The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [17]
The man he had come to see was not Thai. He was Laotian, and he seemed ageless, with an unlined yellowish skin and eyes so narrow it was impossible to tell their color or read their expression. He was tiny, his childlike hands fiddled continually with a string of amber beads, and his immense carved teakwood chair only made him look smaller. Another menacing pair of bodyguards flanked his chair, and Cal’s throat suddenly felt dry. He was aware of the criminal underworld in Bangkok, but he hadn’t expected to stumble on it quite like this. These men meant business and it was a good bet it wasn’t the sort of business he was involved in: They were drug pushers, pimps, loan sharks….
“My request is simple, sir,” he had said, carefully polite. “I am searching for a gem cutter by the name of Abyss.”
The Laotian eyed him silently for a minute, then asked in a high, squeaky voice, “Why?”
“Why?” Cal repeated uncertainly.
“Why you seek Abyss? Perhaps he owe you money?”
“No, oh, no. Abyss does not owe me money. I—I have a job for him.”
“Show me the stone you want him to cut.”
“The stone?” Cal felt the sweat rise along the back of his neck and he wondered how he had managed to get himself into this. “I left it in Amsterdam. It’s a special stone. They told me only Abyss could cut it.”
There was a long silence and he had forced himself to Stare into the Laotian’s face, wishing he could see his eyes, cursing himself for getting into this dumb situation.
“You are lying,” the Laotian said finally in his thin voice. “Abyss is a drunkard. His gem-cutting days are over, destroyed in Paris many years ago. He has been making just enough to finance his drinking by cutting and polishing minor commercial stones for the cheap end of the market. But not enough to pay me. Mr. Gerome Abyss disappeared two months ago, owing me for certain services. This was an … an oversight. You understand?” His smile was as narrow and expressionless as his eyes as he added, “My collector was remiss; he allowed Abyss to stall him for the money—something that is against my rules. Of course, the collector has now been dealt with. But Mr. Abyss … well, he owes me a total of one thousand dollars. Not a great deal of money, of course … but no one, no one ever owes my organization money and gets away with it. So, Mr…. Warrender, since Abyss is a friend of yours, what do you say you pay his debts? Let’s call it a fine, shall we? And in return, I shall tell you what I know.”
The crocodile smile disappeared as Cal stared at him, surprised. What could the Laotian tell him? That for a thousand dollars they had killed Abyss? He wouldn’t put anything past these bastards … death was probably one of their sweeter options. “A thousand dollars?” he said, reaching in his jacket for his wallet.
The thug next to him grabbed him and he felt the smooth, cold steel of a knife against his neck.
“Shall we say—with interest—fifteen hundred?” the Laotian suggested with another smile.
Cal nodded, and with a quick gesture of his tiny hand the Laotian indicated the thug should set him free.
Breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to end up as another anonymous statistic fished from the deep Chao Phraya River, Cal said nervously, “You guys take traveler’s checks? Just joking, just joking,” he added hastily as the Laotian’s eyes disappeared into angry slits and his thin mouth tightened. “Fifteen hundred dollars, right?” He took the fifteen bills from his wallet and placed them on the table. “And now