“The small ones,” Miaow says.

“Listen to that,” Boo says. “You haven’t completely turned into a schoolgirl. There’s still a little bit left.”

“I haven’t-” Miaow begins.

“Even with that hair.”

Miaow’s hand goes to her hair. “There’s nothing wrong with my-” Suddenly she’s blushing.

“What’s next, skin-whitening cream? Now you’re an American?” He is keeping his voice light, but Rose can see the tension in the cords of his neck.

“Wait,” Miaow says. “I’m not trying-”

“You’re not?” he demands. “Okay, you’re not on the streets now. But why pretend to be something you aren’t?”

“I don’t know what-”

“Have you told anybody at your school about it?” He squeezes the word “school” as though he’s trying to juice it. “Does anyone know you were on the street? If I showed up, would you introduce me to your friends?”

“But…” Miaow says, “but they’re…those kids, they’re-”

“Leave her alone,” Da says.

“No,” Miaow snaps, just barely not stamping her foot. “Don’t you tell him not to…uhh, not to talk to me the way he…um, the way he wants to, to talk to…” And then she’s crying, and she turns to Rose and wraps her arms around her mother and buries her head against Rose’s blouse.

“Well,” Rose says, looking at Boo. Miaow’s shoulders are shaking, but she’s absolutely silent.

Da says, “That was mean.”

“She has a different life now,” Rose says to Boo.

Boo says, “Obviously,” but he doesn’t meet her eyes.

Rose’s phone rings.

She looks at the number on the display but doesn’t recognize it. She thinks, Poke’s new phone, and answers, putting her free hand on the back of Miaow’s neck, which feels damp and hot. When she says, “Hello,” there is no reply. The line is open, but the person at the other end doesn’t speak. “Hello?” She waits a minute, listening to the hiss of distance, and then closes the phone and puts both arms on Miaow’s shoulders. Boo looks out over the river, as though he wishes he were somewhere else.

Da rubs her arms as though she’s cold and says, “Someone is watching us.”

CAPTAIN TEETH SAYS, “She answered. She’s there.”

Ren doesn’t even look at him. “Where?”

“Wherever the phone is.”

“That’s helpful,” Ren says. He is back behind the big desk, even though he knows that Ton could walk in at any moment.

“It’s something,” Captain Teeth says. “She probably thinks the phone is safe unless she uses it. She doesn’t know it’s searching for a tower all the time. I wanted to make sure she hadn’t just left it somewhere to lead us in the wrong direction.”

“Goody,” Ren says acidly. “You may get your chance with her yet.”

“Fine,” Captain Teeth snaps. “You worry about what’s going to happen to us if the man gets everything he wants. I’ll worry about what happens to us if he doesn’t. Maybe we can’t find Rafferty, but we know how to find the woman, once the man calls whoever it is at the cell-phone company. Which probably means we know where to find the kid, too.”

Ren says, “We know too much.”

Captain Teeth says, “So figure out how to live through it.”

THE ROOM SMELLS of carpet that was at some point wet for a very long time. The carpet is wall-to-wall and well worn, obviously installed during an optimistic interlude in the past when someone thought the hotel would be a success. Shag of a long-unfashionable length, dyed a color that has no counterpart in nature, it curls slightly at the corners as though something were trying to claw its way out.

If this is the last act of my life, Rafferty thinks, I’d rather it didn’t begin on a carpet like this one.

Kosit sits, legs dangling, on top of the cheap, chipped, four-drawer bureau in front of the mirror, and Arthit is up on one elbow on the bed nearer the door. The bag of money is at the foot of Arthit’s bed, tipped on one side to spill bundles of currency across the bedspread. Rafferty is standing inside the bathroom door, just to get off the carpet. The toilet is running behind him. It has been running since they got there.

Kosit’s patrolman accomplice, the man who stuck the gun in the back of Rafferty’s neck, has gone back to the station to dig out some pictures.

“I’m not a cop now,” Arthit says.

Arthit’s face is puffy and bloated, especially beneath the eyes. For the first time since Rafferty met him, his friend is unshaven, despite the new and unwrapped razor on the bureau where Kosit sits, and the stubble on his jaw is dusted with white. The hair on one side of his head sweeps forward, probably from having been slept on.

“Of course you are,” Kosit says. “We can straighten this out.”

Arthit waves the thought away. “If I want to.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Kosit says. “Let Thanom win. Give him what he wants. That’ll show him.”

“Of course you want to be a cop,” Rafferty says.

Arthit puts out a hand, palm down, and slowly pats the air. The meaning is clear: Back off. “Poke,” he says, “I know you’re trying to keep me focused on stuff.” He reaches out a white-stockinged foot and kicks the bag of money a few inches toward the end of the bed. “Make lists, do things, get even, clear everything up. Keep me busy, keep me from thinking too much. And I appreciate it. But you know what? Everybody, and especially you, is just going to have to leave me alone. I don’t need a tow boat. I’m going to work through this the way I have to, and I don’t need anyone dragging me along. For the first time in years, I’m not a cop. I can do it my way, not their way. I don’t have to-” He stops and looks down at the bed for a moment, then lifts his chin as though his neck were stiff. “I don’t have to worry about Noi now. And I’ll tell you something. I am going to be at Noi’s cremation in two days.” He holds up his first and second fingers, V style. “Two days. Monday afternoon. That means I need to get this straightened out by then, because if I don’t, I’m going to get arrested before I’m even inside the temple. And while I don’t particularly care whether I get arrested, I won’t allow it to happen at Noi’s cremation. Noi’s cremation is going to be the kind of ceremony she deserves.” He waits, holding Rafferty’s gaze.

Rafferty says, “All right.”

Arthit reaches into the pocket of his trousers and withdraws an envelope, crumpled from his movements. “Do you know what this is?”

“Noi’s letter?” Rafferty asks.

“Has it been opened?”

“Not that I can see.”

“And it won’t be,” Arthit says, “until her spirit has been sent on its way with the peace and dignity it deserves. I won’t know what my wife’s last words to me were, Poke, until we get through this. So forget about motivating me, or helping me work through issues, or finding closure, or whatever it is you think you can do for me. I’ll do what I have to do. I’ll do anything that’s necessary to let me read this letter.”

“Okay,” Rafferty says.

“And that means we’re partners,” Arthit says. “Your jam is my jam.” He folds the envelope once and puts it back into his pocket. “I’m not a cop for now, and I want revenge. I can bring you my skills, and Kosit’s, and you can bring us everything you’ve figured out. Between us we’re going to get you out from under, and we’re going to put Thanom away, since he’s involved in your situation. I’ve had to leave Noi’s family to handle the ceremonies. You think I’ll forgive that? I’m going to boil his balls, dip them in hot sauce, and feed them to him.”

“How?” Kosit asks.

“It’s obvious. We learn what’s up and we fix it. Just come all the way in here, Poke. Stop lurking in the fucking bathroom, sit on this awful bed, and tell us what you know.”

Rafferty comes out of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him so he doesn’t have to listen to the toilet running. He glances at the bedspread, which is shiny with dirt, before he takes a seat, inches from Arthit’s feet.