Killing Rain

that.”
    See? You get a little by giving a little, I thought.
    We found a street sewer that worked nicely for the handkerchief and the knife I had used on Perry Mason and friends. As I was dumping them in, Dox said, “Wait, there’s this, too.” He reached into a pocket. “Here. I think it’s some kind of hypodermic.”
    I looked at it and nodded. “That’s exactly what it is.”
    The device was flesh-colored and looked vaguely like a plastic joy-buzzer. Where the button would be on a joy-buzzer, though, was a short, thick needle, maybe 16-gauge. The needle was covered in some kind of wax that was hard enough to protect the user from an accidental stick, but soft enough to give way under strong pressure. The back of it was sticky, and I realized it had been adhered to Perry Mason’s palm as he approached me.
    “Slick,” I said, musing. “I’ve never seen something like this before. It must be custom. Look.” I stuck it to my palm and turned my hand upward so he could see it. “I thought what was going on back there was supposed to be a snatch. I was right. The four Thai guys grab me. The white guy moves in and hits me in the leg with an open-hand strike, or just grabs me and squeezes, whatever. Then what’s in this thing—I’m betting a veterinary anesthetic, something with fentanyl, droperidol, whatever—gets injected, just like a snakebite. They’ve probably got a dose in here that could put down a Clydesdale. I’m unconscious in seconds and they drag me into the van. Yeah, that’s why they had the atropine and naloxone in the glove compartment—to immediately reverse cardiac and respiratory suppression, make sure they don’t accidentally lose the patient. That was the plan, anyway.”
    “What about me?”
    I thought for a minute. “I’m not sure. But I would guess I was the main target. First they want to separate us. If they can pick me up, they could always deal with you later. Remember, they were tracking your cell phone.”
    “I doubt that you’ll let me forget.”
    “Or if you’d actually gone off with Tiara, they’d have that. She probably would have suggested her apartment, told you she had a hot roommate and they had this fantasy about a threesome with a big, strong, white man. Not that you would fall for something like that.”
    “No, not me, I’m immune to that kind of thing.”
    “If you go to the apartment, you get ambushed there. If you take her back to your hotel room instead, she makes a call and lets them know where to go and how to proceed.”
    “Who were they all, do you think?”
    I considered for a moment. “I don’t know. The Thais were tough, but they weren’t professionals. They felt like street muscle. The white guy, though, he was impressive. He was an operator, and I guarantee you this wasn’t the first time he’d done a snatch.”
    “Company man, you think?”
    “Definitely a possibility. But then why the Thais?”
    He shrugged. “Maybe he was working on the fly. Didn’t have time to assemble a proper team.”
    “Yeah, could be that.”
    I looked at the syringe for another moment, then slipped it into my shirt pocket, needle-side out. “We’re keeping the knives,” I said. “I guess this might come in handy, too.”
    We went up the stairs, bought tickets, then headed to the platform. Dox said, “Where are we going, anyway?”
    “To his hotel. The Silom Holiday Inn. He had a room key on him. I took it.”
    “What, are we going to try every door in the hotel? I know that place. It used to be the Crowne Plaza. They probably have seven hundred rooms.”
    I thought about Perry Mason. About the lack of identifying pocket litter, even in the van. About how smooth his approach had been, and how confident he’d been when we faced off.
    He was a careful man, I could see that. A survivor. Yeah, look at his everyday carry, the quality knives, the Casio G-Shock watch. He was a good Boy Scout. He minded the details, looked for small advantages.
    The kind of guy who knew to park a van so that the cargo could be loaded from the side it was being carried in from, because doing so would save a few seconds if he had to bug out. That kind of guy.
    The kind who would insist on a hotel room on a low floor and next to a stairwell for the same reason.
    “How many floors is the hotel?” I asked.
    “I don’t know exactly. It’s got two towers. One is maybe fifteen floors, the other about twenty-five.”
    “You want to bet that this guy’s room will be