TBK: The Butterfly Killer

by A. P. Butler

  The possibility of walking anywhere in this city was remote, to say the least, if it wasn’t the constant offer of deep fried insect or arachnid, it was the constant fear of being run over by one of the billion scooters that pootled about the place. The white road markings, which I assumed were to denote a pedestrian crossing, were more a waste of paint. There were everywhere, just nobody seemed to have noticed them, or if they did, they didn’t have a clue what the meant.

  Flagging down a man powered tuk-tuk, I proceeded to use my phone to translate, a fantastic little app that saved my life on many an occasion, like captain James T I stood there, little translator in hand. The rider seemed very impressed, although now he appeared to believe he could happily change enough to buy a small car for a single journey. “Any discount for a smack in the mouth Elsbeth?” Ubel’s only unhelpful, yet comical comment. Haggling here is much the same as it is in most other parts of the world, except the west, here it’s part of life, it’s expected, in the west, it’s an insult to even think of asking for a better price.

  Driver and I haggled for a while, he being adamant the original price was right till I threatened to use one of the now five other tuk-tuk’s all waiting around for my obvious tourist custom. Price then reduced and agreed quicker than a political lie or U-turn, I climbed aboard presented his fee and off we went. It became apparent very quickly that aerobic fitness was indeed a good friend of rider dear, much greater that his appearance would suggest. With the nimble dexterity of dragonfly, we sped through the streets and traffic at an alarming pace. Scooters and cars flicking passed in both directions, again showing blatant disregard for life or property.

  “Fuck me Elsbeth; he’s like a drug induced Tour de France junkie cheat!”

  “You mean the yellow bandied bully, Ubel?”

  “That’s the one Lilly my girl; gutted cancer lost that fight!”

  “Ubel!”

  After the third or forth scooter accident we shot past, I stopped counting, my rider determined to earn his fee quickly. In next to no time we pulled up outside a set of old iron gates chained and bolted, behind just a single red dust road leading off into the distance. The sign outside read ‘Welcome to the orphanage of the Virgin Mary’ in big gold letters, upon a light blue background. Beneath were the all important names of the presiding ministers or monsters, only one name interested me, Father Arthur Cain.

  The coolness of tuk evaporated as I climbed out from beneath its shady comfort, almost immediately my Asian Armstrong shot off, dissolving into a sea of tuk-tuks. Dropping metronomic beat, my heart skipped as the realisation grew upon me, now lost in a world not my own, in a swarming sea of tuk-tuk’s light-years from comfort. Lilly suggested using map of phone, but that’s only as good as the service provider, and O2 out here may well have been called O dear! Turning with head in hand wearing a look of pure little girl lost, I try to take stock of my new situation, that’s when I first heard her welcoming female voice.

  “You want ice tea? You look very hot, try ice tea.”

  Turning towards my salvation, I was to be greeted with the big beaming smile of a most beautiful young local girl, no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen. Short in height with perfect sun kissed skin, eyes bigger than any Pixar character and the proudest owner a full smile of purest joy. Her teeth enhancing her natural beauty with perfect pearl white, not the god awful titanium white paint jobs of the vanity driven western idiots from back home.

  The sun beat down hard as the humidity grew, I was hot, thirsty and lost, her invitation as welcoming as her English. She offered the santuary of an old white plastic seat, under the cooling luxury of a faded and tatty diabetes branded umbrella, now more pink than red as the young girl asked me if I wanted ice tea or coconut water once again. “Rather die of thirst than drink from this cesspit Elizabeth.” Lilly’s opinion, Ubel was no more polite, it would appear western life has turned them both into condescending snobs. Although I must admit I was a little sceptical of the hygiene at first, but my thirst now becoming more pressing than any notion of Cholera or Typhoid combined. Upon ordering a coconut milk the beautiful young girl disappeared backwards, returning with a large nut in one hand accompanied by massive machete in the other, looking more sword-like in her tiny hands.

  The top flew off with a single swipe, unveiling the cool refreshment, she handed me the large drupe with a smile on her face and machete in hand. “Why you go see such place?” She asked in her innocent Camglish, whilst pointing towards the orphanage. When I told her to find the father, her face told a story I’d read too many times before. “He hurt you too?” Her look now full of concern and empathy. “Yes he did, and now it’s my turn to hurt him.” Never had I thought to tell anyone of my intentions or past before now, and I’m not sure why I told this young woman, but I did, not everything but enough to warrant her loyalty, sympathy and assistance. She just smiled as she pulled up a green plastic bottle crate, flipping it upon its side before sitting. “Dis man not here now, he only here when tourist come.”

  Kiri, as I later discovered was her name then proceeded to tell me about the little tourist scam the father was also involved with. Unwitting tourists who felt a sense of guilt for their decadent western living were charged a small fortune to stay and work at the fake orphanage. They’d ship in thirty or so local street kids, offering them a meal and bed as long as they played along. Fake classes, fake projects, everything was fake. Once the tourists had dined on their own self-importance and refilled their ethical egos, the kids were evicted, the more attractive ones never seen again. Never have I understood why middle-class voluntourists think their time and limited global survival skills are more valuable than their money, but for some reason they do, another fashionable decadence for the wealthy to ease the guilt.

  “Dis man he sells children too.” Kiri’s new revelation was a destructive bomb, the implications of such, too sickening to comprehend, albeit after witnessing what I have it shouldn’t have troubled me; but it did. Father Cain I knew was a sick perverted child rapist, but I didn’t think he was involved in the human trafficking of children too. “Why don’t the authorities do something?” My naively asked question, young Kiri just looked for the answer amongst the dirt and dust of the arid ground as she flicked her bare, dusty foot through the dirt, her demeanour changing from a happy young woman, to that of sombre sadness. “Officials here all knows, he pays them not to see or stop him.”

  “Looks like the locals might turn a blind eye to our little plan Elizabeth.”

  “Makes our Christian cull all the more easy Elsbeth dear.”

  We sat chatting for hours Kiri and I, my new Cambodian friend and confidant, I’d not exposed the more intimate details of my master plan, but I did promise the father would soon be a distant memory. Without hesitation or thought she offered her assistance, from city guide to arms dealer in the blink of an eye. Proposing to obtain an assortment of weapons, pistol to rocket-propelled grenades; apparently, you can buy anything you desire here, including people and military grade weaponology. By the time the sun had kissed the horizon to a gilt rouge and orange backdrop, I had consumed a number of sickly sweet drupes, Kiri’d given up all the information I required to let vengeance flow. Arranging to meet again, tomorrow morning around 9ish, I’d accepted her offer of being my translator; she seemed happy at the opportunity to do something other than sell drinks to tourists, most of who wanted more than just to taste the sweetness of coconut water.

  The tuk-tuk Kiri flagged for my return journey to the hotel was this time powered by a motorcycle, the driver seemed more interested in local women than other road users, after a few scrapes and minor bumps we pulled up outside the hotel. A festival of music greeted me from the local bars and street vendors, night was in full swing as I hurried back to the now super luxury of my hotel suite. A few places less developed I’ve been too, but the culture shock here was much greater than anticipated. Desperately I wanted to help all the forgotten and poverty stricken this fantastic country ha
d, but I knew I could only play a small part.

  -2-

  The morning sun shone high and bright in the sapphire blue sky, punching through the paper thin curtains of my suite. Last night I’d ordered a wake-up call for 7 am, but it was still only 6:30, impossible to enjoy the comforts of my slumber mill any longer I embraced the invigoration and coolness of shower. Breakfast was fast and efficient much like any other international hotel. The internet connection was slow but adequate enough to read the news of Paris and London, no new bodies but a world of speculation. It seemed the merger between the Metropolitan, the gendarmerie and Interpol was as expected, unfriendly. Each side now accusing the others of non-disclosure as they publicly argued amongst themselves. “Told you, not a fucking clue that lot, couldn’t fucking float in space.” Ubel now revealing in the victory of his earlier predictions.

  “Do you think we can trust Kiri, Elizabeth?” Lilly’s question raised a few concerns, I’d not told Kiri much, a large piece of misinformation made up the majority of my original tale, but she could still become problematic. “There’s always the killing fields Elsbeth, room for a little one I’m sure.” Ubel’s completely insensitive comment did, however, add a little perspective to the situation, one more body in a place like this wouldn’t cause too much fuss. Life in developing countries is cheap, no human rights lawyers here crying out for equality or rights, nobody to pay for them maybe? In London, you’ll get an army of the righteous campaigning for financial compensation, even if you are a gun selling, drug dealing low life whom just so happens to catch a police bullet, but here it’s just people trying to survive. Puts the tantrums of the petulant young and self-bleeding oppressed of the West into perspective. Nobody here demanding it’s their right, then in the same sentence asking what right I have to disagree with them.

  Kiri arrived a little after 9 am, her face full of happiness, I assumed just because she was out of her roadside prison, but maybe like most here she just enjoyed every day as if it were a gift. “Me ask driver to stay with us all day, OK Lizbeth?” Her broken Camglish was starting to grow on me as I jumped into the back of the bright crimson pink tuk-tuk. A colourful wonderment on wheels, two small Cambodian flags flapped about to the rear, a couple of potted house plants cable tied to the roof supports either side of the driver’s bum, topped off with a huge union flag painted on her posterior. In any other country it would have stood out like a white man in a police lineup, in no way was it inconspicuous, but in Phnom Penh, it was. Just a few days here had allowed me to realise how drab and colourless the west is, our love affair with dull, theirs with the full spectrum of colour. Kiri had somehow managed to make us blend into the backdrop of busy Cambodian life, here everything’s colourful, especially the people.

  A sea of smiles rushed by as we weaved in and out of the traffic, like a formula one drive of yesteryear, not the coma inducing nonsense of today, at any moment there could be a horrific crash, but that was part of the excitement. From markets to shops we raced, stopping off at more particular locations to place more unusual requests. Kiri not once asked of my intentions, just happy to help, she knew it was for a vengeful mission I was crafting, but she didn’t want to know the details. By the time lunch had crept up on us we’d ordered all that was required, spending almost $2,500, which can purchase a lot here. My promise to Kiri was she could have the change from our shopping trip, she was an excellent negotiator to start with, but I’m sure this information assisted in additional reductions, no doubt saving me hundreds on the tourist price. My real intention was to give her $20,000 for her assistance, for no other reason than it would change her life, it was stolen money anyway, and I felt sorry for her, even if I could only change one or two lives that would be better than nothing.

  “Lizbeth, you try spider yes?” Kiri asked, my eyes grew wider than her smile as a look of horror struck across my face, my reaction only serving to be the catalyst to her enjoyment as she let out a huge belly laugh. Unfortunately, she wasn’t joking about the deep fried arachnids. Indeed I was hungry, but my appetite diminished quicker than a lie forming upon the lips of a Blair as we pulled up in front of a street stall. Every known crawling, winged or multi-legged verminous insect ever to have graced earth was dead and piled high atop fifteen or twenty large silver trays, belonging to a street stall with a large painting of its octopedal mascot to front. Jumping from tiresome seat of motorcycle the driver scurrying over, ordering five big ones and a bag full of deep fried crickets. In my naivety I expected the stall owner to pick out pre-fried tarantula’s, but again I was wrong. From beneath the stall came a white bucket, the young stall owner grabbing them one at a time, legs kicking out with anger, dropping them one by one into the pan of bubbling hot peanut oil. Seconds later they were fished out and bagged up, the driver seemed euphoric, as did Kiri.

  “Touch any part of that, and I’m leaving you Elizabeth.”

  “The crap you girls wilfully put in your mouths fucking amazes me Elsbeth.”

  Two voices now conjoined into one single view of disgusted objection in my head, my own conscious screaming at me to run as fear bit deep. Snapping off a twilglet sized appendage Kiri handed it to me accompanied with a mischievous look as she enjoyed my unease. “Very good, you try,” tentatively I brought the burnt twig looking protrusion close to my mouth, opened wide, then chomped down. Expecting a mouth full of pain and disgust I prepared for the worst, immediately overcome with a sense of pleasure as my taste-buds were introduced to the delightfully pleasant taste of fresh crab. My shock at how good it tasted quite evident, not shocked enough to eat more than a single set of eight, but still not as bad as I’d imagined. “Where do they get them from Kiri?” My only inquisition, without hesitation she asked the stall girl, who shouted something back, as Kiri translated. “From the forests and farmlands to the south of the city.”

  -3-

  My appetite now lost forever, driver and Kiri now full of legs and wings from lunch we headed off to find an estate agent. My request was simple and instructions few which I gave the man Kiri introduced me to, I required a large private house, south of the city. Somewhere I could be alone, somewhere quiet, a place I could fix up, make a retirement home of, of course not mine, but he didn’t need to know of my intentions exactly. His face grew a knowing and devious grin as if his wife had just suggested a naughty night of amorous intent, then through Kiri, he said. “We got perfect place; I get you best price too.” Jumping aboard our little pink tuk-tuk of vinyl luxury he instructed the driver and off we went, his extra weight now causing the poor little single cylinder motorcycle to struggle as it farted its way along. We bumped and jolted off the main tarmac washboard road, onto a long red dirt track, the track proving considerably more comfortable than the road, which made me wonder why bother to build them at all.

  As we wallowed along the track, I could see the grand old lady sitting alone in the distance. Now a dilapidated old girl, a veranda running along the entirety of her front facade, still clutching at memories of happier times. Sun bleached timber boards as white wash flaking off almost everywhere. “You can knock down, build nice new house, we get permissions very easy for you,” The estate agent was growing into full sales mode, I let him bumble on for a bit as we explored the old ladies deshevelled womb, dodging spider and snake with each step.

  “What a fucking shit-pit Elsbeth, it's perfect.”

  “I can see the father rotting here quite happily Elizabeth.”

  Trying not to show the estate agent my delight at the ghastliness of the place, after all, I just needed a somewhere to torture and kill a worthless child rapist, the more derelict and infested the better. “How much for cash?” Kiri translated, the agent thought for a while, looking at me through narrowing, thought filled eyes trying to work out my price. A slip of paper fired its way to me, his best price in bold blue ink of ballpoint pen, it mattered not his price, I was going to buy it anyway. The blood-money of the forgotten and abused was now about to buy a new mausoleum for the very man
who’d stolen their innocents, karma was right and working well this day.

  For the entirety of the journey back the estate agent sat extremely pleased with himself, he smiled as if he’d just been crowned reigning Monarch to the kingdom of Cambodia, all pretty girls now his concubine. Without hesitation, I paid extra to get the keys and paperwork completed quickly, which in such a corrupt country can be finalised in a matter of hours if enough portraits of Mr Franklin are placed in the right guilt-free palms. “Elizabeth I think we can trust her.” Lilly was now warming to Kiri, Ubel was less delicate,

  “See if Kiri’s up for a bit of fun tonight Elsbeth.”

  “She’s no older than fifteen Ubel you disgusting little man-pig!”

  “Lilly I meant joining us for dinner and a few drinks you monstrous old hag.”

  “I know exactly what you meant you dirty little man-pig.”

  “Can’t fucking win with you! It’s like being bloody married, the ring went on, her legs closed and her fucking mouth hasn’t stopped moving ever since.”

  Ubel’s belittling comment raised quite a smile as I tried to fight back the urge to laugh out, he also had a rather good idea too. To be honest, I’d still no idea where anything was in Phnom Penh, and it'd be good to have someone else to talk too other than the Tourette twins. Kiri was very keen on the idea; I did insist that we only ate animals with a maximum of four or fewer legs and nothing that had the ability to scare my soul either. We agreed to meet later; it was close to 5 pm when I arrived back at the hotel, Kiri I’d dropped off at her roadside purgatory with estate agent who skipped his way off into the distance.