The Windup Girl полностью

The girl's long black hair is tied up in a careful bun at the top of her head to keep it free of running line equipment. Her neck is exposed. Her eyes are trusting. Hock Seng looks away, evaluating the bodies again, calculating against inauspicious numbers. Four, four, four. Death. One is better. One is best. He takes a breath and makes a decision. He reaches for her. "Come here."

She hesitates. He scowls at her, waves her closer. "You want to keep your job, yes?"

She nods slowly.

"Then come. These two need to go to a hospital, yes? We cannot help them here. And two sick men lying beside the algae baths will do none of us any good. Not if we want to keep on eating. Gather them and meet me at the side door. Not through the main room. The side one. Go under the line with them, through the service access. The side, you understand?"

She nods uncertainly. He claps his hands together, spurring her to action. "Quickly now! Quickly! Drag them if you must!" He motions to the bodies. "People will be arriving. One person is already too many to keep a secret, and here we stand, four. Let us make this a secret of two, at least. Anything is better than four." Death.

She takes a frightened breath, then her eyes narrow with determination. She crouches to wrestle with Kit's body. Hock Seng watches to make sure she is underway, then ducks out.

In the main hall, people are still stowing their lunches and laughing. No one in a rush. The Thai are lazy. If they were Chinese yellow cards they would already be working and all would be lost. For once, Hock Seng is glad he works with Thais. He still has a little time. He ducks out the side door.

Outside, the alley is empty. High factory walls pin the narrow way. Hock Seng jogs toward Phosri Street and its jumble of breakfast stalls, steaming noodles and ragged children. A cycle rickshaw flashes across the gap.

"Wei!" He calls out. "Samloh! Samloh! Wait!" But he is too far away.

He limps to the intersection favoring his bad knee, catches sight of another rickshaw. He flags the driver. The man glances behind to see if he is threatened by competition, then angles toward Hock Seng with a lackadaisical pedal, allowing the slight slope of the street to let him coast.

"Faster!" Hock Seng shouts. "Kuai yidian, you dog fucker!"

The man ignores the abuse, lets his cycle coast to a stop. "You called me, Khun?"

Hock Seng climbs in and waves down the alley. "I have passengers for you, if you'll hurry up."

The man grunts and steers down the narrow way. The cycle's chain clicks sedately. Hock Seng grits his teeth. "Double pay. Quickly, quickly!" He motions the man onward.

The man leans on his pedals marginally more aggressively, but still he shambles like a megodont. Ahead, Mai appears. For a moment Hock Seng is afraid that she will be stupid and bring out the bodies before the rickshaw arrives, but Kit is nowhere in sight. It is only when the rickshaw comes close that she slips back inside and drags the first incoherent worker into view.

The rickshaw man shies at the body, but Hock Seng leans over his shoulder and hisses, "Triple pay." He grabs Kit and wrestles him into the rickshaw's seat before the man can protest. Mai disappears back inside.

The cycle-rickshaw man eyes Kit. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's a drunk," Hock Seng says. "He and his friend. If the boss catches them, they're fired."

"He doesn't look drunk."

"You're mistaken."

"No. That one looks like-"

Hock Seng stares at the man. "The white shirts will cast their net over you as surely as they will me. He is on your seat, in your breathing presence."

The rickshaw man's eyes widen. He draws back. Hock Seng nods confirmation, holding the man's gaze. "There's no point in making a complaint now. I say they are drunk. Triple pay to you, when you return."

Mai reappears with the second worker and Hock Seng helps lever him into the seat. He ushers Mai into the rickshaw with the men. "Hospitals," he says. And then he leans close. "But different hospitals, yes?"

Mai nods sharply.

"Good. Clever girl." Hock Seng steps back. "Go on then! Go! Beat it!"

The rickshaw man sets off, pedalling much faster than before. Hock Seng watches them ride away, the heads of the three passengers and the rickshaw man, rattling and bouncing as the bike's wheels chatter over cobbles. He grimaces. Four again. A bad number for certain. He pushes paranoia away, wondering if he is even capable of strategizing these days. An old man who jumps at shadows.

Would he be better off if Mai and Kit and Srimuang were feeding red-fin plaa in the murky waters of the Chao Phraya River? If they were just a collection of anonymous parts bobbing amongst the roiling bodies of hungry carp, would he not be safer?

Four. Sz. Death.