The Burma Effect by Michael E. Rose

police or soldiers. Even then he always managed to extricate himself in record time from whatever the problem might be.
    â€œWhat we working on, Frank?” Ben said, always eager to get started.
    â€œNathan Kellner,” Delaney said.
    â€œHe coming too?” Ben said. “Haven’t seen him for a long while. I don’t think Khun Nathan is around.”
    â€œThat’s what we’re working on, Ben. Kellner’s gone to ground. I’m looking for him.” “You not doing a story?”
    â€œMight be. Depends what Kellner’s up to. I’ve been asked to find out where he’s gone.”
    â€œHe’s in trouble maybe. Like that?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Ben was eating nuts one by one, as he always did. He drank beer very slowly and ate peanuts as if time had stood still.
    â€œI never see him now. Never drove for him much anyway. He used another guy. I could ask a few people maybe.”
    â€œOK. I’m going to go see his girlfriend. She’s Thai,” Delaney said.
    â€œAll your guys have Thai girls here, Frank. You would too, in Bangkok,” Ben said with a smile.
    â€œThey’ve been together a long time,” Delaney said. “Not like with the other guys, I would say.”
    â€œMaybe not,” Ben said. Not convinced. “Bar girl? Used to be?”
    â€œNo. I don’t think so.”
    Ben was clearly not convinced.
    â€œLet’s take a run over there so I can talk to her.”
    â€œSure, OK.”
    â€œHis place is on a little soi off Thanon Sathon.”
    â€œNear U.S. Information Service?”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œI know where,” Ben said.
    The traffic was dense, but not as dense as Delaney remembered from the last time he had been in Bangkok. It seemed to be getting ever so slightly easier to move around the city each time he came. Perhaps because of the Skytrain that had at long last been built. Perhaps because Bangkok, like so many Asian cities, was becoming more and more Westernized, adopting Western trappings such as traffic lights that worked and driving schools for young people and policemen who, occasionally, refused to look the other way when confronted with egregious infractions of the traffic rules. Perhaps.
    The watchman in the dirt courtyard of Kellner’s apartment block stood up when Delaney arrived. He had watched from a reclining position on his wooden bed when Delaney got out of Ben’s car and had sat up when Delaney turned to come onto the property. He stood up only when it was clear Delaney wanted to go inside the building. He offered the Western visitor no wai, a rare failure in Thailand and one that Delaney noted with interest.
    Delaney offered the wai and said: “Nathan Kellner’s house.”
    No smile from the watchman. Another rare failure in Thailand.
    â€œHe is not here,” the watchman said, looking past Delaney’s shoulder to the car where Ben was already reading his newspaper.
    â€œI know. I am here to see his girl,” Delaney said.
    â€œYou are a friend?” the watchman said; dubious.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhose friend? Mai or Khun Nathan?”
    â€œBoth.”
    The watchman looked at him closely.
    â€œCanadian?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’ll go see,” the watchman said.
    He slid into his sandals, classics with soles made from old automobile tires, and headed through an arch into a ground floor corridor that led to a line of doors painted maroon. Delaney remembered that Kellner’s apartment was on the ground floor. He turned around to look at Ben Yong, who gave him the thumbs up and an interrogative shrug. Delaney shrugged back.
    From far down the corridor, Delaney heard quiet words in Thai, then the slap of the watchman’s sandals as he came back. Now the wai was offered.
    â€œSo sorry, my friend. Mai is waiting for you now. So sorry.”
    â€œAny troubles here?” Delaney asked.
    â€œYou know,” the