Bangkok Noir

“Stop crying, kid. It doesn’t help. But I’ll tell you something. You know what I noticed in this business, kid? Some guys die with their eyes open, and some die with their eyes shut. I wondered about that for years. Then I decided that either was acceptable. There isn’t any god that cares one way or the other. But the guy with his eyes open? I’d say he’s more dead than the guy with his eyes shut. Which are you gonna be, kid? Open or shut?”

“Don’t kill me! Please! I’ll pay you whatever you want!”

“Kid, don’t take it so hard. Like I said, it’s nothing personal. But if I don’t waste you now, you might come after me. Who knows? You might get lucky.”

“No! I wouldn’t. I swear it. I wouldn’t dare!”

“No? A man with all your hits might dare anything. After all, you did the Kaeochart hit.”

“I never hit anybody! I never killed anybody! This is my first time. I just wanted to be like my uncle. He was in the business for years. I just wanted to be like him! Please, don’t! I’ll never come after you!”

“I believe you, kid. ’Cause, you see, I did the Kaeochart hit.”

“Oh, I—look, mister, please!”

“You had it right, except you weren’t there to see my semi jam up on me. I had to use the backup revolver. That’s why I won’t touch a semi-automatic again.”

“Look, I swear I—”

“But it’s like this. You being an amateur makes it even worse. Somebody teams you up with a guy like me, a pro, and you could accidentally get the pro killed by doing something stupid. I can’t allow that to happen.”

The boy’s sobbing grew louder. His voice broke. “No! I swear. I don’t want to kill anybody. I’ll never do this again. Nobody will die because of me. Please don’t kill me! Please! Take my wallet! Just let me go!”

“... If, if I let you go, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“Mister, I swear to you! If I ever try this again, you come after me and kill me, Okay? I just want out. Please!”

The big man slowly let the hammer down. “Okay, kid. That’ll be the deal. You try another hit, I’ll hear about it. And I’ll put a bullet through you.”

“Yes! Yes! But you won’t have to. I swear it. Please!”

“I told you to stop crying. ... You piss your pants?”

“...Yes.”

“All right. I’m probably doing something I’ll regret.” He stared at the boy, who continued to sob uncontrollably. “You got ten seconds to get up and get the hell out of here. And nine of them are gone.”

The boy jumped up, ran to the door, opened it and ran out, slamming it behind him.

The man stared at the closed door for several seconds then replaced his revolver in his belt holster. He walked to the table and began replacing rods and patches and cloth back into the gun kit box.

Suddenly, from the inner hallway leading from the bathroom, a middle-aged man appeared. He was slim and dark and unhappy. And dripping wet. His clothes appeared to be covered with blood. He carried a pair of dry shoes over to the sofa and placed them on the floor.

“If I had to stay in that bathtub one more fucking minute I would be dead for real. As it is, I may have got pneumonia. I still say I coulda just been on the bed.”

As he spoke, he grabbed the clean clothes and towel from the television set and stepped back into the hallway. He raised his voice while he changed. “What the hell did I have to be in the tub for, anyway?”

“I told you: it looks better.”

“Yeah, right. It looks better.”

“He might have checked you out on the bed. Nobody touches a body in a tub full of bloody water.”

“That right? Well, you’re the expert. But I got ketchup in my hair, my nose, my ears... my eyes, for fuck’s sake!”

The big man said nothing. The man with ketchup in his hair quickly finished changing and walked back into the room. “First time I ever made money playing a corpse. How about you? You ever played a corpse?”

“Never did.”

“You shoulda taken the punk’s wallet. I’ll bet he was loaded. He offered it to you, didn’t he?”

“I’m not a thief.”

“Well, pardon me all over the fuckin’ place, but where I come from money is money.” The slim man suddenly sneezed three times in a row. “See? I’m getting pneumonia from that tub. And it’s not like I got health insurance or somethin’.”

The big man finished packing up his gun kit. Folding the newspaper neatly, he dropped it into a trash can. He lowered himself slowly into a chair and waited for the slim man. He stared at the stylized painting of the village. It could be any Thai village. He’d left his after his first hit. And never returned. Images of long ago flickered across his mind. A beautiful young girl, a competing suitor, the flash of a knife, blood, screaming, running, hiding.

The slim man sneezed again before he could get his sentence out. “You got health insurance?”

“No. ”

“I don’t know anybody in the business who does. Who the hell can afford it on what Wichai pays? What pisses me off is that punk kid is gonna go to a college in the States and fuck lotsa blondes and drink lotsa beer and end up in business with his corrupt uncle and makin’ a fortune. And me? I’m gonna croak from not having health insurance.”