Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 34, No. 13 & 14, Winter 1989

“I suppose he is,” she admitted. “But why would you want to learn such a sport? It is not like boxing or takraw or sword duels, our more traditional sports. Some even say that kite fighting is only a game for boy-men who have never grown up.”

“There’s money in it. I won a hundred bahts myself last night, betting on Crawford.”

The idea of winning a five dollar bet seemed to excite him so much that she knew she had to let him meet Crawford. His innocence was genuine. “Wait here,” she told him, and disappeared into the back of the shop to climb the stairs to their apartment.

When she told Crawford he eyed her with suspicion. “It’s the boy Bates mentioned,” he said.

“Yes. He is harmless. He only wants to kite fight, to learn from the master. He won five dollars betting on you last night.”

Crawford snorted. “He mustn’t consider me much of a master if that’s all he bet.” He buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants. “All right. Send him up.”

But as she went back downstairs she saw him reach into the drawer where he kept his Beretta pistol beneath a pile of underwear.

Mike Fleet was twenty-six years old, a young man from California who’d gotten to Vietnam just as the Americans were withdrawing. “I never did get to see enough of this part of the world,” he told them when they’d welcomed him upstairs, “so I decided to stay over here and bum around for a few years.”

“It’s a long few years,” Crawford pointed out. “The war ended in ’75.”

“Yeah. The time does pass quickly when you’re havin’ fun.” For just an instant Madame Wu thought she saw the mask of innocence slip. Then it was back in place as the young American said, “I want to learn to kite fight like you, Mr. Crawford.”

“I’m just Crawford here, son. And if you stay you’ll just be Fleet. The locals don’t have time for two names — not when they’re making bets before a match.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Crawford eyed him for a moment before replying. “Maybe.” He got to his feet. “Come on — I’ll take you along to the Pramane Ground while I try out a new kite.”

It was some time before Madame Wu could close her curio shop for an hour and join them. When she reached the open space north of the palace she saw that Crawford had turned the kite string over to Mike Fleet, who was guiding it well, listening while Crawford coached him on every movement.

As Madame Wu stood watching from the edge of the field she was joined by the Englishman, Bates. “I see that young American found Crawford.”

“Yes,” she replied. “He came to my shop this morning.”

Bates nodded. “Seems like a nice chap.”

Presently the two Americans ceased their sport and walked over to Madame Wu and the Englishman. “He’s got the makings of a champ,” Crawford conceded, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “Come back tomorrow, Fleet, and we’ll put up both kites at once and spar a bit.”

“You mean that?”

“I mean it.”

Mike Fleet left with a grin on his face.

“Where do all these young Americans come from?” Bates wondered aloud. “What in God’s name brings them to Bangkok? Is it drugs, or women, or what?”

“We have plenty of both,” Crawford replied. “He sure didn’t come all this distance to learn kite fighting.”

Later, back at the apartment, Madame Wu asked, “Do you want me to prepare your pipe?”

Crawford shook his head. “Not yet. Come here. I want to talk. I want to tell you about Vietnam.”

“There is no need.”

“I want you to know about it in case anything happens to me.”

“Crawford — you will live forever!”

He laughed and took her in his arms. “I believed that myself once, when I was younger.”

“All right,” she agreed. “Tell me about it.”

“When I was in the army,” he began, “in 1970, right before I came here and met you, I was given a great deal of American money and sent on a mission into the jungle. I was to meet a man and pay him to assassinate one of the North Vietnamese leaders. The assassination would have been carried out by powerful explosives which would also have killed a great many innocent people. It was war, they told me — and innocent people die all the time in war.

“I knew it was true. I’d seen a village destroyed by napalm just the week before. Well, I went off on my mission, but somewhere along the line I decided it was time for the killing to stop. I never met the man in the jungle, I crossed over into Cambodia and kept going until I reached Thailand. I moved along the coast, sometimes paying native fishermen to take me short distances by boat.”

“But why would they want to kill you for that?” Madame Wu asked. “What you did was a good thing, not bad.”

“That depends on how you look at it. I imagine there are people back home who figure I betrayed my country and lost the war all by myself.”

“It was a long time ago, Crawford.”

“Nearly ten years now,” he agreed.

“Why are you telling me now? Because you fear this boy who has come looking for you?”

“He’s no boy. He’s twenty-six years old. Old enough to be a trained assassin.”