The Brittle Limit, a Novel (14 page)

The ladies blinked their brown eyes at him
and flipped their long black hair. They asked him if he would like
to sit at the bar or a table and would he like company. They
smiled, their teeth too white.

Andrew spotted Tom in a back booth, to the
right. He waved off the ladies’ attention and walked to the back,
sliding into the dingy booth, which was upholstered in cherry red
plastic and punctured in a couple places.

“Classy joint.”

“It works for me.”

“So what did you learn?”

“What’s the rush? Have a drink. I’m
buying.”

“You drag me out of bed and expect me to join
you in a beer and shoot the shit? Come on man. Whaddya got?”

Tom leaned closer to the table, glancing over
his right shoulder. Andrew could smell his foul breath from across
the table.

“I need you to do something for me, mate.”
Andrew sighed. Of course.

“And what would that be?” he asked.

“I need to get back to Oz.”

“So buy a ticket.”

Tom leaned in, his thick stomach pressed hard
against the table’s plastic edge.

“Look mate the truth is, I’m broke. The
office, the car, it’s all a show, so people don’t talk. I lost
everything last year on a platinum mine that never panned out. I’ve
been living on borrowed time and borrowed cash. Now I’ve got some
local thug after me, wanting his payout. And I don’t got it. I
gotta get out of town.”

Andrew paused. He wondered if he was being
played, but he had so few sources here, he couldn’t really
negotiate.

“That’s a tough situation, Tom. Sorry to hear
it. Don’t you have family or friends who could help you out?”

“No, no, NO! None of them can help me. I need
to be gone today.”

Andrew tilted his head and squinted at Tom
across from him. “You know, the Embassy doesn’t pay much. I don’t
have that kind of cash lying around.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“I been in this business a long time, mate. A
long time. You’re no embassy desk jockey. No sir. You got
connections - you want a name, you make this happen for me.”

Andrew sighed and leaned back in the booth,
his palms flat on the slick table.

“So what are we talking here? A couple
thousand?”

“Yes.” Tom scrunched his face together, his
beady eyes calculating what he could get away with. “Five. Five
thousand should do.” He bobbed his head up and down a few times,
his eyes bright.

Andrew’s lips pressed together in a thin
white line. “I’ll tell you what. You give me the information and
I’ll sort you out, one way or another. It’s the best I can
offer.”

Andrew had plenty of available cash; he
always did. Greasing the wheels of the intelligence turbine was
part of his job. But it bothered him that this guy, a hack, had
sniffed him out. He needed to button up. Maybe he was losing his
edge.

Tom looked at Andrew from the corner of his
eye. “Today? I got your word?”

“Yes. Today.”

“Alright.” Tom stuck his puffy red hand in
Andrew’s face. Andrew shook it, then wiped his hand on his trousers
under the table. “Now, your news.”

“Your friend was hired by a mom and pop
company. They’re working on the cheap, they hired Ben ‘cause he had
all his own gear, didn’t want a contract, was low maintenance, no
red tape.”

“The name please?”

“River Metals. I asked – discretely – no one
knows too much about them. Guess they keep to themselves. Except I
found this.”

He pulled out a printout of a screenshot from
the Ministry of Mining website.

“They applied for a massive land concession
in Mondulkiri a few months back, tried to get an exploration
license, but no luck. That happens sometimes in this business, you
can’t count your chickens. I should know.” He sniffed with
self-pity.

“Who got the concession?”

“What?”

“In Mondulkiri, who got the concession to
explore that land?”

“Some Chinese joint venture, going
gangbusters, gonna try to extract within the year if they get
lucky.”

“Is there anyway to find out who else applied
for that land concession?” Andrew asked.

As Tom sipped his whiskey, one of the pretty
bar hostesses plopped herself onto his ample lap, draping her
waifish arm across his substantial shoulder.

“Hi Mr. Tom, who your friend?” She batted her
long black eyelashes at Andrew and smiled. “Maybe he want to buy me
a drink? And one for Bong Srey?” She nodded behind her, where
another hostess, dressed in equally short shorts and a purple
halter top, stood off to the side watching her friend’s antics and
taking mental notes. She was newer at the business. She gave a
small wave and a timid smile.

Tom reddened, and coughed, choking on the
whiskey and embarrassed by his sudden seatmate. He cleared his
throat. “Hey Honey. I’ll talk to you a little later, alright? We’re
busy here. Man talk. You scoot now.”

He lifted her up by her slim hips - she
weighed maybe 100 pounds - and plopped her feet on the floor by the
table. Giving her flat bottom a little pat, he said, “Run along
now.” The girl pouted, flipping her hair at Tom and ignoring
Andrew, who had simply watched this exchange. She flitted to the
bar to find more agreeable company. Her friend Bong Srey stared for
one more moment at Andrew then followed suit.

Tom turned back to Andrew, his face still
red. “Sorry about that. They’re playful little things. They know me
pretty well here. I probably come by more than I should, but hell,
I’m just a man.” Tom eyed the three young women bending over the
balcony looking down into the street for their next customers.

Andrew cleared his throat. “Tom. The
concession.”

Tom turned back to Andrew. “The Ministry
holds those application lists close, since it’s not a straight
numbers game, it’s more who you know. But then what isn’t? There’s
a limited number of players in town and we all get to know each
other pretty good. I found out about River Metals by calling in
some favors. Had to knock a few heads together.”

“Do you have an address?”

Tom pulled out a small sheet of paper, held
it out to Andrew, who reached for it. Before Andrew could take the
paper, Tom pulled it away.

“We’ve got a deal?” Tom asked.

“Like I said. I’ll set you up.”

Tom handed the paper to Andrew and added,
“It’s near Wat Steung Meanchey. Strange place for a Barang office.
Not real nice out that way, not too welcoming.”

Andrew took the paper. “Far from prying eyes
maybe. Thanks for this.”

“Sure.” Tom ordered another whiskey as Andrew
stood up and started toward the front.

Tom called out after him. “Hey there buddy,
can you take care of this bar tab for me on your way out? And get
me sorted on what we discussed.” Tom tossed back the last of his
whiskey in anticipation of the second.

Walking toward the stairwell, Andrew lifted
his right arm and without looking back, gave a small wave.

“Take it easy, Tom. I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter 16

Wat Steung Meanchey was bustling in the
afternoon. Saffron-clad monks wandered by, seeking alms, their
silver donation buckets tied to their slim waists. Local families
crowded the Wat, the fathers wearing their best, the mothers
bearing platefuls of rice. Children trailed behind their parents,
tugging on their uncomfortable clothes and staring at the bright
robes of the bald monks who walked by them, silent as stone.

The motodop dropped Andrew on a side street,
past the Wat.

The driver, his voice muffled by his large
helmet, said ‘there’ and pointed down an alley. Andrew saw a metal
gate, with a faded number painted on the side, matching the number
on Tom’s paper. Andrew was not surprised there was no sign
advertising ‘River Metals’.

An intercom on the fence suggested that
visitors would be welcome but Andrew was certain no one would
answer if he rang. Nor did he wish to announce his arrival. He
didn’t see a security camera, but that did not mean there wasn’t
one tucked up in a tree.

Andrew followed the high wooden fence around
to the back of the building. Through the fence slats, warped from
the rains, he could see a large courtyard on the side and back of
the building. Andrew saw two cars, one a beat-up jalopy with
California plates and the other a slick silver SUV with no plates
to speak of, and a crotch-rocket motorcycle. He’d found his
tail.

Andrew sidled along a hedge adjacent to the
fence. Outside the fence, a row of dented gray trash cans
overflowed with refuse. A few rats scurried away from the trash
when they saw Andrew approaching, leaving behind the food they’d
scrounged. They’d return after he was gone; there was plenty for
everyone.

Andrew found a metal lid, placed this on the
sturdiest bin and hopped up. Now, peering over the fence, he had a
full view of the house and the courtyard. He could see a couple
lights on in the first floor of the two-story house.

Glancing behind him, seeing no one, he pulled
himself up and over, dropping on to the cement and moving behind
the larger of the two cars. He hadn’t seen any cameras on the
outside of the house and hoped there were none in the
courtyard.

Staying close to the house, he edged along
the building’s side. Through an open window, he heard a male and
female voice, both speaking English. He moved closer to the house,
avoiding a large threatening anthill, and onto the grass. He
reached the open window.

Sounds of paper rustling, then an electric
whirring sound. Andrew leaned forward to the window’s edge and
peeked in.

Inside, a heavy middle-aged woman with
disheveled red hair crouched on the floor, feeding papers into the
shredder. She’d fed too many pages at once and was having to pull
out the resulting paper jam. She looked stressed and rushed. Piles
of papers surrounded the shredder; the woman had her work cut out
for her.

A tall broad-shouldered young man, with
closely cropped dark hair and a clean-shaven face, stood in the
doorway of the room where the woman was working. His legs were long
and he still had the air of a colt about him. He was dressed in
sweats and looked like he had just come from the gym. His face was
flushed.

“When’s dinner, Mom?”

The mother looked up from her task. “Have you
packed yet?”

“Nah, I’ll do it later.”

His mother put the papers down and her hands
on her ample hips. Andrew could see she’d been pretty once, but
somewhere in the past five years, she had decided it was all too
much effort and for what.

“Please do it now. We fly out first thing in
the morning. Early. I want you to be ready. Pack first and then
I’ll feed you.”

The young man, who Andrew could see now was
only sixteen or seventeen, loped out of the room, grumbling.

Andrew tried to get a better glimpse of the
files, but it was just words on the page from where he stood.

The woman continued her work, having
discovered the perfect number of pages to feed into the machine.
She thought that whoever built these shredders surely must know
that this task usually had to happen quickly.

Andrew stepped back from the house and looked
up. The bedrooms were probably on the second floor and knowing
teenage boys, he figured the boy would be in the back of the house,
which put him a good distance away from the mother’s office. Far
enough away for Andrew and Mom to have a chat.

Andrew walked around and tested the front
door, a solid wooden door. Locked. It took a couple tries with
Andrew’s pick but a sharp click told Andrew he was in. He opened
the door a fraction and looked in. The hallway was empty. He
stepped in and shut the door behind him.

The inside of the house confirmed his
suspicions. This was indeed a home. Enlarged photographs of family
vacations hung on the walls, an arty black and white print of three
children staring out to sea, and framed hand-drawn art from
children, probably many years old by now, maybe even the grumpy
teenage boy. The requisite picture of Angkor Wat sat above the
mantle in a living room across from the entrance hall.

Several pairs of shoes were lined up at the
front door. Pink running shoes. Men’s sneakers. Flip-flops and
sandals.

Andrew walked toward the office, where the
woman was still feeding paper in to the machine. Her back was to
him. He stepped in and in a moment, he had her in a chokehold, his
hand around her mouth. He whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.
But I need to ask you some questions and I need you to cooperate.
Do you understand me?” She nodded.

He lifted her up from her kneeling position
and placed her in a nearby chair.

“I’m going to take my hand away. I need you
to stay quiet. Can you do that?”

The woman nodded again, her eyes wild.

Andrew released her and stepped away, back to
the wall. Shredded paper was everywhere, the garbage bags waiting
to be filled with the stuff.

“Are you ‘River Metals’?”

“Yes.” The woman’s voice was a whisper.

“Did you hire Ben Goodnight to go to
Mondulkiri?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know that he got killed by a land
mine out there?”

At this, the woman teared up. “Yes.”

Down the hall, the front door had opened and
closed without Andrew hearing and a tall swarthy man, with a thick
black mustache, crept down the hallway. He stopped to listen to the
unknown male voice speaking in stern tones to his wife. This did
not please him.

The man sidled up to the open doorway,
looking in to see his wife weeping in a wicker chair and a strange
man glaring at her. Enraged, he charged into the room, directly at
Andrew, tackling him and dragging him to the ground, punching
Andrew in the face again and again. Andrew grabbed the man’s
shirttails and, knocking his feet out from under him, pushed him
face down into the deep pile of shredded paper, holding him down
while the man struggled and swore.