Free For the Dead by Timothy Hallinan Page A

me,” Kosit says, his leathery face wrinkling in a grin.
    “What brought you to the side of the angels?”
    “The cops usually won,” Kosit says as Arthit goes through the door with a grunt as his back muscles find a new way to squeeze. “And then, of course, there was the shining example of men like you.”
    Arthit laughs, but his laughter stops when he walks into the low-walled cubicle occupied by the dragon who heads the group’s secretarial pool, and receives a look that’s simultaneously frayed and rattled. Arthit can’t remember the dragon ever being rattled.
    “He wants you,” she says the moment she spots him.
    “He’ll wait.”
    She shakes her head, picks up a phone and punches a double-digit number. “He just walked in,” she says. “He’ll be right up.”
    Arthit says, “Traitor.”
    “This is no time to demonstrate how independent you are. I’ve been here forty years, and it’s never been like this.” To Kosit, she says, “Drag him up there.”
    Kosit says, “Come on,” and snags Arthit’s arm, pulling him around toward the door and wrenching a groan from Arthit as his back clenches like a fist. “Be a big boy,” Kosit says, hauling his friend along, “and later you can have some ice cream.”
    “W AIT, ” SAYS T HANOM ’ S secretary as Arthit comes in. Kosit had peeled off at the last moment like a booster rocket, his work done.
    “He wants me.”
    “He wants everything,” she says. “But most of all he doesn’t want anyone going through that door until he says it’s all right.”
    Arthit lifts both hands and lets them fall, just an acknowledgment that neither of them is in charge of anything.
    She punches a button and says, “The Lieutenant-Colonel is here.” She winces at the response and replaces the phone very gently. “Go right in. You might want to straighten up a little.”
    “If only I could,” Arthit says. He goes to the door, grabs a breath, and pushes it open.
    “Why aren’t you in uniform?” Thanom demands. He’s behind his desk, his face as impassive as always, the black eyes flat as buttons, the long upper lip with its suggestion of chimpanzee as rigid as ever. Offhand, Arthit can’t remember ever seeing his superior’s upper teeth.
    There are dark rings under his arms and damp handprints all over the glass on top of his desk. Thanom is no one’s idea of an expressive man, but he actually smells of anxiety, strongly enough to cut through the sneeze-provoking scent of the air freshener plugged into the wall outlet behind him.
    “I’m off today,” Arthit says.
    Thanom blinks. “Is that right? Thanks for coming in.”
    This is new territory. Thanom has never thanked him before. Arthit says, “My pleasure,” hoping it sounds more sincere than it feels.
    The full colonel’s three stars glitter on Thanom’s uniform. He uses his cuff to blot his upper lip. “We’ve got a situation.”
    “Sawat.”
    Thanom looks up quickly. “Is the news out?”
    “Only in the building.”
    “Well,” Thanom says, “that won’t last.” He pauses and leans back in his chair. “I have a very special assignment for you.”
    Arthit waits. The phrase has something truly awful about it.
    Thanom takes a deep, rasping breath and drops his eyes to the surface of his desk. Whatever’s coming, he can’t hold Arthit’s gaze. “I’m not always properly appreciative,” Thanom says, and Arthit forces his eyebrows back down, but not fast enough to miss Thanom’s quick glance. “I know,” Thanom continues, talking to the desk again. “I don’t always demonstrate my—my esteem, but I think of you, you personally, I mean, as one of my protégés.”
    Arthit says, “Really.” Something more seems to be called for, so he says, “I’m surprised.”
    Thanom clears his throat and has the grace to blush. “Because of that,” he says, plowing along, “because I trust you, I’m going to ask you a favor.”
    For the first time all day, Arthit feels like laughing.