Killing Rain

transected, and the bleeding would be mostly into his chest and lungs—but there was no question that he would be unconscious in seconds, and dead shortly after that. I stepped in and slashed him twice across the forearms and he collapsed onto his face. He lay there, moaning and writhing.
    I saw that I’d gotten blood on my hands—from his mouth or his chest, I didn’t know. I pulled a handkerchief from my back pocket and cleaned up the best I could. I handed the handkerchief to Dox and gestured for him to do the same. His eyes were wide and he seemed a little stunned, but he used the handkerchief. We’d be more thorough later.
    One more thing. I glanced inside the open sliding door and saw what I was looking for: cell phone tracking equipment, strapped with duct tape to one of the back seats. Other than the equipment, the interior was clean. I used the handkerchief to open the van’s passenger door, then to pop the glove compartment, hoping to find registration or some other clue to Perry Mason’s identity. There was a first aid kit inside. I opened it, and saw vials of atropine and naloxone, and syringes. Interesting. But no registration, nothing to identify the people who had rented the van.
    “Come on,” I said to Dox, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last minute or so. “We need to get out of here.”
    We walked briskly across the street to the Lumpini Park side, where it was comfortingly dark. I glanced back at the sidewalk in front of the bars as we moved. The patrons had all gone inside. The two men on the sidewalk weren’t moving. We cut over to a sub-soi paralleling Ratchadamri, then started walking south and looking for a cab. Under the reflected glow of a collapsing storefront sign, I paused and looked at Dox, who still hadn’t said a word in a record-breakingly long time. “Hey,” I said quietly. “Look at me. Am I okay? Do I have any blood on me? Anything?”
    He looked me up and down, then shook his head. “No. You’re okay.”
    I gave him a once-over, as well, and nodded. “You are, too.”
    He didn’t say anything in response. I never thought I’d be concerned that Dox was being too quiet, but it wasn’t like him.
    “You all right?” I asked.
    He closed his eyes, took two deep breaths, leaned forward, and vomited.
    I looked around us. There weren’t any pedestrians on this section of road. Even if there had been a few, I doubted they’d be overly interested. It wouldn’t be the first time anyone had seen a farang who’d had a bit too much to drink.
    When he was done, he wiped his mouth and straightened. “Damn, that’s embarrassing,” he said.
    We started moving again. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him.
    “That’s never happened to me, man, never.”
    “It can happen to anyone.”
    “Did it ever happen to you?”
    I paused, then admitted, “No. But I don’t know that’s something to be proud of.”
    “I just didn’t know you were going to do that, stab him like that. If I’d known, I could have gotten ready.”
    “Sorry. Couldn’t warn you without warning him.”
    “Why’d you slash his arms, man? I saw where you cut him, he was already dead for sure.”
    “I wanted it to look like he went down fighting, not being interrogated. If his people think he was interrogated, they’ll assume he gave up information. I want to keep them in the dark.”
    “So if he was fighting . . .”
    “Then he would have defensive wounds on his forearms.”
    “Oh. All right. Glad you weren’t just being sadistic. Is that why you didn’t take out his eye?”
    “That’s why.”
    “Would you have?”
    I paused, then said, “Yeah.”
    “Damn. I was afraid you were going to.”
    I could tell Dox didn’t have much experience with hostile interrogations. I thought he ought to count himself lucky for that.
    A cab came by and we flagged it down. I told the driver to take us to Chong Nonsi sky train station.
    As we drove away and it began to seem as though we’d made it, the enormity of what had just happened started to settle in. Yeah, Dox had helped me out, but his stupidity had caused the problem in the first place. I had told him about the damn phone. Told him specifically. Why couldn’t he listen? What was so hard about turning off a cell phone? I tried not to say anything, thinking it pointless at the moment, but then it started coming out anyway.
    “What did I tell you about that fucking phone?” I whispered. “What did I tell you?”
    He