Page 34 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
Fine. Besides, who among us hadn’t fiddled with our date of birth? I had a dozen identities, some older, some younger, as did every member of the Choir, and Echo had literally never told anyone her age.
“But am I wrong about the aging-out thing?”
“Unfortunately not.”
There were plenty of men Lonnie’s age around, but the women trended younger. Half the girls beckoning men into these fine establishments looked barely legal, and in Thailand, the age of consent was fifteen.
McDonald disappeared into one of the quieter bars on the street. The Stars and Strips. Was that a typo or a description? Could be either. A bastardised version of the US flag hung outside, but the stars were hearts and the stripes were pink.
“Where are the fucking stars?” I muttered.
“Right there.” Emmy nodded toward the hostess’s nipples. Two glittery pasties barely covered the goods.
“If she’s eighteen, then I’m in the Peace Corps.” I began to see where this was going. “He’s gonna pick up a minor, isn’t he?”
Emmy made a “yikes” face. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
The hostess didn’t ask McDonald any questions, just smiled and led him through the bar to a door at the rear. They clearly knew each other. A regular? The bartender at the Metrolux said he visited Thailand like clockwork—was this why?
Outside, we watched McDonald’s distinctive silhouette reappear on the third floor and walk past a frosted window, then another, then another. He didn’t pass a fourth.
One of us needed to get up there.
“Want to flip for it?” Emmy asked. She thought the same way I did, and I had to admire that. “Those balconies are practically stairs.”
She was right, but they were also at the front of the building in full view of the crowded street. How fast could I get up to the third floor? Ten seconds? Twenty? The Choir practised climbing regularly, both outdoors and at an indoor wall in Vegas.
“We need a distraction,” I said.
“Right. So, do you want to climb or create a racket?”
“Do you have a coin?”
She patted her pockets. “Nope.”
“I have a coin,” a drunk American interjected.
“Great, can we borrow it?”
“Sure, if you show me your titties first.”
Fuck me, it was frat boys on tour. Emmy flashed me a grin.
“Honey, you’d better be ready with bail money.”
Honestly, I hadn’t wanted to like Emmy, but she was growing on me.
“You got it.”
She slapped him hard. He tried to grab her with all the finesse of a short-circuiting robot, and she sidestepped, spun, kneed him in the balls, then twisted neatly away as an entire bachelorette party began to whoop and holler.
“Get him, girl!” the bride yelled. “He’s a creep.”
I smiled to myself and ran for the first balcony.
“Tell me you got something good.”
Emmy staggered through the door of my hotel room minus a shoe. Her no-doubt-designer top was torn, and she reeked of alcohol. In the meantime, I’d watched seven news bulletins, each leading with Marc’s story, and they all managed to use a lot of words to say nothing. Nobody knew where Marc was. The Indonesian government claimed they didn’t negotiate with terrorists. The police wanted to reassure vacationers that the attack was an isolated incident.
