The Next Best Thing

by Wiley Brooks

  Day 3

  On any given day, there might be more backpackers in Penang than all the other islands combined. There are reasons why so many make it to the northwest corner of the country.

  First, if you’re coming south from Thailand, a direct train links Bangkok and Butterworth. Backpackers love reasonably priced yet comfortable trains. It’s old world charm. Dining cars. Great views. Uniformed conductors. The constant yet soothing clankety-clank of the steel wheels on the tracks that soon fade into the background like a mom’s heartbeat. It’s no wonder that each arrival unloads scores of mostly twenty-something travelers. There are also trains arriving from Singapore and Kuala Lumpur.

  Not far from the train station is the region’s main bus terminal. It was always packed and reeking of diesel. Foreign nomads who have wound their way through and across peninsula Malaysia usually arrive by bus.

  The airport south of George Town sits on the island itself. Some backpackers arrive by air. Not many, though, unless it is the first stop on their big adventure. Backpackers are frugal and while Asia offers some very low-fare airlines, nomad travel is not about speed.

  Once on the road for a few weeks, everything slows down. The rhythm of daily life back home loses its pounding beat. The joy shifts to the journey. Seeing things anew. Being with them long enough to feel them seep into your being. That kind of thing simply doesn’t happen at thirty-five-thousand feet.

  Mary Higgins had arrived on a bus from Kuala Lumpur late in the morning. The guidebooks suggested little to see and do in Butterworth, but across the Penang Strait was George Town. It boasted a robust, fun-filled neighborhood that catered to young travelers. Mary shared a taxi across the newly opened Penang Bridge with George and Sam, short for Samantha. She had met the two Kiwis on the bus. They told the driver they were looking for an inexpensive hotel in the heart of George Town. He drove them to the Lum Fong.

  The Lum Fong wasn’t much to look at, but Mary had learned that the most important aspect of a travelers’ hotel was whether it was clean, something not always apparent from the outside or even the lobby. The best advice Mary got before leaving Boston was from a friend who told her to always ask to see the room and to check out the bathroom. “Some are truly disgusting,” he told her, “and you don’t want to find that out after you’ve paid for the night and checked in.”

  Having been on her journey a few months, Mary had learned a few things about hotels herself. First, if you ask to see the room before registering, the hotel clerk will take you to the nicest room available. That can be a game changer for how well you sleep at night. Second, a place that kept the bathrooms clean tended to keep the entire place clean. As a result, not just the bathrooms smelled better, but so did the room itself and the hallways leading to it. And – this was a big one for Mary – you are less likely to come face-to-face with a rat or other vermin.

  The older Chinese man at reception agreed to show her a room with a bath on the second floor, as she had requested. It was basic, but at ten feet or so by ten feet, it was bigger than some she had stayed in. She sat on the bed, a full-size mattress on a platform. It felt firm enough and the sheets on top, while showing age, had clearly been laundered. The test, though, would be the bathroom. While not up to Holiday Inn standards, it had a western toilet, a hand sink and a shower. Better, everything, if not shiny, was clean and there was a nearly full roll of toilet paper.

  “I’ll take it,” she said. Mary threw her stuff on the bed and followed the clerk back down the stairs, filled out the registry, shared her passport for the old man to record, then paid the ten Malaysian ringgets – about four dollars – for the night.

  The aroma of cooking wafted into the lobby from the hotel’s main floor restaurant. It was tempting, but experience had taught her that the best meal to eat in the hotel was always breakfast, regardless of how good dinner might smell. Breakfast could provide reliable basics, like eggs over easy, local sausage and a side of toast. And hotel coffee was usually drinkable. In fact, she had developed quite a taste for Malaysian coffee with sweet condensed milk.

  Lunch and dinner, though, were always best elsewhere. With that in mind, Mary headed back up to her room, took a shower, changed clothes then headed out to explore her little corner of George Town.

  Mary strolled down noisy Leith Street, past shops, personal service vendors like tailors, hair salons and watch repair, as well as restaurants. She didn’t know what she had in mind, but thought she’d know it when she saw or smelled it. At Chulia Street, she turned left. Chulia clearly was a magnet for travelers like herself. It was teeming with somewhat scruffy-looking, young tourists.

  After a few blocks, she stopped outside a cute place called the Rama-Rama Restaurant. Everything was adorned with butterflies. Mary glanced at the menu, looked inside the open-air establishment, liked what she saw and walked in. A minute later, a young man also entered the Rama-Rama and took the table next to hers.

  She couldn’t help but notice him as soon as he sat at one of the few tables in the Rama-Rama. He was wearing a clean, white tee-shirt that was tight enough to show some muscles and a boyish face that made his age hard to predict. Mary tried not to be too obvious. Still, she lingered. She had a game she liked to play with herself whenever she met someone knew. Where were they from? She was stumped.

  “Would you bring me a Tiger beer, please?” he asked, then added a “Thank you” when the waiter nodded yes.

  “You’re an American?” Mary asked him, startling herself. She didn’t mean to say it out loud.

  “North Carolina. And you?”

  “Boston.”

  Until he spoke, she would not have pegged him as being from the States, though she didn’t have any other origin in mind. He just didn’t look the part. Besides, you don’t come across many Americans in Malaysia. Lots of Brits, French and Germans. A fair number of Swedes. The ever-obvious Aussies and the more gentle, quick to smile Kiwis. But Americans? Not so much. She forgave herself for not realizing right away he was from the US.

  The fact was, though, that he didn’t look like most Americans. He had a skin tone you didn’t see in the States. It was, she thought, like the Malaysian men she had seen. But he didn’t look Malaysian in any other way. His features were just too refined. Maybe British, she wondered?

  They chatted for a bit before the waiter came back with his beer.

  “Do you want one?” he asked her.

  “I’m not a big beer-drinker, but, hey, it’s been a long, hot day.”

  He asked the waiter to bring a Tiger for the lady, then looked back to her.

  “May I join you? Maybe we could share a couple plates. I like to try as many dishes as I can.”

  “Sure. And sharing sounds great.”

  He moved to her table.

  “I’m Joey,” he said with a sweet smile.

  “Mary,” she answered, feeling good about how her first night in Penang was working out.

  Together, they chose items from the menu, ordered, then focused on each other with the usual sharing of their trips. She described coming from Kuala Lumpur, after spending two weeks in Taman Negara, a jungle rain forest so thick and lush it would fit in right in the heart of Africa.

  “I’ve been thinking of going to Taman Negara,” he said, “but just the thought is intimidating. Good for you to do something so,” he paused to think of the word, then said, “extreme.”

  “Oh, you absolutely should go,” she told him. “Yes, it’s extreme, as you put it, but It’s fucking spectacular. Did you know that it’s the oldest rain forest in the world?” He looked skeptical. “Really,” she continued, “I thought it would have been the Amazon, but it’s not. I’d never even heard of Taman Negara before coming to Malaysia!”

  “I guess the Amazon has a better publicity agent,” Joey said with a chuckle. “What’s so great about visiting a rain forest? I mean, I’m not sure I want to traipse around in constant rain and god-awful heat.”

  “I can understand that,” Mary said.
“It can be, like you put it, ‘god-awful hot and humid.’ But believe me, it’s worth it. The jungle is so overwhelming. That place hasn’t changed since before the Ice Age. Wrap your mind around that, Joey. Talk about going back in time.

  She told him to forget about taking a bus or car somewhere. “There are no roads. None!” she continued. The only way to get from Point A to Point B is on the river. “Or hiking,” she said, “but that’s for crazy people.”

  She pointed out that even though she was in good shape, she was spent in about two hours on a trail. Too hot. Too humid. Too many bugs. “Did I mentioned the mosquitos?” she asked. “Too many bites.”

  “I hear it can be dangerous,” Joey said. “Tigers and leopards and stuff.”

  “I never saw anything like that, but let me tell you, you can hear them!” Mary said with emphasis. “One night I was in a little hut and suddenly there was a loud roar. It sounded like it was right outside. Roared several times. Scared the shit out of me. Took me several hours to get back to sleep. The next day one of the guides told us that it was a tiger, but it really wasn’t as close as it sounded. I didn’t believe him. He told us the only thing we really needed to worry about biting us were the mosquitos and leeches.”

  Mary glanced over Joey’s shoulder and saw Sam and George walk by.

  “Sam!” she called out. The couple turned and seeing her, smiled and walked over.

  “This is Joey,” she said. “Joey, this is George and Sam. They’re from New Zealand. We met on the bus from KL. You guys want to join us?”

  “We just ate and are checking out the area. Maybe next time,” Sam said, then added, “Hey, George is going to a Bahasa language class in the morning. You want to hang out with me? Do a little non-guy sightseeing?”

  “You bet! When do you want to go?”

  “Why don’t we meet for breakfast in the hotel restaurant at nine o’clock?”

  They said their goodbyes and headed down the street.

  “Hey, you want to do something fun?” Joey asked Mary.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Let’s take the cable car to the top of Penang Hill,” Joey said. “A guy at the hotel told me that if you are up there at sunset, it is incredible. You get the colors of the setting sun coming over your shoulder while watching the lights of the city come on.”

  “I read about it in my guidebook,” Mary said. “Sounds great. Can we walk there?”

  “No, but I’m sure we could take a taxi. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  There wasn’t much to see on the ride up, even at the stop midway to the top that seemed to be there mostly for local residents. But the view from the top of the hill was as promised. Spectacular.

  He took her hand as they meandered along the lookouts, waiting for sunset. After twenty minutes or so, Mary linked her arm through his and they exchanged small smiles.

  “It was great to meet you, Joey,” she said. “Thank you for starting up a conversation back in the restaurant.”

  Sunset came, with its brilliant display of reds and oranges and yellows giving way to the bluish grey of the coming night. They turned back toward George Town to the east and watched as lights flickered on. Mary was taken by how colorful it was. And how silent. The viewpoints atop Penang Hill are nearly a half-mile above sea level, so the sounds of the city were lost well below them.

  She leaned in and gave Joey a soft kiss. He smiled that beautiful smile of his, then kissed her back, gently, but, she felt, with a hint of promise.

  They took the funicular back down to the bottom of the hill, then grabbed a taxi back to the city.

  “Hey, you want to find a bar and get a drink?” he asked her.

  “Sure,” she said.

  They took a taxi back into town and were cruising down a street when Mary shrieked to the driver to pull over.

  “It’s the Boston Pub,” she said, turning to Joey with a huge smile across her face. “We got to go there. I can write home about it.”

  Several drinks later, he asked her where she was staying. She told him the Lum Fong Hotel. He feigned not being familiar with it. “Want to see my room? It’s simple but clean.” She was smiling, so he did, too. “I’d love to see your room, Miss Mary.” They giggled.

  They got to the hotel about one in the morning. Joey was prepared to turn his head away, but there was no one at reception. Her room was on the second floor, near the back of the hotel. She always asked for a room as far from the street as possible, she said, to avoid all the street noise and above the ground floor for safety. Joey noticed that it was also near the back stairs.

  While no one saw them arrive, he was less sure that no one heard her moans during their making love. Women, he had found, were unpredictable about the sounds they made during sex. Some were quiet as a soft breeze. And then there were the Marys.

  She wasn’t a screamer – exactly – but she also didn’t seem to care who heard her screwing some guy’s brains out in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the alcohol. Since he never knew how noisy the girl would be, when it was time to fetch his rubber, he’d also squirrel away his knife. He hoped he wouldn’t need to use it before they finished, but better to be prepared.

  He entered Mary from behind and began to slowly and deeply take her. It was going to be her last time, so he wanted it to be good. And Mary was into it. Matching his rhythm by pushing herself back into him. That’s when the moans started building. Please don’t scream, he pleaded with her in his mind. Moans are okay. Screams bring attention and sometimes a knock on the door.

  He picked up the pace, driving more deeply. When she came, she let out her loudest moan yet and at that precise moment, his knife sliced across the front of her neck. Her head was up, so the deep gash produced a gusher. She stiffened briefly, then collapsed unconscious as her blood soaked the sheets and into the mattress.

  Joey rose, wiped his blade clean, went into the bathroom, took off his rubber and flushed it. He used her washcloth to clean her juices from himself. He walked back into her bedroom, fished what had been Amanda’s Walkman from his daypack, pressed the play button. Again, he did his Freddie Mercury dance as he got down to the job of finding everything of value Mary had in the room. It was a good night. When satisfied that he had everything worth taking, he dressed.

  Joey peeked into the empty hall, waited briefly listening for sounds. There were none, so he silently exited the back stairs. His motorcycle was in the parking spot that he had reserved for one Malaysian ringgit back near the Rama-Rama Restaurant. He rode back to his apartment in Batu Ferringhi and was asleep within twenty minutes of arriving home. He’d catch a few hours’ sleep then would go to Big Willie’s the next morning to cash out Mary’s stuff.

  Day 4

  Blair Fitzgerald Fox, Fitz to his friends, was sitting at his desk in the Southeast Asia section of the State Department sipping his morning cup of coffee. His assistant, Jonathan, knocked on his door.

  “Come in,” Fitz said. Jonathan walked over and handed him an overnight fax from the embassy in Kuala Lumpur. A young woman’s body had been found in a hotel in Mersing. The hotel clerk said the victim appeared to be the young woman who registered the night before, an American named Amanda Gayle Anderson.

  “Shit,” Fitz said. “Great way to start the day. I hate this part of the job. Look up her info and let’s see who the next of kin is. We’ll need to make the call today or tomorrow.”

  “Already did it,” Jonathan said. “Her passport application listed a Robert Carson Anderson in Tampa. He’s the father.”

  “So, let’s do the usual. Run his name by the finance guys at both parties and check in with the White House to see if anyone knows him.”

  “What are the odds?” Jonathan asked.

  “Between slim and none,” Fitz said, “but it’s the kind of thing you never want to have missed. Just make the calls.”

  Jonathan turned to leave, but at the door stopped, looked back at the deputy undersecretary for Southeast Asia. “You know,
sir, if my memory serves, the same thing happened to another young girl in Malaysia about six months or so ago.”

  “Shit happens, Jonathan.”

  The bell jingled as Joey walked into Big Willie’s shop.

  “That was quick,” the fat Thai said as he looked up from a rack of suits. ”What do you have for me?”

  “It was a good day,” Joey said. “I should have what I need. Maybe a little more.”

  Joey opened his bag. From it he pulled two books of American Express traveler’s checks totaling eighteen-hundred dollars face value, Mary’s passport, two credit cards, a gold bracelet and a Nikon SLR with a zoom lens.

  “How much cash did you get?” Big Willie asked.

  “Fourteen hundred dollars plus another hundred or so dollars in ringgits.”

  “Very good!”

  Big Willie totaled up Joey’s take on Mary’s items and handed him the cash.

  “Let’s get started on Bungalow Paradise,” Joey said.

  “You’ve named it?”

  “Yes. I named it.”

  “Hmmm. Why not Paradise Bungalows?”

  “This is why I’m going to be so good at this, Big Willie. ‘Paradise Bungalows’ is just a place. “Bungalow Paradise’ is more than a place. It’s a state of mind. A community of happy travelers that becomes a paradise.”

  “If you say so. . .” as he turned to pick up his tape measure. “Stand over here,” Big Willie said. He motioned to a small platform in front of several mirrors and picked up his tape measure.

  Joey stepped up and the Thai began taking measurements and writing them on a pad. He measured Joey head to toe.

  “One street up is a shop called A. Chinn & Sons. He makes shoes. Tell him to bill me. That will keep him honest. Have him fit you with a pair of black wingtips. You might not wear them much, but when a woman sees them in your closet, she’ll think more of you. Trust me on this. You should be able to try a couple pair on.