“I get it,” Burton says. “Shrewd, shrewd Analect. You can pass for one, so you set up a bunch of backpackers for Bishop. A bit of a travel piece. And you’re his decoy.”

That last word surprises Mike. Paul sits down heavily next to him and leans in. “Sounds like a bullshit story,” he says, in an Eastern European accent Mike can’t place.

“Ecstasy’s not so bad a story, you see.” Burton laughs, as if translating. “But it’s a bit of an easy thing to come in here looking for that, and Paul’s a bit perturbed on account of your focus on that, given the other pill story.”

“Yaa baa.” Mike wants them to know he knows something, that he did his homework.

“But do you know about the silence killings?” Burton asks. “That’s what’s been happening in Thailand. Hundreds here, maybe more up north.”

“Toxic Thaksin,” adds Bridget.

Mike knows that Thaksin Shinawatra is the prime minister of Thailand.

“Did your man Bishop tell you what he was up to tonight?” asks Burton.

“No, I haven’t spoken to him since we got to the hotel.”

“Have you checked in with Hong Kong? Analect would probably like to hear from you.” Burton fingers his topknot with a tan, veined hand. “What did he say to you, actually?”

Mike tells them that Analect also told him to look up Christopher Dorr. This produces looks of surprise between Bridget and Burton that they quickly gloss over. But Mike notices, and is glad he did not tell them Dorr was a friend of his father’s.

“Let’s have another round and think about this,” says Burton, and goes to the bar, leaving Mike alone with Bridget. She is staring at him again. He smiles and looks down at his empty bottle.

“So what are you planning on doing, Mr. Mike?” Bridget’s voice is low and even.

“Well, I’m not sure,” he says, feeling himself blush again. “I suppose I’ll keep working on the story myself and wait to hear from Bishop. It’s really just asking backpacker kids questions.”

“It always turns more complicated than you think,” she says, looking at Mike over the forest of bottles on the table.

Mike knows this already.

19

Mike’s house in Long Island was constructed of old beams, and the cedar shingles were gray and weathered by nearness to the sea. The living room smelled of dry wood and salty air, and also candles. Mike’s mother adored expensive candles, and she burned them constantly, especially over the winters, which was strange for a woman who claimed to be so afraid of fire. She said the house would go up like a box of matches if they weren’t all very careful.