Gina Takes Bangkok (The Femme Vendettas) (7 page)

Before Darae could speak again, Gina raised a hand to each of them.

“Look, the last thing we need to worry about right now is my future career. That bastard’s a huge threat to our family. To us, Tas, and all the people who work for us. Both of you taught me that nothing’s more important than family. That you fight for family to the very end, even if you know you’re going to lose.”

Vincenzo chopped the air with his hand. “Yes, yes. That’s all very eloquent, Gina. You’ve got your mother’s silver tongue. She could have sold sand to Arabs.”

“It’s easy to sell an idea when you know you’re right,” she shot back.

Why couldn’t they let him die in peace? Not having any children of her own, Darae loved his daughter every bit as much as Gina’s mother had. Despite her delicate appearance, Darae had the balls of a brass monkey. And she’d passed those brass balls onto Gina.

Besieged by the women, he looked to Kannon.

Even though he wore his sunglasses, Vincenzo knew damn well where his eyes were aimed. When it came to his daughter, the man was far from neutral. Gina was no longer alone. And, if she didn’t blow it, might never be alone again. Besides which, the girl did have a point. This was no time for argument.

“Promise me you’ll be careful, stay smart and do what Kannon tells you.”

Gina flashed Kannon the smile that had Vincenzo kicking boys overboard the day she hit puberty. “Well, I promise the first two, anyway.”

The man was a goner.

“Then it’s settled,” Darae crowed, she and Gina high-fiving each other right in front of his face.

Damn women.

It was late at night when Gina, Kannon, Ryota and Jarun ventured into a part of Bangkok known as 70 Rai, a dark slum that spilled from an industrialized port, pooling beneath a noodle bowl of highway on-and-off ramps. Unlike the glittering towers of commerce at the city’s heart, the shanty town had no electricity, the only illumination filtering down from the towering expressways that rose on stark concrete pillars.

Trying not to gag on the stench of raw sewage from the nearby canal, Gina followed Jarun through the narrow alleys, her flashlight beam trained on his back so as not to lose him in the eerie twilight.

“How far is this place?” she asked.

“Only a couple more minutes,” he muttered, and he proved to be a man of his word.

The street opened into a kind of courtyard, its borders defined by crumbling walls that likely dated back to the ancient city of Thonburi, the forgotten capital upon whose bones Bangkok was built. Gina might’ve imparted this little piece of history to her companions had Jarun not drawn their attention to a structure almost as old—a Buddhist temple long since defiled by graffiti and abuse.

Jarun had promised to take them to where Wakai’s sister indulged her sick fantasies, and while Gina hadn’t known what to expect, this old ruin wasn’t it. “Looks abandoned.”

Their guide’s lips curled back in disgust. “It should be but it’s not. Things get started after dark, so this is the time to see if she’s here.”

“You ever go inside?” asked Kannon.

Jarun recoiled as if insulted. “No. Never. Not even the slum gangs come here. I only know about it because John and I drink together, and he talked about it once when he was drunk. I came here the next day out of curiosity. To see if his story was true. After what the people around here told me, I never wanted to come back.”

Gina felt a shiver run down her spine. Considering Jarun was a Bangkok gangster who tortured people for a living, she couldn’t even begin to guess at what lay within the temple.

“Well, you’re going in tonight,” Kannon said.

Ryota tipped his head to Gina. “What about her?”

She rolled her eyes. “Again, I’m right here. I’ll come with.”

Kannon balked. “We have no idea what’s in there. Ryota will stay with you while I check it out.”

“If there’s going to be trouble it would be better if we stay together,” Gina insisted. “Besides, you don’t speak Thai. You trust our friend here to do all the translating, or are you hoping they’ll all know Japanese?”

“Bringing him was your idea,” he ground out, “and I never wanted you translating in the first place. Besides, you promised your father you’d be careful.”

Gina looked to Ryota. “Who would I be safer with? You or Kannon?”

“Him.”

“Thank you. After we’re through with this, I’ll fix you up with one of the girls. My treat. Now, enough of this silliness. Let’s go see if we can do a meet-up with Vicky.”

The candlelit interior of the temple had been converted into a lounge of sorts, with a red lacquered bar running along one wall and sets of tables and chairs around the rest of the floor space, each with its own hookah. On the black walls was scrawled a crimson script—the same mysterious script Gina had seen carved into the forehead of the freaky cannibal. The temple’s golden Buddha was still in its place—with nails driven into its eyes, and barbed wire wound into cuffs around its wrists.

Creepiest of all, however, were the people.

Seated around the tables, surrounded by pale clouds of sweet-scented smoke, were a half dozen sharply dressed patrons. Four were Asians, two were whites, and all had sly, predatory looks. Watching over them was a group of four squat men, their hatchet-like features hardening at the sight of unexpected guests.

Jarun slid aside to reveal Gina, flanked by Kannon and Ryota.

Time to mingle.

She gave the customary bow and addressed them in Thai. “Hello.”

One of the hatchet-faced men stepped up, smiling like a lion at a lamb, and returned the gesture of greeting. His Thai tinted with a Cambodian accent, he welcomed her. “I don’t believe we’ve seen you before, Miss...”

“You can call me Ursula,” she supplied. “My friend here mentioned that you offer some, um, unusual services. I came here to sample them, if I’m not intruding.”

The man took in her tight black outfit and leather boots. “You’re a confident woman to visit 70 Rai after dark.”

“As you can see, I came prepared,” she said. “The neighborhood’s not so scary when you’ve got company.”

He offered her a chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. It’s rare that women come seeking what we offer, though you’re not the first. How did you hear of us?”

“A friend I met a while back,” Gina replied, accepting the seat. Kannon stood behind her, while Ryota stationed himself to one side, eyes scanning the temple’s occupants. Jarun had skirted them all, and hovered nearby. She had to be very careful to disguise her ignorance as she dropped the name of Wakai’s sister. She could hear the advice Darae gave her girls for entertaining a client: Talk to get them talking. Then shush.

“She only really hinted at what goes on here,” said Gina, keeping her tone relaxed. “Still, I was interested enough to seek it out. Obviously you must know her. She said her name was Victoria.”

There was a hum of recognition among the men. “She’s introduced several of us to this place,” said a man with silver-grey hair wearing a turtleneck, switching the conversation to English, though his accent was cultured French. “Bangkok has so many boring, trivial vices. It’s a privilege to meet another connoisseur.”

“Likewise,” Gina smiled. “So where did you meet Victoria?”

“Through the Elite Twelve,” he replied. “Ever heard of them?”

Gina struggled to keep her expression straight. Behind her, she could feel Kannon, feel his power and his anger as forcefully as if they were her own. And rightfully so. The British pedophile ring had been among the very worst, not just trading in young flesh, but actively sadistic in their methods. For them, it wasn’t enough to kidnap the children of the poor.

They left unmarked envelopes on parents’ doorsteps weeks, or even months later, with pictures of what they’d done, while they’d been doing it. When her father had learned of their atrocities, he and Alak Montri put a bounty on their heads, attracting the interest of the city’s gangs and mercenaries. Days later, the ‘Elite Twelve’ was whittled down to the ‘Elite Seven’, and the remainder of their horrific organization fled back to the shadows of the UK.

“Oh yes. Never got the chance to get involved. I know people who did, though.”

“How about you? Where did you meet her?” asked another patron, a New Yorker from the sound of it. His eyes were cold as a dead fish as he puffed on the hookah.

“We met at a party here in Bangkok,” answered Gina, avoiding any specific time or place that might trip her up. “She certainly mixes in some interesting circles.”

The French fucker swirled his glass of cognac, and smiled, almost nostalgically, into its contents. “Oh yes, and she’s an eager recruiter. Even maintains a website of sorts. Have you seen it?”

Oh, Jesus. A website? Gina swallowed, licked her lips to buy a second or two. Then thinking about what she just did, she licked them again suggestively. “No. Can’t say I have. Sounds…inspiring.”

Producing a thin silver pen, the man reached for Gina’s hand. Instantly Kannon started forward; the man halted; Gina waved Kannon away. Her skin crawled as the pedophile turned her palm upwards, and in precise characters wrote a long Thai web address of seemingly random numbers and letters. “I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating. Victoria’s an exceptional photographer. Exquisite. She has a certain je ne sais quoi. Much like you.”

Gina curled her hand into a fist over the address. “Merci,” she said. “I’ll be sure to check it out.”

The owner gestured to the bar. “We now wait for one more guest,” he said in English, though his words were barely comprehensible, what with his accent and lack of fluency. “Would young lady like drink?”

“Gin and tonic, please,” she replied, then turned back to the men. “So how exactly do things work here? Like I said, Victoria didn’t go into details.”

The New Yorker exhaled a jet of pale blue smoke. “As soon as we’re all here, they’ll bring out the kids. We pick our favorites, then we head downstairs. Place is expensive as hell, but they’ve got a world-class setup down there. Bondage yokes, funnel gags, smother boxes, e-stim machines—plus all the usual medical tools. Nice and clean, too.”

“Surgically clean,” added the Frenchman with a giggle.

That was it. She needed a moment. She averted her face to look at Kannon. His expression was utterly impassive; his eyes on Ryota. He blinked twice, then looked beyond his apprentice to the man who’d gone to fetch Gina her drink.

The New Yorker sank back against the cushions. “So, you a LBL or LGL, Ursula?”

Gina pretended. “LBL here. You?”

“LGL mostly, though I swing both ways. What’s your AOA?”

What the hell could that stand for? She noticed Jarun sneak up eight fingers.

“Eight,” she replied, hoping she’d answered smoothly enough.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Eight, huh?”

Gina shrugged. “What’s yours?”

The man studied her for a moment. “I’m getting the feeling you’re a CHSC, Ursula. Would I be right on that?”

Jarun shook his head, wide-eyed.

“Uh, no. Why would you think that?”

The owner arrived back at their table with the gin and tonic, offering it to Gina. “For young lady.”

The Frenchman laughed as she accepted the glass. “Now Michael, let’s not be paranoid. You’ll have to excuse my friend. He’s an RSO back in the United States. Makes him nervous of being arrested again.”

“Well, you can never be too careful, right?” Gina moved to take a sip, when the situation exploded.

Kannon slapped the glass from her lips with his left hand, his right hand quick-drawing his pistol and firing in rapid succession, bullets finding the chests of the temple’s security before they could react. In the same instant, Ryota put the drink server in a headlock, pressing the muzzle of his pistol to his hostage’s neck. As a group, the customers and staff raised their hands in surrender.

Kannon trained his gun on the New Yorker, as smoke swirled from its barrel. “Sometimes paranoia is a good thing.”

“I don’t want any trouble,” said the man. “This is a big mistake.”

Kannon didn’t move. “Where’s Victoria?”

The New Yorker shook his head. “I don’t even know the bitch. We’ve never fucking met.”

“I believe you,” said Kannon. He jammed his gun in the man’s mouth and pulled the trigger.

The chair with its contents toppled backwards as Kannon swiveled his gun on the Frenchman, its muzzle dripping with blood and brains. “He was useless to me. Are you?”

Gina leapt out of her chair to grip Kannon’s shoulder. “For God’s sake, give him a chance to talk.”

“I’m a busy man,” ground the assassin through hate-clenched teeth. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me something useful, Monsieur. Don’t, and you join your friend in hell.”

The Frenchman pointed frantically at the man Ryota had in a chokehold. “She’s friends with these people! She finds customers for them like I told you!”

Kannon’s trigger finger tightened, a hair from blowing the man’s head off. “Yes, as you’ve told us. What else?”

“I heard she’s into black magic. A Chinese friend of mine met her when he hired some sorcerer to curse his enemies. That’s all I know. Please don’t kill me!”

Kannon pulled a second gun from his jacket and handed it to Gina. “Take this and keep them covered. I’m going downstairs.”