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Back The Third Brother Save as PDF
Chapters (116)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by the Author
  3. The Third Brother
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. PART I
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. PART II
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67
  75. 68
  76. 69
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. 80
  88. 81
  89. 82
  90. 83
  91. 84
  92. 85
  93. 86
  94. 87
  95. 88
  96. PART III
  97. 89
  98. 90
  99. 91
  100. 92
  101. 93
  102. 94
  103. 95
  104. 96
  105. 97
  106. 98
  107. 99
  108. 100
  109. 101
  110. 102
  111. 103
  112. 104
  113. 105
  114. 106
  115. 107
  116. 108

“O immortal gods, in what city do we live, what society do we have.”

She looked at her son frowning on the bench next to her and began to cry.

“I’m OK about the test,” Mike said, “really, it’s OK.”

“I know, Mike,” she said, and pulled herself together. “I was just so proud of you, just now. You won’t fail at anything ever again.”

Mike knew that wasn’t why she cried.

17

The .44 Bar is an English-speaking pub, paneled in dark wood, with a football match droning on the one television. Mike goes to the bar and orders a beer. He wants to order right, in case anybody’s watching. Nobody cares, he reminds himself, scanning the scattered groups of expats. Nobody looks like an “MB,” no lone journalist waiting for Bishop at the bar.

However, in a booth near the pool table Mike notices a redheaded woman and a blond man with his hair topknotted like a samurai. They are laughing about something and watching a small but very tough-looking black guy with a shaved head handily beat a very much larger man at nine-ball. Mike remembers the hookup that Dreads told him about, the redhead, but then lets it go when he remembers something Bishop told him about everyone in Bangkok looking like a dope dealer if you’re looking for one.

Mike edges down the bar and hears something from the redhead about tiger teeth, smuggled aphrodisiacs in a false-bottomed boat. Mike can tell that the redhead is pissed off about something and decides that, whoever she is, he would never want to cross her. Then suddenly she laughs. Her anger was just part of the way she was telling the story. The guy in the topknot gesticulates like a conductor as he starts talking, something about a particular cop and the gusto with which he is celebrating the birth of his first son. He is the cop to go to these days because he is in such fine spirits.

Mike wishes Bishop would show up. He orders another beer and moves closer to the booth to hear better. The topknot guy pulls up his legs and sits cross-legged and straight-backed with a new story. “So the soldiers walk us in and take off the blindfolds and the general is standing on one side of a little glass coffee table and he’s tiny, like this, full uniform, the whole thing, dress for the camera, and Harrison . . .”

The bald guy playing pool, Harrison apparently, nods to confirm the story.

“. . . Harrison has got that fat motor drive of his with the 85x150 zoom hanging over his shoulder. And as he reaches out to shake hands with the general the strap slips somehow . . .”

Harrison wears a small, tight grin and sips his drink.