Gaijin Cowgirl (18): "Give me the map"

"I figure we could go partners."

(Previous chapter, or start at the beginning.)

Maxwell’s movements were slow and deliberate, but also relaxed – cocky. He sported a loose Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of glasses. He folded his arms and leaned in the entrance, a bandage wrapped around the left bicep. He winked at Val, the other eye socket still bearing a blue shine from its meeting with a golf club.

Val stood up. “I know who you are,” she said. “I know your name.”

A few of the men at the bar turned at the sound of her raised voice. They saw the man and turned away: just another expat having an argument with his daughter. Families – dads, husbands – didn’t often survive the temptations of Thailand.

“And I know why,” Maxwell said in his easy Kentucky accent. He slowly walked toward her, lowering his voice to avoid attention. “Mind if I call you Valerie? Miss Benson’s so dang formal.”

Suki stepped back and pressed herself against Simon, who enfolded her.

“Who’s that?” the boxer hissed.

“The American,” Suki said. “Maxwell.”

Maxwell chose that moment to bow to her. “Yamauchi-san, a pleasure to meet you again.” His one still bloodshot eye, ringed in blue, shared none of the amusement in his tone. “Every time I look in the mirror, sweetheart, I think of you.”

Muddy emerged from the bathroom and halted. He didn’t recognize the stranger, but the tension in the room was obvious.

Maxwell nodded to the Australian. “McKenzie. How ya doin?”

“Who are you?”

“Jeb Maxwell.” He strode into the bar’s center. “How about a beer, there, darlin’?” He turned from the bar to the booth where Val and Jiraporn sat. “Ain’t you going to make some room for me, Valerie?”

“How did you find me?” she demanded.

“Oh, I got lots of friends.” He slid into the booth opposite Val, forcing Jiraporn to move over. “I can’t get you out of my mind, pretty lady.”

She wanted to bolt. “Murderer.”

“Now what makes you say a thing like that?” He put a hand on hers but she yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Now that ain’t neighborly, no sirree. Hey, where’s that beer?”

Nim scurried over with a big Chang bottle and a glass.

Val bolted. Maxwell didn’t try to stop her, just sipped straight from the bottle. She threw open the bar’s front door. An enormous white man with red hair filled most of it. A bald black man, lean as a knife, occupied the remaining slice of space.

She slammed the door shut again. A few gazes from the bar moved in her direction. The regulars knew something was up, but they didn’t seem to care. They were mostly annoyed that an excitable white woman was disturbing their drinking.

Val regarded the other patrons, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. Maxwell wasn’t going to do anything stupid in such a public place.

“Butcher and Baker,” Simon whispered, and Suki nodded, quivering in his arms.

“That black fella,” Muddy said to Val. “He was watching my flat the night you visited me.”

“My associates,” Maxwell said. He patted the table. “Come on, Valerie, sit your ass down. Attagirl. I don’t bite. I’m here to apologize.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said sit down.”

She did as he commanded.

Maxwell put his arm around Jiraporn. “Now, what’s your name, baby?”

The reporter pushed him off. “The last man who called me ‘baby’ got a whisky bottle in his face.”

“She’s just a friend,” Val said.

“I’m sure,” Maxwell said, snapping her business card off the table. “Jiraporn Phongpaichit, senior reporter. Well well, we got ourselves a journalist. Guess I better watch what I say.”

“So you know where the treasure is?” Val asked.

“In a way,” Maxwell said.

“But you need the map.”

“Sure I need the map. That’s why I came here tonight, Valerie. I don’t want to keep on having to chase you all over the goddamn jungle. I don’t want nobody to get hurt. I figure we could go partners.”

She snorted. “Partners. Right.”

“You’d do worse, honey.”

“How did you know my name, anyway?”

“Same way you knew mine.”

She let that sink in. “My father? He told you?”

“Naw, he didn’t tell me. But I knew you two met in Tokyo,” – he pronounced it Tokeeyo – “right after you took the map. And as I’m sure Fred mentioned, me and him go way back.”

“He told me enough.”

“Oh yeah? Like what.”

“Like you’re an ex-spy who was running drugs in Vietnam.”

Maxwell chuckled. “I wouldn’t exactly spell it out that way. But when you work in intelligence, like I did, you sometimes cooperate with all kinds of shady characters. Hell, even your daddy and me was partners for a time.”

“Partners.”

“Yeah, you know, Starsky and Hutch. Partners.”

“My dad isn’t shady like you.”

“No, he’s the respectable Congressman, former employee of the Agency for International Development, general do-gooder. I guess he ain’t so shady…on the outside.”

“And what does that mean?” she demanded.

Maxwell finished off his beer. “I reckon that’s his business. Ain’t my place to be telling his daughter things. Better ask him.”

“I got the impression he hates you.”

Maxwell nodded. “That’s about right.”

“So why should I trust you, or listen to anything you say?”

“Don’t you get it, girl? I’m coming here with my two associates, come to smoke the peace pipe and make a deal.”

“A deal.”

“Yep.”

“Your goddamn associates were going to peel my face off.” She tapped the white line along her cheekbone.

“I know the feeling,” he said, pointing to his shiner. “Minor concussion, doc says. So we’re even, okay? I was totally unhappy with the way that operation fell out, if it’s any consolation. If those goddamn Japs hadn’t opened up like it was fucking Iwo Jima, then we wouldn’t have had to go through all that mess. I’ll say it again: I’m here to kiss and make up.”

At that he pursed his lips at Suki, who turned away.

Simon picked that moment to saunter to the door and open it. The mammoth redhead and the black blade stared back. Simon and the thugs coolly measured each other.

The bartender had half-followed the situation. He now approached the door. “Mate, we don’t want any trouble,” he said, revealing an Australian accent. “Why don’t you settle this outside?”

“I’d love to,” Simon said.

“Don’t make us call the police,” the bartender added.

“Nobody’s going to make trouble,” said Baker.

“You’re blocking the door,” Simon replied.

The two men parted. “If you want to leave, be my guest,” said Baker.

At the table, Val lit a cigarette and glared at the cracked face of the old Kentuckian. “What do you want, Maxwell?”

“Same thing you do, sweetheart. To find the gold. You got the map. We got…well, we got a certain capacity to make your life either easy or unpleasant. I mean, it wouldn’t be that hard, now that we got y’all covered, to just take the fuckin thing, right? But I don’t want another mess. Naw, I’d rather we be friends. Give me the map. I’ll pay you five thousand bucks American.”

“I don’t think so, Jeb.”

“Come on, Val, take a look at this here situation. I’m asking you real nice. We done followed you all the way from Tokyo. Now I don’t want to ask Butcher back in here with his Bowie knife. I just don’t. You and I know this ain’t the time or place for rough stuff anyway. But if you don’t give me the map, we’ll find you. There’s plenty of places in a big city like Bangkok to do the kinds of things we might have to do.” He turned to Jiraporn, who sat in silent fear, and added, “And that’s off the record, sweetie, or we’ll do the same to you.”

“Why now, Maxwell?” Val asked. “You’ve wanted that map for a long time. Why’d you have to wait until just a few weeks ago?”

“Truth is, darling, me and Colonel Tojo hadn’t parted the best of friends. I didn’t exactly feel welcome to stop by and visit him in Japan. So I waited, and made some friends in the US embassy, and waited some more. Then who shows up on CNN one night being accused of war crimes by a bunch of Asian grannies? Takahashi, in the flesh. Normally untouchable, but if he was caught up in a scandal about comfort women, his cronies might not be so eager to protect him from me. Bad enough he’s getting tried for war crimes…and it turns out he was a plunderer too? Nah, he was finished.”

That awful feeling in her stomach: Charlie’s case had paved the way for Maxwell’s assault that night.

“And you’re finished too, pretty lady,” Maxwell said. “You are S.O.L. Now that, sweetie, is a charming expression used by our pilots in Nam, and it stands for shit outta luck, and that means you oughta stop playing silly games and go home while you’re still in one piece. I got five grand in my pocket to make it easy on y’all.”

“That’s not real money,” Simon interjected from the door.

Charlie, we had no idea what we stirred up.

When Val looked at Maxwell’s rugged face, she felt as though the wide-open spaces of life and all its options suddenly narrowed into a single, dark chasm.

“Maxwell,” she purred, leaning forward. She was wearing a low-cut top and Maxwell’s gaze duly descended. Val stepped out of the booth with seductive grace, letting her fingers trail teasingly along the table. “A generous offer. Tempting. I’m not prepared to give up the map, but maybe we can find other ways to cooperate.”

“Val?” Suki quizzed.

“Listen to the woman,” Maxwell said. “She’s starting to talk sense. Okay, honey, let’s work this out.”

Val leaned against the edge of the table. “You want to come with us? Share in the spoils?”

“Exactly.”

“We make it easy for you to follow, and you don’t hurt anybody?”

“Valerie, you’re a mind reader.”

“And how do we know you won’t just murder us when we find the treasure?”

Maxwell laughed. “That’d just make trouble for everybody, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s no answer,” Jiraporn said.

“Ooh, the fourth estate,” Maxwell said. He pointed an aggressive finger at Jira that made her shrink back. “Put this in your paper, babe: American lady and Thai reporter found dead in klong. Like that headline?”

“You are just a bully,” Jiraporn said. “You are not here to cooperate, but to steal her map.”

“It’s Val’s choice,” Maxwell said. “But in the end, I’m getting that map, and if y’all play along, then you can share in the treasure. I reckon there’ll be plenty to go around.”

Val placed her fingertips on Maxwell’s collar. He smiled up at her. As she toyed with the fabric of his shirt, she asked, “Maybe we can work something out.”

“You are one fine woman,” Maxwell said easily. “You seeing my side of things, I respect that. Smart.”

She took a sip of her Coke. “You know, Jeb – can I call you Jeb?”

“Sure thing, honey.”

“My best guess is that you or one of those halfwits outside the door works for the CIA or something like that. Maybe in the embassy in Japan. If you knew Suki and I were headed to Hong Kong, you must have been in it from the start.”

“Go on.”

She glanced at the door. “Baker knew where we were going. He’s your friend in the embassy?”

Maxwell shrugged.

“So you were in a position in Japan to keep good track of us,” Val said. “Especially once my father asked some of his contacts there to help smuggle us out. Baker got wind of it. You got us handed to you on a platter.”

“I take the rough and the smooth.”

“But you don’t have the same leverage here, do you?”

“Don’t quite see your point.”

“I mean, you can keep track of us while we’re staying in tourist hotels.”

Muddy interjected with “Val—” but she ignored him.

“But if you come here asking for the map, you aren’t in a position to just take it. Something’s holding you back.”

“Good old-fashioned ‘Merican decency,” Maxwell said.

“Jeb,” she said, leaning closer. He lifted his chin but his gaze remained on her breasts. “My eyes, Jeb, up here.”

“Sorry, honey, but you can’t blame a man.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m not your honey.” Val dumped her drink on him. Maxwell’s face turned purple and he sputtered and hissed. Now the entire bar was watching. Simon and Butcher and Baker were watching. Nim was watching. Jiraporn sat still in her corner, eyes wide behind her glasses.

Val stood back. “Now get out.”

Maxwell’s fists twitched and his eyes smoldered with hate. He slid from the booth and tried to dry his brow with a forearm. He moved toward the door, but then lost his cool. “You dumb bitch,” and he punched her. Val never saw it coming, and the blow caught her in the mouth and spilled her to the floor.

The outraged customers poured off their barstools, ready to clobber Maxwell. Butcher and Baker hurried in to extract their boss. They had to drag him toward the door as he screamed, “Do you know who you’re fucking with? I’m gonna eat you alive.”

One of the barflies took a lunge at Maxwell, but Baker easily deflected the blow and with a rabbit punch cleared the man away. “Everybody be cool,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

“I’m calling the police,” said the bartender.

Simon opened the door, keeping his eyes on the three men as they bustled out to the steamy chaos of Patpong market. “That’s it son, clear out,” the kickboxer said. He watched Maxwell throw off his henchmen and stalk into the crowd.

Muddy and Suki helped Val into a booth as Nim brought her a damp towel to staunch the blood from her lip. With a muffled voice, Val said to Jiraporn, “So do you have a story or not?”

“I can’t believe you refused their offer,” the journalist said.

“Good on ya,” Muddy muttered.

“Do you have a story?” Val pressed.

Jira nodded. “I’ll get the information you need.”

* * *

Simon paced by the jukebox, clenching his fists and thinking about the five thousand dollars on offer and wondering what they could have bid Maxwell up to. Val and Suki returned from the ladies’ room, Val’s lip swollen. Suki hugged him.

“The police will be here,” said Muddy. “I take it we don’t want to have to answer any questions, do we?”

“No,” Simon agreed. “But those goons are out there.”

“That’s right,” Muddy said. “They won’t try negotiating again.”

Jiraporn said, “I have a car nearby.”

“The hotel’s not safe,” Muddy warned.

“You can stay with me,” Simon offered. Against Khru Chatri’s rules, but he’d figure something out. “They don’t know who I am.”

“We have to get our things,” Val said. “The map.”

Jiraporn took charge. “We go there, get your things and leave. Don’t even check out.”

Simon peered out the door. “I’m going to have a look around. You lot stick together and follow Jira.”

“Simon, don’t go alone,” Suki pleaded.

He didn’t want to leave her. He liked the way she sought his protection. But if those Yanks were going to come after Val and Suki, Simon planned to surprise them. “You just take care of Val,” he said, kissing her. To Jira, he said, “We all meet up at eleven at Wat Pho and, if something goes wrong, at Democracy Monument at midnight. Right?”

“Okay,” Jiraporn said.

Simon slipped out the door.

In the riot of the market and the ongoing holiday water fight, he saw a block of brown police uniforms working their way through the crowd. Surawong lay in the other direction, apparently safe. But if Maxwell’s crew were indeed lurking around, that’s where they’d be.

He stepped into the flow of people. To one side, a row of stalls piled high with vendors’ trinkets and clothes. To the other, the loud entrances to girlie bars, and dark alleys leading to other temptations. Touts holding signs approached the single white male.

“See a show? See pussy?”

“This way, massage, two girls.”

Simon waved them off and slowly advanced toward the market’s exit.

“Beautiful girl. No cover.”

A teenage boy popped from behind a stall, laughing, and sprayed a jet of water.

“Buy T-shirt, mister? Hello, buy souvenir?”

Simon worked his way around a knot of fat, sunburned Westerners, feeling the street close in and the disco music dull his senses. The carnival whirled even as he approached the end of the street.

“Here’s the show.” Simon ducked the beefy white fist. It wasn’t a very good punch. Simon came up on the balls of his feet, swung his hip, and cracked a kick into the redhead’s nose. He leapt back, raised his right knee, and kicked again, slamming his foot into the big man’s inner thigh. Butcher crumpled; he had size and strength, but not the speed to use it.

The kickboxer looked back and saw Jiraporn outside Bluegrass. Simon waved them forward. Butcher was rubbing his leg. Simon switched his feet, and swung his left foot out in a roundhouse kick that clipped Butcher’s bowed head.

A blow, stars: Simon stumbled forward. Too late, pincers grabbed him, hurled him out of the market street and into an alley. Baker stayed with him, smashing him against the wall.

Body blows, not enough room to move. Baker knew how to hit, how to kill. Most men would have sunk to their knees. Simon could take it. He sidestepped, elbow raised. He didn’t connect, but it was enough to break free – almost, no, now he was trapped, with Baker behind and Butcher on his feet and stumbling towards him. And Maxwell? Where was he?

Butcher reached for the Bowie knife sheathed beneath his shirt. “You little punk.” Grunts and cries; in the lighted street passed a hundred people; the sounds of hitting flesh and bone: the raucous street festival smothered it all.

(Next chapter.)