The Fear Artist

13

The bartender’s head snaps up, and he raises a hand that signals Stop, but Rafferty just nods and keeps moving. There’s no way the bartender can get around the bar and catch up to him, so instead he drops a glass on the floor.

At the sound, men pop their heads out of every booth. The men in the first four booths check Rafferty’s darkened face and dismiss him, ducking back in to resume whatever ancient battles they were dissecting. In the last booth, Vladimir, appearing even more unshaven than before, gives him a short look and then a longer one, does something with his face that would pass for a smile if anyone else did it, and watches Rafferty come.

“Let’s go,” Rafferty says when he’s standing over him.

“Wery impolite,” Vladimir says. “No hello, no how are you? You met ewerybody already. Except Alfred,” he says, pointing the cleft chin at a short man who has apparently lived on doughnuts for decades. The rolls of fat around his neck are so pronounced that his earlobes float on them.

“Nice to see you all,” Rafferty says.

Alfred purses his lips and gives Vladimir a Look of Great Significance.

“Like I said,” Rafferty says impatiently, “come on.”

“Is problem,” Vladimir says, shaking his head regretfully. “Money problem.”

“You don’t even know what I-”

“Before, when you come here, we have not seen you on teewee.”

“Teewee?”

“Television,” says Dr. Evil. He smiles. Janos, whose name Rafferty doesn’t remember at first, is doing his best to look like he doesn’t know anyone at the table.

Rafferty says, “Bye,” and turns to go.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Vladimir’s tufted knuckles close around his wrist.

Rafferty yanks his arm away. “I didn’t come here to meet Alfred, and I didn’t come to chat. In fact, now that I think about it, what I need is someone who used to be CIA.”

“Shush,” Vladimir says, leaping to his feet. “We can try, yes? They say maybe you not so smart, maybe we can bleckmail. I say to them no, no, he wery smart, but they say amateur, you are amateur. Look, look. Three of them, one of me. I am outwoted, yes?” He tries a smile, but the corners of his mouth weigh too much and the smile collapses.

“It’s interesting that you raise the subject of money,” Rafferty says, suddenly aware that all four of the men in the next booth are staring at him. When he looks at them, they lower their eyes in unison. “That’s what I came to talk about, too. But maybe I came to the wrong place.”

“No, no, no. Vladimir is here. You talk to Vladimir. These guys, they joking, always joking, but Vladimir, never joking. You think Vladimir funny?”

“No.”

“You right. Vladimir wery not funny. Vladimir tragic. Only Russian is tragic, ewerybody else just little bit sad. You talk, I listen.”

“Fine. But no committee. These guys stay here. If you want to bring them in later, there should be enough to go around. Or you could just sell me.”

The men at the table Vladimir just vacated give him wide, innocent eyes, except for Dr. Evil, who says in his rustling-silk voice, “It could be very dangerous to sell you.”

“It could be fatal,” Rafferty says.

“So we’ll all come,” Dr. Evil says, putting both hands on the tabletop.

“No. If you guys are going to go conspiratorial, I’d rather you do it when I’m not around. I’m talking to Vladimir right now, unless Vladimir says different.”

Vladimir says, “We talk.”

“Good.” He turns to Vladimir. “Coming?” and walks out of the bar.

Vladimir follows him down the sidewalk and around the corner. Once they’re out of sight of anyone who might put his head out of the bar’s doorway, Rafferty stops. They’re midway between streetlights.

“That guy,” Vladimir says, “That guy Alfred. Kill you easy, kill you for fun.”

“I’d add him to my list, but I’m running out of paper.”

“Just telling you. Some guy, no problem. This one, problem.”

“And you, are you a problem?”

“I am mercenary.” Vladimir shrugs. “Now Sowiet Union is dust, yes? Now all mafia, no room for honest spy. So you pay me, I am loyal. See? No bullshit.”

“I need help.”

“And I need money.”

“I haven’t got any.”

“Then good-bye.”

“But I will have.”

Vladimir says, “Call me when you do.”

“Here’s the deal,” Rafferty says. “It’s a problem of chronology. I need work done now but I won’t have money until later.”

“This is problem, yes, but your problem, not mine.”

“Look, if you’ve got other fish on the line, shine me on. If you want to take a chance on me, do some work now and I’ll pay you later.”

“How much later?”

“Two days, three days at most.”

“And how much money?”

“Five thousand dollars, if you get what I want. If you don’t, I’ll pay you fifteen hundred for your time. But if you get what I want, there will be more money to come.”

“This is gamble.”

“That’s what it is. But it’s a gamble for me, too.”

“How? I am working for free-”

“You may be free, but I don’t know how that makes you trustworthy.”

Vladimir shakes his head very slowly, the picture of someone who’s just heard something he can’t believe. “Then why you talking to me?”

“Because I don’t have any choice.”

“Sure you do. You have Pierre and Alfred and … and … and the other one.”

“Janos.”

“Janos.” He mimes slapping his forehead. “Guy is brilliant. Why not them?”

“Just something about you.”

He nods knowingly. “Is because I am tragic. Tragic people, only tragic people, know what is true, yes? We born, we get old, we die. Ewery now and then a little jiggy-jig. But at end, poh, dust and stink.”

“And this is reassuring how?”

“Other people, they don’t know. They little bit like the crow, you know? Want ewerything shiny. See money, they think, ‘I can get new shoe, can get fency watch.’ This make them happy, little bit, for short time. Then they want something new. But me, someone like me, we know shoe and fency watch, somebody take when I am dead, not even say thank you. We know only thing we can keep is in here.” He strikes the center of his chest with a clenched fist. “I am mercenary, but I am not traitor mercenary. Somebody buys me, I stay bought. Unless they dead.”

“When I’m dead, you can betray me with both hands.” The two of them regard each other. “In or not?”

“What you are asking?”

“What Murphy’s been doing since Vietnam. What brings him to Thailand.”

Vladimir is shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

“Where he’s living here.”

“No. I am not going to be asking where Murphy is living. My life is not beautiful dance, but I like it better than death, yes?”

“Get somebody else to ask.”

“This is cold,” Vladimir says with an admiring expression. “ ‘Get somebody to die’ is what you saying.”

“I guess so,” Rafferty concedes. “Yes or no?”

“This person who will die. What do I pay them?”

“As little as you can get away with. And if you really think they’ll get killed, pay them in installments.”

“Hah,” Vladimir says. “You think like spy. This is big compliment to you. How I get in touch with you?”

“Give me your cell number. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Wery disappointing. No trust.”

“I’m changing phones every day.” He takes out the current throwaway and keys in the number as Vladimir recites it. Then he says, “Good. I’ll call you.”

“Wait. Some things I can give you right now. But I am standing here too long. We go back.”

“No, we don’t go back. We go somewhere else. There must be another bar around here.”

“Is,” Vladimir says. “You follow.”