Redback (30 page)

Jana and Bob, bonded in mutual mockery of the only person they had in common, were
enjoying their own Singha beers at the Krankle Café. They'd chosen a table diagonally across
the narrow street from where Alan had, by the looks of things, just made a fool of himself, before
moving to a table on his own.

When Jana said she'd had a drink with the same guy in her hotel earlier, Bob explained who the
American journo really was.

'Do you know the girl?' Jana asked, wondering why Scott Dreher the 'spy novelist' - who had given
her his card - hadn't told her how famous he was. It was almost un-American of him.

'Not a clue,' Bob admitted, casting a sideways glance at the very hot Jana Rossi. From what Alan
had told him, Bob had imagined she'd be doing a Linda Blair every other minute, spewing nails and
spinning her head on her rather attractive body.

Bob should've known better. When Alan trashed even half-good looking birds, it was either because
they'd turned him down, or he hadn't had the guts to ask. In Alan's book that made them dogs,
lesbians or lunatics.

'Alan, of course, assumed the reporter guy was here to chase the same story as him,' Bob
added.

Jana laughed. 'Yeah right, famous American writer snatches the great Sophie Deans exposé
from unknown Australian.'

As much he wanted to enlighten her, Bob knew Jana had signed the same 'shut up contract' about
what had happened on Laui Island as Alan had. And just because he was breaking the contract, didn't
mean Jana would. So he nodded and said, 'Pretty much what I told him.'

'It's beyond me how you haven't murdered him,' Jana said. 'You've had more than a decade.'

Bob stroked his moustache. 'Don't usually have to endure him for so long. In fact we'd never been
further than Coogee together before this. Oh, except for a gig at Wet and Wild in Queensland five
years ago. The man wears orange budgie smugglers,' Bob shivered all over. 'I'd forgotten that.'

'No, that's suffered traumatic amnesia,' Jana said, grateful the Laui rebels had at least saved
her from Alan in Speedos. 'Is he waiting for Sophie to stroll by so he can pounce on her?'

'Probably,' Bob said.

'Where's your camera? What kind of media mug are you?'

Bob laughed. 'One who wouldn't want to catch Australia's current sweetheart in an even vaguely
compromising situation with my mate Alan. No one could pay me enough for that.'

'Not even if she decks him?'

'Not even if her girlfriend decks him. You want another beer?'

Jana waved her half-full bottle, Bob went inside to get a single.

Jana closed her eyes for a moment, to free her senses from the narrow focus of one-on-one banter,
then opened them to drink in the vibrant street life all around her. Thai vendors hawked exotic
fruits from small carts, shop assistants beckoned westerners into their stores,
tuk-tuk
and
songthaew
drivers competed for fares and - on the footpath between the many bars and
cafés
- woodcarvers and souvenir sellers displayed their wares. The sheer number of out-and-about people,
meant that much of the pedestrian traffic ended up on the narrow roadway itself, zigzagging each
other and dodging the slow-moving traffic.

Jana's attention meandered amongst the locals and the tourists: a dozen-strong tour group in
colourful matching shirts, an exquisite Thai woman in the doorway of a Head and Foot Massage shop,
and three young boys playing with hand-sized hoops.

She also glimpsed a few vaguely-familiar profiles or possibly-familiar faces in the crowd - a
regular happening wherever she travelled, and often embarrassing. Sometimes she was wrong in her
identification or, more likely, clueless when people recognised her. Just that afternoon, she'd
approached her doctor from Melbourne on the mountain-top Wat Prathat, only to find herself greeting
a perfectly strange French woman from somewhere else all together.

Across the road, Scott was just about to order another drink when his pocket began
vibrating. Kaisha had been talking incessantly about the massage she just had, and how Scott really
should have one too, because he
really
needed sterunching and debugging. Scott really didn't
want to know what she meant, so he pulled out his cell phone and answered it. It was Hiroshi
informing him that his partner Ari was finally home from the debt talks in Kuala Lumpur. 'Time for
me to go, Kaisha,' he said. 'Are you coming to meet Hiroshi's boyfriend now, or later?'

'I go when you go. The strange man who tried to pick you up is eyegling at me now,' Kaisha
said.

Scott tapped the nearest westerner on the arm, to indicate they were vacating the table, then he
and Kaisha began to snake their way out through the other standing patrons. A tall incoming New
Yorker - marked by his accent when he apologised for bumping into them - hesitated a moment after
Scott replied, probably to make sure he didn't know his fellow American.

'What was that about?' Kaisha asked.

Scott shrugged. 'I've got that sort of face. People always think they know me.'

'Maybe they do. You know, from your book.'

Scott looked down at Kaisha. 'That still doesn't mean they know me. It'd be like you thinking,
for a second, that you could say hi to Angelina or Brad; and that they'd give a damn.'

'Well Mr Only-a-Little-bit-Famous, that guy seems to know your ex-boyfriend.' Kaisha nodded back
to the table where the strange Australian reporter was sitting.

Alan looked up from picking apart his drink coaster when something obstructed his
light.

'Are you Wagner?' The talking obstruction was built like League fullback, or, given he was a
Yank, a gridiron player.

Correction, Alan thought, and squared his shoulders to make himself feel bigger. He noted that
link between the two sports only fitted when American footballers were dressed for play in their
full pussy-wimp uniforms. This guy, on the other hand, was just plain 'built'. He had close-cropped
hair, a three-day growth on his jowly face, muscles on his muscles, and abs ripped enough to tap
dance on. He was wearing a tight T-shirt and jeans - both black - and kick-arse boots. All in all,
he made Alan feel woefully inadequate; so he compensated by immediately assuming the guy must be
dumb as a brick.

'I am,' Alan replied, waving at the chair he'd saved from marauding drunks. 'And you?'

'For now, you can call me Steve.'

'Steve' obviously had the thing that inspired service. The waiter whose attention Alan had been
trying to attract for ages suddenly appeared between them. Alan lifted his empty bottle, so his
guest ordered a whisky, triple and neat and two Heinekens.

'So Steve,' Alan began, realising his voice recorder was useless in his pocket, especially as the
rowdy ambient chatter was now being overtaken by loud music. 'Can I record?'

'Yeah, but this is just a prelim. We'll have two meetings. I assume you brought a camera.'

'Yes, and a guy,' Alan admitted, placing his recorder on the table. 'I don't do cameras. And Bob
is cool, I promise.'

'Is he somewhere here now?' Steve looked around suspiciously. Alan raised his hands. 'No no, I
swear. He knows why we're in Thailand, but not where I am right now.'

'Okay,' Steve said. 'So, this time I give you enough to know I'm the real deal. Then we set the
rules for you, and your guy, to film an interview, at another place of my choosing. I stress again I
will not have my face shown. Is that acceptable?'

'Yes. Absolutely.'

Across the road, Bob sat back down next to Jana with his beer and a plate of
something. 'This, allegedly, is
mee krob wan
,' he said.

'That's easy for you to say,' Jana smiled.

'No.
I
would say they were little sweet cakes of crunchy rice noodles, with dates. Enjoy.'
As she reached for one, Bob nodded across the road and added, 'Who's the new bloke?'

Jana looked over at Alan and his new tablemate, yet another person who looked nothing like Sophie
Deans. 'No idea. I must have vagued-off, I didn't even see him arrive. Are you sure Alan is
completely straight? He seems to be picking up blokes left and right. And if that guy doesn't spend
all his spare time buffing in the gym, then I've never danced to
In the Navy
.'

Bob grinned. 'You're a crack-up Jana. No wonder you drove Alan nuts when you were locked up
together.'

'Don't know about the driving, but I certainly whacked them.' Jana's eyes widened as a thought
virtually walked up and waved its hands at her. 'Bob, do you think Alan's new friend with the
buzz-cut hair, the nine-pack of abs, and the,' she leaned left to get a look at the guy's feet,
'army-type boots, could be a soldier?'

'What, a sailor's not good enough for our Alan?' Bob joked, but then realised Jana was serious.
'Dunno, I guess he could be. He looks - oh shit, he could be the…' Bob quite obviously stopped
himself.

'Uh-huh,' Jana said, peering at her companion. 'Alan's here to meet someone about Laui. Isn't
he?' She unzipped the bumbag she was wearing, to get her mobile out. 'Bob?'

'Yeah,' he confirmed apologetically. 'I had no idea it was
now
though. I truly thought he
was stalking Sophie. Oh crap, the bastard lied to me.'

Jana raised an eyebrow. 'Auto-cue-Alan meeting alone with a serious hunk of lethal-looking
whatever he is - this has to be a recipe for disaster.' The first thing she did with her mobile was
take a photo of Alan and his Mr Muscle; the second thing she did was phone a new friend.

'Should I be worried about Alan?' Bob asked as Jana waited for the phone to answer.

'I'd have thought that was a given,' she said, holding up a finger to indicate her call was
connecting. Figuring that Alan was right in the middle of breaking the contract he'd signed not to
investigate their hostage experience, she wanted to give the heads up to…

'Speak,'
said the answering voice.

'Bryn?' Jana whispered.

'Yep.'

'It's Jana. Jana Rossi. You know your…'

'I know who you are Jana. Why are you whispering?'

'I'm spying on someone doing something he shouldn't be, in a place you wouldn't believe.'

'Wanna try that again in English. And louder, I can barely hear you. Where are you?'

'I'm in Chiang Mai. You know, in Thailand.'

'I know where Chiang Mai is, Jana.'

'Well, don't get thing with me, el Capitan. You gave me your mobile number, remember, in case my
ex-roomy contacted me to ask for help in blowing your, your whatsit.' Jana realised that even though
Bob was a fun guy, it was wise to choose her words carefully in front of Alan's colleague.

'My whatsit, I see,'
Gideon said.
'I gather Alan Wagner's been in touch then.'

'Not exactly. I thought for a second he was stalking me, but right now he's sitting in a bar with
a guy who looks like some kind of soldier.'

'A bar in Thailand?'

'Yes, Bryn. And he, the maybe-soldier, doesn't look like any of
your
guys - that I can
recall anyway. And, given it's only Alan's second-ever overseas jaunt, I thought I should warn
you.'

'Okay. Thanks Jana.'

What; that's it?
Jana frowned. 'I took a picture of him, them. I could email it to you
from my hotel room.'

'No need
.
You could
just hand it to me.'

Jana frowned. That last statement had been in stereo. It was timed precisely with the arrival of
an extra chair, right next to her. Jana kept her eyes on Alan across the road but said, into her
phone, 'That's you isn't it?'

'Yep. Can I buy you a beer?'

Jana snapped her phone shut and turned to her right, to be met by the highly amused blue eyes of
Bryn Gideon. 'Are
you
stalking me?' she scowled.

'No Jana. I'm following him,' Gideon pointed across the road. 'But how did you come to be
drinking with his cameraman?'

'Just lucky I guess,' Jana said.

'
I
certainly am,' Bob said, offering Gideon his hand. 'You seem to know who I am.'

Gideon shook hands and said, 'I'm Bryn. You trying to hit on my girlfriend, Bob?'

'Knock it off Bryn,' Jana smiled. 'I am not her girlfriend, Bob.'

'Oh, but hey,' Bob said as he was hit by likelihood. 'Lemme guess: you
are
the soldier
girl that Alan's been raving about since he got back. No one believed him about you.'

'And you really shouldn't either, Bob,' Gideon advised. 'I'd hate to have to deal with both of
you.'

Bob zipped his grinning lips. Now he did wish he had his camera. Alan was going to kill him.
Although he guessed this Bryn would be way more skilled in that department.

'Soldier girl?' Jana smirked.

Gideon ignored her. 'So, Bob, you don't know who that is with your mate Alan?'

Bob shrugged. 'All I can say for certain is that it's not Sophie Deans, which is who Alan said he
was coming out to meet.'

'But he
is
here, in Chiang Mai, to meet someone else,' she hesitated expectantly.

Bob sighed. 'A mystery commando, like a Navy SEAL or something, an American anyway. Seriously
though, knowing Alan's luck, the bloke will turn out to be a conman trying to sell him beachfront
property in Wyoming.'

Gideon smiled. 'And I gather you don't know him, Jana. He's not your redhead from Laui with a new
haircut?'

'No, it's not him.' Jana gazed thoughtfully around the street for a moment, mostly to avoid
forming a permanent auto-memory-link between the mullet face Alan was projecting and the arrestingly
beautiful one Gideon didn't seem to know she owned. In doing so, Jana experienced her day's fifth
case of probably-faulty person recognition. She really wished that would stop happening - until a
second later when it registered exactly who she
had
just seen in the crowd.

'Are you having a seizure?' Gideon asked, pointing at Jana's tight finger grip.