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  “He gave me five hundred,” said Greer. “He promised another two thou when the job’s finished.”

  “I can’t believe he’d do this,” Victoria moaned. “Just because I—”

  “Believe me,” he cut her off, “you and your friend here have pissed him off. Jarrett told me, ‘I love her. I always will. But when she rubs it in my face. My God, think about it…another woman. She’s left me for another woman. I could see if it was a guy. A guy and a girl, they fuck, they do it all the time, they fall in love, they shack up. That’s okay. But not another woman. No fucking way. That’s going too far. Way too fucking far.’ I swear I’m telling you the truth, here. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Greer made the sign of a cross over his heart. “That’s what he told me, straight up. My solemn word of honor.” He took another hit on the joint.

  Greer’s car—an old, beat-up 1989 sedan—was nosed into the face of a high, chain-link fence outside the main shipping terminal at the Port of Bangkok. Across the yard were a string of commercial warehouses shoved back into the shadows beyond the bright, streaming lights of the dock where a shipping company unloaded a cargo freighter. The mighty Chao Phraya River rolled by under an ageless moon.

  “Jarrett does what he wants. He’s got a lot of money,” Greer said, peering into the back seat.

  Obsessed with money, Greer wasn’t as impoverished as he let on. He had a private bank account in the Cayman Islands from money he’d stashed away as a drug mule working for Stark. That was before their relationship soured and fell apart on a day when Stark reneged on money he owed Greer for shipping drugs through Federal Parcel Systems to an address in Brussels, Belgium.

  The two later resolved the grievance and teamed up again after Stark’s whiny, drunken phone call shook Greer from his sleep in the middle of the night—and thus, the plan to liquidate Victoria Hong was hatched. Stark was hurt, humiliated, and as he’d told Greer, “really, really, pissed”.

  Greer kept his eyes glued on Victoria, ignoring the other woman.

  Victoria gave him a wavering look. “You’re forgetting something, Hyde. I have money, too. Lots of it.”

  “Your Daddy’s money. Robert Hong’s money, not yours. Big difference.”

  Greer watched her slump down in the backseat. She was tired and confused. He knew she was hurting. He knew other things, too. About the jagged, purple scar down the inside of her left arm—but not the real story behind how it got there—or why Victoria’s sexual preference had changed so dramatically into lesbian love.

  The other woman was Greta Krause—a sultry, surly, college-educated teacher of English at a diploma mill somewhere down on Silom Road, the times she wasn’t out partying all night and calling in sick. He was sure the relationship with Victoria was only temporary. It wouldn’t last.

  The blonde spoke from the shadows of the backseat. “Why don’t you stab her, Hyde? Why don’t you rip her heart out and stomp on it.”

  “Don’t stick your nose in, Greta. Don’t wipe somebody else’s ass.”

  The woman went to smile, but her pale lips froze in place at the last second.

  “Oh, yeah, right—Mister Big. Why don’t you sink into some dark corner like the little boy you are, whip it out, and play with yourself? That’s about all you’re good for you uneducated, blue-collared, motherfucking jerk.” She snapped off a salute, which made Navarro laugh a little in the front seat. Greer heard the laughter and was now totally convinced his partner’s mixed loyalties were real.

  He waved Greta Krause off like he was swatting a fly and focused his attention back on Victoria.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Your eyes are working overtime on me, now. Watching me, studying me, wondering if I’ll do it.” He made a sharp, hissing sound like steam escaping from a pipe. “Don’t you think if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now? I mean, come on. Give me some credit.”

  He shook his head, disappointed as he rolled down the window on the driver’s side and flicked what was left of the joint out onto the ground. Turning back to Victoria, he said, “What happened to your arm? Jarrett had something to do with it, didn’t he?”

  Victoria lifted her left arm and pointed at the scar. “Knifed,” she said. “That creep stabbed me two months ago. We were partying over at his place, and I was crying in another room when he came in with a knife. I told him, ‘I wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t make me. No way was I going down on him, not in front of his friends…all of them on crystal meth and acting like I was his slave. I told Jarrett I’m a respectable girl, from a good family, a good home. I’m not into sucking cock. Maybe in a room alone, with nobody else around, that’s okay, but I wouldn’t do it in front of his friends just because he wanted me to.”

  Her mouth twisted bitterly as she ran a finger across the ugly ridge of scar tissue. Her lower lip extended in irritation. Hurt and bewilderment flashing across her features.

  “He flew into a rage, started throwing things around, and ended up using the knife on me. Look.” She held her arm higher and pointed at the scar. Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them back, shivering, unable to control her emotions. “I hate him, that son-of-a bitch. I wish he were dead. I’ve got to get away, someplace to relax and think. That’s why I’m going to Laos on holiday. Greta and I are going for a week, maybe ten days.”

  The blonde put an arm around Victoria and patted her shoulder, comforting her.

  A patrol car swung into the parking lot. They hunched down nervously in their seats as it pulled up alongside them. The beam from a flashlight poured in through the window on the driver’s side.

  Greer opened the door and got out quickly. He walked up to the patrol car. The car door opened. A tall, stork-like Thai police officer, dressed in a cocoa-brown uniform, stepped outside.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “A few beers,” Greer said, speaking fluent Thai. He was glad he had opened the beer and took a swig before getting out of the car. It diluted the taste of the birdcage inside his mouth, removing the trace of marijuana from his breath. He looked up at the cop. “My girlfriend’s friend is leaving for Germany, tomorrow. She’s a teacher. Her contract’s ended. She’s going back tomorrow.” He gave a sheepish grin. “We were just…uh…celebrating a little, officer.”

  The other cop—a short, stocky guy with a broad, sloping back like the shell of a turtle—got out of the car and stood next to his partner. Stork shone a light in Greer’s eyes and Turtle watched him, grinning. Greer fought the light back with his hands and felt his heart hammer inside his chest.

  Turtle stepped forward and stood directly in front of Greer. The policeman wore his brown uniform cap with the black visor pulled down low, so Greer couldn’t see his face. Beneath the visor, he envisioned Turtle’s face shriveled in anger.

  “What is it this time?” Turtle seethed with contempt. “Is it Yah Ba? Hashish?

  Maybe some Red Devils or Purple Ludes? Maybe a little Burmese Heroin, huh?”

  Before Greer could answer, Turtle shot back. “I know all you Stray Dogs. I know who you are and what you do. You’re on every street corner, scattered throughout the city. Now, I’m going to put your ass away…for a very long time.”

  Before Greer realized it, Stork had come up behind him, wrenched his right arm up behind his back, slammed him up over the hood of the car, and cuffed him.

  The back door of Greer’s car opened slowly. Victoria Hong—smoking a joint—got out, walked over, and stood in front of the two cops.

  Greer saw the joint in her hand. She pulled smoke deep into her lungs then let it go, back over her shoulder into the darkness.

  “Release him,” she said. “Now!” Turtle swung the light into her eyes.

  “Get that thing out of my face! Do you know who I am?”

  The policeman took a few minutes to study her.

  “Well, do you?”

  Turtle looked at Stork, who still had Greer pinned over the hood, then back again at the girl. As if noticing her for the first
time, he moved the light back out of her eyes. Hands trembling, he apologized.

  “Ooh boy…Miss Hong,” he stammered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, know it was you.” To cover his ass, he added, “You won’t tell your father, will you?”

  “No, Officer. You’re off the hook. I won’t tell Robert.”

  Both cops stared down at the marijuana joint smoldering in her hand. Grinning, she flipped it back over her shoulder into the night. Stork released Greer, who stood and brushed himself down as the two cops got back into the car. Greer watched them drive off out of the lot with a smirk on his face.

  “Maybe I should’ve told them about Jarrett,” Victoria said as she slid down into the backseat.

  “No. No cops. So, where are you going in Laos?” Greer asked, quickly changing topics. He ended up answering his own question. “Ah, yes. Vientiane, the big city? I was there once. Nice French, provincial town.”

  Lying came easily to Greer. Victoria wouldn’t know he’d been there several times. At 6’3”, 215 pounds, with matted brown hair and a head abnormally small for the size of his big body, Hyde Greer was a shifty, high-strung sociopath with a tiny, tattooed tear at the corner of his right eye.

  The tattoo was emblematic of a killer gone berserk at least once during his lifetime, and a man certainly worthy of respect in the hierarchy of prison cultures. These features alone should have drawn attention in a city like Vientiane, where he was often seen dealing drugs. The Laotian police were bribed with bags of money to look the other way. Along busy sidewalks, among the stoic indifference of large, unobservant crowds, the American went unnoticed while running drugs in and out of the city for Jarrett Stark.

  Tossing her head back, Victoria regained her swagger.

  “Yes, Vientiane it is,” she said. “That place rocks. It never disappoints. We’re staying at the Vonsana, near the Mekong River. I really need to get away and forget about this whole ‘Jarrett’ thing. It’s got me so spooked, I can’t sleep. When Robert asked about the scar, I told him I crashed into a fence at the riding academy and scraped my arm on the barbed wire. He gave me that look like he didn’t believe a word I was saying.”

  Greer had to come up with a plan. Although his eyes were still glazed over from smoking pot and drinking beer, his words were calm and clear. He checked his watch and looked at them.

  “Here’s my plan. We go back and have a few drinks at the Cellar. It’ll be a going-away party for the two of you going off on your exotic, Laotian holiday. Can’t you see I’m green with envy?” No one noticed his eyes had compressed now to tiny slits of jealousy. “Okay, well anyway,” he said. “After the Cellar, we go back to my place. We smoke a few joints, and after that, we just flat-out fucking crash. How’s that sound?”

  They all agreed it was a pretty good idea.

  Chapter Three

  Seabury sat on the back porch of a sprawling, seacoast mansion in the town of Hua Hin in southern Thailand—a four-hour journey by car from his home in Bangkok. Victoria Hong sat next to him. They were arguing. She told him not to worry.

  “I have to go.”

  “No. Please believe me, Victoria. You don’t.”

  “Why? Because you say so?”

  “No, that’s not the reason. The place isn’t safe.”

  “The Tourist Ministry says it is.”

  “Propaganda, that’s all it is. The media spins news any way the Tourist Ministry wants it spun. That’s the game they play up there.”

  Seabury came down for a weekend visit with Victoria’s parents, who’d left them alone to sort out their differences in the Saturday morning sunlight creeping into the backyard.

  “I’m a merchant seaman,” he told her. “It’s my business to know these things. Cancel your plane tickets, go someplace else. Laos is a dangerous place right now. There should be ‘off-limits’ signs posted at the border.”

  Her dark, silky hair shimmered in the sunlight as she turned her face from him, pouting at the reality of a message she didn’t want to hear. “I’m sure the Lao Government will enjoy hearing that.”

  “They’re a big part of the problem.”

  “Well…I don’t agree that Laos is a war zone,” she said, searching his eyes for a reaction. “The incident has absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m sorry about the loss of lives, but come on, Sam. What are you saying here?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? Last week, a group of Hmong terrorists seized a tour bus along Highway 7 up near the Plain of Jars. Thirty-five tourists, a bus driver, and two MP’s were robbed and brutally murdered. It looked like something out of the movie The Killing Fields.”

  She made no reply. She only pursed her scarlet lips and pouted.

  ”Please, don’t get me wrong,” Seabury said. “I like Laos. It’s a beautiful country. The people are nice and friendly, but lately, it’s turned into a kill zone. I see the same thing happening in Laos that happened in Cambodia years ago under the Khmer Rouge.”

  She craned her neck. Long, slender fingers slipped around a can of Diet Coke on the glass table in front of her. She sipped the liquid impassively through a clear, plastic straw. At age twenty, her contradictory nature and temperamental mood swings bothered him.

  “You’re not my father, you know,” she said.

  “I’m not the boss either, but I’m good at it.”

  “Funny.” Her joyless smile evaporated quickly into the shadows of the porch. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl, now.”

  “I know you are, Victoria. Please, believe me. I know.”

  “Then why? Why are you so dead set against me taking this trip?”

  “I’ve told you why. What I don’t understand is why you still insist on going.”

  “It’s a quiet getaway. A chance to relax and unwind—to forget about that horrid experience in Hong Kong. Robert should know by now that I’m not cut out to manage his pharmaceutical business. Raymond is better off doing it.” Her eyes flicked back and forth excitedly. “And about Laos—I’m not going to miss out just because you say it isn’t safe.”

  “A few days ago, the United States Embassy in Bangkok put out a travel advisory warning against going there.”

  “As expected…another yank overreaction. They’re always first to send red flags up the flagpole.”

  He spoke in a low, conciliatory tone, extending the olive branch, and hoping that reason and common sense would prevail and break through her armor-plated stubbornness.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” he said, removing a stick of chewing gum and sliding it into his mouth. He used the gum as a crutch now that he’d quit smoking.

  “Then, it must be the men I’m going to meet. Well, forget about that. I’m over men, now. No offense, Sam, but some men should have been castrated at birth.” She cracked a dark, little smile. “That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I’m not concerned about the tourist crowd. It’s the country itself that scares me. People have been known to disappear up there without a trace.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and brooded. “So, I’m not supposed to go, because you think it’s unsafe. Is that it?”

  “Now you’re getting the picture.”

  “No, I’m not getting the picture. In fact, I’m shutting off the camera. I’m going with or without your approval.”

  He looked at her in the gray, murky light of the porch. The fine, soft lines of her face had changed into the stern, hard-nosed look of youthful defiance. She’d drawn a line in the sand, and he was sad to see it there. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop her from going. She was old enough to make her own decisions. He couldn’t help thinking she was making a huge mistake going to Laos.

  “Just because you hate the country doesn’t mean I have to,” she told him.”

  “I didn’t say I hated the country. I said I’m concerned about your safety.”

  “What are you suggesting, then?”

  “A safe holiday.”


  “Safer than what?”

  “Safer than Laos.”

  “There are no safe places in the world. I could get killed praying in church.”

  “I’d say the odds of that happening are highly unlikely.”

  He stopped talking and stared through the shroud of mosquito netting covering the back porch. Across the manicured lawn, a shaft of sunlight spread over a flowerbed, nudging open the yawning petals of a cluster of bright, tropical flowers.

  Opposite the flowerbed, a Greek goddess sprouted water inside a marble fountain. Down below, the ocean rolled up onto the soft, white shoulder of the deserted beach.

  “Do I really have to hear this?” she said at last, breaking the silence.

  Translucent skin crinkled at the corners of her dark brown eyes. “You’re beginning to sound like Big Brother, again.”

  He ignored the remark and went on. “I don’t need to remind you that this is Asia. Life is cheap here. A hit can go down for less than three hundred American dollars.”

  “I need to go,” she said, toying with her straw, poking it up and down in the can.

  “Please, let me finish,” Seabury said, holding up his hand.

  She checked her watch. “Two more minutes. Then, I go.”

  A large, predatory bird winged its way in from the sea. Seabury watched it for a minute then swung his eyes back on her.

  “I hate to spoil your parade,” he said, “but yesterday, two Lao Thais were shot dead while crossing the border into Thailand. They were blown away at point blank range in front of a crowd of onlookers at the bus terminal in Ubon Ratchathanit.”

  “We’re not going anywhere near there,” she said. “We’re staying in Vientiane. In case you didn’t know, it’s a shopper’s paradise.”

  “And after dark—what about the disco scene?”

  “Well…” She blushed. “Maybe some of that, too.”

  She watched as he rolled his eyes, his impatience with her obvious. A hard, brown light flickered in the sockets of his large, oblong face.