Free Hungry Ghosts by John Dolan Page A

nightmare. And probably hers too.”
    “Do you want anything else?”
    She is close enough that I can smell her perfume. But I’m thinking avuncular . I have imposed on myself this strict policy of not sleeping with staff members, and thus far I am adhering to it. Whatever Mother Earth might think I can behave myself when I choose to.
    “No thanks. Show Vlad straight in as soon as he arrives, would you?”
    “Of course, David.”
    “Oh, and by the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m very happy with your work. You’re doing a good job here.”
    “I knew you were happy with my work,” she replies.
    “Why’s that?” I ask.
    “Because you’re the first boss I’ve had that hasn’t asked me to sleep with him. Da said I should be careful of you, but I told her you were just a big softie really.”
    “Yup. That’s me. Big softie.”
     
    The huge Russian fills the doorway. Jingjai looks like a little Thai doll beside him.
    “Mr. Vlad to see you, David,” she says looking slightly apprehensive that one of those big hands is going to make a grab for her bottom.
    “Vlad, how are you?” I ask rising to greet him.
    “Hey, Braddock.” His pronunciation makes my name sound like Bra Dock . Maybe he has a point.
    My right hand is swallowed up by his tattooed pitcher’s mitt.
    “Would you like a drink?”
    “You have alcohol ?”
    “It’s fine, Jingjai. I’ll take it from here.”
    Vlad ogles her departing figure without subtlety.
    “Beautiful girl,” he announces. “She any good?”
    “She’s good at her job, if that’s what you mean. If that’s not what you mean, I have no idea. Sit down, Vlad. I think that chair might just about take your weight.”
    He laughs rather loudly showing his gold teeth. “Always joking, Braddock. That’s why I like you so much. English people always jok ing.”
    I am glad I am not within backslapping range. The chair creaks beneath his muscled bulk, but just about holds together.
    I take two whisky glasses and a bottle of Bells from a drawer.
    “No vodka?”
    “No fridge. No cold.”
    Christ . I’m already talking in Russian-English, and he’s only been here a minute.
    He shrugs. “Whisky is OK.”
    While I splash some whisky into the glasses Vlad looks around my spartan office. He is dressed smartly today. I’ve only seen him in sports gear before, usually when he’s on his way to kick the living ordure out of some unfortunate at Samui’s Muay Thai Stadium. He’s what passes for a sports celebrity here on the island: Vlad the Impaler .
    Don’t even go there.
    He observes, “You don’t have much furniture.”
    “I had it all taken out when I heard you were coming.”
    This produces another roar of laughter.
    We raise our glasses.
    “To your good health.”
    “ Budem zdorovy .”
    We drain our glasses in one go, shot-style, and I pour us each a refill.
    “So, my friend,” I begin, “you’re here at last. You’ve been saying for weeks you were coming to see me in my professional capacity. And you’ve finally arrived. Perhaps now you can tell me why you wanted to see me. I’m assuming it’s not to do with girls. That would be too easy.”
    “Not girls, no.”
    “So … what? You’ve been very mysterious about this ‘business’ of yours that you might want me to help you with.”
    “I think you are right man for our job, Braddock. You drink with me, but you don’t get drunk. You listen. You are smart. I think I can trust you.”
    “I’m listening.”
    “ You also speak good Thai.”
    “Still listening.”
    He flexes his over-developed shoulders.
    “I am in Samui because I work for important businessman in Russia. He has house here and I take care for him. He wants to do much business in Thailand. He has company in Bangkok, also casino in Phuket.”
    He pronounces this last word like Puke It . Appropriate. I don’t like Phuket.
    I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t. He just sits there looking at me as if I’m a mind-reader or