direction.
âNo.â
âSmart man.â Won pulled a fresh cigarette from behind her ear, offering it first to Mark before lighting it off the stub of the old one. âSo what your friendâs problem?â
Mark chose the simple answer. âHer brother went missing during the tsunami.â
âLot of people went missing that day,â Won said.
âSheâs got reason to think heâs still alive.â
âWhat you think, Mark?â Won flicked the dead butt out to the dark dance floor. âYou think he alive?â
âYeah, maybe.â
Won kept her eyes on Mark as she drew on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out through her nose this time. âNo you donât. Besides, been over a year. If he alive you would know by now.â
âPossibly. But Robin here thinks he could still be in shock.â
âI donât suppose youâve ever heard of Post Traumatic Stress,â Robin said, trying to hide her impatience as Won watched a smoke ring float up past the hanging lamp to the dark rafters twenty feet overhead. âHe might still be in shock and not thinking clearly. His brain may not be working right. Iâm sure you understand that.â
âShock, huh?â Won wrinkled her lips, exaggerating her smirk. âSound like bullshit to me. If he alive you know it. Unless he donât want to be found.â
Mark could sense Robin tense up and he reached over to pick up the photograph before she could say something stupid. âEver see this guy before?â
Mark held the photograph out, Won making him wait as she took another long drag, holding it in as she propped her cigarette in an ashtray, exhaling slowly as she reached for the picture. She glanced at the photo then handed it back to Mark. âI not seen him.â
âThatâs it?â Robin said, her voice rising. âYou didnât even look at it.â
Won looked at Mark and gave a slow-motion shrug. âHe not been in.â
âThis was a waste of time,â Robin said, turning, pushing on Markâs arm to move him out of the booth. Mark reached over and put a hand on Robinâs leg, shoving her back down.
âHe hasnât been in,â Mark said, and he mirrored Wonâs smirk. âBut you know who he is.â
Robin stopped squriming. She looked first at Mark, then across the table at Won, easing back down as the old womanâs smirk slid into a grin. Won forced another drag out of her cigarette, keeping her eyes on Mark. âI think I let Pim explain to you.â
âWhoâs Pim?â Mark said.
Won paused, an eyebrow arching up. âLetâs say she a bar-beer girl.â
âOne of the girls here?â
âNo. Over at Horny Monkey. Not on Bang-la, but not far.â
âA real girl, right? Not some lady-boy.â
She clicked her tongue as she shook her head, her earlobes flapping like JJâs dreads. âPim all girl. Just like me.â
Mark smiled and leaned forward. âA sweet thing like you, you wouldnât tell me a story just to save face now, would you Won?â
âSweetie, after fifty years in this business, I not have any face left to save,â she said, and gave him a wrinkled wink.
âExcuse me,â Robin cut in, the irritation clear in her voice. âThis Pim person, what can she tell me about my brother?â
Wonâs smile dropped as she turned to face Robin. âMore than you want to know.â
Â
Chapter Eight
  Â
Not counting the two diners that sold beer and the one restaurant that had a three-bottle wine list, there were fourteen bars in Canajoharie, New York.
They all fit a patternâdimly lit, a pair of TVs mounted on either end of the bar, a jukebox that hadnât changed since the seventies, template sports posters from Budweiser and Miller, a vinyl banner announcing that TK 99 was The Home of Classic Rock!, and an interchangeable clientele that knew