“Sal,” sighed Condley. “She asked me to. Tell him, Father. It’s a sin to turn away an attractive woman when she asks you.”

“I’ll have to look that one up, Brandon,” said the priest wearily. “Are we talking about the King James version, here?”

Marino glanced at Condley, then looked malevolently at Simolzak, muttering under his breath, “You happy?”

“I’m always happy.” Simolzak raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug, trying to calm Marino down. “Just take the meeting, Sal. Or you’re going to have to listen to Father Mike all night.”

Condley leaned across the table toward Marino, speaking quietly. “I need to find somebody, and you’re maybe the only guy who would know. Sal, I know we’ve had our problems. But you were a good soldier. That means a lot to me. This guy was an asshole. He killed another soldier. He deserted. He fought for the other side for years, killing a couple of my Marines along the way. Then he killed an Australian photographer to steal his passport and his identity. And I think he’s here.” Marino was weakening, he could tell. “His name is Deville. Theodore Deville. If anybody would have a take on him, you would. That’s it. No hidden agenda. No paybacks.”

Marino’s face was a mask, but his eyes flitted quickly around the club, taking note of who was near them. “I don’t know anybody like that.”

“Meet with me privately.”

“Don’t ever bother me again?”

Condley smiled coolly. “You’ll never see me again.”

“All right, let’s go.”

Marino began to rise, but Simolzak read something in his eyes and slammed him back into his chair again. “Uh-uh,” said Simolzak.

“I’m going to meet with him, goddamn it!” Marino snapped, on the verge of violence. “Simolzak, you got my gun. You embarrassed me in front of all these people. The next time you push me down, this whole place is going to blow up.”

“All right,” said Simolzak, sensing also that Marino had reached his limit. “I respect that. Let’s do business, Sal. If you walk out that door and don’t meet with Brandon, I lose five thousand bucks. I’ll say that again: five thousand dollars. I’ll make you an offer. You go upstairs and meet with him, I’ll give you a thousand out of my five. Consultant fee.”

For the first time that evening, Hanson Muir spoke, looking up from his half-drained beer with mild astonishment. “Brandon, the last time you gave somebody five thousand dollars you ended up with a skull for a urinal.”

“Everything in Bangkok has a price, Professor,” said Condley flatly.

“Whatever happened to friends helping friends?” said Muir.