Red Alert(NYPD Red #5)(48)

The crowd suddenly erupted. The fighter in the red trunks had just slammed a roundhouse kick into his opponent’s head. The man went down hard, the referee counted him out, but he still couldn’t get up. His cornermen jumped into the ring and dragged him off.

Kob Sook Meesang had just knocked another six months off his sentence.





CHAPTER 45



Juntasa’s golden boy won two more fights, both by decision. The fact that the losers were both foreigners and the judges were all locals was not lost on the crowd. So when Kob Sook Meesang stepped back into the ring for the seventh time, the room went wild.

The betting was frenzied and totally lopsided. Everyone wanted a piece of the new hometown hero, the scrappy little man with the wide smile, the big heart, and the judges in his back pocket. Correction: almost everyone. In the back of the arena, a wisp of a woman wearing black pants, a black tunic, and a Bluetooth called the shots as her minions circulated through the mob, covering the bets.

To her credit, Juntasa’s sister Buppha gave the suckers their money’s worth. In the first round, Meesang kicked his opponent right through the ropes. The man grabbed a tray from one of the waiters, jumped back in the ring, and smashed Meesang over the head with it.

It wasn’t quite up to the entertainment level set by the WWE, but it was pure theater, and the crowd reaction was earsplitting. Meesang came back strong the next round, and per the script, he took a dive thirty seconds into round three. Hinds, who had whispered the outcome to me before the fight started, shook his head like the loser on a TV game show who knew the answer but didn’t buzz in fast enough.

We sat through six more matches. Finally, Juntasa stood. “I would be honored if you would dine with me in my home,” he said.

We assured him that the honor would be all ours.

We drove to the gated community where Pongrit Juntasa lived. The homes were opulent, and his was bordering on palatial. Clearly the bureaucrats in Bangkok lived a lot better than their counterparts in the States.

Over dinner, he bombarded us with questions about crime and punishment in New York, and he was completely entranced by the concept of a police unit dedicated to the needs of the city’s rich and powerful.

“We, too, are a city of economic extremes,” he said. “It seems to me that our wealthiest citizens would be extremely grateful to feel so well protected.”

“I’m sure they would,” Kylie said. “Perhaps you could schedule a visit to New York. We’d be glad to show you our model. There’s no reason why the same principles couldn’t work in Bangkok.”

I could almost hear the cash register in his head go ka-ching. He’d just demonstrated how effortlessly he could scam money from the unsuspecting poor. And now it seemed like we were offering to show him how to bleed even more money from the ridiculously rich.

“That would be very generous of you,” he said. “So, I understand you’re here in Thailand to question two of my prisoners.”

“With your kind permission,” Kylie said, laying it on.

“I would need a formal request.”

I was about to ask him what the hell he was talking about, when David Hinds stepped in. “I have the documents right here, Mr. Minister,” he said, taking two envelopes from his pocket. “These were prepared by the embassy and signed by the First Secretary.”

Juntasa opened the first envelope. “Flynn Samuels,” he said. “Fascinating man. Permission granted. Please tell him I asked for him.”

“I’m very impressed,” Kylie said. “Considering the size of your prison population, I would hardly expect you to know any of them by name.”

A cryptic smile crossed Juntasa’s lips as he opened the second envelope. “Geraldo Segura?” he said. “I’m afraid the American Embassy is sadly out of touch. Mr. Segura changed his name years ago.” He handed the document back to Hinds.

“My apologies, sir. We must not have been notified. I can redo the paperwork and be back in an hour. What is his name now?”

Juntasa grinned. “Rom Ran Sura.”

Hinds stared at him, dumbfounded. “Rom Ran Sura?” he said, slowly enunciating each syllable. “Geraldo Segura is Rom Ran Sura?”

Juntasa nodded. “It’s a fitting Thai name for such a warrior.”

“Warrior?” I said, looking at Hinds for an answer.

“God, yes,” Hinds said. “Rom Ran Sura is a Muay Thai legend. One of the best boxers in the country.”

“One of?” Juntasa said. “He is the best to come out of our prison system in decades. How embarrassing that the American Embassy had no idea that our national hero was one of their citizens. Of course, the man is now forty years old. His boxing days are over.”

“Still, you must be very proud,” Kylie said. “We look forward to meeting him.”

“I wish I could help,” Juntasa said, “but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have no idea where he is.”

“But you’re in charge,” Kylie said. “How could you not know—”

Juntasa held up a hand, cutting her off. “Detective, Rom Ran Sura has brought great honor to our country. The king pardoned him a month ago. At this point, nobody knows where he is.”