Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

5: And Your Enemies Closer

News of the boy’s capture in New Zealand had reached him a few days ago. Julius was the name they were travelling under now, apparently. The old man had slipped the net, but Morgan had contingencies in place for such an event. As soon as they were done here, they’d be making their way to New Zealand to deal with that situation. Doll Face was bursting with glee.

A large shadow filled the bar’s doorway for a moment, and Morgan brought his thoughts back to the matter at hand. He affected a bored disinterest while he took another sip of beer and surreptitiously studied the giant of a man who came through the door. Yes, it was him. William Hayne’s pug-nosed face was not one that could be easily mistaken. The broad-chested American wore a faded blue T-shirt and baggy shorts. The man once had hair, but now the top of his head more closely resembled a bowling ball. Morgan scrunched his nose a little at the state of Hayne’s attire. True, the weather here was unforgiving, but appearances were still important.

Hayne lumbered up to the bar and waved to the short Thai barkeep. He got a big smile in return, and the small Thai man rushed over with a beer. In a glass, no less. Morgan hadn’t received a glass with his beer.

Morgan relaxed and continued to nurse his beer while he let Hayne settle in. His information had said he was a regular here, and that appeared to be the case. Good. That would make everything go much smoother.

Hayne’s bulk flowed over the narrow barstool. The two Thai girls made their way to the bar a few minutes later. Morgan watched Hayne’s eyes tracking them. When they had their drinks, the bald man made no pretense about watching the girls’ wiggling backsides as they returned to their table. When they sat down again, he immediately leaned over and tried to strike up a conversation with the young woman sitting next to him. Yes, Hayne hadn’t changed a bit.

Hayne had polished off two beers and a glass of top shelf whiskey by the time Morgan took the last sip of his lager and weaved through the crowd towards the bar. Amongst the people, the air was so thick he could barely breathe. The Thai girls fluttered their lashes as he passed. He gave them a smile.

“Do you ladies speak English?”

They giggled. “A little, yes,” the slimmer one said. “You are new here. Will you sit?”

The other one was pulling her white singlet down to give him a better look at her cleavage. Something about it repulsed him. They were most likely whores.

“I’m honoured,” he said, smiling broadly. “I have to see a friend first. Maybe a little later.”

The slim one pouted, and he stilled a sudden urge to slap that silly look off her face. He noted what they were drinking—a screwdriver and a daiquiri—and he gave them a wink and a polite goodbye. “Laaeo phohp gan mai.”

The barstool next to Hayne was vacant now. He must’ve scared the poor woman away. He was probably twice the poor woman’s age, but in Bangkok, that wasn’t always a handicap for a white man. Unfortunately, Hayne’s charm didn’t seem to have improved since his retirement.

Morgan slipped into the seat alongside Hayne and pulled a worn Thai phrasebook from his pocket. Without glancing at Hayne, he tentatively raised his hand at the short barkeep. “Ah, excuse me. Ah….” He consulted his phrasebook. “Ahh…chan kaw…” he said in butchered Thai. His thumb flicked through the pages. “Beer…” he muttered to himself. “Beer….”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hayne watching him struggle. Then the man slapped the bar with his meaty palm. “Kiet! This man needs a beer.” He turned to Morgan. “What are you having?”

“Oh, thank you,” Morgan said, smiling politely. “I had some Thai beer before.” He pointed at a bottle in another patron’s hand. “That one.”