Throwing Albert under the Bus
Chapter 19
Albert Wu wasn’t about to take a chance with the product or his life. He’d make the next run to Bangkok himself and not entrust the shipment to one of his underlings. He had to prove he was in control of this part of the operation and show his master he was a competent, reliable and trustworthy partner. Otherwise, he’d be shown the door by Amar or shown much worse by Ron Johnston. He didn’t like either of those options. Since there could be no slipups, he decided he’d be the mule carrying the dope this time around. Albert chuckled at the word. Dope was the correct term for the courier who’d lost the last shipment. However, the ill-fated dumbass had paid a terrible price for his mulishness and carelessness.
Albert considered his options and there were few. He couldn’t flee to China since he hadn’t made enough money to support the lifestyle he wanted to become accustomed to, but he couldn’t cross Amar either. He only saw choice Hobson’s choices ahead for him. Basically, he really had little choice but to continue playing his determined role in the operation, at least for awhile longer. But for now, he desperately needed to get back into his boss’s good graces and redeem himself. He didn’t want to think about the possible consequences if he didn’t.
***
We went over our game plan in minute detail, ad nauseam as it were, discussing contingencies and our intended outcome. Jimmy and Chi understood their roles and what I expected from them. I thought the plan had legs as well as other, useful body parts and its successful conclusion would bring us a step closer to capturing Kris. Everything was in place and all we had to do was wait to spring the trap on the next drug mule heading to Bangkok. It turned out we didn’t have to wait long. We intended to bust the courier and turn him against Wu and then use Wu to lure Amar to Thailand as a reluctant, Judas goat. However, we lucked out and eliminated the go-between in this instance.
Sometimes those who served and protected found dumb luck to be a better panacea than investigative prowess.
Albert and his charge were easily spotted by our watchers at the Nong Khai bus station given his nationality and the fact that each of the surveillance cops had a photo of him. His thick lens, black frame glasses were a dead giveaway. We were immediately alerted to his presence and Chi and Jimmy sprang into action. They boarded the Bangkok bound bus after him and seated themselves behind and in front of him for close observation.
Albert was nervous, having never done a run before, although he knew the drill and the names of his contacts in Bangkok well. As a precaution, he’d placed an old Iver Johnson revolver in the duffel bag that was tucked safely between his legs. It had been a gift from Amar who claimed the gun was still serviceable. He was determined that no one would steal the product without a fight.
The problem was that Albert Wu was a lover and not a fighter; a lover of money. He’d never even fired a gun before. He was a simple mortician at heart, a trade learned at his father knee and examining table. That was until he succumbed to the taste of easy money which had turned into a powerful, insatiable hunger. However, Albert truly was a namby-pamby milquetoast who had little spine and a strong aversion to violence, especially if it involved him.
A pair of Thai National Police officers trailed the bus at a leisurely pace since there was no need to hurry. Albert would be arrested by them when they reached the terminal in Nakhon. In a very real sense, it would be Albert Wu’s terminus too, the end of the line for him.
Every passenger left the bus for the coffee shop, except Albert. He’d anticipated the need to pee so he’d brought a large plastic bottle and relieved himself. There was no way he was getting off the bus with his illicit cargo and risking its loss. Always practice safe security, he sketchily thought to himself. Jimmy and Chi had positioned themselves at the front and rear doors in case Albert decided to go for a stroll. Of course, that would never happen. Albert was trapped!
The uniformed cops entered at the front and rear of the bus, blocking any chance of Albert’s escape. When he saw them, he panicked, drawing his gun from the bag and firing a shot at one of them. It missed by a country kilometer, although an empty Pepsi can resting on a seat was mortally wounded. Things always go better with Coke, he crazily thought for a fraction of a second before he was arrested.
The cop closest to him grabbed Albert’s gun from his right hand and pulled it free. He forced Albert to the floor and cuffed his hands and then the side of his head for good measure. Albert had made a huge mistake by firing at a cop. A charge of attempted murder of a police officer would be added to his long list of misdeeds. The Thai criminal justice system had no sense of humor when it came to attempting to murder one of its finest. Albert Wu, mortician, drug trafficker and wannabe cop killer was going nowhere, but down!
Albert was interrogated at the city’s central police station with Chi and Jimmy in attendance. He sat chained to a metal table and shaking like the leaves of a bamboo tree during the monsoon season. He knew he was in very serious trouble, but maybe he could offer something to the cops from his rainy day fund—Kris Amar. Albert was a dedicated, loyal employee, although only to a certain point. That point had now been reached and he wanted to cut a deal: his cooperation in return for immunity. It was a simple matter of one hand washing the other or quid pro quo, if one preferred the Latinized version. Albert didn’t know or care which idiom might best translate into Thai. He fully understood his hands were filthy, but if he came clean with the cops and served up Amar to destroy his drug cartel, all might be forgiven yet. He thought it was worth a shot. Hopefully, he wouldn’t miss this time.
Albert made his plea and pitch. It was readily accepted by Chi since it was what Dick Avery wanted above all else. Albert would be given limited immunity from prosecution, but only if he fully cooperated and did as he was told. Any attempt to play both ends against the middle would result in his arrest and imprisonment. Albert said he didn’t understand that game. So Chi explained that if he stepped out of line, he’d feed his flesh to the Mekong fish, one agonizing piece at a time. Albert got the message and began writing his confession. Apparently, he had an excellent memory and left nothing out. Albert Wu had quickly and decisively come to Jesus despite the fact he was a lapsed Buddhist. Confession was good for everyone’s soul or so it seemed.
Albert was then driven to Bangkok with his goodie bag of drugs, less his gun, to rendezvous with his contacts there. He was told that everything should go forward as if nothing had changed. Of course, it had for Albert, but he was resigned to his new lot in life and name: Judas or Benedict Arnold. He could take his pick, but preferred Arnold given its military panache. Regardless, at least he was finally rubbing elbows with famous people. That counted for something, he guessed.
Chi later heard that Albert had convinced the cops to drive him back to Nong Khai and slipped them a small gratuity for the favor. Chi thought the guy really had some chutzpah, thinking it meant balls in English. He wouldn’t be surprised if Wu tried to score the two million dollar prize on Amar’s head when he learned of it. What a fucking, sleazy bastard!
Oh well, everyone got what they wanted out of the deal in the end. Albert got his temporary freedom, Dick got Albert Wu and the cops got to bring down a drug organization, but only later. Not bad for a day’s work, Chi mused. He hoped things would go as smoothly going forward but, for some unknown reason, he doubted it. He realized that positive karma and good luck only went so far in this treacherous business.