Impact

7

Ford paid the cab driver and strolled down the sidewalk. The Bangkok gem district lay in a warren of side streets off Silom Road, not far from the river, a mixture of giant, warehouse-like wholesalers mingled with the ugly shop fronts of the gem-scam operations. The street was choked with traffic, the narrow sidewalks blocked by illegally parked cars, the buildings on either side cheap, modern, and tawdry. Bangkok was one of Ford's least favorite cities.

At the corner of Bamroonmuang Road he came to a low building in dark gray brick. A sign above the door read PIYAMANEE LTD. and the smoked windows reflected his image.

With a quick comb-through Ford slicked back his hair and adjusted the raw silk jacket. He had dressed like a drug dealer, silk shirt unbuttoned to the sternum, gold chains, Bolle shades, three-day stubble. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sauntered in the open door and stood looking around. The interior was dim so the gems couldn't be examined too well, and the air smelled faintly of Clorox. Glass counters with anemic lighting formed a giant open square. A young American couple, evidently honeymooners, was looking at a spread of muddy star sapphires laid out on black velvet.

He was immediately rushed by two salesgirls, neither of whom could have been more than sixteen years old.

"Sawasdee! Welcome, special friend!" One of them held out a mango drink, with a flower and umbrella. "You come for last-day Thai government export special to buy gems, sir?"

Ford ignored them.

"Sir?"

"I want to see the owner." He spoke to the air about a foot above their heads, hands in his pockets, shades still on.

"Gentleman wish welcome drink?"

"Gentleman not wish welcome drink."

The girls went off, disappointed, and a moment later a man appeared from the back room, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a white shirt and gray tie, hands clasped together, making several obsequious half-bows as he approached. "Welcome, special friend! Welcome! Where do you come from? America?"

Ford gave him a hard stare. "I'm here to see the owner."

"Thaksin, Thaksin, at your service, sir!"

"Fuck this. I ain't talking to a lackey." Ford turned to leave.

"Just a moment, sir." A few minutes passed and a very small, tired man came out from the back. He was dressed in a track suit and he walked stooped, with none of the hurry of the others, bags under his eyes. When he reached Ford, he paused, looked him up and down with an inscrutable calmness. "Your name, please?"

Without answering, Ford removed an orange stone from his pocket and showed it to the man.

The man took a casual step back. "Let us go back into my office."

The office was small and covered in fake wood paneling that had warped and detached in the humidity. It stank of cigarettes. Ford had done business in Southeast Asia before and knew that the shabbiness of an office, or the poor cut of a man's clothes, was no guide to who that person was; the most dilapidated office might be the den of a billionaire.

"I am Adirake Boonmee." The man extended a small hand and gave Ford's a neat little shake.

"Kirk Mandrake."

"May I see that stone again, Mr. Mandrake, sir?"

Ford removed the stone but the man did not take it.

"You may place it on the table."

Ford put it down. Boonmee eyed it for a long moment, moved closer, then grasped it, held it up to a strong point light shining from a corner of the room.

"It's a fake," he said. "A coated topaz."

Ford feigned a moment of confusion, recovering quickly. "Naturally, I'm aware of that," he said.

"Naturally." Boonmee placed it down on a felt board on his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a big client who wants a lot of these stones. Honeys. Real ones. And he's willing to pay top price. In gold bullion."

"What has led you to think we sell this kind of stone?"

Ford reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of American gold eagles and let them fall to the felt, one by one, with a dull clinking. Boonmee didn't even appear to look at the coins. But Ford could see the pulse in his neck quicken. Funny how the sight of gold did that.

"That's to open the conversation."

Boonmee smiled, a curiously innocent, sweet expression that lit up his small face. His hand closed over the coins and slipped them into his pocket. He leaned back in his chair. "I think, Mr. Mandrake, that we will have a good conversation."

"My client is a wholesaler in the U.S. looking for at least ten thousand carats of raw stone to cut and sell. I myself am not a gem dealer; I wouldn't know a diamond from a piece of glass. I'm what you might call an 'import facilitator' when it comes to, ah, getting shipments through U.S. Customs." Ford allowed a certain braggadoccio to creep into his voice.

"I see. But ten thousand carats is impossible. At least, right away."

"Why's that?"

"The stones are rare. They're coming out slowly. And I'm not the only gem dealer in Bangkok. I can start you off with a few hundred carats. We can work up from there."

Ford shifted in his seat, frowned. "You aren't going to 'start me off' at all, Mr. Boonmee. This is a one-shot deal. Ten thousand carats or I walk down the street."

"What is your price, Mr. Mandrake?"

"Twenty percent higher than the going rate: six hundred American dollars an uncut carat. That's six million dollars, in case math isn't your strong suit." Ford gave an appropriately stupid grin.

"I will make a call. Do you have a card, Mr. Mandrake?"

Ford produced an impressive, Asian-style card on heavy card stock with stamped gold embossing, English on the front, Thai on the back. He handed it to Boonmee with a flourish. "One hour, Mr. Boonmee."

Boonmee inclined his head.

With a final handshake, Ford walked out of the shop and stood on the corner, looking for a cab, waving off the tuk-tuks. Two illegal cabs came by but he waved those off as well. After ten minutes of pacing about in frustration, he took out his wallet, looked through it, and went back inside.

He was immediately rushed by the salesgirls. Bypassing them, he went to the back of the shop. He rapped on the door. After a moment, the little man appeared.

"Mr. Boonmee?"

He looked at him, surprised. "A problem?"

Ford smiled sheepishly. "I gave you the wrong card. An old one. May I--?"

Boonmee went to his desk, picked up the old card, handed it to him.

"My apologies." Ford proffered the new card, slipped the old one into his shirt pocket, and hustled back out into the hot sun.

This time he found a cab right away.