Learning the Smuggler's Blues

Chip looked at me then back at Jack, I could see anger. "That's not what I meant, Jack. That's "The Wendy" we've all been hearing about." He said it just a little too loudly and heads swiveled to look.

"Bloody Hell." Jack's chair hit the ground as he stood up and backed away, hand up defensively. "Didn't know."

Chip spun on his heel and all but sprinted towards the back door.

Ignoring Jack's sputtered apologies, I headed after Chip. The Wendy's reputation was working in my favor - Chip had to fight his way through the crowd, but they parted like the Red Sea for me as whispers of "The Wendy" raced through the mob.

I could have grabbed his shirt before he got out the door, but I let him get into the alley before I did. I wanted privacy.

"Chip."

He froze and held his hands up a bit, then slowly turned to face me as I relaxed my grip. "What do you want?"

"Chip, it's me."

"I know it's you, I just didn't know what you were. It took me a while to put it together, then I had to convince myself it was you. Hell, here I was warning you about the Huang brothers and I should have been warning them about you."

I scowled at him. "Just what do you think I am?"

"Who the fuck knows? Why don't you tell me? Triads? Russians? I've heard rumors you're Irish Provo wanted for a bunch of murders, doing mercenary work for... someone. Heard rumors you're the daughter of an American Mafia Don. All anybody knows for sure is that you're sure as fuck connected and dangerous as hell." He looked up and down the alley. "And you have a shit ton of bodyguards that come out of nowhere."

"They're not here. I'm not working Chip. I've had a shitty week and I'm just trying to relax." I looked back at the door to the club and rolled my eyes. "And that's sure as hell not going to happen here tonight."

He had a twitch of smile that disappeared almost instantly. "I'm not apologizing. I don't like being used."

I almost denied using him, but caught myself. "I get that. I wasn't planning on actually liking you."

My honesty brought him up short. "I don't want to be in the middle of this, I stay out of the bad shit. That's how people get killed."

I stared at him. "Chip, you smuggle drugs. I don't think you're on any kind of high moral ground here."

"Pharmaceuticals, Wendy. I move expired pharmaceuticals to places, people, that can't afford anything better. They still work, the big drug companies put expiration dates on a lot of stuff just so people can't store it up. What I'm doing may not be technically legal but it isn't heroin."

That caught me totally off guard. "You make money doing that?"

His mouth twisted. "Not much, but it's a living."

"Really? Moving meds to people who can't afford better doesn't exactly sound lucrative. Sounds like a pretty shitty business plan."

He started to argue, then slumped a bit. "Yeah. It's pretty much shit. I'm barely making it. Anything serious goes wrong with the plane and it's all over. But nobody else wants the cargo or the route, so I'm not likely to get killed over it, and it's still a decent thing to do."

"Sorry about misunderstanding what you do." I gestured down the alley to the blazing neon lights of the main drag. "Our surroundings kind of point in a different direction. This isn't Mother Theresa Boulevard. Although I think that some of the girls at the Lucky Seven dress as nuns on Saturdays."

He gave a twisted half smile. "You make it all sound so sleazy."

I couldn't stop a giggle. "It IS sleazy, Chip. Really, really, really, tremendously, unbelievably sleazy."

He threw his hands up. "That's depressing. True, but depressing."

"Sounds like you could use a drink."

He glanced at the door. "Not in there. If you go back in there now the place will be empty in ten seconds."

"That's kind of your fault you know. I've got to find a different place to hang out now. Probably have to find a place in Patpong or Nana Plaza, I'm sure the story is all over here now."

He shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "Why would I drink with you anyway?"

"Because you're my friend."

He started to object, but stopped. He couldn't deny we were friends.

I grabbed his hand and started dragging him down the alley. "There's a bar in the Imperial."

"The Bangkok Imperial?"

I nodded.

"They won't let anyone in there unless they're with a guest. Even if they did let us in, I couldn't afford a glass of water there." When I didn't say anything and only raised one eyebrow, his voice trailed off and he closed his eyes. "Shit. That's where you're staying isn't it?"

"There are some perks to being a femme fatale."

The doorman did give him a jaundiced look - the Imperial was snooty enough that even the hookers had to be properly dressed and well behaved. We weren't seated at the bar for thirty seconds before one of the staff brought Chip a burgundy loaner jacket and took his hat and aloha shirt.

After a few drinks, Chip realized I was still the same Wendy he knew and he relaxed a bit, but was still a touch concerned.

"Seriously Wendy, How much trouble am I in?"

"None. Not with me anyway. The other stuff is just business."

"Can I ask what the business is?"

"Just getting cargo where it needs to go." I could see curiosity in his eyes. "That's all, Chip. You don't want to know more."

He did, but he'd been on the fringes of the smuggling world long enough to know a serious warning when he heard one. He changed the subject. "You don't suppose any of these lot know where my hat and shirt's gone off to? Hate to lose it."

I poked his ribs. "Knowing the staff here, they may have taken them to have a proper burial. That'd cut your wardrobe in half."

"I'd take offense at that if it wasn't true."

I waved the bartender over. He had that perfectly calm mannerism you only see in the most experienced hotel staff. "Yes, Madame?"

"May I ask where Mr. Woodley's overshirt and hat have gone off to?"

He didn't miss a beat or change expression at all. "They've been... properly treated... and delivered to your room, of course."

"Thank you." The bartender walked off while I tried desperately not to bust out in laughter.

I looked at Chip, trying to keep from losing it. "He... he thinks you're a..." The shock on his face was too much; I doubled over trying not to fall off the stool, laughing almost hysterically. "Chip Woodley, International Gigolo."

Fortunately, Chip started to laugh right along with me. "He thinks you're paying me so you can take me up to your hotel room and have your way with me? So wait, that makes me..."

"Julia Roberts."I really did damn near fall off the stool at that point, only Chip's steadying hand kept me up. It was very late, and we were the only ones left at the bar, but the staff still managed to radiate disapproval at my lack of decorum without saying or doing anything.

He managed to get me back upright. "Maybe we should get out of here. I'm not sure I want to see what would happen if they try to throw you out. If half the rumors are true, your giant bodyguards will appear in a flash of lightning and kill everyone."

I tried to stop giggling, but it wasn't succeeding particularly well. "Only one of them is actually giant. And they don't make any noise when they show up."

I managed to get on my feet and grabbed his hand. "C'mon, let's go get your shirt."

"And hat. I'm not leaving without my hat."

We padded through the extra lush carpet in the Colonial-style pink marble halls until we got to a waiting elevator. I stabbed the top floor button.

Chip shook his head. "The penthouse? Of course."

"Perks, Chip, perks."

Of course he never had a chance of getting out of the suite that night. The staff of the hotel obviously had it figured out before I admitted it to myself.

###

The next morning, we were sitting at the little breakfast table with coffee and breakfast, in robes so thick and fluffy I wasn't even sure they were legal in most countries.

Chip sipped the outrageously good coffee that room service had delivered. "I wasn't expecting that." He smiled, a real smile. "I'm not sorry it happened though."

"Me either. But you'll probably regret it. Not only do you have to do the 'Walk of Shame' out of the hotel, but I think the staff ruined your outfit." I pointed up at the cleaned and pressed aloha shirt. "They even put on all new buttons."

Chip shook his head mournfully. "Bloody embarrassing. They have no respect for tradition. And my poor hat." The hat, perched on the shelf above the shirt, had been blocked and cleaned to the point where it was nearly blindingly white. Even the frayed edges had been skillfully repaired.

I smiled. I couldn't help it, I'd been smiling from ear to ear all morning. "I've got one more night in Bangkok."

"Let me take you out for dinner." He looked around the opulent room. "Maybe someplace a bit more in my price range. You ever eat at the Royal Dragon?"

"Is that the one where the waiters wear roller skates?"

"Supposed to be the largest restaurant in the world."

"I haven't been there."

That evening I ended up sitting in a giant walkway-filled restaurant, eating all kinds of strange seafood, wearing Chip's hat and aloha shirt. I didn't have to drag him back to my hotel, it was more of a race.

That became our thing whenever we were both in town. The Royal Dragon for Dinner followed by breakfast in my room at the Imperial. I couldn't go back to the bars or go-go clubs on Soi Cowboy, so we kind of formalized our schedule a bit. I thought the only problems with it were how close my "end term service" was getting and how likely it was that Daddy Shirling was still gunning for me. Of course I completely missed the real danger.

###

Chip had been right. It's dangerous to be caught in the middle.

I was only a month from being "out" of the Army, and really starting to worry about what to do when I got a report from the Bangkok police. An Australian in a red flowered shirt and white hat had been dragged out of a bar on Soi Cowboy by Chinese gunmen the night before.

I frantically pulled up the morning email that told me where all the smugglers were at. The Huang brothers were in Macau, and one of their planes had left Bangkok just a few minutes before, headed there with a single stop on the way.

I was lucky in one thing: a Thai military flight to Macao was lifting out of U-Tapao in just two hours, and, unlike the Huang brother's plane, it was on a direct route. That would get it there less than thirty minutes after their plane. I might just make it. I used our program to put myself on the manifest as VIP cargo.

Kurt's team was in, but nobody had a chance to stop me as I rushed out the door of the safe house. I grabbed my gun, cash, and a stack of kruggerands.

The flight to Macao was surreal. The Thai flight crew was professional and experienced enough to have a complete lack of curiosity as to why a farang would be on the flight under National Intelligence authority. Smart men. They could probably sense my rage and barely-suppressed-panic, even though I was carefully trying to maintain my "femme fatale" cool.

I stopped on the way out of the airport to call back to the safehouse. I expected Kurt to answer, but the line clicked over and it was Pogo.

"I'm in Macao."

"We figured that. Kurt found the reports right after you left the house." His voice was clipped. Maybe angry. The idea of Pogo or Howard actually angry was beyond terrifying.

"This was my fault, I got careless. It's my fault he's in danger. I don't have a choice."

"We all have choices, Wendy. It's not about having choices, it's all about consequences. There are consequences for everything. Is your... 'friend' worth those consequences?"

I stood for a second, trying to say something, say anything; but there really was nothing to say. "I'm sorry." I hung up.

An airport limousine took me directly to the Huang brothers' club. Everything I'd ever heard, every story, every rumor made it clear that there was only one place the Huang brothers could be. The Eight Golden Lotus looked sad and cheap in broad daylight; a scattering of trash at the curb seemed to be appropriate garnish.

The single doorman stared at me wide-eyed as I strode up the steps. He looked at me, then down at several spots of blood on the doorsill.

When you are out of options, bluff. I gave him a steady stare. "Run."

In the back of my mind, I heard Ronni's words about becoming what you need to be. Maybe I wasn't bluffing after all.

He didn't have to be told twice. I opened the door and walked into the mostly empty club. A few scattered workers were preparing the place, cleaning the bar, polishing tables. Not paying much attention. I headed straight for the back room. I was almost to it before chaos erupted. One of the bartenders had seen me and was yelling frantically into a telephone; the girls immediately ran for the door with a more than a little panic.

I saw one of the bartenders pulling a shotgun out just as I pushed my way into the door of the Huang's private room.

My stomach lurched when I saw the familiar red-and-white shirt on the figure slumped in the chair up against the table. One hand was strapped flat down on a cutting board and two fingers from it were laying in the middle of the table. There was a large pool of blood and a piece of my mind tried to distract me by questioning whether they just planned to change out the table or if they had a way of cleaning it all up.

Jonathon stood over him, pinning the arm still with one hand, clutching a bloody cleaver with the other. David had been trying to slap the unfortunate man awake. Both stared at me in shock.

Even more so when I started laughing.

"You grabbed the wrong man."

Jack's eyes were swollen shut, and his nose was obviously broken. But it was definitely Jack, not Chip. A wave of relief swept over me.

Jonathon raised the cleaver a bit. "If you move, he dies."

"Oh, Jonathon, I really do mean you grabbed the wrong man. This one isn't mine. Go ahead, kill him."

A buzzing sound started behind me and David smiled a sick, sneering smile as the buzzing suddenly cut off. "Our men are here. And if he's the wrong man maybe we should discuss..."

I looked at him, thinking through my options, I could try to take Jack and leave, but that wouldn't solve anything. "It doesn't matter, David. You may have actually taken the wrong man, but you meant to take my man."

I think Jonathon actually understood first, but it didn't matter. In the back of my head I could hear Kurt bark "draw," and burned-in reflex took over.

The little revolver was only a few inches from Jonathon's chin when it went off, kicking his head back a little with a spray of gore. David was reaching for me, and scrambling for something under his coat, but whatever it was didn't matter. The table was in his way, and my gun roared again, blasting up through the roof of his mouth as he tried to yell something.

I spun towards the door and snapped the lock.

Jack managed to open one eye a bit, the deafening sound of the pistol doing what David's slaps hadn't.

"You here to rescue me?"

"No. I was here to rescue Chip."

His voice was slurred and thick. "Stupid joke. Told Chip if he could land a piece like you I was going to try the same bait. Ran off with 'is hat and shirt. Stupid fucking joke." He laughed weakly while I used the cleaver to cut the blood soaked leather straps from the cutting board.

He managed to pull himself to sitting, then pulled the shirt off and wadded it up around his hand.

I stared at him coldly. "You're paying to have that shirt cleaned. I like that shirt."

He looked at me in disbelief, then nodded slowly. "Now what?"

I paused, thinking. I had three bullets and they probably had a small army out in the club now. I wondered if I just pushed their bodies out the door, what would happen.

A sudden storm of gunfire started; normal at first, but the normal gunshots were quickly overwhelmed by a familiar, oddly metallic stuttering. It didn't last long. The only sounds I could hear were my heartbeat and Jack's ragged breathing.

Jack started forward, but I stopped him. "Stay here." He watched incredulously as I put the revolver back in its holster and opened the door slowly.

I stepped out with my heart in my throat, holding my hands up and open, just a bit. "Clear."

Twelve of Kurt's team were fanned out across the club, fully awake, fully alive, fully aware. Every possible avenue of approach always covered by at least one set of eyes. The blunt muzzles of their MP5SDs never quite stopped moving, questing for targets as if the guns themselves were alive like hungry wolves. I didn't count the bodies on the floor of the club, but there seemed to be a lot of them.

My question of how they'd gotten here so quickly was answered by a single forlorn figure in a tattered Australian military flight suit. Looking at me for answers, answers to questions he didn't even know how to ask.

"Chip. I thought they'd gotten you."

I stepped over a body and wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back then leaned back and looked at me. "You've got something on you." He pointed to the side of his face.

"Oh, that's Jonathon. Maybe a little David, but mostly Jonathon."

He turned a bit green, but tried to smile. "Bit possessive, are you?"

"I'm not big on sharing. It's been a problem before."

"I'll remember that."

"You'd better."

Kurt suddenly loomed over us. "You made a choice here, Wendy. We broke a bunch of rules; pulled a lot of strings, cashed in a lot of favors, to get to Chip and to have him get us here in time. We can plead ignorance and say we didn't understand what was going on. Howard will buy that from us, even if he doesn't really believe us. You can't. I don't think you want to be here when the bosses get here."

Kurt shook his head and looked at me. "There's a van downstairs, take it back to the airport. Go somewhere, anywhere. We'll get the other guy back to Thailand."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Alive, okay? He's an idiot, but if it wasn't for him, they'd probably have grabbed Chip."

Kurt smiled and shrugged. "He'll be okay. Maybe a bit shaken up. Just to make sure he keeps his mouth shut."

"Yeah, he probably needs that."

Chip sighed. "Where do we go?"

"I have some ideas."

I started for the door and a low rumbling voice caught my attention. "Make sure you take the suitcase, boss lady." Amos gave me a wink.

As we stepped out the door I could see Hollywood on one knee scanning up and down the street, holding a scoped rifle that looked like it might be a heavily modified M25, if I was remembering right. I could see three bodies crumpled in the street. He glanced up. "You're a lucky man, Chip. Take care of her."

Chip looked at the sniper rifle, then down the street at the bodies. "I will, Mate."

We scurried down the steps, to a white van. Chip hopped in the driver's seat while I climbed in, hitting my foot on a suitcase jammed between the seats. "Drive fast, Chip. We really, really, need to get out of here."

"Who are they, Wendy? The Triads?"

"Worse."

"The Russians?"

"Worse."

"Christ. What could be worse?"

"Chip, you really don't want to know. Drive faster."

I pulled the suitcase up into my lap. It was so heavy it took both hands. I flipped it open and looked inside.

It must have been all the operational cash from the safe house, along with every last Krugerrand.

"Drive faster, Chip. Seriously. Drive. Faster."

###

Six Months Later

Pochentong Airfield, outside Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

It was my own fault I didn't hear them come in, I had all three fans on high. Our office air conditioner had died again, so the fan was necessary to prevent suffocation in the mid-day heat.