Behind the Night Bazaar

by Angela Savage

  Mark responded in kind, mentioning his recent stint with the paedophile unit in Cambodia, before explaining why he was in Chiang Mai. He described the case against Kelly—giving her possibly more information than he should have, but he was on his fourth beer by then—and outlined his plan for dealing with the cops.

  ‘You might not be able to get Kelly and the cops for murder,’ he said, ‘but we can get them for complicity in the child sex racket. Both our interests are served by bringing them down.’

  Simone considered this. ‘The problem is, getting them on complicity or racketeering or whatever still won’t mean my friend Didier is exonerated for a murder he didn’t commit.’

  He loved the way she pronounced the guy’s name with a French accent.

  ‘Yeah, but I could leak your stuff about the murders to the press when I hand over the photos.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She didn’t seem convinced. She held up her empty beer bottle. ‘One for the road?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She summoned a waiter and placed the order in Thai, before lighting another cigarette. She even made smoking look good.

  ‘I guess, Mark—and I say this with all due respect— I’m not convinced your plan will work. Thai police are a resilient mob. They’re not all corrupt, of course, but the ones who are tend to get away with murder. Literally.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Let me finish,’ she held up her hand. ‘Your strategy rests on the idea that exposing police complicity in an underage prostitution racket will generate a public outcry and force those in charge to do something about it, right?’

  ‘More or less,’ he said.

  ‘The thing is, there’s significant local demand for under-aged girls in the sex industry here. Up until a few years ago, it was perfectly acceptable for a girl to be married off as soon as she reached puberty.’

  Mark frowned. The waiter arrived with their beers.

  ‘Then there’s the bigger picture,’ Simone continued, exhaling smoke. ‘The impact of poverty. When it comes to making ends meet among the poorer rural families, children are expected to pitch in. They’re part of the labour force.’

  She sounded as if she were reading from an academic paper on the subject.

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘I think you’re looking at the whole thing as an Australian. And I’m not convinced a strategy that would work in Australia will work in Thailand.’

  Mark was offended. He was a Federal Police agent for Chrissake, and he’d got where he was on his ability to handle ‘culturally sensitive’ situations.

  ‘Surely you’re not suggesting the Thais think it’s OK to fuck children?’ He made little effort to conceal his anger.

  ‘No, of course not—’

  ‘In fact the Thai government’s just passed a bill that’ll pave the way for a huge crackdown on child prostitution.’

  ‘Good luck to them,’ she murmured, adding in a louder voice, ‘Look, I want you to nail those bastards. It’s just…’ she hesitated. ‘This is going to sound awful, but you need to put a spin on it to get the reaction you want. The fact that Kelly’s a farang helps—’

  ‘What if I told you I watched a nine-year-old girl’s virginity being auctioned off at his club this evening?’

  ‘That’s perfect!’ she said without missing a beat. ‘If Kelly’s dealing in pre-pubescent kids, that’ll do it. The Thais like them young, but not that young—’

  All of a sudden, she hid her face in her hands. When she raised her head again, there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Mark, I’m sorry. It must’ve been terrible for you to see that poor girl…That’s what my friend Didier was trying to stop. That’s why they killed him…’ Her voice trailed off as she fumbled through her bag.

  Her tears didn’t alarm Mark. He’d dealt with plenty of ‘recently bereaved’ and he admired her for keeping it together as well as she did. And she was right about needing to put a spin on the story.

  He watched her wipe her eyes and sip her beer.

  ‘I want to help,’ she said in a slightly unsteady voice. ‘The Canadian Embassy isn’t interested in what I’ve got to offer. I don’t suppose there’s any chance the AFP could use me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mark said. ‘I mean, we’ve got a solid case against Kelly. All I really need now is an incriminating shot of the police officers involved, so we can identify them and release the details to the press. I know they’ll be going to the Kitten Club Friday for a pick-up—’

  ‘Ratratarn,’ Simone said slowly. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Ratratarn. The older, well-built one with the hard face. He’s the one who killed my friend Didier.’

  Mark stared at her.

  ‘The one who looks Chinese is Sergeant Pornsak. He beat up some guys I know to get information out of them. Broke their fingers, that kind of thing.’

  ‘But, how—?’

  ‘I can’t place the third one who was there tonight—the young one with the round face—but I know him from somewhere. I’ve got the number plate of the car they were driving and photos of them going into the club. I realise you’ll need something more explicit for the press. But it might help.’

  Mark was impressed. ‘I could kiss you for that, Simone!’

  To his surprise, she butted out her cigarette and leaned towards him. ‘Be my guest,’ she said.

  They met half-way across the table and kissed as if it were a drunken joke. But it felt good and they kissed again, seriously.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Mark said.

  It was disconcerting at first, the way he kept calling her Simone. Jayne had used the alias as a reflex action, never dreaming Mark would turn out to be a cop. By the time they ended up in his hotel room, it seemed too late to correct him.

  Besides, there was something erotic about having him whisper Simone’s name in her ear as he unbuttoned her blouse, cupped her breasts in his hands and kissed her throat. Her nipples hardened beneath her bra. Even at this point, Jayne Keeney might have baulked at going to bed with a virtual stranger, even one as gorgeous as Mark d’Angelo. But not Simone Whitfield. She had neither Jayne’s inhibitions, nor disastrous track record with men. Best of all, by masquerading as Simone, Jayne could forget everything that had happened since she left Bangkok five days earlier. And from the moment Mark kissed her at the Riverside, that was all she wanted.

  She ran her fingers through his hair and worked her way down his back, pulling at the hem of his T-shirt. Mark slipped it off over his head, exposing a thicket of black hair on his torso that tapered to a thin line down to his belt-buckle. A bulge was discernible through his jeans and he took her hands, put them around his neck and tilted his pelvis against hers so she felt his hard cock. His kisses were deep and hungry and she felt her desire take on a momentum of its own.

  Still kissing his mouth, she moved her hands to the belt buckle, unfastened it, and unzipped his jeans. At the same time, he unhooked her bra and she let it slip off. Their semi-naked bodies pressed together, he encircled her with his arms and lifted her onto the bed, laying her down and kissing her breasts as his hands loosened the zip of her skirt.

  Both naked now, they were all over each other, kissing, biting, touching. Mark turned her on to her tummy and slowly traced the line of her spine with his tongue. The hairs on her body stood on end and she groaned aloud as his fingers worked their way into her wet cunt. Still stroking her clitoris, he turned her back over and exchanged his fingers for his mouth. His hands moved to her breasts and she placed hers on top of them, pushing them hard against her nipples. His tongue brought her clitoris to its full height and she came in a rush, then burst into tears.

  ‘Simone,’ he whispered, ‘sweetheart, are you OK?’

  Mark was beside her, his face anxious. She could smell herself on his lips as he gently kissed the tears on her cheeks. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No, no.’ She was laughing and crying at the same time. ‘I always…that is…’

  ‘What?’ His
concern gave way to a broad grin.

  ‘It’s just been a long time between drinks,’ she laughed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘Mmm, me too,’ he said, nuzzling her neck.

  ‘Really?’ She raised herself up to her elbows.

  ‘Yeah,’ he murmured, kissing her shoulders.

  ‘I’d have thought—’

  He looked up sharply and she left the sentence incomplete.

  ‘Do you have any condoms?’ she said. ‘If you don’t, I do.’

  ‘I love these modern girls,’ he laughed, reaching over to a drawer in the bedside table.

  Mark pulled out a condom and opened the packet, but she took it from him and, without taking her eyes off him, transferred it to her mouth. He raised his eyebrows in an unasked question, but she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him to lie back down.

  Several months earlier, Jayne got drunk with a group of Bangkok bargirls she played pool with and they showed her how to put on a condom with her mouth. It was a technique they’d developed in the age of AIDS to deal with recalcitrant clients, and which they practised on peeled cucumbers.

  Jayne would never have had the guts to try it out on a real penis but as Simone, she felt she could do anything. She fumbled at first to make sure the condom was the right way around, but once in place she unrolled it deftly with her lips and took Mark’s hard cock deep into her mouth. She massaged the shaft with her lips, then ran the tip of her tongue around the ridge, before working her way back down again. Stroking his balls, she felt them tighten beneath her touch. Finally, he groaned aloud, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her on top of him.

  His cock slipped inside her and they rocked in and out of one another before Mark pushed her upright, her weight resting against his hands on her breasts, and she felt him deep inside her.

  The second orgasm took her by surprise, but Mark seemed to have been waiting for it as, moments later, she felt his body shudder beneath hers. She lay there for a few minutes, catching her breath and kissing wherever her mouth touched skin, before easing herself away to lie beside him in a tangle of sheets, sweat and hair.

  He moved one arm around her, head resting against his shoulder. Their legs entwined and his free hand rested lightly on her waist.

  ‘Wow!’ she whispered, not even loudly enough to be heard over the hum of the airconditioner. Then she fell into a profound sleep.

  Komet phoned every hotel and guesthouse within seven kilometres of Chiang Mai and took down the names of all farang women in their late twenties to early thirties who had registered since midday Tuesday.

  It was one thing to call four- and five-star hotels where reception was staffed twenty-four hours a day, but he felt awful rousing people at the cheaper places, even if it was official police business. Over and over, Komet explained that the matter was of utmost importance. And it was: he had to get to Jayne Keeney before Ratratarn, Pornsak or Kelly did.

  ‘We know the farang girl was a close friend of the dead Canadian,’ Ratratarn had said. If that was true, Jayne would believe what Komet had to say about the deaths that night.

  ‘Any progress?’ Ratratarn stuck his head around the door.

  ‘Nothing yet, Sir,’ he said.

  Ratratarn sneered and withdrew, leaving Komet to his telephone books and tourist guides. There was a distinct advantage in being taken for an idiot by the lieutenant colonel. If, by the end of his shift, Komet had nothing to report, Ratratarn would put it down to incompetence, never dreaming he might have something to hide. But after nearly five hours on the phone, Komet feared the task was beyond him.

  No one had registered any Australian woman fitting Jayne Keeney’s description. She might be staying with friends, but Komet thought it unlikely or she’d have done so in the first place. He was on the verge of reporting, quite truthfully, that he thought the woman had left town, when he remembered something Ratratarn had said in the car.

  ‘Why would anyone go out of their way to avoid the Chiang Mai police? Because they’ve got something to hide.’

  Jayne Keeney had managed to outsmart the lieutenant colonel, and a smart person who knew the police were on to her would do more than change hotels and register under a different name. She’d change her identity, her nationality, even her physical appearance.

  Komet went back over his notes; there were forty-five places where women the right age had checked in the previous afternoon. Trembling at his own daring, he made a bogus copy of the notes and, keeping the original, entered Ratratarn’s office.

  ‘S-sir,’ he said, ‘there’s no record of the farang woman or anyone matching her description. I’m sorry, Sir.’

  ‘Not half as sorry as I am, Officer Komet. Have you got anything useful?’

  Komet handed him a piece of paper. ‘These are the places that registered farang women in the same age group.’

  Ratratarn scanned the list. ‘What a good thing for us it’s not high tourist season,’ he said, tossing it aside. ‘Sergeant Pornsak hasn’t anything to report either. What about those kids you saw at the dead farang’s house? Any chance you’d recognise them again?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sir.’

  ‘Shit! How difficult can it be to find one foreigner in this town!’

  Komet shifted his weight nervously. ‘Ah, I could try to find the boys, Sir, maybe on my shift this evening?’

  Ratratarn snorted and waved him away.

  Komet checked his watch as he started his motorbike.

  He had enough time to visit a few places on his list before Arunee would start to worry. He’d begin with the more upmarket hotels, go home, grab a few hours’ sleep, and resume the search in the afternoon.

  Jayne rolled over and glanced at the time. Rather, she glanced at the empty space on the bedside table where her clock should have been. Frowning, she propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed the room: the sheets were in disarray and the floor was strewn with clothes. She heard the sound of running water from the bathroom.

  She sat bolt upright as the events of the previous evening flooded back to her. Wrapping herself in a sheet, she started searching for her clothes, when she heard a noise behind her. She looked up and saw Mark framed in the doorway of the bathroom, white towel slung low on his hips accentuating his bronze skin and black hair. Cheeks burning, she turned her back to him. A moment later, his arms encircled her.

  ‘Good morning, Simone,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, as casually as she could manage. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Hmm.’ He kissed the back of her neck, his whiskers tickling her skin. ‘Best I’ve slept in a long, long time.’

  Jayne flushed with the pleasure of the moment and what it triggered in her memory of the night before. She turned in his arms and kissed him.

  ‘I could stay like this all day,’ Mark murmured, nuzzling her neck.

  ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘But I should go, change my clothes—’

  ‘And the photos,’ Mark said. ‘Don’t forget about them.’

  ‘Of course not.’ She took a step back.

  ‘I could get them developed for you.’

  Jayne wasn’t sure why, but the offer made her uneasy.

  Mumbling something about having to pick up more film, she resumed the hunt for her clothes, until she felt Mark’s arms around her again.

  ‘Isn’t there something you should be doing?’ she said.

  ‘Not much I can do before Friday night,’ he said. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ He released the sheet around her.

  ‘Mark, you don’t think I’m…that is, in spite of everything that’s happened—’

  ‘I want this as much as you do,’ he said, before dropping to his knees and putting his mouth on her crotch.

  Jayne groaned, wondering whether it was some kind of karmic reward to be sent a lover who liked giving head, or if she just got lucky.

  Komet had eliminated four possibilities from his list before going home. As he slipped off his shoes and entered the h
ouse, Arunee was seasoning a pot of the rice porridge they ate for breakfast.

  ‘Sabaidee bor?’ she said as he washed his hands.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I was given a bonus last night,’ he added. ‘I thought you might want to buy some new clothes or something for the baby.’

  He wiped his hands, then fished into his shirt pocket for the money Ratratarn had given him. Short of burning it, Komet felt the only thing to do was to give it to his wife. She’d never know where it came from.

  Arunee raised her eyebrows. ‘A bonus, you say?’

  He nodded.

  ‘It’s twice as much as your usual pay.’

  ‘For all the overtime, I suppose.’

  She looked from the wad of notes to Komet and back again. With a shrug to suggest she accepted the explanation, she put the money in her purse and joined him on the floor.

  ‘I was wondering,’ Komet said, helping himself to some fried shallots, ‘shouldn’t you be thinking of going to your mother’s place soon?’

  ‘Why?’ she said in a tight voice.

  ‘It’s just, well, you seem to be getting…big, that’s all. And I thought—’

  ‘Husband, is this your way of telling me you’ve taken a mia noi?’

  ‘A minor wife?’ Komet made no attempt to conceal the hurt in his voice. ‘Arunee, how could you even suggest it?’

  ‘First, you come in here, waving money around and telling me to take myself shopping for new clothes. Then you tell me I’m getting fat—’

  ‘No!’ he protested. ‘Not fat! I said big. I meant the baby’s getting big.’

  ‘You must have a mia noi!’ she said, ignoring the interruption. ‘That’s why you want to get rid of me and—’ She burst into tears.

  Putting his bowl to one side, Komet leaned over and patted her arm. ‘Oh, don’t cry little one. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m only thinking of what’s best for you and the baby. There could never be anyone else for me. You know that.’

  ‘Husband, I want to believe you,’ Arunee sniffed. ‘But I hear stories…’

  ‘What? Stories about me?’