by Simon Royle
Blood dripped on his face, mine. I reached a hand up to my head. Above my ear, I felt raw flesh where the first bullet carved a groove. It stung and was wet with blood. Another fraction of an inch and I'd have been killed. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. My feet scrunched on broken pieces of ceramic toilet. Good choice. I went up the stairs to her. She was crouched on the landing, at the same spot from where she had hurled the toilet lid at the guy. She’d saved my life.
“Get dressed. We're out of here.” I said, softly. She stayed where she was. I put my hand on her shoulder giving her a squeeze. She was shaking. “Pim. Move it. Go get dressed.”
She looked at me and nodded, still in shock.
Then the doorbell rang.
I glanced down the stairs at the door. Shit, someone must have reported the shots. I shook Pim by both shoulders and pointed at the bedroom. She nodded and moved. I went downstairs and peeked through the eye-hole. One of the estate’s security guards stood outside, talking into his radio. Bullshit or bribe? I opened the door. The guard was skinny, tall, long bony throat lost in a shirt collar four sizes too large.
“Um, excuse me, sir. Sorry to disturb you, sir, but we’ve had calls about gunshots being fired, sir. Is everything all right?”
“Come in,” I said, opening the door.
He had a worried expression on his face as he sidestepped past me into the hallway, his eyes wary, body language screaming, “I don’t want to be dealing with this.” His mouth opened when he saw the guy with the broken neck behind me and then he saw the guy on the stairs. The guard's Adam's apple bounced in his throat.
“What’s your name?” I asked him, voice even.
“Somchai, sir.”
“Okay, Khun Somchai, here’s the thing. I just came home and found these two guys like this, but I don’t want to be involved, so here’s what I suggest as the best way for us to handle this. One, we could report this to the police and spend the next twenty four hours explaining how these two guys got past you guards and into my house. Or two, we can keep this to ourselves and I’ll tidy everything up. You remove the CCTV tape for tonight. I was never here, and this never happened. You go home twenty thousand baht richer.”
Somchai, looked at me, and looked at the bodies. His Adam's apple bounced some more.
“Fifty”, he said, his eyes almost apologetic. Almost.
***
I bought a packet of Marlboro red and coffee at the 7-11 opposite Big C on Lat Phrao, Pim's Audi 6, engine running, curbside. I put the coffee on the roof of the Audi and tapped on the window. I handed a coffee through to Pim. She took it and the window shut again. Even at night the temperature was hot, about 27 Celsius, and the fumes from the traffic on the road were heavy. It was 2 am, and normally a lot of traffic on the road now as closing time for the bars, clubs, and karaoke lounges hits, but tonight it was quiet, empty. Wars do that to a city. And not a good time to be driving around with an unlicensed weapon. The army had set up road blocks all over town. My mind was spinning with the latest attack.
A black Benz ran the red light on the other side of the road, used the U-turn, crossed three lanes of fast moving traffic, cutting in front of an eighteen wheeler and pulled up behind the Audi. The truck slowed, the driver’s boy yelling out of the window at the Benz. Chai stepped out of the car and took three fast steps towards the truck, his hand reaching into his jacket. It pulled away with a belch of black smoke. I thought I saw a grin on his face as he turned but it was late and I was tired.
I handed him the keys to the house and the entrance card to get into the compound.
“Two of them. One had Cambodian cigarettes on him.” Chai nodded, looked at the cigarette burning in my hand. “Mother's sending a couple of guys to clean up. I need you to take Pim to stay with Mother.” He nodded again, and handed me a sports bag. I raised my eyebrows in question.
“Phones, I've programmed them all, cash, Glocks and I put in a couple of hand grenades.” He looked disgusted with me, his expression dark, eyes flat, angry, hot. “You shouldn't have been unarmed and alone. Next time I'll stay.”
“Okay. We'll talk about that later. Take Pim to Joom’s place and stay with her until I get back. I should be back about eight in the evening. It's the Thai flight. I'll leave Pim's car at the airport. If they knew where we lived they might know the car. Pick me up tomorrow outside exit four, eight twenty. Bring Pim with you tomorrow. Okay?” Chai nodded. I went back to the Audi and got in, tossing the bag in the back seat. I reached over and stroked Pim's cheek.
“You've got to go with Chai. Okay. You'll be safe with him. I'll be back tomorrow. Chai will pick me up tomorrow, and he'll bring you with him.”
Pim reached across the space between us and put her hands on either side of my face pulled me to her. Lips open she pressed hard, her tongue hot in my mouth. She broke off and sat back, hair wild, still holding the sides of my face.
“I'll see you tomorrow. I promise.”
She nodded, dropped her hands, and got out of the car. She walked over to passenger side front door of the Benz, shoulders and back straight.
I pulled out into the sparse traffic. We don’t even take curfews literally. Thinking. The thing about information is that it accumulates. You start off with one event or data, and then another occurs and you start to gather information. The latest attempt worried me a lot. Only five people, family, knew where that house was. Pim, Joom, Por and Chai. It was possible that they had followed Pim, but I doubted that. They had come late, and they had come for me. I hadn't seen the Benz that Chai was driving so there was no way they could have known by watching that I was there. The other piece of information was that they obviously didn't believe I was dead. And that was interesting. It meant my rumor was working. The cockroaches were coming out into the light. Dead cockroaches. I needed one of these guys alive.
I turned onto the expressway and up the ramp. An Army Humvee parked at the top of the ramp with a few soldiers standing looking at me as I drove by. A sign of the times. I lit another cigarette and opened the window. Keeping the speed low, I wasn't in a hurry now, on autopilot. I was heading back to Ratchada area. I was on the Ramindra Expressway heading into the city alone on the expressway, a surreal experience.
I couldn’t make sense of any of what was going on. None of it fit. Not the bomb in Heaven. The only people who knew we were going to meet in Heaven were Por and I. He set it up and called me. I didn't even tell Chai until we were about to drive there. So how did someone manage to plant a bomb in the room, and time it for when we were both there? And then the hit at the hospital. Okay people knew we were at the hospital. Easy target, but why use amateur hour Cambodian hitmen? Same with this latest attack. No one knew I was there. Except Chai. The only common denominator was Chai. But that didn't make sense on a couple of points. One; I knew beyond a shadow of doubt Chai's loyalty was solid; we’d been together since I was five years old. And two; he could kill me anytime he wanted.
I dropped down onto Rama 9, and did a U turn, driving past the cultural center on Ratchadapisek, I took a right into Thiam Ruam Mit Road. Pulling up the ramp into Peep Inn, I slowed to crawl. The parking boy with his red waistcoat jogged ahead of me and pulled a heavy red plastic curtain aside. I swung the Audi into the parking slot and got out. The boy tugged the curtains closed behind the car. I gave him a couple of thousand. His eyes grew big.
“I'll be here till morning. Keep the rooms either side of me empty. Wake me in the morning no later than six and I'll give you another thousand.”
The boy waied, nodding his head. He backed out through the edge of the curtain, closing it behind him. I waited. Heard him move away. Collecting my bags from the car, I went in. A vulture on a perch peered into the window out the back of the room. Peep Inn's specialty was theme rooms with exotic bird zoo. Ostriches, eagles, and in my case, a vulture outside a room themed as a nurse’s station. Very fucking appropriate.
I hung my suit bag on the back of the door and pulled the chair over from the b
uilt in make-up table, pushed it under the knob until it held. I got a glass from the top of the fridge and balanced it on the chair. I was tired, knew I'd sleep deep. A thin blanket on the bed, Bangkok's short time motels aren't a place that people usually come to sleep. I pulled it over me, and took a Glock out of the bag putting it on the bed beside me. I flipped the switch next to the headboard. The lights went out. My cell phone beeped. An SMS from Chai ‘@home’, I hit reply, ‘K’.
I lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. It had been a while since I’d had to kill. I’d killed five people now. I killed two when I was fifteen, on my birthday. It happened in Trat, a province next to Cambodia. Por was driving a pickup truck with Joom in the passenger seat in front, and me on the small bench seat in the back. We’d gone to the market, Por buying a pig to roast for my party. We stopped at a red light. A motorcycle pulled up next to us and the pillion rider shot at Por. He missed, the bullets hitting steel and breaking glass but not hitting bodies. Por pulled his gun out but then a bullet hit him in the arm. His gun flew onto the back seat next to me. I still see it perfectly in slow motion. I picked the gun up. Joom had me on the range when I was ten. I check, safety’s off, rack a round into the chamber, bring it up, breathe out, center the sights on the target, the shooter’s black visor, and squeeze the trigger. He crumpled, sliding off the bike. I see as I move the sights to the next target just like on the range. The driver panicked and stalled the bike. He was kick-starting but had flooded it. I shot him in the back twice. Twenty four hours later, Por had us all on a beach in Mexico. They treated me differently after that. The whole family did. Apart from Por and Joom, I was the only one who had killed on the family’s behalf.
I got up in a rush and made it to the toilet before I puked. I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and looked out of the window. The vulture was staring at me.
Big Tiger
15 May 2010 Bangkok 9:15 pm
A white Lexus SUV with black tinted windows stopped in front of me, and the door slipped open. A serious adrenalin spike, and then I saw Pim, a smile on her face, in the backseat. I got in, heart thumping. It could have been a hit. I ought to be more careful.
“Chai, Big Tiger’s place.”
“How was business in Singapore?” Pim asked.
“Good. Everything is lined up. I need Joom to sign a few documents, but we have the collateral to put up against the loan for Uncle Mike. That’s the good news. Bad news is if we don’t find Uncle Mike in the next couple of days we’re going to be wiped out financially.”
“You too?”
“Yep. Everything is on the line.”
“I have some money. Not much, a few million baht. We won’t be poor, and you can get a real job.”
Not what I needed to hear after three hours of flying and immigration. She meant well. I breathed out.
“Sorry”.
“That’s okay, I know what you meant. Just let me get us through this and then I’ll clear things with Por and Joom.”
She reached across and put her hand on top of mine.
We took the outer ring road, avoiding the curfew checkpoints on the route into Bangkok. Army Humvees stationed on high ground and trucks filled with soldiers armed to the teeth sped along the empty expressway. Bangkok was at war. Twenty-two people killed in street fighting in the last two days and over one hundred seventy wounded. Sounded like Lebanon more than Bangkok. Twitter was the main news source and it told of a Bangkok with running street battles and more dead. Pim told me the army had put up razor wire around the protest site downtown, signs hanging off the razor wire, ‘Live Fire Zone’.
Chai handed me a ringing cell phone – Mother.
“How was Singapore?”
“Good. We’re all set.”
“A couple of guys tried to lean on Tong for protection money.”
“Crazy Tong – Jesus – when did this happen? Are they still alive?”
“Earlier this evening. One escaped and we’ve got the other at the farm. He’s not said anything yet, but he’s Cambodian, same as the others.”
“Okay, I talked to Ken earlier today. I’m expecting his call but we should be moving the cash tonight. Is everything set?”
“All fixed. We’re using the warehouse in Lat Krabang. There’s too much shooting going on down in Klong Toey.”
“Okay, I’ll let Ken know. Transport?”
“Fixed. The same colonel who helped with your trip to Phuket. Careful with Ken. He’s nicely polished up, but take away the suit and he’s a cold-blooded operator.”
“I know, Mother. I’ll be careful.” She clicked off.
It was very quiet for a Saturday night and we parked easily near the pier. Big Tiger owns a seafood restaurant out in Bang Pu by the sea. Big Tiger’s, originally named, ‘Big Tiger’s Seafood Restaurant’, was on the end of the main pier.
I’d sent Pim to Joom’s home to stay there. Chai stayed with me. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, but then I wasn’t here for me. I was here for Por. Last thing he’d told me was to keep my eye on Big Tiger and that he needed to repay a favor. I was here to repay the favor and look into Big Tiger’s eyes.
We walked up the concrete pier, Chai on the cell phone ordering a new set of wheels for us. Joom owns two luxury car dealerships in Bangkok and one in Chiang Mai. Chai used the cars sent in for service, or the second-hand cars in the lot, fake plates on them all.
The restaurant was big enough to seat a thousand, bigger than most Government Halls. There were barely a hundred on the tables outside, and fewer inside in the air-conditioning. Urban warfare will do that to a business. I’d been told by Mother on the way in that Big Tiger was on the second story on the outside balcony. We took the stairs, two at a time.
I was nearly at his table before Big Tiger or any of his boys realized we were in the place. A look of panic flicked across his eyes. Deer in headlights, I thought. He relaxed when he saw our hands were empty. What’s got you so jumpy?
“Big Tiger, sorry for arriving late. Por sent me. Said you needed me to do something for you?”
He seemed confused. I kept a pissed off look on my face focused right on his. His second in command, a guy called Daeng (all mafia gangs in Thailand have a guy called Daeng, it’s mandatory) didn’t like the look I was giving Big Tiger. Chai went over and stood next to Daeng. Daeng modified his behavior.
Big Tiger stood up, spreading his arms wide, and walked around the table. The girl eating with him, dressed in a university uniform, was trying to make herself invisible. You could’ve boiled a lobster in the atmosphere. Big Tiger stood close to me. Hand on the back of the girl’s chair, mouth open, shaking his head from side to side.
“Chance, what a shock. Well fuck everything. If that isn’t the best, then I don’t know what is the fucking best. You’re alive. I didn’t know what to fucking believe. First you’re dead. I went to your fucking funeral, then we hear you’re not, and today the fucking photos in Thai Rath from your girlfriend’s phone, showing you’re fucking dead. And now you’re here, standing in my restaurant. Well fuck me.” Big Tiger used exclamation and question marks at the end of every sentence he spoke. Mouth and eyes wide open, hands wide, shoulders hunched, “Well isn’t this a fucking miracle!?” Eloquent.
He stood, shaking his head. And then he waved at the table. “Sit, sit”.
I took a seat in front of him. He told the girl to go wait for him downstairs and invited Chai to sit with a gesture of his hand. Chai shook his head slightly and stayed next to Daeng. Big Tiger flicked a glance at Daeng, and getting the message, he sidled off to sit with Chai, at a table just out of earshot. The waiter came over and asked what I wanted to drink. A whiskey soda, tall glass, lots of ice, in front of me later, Big Tiger waved the waiter away and leaned in close. Now we could talk in private.
“Look, Chance, that thing I needed you to do. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it some other way, and tell Por that I send my best wishes.” I looked at him, not responding either way
to his probe on Por.
“He is okay right? I mean, same as you, the two of you being dead, just a trick, right?” He laughed. I gave him a tight smile, took a sip of my drink, paying out rope. Letting him talk. I looked out over the railing to the gulf, fishing boat lights off in the distance, catching the squid that lends its smell to many a Bangkok sidewalk.
“So who do you think has been trying to kill you? Do you know the mother fucker?” He closed his mouth, finally.
“We’ve got a good idea. What was it that you wanted me to do?”
“What?” He looked confused, hanging out his lower lip for effect. It didn’t work, I knew he wasn’t drunk.
“The favor Por was repaying. You wanted me to help you with something. Now what was it?”
He sobered up fast at the hard bite in my tone, tonal nuance a language all its own in Thailand. I can bring the full weight of the family to bear on a sentence with the slightest alteration to the way I say something.
