Missing In Rangoon

“She has everyone on the street staring,” she complained. “A couple of the old men look like they’ve stopped breathing.”

Red-eyed drunks drooled in their soup as she passed, clinking glasses or bottles, belching and swearing to each other that Kati was an omen for an auspicious New Year.

“She’s here. Deal with it,” said Calvino.

He glanced at Colonel Pratt and nodded.

The Black Cat’s eyes danced around the tables of Chinese men who followed Kati with their greedy eyes.

“This isn’t gonna work. No way Rob is going to risk coming with an audience watching our table.”

“Cool down. Have some food. Let it play out. So tell me, how’s your brother doing now he’s out of prison?”

Wai Wan minus his leg irons was resting at home. But she’d got his point; they’d made a bargain, and he’d come to collect what was owed and due. She sat back in her chair quietly, arms folded, the wheels turning inside her head.

She was about to say something, one of those things people regret saying, when she sucked in her breath and said instead, “Could you ask your friend to not sit at the table?”

“It’s too late for that,” said Calvino. “He’s with me. Dealing with trouble is something Pratt does well. And you said Rob had trouble. Pratt’s my backup. As a singer, you should appreciate the need for a good backup. Or else you die.”

She bit the corner of her lip.

“Okay, I’ll deal with it.”

It was too late for her to say anything else. Colonel Pratt and Kati had arrived and hovered beside the table as a waiter looked for two stools. The Black Cat welcomed them by taking a sip of water. Her eyes had already followed her thoughts beyond the crowd and into the street. She looked up at Kati, who smiled as she sat on one of the stools.

“I recognize you. You’re the singer from 50th Street last night. I’m so honored to meet you,” said Kati. “The audience at the club loved you. I loved you. I’m so glad to tell you in person how great you are. I feel that I know you. It sounds stupid, but it’s true.”

Perched on the plastic stool with her short skirt hiked to her upper thigh, she squeezed in close to the Black Cat.

“Kati hasn’t eaten dinner,” said Colonel Pratt.

“I’m not really that hungry,” said Kati.

At a table in the next row, a Chinese businessman sent a waiter their way with a bottle of whiskey. He put it in front of Kati. The waiter pointed at the patron with a gold tooth sticking out of a smile that threatened to rip the man’s face in two.

The Black Cat opened her handbag, removed her cell phone, turned around on her stool and faced the road as she dialed. There was a long pause before she turned to face Calvino. Then she slowly shook her head.

“He says he won’t come unless it’s just you. He’s scared.”

“Why is he scared?” asked Calvino.

“He has issues.”

“Why? His old man?”

“It’s beyond that.”

That ended any hope of the night ending in a straightforward way. Calvino’s hunch that Rob wasn’t a missing person but a man in hiding had been confirmed.

“Beyond what?” he asked.

“He has a problem?” said Colonel Pratt.

The upper end of things signified by that simple word encompassed the full range of hurt and grief.

“Big time,” she said, locking eyes with Calvino.

Calvino saw the same intense emotion he’d witnessed in the courtyard earlier that day and on stage the previous night.