The 38 Million Dollar Smile - Stevenson Richard. Страница 53

Khun Pongsak, read Khun Anant’s chart and discovered that it

is essential that events transpire in the manner Khun Don and I

have just described? Wouldn’t that make a difference?”

“Of course it would. But Seer Pongsak would never do such

a thing. He is a man of integrity.”

“What if you paid him half a million dollars to do it? You

could write it off as overhead.”

“Bribe a seer? Has that ever been done in Thailand?”

Pugh said, “Uh-huh.”

Griswold screwed up his banged-up face and said after a

moment, “I’ll have to think about that.”

“Think fast,” Pugh said. “Khun Pongsak will be here in

twenty minutes.”

§ § § § §

The great seer arrived in a gold Mercedes with two young

monks in tow. He was a slight, bony fellow with gold-rimmed

specs who wore a formal black dinner jacket over a Brooks

Brothers button-down striped shirt. He had on a Burmese

sarong instead of pants and on his feet he wore dollar-store flip-flops. His fingers bore a number of gold rings. Around his neck

hung a gold amulet with a picture of a wizened monk on it. The

seer’s overall presentation of himself was that of a dubious

character who had gotten away with some casual shoplifting at

Harry Winston’s.

The Thais all wai - ed the soothsayer. Timmy and I picked up on the cue and performed a show of respect, too. Griswold

shook his hand, and the two had a brief, chatty back-and-forth

like a couple of old Cornell alums. Pugh informed Khun

Pongsak that rice was on the way, and we adjourned to the

236 Richard Stevenson

spacious living room for some small talk next to an enormous

stone Buddha figure before which candles had been lined up.

Each of us lit one.

Khun Pongsak said to Timmy and me, “So, how do you like

Thailand?”

I told him that we had not had much time to enjoy its many

pleasures but we hoped to do so as soon as our work was

completed.

The seer did not ask about the nature of our work, but he

did ask, “Have you ever been to the Trump Tower?”

Timmy and I both said we had walked by it.

“I hope one day to see the Trump Tower with my own

eyes.”

Pugh said, “You should go there, Khun Pongsak. You will

be amazed. The Trump Tower is made of solid gold.”

“So I have heard.”

There were some more pleasantries exchanged and then the

food arrived. We sat around a teak table while Pugh’s crew

served up rice, fish red curry and morning glory vines in a spicy sauce. Pugh and I had a beer, and the seer requested green tea.

Griswold asked if any chardonnay was available, and somehow

a chilled bottle was soon produced.

Pugh’s staff and the seer’s monk posse were then asked to

step outside the room, and Pugh got to the point.

“Khun Pongsak,” Pugh said, “as security agents for Mr.

Gary, we wish to make a request of you. General Yodying, as

you may know, wants Mr. Gary taught a lesson following the

unfortunate currency speculation scheme that went amiss when

Mr. Gary pulled out of it. General Yodying passionately desires

that Mr. Gary be thrown down from a high place and smashed

to pieces. And the general’s wishes for us, Mr. Gary’s

protectors, are now, we have every reason to believe, nearly

identical. Mr. Gary needs to remain alive, however, because for

one, he so much enjoys living and breathing, and secondly, to

complete the Sayadaw U project that you yourself have invested

THE 38 MILLION DOLLAR SMILE 237

in and which we all believe has earned the blessings of the spirit of the Enlightened One.”

“Ah,” said the seer.

“Now, we have been led to understand that General

Yodying is scheduled for early retirement, so to speak, following a government shake-up which perusal of the heavens has

determined should take place on April twenty-seventh. But

sooner than April twenty-seventh would be so much safer and

more convenient for Mr. Gary and for all of us. What if a

reconsideration of the comings and goings of the planets and

stars were to reveal that April eighteenth is the more auspicious date?”

We all watched the soothsayer, who was peering over at

Pugh with fierce concentration.

“It is not just the charts that must be taken into

consideration,” the soothsayer said finally. “It is practical

considerations also.”

“But surely,” Pugh said, “if these events are fated to occur

on April eighteenth, how could reality not fail to keep up?

Would the army — or whoever it is that’s prepared to move —

dare to defy the karma of the occasion as it has been revealed in your latest examinations of the heavens?”

Khun Pongsak continued to stare at Pugh, and we could all

but hear the whirring sounds of his brain cells attempting to

rearrange themselves lucratively.

It was Griswold who spoke up. He said, “How much do you

want?”

“Oh, dear me.” the seer said. “I can reveal but I cannot

control what is fated.”

“Let’s say a hundred thousand US.”

“No, a million. You are asking me to alter history.”

“Two hundred thousand. That’s final.”

“I don’t think that’s final at all. You are over a barrel.”

“Two fifty.”

238 Richard Stevenson

“Eight hundred thousand.”

“You’re mad.”

“No deal.”

“Half a million. Cash.”

“All right. Five hundred thousand. Half of it in advance.

Tonight.”

Griswold said, “Well, it is all for the spirit of the Buddha,

isn’t it? And for the memory of Sayadaw U.”

“This moment will live in Thai history,” Pugh said. “I

congratulate each and every one of you.” He raised his bottle of Singha beer in a toast, and the soothsayer solemnly lifted his

cup of green tea.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Everything began to unravel when Ellen Griswold woke me

up in the middle of the night. Griswold had been successfully

spirited over to his condo and back, and half a million dollars

extracted from a vault that had been constructed under his

spirit house. Seer Pongsak had been paid off and been driven

away in his gold car. Fate had been nudged into moving our

way. But then my cell phone rang at two forty-eight a.m.

“Strachey?”

“Ellen?”

“What the hell are you trying to pull?”

“I’m not sure I should explain to you what I’m doing. You

fired me, and I’m working for your brother-in-law now. It’s a

question of professional ethics. I think I can’t talk to you. Also, I’m half asleep.”

“What I am about to say will wake you up fast. Listen to me.

Gary is trying to take over Algonquin Steel, and I think you not only know all about it but you are a party to the conspiracy. As is Bob Chicarelli. Who probably sent me to you so that you

could spy on me and keep Gary up to speed on what I know

about this monstrous betrayal and what I don’t know. What you

are doing is so professionally beyond the pale that I am certain I can get you disbarred. Would you like to comment on that?”

Timmy was now stirring next to me.

I said, “I’m not an attorney who can be disbarred, but there

is a licensing commission for private investigators. Just Google New York State PI licenses to file a complaint. But here’s the

thing, Ellen. You’ve got things really bollixed up. Where did you come up with this wild-eyed theory anyway?”

“And the other thing is,” she went on, as if I had never

spoken, “you are dragging Duane Hubbard and Matthew Mertz

into this, and I am so mad — and so insulted and so offended

— that I am just…beside myself with anger! Is Gary himself