Free The Khmer Kill: A Dox Short Story (Kindle Single) by Barry Eisler Page B

his diagnosis had been off, and he’d been too forward. But then she’d nodded yes. He was still so unsure what to make of her that he didn’t even know whether to pay a bar fine. He decided to finesse that issue by leaving an extra big tip with the bill for their drinks.
    They got a tuk-tuk ride back to the hotel. In the room, she’d been shy and uncertain. He didn’t mind. He liked her, and besides, he could get laid anytime, one night without wasn’t going to kill him. He told her he didn’t want to do anything that made her uncomfortable, and she was welcome to spend the night if she liked. There was only the one bed, but they could keep their clothes on, it was fine.
    So that’s what they did. She did most of the talking, telling him about her family, her city, her hopes for the future. Her father drove a tuk-tuk and her mother ran the house, taking care of two brothers and a sister, sewing garments for some of the clothes shops in town to earn a little extra income. They all slept in the same room of a low-rise apartment building and shared a bathroom with the neighbors. Both her parents had grown up orphaned by the Khmer Rouge, and sending their first child to college had required considerable sacrifice—so much so that it was unlikely any of her siblings would be as fortunate. She told him these things matter-of-factly, in response to his questions. Still, he wondered how much of it was true. Every bargirl in Southeast Asia had a story about a dying grandmother or a sick baby or an aging water buffalo, all intended to play on the rich foreign customer’s guilt.
    At one point he started to doze off and she’d laughed at him, and when he apologized, she gave him a kiss, just a light one, on the mouth. That woke him up, and after looking at her lovely face for a moment, just a few inches from his, he kissed her back. Her lips were soft and he liked the way she smelled—flowers, and the hint of some exotic spice, too. He was aware that if the kiss turned into much more, he could easily get to the point where he’d want to persuade her and where he’d be disappointed if he couldn’t. Or where maybe he’d feel like he’d been rude in trying. So with some regret, he broke the kiss and said, “Sweet dreams, Chantrea.”
    She got up early the next day to go to class. He would have walked her down to the lobby and gotten her a tuk-tuk, but he sensed she would have been embarrassed if the hotel staff had seen them together in the morning. So he just checked through the peephole and unbolted the door. He paused before opening it and looked at her.
    “Ms. Chantrea, I’d like the pleasure of your company again, if your studies permit.”
    A moment went by. “Why?” she said, looking at the tile floor.
    He laughed. If she really wasn’t this innocent and awkward, she was a mighty fine actress. “Well, I like you is why.”
    “I like you, too. But… we didn’t…”
    He pulled five twenties from his pocket—a tip that would have been ridiculously large even if he’d seen some action last night, which he hadn’t. He hoped he wasn’t being a chump. Maybe she was just an exceptionally fine judge of character, a consummate con artist, and had spotted a way to milk him of some money without even offering any boom-boom in return. But he didn’t care. What kind of person would he be, if he avoided helping a nice girl on the off chance she didn’t really need it? Sometimes you had to act as if something was true, even if it might not be.
    She looked at the money. “Why?” she said again, making no move to take it.
    “Were you telling me the truth last night, about your family?”
    She nodded.
    He reached out and took one of her small hands and folded the bills into it. “Then take the money. I told you, I’m only in town for a few days and then I have to go. In the meantime, I’d like to see you again. And I’d like to help you and your family out a little. I’m not asking for any quid pro