Harbingers of Things to Come
Chapter 26
Kris Amar couldn’t believe his bad luck. He was a Muslim and his religion didn’t officially recognize karma as a bona fide religious concept, so he’d chalk it up to plain, shitty luck. That was the best way to describe it, at least in his mind.
Aung’s and Amar’s ship hadn’t come in. To the contrary, it had sunk in a storm and now Kris no longer had a method of conveyance to transport his opium to India. Puneet had reported the event yesterday and wasn’t pleased in the slightest. Puneet said he had his drug couriers at the ready to accept the consignment, yet the ship failed to show. Only a few days later did he learn it had sunk with the loss of its crew and cargo.
Of course, there were no drugs aboard, but Kris kept that bit of trivia to himself for safekeeping, certainly no need to mention it now. Why bother doing a mea culpa for withholding the information from Puneet? Besides, it was a Catholic penance thing which held no significance for him. Hail Mary, full of grace… What a crock, he thought while considering his options going forward. Allah Akbar, you fucking infidels!
***
Dick was beside himself when he heard the unbelievably, tragic news from Chi. He didn’t believe a word of it. It was untrue and incredibly ludicrous, yet extremely sad at the same time. His good friend had died a most ignoble death at the hands of a miserable traitor.
Denny Williams dying of a drug overdose? It was simply impossible! He’d known him much too long and too well to accept that explanation of his death. No, Denny had been murdered and as a savvy detective he knew who’d done it. He vowed to track down the bastard and punish him for his treachery. It wasn’t a time to grieve, rather a time to act swiftly and decisively before the miserable prick fled the country, he thought, as he fought back the tears. Payback wasn’t going to be a bitch this time around.
***
Albert Wu had adjusted to his new role as a snitch for the cops. He really had little choice in the matter considering the sharp sword of Damocles hanging over his head. The single hair holding it above him looked a bit thread worn to his eye. And he most certainly had no interest whatsoever in catching a falling knife. He was now a bit player in a much larger drama that called for his cunning and guile to entice Kris Amar to cross the Rubicon or the Mekong as the case might be.
He’d been promised immunity from prosecution for his drug trafficking as long as he cooperated. Moreover, he’d been promised he could continue his legitimate business as a mortician in Nong Khai, his home away from home for the past 12 years. The promises were put to writing at the dreary, little police station in Nakhon and Albert didn’t think the authorities would renege on the bargain they’d struck. Sinner or saint, the loss of face cut both ways in this country. Not too bad of a deal, all things considered, he thought.
He had to come up with a plan to lure Kris into Thailand and run it by his new masters beforehand for approval. Albert had to make sure it was a wholly plausible one and not send up any red flags to Amar that he might salute. The guy was cautious to the point of being paranoid, so maybe it would have to be something that appealed to the better angels of his nature: gobs of money or sweet revenge.