Bangkok Haunts

have one more question: “You know Khun Kosana, the advertising tycoon who’s always in the HiSo magazines? He’s a member here, isn’t he?”
    She says nothing, exactly as if she didn’t hear what I said. I thank her for her caresses and tell her I have to go. I pay her exactly the exorbitant amount she would have charged if we had done it, and take my leave.
     
    Outside on the gravel drive I stare up at the surreal fantasy that is the Parthenon and fish out my cell phone. I could certainly find out the details of Khun Smith’s law firm with a bit of legwork tomorrow, but something about the club irritates me. I call Vikorn to ask him to order a drug bust—I cannot believe that such an establishment could be entirely cocaine-free—the main purpose of which will be to get the Parthenon’s secret member list. I tell Vikorn to tell the troops to look for a single, isolated non-LAN computer.

17
    “Come up,” Vikorn says. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
    Outside his office I experience a tiny frisson in my guts. I have a feeling that Vikorn has been up to something with the member list that our brave troops grabbed from the Parthenon last night. I’m told by his loyal and ferocious secretary, Manny, that an extraordinary number of phone calls from high-level movers and shakers have been received this morning, despite that no cocaine was found and no charges laid. All I want is the coordinates of Khun Smith, the English lawyer who obsessed about Damrong and is beginning to look like some kind of consigliere, but suddenly Vikorn has bigger fish to fry.
    I’m quite taken aback, therefore, when I find a tall, pink
farang
with auburn hair and hazel eyes in a business suit sitting opposite the Colonel.
    “Allow me to introduce Khun Tom Smith,” Vikorn says with unusual courtesy.
    Smith has already stood up to
wai
me and shake my hand with overwhelming enthusiasm. “Very pleased to meet you. Saw you at Mr. Yamahato’s studio the other day,” he says.
    “Sonchai Jitpleecheep,” I say. “Yes, I saw you sitting in a corner watching.”
    Vikorn grins. “He wasn’t there for a cheap thrill—he was protecting his clients’ interests. Is that not so, Mr. Smith?” Vikorn speaks only Thai; I am surprised that Smith speaks it well enough to reply, “That is correct, Colonel,” using exactly the right form of address.
    “Really, really great to meet you,” Smith says, offering me his business card with both hands; he has been here awhile for sure.
    “You’re going to be working together,” Vikorn says. I frown, but Vikorn waves a hand to shut me up.
    “It’s going to be a pleasure,” Smith says in English. His is a synthesis of London accents: some BBC, a lot of Thames Estuary, and traces of authentic Cockney from way back; also just a touch of Los Angeles here and there. “A very, very great pleasure.”
    On Vikorn’s unsubtle cue, I say, “I look forward to it,” which provokes a gigantic beam from Smith.
    “Well, Colonel, sir,” Smith says, “I guess that’s as far as we can take it today. Great talking to you.”
    When Smith has gone, Vikorn allows himself a smirk of undiluted triumphalism. I’ve not seen him like this since the last victory over his arch-enemy General Zinna.
    Rubbing his hands together: “They love it, Sonchai.”
    “Who love what?”
    “The syndicate that supplies the international hotel chains. Smith is their lawyer over here. He used to work in California, and he’s very well connected. He’s very impressed with Yammy’s professionalism and says the work in progress is already the best-directed porn he’s seen after nearly ten years in the game. It was brilliant of us to use Yammy.”
    “Right,” I say.
    “There’s going to be some kind of contract, and they want to hook up a video conference with their big honcho. I said you would represent me at all times.”
    “Meaning I’m the point man, not you, if anything goes wrong? Thanks.”
    Vikorn gives a stern look to indicate that maybe I need to remind myself of my feudal responsibilities. Back-scratching is not merely built into the system, it
is
the system, and didn’t he order that raid on the Parthenon in response to a mere whim of mine? And now he has to deal with a dozen high-flying senators and members of parliament, senior bankers and industrialists, all very nervous about publicity. I do not say,
And willing to pay whatever you ask to keep their names from the media.
    “Okay,” I