A/N And now here's the first chapter, introducing Salem and Charles to the reader, and setting up their situation.

By the way – that previous chap, the one I said would “probably be the last”? It won't. I later realized that I still had to deal with Billy and that Salem and Charles still had an issue or two to work out.

Chapter 1

Salem was never so glad to get back to a hotel room in his life. He was still hurting from when his testicle-tuck went awry, and that had been over two hours ago. Few things hurt a man as much as a bad tuck, but in hot-pants that tight, there hadn't been much choice.

At least the job had gone well, better than he could have even hoped, in fact. The target – some French drug-company VIP - had taken the poisoned cigar on the first try. Salem had been prepared to work all night to get him to take it, but the target took it right away, and Salem even helpfully lit it for him while he concentrated on his poker hand. Once lit and happily puffing away, Salem got the hell out of the casino before the man started choking and coughing. The cigar would probably be found and analyzed he knew, so it was important not to stick around long enough for people to remember the cute cigarette-girl who'd sold it to him. They'd be seeing on the cameras later anyway.

Likewise, it was important for Salem to get out of costume and turn back into a man as soon as possible. He'd scouted a good place between two dumpsters in the alley behind the hotel the day before, and had hidden boy-clothes there: saggy jeans, a black muscle-tee featuring “AC/DC” on the front, and a baseball cap he wore backwards. No one looking for a cute cigarette-girl would be likely to stop a teenage boy for questioning. Lady-boy looks came in handy, sometimes, and even though Salem was 28 years old, he could still pass - especially in Westerner's eyes - as a teenager.

His lips were a bit of a problem, sometimes. Salem had full, pouty lips, moreso even than most Thais. Which worked great in drag – but he knew that they were memorable, and just now he wished they weren't.

Finally feeling safe, he thought about what he'd just done, and he did feel a little remorse at the killing - Buddhism makes no exception for murder just because the victim is a Bad Person. Apparently the target had cheated one of the most powerful crime-lords of Bangkok somehow, but it was best not to know too much in this line of work, and one never asked one's employer for details. What little he knew about the target had come from Hans, who had initially hired him as a call-boy, later paid him extra to be an accomplice, and eventually became Salem's unwitting mentor in the art of assassination. But Hans had been dragged from the Chao Phraya river a week ago.

Which left Salem with full access to all the notes, photographs, and most importantly, Hans' Blackberry. From it Salem learned that half of the $80,000 American had already been deposited into the Cayman Islands account, the number of which Salem found elsewhere in the Blackberry's files, and the other half would be added upon completion of the job.

He wouldn't make that kind of money in a lifetime as a Bangkok lady-boy, even as one of the city's most expensive prostitutes – a position Salem was more than a little proud of. He'd worked his ass off, so to speak, to get there. So Salem had decided to pick up where Hans left off, and finish the job himself. And it had worked!

He was going to have to disappear now, of course, lest whatever had happened to Hans happen to him as well, but that was no big deal. He just needed to find a nice, quiet town in the northern provinces where he could access the internet, and then he, along with his mother and sisters, would be set for life. No problem. Things were looking good.

Until he heard a voice in his darkened hotel room say, “I don't know how you did it, Hans, but I'm damned impressed. One minute he's sitting there playing poker, and the next he's choking to death. What was it, anyway? Sarin? Copper-sulfate? Or just good old cyanide... Doesn't matter, it was a damned smooth job. I knew you were good, but Christ, I thought I was pretty good, too!”

A chill ran down Salem's spine and the little hairs on the back of neck actually did stand up. Whoever had said that knew everything, it seemed. Well, almost everything. He didn't seem to realize that he wasn't talking to Hans. He stalled while he tried to figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Wh... who are you?”

“You can call me Charles, just like I can call you Hans. And please: 'Charles'. Not 'Charlie', and for fuck's sake not 'Chuck'. Charles. Nice to meet you, 'Hans'. Good name, by the way – no one looking for a 'Hans' would give you a second glance. Even I was expecting a Caucasian man.”

“What do you want?” Salem asked, trying not to sound as frightened as he was.

“We have a problem, Hans. Seems that whoever hired you to kill the Frenchman, turned around and hired me to kill you.”

Charles was obviously waiting for Salem to say something, but Salem was busy watching his life flash before his eyes.

Charles continued, “So you see the situation, I assume.”

Oh, Salem saw it, alright. The only real question was; why was this 'Charles' person even bothering to talk to him? When you're being paid to kill someone, you don't make small-talk, even just to gloat. That kind of thing only happened in the movies. And you damn sure never tell anyone that you're about to kill them. That's just stupid, because it left the potential victim with no options. With nothing to lose, they might try anything. That was one of the many things he'd learned from Hans over the last couple of months. So what did Charles want? Money?

“The second half of the money should be deposited by tomorrow... maybe we can-”

“Oh, we can compare notes later,” Charles said, not really paying attention, “Right now we both need to get out of here, so I've arranged for a few days in Pattaya, across the bay, then we'll leave the country. Since I can see that you're already packed, I assume you have all the papers you need?”

Tomorrow? Leave the country? What? And “compare notes”? Notes about what? What was going on here?

'Hans' was sure taking a long time to say something, Charles thought. “Hans? Papers? I mean, you are ready to move out, right? I was thinking Halifax – it's nice and cool this time of year, and I need a break from this heat.”

“Uh... no... no, I don't have... papers. Uh...”

“Got a forger here in Bangkok, do ya? And haven't got your passport yet? Well, I guess we could stay a day or two... Still need to change hotels. From what I've managed to find out about you, I'm a little surprised though. The Hans I've been reading up on seems like he's usually better prepared...”

Whatever was going on, apparently Charles didn't intend to kill him. But it sounded like he did have other plans for him... plans Salem wanted no part of, whatever they were. “I'm... I'm not Hans.”

“Pardon me?”

“I'm not Hans. Hans was killed a week ago. I was his... employee,” Salem said, his mind racing too fast to think of a good lie. Too fast to even think of a false name: “I'm S-Salem.”

Charles reached over to flip on the reading-light next to his chair, and pointed its cone his direction.

Holy fuck. “You're... you're just a kid...”

“No I'm not. I just look that way to you. I'm trying to look like a kid right now. It's a disguise.”

Charles looked him over closely. “Well, it's a fucking good one. I mean... Jesus...” If Salem had been a kid, he'd have been the cutest kid Charles had ever seen. Long, straight, jet-black hair hung down over his forehead and into his eyes, more flowed down from under the hat down the back of his neck. High cheek-bones and dark almond eyes and a softly-triangular face... even his nose was cute. And that was the first nose Charles had ever even paid attention to. Fucking kid was cute!

Oh, not a 'kid'. Well... 'guy' then. Fucking guy was cute. Charles double-checked Salem's chest for any indication of breasts – it was just hard to believe that the person standing nervously before him was male.

Salem was used to being stared at like this by falang. To other Thai's, he looked obviously male – although still pretty – and only confused them when he was in drag. He'd always been cute, from early childhood on. That's part of why his own family thought he might be a kathooey – a lady-boy. Well, that and when they caught him making-out with another boy when he'd been eleven. Salem's mother – who had a brother who was post-op kathooey - and sisters had been supportive of that, but his father had eventually, just disappeared and left them on their own, unable to bear the “shame to the family”. That's why Salem came to Bangkok when he was fourteen; his family was desperately poor, and in a way, it was his fault.

He'd actually begun his career in prostitution before that, but there just wasn't much money to be made in the provinces. Real money came from 'falang' - Western tourists. Everyone knew that.

After letting Charles have a sufficient eyeful of him, Salem said, “They found Hans' body in the river. I don't know what happened... so I decided to go through with the job myself. Anyway – if you're looking for Hans, I'm not him.” He was still clinging to the hope that whatever this shadowy and mysterious man had in mind, it wouldn't apply to him.

“I can see that. You're not old enough to be Hans... even if you are as old as you say. But – you really pulled off that hit by yourself? I mean... well... I'm impressed...”

“Yes, I did. Look, mister... Uh... what... why are you here?”

“Uhm... well... I gotta think about that now. I still find it hard to believe you did that by yourself. No help? No accomplices?”

“Just me.”

“Uh-huh...” Charles said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Well, I tell ya what. This kind of throws a wrench in the works – you not being Hans an' all – because I was hoping to work with a professional on this. Hans had a hell of a rep. On the other hand – you're one cool cucumber, ain'tcha... and smart, too. And I'm gonna need help. You got yourself into this business, and I assume you got paid, so I guess that help is going to have to be you.”

“Help... with what?”

“Oh, that's right, you don't know, do ya. We have to kill the man who hired hired me to assassinate you. Most likely the same guy who hired you, but we'll have to find out. We'll also-”

“We... we do?” Salem cut him off, “Why do we have to do that?”

“To send a message. This is a dangerous enough business as it is – the last thing any of us need is to keep looking over our shoulder, wondering if the competition trying to off us. It's sort of an Assassin's Code, it's how we stay alive.”

“But... I don't know who hired Hans... And I'm not an assassin...”

“You are now. And of course you don't know who hired you. Neither did Hans. I don't know who hired me, either. But we're going to have to find out. It's gonna take awhile. And depending on who it was, it might take even longer to set up the hit... but that's what we have to do, you and me. God – I was really looking forward to working with Hans too. Oh well. Anyway - you ready to get outta here?”

“Well... I... I guess...” Salem was thinking that he'd surely find a good time to disappear. The sooner the better.

“Yeah. Listen – I can guess what you're thinking, so remember: I found you here. I can find you anywhere, Salem – and I bet that's even your real name, ain't it... You might want to keep that in mind. But this has to be done, and I need to know what you know. You being a local might actually come in handy, come to think of it,” Charles said with only a little threat in his voice, “Okay - I hope that's cleared up. And... since you're not Hans... I'm betting you don't have a passport?”

“No...”

“Okay then – we'll get you one tomorrow, along with a Visa so you can... hold on,” Charles stopped himself before he got too far, and asked suspiciously, “You speak awfully good English for a Thai... why is that?”

“Television. And movies. When you work with falang, you get a better price if you're fluent in English. I've been practicing most of my life.”

“Ah. Damn, you are a smart one, huh? Okay – starting tomorrow, you're going to be a Canadian. Welcome to the Commonwealth.”

“Uhm... Canadian?”

“Yeah. Lots of Asians in Canada, so you'll fit right in. And their border is a lot easier to get across from abroad than the U.S. Try to say 'eh?' now and then.”

“Uh... okay... if you say so...” Salem was still a little bewildered by all this, but at least he wasn't going to die. And the man was right about one thing – he'd found Salem, and done so when Salem was taking great pains not to be found. So he'd better just go along with it, for now. Relaxing a little, Salem flipped his hair out of his eyes and said, “Can we get something to eat first? It's been a really long day... And would you turn that light off me now?”

But Charles' mind was frozen by the hair-flip. Holy FUCK... he thought but not in words. What he didn't think, yet, was, he's fucking beautiful. Charles had never had a gay thought in all his thirty-two years, and he wasn't about to start now. Be that as it may, it still took him a while to recover.

“Eat? Oh. Oh yeah. Me too,” Charles said, trying to recover himself, “Except... we need to get away from here, first. Maybe... maybe once we get to another hotel, somewhere off the main drag.”

“I know a place. No tourists go there, and I'm starving.” That was true – he'd been to sick with nervousness to eat anything all day. Now that the day was over, Salem was feeling intensely and acutely hungry.

“I bet. But we can't eat here. Damn,” Charles said, thinking about eating somewhere other than a luxury hotel, “And I can't eat Thai food, either. Too spicy - gives me an ulcer.”

“Most of it's in the sauce. I know some dishes you can eat. Don't worry about it, Charles. I'll take care of you.”

“So Salem – you're a local. You must know a hotel where they won't remember us...” Charles asked once they were outside the Grand Palace looking at the busy street.

“I can think of a few in Sam Peng... or farther south to Chinatown.”

“Chinatown sounds good. I don't speak Chinese, but money always talks.”

“I can speak Mandarin.”

“You speak Chinese, Thai, and English?”

“Yeah. Most of us do, you know, but I practice English more than anything else. What languages do you speak?”

“I'm from Chicago. I speak English. End of story. Here, a cab's comin'.”

“Uh... we probably shouldn't take a cab, Charles. If we're trying to disappear...”

“Oh?”

“The cab-drivers concentrate on just a few areas where the falang like to go. It might be easy for someone to find the driver who picked us up.”

Charles looked down at Salem appreciatively. “You sure you're an amateur at this?”

“My first time, so help me Buddha. We'll take a samlor instead. They go everywhere, and there's millions of them.”

“What's a samlor?”

“Three-wheeler. There's one...” Salem waved it over and they got in, Salem with his duffel-bag and Charles with his suitcase. It was open to the weather, and thus noisy, so conversation stopped for the time being.

Which was a good thing, because Salem needed to think. First of all, just how much did this Charles man know about him? Couldn't be much, since he'd thought he was following Hans. And unlike Hans, Charles hadn't offered to buy Salem's services, either. He tried to remember if he'd said anything to hint that he was a prostitute, and decided that he hadn't, so he was safe on that account. But had Charles seen him in the casino, in drag, selling the cigar to the target? Did Charles know that Salem was a kathooey? Or even gay?

And if not, should Salem tell him? There didn't seem to be any good reason to... Well, it was early in their partnership still. He'd just wait and see. The whole thing was just... unexpected.

Salem thought about his new situation. So, he was supposed to assist Charles – a professional assassin – in the murder of whoever it was had probably hired them both. And for free too, it seemed. To accomplish this, Charles was going to take him out of the country for the first time in his life. It was kind of like being kidnapped... but not quite. Besides, Charles didn't seem like a kidnapper. He gave off a serious, professional aire, yes, but he seemed okay, for a falang.

And he wasn't exactly bad-looking, either: a little older than Salem, much taller, with short-cut dark brown hair, and eyes to match. Very manly, too bad he didn't have a beard. Salem liked men with beards. Actually... if Charles were gay... well, it could be fun. But there were a lot of things to do first, and even if Charles was straight, it was still kind of cool to be in the company of someone who didn't know what Salem was, who just thought he was a normal Thai man. A smartThai man, too. Salem had never gotten much respect in his life.

Frankly, he never really thought he deserved any. Salem's life wasn't about being respectable to other people. It was about surviving – him and his mother and sisters back home. If he could bring up his karma at the same time, that'd be good too, but it was only a secondary concern. Having killed a man, Salem's karma was going from bad to worse... but really, he thought, how much worse could it possibly get?

They were off the main road now, and both of them relaxed a little, feeling safely anonymous in the thousand-square-mile city.

“There!” Salem pointed, “There's a good place to eat.”

“Uhm... you sure about that? Doesn't look like much. And I told you about-”

“You'll be fine, Charles. I'll order for you. Just don't dip anything in sauce.”

“All right...” Charles said with a little apprehension, “But I'm trusting you on this, Salem. Don't be double-crossing me. How much should I pay the cabbie?”

“Dollars or baht?”

“Dollars.”

“About three-fifty.”

After they'd stopped, Salem noticed that Charles pulled a ten out of his billfold and gave it to the driver, waving him off to indicate that he didn't expect any change.

“Charles... you just tipped him almost twice the price of the ride...”

“I know. I feel sorry for these people. God, I hate third-world countries...”

Salem frowned. Maybe Charles wasn't so nice after all. That was just the kind of thing he'd expect a Westerner to say. They always felt so superior because they were rich – at least by Thai standards. Salem had learned early in his career that falang actually expected to be over-charged, and only valued things by how much they'd paid for them. Ask a high enough price, and they wouldn't even try to talk you down. Westerners were strange.

Salem's going rate for sex was a thousand dollars a day. Dollars. Six-thousand for a full week of his services. And people sought him out to pay it, too. He imagined that they probably bragged to their friends back home about the expensive lady-boy they'd hired in Bangkok. Well, the bragging was good for business, so never mind.

He ordered steamed dragon-prawns for Charles, and curried crab for himself, with mango juice to drink. Charles had a beer, but winced when he tasted it.

“They probably have better beers,” Salem suggested, “They brought you a cheap one because you didn't say not to.”

“Wouldn't matter. I've only found one beer I like anyway. Moosehead. Canadian.”

“Then why did you order it?”

“Because I knew it'd be safe to drink.”

Again – typical falang thing to say. Americans were the worst about thinking that everything foreign must be diseased. Idiots.

“What's that you're having, anyway?”

“Cat. Black cat. The black ones are best.”

Charles looked at the curried crab with concern and disgust.

“I'm joking, Charles. It's crab. But I know what you people think of us.” Since Charles wasn't a paying client, Salem was making no attempt to be charming. It was refreshing to be able to speak his mind to a falang, for once.

“Do ya now... and what, exactly, do I think of you?”

“Never mind.”

“No – c'mon. What do you think I think?”

“Never mind, Charles.”

“So I don't get a chance to defend mysef? Tell me. I wanna know.”

“Okay, if you really want me to: you think you're better than us because you're rich. You said it yourself – Thailand is a 'third-world country', where everyone eats cats and all the water is dirty.”

“Salem... I never said that. And besides, I've been to places where it's true.”

“Well, it's not true here. And just because you're rich doesn't mean you're a better man, either.”

After a moment of staring at Salem while he ate, Charles resumed peeling his prawns. “Wanna know why I hate third-world countries?”

“Never mind.”

“Stop saying that. It's not the people, Salem. People are the same everywhere, rich or poor. It's because I hate being the richest person in sight.”

“Afraid everyone wants to steal your money, I bet.”

“No. You really don't like foreigners, do ya... It's because, Salem, I just feel like it's... like it's rude. I've never done anything to deserve being a rich bastard. Hardly any rich bastard ever has, and I hate 'em for that. But here, I am one. It's just... uh... embarrassing, you might say... So gimme a break, will ya?”

Salem continued eating in silence while he thought about that. It spun around everything he'd ever thought about Westerners. He surely never thought he'd ever hear one say anything like that. Maybe... maybe Charles was okay after all.

“Yeah. I'll give you a break Charles,” he said, flipping his hair out of his eyes and using his fork to push more crab into his spoon.

Charles, who was again wondering what it was about Salem's hair that made him feel funny, and didn't say anything at all.