Red Night Zone - Bangkok City

by James A. Newman

  Joe continued: “I’m going to make you a deal. A fifty-fifty challenge. I have five baht in my pocket and I’m going to flip it. If it lands on the side with Wat Benjam, then you get to take me in to the station. I’ll walk with you now. If it lands on heads, then you let me walk out of here alone. What do you say?” Joe could smell the whiskey on Rang’s breath. “How about a little bit of fun.”

  Rang smiled.

  Joe took the coin out of his pocket and flicked it up into the air. They both watched it spin. Joe put out his hand to catch it. The coin landed on his palm. Joe slapped his other hand over the coin. “Ready?”

  Rang nodded. Joe took his hand away to reveal the coin head side up. Rang grinned. “You report to the station in twenty four hours.”

  “Sure.” Joe walked outside. He saw the black and white motorbike parked outside. The sun hurt his eyes. He spotted a win of motorcycles. He told the rider to take him direct to The Zone.

  FORTY-SIX

  AFTERNOON HAD turned into early evening. He found Lucky leaning against a lamppost smoking a cigarette and watching the tourists swimming down the road. She reminded Joe of a crocodile on the banks of the Nile. She looked Joe up and down as he approached and slid the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth. She nodded in the direction of the coffee shop. They sat at a table near the window. Tourists walked by. She emptied the contents of her purse and riffled through various pill bottles.

  Hormone tablets.

  Whitening creams.

  Uppers.

  Downers.

  Sedatives.

  Anti-depressants.

  Pink.

  Blue.

  Red.

  Green.

  Purple.

  Capsules, tablets, and pills.

  Joe got up and ordered two coffees.

  “So, you change your mind?”

  “What?”

  “You want to try the goods?” She leaned down low with reptilian grace on the table. Just within earshot. “There’s a pill here for every pleasure, an antidote to every fever.” Her tongue flicked out. “Soma is for kids.”

  “Not right now, Sugar.”

  “You want to take my medicine? Listen, baby. My tablet not good enough for you, huh, huh?”

  “Not now.”

  She picked up a green methamphetamine tablet known on the streets as yaaba. This was the poison of choice for truck drivers, prostitutes, katoeys, and law students. She put it in her mouth and washed it down with the coffee.

  “Where do you want to take me then, Joe?”

  “Luck, I don’t want to take you anywhere, baby. I just want to speak about your boyfriend, Francis.”

  She opened her hand and Joe put a purple five in her palm. She closed her long fingers around the banknote and then it disappeared into her purse.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You said before that Francis was into some strange things?”

  “Yeah. You too, huh?”

  “What kind of things. Did he go for hurting, or want you to hurt him? Foreigners sometimes like to do some strange stuff.”

  “Not really. It stops hurting after a while. You know. He was shy. Had a camera. Took pictures. Said he was writing some book about sex and wanted to try everything. He liked to dress up and play games. I think he enjoyed it. I treat my men well.”

  “Try what?”

  “He liked it, the thrill, the adventure, plus he didn’t drink. He needed something in this city to keep him alive,” she mimes the action of swallowing a tablet across the table, her green eyes flickered under the streetlights through the window.

  “Yes, I get the idea. He ever use toys, chains, whips, strangulation?”

  “What is that?”

  “I have a friend, she died. She was found hanging. Her name was Monica. The police think somebody helped her die. I don’t know if Francis could do it, but they were close. That’s why I’m asking you. Did he ever pretend to hold his neck like this?” Joe demonstrated by holding his own neck with both hands. “He ever play with you like this? Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head slowly and looked Joe in eye, “I was in the room that night,” she said, and then cursed herself beneath her breath for letting the secret out.

  “What room?”

  “Udom Suk.”

  “What happened?”

  “I shouldn’t say, but I want you to understand that my boyfriend could never kill another person. It’s not his style. He’s serious, yes, but not a killer. Luck understands people. It wasn’t him.”

  “How many people were in that room on that night?”

  “There were six or maybe seven of us in the room. I was a little drunk, you know. It might have been eight.”

  “You were performing a spell?”

  “We just wanted to be successful like the other girls. They told us that we were special. That we had been chosen to learn the secret.”

  “The secret?”

  “The ways to get what all of us deeply want. All of us working girls are destined for a life of dirt and then dust. But with the Secret? Carmen said that she had discovered it whilst trying to find a cure for her brother… She had travelled around the country talking to the jungle people, learning about their spells. It was whilst she was in a small village, Kap Cheong, near the Cambodian border that she found out about the spell.”

  “Did you use the spell?”

  “We were supposed to and then it happened, that poor girl died. That is all I can tell you. I have said enough already.”

  “It’s okay, Lucky. I understand. One question, what were you to pay Carmen for the spell?”

  “We were to give her fifty percent.”

  “Fifty percent of what?”

  “Of whatever we made once the magic worked.”

  “That kind of magic, Lucky, never works. At least not for you.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  CARINA STRUGGLED.

  She had been inside that room, on that bed, tied, longer than she knew. A thin man and then a woman had abused her in equal measures.

  It was during the last episode that she realized that they were one and the same.

  An evil entity existed as both male and female. Her mind flashed back to tales of shape-shifters and the true face of evil that she once doubted even existed.

  Evil existed.

  She had seen its face.

  She had been penetrated by it, abused by it, tormented, drugged by it.

  She had spat in its face.

  It was real.

  The door swung open. It stood there in the shadow. “I want you to introduce you to my brother. He doesn’t say much.”

  Carina watched Ben stride into the room. He undid his pants, the belt buckle clinking on the tile floor.

  Ben brushed a hand through her blonde hair and then lower, he held one of her large breasts, smiled. His face lowered to her center. Her legs tied apart, he sniffed, his tongue lapped at her labia. He ate greedily.

  “This is his first farang lady, he will want to make it special,” Carmen said.

  Ben’s face looked around and stared at his sister.

  “Very well, I shall leave you two love birds alone.”

  He took off the gag so that he could hear her screams as he entered her. She closed her eyes, swore to God that she was a fool to have ever believed,

  in Him.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  TWO THINGS were certain.

  Joe needed a gun.

  He needed a plan.

  Chow sat on the floor next to the opium pipe.

  “A man. He die where you sit now,” he said.

  Chow was the Chinese connection for junk and iron in Bangkok. His place of business was behind a simple noodle restaurant in the heart of China town. He paid the heat
to stay away.

  Stay away it did.

  “Hale?”

  “Yes, James Hale was here. The police never came looking for him.”

  Joe stared up at the ceiling fan. He gaze fell to a Siamese cat lounged next to the opium pipe that sat in the center of the room.

  “I need a gun.”

  “Yes. This is why people come here. I no have real friend. Only gun friend,” Chow smiled and brushed a hand through his long hair.

  Joe told Chow about it. He told him about Monica. About Carina. About the ancient epic. He told Chow the whole story. It took the length of time it took for the opium pipe to be refilled four times. Joe told Chow about the black magic ritual that was taking place that evening in a fetish bar on the other side of town.

  “These people are dangerous. I know of the brother and the sister. Before we had a good fighter. A warrior. From here. China Town. He die in the ring. In Lumpini. To lose face is bad. To lose friend is too much bad.”

  “Ben?”

  “He is animal. Have heart same animal. Devil take his tongue. Now he kill women. It is revenge.”

  “And her?”

  “She was taken away. She go to Europe and study English. She is like snake. Very dangerous. Dangerous more than him. Dangerous more than snake.” Chow stood up and walked over to a cabinet. He came back with two weapons. A glock 17 and a Tommy. “Which one you like.”

  “I’ll take the glock.”

  “You take the glock. I come with you. Take Tommy.”

  Chow walked back to the cabinet. Began to fill a bag. Dynamite. Flashlights. Knives.

  “Good to be prepared.”

  FORTY-NINE

  THEY RODE,

  a yellow and green,

  to the street.

  Got out.

  Chow positioned the explosives by the door. They both took cover behind the fish pond.

  The explosion shook the palm trees. Chow kicked the door down. Up through the secret doorway. Joe motioned for Chow to remain downstairs and approach when gunfire started.

  Francis was dressed up. Carmen dressed down. The thin man was inside her. Twelve Thai women sat naked. They were all shapes and sizes. Some beautiful, some grotesque. One, a dwarf, sat wearing a school uniform and sucked a lollipop.

  Carmen turned to Joe, “Quite an entry?”

  “I’ve never been one to use the tradesmen entrance, Carmen. Each to his own.”

  “Now you are here, the ceremony is complete. All the characters from the epic are here.”

  “And all these girls will become beautiful to man. Even short stuff over there?”

  “Why, of course.”

  The briefcase lay open on the table.

  Inside?

  Pieces of meat wrapped in cloth.

  “Body parts, one from each of the fallen women. Tarnished meat brings fortune,” Carmen said.

  “I see it. The case was a trick to bring me here. The case means nothing. No money, no fortune. Both the physical case and the assignment were a way to get me here on time to play out your little pantomime. These women will all be found dead in a few months from now. You were having one of these little dress rehearsals the night Monica was killed by mistake. Francis’ kid came over and saw red.”

  “The Zone isn’t for everyone, my dear.”

  “Janey came at her with a knife. The cops want to keep it out of the news.”

  “How inventive, Ben!”

  The kick-boxer stood… The pipe rose to his lips… He blew… Joe reached inside his belt. Drew out the glock…

  Fired.

  The slug hit Ben in the bicep.

  Retreated…The women stood up and ran in all directions…

  Ben came at him like an animal.

  FIFTY

  HE WOKE strapped to a chair. Francis stood and began to read in a dialect that Joe could not understand.

  He knew the words,

  the translation.

  We open the box

  We surrender to the Ancient Ones.

  We open the box,

  ToRavana, the Destroyer,

  To Soma, the drink of pleasure,

  To Sita, Bringer of Beauty, love and hope,

  To Fonkeal, Master and Guardian of the secret

  To the number 10102555’

  Carmen walked to the isolation box. Inside something was moving. The walls of the box shook as she opened the lid. An elongated green snout appeared. A long tongue flicked from the beast’s mouth. It’s eyes were half-closed. Its arms found purchase on the lip of the box and it jumped from the box and approached them.

  The huge water monitor approached Joe. The lizard looked around the room. Carmen said something in Isaan to the women. They spoke softly amongst themselves as the beast took in the room, its surroundings.

  It took in a Thai Chinese, standing with a Tommy. A Chinese with a long ponytail and the weapon aimed at its flank.

  Chow fired.

  He fired accurately.

  The lizard decorated the ceiling.

  Carmen fell to the ground.

  It was a stomach shot. Wouldn’t kill her for another twenty minutes. The stomach acids would poison her eventually.

  Ben followed. Chow’s spray found his head and decorated the wall with brain matter.

  The women ran while gathering their street clothes, down the stairs, and out onto the street. The gunshots stopped. Chow pointed the nozzle at Francis but didn’t fire. He waved the nozzle towards the stairs. The Englishman stood, walked toward the door, and then turned around and waved at the Chinese.

  Chow spat on the floor, walked over to Joe, and untied him.

  Another shot hits Chow in the liver, he falls to the floor.

  Carmen approaches Joe with the .22.

  “Time to check out,” she says.

  “Suck it.”

  She doesn’t.

  A number of men in brown uniforms rush into the room.

  For the first time Joe was happy to see them. Rang fired a shot into Carmen’s back. She fell to the floor. The hand came up, she caught Rang with a shot to the calf. He strode over, blood dripping from the wound and spent a round into her breast, the sound of silicon popping.

  As she lay, blood pulsing from the shot her face switched from being a woman to a man, back and forth, to and fro. She lost too much rogue and she stopped being anything.

  Rang stepped toward Joe. His face was one of calm. “I might fire one in you.”

  “Too many witnesses?”

  “Yes. Like the python, I must wait.”

  “Like the fox I’ll be ready.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  11th October 2010

  YOU RIDE a taxi to Pra kanong and step out of the yellow and green. You walk across the road and into slums.

  The place where it began.

  Underneath the bridge.

  Across a dirt track.

  The canal. You watch the sun rise over the city.

  Bathe in its red light.

  Shops set up in a small shantytown. Timber and corrugated iron nailed together with pieces of two-by-four. Old men sit in rotten rags underneath the motorway bridge looking at the oily river, drinking rice-whiskey and cooking vile stews on open fires. Canned heat and spiced rum. White whiskey and hopeless dreams.

  You walk beneath the flyover and across the labyrinth of lean-to shacks.

  Across to the other side of the bridge where whores lounge in doorways and smoke cigarettes. Money-lenders and betting shops beside heaps of junk, broken televisions, and transistor radios. Law offices run by the type of lawyer that you’d be happy to be cross-examined by, estate agents that sell properties that don’t exist.

  A monitor lizard slides across the riverbank, splashes into the water, and swims with its hideous head erect a
bove the surface, surveying the area.

  Its head languidly panning from side to side.

  The city is a reptile swamp.

  You walk in circles under the bridge. Ask an elderly man repairing a bicycle where Monica’s shack was. He responds with a flick of his head, pointing with his wrinkled lips.

  You find the old wooden shack next to the river. The house where Monica grew up. An old lady squats outside on a raised platform chewing betel nut. She looks out across the river.

  Beside her is a photograph. It is a picture of Monica as a child. This old woman was the one that taught her how to play the game. The one that had married a monster and brought up an orphan.

  Both of them dead now.

  There is a man with her. A foreigner. His eyes are weary and his clothes are dirty.

  You stand and listen.

  “Excuse me, but may I sit for a moment?” The man nods toward the photograph. “I too feel your loss.”

  “Thank you, son. You knew her?” She glances up at the man with sad eyes.

  Pity?

  Shame?

  Remorse?

  A cocktail of tragedy danced behind those eyes.

  “We were close.”

  “I failed her in every way. I was supposed to take care of my niece. After she left, my husband left. At least I can now say good-bye to her. What have I done to deserve this? Why would she kill herself?”

  “Mother, she was in pain and she was angry. She is no longer in pain. She is no longer angry. She is now at peace.”

  “And what of my husband, he has been gone so long.”

  “Maybe he is at peace too. Maybe they are in peace together.”

  “You mean he is…”

  “I mean he is also gone.”