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Authors: Stephen Leather
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Whatever the infraction, it clearly wasn't speeding. A motorcycle taxi scraped by the car, the rider nodding to Carver's driver, the driver noclding back. Simple everyday Thai politeness, thought Carver, even at rush hour The rider's skin was dark and leathery and he had his helmet tipped back as far as it would go on his head. His passenger was a middle-aged woman in a bright pink suit, sitting side saddle with her legs pressed together, a handbag in her lap. She held her bag with one hand and her long hair with the other, preventing it from blowing in the wind. She smiled at Carver and he smiled back.
Carver wondered why Jake Gregory was making an unplanned visit to Thailand and why the DEA executive had insisted that Carver meet him at the airport. Gregory had visited the organisation's Bangkok offices at least half a dozen times during Carver's stint in Thailand and he'd always made his own way in from the airport, usually spurning an office car in favour of a taxi. Gregory had worked his way from a front-line agent to the number two man in the agency but had never forgotten his roots, and was the last person Carver would have expected to use an agent as a porter. Not that Carver minded, it never paid to turn down an offer to earn Brownie points from a superior.
Carver got to the airport about fifteen minutes after Gregory's flight was scheduled to touch down, but he didn't rush to the arrivals area. It took an average of thirty minutes to clear immigration, with an hour-long wait not uncommon.
Carver bought a cup of black coffee and sipped it as he waited. A group of European tourists streamed out of the immigration THE SOLITARY MAN 47 hall, pasty faced and sweating, and lined up at the taxi counter with their suitcases. Carver wondered if they realised they faced a two-hour wait in the heavy traffic. So much time was now spent in traffic jams, the city's filling stations all now stocked small portable urinals which drivers could use while stuck behind the wheel. Carver had one under his seat, though thankfully he'd never had to use it. He could imagine the amused looks he'd get: a farang taking a piss in his car.
Two stunning Thai girls with waist-length hair walked hand in hand, each pulling a wheeled suitcase behind her. They had bright gold chains around their necks, glittering bracelets on their wrists, and lipstick as red as fresh blood. They were almost certainly exotic dancers back from working in Hong Kong or Japan, Carver decided. Or high-class hookers. One of them smiled at him as she went by and he smiled back. Everyone smiled in Thailand, it was practically a national pastime, but Carver got the impression that the girl meant it. He turned to watch her go, but she didn't look back and as she reached the exit a large Thai with bulging forearms emphasised by a too-tight short-sleeved shirt, stepped forward and took her suitcase.
'Hell of a butt, huh?' said a gruff voice behind Carver. He whirled around and found himself looking into the amused eyes of Jake Gregory. He was wearing a green polo shirt and grey slacks and was carrying a black leather holdall.
'Sorry,' said Carver, momentarily flustered. He recovered quickly and stuck out his hand. Gregory gripped it and they shook hands firmly. Carver looked at the holdall. 'Is that all the luggage you've got?'
'Flying visit, son,' said Gregory, running his hand through his crew cut. 'Hit and run.'
Carver reached for Gregory's bag, but Gregory swung it out of his reach. 'That's all right, son, I can carry my own bag.'
Carver nodded and turned towards the exit. Gregory put a restraining hand on his shoulder. 'Not so fast,' said Gregory, good naturedly.
'The car's outside . . .' Carver began, but Gregory shook his head.
'I'm just passing through,' said Gregory. Gregory glanced at his watch, a scratched driving model that looked as if it had been on his 48 STEPHEN LEATHER wrist for decades. 'My flight's in two hours. Is there somewhere we can
Carver wondered why Jake Gregory was making an unplanned visit to Thailand and why the DEA executive had insisted that Carver meet him at the airport. Gregory had visited the organisation's Bangkok offices at least half a dozen times during Carver's stint in Thailand and he'd always made his own way in from the airport, usually spurning an office car in favour of a taxi. Gregory had worked his way from a front-line agent to the number two man in the agency but had never forgotten his roots, and was the last person Carver would have expected to use an agent as a porter. Not that Carver minded, it never paid to turn down an offer to earn Brownie points from a superior.
Carver got to the airport about fifteen minutes after Gregory's flight was scheduled to touch down, but he didn't rush to the arrivals area. It took an average of thirty minutes to clear immigration, with an hour-long wait not uncommon.
Carver bought a cup of black coffee and sipped it as he waited. A group of European tourists streamed out of the immigration THE SOLITARY MAN 47 hall, pasty faced and sweating, and lined up at the taxi counter with their suitcases. Carver wondered if they realised they faced a two-hour wait in the heavy traffic. So much time was now spent in traffic jams, the city's filling stations all now stocked small portable urinals which drivers could use while stuck behind the wheel. Carver had one under his seat, though thankfully he'd never had to use it. He could imagine the amused looks he'd get: a farang taking a piss in his car.
Two stunning Thai girls with waist-length hair walked hand in hand, each pulling a wheeled suitcase behind her. They had bright gold chains around their necks, glittering bracelets on their wrists, and lipstick as red as fresh blood. They were almost certainly exotic dancers back from working in Hong Kong or Japan, Carver decided. Or high-class hookers. One of them smiled at him as she went by and he smiled back. Everyone smiled in Thailand, it was practically a national pastime, but Carver got the impression that the girl meant it. He turned to watch her go, but she didn't look back and as she reached the exit a large Thai with bulging forearms emphasised by a too-tight short-sleeved shirt, stepped forward and took her suitcase.
'Hell of a butt, huh?' said a gruff voice behind Carver. He whirled around and found himself looking into the amused eyes of Jake Gregory. He was wearing a green polo shirt and grey slacks and was carrying a black leather holdall.
'Sorry,' said Carver, momentarily flustered. He recovered quickly and stuck out his hand. Gregory gripped it and they shook hands firmly. Carver looked at the holdall. 'Is that all the luggage you've got?'
'Flying visit, son,' said Gregory, running his hand through his crew cut. 'Hit and run.'
Carver reached for Gregory's bag, but Gregory swung it out of his reach. 'That's all right, son, I can carry my own bag.'
Carver nodded and turned towards the exit. Gregory put a restraining hand on his shoulder. 'Not so fast,' said Gregory, good naturedly.
'The car's outside . . .' Carver began, but Gregory shook his head.
'I'm just passing through,' said Gregory. Gregory glanced at his watch, a scratched driving model that looked as if it had been on his 48 STEPHEN LEATHER wrist for decades. 'My flight's in two hours. Is there somewhere we can
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