Missing In Rangoon

Saxon smiled, raising one eyebrow.

“The first thing you learn in a secretive society is there are no secrets. It’s a paradox. The people you don’t want to know here will already know who you are. The people who couldn’t care less will remember they met a private eye and a colonel in Rangoon. Something exotic to talk about over dinner when they go home.”

“They were foreigners. What they say over dinner in Italy doesn’t worry me. But there were other people in the hotel lobby,” said Calvino, “and that worries me.”

Colonel Pratt nodded. “It’s a delicate situation,” he said.

Saxon pretended to zip shut his mouth and throw away the key.

“Okay, from now on it’s Vinny and Pratt. My two buddies from Bangkok.”

Calvino suspected it was already too late, but he appreciated Saxon’s pledge to rein in his song and dance for future introductions.

“Better,” said Calvino.

“Now that that’s out of way… the first person Colonel Pratt will meet is Yadanar Khin.”

“Who is his father?” asked Colonel Pratt.

Saxon liked that about the Thais. They always knew the right question to ask.

“Yadanar Khin is U Htun’s son. U Htun has the rank of general and runs the health ministry. The son sits on a couple of boards of directors. Twenty-seven years old, educated in England, likes imported sports cars and French wine, plays keyboard in a local band, beds beautiful women by the water buffalo wagonload.”

“He goes for the low-end market?” asked Calvino.

“Low-end, high-end… An equal opportunity playboy in a buyer’s market,” said Saxon, smiling.

He flipped through his notebook and ran a finger down the page.

“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at the hotel, Calvino.”

“Where are we going?”

“On the trail of the Black Cat and your missing man. The Rangoon Running Club has a weekly run, 10K. I’ll introduce you to some people who might have some information. You can run and talk, right?”

Calvino and Colonel Pratt exchanged a look.

“Ten kilometers?” asked Calvino.

“Don’t think you can do it?”

“Depends who I’m chasing or who’s chasing me.”

Saxon smiled. “We can deal with that tomorrow. Swamp Bitch has it all set up.”

The Colonel raised an eyebrow.

“It’s her running club handle,” Saxon explained. “Mine is Pistol Penis. It’s a tradition.”

A wiry grin crossed Saxon’s face.

“Swamp Bitch is a translator. Be nice to her, Vinny. She might be able to find a way for you to attend the trial of Mya Kyaw Thein’s brother, Wai Wan.”

Saxon registered the slight wince on Calvino’s face. He wrote the name down on one of the back pages of his notebook, tore the page out and gave it to Calvino.

Calvino studied the name. He showed it to Colonel Pratt. Under Wai Wan’s name Saxon had written, “Yadanar Khin, son of U Htun,” an address and a phone number.

“And does Swamp Bitch have another name?” asked Colonel Pratt.