sanitation here and the spices kill the bacteria. It has nothing to do with flavor.”
Conrad sighed and looked out the windows onto the busy street. They were seated in a corner booth away from the rest of the public in the restaurant , a place that was supposed to give them privacy but instead made their waitress ignore them .
He’d been to Bangkok before, at least three or four times. The prostitutes were some of the best in the world in his opinion. Not that he really needed to hire prostitutes. He’d learned that flashing enough cash can get you just about any woman you wanted — at least the type of women that he wanted. He’d go to bars and pick up some nice twenty- three-year- old. They’d take his limo straight to his Gulfstream and fly to the Caribbean or Mexico for a weekend. He would do what he wished however many times he wanted and then drop them back off at the airport.
But prostitutes were much better. They knew they were whores and they would get into what fantasies he wanted for that night. Plus, there was no need for the pretense of telling them he was going to see them again or having to talk about himself. There was a whorehouse not two blocks from here, one of the best in the city, and he wished like hell he was there right now.
“Where’s your man?” Conrad said.
“He’ll be here.”
“He’s an hour late.”
“So?”
“So I have places to be.”
“You’re a private contractor, C. Where do you think you gotta be right now?”
“I don’t know, maybe getting drunk with some Thai whore instead of watching you slurp down eel soup.”
“He’ll be here,” Tyrone said, remembering the soup in front of him and taking a sip from the bowl before wiping his mouth on his hand. He fed another piece of chicken to his dog.
It was another ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Tyrone finally said, “He’s here.”
Conrad saw a man in a black suit and a black button-down shirt walk into the restaurant. He wore aviator sunglasses and his hair appeared wind-swept , like he’d ridden a motorcycle here. The man looked over the restaurant before finally spotting Tyrone. He smiled and walked over.
Tyrone stood up and they shook hands. “How you doin’, Robert?”
“Good good.” The man reached down and petted the dog. “ Glorious day, gentlemen. How’s business?”
“Good. This is the man I was telling you about, Conrad Moore.”
“Pleasure,” the man said, shaking hands . “Robert Greyjoy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Conrad said. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”
“Non e of them true, I assure you.”
Conrad gave a forced smile and reached for his water. He took a sip, hoping that Robert wou ld speak first, but he just stood there with a pleasant expression on his face and stared at him. Despite the fact that he was impeccably dressed and perfectly pleasant, something about him creeped Conrad out. His calm, Conrad figured. This was a multi - million dollar deal; he should at least be a little nervous.
“I was just watching television in the hotel,” Robert said.
“Oh yeah?” Ty rone said. “ I don’t think this Asian TV is too good. All game shows .”
“No, I was watching Sesame Street on satellite.”
Conrad looked to Ty rone and then back. “The kids show?”
“Oh yes yes yes,” Robert said. “I learn more from Sesame Street than I ever do reading Foreign Affairs or the New York Times. Sesame Street is a kind of … cultural barometer. In the sixties, they were using research to educate children. The moon landing had just occurred and science was on the forefront of everybody’s mind. America had been told we need ed more scientists. In the seventies, with Vietnam and Watergate and the recession, Sesame Street became more pessimistic and began teaching practical skills for children to enter into the workfield . The eighties had more businessmen and celebrities than any other era. By the end of the eighties, with the Savings & Loan and the
Conrad sighed and looked out the windows onto the busy street. They were seated in a corner booth away from the rest of the public in the restaurant , a place that was supposed to give them privacy but instead made their waitress ignore them .
He’d been to Bangkok before, at least three or four times. The prostitutes were some of the best in the world in his opinion. Not that he really needed to hire prostitutes. He’d learned that flashing enough cash can get you just about any woman you wanted — at least the type of women that he wanted. He’d go to bars and pick up some nice twenty- three-year- old. They’d take his limo straight to his Gulfstream and fly to the Caribbean or Mexico for a weekend. He would do what he wished however many times he wanted and then drop them back off at the airport.
But prostitutes were much better. They knew they were whores and they would get into what fantasies he wanted for that night. Plus, there was no need for the pretense of telling them he was going to see them again or having to talk about himself. There was a whorehouse not two blocks from here, one of the best in the city, and he wished like hell he was there right now.
“Where’s your man?” Conrad said.
“He’ll be here.”
“He’s an hour late.”
“So?”
“So I have places to be.”
“You’re a private contractor, C. Where do you think you gotta be right now?”
“I don’t know, maybe getting drunk with some Thai whore instead of watching you slurp down eel soup.”
“He’ll be here,” Tyrone said, remembering the soup in front of him and taking a sip from the bowl before wiping his mouth on his hand. He fed another piece of chicken to his dog.
It was another ten minutes before either of them spoke again. Tyrone finally said, “He’s here.”
Conrad saw a man in a black suit and a black button-down shirt walk into the restaurant. He wore aviator sunglasses and his hair appeared wind-swept , like he’d ridden a motorcycle here. The man looked over the restaurant before finally spotting Tyrone. He smiled and walked over.
Tyrone stood up and they shook hands. “How you doin’, Robert?”
“Good good.” The man reached down and petted the dog. “ Glorious day, gentlemen. How’s business?”
“Good. This is the man I was telling you about, Conrad Moore.”
“Pleasure,” the man said, shaking hands . “Robert Greyjoy.”
“Nice to meet you,” Conrad said. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”
“Non e of them true, I assure you.”
Conrad gave a forced smile and reached for his water. He took a sip, hoping that Robert wou ld speak first, but he just stood there with a pleasant expression on his face and stared at him. Despite the fact that he was impeccably dressed and perfectly pleasant, something about him creeped Conrad out. His calm, Conrad figured. This was a multi - million dollar deal; he should at least be a little nervous.
“I was just watching television in the hotel,” Robert said.
“Oh yeah?” Ty rone said. “ I don’t think this Asian TV is too good. All game shows .”
“No, I was watching Sesame Street on satellite.”
Conrad looked to Ty rone and then back. “The kids show?”
“Oh yes yes yes,” Robert said. “I learn more from Sesame Street than I ever do reading Foreign Affairs or the New York Times. Sesame Street is a kind of … cultural barometer. In the sixties, they were using research to educate children. The moon landing had just occurred and science was on the forefront of everybody’s mind. America had been told we need ed more scientists. In the seventies, with Vietnam and Watergate and the recession, Sesame Street became more pessimistic and began teaching practical skills for children to enter into the workfield . The eighties had more businessmen and celebrities than any other era. By the end of the eighties, with the Savings & Loan and the
Similar Books
