Killing Rain

But I wouldn’t be attracted to her if she didn’t want me for me. Watch, you’ll see.”
    He looked over again and gave her a long smile. She smiled back, then said something to the bartender and got up. She started heading in our direction.
    Dox looked at me. “What did I tell you?”
    The confidence she displayed in brazenly approaching Dox told me I’d been right in suspecting she was a prostitute. But it occurred to me that her presence here was a little odd. The high-end hookers tended to troll dance clubs and bars like Spasso at the Grand Hyatt, not authentic, out-of-the-way dives like Brown Sugar. Well, she might not have been having any luck in one of the places next door, and might have drifted in here for the music, or for the hell of it. Still, as it always does in response to something out of place, my alertness bumped up a notch.
    Although I had already been keeping a routine, low-level awareness of what was going on in the room, I glanced around just to confirm that nothing else was wrong. Everything seemed okay.

The girl came over to our table. I checked her hands. Right hand empty, left holding a tiny black evening bag, probably weighed down by no more than a cell phone, lipstick, and a mirror. I didn’t pick up any danger signals. But my sense that something was out of place wasn’t entirely placated, and I remained watchful.
    She glanced at me, then at Dox. “Hi,” she said, in a voice that was both sweet and slightly husky. “My name is Tiara.” She had a heavy Thai accent.
    “Well, hello, Tiara,” Dox said, offering her an enormous grin. “I’m Bob, and this here is Richard. But most people call him Dick.” He glanced at me and his grin broadened.
    The girl held out her hand to Dox, who shook it. She offered it to me. I caught her fingers and gave them a gentle squeeze. Her fingertips were smooth, with no calluses. As she withdrew from my grasp I glanced at her hand. Her fingers were long and perfectly manicured, and the light caught her polished nails as though they were little jewels.
    “Would you like to join Dick and me for a drink?” Dox asked.
    The girl offered a radiant smile and made some microscopic adjustment to her hair. “Yes, very much,” she said. I expected this kind of conversation would be all that was comfortable for her in English. This, and maybe, “Oh, you so big dick! Oh, you make me come so much!” and the other such Shakespearean phrases of the trade.
    I got up and offered her my chair, adjacent to Dox’s, facing the bandstand. “Here,” I said. “I just need to use the men’s room. You and Bob get acquainted and I’ll be right back.”
    The girl nodded and took my seat. Dox grinned and said, “Well, thank you, Dick.”
    In fact, I wasn’t particularly in need of the restroom. I just wanted a chance to scan the room from other vantage points. To observe our table the way someone else might be observing it. It would make me feel better.
    Brown Sugar has two back rooms, and I checked each of these. Both were occupied by groups of middle-aged Thais talking, eating, and laughing lustily. The other tables were filled by unremarkable twenty- and thirty-somethings, foreign and Thai. No one set off my radar. But something was still bothering me. Not a lot, but it was there.
    Maybe you’re just jumpy. You’re not used to being out in the open with company, with someone approaching you uninvited.
    Maybe. I used the men’s room and returned to the table. Dox and the girl each had a fresh drink. They were holding hands and murmuring to each other. Well, it looked as though I was going to finish up the evening on my own, after all.
    I walked over to her left and said, “You know, I’m actually feeling a little tired.”
    The girl glanced up and back at me. From this angle, the high collar of her dress pulled away slightly from her neck. Beneath her smooth skin I saw the slight bulge of the cricothyroid cartilage—the Adam’s apple.
    I’ll be damned, I thought. All at once I understood what had been making me twitchy. I had to stifle a laugh.
    “Oh come on, Dick, it ain’t past your bedtime. Stick around, you might even have some fun.”
    Oh, I’m going to have some fun, I thought.
    I’m sure of that.
    I smiled at him, trying to stop short of the shit-eating grin my mood was suddenly demanding. “Well, okay. Maybe just for another song or two.”
    “There you go,” Dox said. He gestured to the chair across from him. “Have a seat. Tiara and