept smashing Jake's face as hard as he could until Jake stopped moving. All those fights during his shipboard days made him a seasoned brawler and he stood up and straddled Jake, hearing a girl's voice on the other side of the door, speaking Thai. It must have been Nit's friend with the food. Oxman was breathing heavily but he told her to go away and come back later and she laughed, probably thinking there was some rowdy lovemaking going on inside the apartment.

"What to do with him?" asked Betty, holding the gun with trembling hands.

"I don't know. Tie him up, I guess. You keep the gun on him."

Oxman found some clothesline from the balcony and hogtied Jake into a Spanish bowline and stuffed a washcloth into his mouth and rolled him over against the wall. He took the pistol from Betty. She sat down again on the mattress and hung her head between her knees in despair and said, "They won't give up, will they?"

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever is after me. They'll track us down to the ends of the earth."

"You prefer the alternative? You want us to turn ourselves in?"

Betty shook her head.

"Then we better find out what this joker knows," said Oxman and he went into the bathroom, filled up a bucket with cold water and threw it on Jake's face, slapping him until he came around.

"It was only check, Jake," said Oxman. "You forgot I still had my queen."

Jake gagged against the rag in his mouth and struggled a little until he realized it wouldn't do him any good, so he just blinked at Oxman a couple of times. His face was already swelling and bruised from the punches Oxman had pummeled him with.

"I'm gonna remove your gag, Jake, or whatever your name is, and you say something I don't like or yell out, and you're gonna feel the butt of this gun upside your head. Understand?"

Jake nodded and Oxman asked Betty to remove his gag. She did it neatly with a nice flourishing touch, spitting into his face and Oxman chuckled.

"Sig Sauer SP2022," said Oxman, examining the pistol in his hand. "Favorite handgun of US, law enforcement specialists."

"Well done, mate," said Jake. "You know your guns and your knots, I see. I underestimated you."

"I'm not your mate anymore so don't call me that again ass wipe. Tell me who you work for."

"Sorry. Can't do that. Code of honor stuff and all that."

Oxman stepped forward and kicked him in the gut and Jake groaned.

"Wrong answer," said Oxman. "Try again."

"Why should I? You can beat me to a pulp. It won't do any good."

Oxman turned and looked at Betty who stood with her hands on her hips. He could see the fury in her eyes.

"What do you think, Betty?" asked Oxman. "He seems to have lost his friendliness and desire to share."

"Shoot him," she said.

"Okay."

Oxman lifted the gun and fired a round which hit the wall just next to Jake's head. The plaster split and splinters flew into the side of his face and he lowered his head.

"Damn," said Oxman. "Missed."

"Not funny," said Jake.

"It's not funny either that some of my best friends have died recently and this woman was brutally mutilated. Maybe you need to be sent to a higher interrogator?"

Oxman lifted the pistol again and took a step closer, pointing the barrel at Jake's chest and said, "Let's see. What did they teach me in the military? Oh yeah! Double tap. That's right."

"You'll never get away with it," said Jake staring him square in the eyes. "You're already wanted in the States and you won't get far in Thailand if you kill me. Ever been in a Thai prison, John? Not a very pretty sight."

"So you know about my situation in the States? Then you do work for the government. Now we're getting somewhere."

"You're getting nowhere. Brittany's waiting for me outside in a car in front of the building. If she sees you two leave without me, it won't be good."

"Then we'll just have to have a reunion for old time's sake. Help him to his feet, Betty. Cut loose all of his knots except for the one's holding his hands behind his back.

"No problem," she said and found a butcher knife in a pile of cooking utensils in one corner of the apartment.. She cut the lines that bound his feet and helped him stand up against the wall and then she kneed him in the balls and he doubled over.

"Damn woman!" said Oxman. "I like your style!"

"It's easy," said Betty. "I just pretend he's my husband."

"Hear that Jake? The only place you're going to get sympathy here is in a dictionary between shit and syphilis. Now, we're going to lead you out of the building, slowly, and Betty is going to keep her arm around your back like you two have been best friends for a long time. I'll be on the other side of you with this slick Sig pointed at your kidney. One false move and you're just another corpse in a rundown tenement building in a third world city. Got it?"

"Got it," said Jake.

"And one more thing," said Oxman. "Don't forget to smile. This is Thailand, after all."

### Chapter Forty Six

The hallway outside the apartment was empty. Nit's friend had left some food and water next to the door. Oxman asked Betty to grab the water and briefcase as he nudged Jake forward toward the staircase with the pistol. He stumbled a little but then Betty put her arm around him and they walked down the three flights of stairs without bumping into anyone. At the entrance to the building, it was a different matter. The street was busy with pedestrian night life. Three foreigners in this neighborhood were sure to attract attention.

"Stop here," said Oxman, cracking the door to look out into the street. "Where is she Jake?"

He didn't answer so Oxman jabbed the pistol sharply into his kidney and he flinched.

"I've got nothing to lose, buddy," said Oxman. "I'll put one in you right now."

"She's parked in a silver Toyota Corolla a bit down the block across the street," answered Jake.

"Here, Betty," said Oxman. "Take this and hold it against him. If he budges an inch, plug him."

"My pleasure," said Betty.

Oxman handed her the gun and stepped outside and saw the Toyota. He could also see Brittany behind the wheel but he couldn't tell if anyone else was in the car with her. Taking a chance, he walked out farther and waved at her with a big smile on his face, hoping she would believe that Jake had worked out some agreement with them. The car did not move. Oxman waved again, more urgently this time. Finally, the headlights came on and she pulled up slowly in front of him at the curb and let down the passenger window.

"Hello, Brittany. So nice to see you again."

"Bullshit. Where's Jake and Betty?"

"Hey! Nice talk after that wet kiss you gave me on the boat!"

"Cut the crap. What's the deal?"

"The deal is that Jake is right inside the doorway and Betty has his gun, aching to blow his guts out right now if you don't do as I say."

"I'm listening."

"Good girl. Now make sure the back door is open and we're all going to get into the car, real casual like. Old friends going out for a night on the town. Remember?"

She nodded but Oxman didn't trust her. No doubt she was packing also, so he went back inside, took the gun from Betty and whispered in her ear so Jake couldn't hear, "I'm going to take him in the back seat. After we're in, you climb into the front."

"Okay."

"Let's go, home boy," said Oxman, pushing him out the front door and into the back of the car. A few people passing on the street noticed them but kept moving along. As Jake slid into the back seat, Oxman grabbed his shirt collar and put the pistol to his head and sat down beside him. Betty was already climbing into the front seat and Oxman kept his eye on Brittany for any false moves.

"Now what?" asked Brittany.

"Keep both your hands on the wheel where I can see them. Betty, pat her down. Look everywhere in the front of the car for a gun. Under the seat, in the glove compartment. Everywhere. Take your time."

Brittany didn't move as Betty ran her hands over her body and searched the front thoroughly.

"Check the lift up compartment between the seats," said Oxman.

"Well, look here," said Betty. "A cute pistol. Just like the one you got, Johnny."

"Good job. Let me have it."

She handed it back to Oxman and he stuck it in his waistband and said, "Now drive."

"Where to?" asked Brittany.

"Just get going. But take it nice and easy until we find a main road and then stop at the corner."

She shifted the car into gear and pulled out, slowly moving through the street as pedestrians moved out of the way. Oxman knew there was no way of telling if anybody was watching or following them, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"You realize you're making a big mistake," said Jake.  
"It wouldn't be the first time," answered Oxman.

"Yeah, but it might very well be your last."

"Shut the fuck up!" said Oxman and boxed him hard in the mouth with his free hand. "Don't you recognize a mutiny when you see one, captain?"

"No need for the rough stuff," said Betty.

"Oh? Was I being rude? I guess I forgot what little manners I had left. I guess I'm not fit for polite society like you guys."

"Very funny," said Brittany.

The Toyota turned onto a street and Oxman could see that it ended at a busy intersection. He told Brittany to stop the car and park just before they reached it. As he suspected, there was a group of young motorcyclists hanging around near the corner, waiting to give somebody a ride for a few baht. Oxman slid down his window and said, " _Py Banglampoo tao ry, kap?._ How to get to Banglampoo?"

One of the bikers gave him directions, pointing and using hand gestures but Oxman didn't understand him well enough so he said, _"Py! Hah see baht,"_ hoping that he understood that he wanted the driver to lead the way. The biker nodded, put on his helmet and hopped onto his motorcycle and waved his hand, signaling that they should follow him. He turned onto the busy main road and Oxman told Brittany to stay close behind him.

Banglampoo is a central neighborhood in Bangkok that catered to foreign backpackers. It was packed with guest houses, cheap travel agencies and headquarters to most of the major banks in Thailand. Oxman figured it would be a less conspicuous place to hold out until morning until he could get to a bank. There were also several Internet cafes and he needed access to a computer as soon as possible. It was also one of the few areas in the city that he was very familiar with and felt that he could regroup his thoughts. He knew the main roads that ran by it and if he stuck to them, he could find his way out of the city. The police in Banglampoo also often turned a blind eye to foreigners, realizing that they were mostly transient and headed for other destinations in and out of Thailand. Also, it was not a hot spot for bar girls or hustlers since most of the travelers were already coupled and not looking for women.

The biker led them onto the main street of the neighborhood and pulled over to the curb, parked and then walked back towards the Toyota and Oxman slid down his window.

"This Banglampoo," he said.

" _Kap koon kap,"_ said Oxman. "Thank you."

He handed him a fifty baht note and the driver stuck it into his shirt pocket, bowed and got back on his bike and sped off.

"Now what?" asked Brittany.

"See that bar down the road on the right side of the street? The No Name Bar? Pull into the side street just before it and go down it."

Brittany did as she was told and they inched their way through scruffy backpackers who were standing around, drinking beer and smoking joints. Tattooed and pierced couples with long, braided hair, thinking they had found paradise. Vendor stalls lined the sidewalks, packed with Thais selling tee shirts or bootleg CD's. At the end of the street, there was a small guest house called The Last Stop and Oxman told Brittany to park in front of it and keep the engine running.

"Betty," said Oxman, handing her a couple hundred baht, "Go inside and reserve us a room. Just pay the money and get the key and come right back out."

"Okay," she said and exited the vehicle.

"Classy neighborhood," said Brittany.

"Don't worry," said Oxman. "You won't be spending the night."

### Chapter Forty Seven

Brittany turned to face Oxman in the back seat, keeping her hands on the wheel and said, "We can still cut a deal, Johnny. All we want is Betty."

"That makes you, me, and a bunch of other people. What kind of deal are you talking about anyhow?"

"Cash," said Jake quietly.

"One million U.S," added Betty. "Turn her over to us and the money's yours."

"Like you carry that much around on you."

"We can get it in a New York minute," said Brittany, flashing that wicked grin that he remembered from the night of the full moon party on Ko Phangan.

"And I just walk away? It's that easy?"

"It's that easy," she said.

"Priceless. You guys track me down, barge into our room with a gun and now you're talking like a real estate agent with a turnkey offer. I don't think so."

"What other options do you have?" asked Jake.

"You'll soon find out. Just pretend we're going on a long sea cruise and I'm your entertainment director. I promise to make your voyage memorable."

Betty came back to the car and said the room was reserved.

"Excellent," said Oxman. "A fine port in the storm."

"So now what?" asked Brittany.

"Turn the car around and exit Banglampoo the way we came in."

"And what if I don't?"

"If you don't, I plug both of you right here and Betty and I slip off through the crowded night streets. They didn't ask for names at the reservation desk, did they Betty?"

"Nope."

"See how things are done here in Thailand? Nobody will notice the gunshots. Lots of trucks and bikes backfiring all the time around here and most of these folks are plugged into their iPods. It's like the Fourth of July all year round."

"You think you're pretty clever, don't you?" said Brittany.

"I'm a genius with a gun in my hand and cash in my pockets. Now shut up and drive."

Brittany steered the Toyota back onto the main street and smoothly drove it along up to the intersection at the main road. Oxman knew exactly where he was and where he had to go and what he had to do, so he told her to turn right.

The road paralleled the Chao Phraya river, past Thammasitat University, the Grand Palace and its adjoining open field, Sanam Luang where violent, mass protests against the government often took place.

"How far should I go?" asked Betty.  
"Turn left at the next light."

The road narrowed and led straight to the river's edge. It was dark and quiet and a building at the end of it that was supposed to be a five star restaurant had been under construction for as long as Oxman could remember. Somebody told him the reason that it could never be completed was that the financier of the project wouldn't pay off the cops and the construction site sat abandoned, leaving it a monument to corruption in the heart of a city that shone like an angel at night but steamed like hell during the day.

"Pull up to the side of the building, right up along the river's edge and cut your lights," said Oxman.

Brittany did and asked the same 'now what' question that was really beginning to irritate Oxman.

"Now," said Oxman, "I'm going to pull your lover, Jake here, outside by the scruff of his neck and then you're gonna come out also, slowly, with your hands up or I waste him. Betty, you get out first so Wet Lips here doesn't get any bright ideas and decide to speed off with you."

Betty stepped out of the car and Oxman opened the door and grabbed Jake's hair and pushed him out until he fell onto the gravel ground. Oxman pointed the pistol at his head again and told him to stand up. Betty exited the Toyota with her hands above her head.

"Good girl," said Oxman. "It's such a shame. You two follow directions so well. We would have made a good crew together. Now. Both of you. Walk to the water's edge and face the beautifully, polluted Chao Phraya.

"What are you gonna do, Johnny?" asked Betty.

"Make some changes."

When Brittany and Jake walked as far as they could, they stopped and didn't say a word. The lights from the city skyline across the river were the only sights around and they looked towards it. Oxman paused for a minute. Actually, it was a beautiful skyline and it reminded him of sitting in the park on a West Seattle hilltop on a summer's night, admiring the lit up buildings of downtown Seattle from across Elliot Bay. _The wheel has finally come full circle,_ he thought and then said, "Turn around."

Brittany and Jake hesitated for a second and looked at each other. Oxman knew what they were thinking.

"Don't try jumping," he said. "You'll be dead before you hit the water and Jake won't make it with his hands tied, anyhow."

They faced Oxman and waited. So did he, his eyes filling with blood. A rage built up inside of him like an unexpected storm in the middle of the ocean. He had beaten people to a pulp in bar fights before but he had never executed anyone. His hand shook a little and he could hear Betty breathing heavily next to him.

"You can't do this," said Jake. "You're not a killer."

"No, I'm not so I'm going to give you guys one last chance to tell me what you know."

"About what?" asked Brittany.

"About who you work for. What do you know about Osterberg? Uncle Jack? These could be your last words so choose them carefully."

"You're being played, John," said Jake. "You have been from the very beginning. You're a bigger sucker than you realize."

"Wrong answer again, buddy," said Jake and he lifted the Sig and shot Jake in his right kneecap. He fell to the ground, screaming in pain. Brittany dropped to his side to help him and said, "Why the fuck did you do that?"

"One bad knee deserves another," said Oxman. "Now we have something in common to talk about."

"Nice shot," said Betty. "You're good. I bet that hurts."

"Now tell me what I want to hear," said Oxman.

"We work for Xe," said Brittany, holding Jake in her arms.

"The Chinese?"

"Not exactly. They used to be called Blackwater."

"I know about them," said Betty. "They're a paramilitary organization that contracts out to governments."

"And I suppose they're interested in Betty for the same reasons everyone else is," said Oxman.

"That's right," said Brittany. Jake was unable to talk and falling into shock.

"Go on. What does the Seafarers Union have to do with this?"

"Osterberg's place was a funnel for drug cartels."

"I already know that. Keep trying."

"Seafarers was in on it. They got a cut from Osterberg with protection money."

"So Uncle Jack was in on this from the beginning?"

"You came in during the middle of the game, Johnny. You and your suit of armor, trying to rescue Betty."

"So the union's in Thailand looking for us also?"

"Seafarers and Xe are worldwide operations," continued Betty. "You won't ever get away from them. It's best to take what I offered you earlier and just walk away."

"What offer?" asked Betty.  
"She wanted to give me a million U.S. to turn you over while you booked us a room earlier."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding."

"Hold on a second," said Betty.

"What is it?"

"Woman's intuition again."

Betty walked back to the Toyota and opened the driver's door and reached in and popped the trunk open. She walked around to it and pulled out a duffel bag and brought it back to Oxman and he opened it, seeing a pile of green.

"Could be a million," said Betty, holding the bag up to her face and breathing in the smell. "It's real, all right."

"Well, whadda ya know? You're a money magnet, honey."

"That's Xe money," said Brittany. "You're giving them a million more reasons to hunt you down if you take it."

"Well, if I give them a million, I guess a couple more won't matter."

Something took hold of Oxman. He felt all instinct and reactive as if he were fighting a storm at sea, moving across the deck without thinking. He stepped up to Brittany and Jake and said, "Bon Voyage, motherfuckers." Then he put the pistol against Jake's mouth and pulled the trigger. His face shattered into an exploding mess of bone, flesh and blood that splattered Brittany. She looked up at him and shook her head and started to say something but Oxman put the pistol against her mouth also and said, "Here's my hot, wet kiss back to you, baby." Her head jerked back when he pulled the trigger and she crumpled onto the ground, a faceless frame of silky, chestnut hair.

### Chapter Forty Eight

"Christ," said Betty, coming up behind Oxman. "Their cruising days are over."

"Yeah, but they're still good for something."

"What's that?"

"Find me a piece of sharp steel or a bottle along the dock, anything to cut with."

"Okay," she said and started kicking around in the dark until she returned with a broken, empty beer bottle and handed it to Oxman.

"You might not want to watch this," said Oxman as he ripped open Brittany's blouse and began gouging out her left breast like he was gutting a pig.

"Shit," said Betty, covering her face with her hands. "Why are you doing that?"

"Because we're gonna dump then into the river. When they're eventually found, they'll probably be bloated and unrecognizable. If things work out and Xe has the connections in Thailand that I'm sure it has, word will get to them that two bodies have been found, a woman with a missing breast and a man. No dental records for positive ID. That's why I shot them in the mouth. But just to make sure...stand back."

Oxman stood up, pulled out the Sig again and emptied the remaining rounds into what was left of Brittany's and Jake's faces. He kicked the bloodied breast that he cut off into the river for the rats to feast on and tied the corpses together by the neck, using the rope that bound Jake's hands.

"Now help me roll their bodies off the dock," he said to Betty and they pushed the stiffs over the edge until they heard the splash of a successful execution.

"That's for Bruce, Toon, Suzie and Sam," said Oxman for a eulogy.

"Amen," added Betty.

"Let's get cleaned up. You still got that water from the apartment, don't you?"

"So you had this planned all along, right?"

"Did you think I was going to treat them to dinner again?"

Betty opened the bottled water and poured it over their hands and they rubbed off any traces of blood and Oxman heaved the Sig as far as he could into the river.

"Now I know what Pontius Pilate felt like," said Oxman.

They got back in the Toyota and drove back to Banglampoo and Oxman stopped in front of The Last Stop and said, "Go to our room and don't leave until I get back."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"I've got some unfinished business at Soi Cowboy."

"Let it go, Johnny."

"No. I think Nit led Jake and Brittany to us. Plus, we still need passports."

"How are you going to handle that?"

"Not sure yet, but I'll let the money do the talking. A whore usually goes to the highest bidder."

"Okay," she said and kissed him on the lips and left the car.

Oxman smiled at her when she turned to wave, the way Toon would have, inscrutable and half promising.

Instead of heading back to Soi Cowboy, Oxman drove to another district in Bangkok that he was familiar with near Kasetsart University where he had kept his Thai wife during their brief marriage. It was rare to see any foreigners there, but they had a night life than any red blooded male could enjoy.

Oxman pulled the Toyota into the valet parking of a nightclub that he used to frequent. It was worth spending a few extra baht considering all the money that was in the trunk. He went inside to enjoy some air conditioned comfort and stress free entertainment to calm himself down and clear his head.

It was a typical dinner and show restaurant, dimly lit but clean. The tables were filled mostly with male customers, drinking and eating themselves into a bacchanal euphoria, devouring huge plates of garnished seafood and rice dishes as pretty, young Thai girls catered to them, hand and foot, always making sure there was enough ice and water for their whiskey glasses.

As usual, a stage in front showcased both male and female singers, crooning melancholy tunes accompanied only by a keyboard player or just a karaoke box. The songs were always about the same theme--betrayal and love, suffering loneliness, grieving the loss of a soul mate. It was Issan music, the country style that many migrant workers from northeastern Thailand brought with them to the big city.

Pretty girls, wearing long, formal gowns with garlands around their necks would sit with you and fix your drink for tips but they were not prostitutes per se. Oxman didn't want any company and made that clear. He just wanted to be alone to sort out his thoughts and plan his next move. Everything that happened since the night he met Betty in The Forecastle ran through his mind. His Thai was getting better since he had been back in the country for a few days, and he understood the meaning to the words that one of the singers on stage was soulfully pouring out:

My head is pointed west, west towards Bangkok.

My only hope is somewhere in the seat of angels and kings.

But my heart keeps looking east, east towards Issan,

Where my love remains along the plains...

"Damn it," said Oxman to himself when he heard these words. "Damn it all to hell."

The dark skinned, Thai waitress that had been serving him saw that he was visibly upset and asked him if anything was wrong with the food.

"No, no," he said. "Everything is okay. _Dee mahk._ Very good."

He gave her the thumbs up sign and a tip and asked for the bill, paid it and hurried out into the hot, humid night. He drove the Toyota to the first gas station he found, filled it up and bought a map to make sure he could find his way back to Pattaya.

### Chapter Forty Nine

Three hours driving, straight through the night with one thought in his mind. Oxman pulled into Pattaya just as the eastern sky was turning from a blue ink color into a magenta haze. The coastal town was still asleep as he approached the beaches and harbor and saw what he was hoping to find. Jake and Brittany's yacht was still at anchor.

He parked along the pier, took the briefcase and duffel bag out of the trunk and walked down the dock. An old, Thai man was sleeping in a hammock, strung between the mooring posts where the yacht's dinghy was also tied up. His eyes opened when he saw Oxman but he didn't get up.

Oxman guessed he was guarding the dinghy and keeping an eye on the yacht and he scoffed. Despite all their sophistication and resources, Brittany and Jake left their Catalina to be watched by a poor, village fisherman. It was an easy link to break.

_"Sawadee kap,"_ said Oxman as he gave him a wai.

_"Sawadee,"_ answered the old man without getting up.

"The _farang_ man and woman sent me to get something from their boat," he said, pointing towards the yacht.

"They told me nothing," answered the old man without much concern.

"They told me to give you this," replied Oxman and he handed him two five hundred baht notes.

The old man took them in his leathery hands and smiled and then Oxman pointed towards the Toyota and said, "That's their car. Remember?"

"Yes, yes," he said. "I remember."

"The keys are inside," said Oxman. "You keep the car until they come back. Maybe two or three days."

"Okay, okay," he said, finally climbing out of his hammock and standing on two wobbly legs.

Oxman climbed into the dinghy and rowed out to the Catalina and climbed aboard. He thought he might have had to hotwire the engine but he found the keys in the liquor cabinet behind a bottle of Scotch since he was going to pour himself a drink anyhow.

"John, you're one lucky bastard," he said to himself and then went into the cabin and turned on all the electronic systems.

The first thing he did was access the Internet where he found Toon's number to his resort in Samui and then he called using the satellite phone. It rang a dozen times before a sleepy, quiet girl's voice answered it.

"Hello."

"Is this Dah?"

"Yes."

"This is Mr. John. Is Toon there?"

"Toon _dy lao,"_ she said and started to cry.

So it was true what Mark had told him.

"Listen very carefully," said Oxman. "I'm going to send your family some money but I need the name of Toon's bank that he uses. Do you understand?"

"Yes. It is Thai Farmers Bank in Surat Thani."

"Okay. Is Mr. Mark still there?"

"No. He go to Bangkok two days ago."

"All right. Never mind. I'm sorry for what happened but I hope the money helps. Believe me, you will need it."

"Thank you, Mr. John."

"Your welcome, Dah. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," she said and Oxman hung up.

Oxman got back online and accessed the bank account in Pattaya under his name. He transferred what was left of the five million and sent it to Toon's bank with special instructions that only Toon's wife should receive it.

When the transfer was complete and verified, he picked up the phone again and called Mark's cell phone number which he had memorized.

"Hello?" answered Mark.

"Hello, Mr. Ostsee."

"Johnny! Where the hell are you? Why are you calling me Mr. Ostsee? Where's Betty?"

"Funny thing, Mark. It all came to me in a song as they say."

"What are you talking about?"

"Remember when we were both stationed in Honolulu in the Guard?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"Well, I remember one night we were standing lookout together on the bow and talking, killing time."

"Go on."

"We were young then. Still full of hopes and dreams. I told you mine was to see the world."

"And you've pretty much done that. So what does this have to do with anything?"

"Well, I remember also the night falling and you gazing through your binoculars towards the western horizon."

"Yeah. So what?"

"You said that Asia was the new land of opportunity and that one day you would make your fortune in the far east, doing some kind of business."

"And that's what I'm doing but I still don't follow you."

"Well, you asked me what I would call my imaginary yacht some day that I would use to sail the world and I said _, High Seas Drifter_. We were pretty patriotic back then. Kind of funny, isn't it?"

"I don't see the humor."

"Here's the punch line, then. I asked you what you would call your future company and you told me _The Eastern Sea_. You know I dropped out of college in my first year but I did study German some."

Silence on the other end. Oxman waited a couple of minutes and then said, "You, of course, are half German. Your mother was from Germany, a war bride. A very handsome lady. I met her once in Seattle. How is she, by the way?"

"She's still alive," said Mark in a different tone of voice.

Oxman waited again for a minute and then said, "Ostsee means eastern sea in German, Mark. There is no Mr. Ostsee, is there? Genomics is just a shell company in Seattle. I did an Internet search. So who do you really work for?"

"What's your conclusion, Dick Tracy?"

"You are Mr. Ostsee and Betty is your wife."

"Where is she?"

"I'll tell you once you explain to me why all the deception."

"It's just business, Johnny. What I told you about her implant is true. She really needs to get to Tokyo to see my team of medical experts."

"So why didn't you just fly her there? Why all the cloak and dagger stuff?"

"One of my competitors was on to my invention. I had to fake a kidnapping."

"Okay. So why did Bruce, Toon, Sam and Suzie Wong have to die in the process? Was that part of your plan, too?"

"No, Johnny. I swear it wasn't. If you figured this much out, you probably already know that the Seafarers Union got involved. They're a messy bunch to handle. Things got out of control. Those people's blood are not on my hands."

"Very well. One more question."

"Go ahead."

"Who's your competitor? Who wants your product?"

"The Chinese."

"So why not just sell it to them? Work with them?"

"Like I said. It's all business. The Japs offered me more."

"So it's the Rape of Nanking all over again but this time focused on one woman, one sorry lady amongst many who you've seduced and betrayed over the years."

"She's not as innocent as you think, Johnny."

"I know that."

"So what else do you want to know? Will you tell me where she is?"  
"First, where are you?"

"I'm staying at the Shangri-La Hotel in Bangkok."

### Chapter Fifty

Oxman hung up the phone. He needed time to think and get ready. If Mark really was still in Thailand, there wasn't much, so he decided to prepare everything beforehand.

The dawn grew brighter. Seagulls were flying and squawking overhead as he climbed out on the deck of the Catalina and combed the shoreline. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He went to the stern of the boat and hauled up the small anchor by hand and then fired up the engine and let it idle. Carefully, he walked forward onto the bow and unfastened the ties on the jib sail and then did the same on the mainsail. After he was done, he went back into the cabin and called up Mark again.

"Nice place, the Shangri-La. You always did have class, Mark."

"Are you gonna tell me where Betty is now?"

"I'm gonna tell you but I've got to warn you about something and then you're on your own, buddy."

"You're doing this for old time's sake?"

"Think that if you will. I think the Chinese have contracted Xe to get Betty. I had the unfortunate experience of dealing with a couple of their agents recently. Maybe your wife was working with them also. I'm not sure."

"But you're okay?"

"Thanks for the show of insincere concern, but, yeah, I'm fine."

"Tell me where she is, then. Is she still in Bangkok?"

"Yep. In a little guest house in Banglampoo called The Last Stop. I think our business, as well as our friendship, is over now, Mark. Sorry, but I won't be able to repay you your hundred grand under the circumstances. I'm sure you'll figure a way to write it off."

"So this is the bitter end, huh?"

"I'm afraid so, mate. Time to cut you loose."

Oxman hung up the phone and found the number to The Last Stop on the Internet and called the hotel.

"Please connect me to the room with the single _farang_ woman that came in last night, the one with blonde hair."

"Yes, sir," said the receptionist.

"Hello?" answered Betty.

"Did you sleep well, lover?"

"Johnny! Where are you? I was so worried..."  
"You can stop the bullshit, sister. I just talked to your husband, Mark, a.k.a Mr. Ostsee. He told me everything."

"Oh, I see."

"Yeah. He's still in Thailand. Probably on his way to get you right now."

"Then I don't have many options, do I?"

"You've got one left with me."

"What's that?"

"Tell me the truth. Why did you help me whack the Xe agents? They were working for the Chinese, weren't they? That's who you were planning to sell yourself to, weren't you? But you double crossed Mark, didn't you? Why?"

"Mark's a two timer. You know that about him. He cheated on me constantly. He even had the nerve to bring that slut, Jesse, to Thailand with him."

"Hmm. A woman scorned. Is that it?"

"Not only that, Johnny. I really fell for you. I never met a man with so much courage and honor. I was really planning we'd get away together and solve this somehow."

"Well, I hope you have another plan because that ain't gonna happen now."

"Johnny! Please! Give me a chance to prove that I love you! What should I do? I'll do anything!"

"You already showed me that you can't be trusted, that you might double cross me also if you had the chance."

"What are you talking about?"

"The morning after the full moon party on the yacht."

"What about it?"

"When I said we needed to find a bank in Thailand, you immediately started searching for one in Pattaya like you knew we we're going there all the time. How could you know that?"

Silence on the other end as Oxman waited for her response.

"Honestly, Johnny. Is there anything I can do to make you believe me that I really love you?"

"Yeah. Change," said Oxman and then hung up.

Oxman finished the drink that he started to pour for himself earlier and then went back out on deck and stood behind the Catalina's wheel. He put the engine into a slow reverse and then hurried forward to haul up the main anchor. The boat backed out of the harbor and he guided her past the end of the pier and pointed her southeast into the open Gulf of Thailand. After about a half mile, the offshore breeze picked up, and he let the automatic winch haul up the mainsail and then went forward to let the jib unfurl.

It wasn't a strong wind but the Catalina lifted gently and he climbed back into the cockpit to set the autopilot in accordance with the breeze that was coming from directly astern now. He put the sails, wing to wing, the jib filling out perpendicularly to the port side and the main sail to starboard. As Oxman steadied the boat on course, he cut the engine and took a good, deep, long breath of fresh, salt air and then went below to check the radar. _Perfect,_ he thought, _fair winds and following seas._

The radar screen was empty. No blips or blemishes for miles around. A sailor's dream. Oxman climbed back out into the cockpit. Ahead of him, the sun was rising from below the watery horizon, perfectly round and hugely tropical. He looked behind him and saw the last of the full moon setting below the western horizon in perfect synchronization with the climbing sun. Stretching his arms towards both heavenly objects, he began to do the bird dance that the spirit guides had shown him.

Get the entire John Oxman Voyages Trilogy at

http://johnbyk.blogspot.com

Excerpt from the sequel: Xenophobia

The one thing Irina Lomonosov Stepanovich will always remember most vividly about her abduction was how cold her feet felt. As a child growing up under communism in the Soviet Union, she had heard countless stories of people being dragged away by the secret police never to be seen again, hauled off into the pitch black, Siberian night by masked men, stuffed into unmarked vans that sped away down unlit streets, leaving remaining family members terrified and crying softly like frightened children simultaneously awakening from a collective nightmare.

When it happened to her, long after the collapse of the former regime, Irina hovered between a state of disbelieving numbness and dreamlike recollection, shivering alone in the back of the fast moving vehicle, sitting on a cold wooden bench, her thin cotton nightgown offering little protection against the brutal, Arctic cold that crept into the unheated van through unseen cracks in the steel floorboards, enveloping her slippered feet in icy clutches of despair like frozen fingers of death desperately attempting to drag her down into the bowels of a mass grave.

She never saw the men who had barged into the tiny flat that she shared with her mother and twin sister, rudely rousing them from their slumber, shining high powered flashlights into their faces. A hood was placed over her head and she was dragged out into the bitter cold of the Krasyornask night, shoved along forcefully by grunting pig thugs into the back of the vehicle that was now transporting her over bumpy roads towards a destination and a destiny that was far removed from the sterile comforts of her university research laboratory that she had labored patriotically in for so many years in the service of her country.

_This must be a mistake,_ she kept thinking as her feet grew colder and she removed her hood, pulled her nightgown tighter around her shivering body and began to rub herself for warmth. There were no windows in the back of the van and no way to see where they were taking her to or who was driving. Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity? A kidnapping by the Bratva in order to retrieve a ransom. But her family was poor and there was no way the mafia could collect a reward from them for her. Maybe it was information they wanted? The details of the top secret experiment that her and her colleagues had been working on regarding the BIOS-3 project, a self contained, ecosystem that could sustain the life of a three man crew for indefinite periods of time under the harshest environments. But if her abductors were from the Federal Security Service then they would have access to all the classified information about the research and the latest developments surrounding it.

Irina couldn't think clearly, the cold increasingly numbed her thoughts as well as her feet. All she could do was wait and rub, trying to keep the circulation going in her feet. Fortunately, she was a devotee of Porphiri Ivanov, a World War II survivor who advocated a Spartan like system of fortifying one's body against extreme temperatures. Ivanov urged his followers to harden their bodies everyday by pouring buckets of ice cold water over themselves outside in the worst, winter weather to strengthen their immune systems. Irina had been doing this daily for several years, perhaps unconsciously preparing herself for such a moment. She stamped her feet on the floor of the van and commanded her body to stop trembling. By the time her kidnappers had reached their destination, Irina was stoic and immobile, no longer feeling the cold, fear or panic that had initially gripped her like the men who ripped her away from the warm comfort of her home and family.

The van came to a stop and Irina heard the men talking as they exited the vehicle and opened the back door, allowing the piercing brightness of the early morning sun to penetrate the darkness that had enveloped her throughout the journey. She instinctively blinked her eyes against the sunlight and before she could clearly see the faces of her captors, the hood was placed back over her head and she was pulled out of the van and led a short distance along a gravel pathway into a building that seemed, large and empty like some type of warehouse, the sounds of her kidnappers' steps echoing against distant walls.

Irina heard the voice of another man, a foreigner who spoke Russian with an English accent, commanding that she be taken to a room that was prepared for her. She stumbled along, her abductors grabbing her roughly by her arms and hurrying her towards her cell, shoving her inside before slamming the steel door behind her and the sound of the lock turning made her stomach drop as she removed her hood again.

It was not an unpleasant room, well heated and carpeted with a blanketed cot in one corner and a sink with a mirror above it in another. There were, however, no windows and the ceilings were high and a thin tube of fluorescent light in the center brightly illuminated her prison in an artificial glow.

She stepped over to the sink and turned on the tap. There was hot water so she washed her face with a bar of ivory soap left for her, vigorously massaging the warmth back into her cold, dry skin. Her reflection looked tired and she ran her long, thin pianist fingers through the mane of her shoulder length, golden hair wondering why she even bothered to try to make herself presentable.

The lock on the cell door snapped, the sound of a heavy metal bolt being shoved aside, and a tall, thin blonde man wearing black jeans and a leather aviator's jacket entered the room and faced her, the door slamming shut again behind him.

Irina leaned back against the sink, using the palms of her hands as braces, and stared expressionlessly at the intruder, his eyes blue but cold above an insincere smile that was possibly meant to reassure her.

"My name is Kevin King," said the man in a soft voice as if they were meeting at a cocktail party or a business conference. "I understand you speak fluent English."

Irina looked back at him but didn't answer. She pulled her nightgown tighter around her and stood up straight, defiance and disgust displayed with silent but clear body language.

"I can understand how you must be feeling," he continued, reacting to her posture by extending his arms towards her, palms up and empty. "Believe me. If there would have been a less, ah, unconventional method to get you here, we would have used it."

"Why should I believe you?" snapped back Irina, fiery darts of anger shooting at him from her smoldering eyes.

"You're absolutely right," said King, scratching his head and looking down at the ground. If he were feigning sincerity, he was damn good at it.

"The thing is," he continued, "is that the organization that I represent wants to make you a very lucrative offer in exchange for information regarding your research."

"What organization?" said Irina, spitting out the words.

King moved over to the cot, sat down on it and crossed his legs as if he were engaging someone in parlor conversation. He looked up at Irina and said, "Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to reveal that information, but I can tell you that if you cooperate you will become a very wealthy woman."

Irina started to laugh when the door opened and a stocky, bald headed man dressed in factory worker coveralls brought in a silver tray filled with biscuits and a steaming teapot. King told him in Russian to place it beside him on the cot and leave. The man nodded, leered at Irina for a second and did as he was told before exiting.

"Please," said King. "You must be hungry. Help yourself at least to a cup of tea. I know your ride was a cold one."

"You first," said Irina.

King smiled and poured himself a cup, sipped some of the drink and said, "See? It's not drugged."

Irina grunted but couldn't resist the liquid warmth, so she sat down next to King and he poured her a cup which she clasped with both hands and lifted to her lips, swallowing the brew slowly, never taking her eyes off of her host.

"The biscuits are safe also," said King and he picked one of them up delicately off the tray with his thumb and index finger, his pinky slightly bent in an aristocratic manner, and took a bite.

Irina followed his lead and didn't realize how hungry she was until she started eating. King waited patiently a few minutes to let her digest before speaking again.

"We have a complete dossier on you," he began. "Doctorate degree in biotechnology from Saint Petersburg State Polytechnic University. Full time fellow researcher and employee at Krasnoyarsk State University where you've been working on the BIOS-3 project..."

Irina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and cut him short.

"Is that what this is about? BIOS-3?" she said. "There's nothing revolutionary or groundbreaking about that project. It's been going on for decades."

"Let me finish," said King, holding up his hand towards her as if he were addressing a stubborn teenager. "I don't think you're even aware of what implications your latest research has for the military industrial complex."

"So you work for a government?" asked Irina. "Is it the Americans?"

King laughed and said, "Nice try. No my organization is not exclusively contracted to any one government. We follow the money."

"So what is it that I'm working on that seems so valuable to you and why couldn't you contact me in a civil manner instead of raiding my flat in the middle of the night. That's not a very good way to start a relationship of any kind."

King gently placed his teacup down on the tray between them and looked away for a second before turning back to her and leaning in a little, almost as if he were about to kiss her.

"The answer to your first question is the nanotechnology coating formula for the BIOS-3 module that you're near completing. As for your second question, all I can say is that a perceived kidnapping protects you and your family from the Russian government who wouldn't exactly embrace the idea that we are talking about."

"So that's what we're doing? Talking?"

"Negotiating might be a better word."

### 2

A couple of thousand miles away, John Oxman sat alone in a Tokyo bar, nursing a Bacardi and Coke and waiting. Just a few weeks before, he had been sailing the South Seas on a forty foot Catalina with nearly a million dollars in cash hidden in the boat's bilge when a gang of Malaysian pirates overtook his vessel in the Strait of Malacca in the middle of the night, casting him adrift in the yacht's dinghy.

"I was gonna sail around the world," he told the bored but polite Japanese bartender who nodded his head in feigned sympathy, asking him if he wanted another.

The bartender, a slim college kid who spoke broken English, reached for his glass to refill it and Oxman grabbed his hand, forcing his attention.

"I'm tellin' ya," said Oxman. "I had it made. I should never have left Australia. That was my big mistake. Always been a slave to wanderlust."

"Wandahrust?" repeated the kid, cocking his head at Oxman and looking at him suspiciously through eye slits.

"Yeah. Wanderlust. The feeling that you gotta always be on the move seeing new places or you won't be happy. It's a curse and a blessing. It was great when I was in the merchant marines shipping out of Seattle, but it got me in the end. I didn't need to go anywhere. I had money, a nice yacht, and plenty of Australian coast to sail up and down to keep me happy. That should have been enough."

"I have always wanted to visit America," said the bartender. "I hear Seattle a vely beautiful city. Is that wandahrust?"

Oxman let go of the kid's hand and brushed him off with a wave of his own. _Dumb ass, punk,_ he thought. _What the fuck would this Jap know about the world?_

"Forget it," said Oxman. "Just be a good boy and get me another."

"Hai," said the bartender and hurried away in relief to refill his customer's drink.

Oxman looked at his watch, wondering if Betty would show. She was already an hour late and he couldn't blame her if she blew him off like he did her a year ago in Thailand.

The bartender came back with a fresh rum and coke with a slice of lime pushed down onto the edge of the glass. Oxman plucked it off, looked at it for a second and grabbed the kid again by the elbow before he got away.

"You know," he said, "I'll bet this piece of fruit came from Thailand. You ever been there?"

"Ah so, Thailand," said the bartender, still not smiling. "I have many friends who go there. Vely beautiful place. Populah with Japanese businessman. Sex tours. You know sex tours?"

"Get the fuck outta here," said Oxman, slightly pushing the startled kid away. "I'll bet you've never been farther than ten feet from your mother's tit in your entire life."

The boy stiffened when he heard this and the color in his face became darker, his entire body trembling slightly in a fight or flight reflex.

"I wouldn't say things like that," said a woman's voice behind Oxman. It was Betty. She had decided to show up after all.

"Why not?" replied Oxman.

"I've been in this country for a year now. These people look very polite and harmless on the outside, but if you press the wrong button, well, just remember this is the land of Shogun. Almost everybody grows up learning a martial art."

Oxman immediately forgot about the bartender when he saw Betty. She was still a knockout. Shoulder length, blond hair, cut to the latest style like in all the fashion magazines, and those unforgettable, green Irish eyes that he had followed like a lovesick puppy into a rat's nest of trouble not long ago.

"You're lookin' good, babe," said Oxman. "Glad you could make it. Buy you a drink?"

"You look like shit, Johnny, but thanks. I'll have a Scotch on the rocks," said Betty as she sat down next to him at the bar.

"Actually, I think I'm looking pretty damn good right now, sitting next to you."

The bartender brought Betty her drink and she lifted it to her painted, red lips with a finely manicured hand, a diamond on her finger the size of a dime, dazzling Oxman. She took a sip before turning to him and said, "I should have you killed for what you did to me."

"For what exactly?" said Oxman unshaken and emboldened by the rum running through his blood. "Saving your life or fucking you?"

"Still the crude, lovable bastard I remember you as."

Betty was wearing a short purple dress over sheer black nylons and Oxman couldn't resist putting his hand on her knee.

"Come on," he cooed. "You enjoyed it as much as I did."

Betty lifted his hand off her leg and said, "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the five mil that you stole from me and the way you turned me over to Mark, leaving me waiting for you in that crummy guesthouse in Bangkok all alone. What did you do with all that cash, anyhow? Blow it in Vegas?"

"You know damn well I can't go back to the States."

"That makes two of us."

"Not even with your back stabbing, buddy fucking husband who used you as a walking lab rat for bioengineered, nanotechnology? By the way, how is Mark? Dead, I hope."

Betty lowered her head and looked into her drink like a gypsy searching a crystal ball for clues.

"That's over," she said in a humbler tone of voice and, despite Oxman's alcohol fueled bitterness, he let himself feel for her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. He got what he wanted and now he's gone. I'm much better off."

"So who's keeping you in the shine, now?" asked Oxman, touching the diamond ring on her hand with his index finger.

"I asked you a question first. What did you do with all my savings?"

Oxman downed the rest of his drink in one monstrous gulp and signaled the bartender for another before saying, "I gave it to Toon's family. You remember Toon, don't you? My friend in Thailand who treated you like a queen and then got a bullet in his brain in return."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that," said Betty.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. Baby, from what I learned about you, I believe you're certain that sympathy can only be found between shit and syphilis in the dictionary."

"You're drunk," said Betty.

"And you're fuckin' beautiful," replied Oxman. "Just too fucking beautiful. So now answer _my_ question. Who's keeping you in sushi here in Tokyo?"

"I've gone back to singing the blues," said Betty. "Just like I used to do in Seattle. Only this time I do it in the best night clubs in one of the most expensive cities in the world."

"You're a _gaijin_ hostess?" said Oxman laughing. "Tell me. Is it true that Japs have tiny peckers and that's why they're so angry all the time?"

"Screw you, Johnny. I'm not _that_ kind of an entertainer, not like all your bar girl friends in Bangkok, especially the one that you were dumb enough to marry long ago."

Oxman resisted the urge to bitch slap Betty, even though he knew it was something he could get away with in a country notorious for wife beating. Instead, he took a slow slip off the fresh drink the bartender had quickly put in front of him before hurrying away, obviously glad to be just part of the background now.

"Okay," said Oxman calmly. "We know how to hurt each other. Any chance we can move on from here?"

"I sincerely doubt it," said Betty, squaring her shoulders and brushing her hair back, revealing that soft, smooth white nape of neck that Oxman wanted to kiss the first time they met in the seedy Seattle hotel where he worked a lifetime ago.

"How did all the medical stuff go?" asked Oxman, changing the subject. After all, that's what brought them together in the first place.

"Mark's doctors here in Japan poked and probed me for weeks and gave me a clean bill of health. Glad you're so concerned."

"And did they, ah, you know, do reconstructive surgery on you?"

Betty swung around to face him on her bar stool and slightly pulled open the red blazer she was wearing and thrust her chest towards him, her breasts full and begging to bust out from her blue, satin blouse. Oxman licked his lips involuntarily.

"That's for me to know and for you to never find out," said Betty.

"You let me touch them once before," said Oxman. "Begged me to as I recall."

"Yeah, but like you say, that was _before."_

"Before what?"

"Before you said what you thought was your final word to me over the phone the day you abandoned me in Bangkok. Do you remember what that was, Johnny boy?"

"Of course, I do, sweetheart. You told me you'd do whatever it would take to prove your love to me."

"And your response was?"

"Change," said Oxman, averting his eyes from hers, realizing that his command had become his curse now that he needed her like she once needed him.

"That's right. Change. And so I have. I'm totally independent, now. Successful in what I always wanted to do and I don't need a man in my life to help me do it."

"So there's no chance of us spending the night together," said Oxman. "One more time just for old time's sake."

It was Betty's turn to laugh and laugh she did. So hard that she nearly doubled over, clutching her stomach and slightly spilling her drink onto the bar counter. The kid hurried over with a cloth to wipe it up and then backed off again to the other end of the bar, obviously interested in the tragicomedy that was unfolding before him. _Voyeurs,_ thought Oxman. _This whole damn country is full of perverts._

"I'm glad you're able to get a good laugh at my expense," said Oxman after Betty had stopped laughing.

"Oh, knowing you Johnny, I'm sure the punch line is still about to be delivered."

Oxman realized there was no longer any reason to dance so he went straight to the final dip and came straight out and said, "My boat's gone and so is almost all my money. I need to borrow some so I can get some property in Hawaii. An old Coast Guard buddy of mine has a land investment opportunity for me on the big island. I'll pay you back once I get settled and start up a charter yacht business. You know, the kind that takes tourists around the islands, fills them up on Mai Tai's and baked Mahi-mahi."

Betty looked hard at him without saying a word, her face cold and her lips tighter than a square knot on a nylon sheet line.

"Mister, you got some balls," she finally said like she was a ventriloquist throwing her voice past him.

"Now that's something we both know and can agree upon."

Excerpt from the prequel: Detroit Daze
Chapter One: Blood Letting

Berwyn, whose real name was Melvin Beer, tagged me with the nickname Heavy and it stuck. I liked it better than John Oxman anyhow. That's what teachers called me. But in The Ravine Gang I was Heavy, a pudgy punk with bad skin. Melvin was Berwyn because at thirteen he already had a full beard. So he combined burly with Melvin and that's what he came up with.

Berwyn and I became best friends after the first day we met and he kicked my ass. He judo flipped me in two seconds and started round house punching my face until my eyes swelled shut. I don't remember why he did it, but Berwyn never needed a reason to fight. Everyone who walked past him on the street was a potential enemy and he spent hot summer days sitting on the porch of his two story bungalow on a Detroit side street, reading William Blake and listening to Jim Morrison and The Doors. Waiting. When night fell, he started searching for trouble and that's how The Ravine Gang started. A bunch of teenaged misfits who looked up to Berwyn even though he was the shortest kid in the group but the wildest. And the most feared in the neighborhood.

Berwyn lived just a few houses down the block from me and, after that initial thumping I got from him when I was only twelve, we became joined at the fist, fighting side by side and doing crimes and drugs like almost everyone else in the neighborhood where we lived. Children of automobile factory workers, most of them having moved from below the Mason-Dixon line to work on the assembly line of one of the Big Three. General Motors, Chrysler or Ford.

My own daddy was from Sweetwater, Tennessee and transplanting to the Motor City was the only move he ever made in his life, bringing his child bride and two sons to work as a dye setter making Cadillacs for the rest of his life. My older brother got drafted by the army and sent to Vietnam and my mother fell sick with worry and became constantly bedridden with migraine headaches. She never worked outside the house or learned how to drive.

Berwyn's mother was full blooded Cherokee, a handsome, voluptuous woman with golden skin and long, jet black hair that ran to the middle of her back. When she walked down the street in her tight dress, showing her curves and silken smooth bare legs, the men in the neighborhood who spent their early evening hours on their porches drinking beer would leer at her, ignoring the shouts from their wives to come inside. Mrs. Beer moved down the sidewalk like a model working the catwalk. Usually, she carried a grocery bag from the corner store filled with fifths of vodka or gin and cartons of Marlboros that she'd share with Berwyn at home.

"I know you guys are going to drink anyhow," she would say to us as she fixed us Screwdrivers, "so I'd rather have you doing it here where I can keep an eye on you."

The truth was that she was a boozer also and her husband had two jobs and was never at home. Whenever I saw Berwyn's father, he always had a tool in his hand and was either repairing something around the house or on his way out to do a job for somebody else. Everybody on the block called him Hitler because, like his son, he was short, muscular but had a clipped mustache. To me, he was a cold distant man with a strict set of rules and I rarely visited Berwyn when he was home.

Berwyn was obsessed with Jim Morrison, The Lizard King. He even dressed like his rock star idol, always covered in black from head to toe and he wore his hair the same way. The resemblance was amazing and I used to spend hours alone with him in his darkened, candlelit bedroom burning incense and smoking weed. I'd watch him stare at his reflection in the mirror as we listened repeatedly to Doors' tunes at full volume. He often sang along, imitating his hero in a melancholy rapture, sometimes contorting his face in agony to animate the lyrics from some of Morrison's most tortured ballads like The End or The Unknown Soldier.

When Berwyn got super stoned, he'd get up and start throwing himself around the room in a frenzy that paralyzed me with fascination and fear. There was no way of knowing what he would do next. Either collapse from exhaustion on his bed or pounce on me just for the hell of it, beating my face and body with his fists and elbows until I begged him to stop or his mother came in to calm him down.

One time he punched me so hard in the balls that I had to be taken to the doctor's office as my mother sat at my side with her head wrapped tightly in a cold, wet dish towel to kill the pain of the migraine that was blinding her.

"I don't ever want you going to that Hitler house again," she said to me as I lay doubled over on the doctor's examination table, wondering if I'd ever be able to walk again. But I forgave him like I always did and in a few days I snuck out of our house as she slept and went back to Berwyn's, more determined than ever to prove to him that I could take whatever he dished out.

"Let me show you something," said Berwyn as he let me in the door and into his room past his drunken mother who was sitting at the kitchen table sipping Sloe gins and smiling stupidly at me.

Berwyn didn't apologize for temporarily crippling me but he did show a kind of somber remorse by staying calm as I sat down in the chair beside his bed. He pulled out a sketch book filled with drawings and poems that he had composed and tossed it onto my lap.

"Do you know where the Doors got their name from?" he asked as I slowly turned the pages of his journal.

"No."

"From William Blake," he said, brushing his hair back from across his face with both hands and delicately tucking it behind his ears. He lifted his chin arrogantly and scratched his beard like a professor about to give a lecture.

I didn't look up at him. His mahogany brown eyes bored into me so I just kept turning pages, skimming snippets of poetry and examining heavily printed, black ink psychedelic patterns that were intensely symmetrical.

"If the doors of perception were cleansed," said Berwyn after lighting a Marlboro and blowing a few smoke rings into the air above him, "Everything would appear to man as it is, infinite."

He looked at me for a reaction but I didn't have one. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"That's from Blake's book, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell," he patiently explained.

I nodded but he just turned away and put the album, Strange Days, on the record player and sat down in front of his mirror and focused on his reflection like he always did, leaving me wondering if we were going to get drunk that night. At thirteen, with a busted nut and a book of poems in my hand, I had nothing else to go on.

Almost every morning that summer, he would come by my house early in the morning and tap on my bedroom window to wake me up. He never waited very long so I had to move fast if I wanted to join him on his way to the ravine, a few dozen acres of still undeveloped woodland in nearby Dearborn Heights that bordered Detroit. We would spend the day together combing the banks of the polluted Rouge River, spearing frogs, catching snakes and smoking cigarettes.

One evening, Berwyn started a fire and began skinning a snake so we could cook and eat it. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my right hand and pushed the tip of his pocket knife into my palm.

"What the hell are you doin'?" I asked, trying to pull away.

"Make us blood brothers."

I thought he was kidding, but he let me go and sliced the palm of his right hand and held it up in front of my face and said, "Now you do the same and we shake."

"I need a smoke first," I said, trying to buy time.

Berwyn reached into his shirt pocket and threw a pack of Chesterfields onto my lap and said, "Hurry up, Heavy. I ain't sittin' here bleedin' all day."

I pulled a smoldering twig out of the fire, stood up, lit the cigarette and puffed it slowly. "These smokes taste like shit," I said coughing. "Why did you switch from Marlboros?"

"I got tired of everyone bumming my smokes so I switched to these crappy ones. Now hurry up and finish before I stop bleeding."

He started shaking his hand in the air to keep the wound open but he never took his eyes off of me.

"Smoke faster, Heavy!" he yelled, taking a step towards me and I puffed harder, coughing and choking as my head started to spin and my knees got weak. I got halfway through the Chesterfield and positioned it on the tip of my index finger, getting ready to flick it like a snot. Berwyn grabbed my wrist and said, "Smoke it all, Heavy. I ain't wastin' nothin' on you."

I sucked harder until the burning butt of the cigarette started to singe my fingertips and Berwyn knocked it out of my hand, forced my palm open with his left one and sliced it with his pocket knife.

Even though I flinched and tried to pull away, he held onto me and grabbed my cut hand with his bloody right one and pressed them both together. His iron grip steadied me and kept me from falling and then he finally let go and backed off and sat cross legged on the ground, staring into the fire.

I examined my blood smeared palm for a few seconds and then wiped it on my jeans and sat down across from him. Berwyn, transfixed by the flames of the fire, ignored me. And then suddenly, first in a low chanting voice, he began to sing one of his favorite Jim Morrison songs:

Not to touch the earth; not to touch the sun. Nothing left to do but run run run...

He kept repeating this verse and his voice got louder and he looked up at me with glassy eyes. Then he jumped up, lifted his arms towards the sky and screamed, "Let's run!"

Berwyn reached into the fire and picked up a burning branch and started running in circles around me and the fire, slapping me on the back with the hot stick until I got pissed off enough to grab my own torch and go after him. He ran down to the edge of the river, fell to his knees, scooped up some mud and smeared his face and beard with it and I did the same.

"Let's run, Heavy!" he yelled again and then took off through the high weeds, leaping over fallen tree trunks and I ran after him trying to keep up but I was too fat and out of shape. Finally, he lost me so I slowed down, looking around and waiting. The woods were silent, a slight breeze rattling the leaves overhead as I stepped carefully through the foliage. I resisted the urge to call out for Berwyn because I knew that this was part of the ritual, the training. Silently and quickly, Berwyn jumped out from behind a bush, wrapped his forearm around my neck, swept my legs out from under me until I was face down eating dirt. He pressed the blade of his pocket knife to the top of my forehead and said, "This is how you scalp a stupid white man."

He had me pinned like a bug on a science lab tray and I couldn't move my arms or legs. I started to laugh, thinking it was all a joke, but Berwyn grabbed my hair and jerked my head back and pushed the knife to my throat and slid it across the surface of my neck skin slowly. Then he jumped off of me and said, "Fear is real. Anxiety is only imagination."

I stood up and turned to face him, wiping my face clean with my shirt sleeve. Berwyn sat on a tree stump, lighting a Chesterfield and calmly stared up at the tree tops.

"You fucker," was all I could say and he looked at me, snickered and then took another puff off his smoke and flicked the half finished cigarette onto the ground and crushed it out with his boot.

"Let's cook that snake," he said and got up and walked back to the fire and methodically began to skin the reptile before skewering it with a thin branch. He held the meat over the flames until it turned golden brown and then he ripped off a chunk, stuffed it into his mouth and chewed slowly before tossing me a piece. It tasted like chicken. My first ration at The Boot Camp for Bullies.

Excerpt from Crying Bullets

The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. --Albert Einstein

### Chapter One

Death does not become a child. Small caskets are not cute nor quaint like handmade collectible dolls, adorned with frilly lace dresses, neatly arranged in a display cabinet behind a protective glass barrier, preserved memories of wide eyed innocence, meticulously painted by a craftsman's careful hand, artificially simulating life with a pâte mix of skin tone colors, cotton stitches and plastic fibered hair. No. A corpse that never had a chance to fully mature in life does not, in spite of its size, generate a feeling of nostalgia nor delicate quaintness, even though the coffin that contains it might be lined with the finest silk and surrounded by the most lavish floral arrangement that money can buy.

Between Arnold Penxa's two year infantry tour of duty in Vietnam and his thirty years of police work in Detroit, he had seen his share of dead children. Napalmed babies fused to their mother's bodies, loving arms futilely wrapped around swaddled infants, burnt and peeling strips of flesh embedded with charred remnants of clothing still smoldering, emitting a nauseous odor of rotting pork that contrasted with the jasmine flavored smell of rice paddies he and his squad had to march through in order to sweep and secure attacked villages.

"One thing about the dead," said Sergeant Kozlowski his combat leader into the hot zone, noticing Penxa's initial reaction to an airborne assault, "is that they are _very_ dead."

Kozlowski, a big beefy guy from Chicago who had seen three tours of duty in Nam without so much as getting a scratch, bought it a week later when they were bivouacked ten kilometers outside of Da Nang, standing perimeter watch in the middle of the night, waiting to raid a ville the following morning.

Penxa knew he wasn't supposed to smoke on watch but he didn't care, so he pulled a pack of Marlboro's out of his tee shirt pocket, slipped one into his mouth and offered another to Kozlowski who took it without saying a word. In fact, the sergeant hardly ever spoke much at all and that was just fine with Arnie. But in a firefight he was the best gun to be next to, his scraggly red beard that never had a chance to fully grow, glued to the stock of his M16 like a baby sucking its mother's tit. _"Kill you, kill you, kill you,"_ was his mantra when he was shooting at the enemy, and when he got really fired up he'd start cussing in Polish, leading Penxa to believe that he was probably a Hussar in a former life with large, curved wings attached to the back of his armor as he led the cavalry charge against the invading Asian hordes.

Arnie lit his smoke with one of those silver Zippo lighters that were popular in the day and he shut it, passing it to the sergeant as he took a drag from his own cigarette, cupping the glow from the burning end with his hands. Kozlowski took the lighter, walked a few steps away and waited a couple of minutes. It was almost as if the night had swallowed him up momentarily, a black hole that wasn't supposed to be there. Nothing was supposed to be there. Not him. Not Arnie. Not anybody else. Penxa was about to whisper his sergeant's name and as he opened his mouth, he saw the spark from the lighter shatter the void, a single fleck of bright orange, followed immediately by the crack of a gunshot and he heard Kozlowski's huge body fall to the ground with a thud that segued back into the silence of the still night. One flick of the thumb. One sniper. One shot. One more dead buddy. But the sight of a grown man, lifeless and ready to be body bagged, didn't bother him nearly as much as seeing a child mutilated and snuffed, an unwilling sacrifice to Moloch, a timeless reminder that evil had a face, eternal and constantly morphing throughout history.

The devil also lurked in the night shadows of Detroit's mean streets where Penxa returned to after his discharge from the army. Satan was always a few steps ahead of him, a cop after the fact, always rolling up to a crime scene in his patrol car, usually to cordon off the area and preserve evidence, waiting for the homicide squad to show up with cameras and plastic baggies, collecting forensic evidence and making gallows humor quips that the news reporters never heard. Except when children were the victims. Even the most battle hardened didn't dare disrespect the body of a kid, at least not in front of Penxa. If they had, he might have lost control and killed the joker himself, forfeiting his career and family.

When Arnie finally made detective, the cases that troubled him the most were the drive by gang shootings that targeted houses with families inside. Toddlers watching cartoons, sitting on the living room couch, struck by a bullet that shattered a window in the night or came right through the wall, freezing them forever in their playful state of mind, innocent souls sent to the afterlife without a clue, a bottle of baby formula or a plastic toy rattler lying beside them, a tactile remainder of innocence destroyed. Of course, there were variations of the theme and they seemed to get more brutal as time progressed. Babies raped to death or children beaten to a pulp by tweaked out parents who couldn't stand their tantrums. Arnie wished there was such a position as executioner of child molesters and killers and he would have applied for it. Immediately. He had no problem putting a bullet in the back of someone's head that had destroyed a kid's life, and every time he saw the face of another young victim's life cut short, he always first thought about his own daughter, Julie, who was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The next thing he thought about was that first napalmed baby he had seen a lifetime ago in a world far away. But it was the same devil at work and Arnie never stopped trying to grab its tail even after he retired from the force and became a security expert in educational safety Secure Schools, Inc., an uphill but, at least, proactive battle against the latest manifestation of evil towards children--school shootings.

Penxa sat at the desk in his home office late at night, studying a map of Metro Detroit under the circular glow of a table lamp, a felt-tip pen in his right hand, hovering over it like a mosquito ready to jab. _This is not the way I planned my retirement,_ he thought. A picture of the secluded, log cabin he had recently built on a hilltop in northern Michigan sitting on his desk,

reminding him of where he _really_ wanted to be, far away from the city streets he had patrolled for decades, tracking down thugs in the middle of the night, raiding gang hideouts and shooting it out with armed felons. Penxa only took the school security assignment that was offered to him by a former colleague on the force because he was told he had "special" skills in dealing with guerilla tactics, training that he had acquired as a combat veteran in the dense, dark jungles of Vietnam. But now there was a new enemy to deal with, motivated by an ideological force that defied reason. American kids killing each other, transforming school grounds into battlefields, terrorizing innocents and undermining the values that he had convinced himself he fought for long ago, including the right for future generations of beautiful young women to wear string bikinis on beaches without fear of reprisal.

"Are you going to be up much longer, Pooh Bear honey?" asked his wife, sticking her head inside the slightly opened door. Sally was fully robed and ready for bed. She was a good woman, the perfect cop's wife. They had been high school sweethearts and got married as soon as he returned from the war. As a special education teacher in the Detroit school district for thirty years, she provided him the patience, succor and reserved sense of care that he needed to come home to everyday, especially after adrenalin injected conflicts that would have ordinarily drove lesser men to the liquor cabinet. Her regular letters and photos kept his morale boosted when he was overseas and waist deep in snake filled swamps, even through the chemical autumns supplied by the courtesy of Uncle Sam via Agent Orange.

"In a few minutes, hon," he said, looking up at her over the top of his reading glasses. "I have to get this presentation ready for the school board tomorrow."

Sally nodded and smiled, that same impish and inviting grin that made him fall in love with her when she was still a teenager, the captain of the high school cheerleading squad. Although the years and the birth of their daughter had thickened her body somewhat, her face remained wrinkle free, making her look much younger than she really was. _Good genes,_ she used to tell people when they asked what her secret was but Arnie liked to believe it was due to the fact that he pampered her constantly, a soothing habit of his that contrasted the harshness of handling guns, handcuffs and bloody criminals.

"Okay, then. I'll warm up the bed for you," she said with a wink, brushing aside a stray lock of fire red hair that had fallen across her cheek.

"You do that," said Arnie. "I promise not to let it grow cold."

Sally shut the door quietly and left him to his plans again. He almost felt like packing it in for the night. What good was another presentation in front of a bunch of bookworm bureaucrats? Sure. He had statistics, examples of violent scenarios that had already taken place in several schools, both in and out of the Metro Detroit area, but it never seemed enough to convince the administrators that he faced what changes needed to be implemented in order to modify their so called, emergency plans that were hopelessly futile at best and dangerously inefficient at worst. It always came down to budget costs and public posturing. Nobody was willing to do more than spend a few thousand dollars on security cameras that only recorded shooters in the act. After the fact was as good as dead, as far as Penxa was concerned. He sometimes felt like just handing them a box of chalk during his presentations and suggest they use them to outline the bodies of victims.

Arnie pulled out his note pad from his shirt pocket and went over the details of his conversation with a student he had that morning, Kevin Bailey at Kettering High School: _Asked about guns. Claims no knowledge about cars. AP rushing the interview._

He never expected the boy to tell him about his brother. A white cop asking a black kid from the inner city questions about his family. Slim to fat chance on that one. The card that he had given Bailey with his number on it was purely for show. It was probably tossed into the gutter on the way home from school. Finding Marcus would be like finding a spent bullet casing in a flooded rice paddy. The Detroit Police had too many unsolved homicide cases on their hands to be bothered with tracking down a gang banger on a private detective's hunch. Unless the kid got busted in a car jack or a raid, there would be no way to get him. Even then, he would probably slip through the cracks and be out on the streets again in a few hours.

Penxa licked the point of his felt-tip marker and drew a line on the map from Kettering to a location on Jefferson Avenue, the boulevard of broken dreams that ran from Detroit's city hall up alongside the river to the intersection at Conner Street, the end of the road for the Motor City's finest. Beyond that was Grosse Pointe Park, a plush suburb of million dollar homes, manicured lawns and gated communities that was blight free and blind to the grinding poverty just a stone's throw away. Arnie remembered the many times he drove down Jefferson, rolling out of a black and white noir cityscape, marred by crumbling brownstone apartment buildings with broken windows and then merging into a Technicolor world of sidewalk cafes and pastry shops, the streets filled with smartly dressed soccer moms who wouldn't dare walk any farther from storefront entrances directly to their vehicles. _Just like Nam,_ he thought. The danger was always nearby but if you could avoid thinking about it then don't. The phone rang, shattering the silence of his office and he looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes to midnight.

"Hello," said Arnie, picking up the phone, hoping it was a wrong number so he could get to bed and keep his promise to Sally.

"Mr. Penxa?"

"Speaking."

"This is Kevin Bailey. We talked this morning at my school."

"Sure! Kevin! Good to hear from you so soon," said Arnie, covering his surprise with enthusiasm. "How did the Pistons do tonight? I was too busy to watch the game."

"I didn't watch it either but I heard they lost."

"You missed a game? What caused you to do that?" asked Penxa, flipping a page in his note pad, ready to jot down whatever information he could.

Kevin didn't respond and Arnie could almost feel the kid's fear and hesitation over the line so he asked, "Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure," answered Kevin, his voice trailing.

"Do you need some help with something?"

Again, there was a long pause and Penxa waited.

"I'm not a snitch," said Kevin finally.

"I know that. You're a good kid just like Mr. Green, the assistant principal, said."

"I think I might have heard something tonight that I wasn't supposed to."

"Go on," said Penxa, pushing his pen down on the pad.

"It might be nothin'. I'm not sure."

"It's gotta be somethin' or you wouldn't have called me. "

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Kevin?"

"Yes, sir."

"This is just between you and me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Tell me what you heard, then."

"There's going to be a massacre."

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