Five

MR. BOUROS

I STOOD AT the driveway’s curb outside the hotel, still fighting to get my head on straight as I checked my watch, tapping my foot in the high-heeled shoes. I was muttering under my breath, staring out over the traffic on the main road when the white SUV pulled up in front of me.

I didn’t see our “translator” Fah that time, but the same driver I remembered from before gave me a smile and a nod as he got out to open the door. He also gave me a few quick rises of the eyebrows as he looked over my clothes, which broke me out of my anger temporarily by making me laugh...partly because I saw the smile in his eyes as he did it.

Still smiling, I got into the back of the car when he opened the door.

Adjusting myself on the leather seat, I exhaled, doing my best to relax.

I still had no idea where we were going.

Moreover, at this point, a big part of me wanted to tell the driver to just take me back to the airport. I wasn’t usually the fight-or-flight type, at least not in terms of non-lethal situations, so even the temptation to flee Black and whatever the hell was going on between us was enough to make me angry. I resolved to just ignore him instead, but some part of me knew that wasn’t going to work either.

I was still staring out the window––gazing without seeing at the back of the fountain that faced the street, filled with tall, copper-colored letters spelling out Hanu Hotel––when the door opened to my right. Before I could turn, someone slid onto the seat next to me.

When I faced him I flinched, if only because he sat so near and I hadn’t felt him at all.

Moreover, he wore a suit, which I’d only seen him in once before.

He, in turn, was staring at me in the violet-colored dress I wore.

I had no idea what he thought of the outfit, since his face shifted away as soon as I turned in his direction. He wore sunglasses again, too, I noticed, even in the car, which made me wonder if he did it in part to hide his odd-colored irises.

Focusing on the driver, he spoke to him rapidly in what had to be Thai, which made me jump again.

“You speak Thai?” I said, surprised––and really, a little impressed.

He turned, leveling a sunglass-laden stare in my direction.

He didn’t bother to answer.

Biting my lip, I looked away, folding my arms. I found myself thinking this wasn’t going to be a very fun afternoon, even apart from the fact that I had zero idea what he wanted from me in this meeting.

“You look nice,” he said, his voice neutral.

I looked over at him, my lips pressed firmly together.

He was adjusting his jacket and shirt in the mirror on the back of the sun-flap above the driver’s head. When I didn’t speak, he gave me a darting look through the shades.

“...The dress,” he added, motioning at me with one of his oddly graceful gestures before he leaned back in the seat. “It’s nice.”

I didn’t answer.

Despite my rapidly souring mood after our scene by the pool, the scenery managed to distract me not long after we left the hotel’s circular driveway. I don’t know what I’d expected Bangkok to be like exactly, but looking around, I realized most of my impressions must have come from movies. Those movies apparently exaggerated the “exotic” elements, since most of what I saw now struck me as more familiar than not. The sheer modernity of the city came somewhat as a surprise, even as it blended with seamless harmony into the more traditional-looking Asian buildings and street vendors and artwork to either side.

When we reached the end of the wide-laned road under the overpass of the Skytrain, the SUV hung a right, taking us north I gauged, from where I’d remember the sun being that morning. I felt myself slowly starting to relax as we turned down that narrower street, snaking between buildings on roads lined with umbrella-covered street vendors selling everything from fruit to flowers to purses and shoes, T-shirts, jewelry and meat on skewers. Part of my relaxation came from my interest in the view, but I knew the bigger part was likely because––for the first time since I’d seen him in that police station in Old Town Bangkok––I couldn’t feel much off Quentin Black at all.

Next to me, he felt like a ghost.

While the reality of that absence bothered me in a different way, it at least allowed me the breathing space to sort through my own thoughts. Logic reasserted itself in that space he gave me...and ways of thinking about things, including him, that at least felt more or less familiar to how I’d thought about things for the last fifteen or so years.

Pushing thoughts of him aside as best I could––especially the fact that he looked damned good in the black suit jacket and pants he now wore, particularly with the bone-white dress shirt he wore open at the collar underneath––I focused on the scenery outside of the car and tried to decide why I’d come out here in the first place.

Whatever else he’d said and done, he was right about that much. I’d come when he asked. I’d also come with some thoughts of my own––admitted or not––about what might happen between us out here.

And yes, I’d been jealous when he’d casually mentioned sleeping with other people out here. I still was, if I was being totally honest with myself.

He’d been right about that, too.

The thought only brought my anger back though, even as it caused me to fold my arms more tightly across my chest. Remembering his exact wording didn’t help––even as some part of me tried to pick it apart all over again. Once I noticed what I was doing, I shoved it out of my mind, focusing back on the view out my window with an effort.

I still wanted to hit him, though.

We pulled into an even smaller set of alleys. A high archway covered in Thai writing led us into a narrow, one-lane street lined with more street vendors, right before we drove by what looked like a Buddhist temple. As we passed the entrance into the monastery, I found my guess confirmed as I glimpsed bare feet and bald heads, bodies wrapped in saffron robes. A colorful dragon statue stood watch over a high-peaked building, red and gold with ornate eaves done up like curved flames. A large statue of a sitting Buddha stood in the center of the courtyard, and I swear I saw animal cages on either side, holding animals big enough to be monkeys.

Not long after we’d passed that, I saw a giant white building looming overhead, surrounded by a small jungle of trees. That one definitely wasn’t a monastery. It looked distinctly European in style, but old, like something from the beginning of the Twentieth Century. A steeply sloped, curved driveway rose to meet us as the SUV turned. Vines twisted over white pillars at the front of the building, hanging down over tall windows making up the front-facing wall of a high-ceilinged room upstairs. I saw the sign then and a row of dark-uniformed attendants walking forward to take the car, waving at our driver to stop. 

Another hotel.

This one looked significantly older than ours, and also significantly more high-end, if in a more conservative style than the modern and chic-seeming Hanu. The tall white columns and jungle-like grounds with their antique-looking statues hearkened back to the colonial era. Giant bronze elephants greeted us on either end of the glass revolving doors as we pulled up to the apex of the long driveway. Under the alcove on either side of the lobby’s entrance were two dragon boats jutting out of the sides of the building, just inside the row of white pillars. They also looked old, if well-preserved, and recently re-painted.

Old-style doormen in white gloves and military-style uniforms at either side walked briskly to the car doors and opened them for us.

I stepped out, feeling my nerves rise again as I remembered I had no idea what we were doing here, or who Black had brought me here to meet. Even so, when Black motioned with his jaw, I walked up to the hotel’s front entrance with purposeful strides, hoping my unease didn’t show on my face.

Black reached my side soon after I’d passed through those revolving glass doors. When I turned, he touched my elbow lightly, still wearing the sunglasses as he tilted his head a second time, motioning me towards a long bank of elevators.

I’d been staring around the lobby when he did it.

Truthfully, I’d been a little stunned by the opulence. Even compared to some of the expensive hotels in San Francisco, it struck me as almost exaggeratedly high-end.

The lobby itself was cavernous, with floor to ceiling windows facing out towards what I now realized must be the Chao Praya river and the park-like grounds of the hotel itself. Through those windows I saw a lagoon-style pool nestled inside a garden of palm trees and tropical plants, filled with snaking trails and foot bridges and blooming flowers. A bar blended seamlessly into all of the greenery and old teak. Part of that bar descended lower, I realized, so that some of the chairs appeared to be inside one end of the pool. 

Women in sunglasses and hats perched there, laughing and sipping at straws stuck in tropical-looking drinks. In the distance I saw a row of sun lounges and umbrella-covered tables alongside the river itself.

On the inside, the lobby looked like a ballroom.

A bar stood in the shadowed part of the room to my right, done up in dark woods and animal skins and again looking like something from the earlier part of the last century. A grand piano lay in one corner near an old-style dance floor. Giant chandeliers hung from the ceiling, including one that filled the space over a gentle spiral staircase leading downstairs with white, curved bannisters. Cocktail tables and chaise lounges filled the main floor, which was also dotted with palm trees and giant sculptures that looked like real Thai antiques, possibly from old palaces or even shrines. A many-headed dragon sculpture and fountain took up a large part of the center of the room, made of marble-like stone and larger than a good-sized automobile. 

Another fountain ran down the wall over the staircase––a depiction of a flying eagle-type god that had been done in green stone.

To my left, tucked in a fraction of all that space, I saw the registration desks.

It looked like something out of a movie, and the well-dressed patrons wandering around with martini glasses in their hands could have been from a different time period.

“Miriam,” Black said, his voice a touch sharp.

I turned, and realized I’d stopped following him again somewhere in all my staring.

Pulling my purse strap back up over my shoulder and now feeling under-dressed despite the high-heeled shoes and the calf-length, form-fitting dress I wore, I nodded right before I began to follow him.

Ignoring his proffered hand, I walked past him instead, aiming my feet for the elevator bank behind him. We didn’t stand next to one another again until we were waiting for the elevator.

I felt his eyes on me though.

I also felt a seething pulse off him that had to be anger.

Frustration, anyway. Maybe annoyance.

So he wasn’t enjoying this standoff with me any more than I was with him, it seemed.

“I’m not,” he said gruffly.

Before I could answer, a ping came from the elevator doors behind us. He turned at once, then stepped out of my way as the doors opened so I could enter in front of him.

We’d just walked into the elevator when he spoke again.

“Don’t call me Black here,” he said. “And you’re not Miriam.”

“What do I call you?” I murmured, watching as he bent swiftly to punch in a floor button. I noticed he hit the button for “PH” which had to be the penthouse.

“Bouros,” he said, giving me a look through the sunglasses, which he still wore, even inside the elevator. “...Jake, if you prefer,” he added. “You’re Alice. That work for you?”

“Alice what?”

“Alice whatever-the-fuck-you-want,” he said.

When I glanced at him, he was arranging his shirt under the jacket, tugging on his sleeves.

“So are you going to tell me why we’re here?” I said softly, glancing around the small space. I must have been hanging around Black for too long since it crossed my mind that we might be overheard. “...Or am I just supposed to wing it?”

He gave me a flat look, again through the sunglasses, but his expression didn’t move. “Just do your thing, doc. You can tell me what you see later...after we leave.”

I fought back another wave of frustration.

“It doesn’t work that way, Black...Jake. I need to have some idea of what I’m even looking for. Why do you want me to look at this person?”

“Persons,” he clarified.

“Persons...okay. So tell me what I’m looking for.”

He shook his head, once. “No,” he said.

“No?”

He gave me another of those expressionless looks. “Think of this as a test, doc. This is me finding out just how good you are.” His voice grew openly warning. “Just don’t use your sight. Not even a little, doc. Don’t even think about the fact that you can do it. Not here.”

“Don’t think about the fact that I’m psychic?”

“Exactly.” His voice grew harder, more uncompromising. “Get it out of your head, doc. I mean it. And follow my lead in there...don’t get weird on me.”

I blinked, staring at him. I was about to try again, when another low ping interrupted my train of thought, right before the doors slid open in front of us.

He didn’t wait but walked directly out of the car, only waiting for me once he stood on the plush patterned carpet in front of the row of doors. He didn’t offer me a hand or his arm that time, but simply began to walk as if expecting me to follow.

I did, but found myself fighting not to try and read him again.

“Not in here...Alice.” Turning, he gave me a heated look, lowering his sunglasses to stare at me with his gold eyes. His voice shifted to a warning murmur. “Don’t make me regret bringing you here. If you don’t think you can follow those simple instructions, I’ll need you to go back downstairs and wait for me in the car. I’m not kidding.”

Something about the way he said it made me not want to argue.

I nodded instead, glancing around us only then. I don’t know what I expected to see exactly, but I got the implication behind his words.

There were more like him here...somewhere.

Or there might be, at least.

If Black heard me thinking about that, he didn’t react. Regardless, I found myself strengthening that wall in my mind, keeping everything about me and Black and other races on the furthest side of that block. I made my surface thoughts light, and mainly about the place itself––meaning what I could actually see with my physical eyes.

I followed him into another expensive-looking room, if one with a significantly lower ceiling and a much more exclusive and closed-in feel than the lobby downstairs. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling here too, and while they were significantly smaller, they also looked even older and more ornate. Made of a dense hardwood that wasn’t teak, the bar looked like an antique as well, with a beveled mirror in the back and stuffed animal heads across the top that reminded me of old hunting lodges. The lustrous shine of the espresso-colored grain appeared more South American than Asian to me, reminding me of a furniture exhibit I’d once seen at the San Francisco MOMA, depicting European styles from the thirties and forties.

Tables covered in clean white cloths with full silverware sets and expensive-looking lamps lived in all of the alcoves, with the center of the room punctuated by various art pieces and more––if smaller––stone fountains that looked European rather than Thai.

I didn’t see many people, but the people I saw were all well-dressed.

Not only formally dressed, but expensively so.

Most wore clothes that looked tailored, not off-the-rack. Most appeared to be either Chinese or of European descent––I only saw a few who looked Thai apart from the hired help.

Everyone spoke in low voices and a lot of them appeared to be smoking cigars.

Again, something about the whole scene reminded me more of a movie than reality.

I saw Black nod to a few of them and a few of them smile back at him, looking me over with raised eyebrows and faintly knowing looks.

This place definitely had a “boy’s club” feel to it, too.

Even as I thought it, Black’s hand closed around my upper arm in an unmistakably possessive gesture. He didn’t grip me hard, or pull me towards him, but I felt the implication there clearly enough. For some reason I wasn’t offended by it, maybe because of what he’d said before we left the elevators. 

Some part of me assumed it to be part of his Bouros/Alice act.

The faint flavor of real emotion I felt behind that act also felt less like ownership and more like protection––like a warning off of predators in the middle of a lion’s den.

I definitely felt whatever he was reacting to in here.

Something about the climate in this room raised the hairs on the back of my neck, despite the opulent surroundings and the hush of quiet.

Black continued to hold my arm lightly in his fingers as he led me deeper into the restaurant, and eventually into a darker, more narrow corridor. I felt a flicker of nerves off him that made me wonder if he regretted bringing me. Before I could dwell much on that, the corridor ended at a narrow staircase, with a red-painted door at the top. Beside that red door, a waiter in a white suit bowed deeply to Black, then punched in some kind of combination code on the wall.

The door unlocked with a click. The same white-gloved attendant opened it.

The walkway beyond led us out onto the roof. 

Outside, more cloth-covered tables stood overlooking a breathtaking view of the river.

The space was entirely empty of people apart from us. Flowering plants and potted trees decorated a wooden deck around pristine tables. Only after we rounded a corner could I see a small group of men sitting at the far end, smoking cigars and talking amongst themselves.

Like Black, they all wore suits. 

They also practically breathed out money when they spoke.

Black led us directly up to that table.

Only when we stood over it did he release my arm.

“You’re late, Bouros,” a man sitting directly across from us said.

My eyes shifted to the speaker.

He was looking at me, not Black. His stare appraised me openly like Black’s did at times, yet somehow this man’s stare was a lot more offensive than Black’s ever were. He looked at me like I was a particularly fine cut of steak, or maybe a horse he was considering buying.

There was entitlement in that stare.

I felt something else too, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was at first.

Whatever I saw in that fleshy face, I stiffened under his watery blue eyes, almost without knowing I did it. As I did, Black touched me lightly again, that time at the small of my back. I felt reassurance in his touch, although his fingers were fleeting, there and then gone.

It struck me to wonder again why Black himself never scared me.

He’d certainly never scared me as much as these four men did in less than ten seconds, with their expensive suits and their bland expressions.

Funnily enough, now that we were here, I strongly felt myself in Black’s corner again. A part of me really wanted to speak to him in fact, mind-to-mind I mean, but I hadn’t forgotten what he’d said about not using our psychic abilities in here.

Who the hell were these people?

Did they have something to do with those kids being killed?

And if not, what did Black have to do with any of them?

“Where have you been, you old dog?” a different man said.

He had an upscale British accent and looked over his shoulder at us from where he sat on the nearer side of the table. He smiled up at Black, who flinched a bit, as if he hadn’t expected to see that particular man here. In fact, I distinctly got the impression Black hadn’t expected this man. I honestly couldn’t decide if that was a problem in his mind or not.

The Englishman turned, smiling at me right before he winked at me teasingly.

“...Or are we meant to extrapolate your whereabouts from the presence of your lovely companion here?” he said. “Who you’ve undoubtedly brought here to charm us...and, even more likely, to make us all positively green with envy?”

Black smiled, recovering from his surprise.

It was a somewhat predatory smile I noticed, right before he stepped closer, so that his body pressed right up against mine. Before I could decide how to react, he’d slung an arm over my shoulder and halfway around my neck.

That time, there was no mistaking the proprietary meaning he projected.

“Apologies, gentlemen...” he drawled, his accent unmistakably European and nothing like any accent I’d heard him use before. He pulled the sunglasses off his eyes with his free hand before he aimed that shark-like smile around the table. “You know how it is.”

Knowing chuckles came out of the four men sitting there.

Black turned, winking openly at me.

In the direct sunlight, his gold eyes looked almost like living flame. I was still lost in the expression there, barely recognizing the man I knew, when the first man who’d addressed Black motioned with a thick hand to two empty seats to our right.

“All right,” he said, amusement in his voice. “We get the idea...you like your new friend. And we can all clearly see why. Have a seat. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I followed the pressure of Black’s hand when he slid his arm from around my neck, touching the base of my spine gently once more. Something in the caution behind the gesture caused me to relax again, at least with him.

Another of the men spoke and I turned.

“What will you and your...ah, new friend...be having to drink?”

I looked over, hearing the man’s East Indian accent. He was light skinned, gray-haired, dark eyed, but I could see the Indian in his features now that I looked for it. He smiled at me too, but like with the first one, I saw a harder look behind his brown eyes.

So three white guys, one Indian guy...and now me and Black.

“Scotch,” Black said.

“What kind?”

“Surprise me.”

The Indian man smiled then lifted his phone, speaking into it in a low voice.

“So where did you meet this lovely lady?” the first man said, the one with that fleshy face and watery blue eyes.

I realized his accent was American...something I hadn’t paid attention to the first time he spoke. Somewhere from the South, but I wasn’t up on my Southern United States accents well enough to pinpoint the state. I watched as he ashed his cigar in the glass tray in the middle of the table. Leaning back in the padded lounge chair, he leered openly at my chest, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was watching him do it.

“She’s not local, is she? Is she Greek? Italian?”

It struck me suddenly that no one had bothered to ask my name.

“None of your fucking business,” Black said, giving him another of those shark-like grins. “And keep your eyes to yourself, you dirty old bastard...this one’s not on the market.”

“Everything is on the market,” the Indian man said, his voice amused, despite the mocking rebuke. “For the right price. You should know that, Bouros.”

“This one isn’t,” Black said, turning to stare at the Indian without missing a beat. “She sucks my cock. That’s it.”

I flinched, feeling my face warm.

When I glanced up, the men were watching me with decidedly more heat in their eyes.

The one who hadn’t spoken yet, who sat to my right, let out an involuntary but strangely high-pitched laugh.

I glanced at him, and saw him staring at my chest too, a disconcertingly boyish smile on his face. He looked at me almost shyly, like I was some kind of exotic animal, but I found myself distinctly not liking the look there, either.

Glancing around the table and seeing all of their eyes on me now, I bit my tongue but tried to keep my reaction out of my expression.

“I think your friend is shy, Bouros,” the American said, giving me a thin-lipped but knowing smile. “You’ve made her blush...quite alluring I must say. And how unusual for this town.”

The other three men chuckled, murmuring in agreement.

“You risk a lot, bringing her around these animals,” the Englishman said, winking at me as he ashed his own cigar.

Black gave him a flat-eyed smile in return, wrapping his arm around me again.

“Or maybe I just know what’s mine,” he said, his voice a touch colder as he tugged me against him.

“What if I wished to persuade you otherwise?” the first man said, his voice soft.

Black’s gaze darted back to him. “I’d tell you to eat shit,” Black said. “Or did you miss the part where that pretty mouth of hers only sucks on me?”

“Bouros...manners, for crying out loud,” the British man said. He shook his head, giving me a glance with sharp gray eyes, his expression bordering on apologetic even as he smiled. “You will have all of us blushing with your crude talk,” he added, still watching my eyes. “Not just your charming companion.”

“Manners?” Black said, glancing at him. “He’s the fucker who just tried to buy my girlfriend. She’s too old for him anyway. Frank here likes them young. Isn’t that right?”

I glanced sharply at the fleshy faced American after Black said it. I focused on his features in time to catch a harder expression tightening his full lips.

A noticeable curl of...disgust? Anger?

“We all like them young,” the Indian man joked.

Black’s eyes shifted back to him.

“Do we?” he said, his voice colder.

“We most certainly do not,” said the blue-eyed one, causing both me and Black to turn. “Where did you hear such a disgusting thing, Bouros?”

That disgust made it to his voice.

Black shrugged, his expression back to disinterested.

Even so, something in that exchange struck me as more true than the others.

On both sides, maybe.

Even as I thought it, Black turned. Glancing back at me from where he leaned over the table, he gave me a darting once-over then winked at me lasciviously, that more predatory glint still flickering around his eyes and his well-formed mouth.

I cocked an eyebrow at him, forcing myself to smile back.

I knew he was playing a game here; I just hadn’t figured out quite what that game was yet. Was I supposed to find the child killer among these four men? He’d obviously brought me here to evoke exactly this reaction. He’d probably wanted to check their responses to a living and breathing adult woman, one he was deliberately sexualizing for them.

Or maybe I was simply his alibi for however-long he’d spent hanging out on the streets, playing Thai gangster.

With him, it was impossible to know for sure.

When I gave another glance around the table, I found all eyes on me again, with the exception of the man with gray hair, the one Black had called “Frank.”

Frank watched Black alone.

He’d raised an eyebrow in the pause just like I had, but the look on his face gave me the impression he wasn’t amused, despite the thin smile ghosting his lips. Looking at that reptilian face, I felt a prickle go down my spine.

Even if he wasn’t a pedophile, there was something seriously wrong with this man.

Really, there was something wrong with all of them. The Indian man with his cold stare and jokes about “liking them young.” The Englishman with his fake charm. The boyish-looking one with his blond hair and silence. Frank, who still stared at me like a dog he wished was his.

These were the men Black wanted me to profile.

Whoever they were, they all felt dangerous to me.

They seemed like different variants of the type of guy who might move to Thailand so he could pursue his predilections without much fear of legal repercussions or scrutiny. I definitely got the impression they didn’t hear “no” very often. Nor did they readily accept it when they did, regardless of context. Black was seriously pushing his luck, screwing with men like this. Psychopaths were dangerous enough. Psychopaths with this much money and entitlement could only be exponentially more dangerous.

Putting me in the middle didn’t thrill me either.

I could guess why he’d done it, and even see the efficiency of it, but I couldn’t help hoping they never got curious enough to track down Black’s story about who I was.

Before the silence could grow too awkward, the British man let out another indulgent laugh, leaning slightly over the table to ash his cigar.

“My, my, Mr. Bouros. I’d heard your kind could be possessive,” he grinned. “I guess the stories were right.”

I stiffened, fighting not to turn and stare at Black.

These people knew what he was? How was that possible?

I must have misheard. I had to have misheard...or misunderstood what I heard, maybe.

“His kind?” the American said, puffing on his cigar as he looked between the Englishman and Black. “What ‘kind’ would that be exactly? What are you again, Bouros? Greek? Lithuanian? I never can remember.”

I saw Black turn deliberately, giving the Englishman a harder stare. I couldn’t interpret the exact meaning of that stare, but I definitely got the sense he didn’t appreciate the Englishman’s comment much. The look there wasn’t surprise exactly, but more an acknowledgment of whatever subtext the Englishman had been aiming at him.

Black definitely seemed to read more than one meaning in the other’s words.

I was still looking between faces, feeling like a prop of some longer-running movie, when another white-uniformed waiter appeared out of a door behind us, holding a tray covered in glasses. He walked silently up to our table and placed one in front of me and another in front of Black––both rocks’ glasses splashed with an amber-colored liquid.

Just as silently, he put a martini glass down in front of the Indian man and another in front of the Englishman. He placed a beer in front of “Frank” and what might have been a soda in front of the one with the boyish smile. Then he replaced the ashtray with a fresh one, collected all of the used glasses, and disappeared back through the door in the wall behind us.

“So?” Black said, leaning an arm on the table at the door’s click. “You have something for me? Or are you just going to sit here and annoy me with your dick envy?”

The other three men looked at Frank, who looked at the Englishman.

The Englishman cleared his throat, tapping his cigar against the ashtray once more, even though little ash had accumulated since the last time he’d done it.

“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat again. “I’m afraid your request has been denied, Bouros.”

“Denied?” Black glanced around at all of them, giving the Englishman a particularly hard stare. “Why the fuck was it denied? By who?”

“That merchandise is...” The Englishman hesitated, his gray eyes pausing on me. “...Perhaps the details should wait for another time?”

“It’s fine,” Black said, dismissive. “You can talk in front of her.”

The Englishman glanced at Frank, an eyebrow cocked.

“Perhaps we don’t agree?” Frank said, before the Englishman could speak.

“Then you’re an idiot,” Black said. I flinched as he said it, even as it occurred to me again that he was deliberately disarming them by acting like a jackass. “Maybe you weren’t hearing me before. This one’s mine until she’s not anyone’s. So you can trust her, or else you can’t trust me.”

I kept my face carefully blank at that too, not sure I wanted to know what he meant.

“What if that question has arisen as well?” Frank said, his eyes still fixed on Black.

Black turned, staring back at him with his gold, flecked eyes. Then he looked back at the Englishman, his expression hard.

“Does it really matter what you think...Frank?” he said in a silky-soft voice, that European accent still audible. “Since Anders is here, and I never approached him about this, and he’s the one who just told me that my request is ‘denied,’ I’m thinking he’s the only one here I’m really talking to right now...am I right?”

Dead silence fell at his words.

At Frank’s murderous look, Black turned, focusing directly on the Englishman.

“And really, you’re just a stooge too...aren’t you, Anders?” Black leveled that predatory stare on him. “If you’re here, I’ve got to assume Mr. Lucky is involved. And if Mr. Lucky is involved, then really, all that matters is what Mr. Lucky thinks. Not what you think. Not what I think.” He motioned around the table at the other three. “...Certainly not what any of these morons think. And since I’m pretty sure I have things to offer him that you don’t...things worth a hell of a lot more than one missing kid...why don’t you just cut to the chase and just tell me what the fuck he wants from me?”

I felt my hands tighten into fists on my lap.

Black’s fingers closed over mine under the table, squeezing gently. I wasn’t sure if I should take it as reassurance or a warning. Either way, I smoothed my expression before I gripped his fingers with my own.

I pretended to look out over the view of the snaking, sunlight-kissed river below the hotel, keeping my expression as blank as possible. I wanted to look stupid––disinterested at least. Luckily, the view was stunning enough to genuinely hold some part of my attention. Giant barges ran down the river as I watched, sliding between high-rise hotels on either side and chased by small, ornate shuttle boats shaped like traditional Thai vessels. Other boats and ferries jetted along faster, darting among the bigger, commercial vessels like colorful fish.

My mind worked rapidly as I gazed over all of it, chewing through everything I’d heard.

Black told me once that another seer like him operated out of Russia.

He’d called him “Mr. Lucky.”

I’d thought it was a joke at the time...an obviously fake name at the very least.

Whoever that individual was, Black claimed he had access to “real” resources.

By that, he presumably meant resources that went beyond the ridiculous amounts of wealth Black accumulated for himself over the years. Manpower, money, connections to politics and industry––I don’t know what Black was alluding to exactly, but he’d seemed nervous of the other seer, if not out-and-out afraid of him. He told me “Mr. Lucky” was driven more by ideology than by material wealth or even power in the conventional sense.

Anti-human ideology, unless I’d misunderstood him.

Which was pretty much how Ian sounded, while he’d been attempting to choke the life out of me. Ian said something about being part of a larger “movement” as well, what sounded like a cult or a religion of some kind, with racial purity at its core. He’d mentioned having a boss, too...a boss who didn’t want me dead for some reason.

Of course, Ian decided to disobey that boss by killing me anyway.

Black’s gold eyes returned to the Englishman.

“Well?” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Does Mr. Lucky have a proposal for me? Or is this merely a punishment of some kind? A way to slap my wrists and tell me I’ve been a very very naughty boy...?”

“A punishment?” The Englishman looked amused. “Quite the contrary. Mr. Lucky is looking to establish a more, ah...mutually-accommodating... relationship with you.” He paused deliberately. “...Mr. Bouros.”

The way he said the name made it clear he was aware it was fake.

The Englishman smiled, still studying Black’s face as he set down his cigar in the ashtray, clasping his fingers on the surface of the table as he leaned closer.

“...He thought he would take this opportunity to have a little talk with you about that. While he had reason and means by which to hold your undivided attention.”

The Englishman leveled his stare at me, his gaze sharp enough to make me wonder if he knew I wasn’t who Black pretended, either.

His eyes returned to Black before I finished the thought.

“I suggest you take a few days to think about the offer, Mr. Bouros,” he said politely, leaning back in his chair and giving me another penetrating stare. “In the meantime, I’m afraid that the specific merchandise that interests you is simply not available. We might be able to change that for you, of course, if you could find it in your heart to pursue a significantly more friendly relationship with Mr. Lucky in the future. In Asia and elsewhere.”

Black stiffened against me.

I felt another plume of...something...off him.

“You couldn’t have told me that on the fucking phone?” he said, glancing around at the other three seated at the table. “Why do this here?”

I again got the sense that only the Englishman and Black really knew what they were talking about. In fact, the Englishman seemed to be taunting Black with that very fact, as well as subtly threatening to expose him to the other three. I could also tell that the American, “Frank,” didn’t like how much he’d been cut out of the conversation already.

If the Englishman noticed, he didn’t seem to care.

“I was told to convey this message in person,” he said, clearing his throat as he folded his hands on his chest.

“Why?” Black said.

“It’s really not relevant to your request,” he said, shrugging with indifference in his eyes. “Suffice it to say, if you’re...particular. About the identity of your requested acquisition...then you’ll have to wait for a second meeting with our sponsor.”

“Your boss, you mean,” Black said coldly.

“If you prefer,” the Englishman said, undaunted. “We all have masters, Mr. Bouros. You should understand that better than just about anyone...from what I’ve been told.”

I felt another cloud of anger off Black at that, but he didn’t respond to the comment specifically.

“How long?” he said, still looking only at the Englishman. “When will this second meeting take place?”

“It was suggested one week from today.”

“Why so fucking long?” Black growled.

“Two weeks then,” the Englishman said, his voice holding more steel. 

Black’s fingers tightened over mine, but that time, he didn’t speak.

When the silence stretched, the Englishman smiled, his gray eyes cold as he glanced at me, smiling wider before he returned his gaze to Black.

“I am glad to see that you are a fast learner, Mr. Bouros. It bodes well for you and your friends...and I sincerely apologize if the conditions seem overly harsh to you. Mr. Lucky would very much like this situation to impress upon you, Mr. Bouros,” he explained gravely. “He would like it to impress upon you very deeply. In the meantime, while you await the return of your cherished merchandise, I would strongly advise you to enjoy your time in Thailand...”

The Englishman glanced at me, but not long enough for me to get a read on his expression.

He added, “I would also advise you, I hope entirely unnecessarily, to take a great deal of care in terms of any, well...extra-curricular activities you may otherwise have planned. In the interests of maintaining goodwill between you and our host, you understand. This is quite crucial. Really, establishing trust at the beginning of any new relationship is such a delicate and potentially breakable thing. Do you not agree?”

I fought with a harder knot forming in my chest.

I didn’t understand a lot of what they were talking about.

But I understood enough.

From the puzzled looks between the East Indian and the American, I could tell I wasn’t the only one trying to read meaning through the gaps.

“What is the purpose of this acquisition anyway, Bouros?” Frank asked, when the Englishman fell silent. “Is he a bastard child of yours or something?” Chuckling, the American grinned at me, glancing at the Indian man with a knowing smile. “Why so attached to this one, when there are so many like it in the world?”

When I turned, I found his watery blue eyes once more focused on my chest.

“...After all, you’ve made a point of parading your...friend...in front of us. Usually the intended uses for this type of merchandise are more straightforward.” He gave Black another reptilian smile. “Or does she like to watch? Is that it, Bouros?”

Black leveled a harder look at him. “It’s for a client.”

“A client?” Frank said. He glanced at the Englishman, as if figuring out for the first time that he might not have all the information on Black himself. “What kind of client? I thought you weren’t in that kind of import-export business.”

“He’s not,” the Englishman said.

Black looked back at the Englishman, ignoring Frank’s puzzled look.

“Is he hurt?” Black said, his voice lower. “Has he been damaged in any way?”

“Not so far.” The Englishman smiled wanly, his gray eyes measuring Black’s. “You know how easily accidents can happen in this part of the world though, Mr. Bouros. How...unexpected they can be. I would not test our mutual friend’s resolve in this. He is quite adamant that you reach an agreement at the end of these two weeks, whatever the cost. In his words expressed to me, ‘enough is enough,’ as it were.”

Black fell silent. That time, I had to restrain the urge to touch him.

Whatever feeling expanded off him in those few seconds was gone by the time he leaned back in his chair, resting his weight deliberately against me.

“That is...unfortunate,” Black said. “My client will be displeased.”

The Englishman held up his hands, and that time, a flicker of distaste crossed his expression. 

“It is unfortunate,” he agreed. “No one likes it when such things become necessary. But perhaps you should tell your client to do some soul-searching on this matter as well. Maybe he could retrace his steps. See if there’s something he might have done differently to prevent this terrible thing from happening.”

Black looked up at that, narrowing his gaze. He didn’t answer.

“Two weeks, Mr. Bouros. We will contact you.”

Frank let out a grunt, as if unable to restrain himself from inserting himself any longer. “In the meantime, might I suggest Phnom Penh, Mr. Bouros? You could also make a quick trip to Macau. Or Dubai. They have little boys in all those places.”

Frank held his hands out, giving me a harder smile when I turned.

I got the sense he could tell this whole conversation was making me sick and enjoyed watching my disgust. He also still seemed angry at Black’s “moron” comment before, and probably the crack about him liking little kids as well. More than anything, however, I got the sense that Frank absolutely hated the fact that he had no power here.

“There are other places,” Frank sneered to Black, even as I thought it. “...as a man of your tastes is surely aware. The Americas is becoming increasingly friendly to local variants of this service, as well. Perhaps you could take a trip there, Bouros, after you’ve grown tired of your pretty friend here?”

I gritted my teeth, but only a little, still trying to keep the disgust off my face.

Again, Black’s fingers closed over mine in my lap.

He didn’t look at me though, but leaned against me in the chair, gazing around at the four men who sat around us at the table.

“Well,” he said then.

Without warning, he rose smoothly to his feet. He did it so fast and let go of me so quickly I had to restrain myself from reaching for him.

“...I suppose there’s nothing more for us to talk about then,” he said.

“I suppose there is not,” the Englishman said. He looked up at Black, a clear warning in his eyes. “Despite Frank’s teasing, don’t try to leave town, Mr. Bouros. It would not be advisable. Not if you wish to receive your merchandise in its current pristine form.”

Black didn’t answer, but his fingers closed around mine. He stepped slightly in front of me, and again I got the clear impression of being shielded.

“I’ll be here,” he said, his voice equally cold.

“Excellent,” the Englishman said, smiling. “I look forward to it.” He gave me a very deliberate look then, his gray eyes holding a denser meaning as he looked around Black’s body to meet my gaze. “It was so very lovely to meet you finally, Miriam...”

I flinched as Black’s fingers crushed mine.

“...I’ve heard so many fascinating things about you, my dear. Your beauty, however, was very sorely underreported, I must say.”

Black stood there, breathing harder, staring down at the Englishman.

That time, the intense plume of emotion that came off him alarmed me.

Impulsively, I caught hold of his arm, doing it without thinking even as I stepped up in front of him, smiling around at the table.

“He’s just tired,” I told them, my voice light as I smiled around at the other three men, avoiding the Englishman’s stare. “The client he mentioned is rather difficult to please, I’m afraid. He knows he’ll hear the worst of this tonight, and no one likes to be the deliverer of bad news, as I’m sure you all know...”

I saw the faces of the American and the East Indian grow slightly less tense.

I chanced a glance at the Englishman when I felt him staring at me again. He wore an openly curious look now as he looked me over. I had no idea why he was playing this particular game with Black, but I could feel the taunt there. I had to assume that Black’s real identity being exposed to the other three posed some danger to Black as well, or the Englishman wouldn’t bother toying with the knowledge in front of them.

I brightened my smile still more, tugging on Black’s arm as I stepped back.

“And now if you boys will excuse us,” I said, still smiling. “This one promised me a night on the town, and I don’t have a thing to wear.”

That time, when I glanced at Frank, he smiled at me indulgently. That more lecherous look had returned to his eyes, right before they drifted down to my legs.

“I think you look just fine, ma’am,” he said, glancing up at my chest for a long beat before meeting my gaze. “Better than fine, if you’ll permit me.”

I waved him off, pretending embarrassment, even as I tugged at Black’s arm to get him away from the table. 

“We still have business of our own to discuss, Bouros,” Frank added, his voice holding a warning again. “Even beyond this bullshit you’ve got going with the kid.”

Black slung an arm around my shoulder, staring pointedly down at my chest himself before he grinned at the others and gave them a knowing wink.

“Well, complain to Anders for monopolizing me,” he said. “That’ll have to wait for another time. Since it looks like I’m stuck in this piss-hole for two more weeks at Lucky’s pleasure, you know where to find me, boys.” He spoke almost cheerfully, that denser threat gone from his voice. “For now I’ve got to keep the missus happy. You know how it is...”

His voice hardened as he glanced at the Englishman.

“Tell Lucky two weeks. Or I’m going to be a lot less friendly.”

I saw the Englishman frown, right before he glanced at me, his eyebrow raised.

When he did, I felt Black stiffen all over again. Before I had time to so much as raise a hand in goodbye, Black slung the same arm roughly around my neck and turned me around.

We walked to the corner of the roof’s walkway, him talking in a low voice, something about a mall and a show later, but I couldn’t focus on any of his words. All I could feel was that emotion pulsing off him, him breathing harder, his arm gripping my shoulder and neck as he steered me around the corner and towards that red door.

Once we rounded that corner, he began to walk a lot faster.

By the time we were halfway across that second walkway, I had to jog just to keep up.