Crackdown by Christopher G. Moore

Author:Christopher G. Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: conspiracy, thailand, detective, noir, hardboiled, private investigator, bangkok, soi cowboy, banksy, vincent calvino
Publisher: HeavenLakePress

TWENTY-THREE

“Through endless night the earth whirls toward a creation unknown...”—Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

OSBORNE LOVED DINING at any French restaurant where the owner permitted customers to bring their dogs. He had a regular table and two leather-cushioned chairs for his Jack Russell and Golden Lab. The dogs sat at eye level with the table and sniffed the air with the arrival of every new dish that came.

Calvino had phoned him to say he had news about Fah but wanted to talk in person. He’d told him he should bring along his friends Cesar and Charlie. Osborne admired the way Calvino used a code to suggest meeting at Osborne’s favorite French restaurant. The private investigator must have assumed someone was likely listening to his conversation. Calvino could be theatrical at times, like most Americans, but he had good instincts for survival, important to making it in Bangkok in his line of work.

“Cesar and Charlie are with me and send their fond regards.”

Osborne was an old pro in a city where pros and cons weren’t different sides of an argument but descriptions of the people who ran things. He’d understood Calvino’s message. He’d told Calvino about the restaurant and the routine of the dogs dining with him once a week.

“You are more clever than you look, Mr. Calvino,” he’d said on the phone.

“Thank you for your confidence, Mr. Osborne.”

“I recommend the lamb,” said Osborne, chipping in without missing a beat, a requirement to disguise the uselessness of the information. Disinformation had its own code of conduct, and Osborne had learnt the code by heart.

“Cesar and Charlie are quite fond of lamb, too.”

“Let them know. I have a bone for them,” said Calvino.

“That should motivate the two of them to sit up and take notice.”

Calvino terminated the call and put his phone down beside his computer. Let them try and track him. He slipped out of his condo, putting on his helmet as he stepped out of the lift and onto the fourth floor. He rode his motorcycle down through the parking area and headed out through the back sois of the neighborhood. Calvino had memorized the shortcuts, the small, crowded sois where cars, vans, chairs, tables, potted plants and vendors expanded their territory, claiming part of the street as their own. In the best of the small sois, traffic was reduced to one lane, perfect for a motorcycle. Fast-track predators loved the cover of Bangkok’s big darkness.

He looked into his rear-view mirror, checking for a tail. He saw none. Weaving in and out of traffic on dimly lit sub-sois, he passed streets lined with hotels, condos, shophouses, bars, restaurants and 7-Elevens. The topology of the city changed at nightfall. Darkness shrouded the landmarks, and the signs were difficult to read, the dim street lighting falling short. People suddenly appeared out of shadows, stepping out of their shophouse or car, not looking at the street, only to be swallowed up in darkness again.

Thirty minutes after leaving his condo, Calvino pulled into the French

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