Freedom Earned

by J D Stone

  To do so, I would need some sort of disguise.

  5

  While nobody was in the water, the happy side effect of there being a pool was the presence of pool chairs. I was relieved to see that people had casually been tossing hats and jackets over them when they grew too hot. Why anyone would ever need a jacket in Thailand was beyond me, but I supposed it had to do with the idea that fashion was more important than comfort. It wasn’t a concept that had ever made sense to me, but having seen women in Sapporo in short skirts despite snow covering the ground, I knew it was real.

  My first find was a nondescript gray jacket—one that could have been anyone’s. The last thing I needed was some guy trying to beat me up when he saw me wearing his jacket and thinking I was trying to steal it. Next, I took a black baseball cap, and hid around the corner while I put them on, then came out with my hands in my pockets, head down.

  The first area I had been attacked in was empty, so I kept moving. Halfway across the room, a woman and her friend saw me and started dancing in my path, one of them giggling and motioning me over. Maybe hookers, maybe nice girls—I would never know because I ducked around them, mumbling that I had to go to the bathroom. They didn’t need to know that, but I had been blown off enough times that I at least wanted to leave them with an excuse.

  I turned down a hallway—one of only two that led downstairs—and was about to descend to the first floor when I heard a yelp.

  A door to my left was marked “Office.” Moving close to it, I had no doubt that the sound had come from there as another yelp followed. I tried the door, found it unlocked, and inched it open. It led to one main room, then a back room, and there she was. Kosum stood against the far wall facing me, hands held back by two thugs while a third punched her in the gut.

  Too bad I didn’t speak Thai, because they were growling at her about something or other. For all I knew, they could have been mad at her for letting me get away if she was in on it, too. Despite that thought, I decided that I needed to intervene. I had the baton and could get the drop on them.

  I had cleared the distance before the first one’s head jerked sideways, apparently noticing something from the corner of his eye. While he wasn’t the closest, I went for him anyway. He was the one on the left. He started to turn and got a baton to the side of his head, knocking him back and causing him to lose his grip on Kosum. My next strike was a kick on the closer one’s knee, followed by a loud pop. He grunted, halfway collapsing before catching himself on Kosum, while the third one turned to attack me. Before anyone could make another move, Kosum had managed a wrist twist on the guy holding onto her so that he was on his side, arm up between her legs with her hands still gripping his wrist. His arm broke with a sickening snap.

  Damn, I almost felt bad for the guy. When the third man went for his pistol, I moved fast. A hard strike to his hand made him curse and pull it away from the pistol, then I landed a solid uppercut with my free hand as his attention followed the baton. That was the mistake most people made in these situations—too much focus on the weapon, while hands, feet, elbows, knees and more could still be quite deadly.

  “Let’s go,” I hissed, meaning to tell Kosum to run but saying that instead, for some reason. Annoyingly, the words in my head and those that emerged from my mouth weren’t always the same. But I couldn’t go yet, because the guy, while hurt, still had his pistol. The others did too, I imagined, and the one I had hit on the face was starting to recover.

  A good strike to the back of his head sent him to the floor, unconscious. Impressed with myself, I turned to strike again, but a blur of color caught my attention as Kosum struck—a quick move to the one on her left’s throat left him gasping for breath, then she was on his back to put him in a chokehold, as if the first strike hadn’t been enough.

  My mistake was to pause and watch, because a kick caught my leg, sweeping me to the ground. The baton clattered aside and a foot rose to stomp on my face. I rolled out of the way and turned back to catch the leg after it landed, but found the guy kneeling on me, gun pressed to my temple.

  Kosum came at him, her guy down, but my opponent backhanded her and sent her sprawling.

  “No more!” the man grunted between wheezing breaths, but no way was I going to let it go down like this. He would have to shoot me if that’s what it was down to.

  A thrust of my hips knocked him off balance, but he managed to keep hold of the pistol and slam it into the side of my head again. Not my temple, and not a strike that would leave me unconscious. It hurt like hell, though, and I was pretty sure he had drawn blood.

  “Get up!” Kosum ordered. We both turned to see her holding one of the other men’s pistols. Not waiting for the man to make a move one way or the other, she caught him with a perfectly executed roundhouse kick to the face that sent him back, dazed.

  I took his pistol, pushed myself up, and grabbed her arm to make for the door. We tore out of there and she wrenched herself free, taking the pistol and unloading it, then nodding for me to do the same before dumping both in a trash bin.

  “You handled yourself well in there,” I said, both of us briskly walking toward the main room.

  She grunted. “Because I’m a woman, you thought otherwise?”

  “Not that way.” I motioned her toward the pool.

  She raised an eyebrow, then nodded and followed my lead. As soon as we’d rounded the corner, she froze and turned back my way. “Not going for a midnight swim with you, sorry. As intimate as we are and all.”

  “Over the wall, there,” I nodded to where I had climbed over earlier. “Easy way down, and no eyes watching.”

  She nodded, licked her lips, and said, “Well, thanks for the fun date, but… I have to run.”

  Before I could react, she was over the wall. I followed, but she had made it down and was sprinting along a side street before I could process what was happening.

  “Wait up,” I hissed, but was certain she hadn’t heard. I pursued her momentarily, but emerged onto a larger street with a crowd meandering about near an entrance to another bar. There was no chance of me finding her in this, and the best move for me was to get out of there, go back to the hotel, and ensure that Jason was okay.

  6

  Briskly walking through the hot night, I paused to wipe my brow with the back of my hand and realized that I had no idea where the hotel was from here. What was its name? Lotus something or other, or maybe it had Jasmine in the name? Thinking back over my arrival, I couldn’t recall it in the slightest.

  Jason had taken care of everything, from reservations to checking in, and I’d been so enraptured with this place and focused on taking a shower that I hadn’t paid attention. Dammit. Situational awareness had never been an issue for me, at least not when in uniform. Apparently, throw me into a country of attractive ladies with Jason and his sketchy ways, and I was in trouble.

  I doubted my Japanese cell would do much good, but still reached for it to try. Only, it wasn’t there. Going back to the club yet again seemed like tempting fate, especially since those gray-shirted guys would likely be out for blood after what had happened.

  So I walked, enjoying the chance to clear my head and take in the night air, but sticking to the shadows in case the thugs came searching for me. Every time a moped or car drove by, I slinked into the shadows but kept an eye out for Jason. There was no reason why he would be looking for me, necessarily, but I hoped that he’d heard about what had happened at the club and realized I wasn’t there.

  After an hour of walking, still no such luck.

  I paused at the edge of an area full of people selling street food, a “Rasta Bar” sign near a massage parlor, and several white guys trying to talk up a couple of Thai girls in tube tops and short skirts. The guys looked like typical frat boys—I had no doubt they thought they were in heaven. Quite the opposite of my predicament.

  Any adrenaline or alcohol-induced effects that had kept me going had worn off, and I wanted to simply lean back and close my ey
es. Sleeping on the side of the road was never a good idea, but damn, it was tempting.

  “Massage, mister?” an older woman standing in a nearby doorway asked.

  I glanced up, shook my head, and put my face in my hands. Then again, maybe lying on a massage table would allow me to rest while clearing my head. Maybe then I could recall at least the name of my hotel, or anything around it that could help me find my way back.

  “Actually,” I said, seeing she was still there, watching me. Reaching into my pocket, I found some of the baht Jason had given me. That was great and all, but a room key and directions would have been much more appreciated. “Yeah, sure. I mean, please.”

  She offered me a pleasant smile while moving back into the entryway and making room for me. I entered to find the pleasant aroma of jasmine incense, three closed doors and one open to my left. The woman stepped over to that doorway as I made my way to it, but gestured to the door on the far right, instead.

  “First clean, shower.” She pulled a towel down from several on a rack against a wall, along with a robe. “Then massage.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head. “No, I don’t need…”

  “No hanky-panky. No happy ending—just shower for oil massage.”

  I frowned, not sure about the oil massage, but nodded. Okay, sure. They didn’t want to rub their hands all over dirty foreigners. That made sense. Taking the towel she offered, I went into the room and closed the door behind me. I quickly stripped and stepped into the lukewarm water, and stood there letting it wash away the insanity of the night. Blood, too, I noticed. From where I had been hit earlier. A touch on the side of my head revealed that it was tender, but not too bad.

  Finally, I turned off the water, dried, and put on the robe. Tucking my clothes under one arm, I exited and saw the woman waiting in a room. There, she had me lie down on the massage table, face down and in one of those open headrests. Once I was settled, she commenced with the oil massage. While I’d never had one, that night taught me that I had been greatly missing out. There was nothing sexual about it, only hands rubbing and pressing into me to the point that I was entirely relaxed.

  Tension gone, my mind drifted back to the dancing and music. Those great few minutes before Kosum had taken me outside, when everything could have gone an entirely different direction. Thinking about it, I started to wonder—had it been she who had taken me outside, or had that been my idea? Could she have been involved? With the way they were attacking her, and the way she brought the fury back on them… no way. Right?

  My thoughts went to finding her again, maybe wandering into another bar and spotting her there. We would share a bottle of wine, laugh about the time we had fought off some jackasses with guns, then… see where the night took us.

  For a moment, I caught myself drifting off to sleep, then went into a beautiful daydream where I imagined that it was Kosum’s hands caressing me. When the older woman finally told me to roll over, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

  “We can do it this way a little longer,” I said.

  She protested, so I turned away from her, hands over myself, and rolled over, face up. Apparently, there hadn’t been a need, because she had the robe ready to place over my crotch. She smiled at me, laughed, and said, “You Americans, always so bashful.”

  I smiled, then closed my eyes. Being mostly nude like that, around a woman who had to be at least twenty years older than I, was certainly out of my comfort zone. As the massage recommenced, her firm touch brought me back to that Zen place.

  Her hand moved along my sides, then to my thighs, and even brushed against the side of my goods more than once. When I opened my eyes, she moved the robe aside, fully exposing me. “Happy ending?”

  A glance down reminded me why she might assume I wanted that, but I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

  She shrugged, gave me a wistful glance downstairs, and then covered me again. “Okay, shower. All done.”

  I thanked her, frustrated that finding my Zen place hadn’t gotten me any closer to remembering where the hotel was. Another quick shower removed the oil before I dressed and walked back into the hallway. I paid her but froze at the sight of one of the images posted on the wall. They showed several tourist spots and local stores, and one of them was a hotel with a pink sign—definitely the one I had checked into with Jason!

  “Where’s that one?” I asked, pointing to the picture excitedly.

  “Not far, not far.” She took the picture down and handed it to me. “You show driver. Yeah?”

  “Thank you.” I was so excited to have a lead that I would’ve leaned over and kissed her right there, if not for the fact that I felt awkward about the massage and having been so exposed. Instead, I nodded, accepted the picture, and sprinted outside.

  I nearly ran into a car on the road, its headlights blinding me after the darkness of the massage parlor.

  “Sorry,” I said, feeling giddy. I darted off to find a driver, only then processing the guy on the bike behind him asking if I wanted a ride.

  “Here.” I showed him the picture. “You know it?”

  “I know, sure.”

  After a cautious glance around to ensure I wasn’t being followed, I hopped onto the bike. He tore off through the streets, weaving between cars, and had me there in no time. No betrayals, no attempted abductions along the way. My luck was looking up.

  7

  Finding my room, I lifted my fist to knock but paused at a grunt from within. My first thought was that they had found me. A glance through the window caused me to rethink that, along with the grunt turning to yelps and moans. The light coming through the blinds shone in lines across the form of Jason going at one woman, another at his side with one leg wrapped around his neck, his face buried between her thighs.

  I quickly stepped away and around the building’s corner, then leaned against the wall. This was annoying on two levels—I was finally back but couldn’t go in and pass out, and there was no way that image would ever leave my mind. Considering my built-up sexual tension, that was torture.

  Then again, Jason was safe. He was right on the other side of the door. A cheer sounded nearby, so I pushed myself off the wall and walked around the next corner to see a bar. A television showed a Muay Thai fight. Nearby, a lone figure watched it and cheered whenever a good elbow or knee landed.

  Hell, I’d made it this far. It had been one hell of a night. I deserved a celebratory drink.

  I made my way over and ordered a Mai Tai to see if they were anything special when ordered in Thailand, then pulled out a barstool and sat to watch the fight. It was only when I took the little umbrella out of the drink that I felt quite silly, as I remembered a Mai Tai had nothing to do with the country. A corporal buddy in the Marines liked to show off his knowledge of alcoholic beverages, and a conversation came to mind of his telling a couple of girls about how Trader Vic had invented the drink. They had argued that someone else invented it before him in the 1930s, starting a debate that had completely lost my interest and destroyed any chance we’d had with the ladies.

  “Yo,” the guy at the bar said next to me. “That’s a chick drink.”

  “Some of the chicks I know could kick your ass.” I laughed. “What’re you having?”

  “Weed.” He grinned, holding out a brownie, and then nodded to his glass. “The water’s to wash it down.”

  “I’ll go for a Singha after this,” I assured him.

  “Local beers and Mekong Whiskey are the way to go,” the stoner agreed, nodding. He indicated the television. “You watch this stuff?”

  “When I can.”

  “Buakaw will always be the best, you ask me.”

  I nodded, downing my drink and going for a whiskey. My head was starting to swim, and I realized that the last time I had eaten might have been on the plane over.

  “You all right, man?” the stoner asked. “You look… pale.”

  “Been a long night.” Remembering it all, I took a big swig of my whiskey, bringing it do
wn to half.

  He offered the brownie, but I shook my head. The last thing I needed was weed in my system if I had to do a piss test when I got back to Okinawa. Being in my area of Intel meant a Top Secret/SCI clearance, which also meant occasional piss tests. The type where the Marine had to see the tip of your dick when peeing, so you couldn’t fake it.

  As much as I was curious about the brownie, it wasn’t worth the risk. Then again, neither was coming to Koh Samui without approval, especially in hindsight. The next day, I told myself, I was flying out of here and heading back to Tokyo to continue my vacation in peace. A glance to my left and outside of the bar made me laugh, realizing that according to many people, this was paradise. The moonlight reflected on the water in the distance, palm trees silhouetted in the night.

  Finishing off my whiskey, I noticed the guy staring at me. “What?”

  He shook his head. “Man, you got a nasty cut on the side of your forehead. You know that?”

  I nodded. “Still bleeding?”

  “Nah, but… What gives?”

  “Like I said. Long night.” I watched the fighters clinch, moving around each other and delivering knees, then sighed. “You know what, I should warn you, so you’re careful. I probably need to go to the cops, too, but I’m too tired right now. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  “That bad?”

  I nodded, then told him all about what had happened. His jaw dropped at the part about the scuffle and how we had made it out of there. All I left out were the small details, like the lady exposing me, or the fact that I was Intel and in the Marines. I knew better than to tell strangers certain details about myself.

  “Holy shit, bro. You’re a badass.” He swigged some of his water, then eyed the small bite of brownie remaining. “If that happened to me, I’d be in serious trouble. Probably think I was tripping or something.”