Assignment Bangkok Read Online Free Page B

, so many temples. A simple question, and two people are dead.”
    Uncle Hu poured more tea with his callused hands. His old eyes blinked briefly. He moved unerringly in the dark shadows of the sampan. In the distance, a police siren hooted, going away.
    “I do not know where Kem is. He meditates. He is a good Buddhist, a fine monk. He wishes to stay in the Sangra.”
    “He may stay, after he helps me.”
    Uncle Hu stirred. His wrinkled old face moved a little, but his black eyes did not turn away from Durell. “Sir, Nai Durell, we are all grateful, for the time when I was ill, and young Kem was hurt, and Tinh, his brother, was too young to work. Circumstances would have destroyed us, but you were generous and gave us much money, and we lived again.” The old man halted. “I know that you mourn for Aparsa. You believe it is your fault. But you must not feel so. You are a man who is different from us. Different from most men, I think. Aparsa has gone to another life, a better earthly shell, we believe. You are a stranger, a fahrang , to me, but I trust you, and you must carry no guilt for Aparsa. I will attend to the rest of it. You must go on and find Kem.”
    “Where?” Durell asked.
    “Young Tinh, my other nephew, knows where to find his holy brother. They were always close. Tinh is a boxer now. He is very good, they tell me.” The old man closed his eyes briefly. “He fights tonight, at the stadium. Mr. Chuk, who has many interests, also owns him. Mr. Chuk will be watching the fight, too. Go and ask Tinh. He will tell you where to find his brother.”
    Durell finished his tea. He took the cup and put it in a box beside the tiny charcoal stove. He thought of the woman lying dead in the darkened house, with her throat cut, and he wondered how long she had been Hu’s wife. He could offer no condolence, no sympathy. It was one of the difficult aspects of his business, when laymen were involved and innocents were drawn into the dark web of violence in which he lived. Nothing could be done about it. He could give Hu nothing except silence and privacy. He stood up, and the sampan rocked a little under his weight. “I will go to ask Tinh, then,” he said.
    “Do so,” said the old man. “Let nothing be wasted.” Durell stepped from the sampan to the bank of the canal, walked in the shadows of the takhien trees and smelled the jasmine again. He paused before the miniature spirit-house in the garden and took some money from his wallet and stuffed it inside. Uncle Hu would find it. It might not placate the phis who had witnessed tragedy here, but it would help the old man. He would have to arrange his expenses to account for it.
    Turning away, he walked up the lane to find a taxi.
4
    The taxi took him along the overpass in the Pratunam District, past the BOAC building, then on a run to the Chulalongkorn University and the Chao Phraya River.
    His hotel, the Ubol Duong, fronted the water, distant enough from the concrete and glass architecture of the more modern hostelries to satisfy Durell. The Ubol Duong catered to businessmen, not tourists, and gave him the privacy he needed. The lobby had high, ornate ceilings, cooled with large wooden rotating fans, and the bar had reasonably good bourbon, Mekong whiskey, and a small Filipino combo that hacked out their versions of New Orleans jazz, soul, and an occasional dip into Tahitian-type lullabies. There was a tiny dance floor, and the management provided delicate Thai girls and some Chinese taxi dancers for private entertainment.
    Durell ordered a bottle of bourbon and took it with him. in the open-cage elevator that creaked upward above the potted palms in the lobby. No one among the turbaned Sikhs and West German engineers in the lobby spared him a second look. No kamoys , thugs, waited for him. And no police. He was relieved.
    He showered in scalding water and mixed some of the bourbon with mineral water for a drink, then chose a fresh shirt and dark blue necktie from