Nho nodded. “Not good. Better to pay.”
AMAZING THAILAND it said in big letters over the multicolored image of Thai dancers. The poster hung on the wall of the tiny travel agency in Sampeng Lane in Chinatown. Apart from Harry, Nho, and a man and a woman behind desks, the spartan room was empty. The man wore glasses with such thick lenses that he seemed to be looking at them from the inside of a goldfish bowl.
Nho had just shown him his police ID.
“What did he say?”
“The police are always welcome. We can have special prices on his trips.”
“Ask for a free trip upstairs.”
Nho said a couple of words and the man lifted a telephone receiver.
“Mr. Sorensen just has to finish drinking his tea,” he said in English.
Harry was about to say something but a reproving glance from Nho changed his mind. They both sat down to wait. After a couple of minutes Harry pointed to the inactive fan on the ceiling. Goldfish Bowl smiled and shook his head.
“Kaput.”
Harry could feel his scalp itching. After a couple more minutes the telephone rang and the man asked them to follow him. At the bottom of the stairs he motioned that they should take off their shoes. Harry thought of his sweaty tennis socks with holes in and considered it was best for all concerned if he kept his shoes on, but Nho slowly shook his head. Cursing, Harry flipped off his shoes and trudged upstairs.
Goldfish Bowl knocked on a door, it was flung open and Harry stepped back two paces. A mountain of flesh and muscle filled the doorway. The mountain had two small slits for eyes, a drooping black moustache and his head was shaven, apart from a limp pigtail. His head looked like a discolored bowling ball; the torso had no neck or shoulders, only a bulging mass that started at his ears and descended to a couple of arms which were so fat it was as if they had been screwed on. Harry had never seen such a large human in all his life.
The man turned and waddled ahead of them into the room.
“His name’s Woo,” Nho whispered. “Freelance goon. Very bad reputation.”
“My God. He looks like a terrible imitation of a Hollywood bad guy.”
“Chinese from Manchuria. They’re famous for being very …”
The shutters in front of the windows were closed, and in the darkened room Harry could discern the outline of a man sitting behind a large desk. A fan whirred on the ceiling and a stuffed tiger’s head snarled at them from the wall. An open balcony door gave the impression the outside traffic was passing through the room, and a third person sat by the doorway. Woo squeezed himself into the last remaining chair. Harry and Nho took up a position in the middle of the floor.
“How can I help you, gentlemen?”
The voice from behind the desk was deep, the pronunciation British, the tones almost Oxford. He raised his hand and a ring glinted. Nho looked at Harry.
“Erm, we’re from the police, Mr. Sorensen …”
“I know.”
“You lent money to Atle Molnes, the Norwegian ambassador. You rang his wife after his death. Why? To try and force her to pay his debts?”
“We have no unsettled debts with any ambassador. Besides, we don’t deal with that kind of loan, Mr … .”
“Hole. You’re lying, Mr. Sorensen.”
“What did you say, Mr. Hole?” Sorensen had leaned forward. His facial features were Thai, but his skin and hair were as white as snow and his eyes blue.
Nho caught Harry’s sleeve, but he pulled his arm away and held Sorensen’s gaze. He knew he’d put his neck on the block, had taken a threatening stance and that Mr. Sorensen would lose face now if he conceded anything. Those were the rules of the game. But Harry was standing there in threadbare socks, sweating like a pig and absolutely sick of face, tact and diplomacy.
“You’re in Chinatown now, Mr. Hole, not in farang land. I have no argument with the Chief of Police in Bangkok. I suggest you have a chat with him before you say another word, then I promise you we’ll forget this embarrassing scene.”
“Usually the police read the Miranda rights to the criminal, not vice versa.”
Mr. Sorensen’s teeth shone white between moist, red lips. “Oh, yes. ‘You have the right to remain silent,’ and so on. Well, this time it was vice versa. Woo, show them out. Gentlemen.”
“Your activities here can’t stand the light of day and neither can you, Mr. Sorensen. If I were you I would go straight out and buy some sunscreen with a high protection factor. They don’t sell it in prison exercise yards.”
Sorensen’s voice went a touch deeper. “Don’t provoke me, Mr. Hole. I’m afraid my sojourns abroad have caused me to lose my legendary Thai patience.”