The Honourable Assassin

by Roland Perry

  Cavalier wanted to question the reporter, the police and the coroner, which he would attempt to do as a matter of course in Australia. But he could not do it in Thailand. He needed a stronger clue to tie the deaths to Mendez and his squad, but knew that if he did make inquiries, he would have to make a quick, secret exit from Chiang Mai. His best opportunity for this would be by plane with Dr Na, whom he rang while having breakfast at the Café de Siam.

  The doctor was more than happy to have Cavalier with him on another trip. ‘The Chiang Mai airport will be shut down for at least forty-eight hours,’ Dr Na informed him. ‘I only found out when I submitted my chart to authorities. Some private planes are exempt.’

  ‘Any reason given for the shutdown?’

  Dr Na chuckled. ‘Mr Victor,’ he said, ‘my country is now run by generals! I believe they are needed at this time. But they are not under pressure to give reasons for anything. Democracy has been suspended.’ He paused. ‘If you can be at the car park where my car was before, at 6 a.m. on Sunday . . .?’

  Cavalier packed his bags. He used the back lift and ground-floor exit to avoid reception, and then entered the nearby undercover car park where he had left the hired Mazda.

  At just after 8.45 a.m. he drove north for half an hour to the beautiful Prem Tinsulanonda International School, named after a former Thai prime minister and army general, where the cricket match was to be played. Prem, as it was known, was in the Green Valley region—some of the prime land outside Chiang Mai—and the school of choice for many of the country’s elite. Stunning residences had been carved out of the flat, green forest area and, judging from the signs and constructions Cavalier saw, it was undergoing a mini-boom. Double, sometimes three-, level houses were surrounded by green clipped hedges. Others had high stone or brick walls and big double gates. Some fences were electrified against unwanted intrusion. Rich and powerful Thais and foreigners were building places with splendid views of the mountains.

  The prestigious institution was set in well-manicured grounds and Cavalier felt a sense of relief after his claustrophobic night in the city. It was hot and the sky was cloudless, but the cricket ground’s surrounding greenery offered plenty of shade for those waiting to bat, and for the crowd. He was surprised see about three hundred spectators, ex-pats from cricket-playing nations having turned out for the game between the Chiang Mai Chargers and the Bangkok Belters. Both teams were made up of foreigners and locals. Players, in their traditional whites, were inspecting the pitch.

  Tall, rangy David Rafferty won the toss and decided his Chiang Mai Chargers should bat first. He introduced Cavalier to a distinguished-looking Thai in his mid-forties, whose thick hair was flecked with grey streaks. He had a considerable paunch.

  ‘This is the governor of Chiang Mai province, General Chana Pinawat,’ Rafferty said. ‘He’s a very keen and good cricketer.’

  ‘I am not so good now,’ Pinawat said. His imperious voice was an odd mix of an educated English accent with clipped Thai-style vowels. ‘But I fell in love with the game as an undergraduate.’

  He spoke glowingly of Cavalier’s biography of Victor Trumper, until Cavalier excused himself to pad up. He would bat when the first wicket fell. The governor obliged by bowling to him in some practice shots on the edge of the oval. The two men then sat down to chat with Rafferty, who was also padded up to bat after Cavalier. As they did so, three police cars snaked up to the oval.

  ‘What’s this?’ Rafferty murmured.

  Cavalier recognised the muscular, bull-necked Aind Azelaporn, Bangkok’s police chief, with his flashy sunglasses, as he alighted from the lead vehicle. He and four other policemen sauntered over to the players sitting under two big trees. The governor and Rafferty stood. Cavalier was on his feet too, anticipating that he might just be who they were interested in. The three men moved behind the seated rows of players and spectators as the police approached. The governor was distracted by someone shaking hands with him, while Rafferty inquired why the police were there.

  ‘Mr Cavalier?’ Azelaporn said, pointing to him. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Cavalier wandered over to Azelaporn, who introduced himself without shaking hands. ‘This is our Chiang Mai police chief, Colonel Thatanong,’ he said, indicating a short, potbellied cop in his fifties. He too had dark sunglasses. Again, there was no move to shake hands.

  ‘You’re a journalist, are you not?’ Azelaporn said in English.

  ‘You know that,’ Cavalier replied in Thai. ‘You were at your bar, with Jacinta, last week. You refused to speak to me. Told her you couldn’t be bothered speaking English.’

  Azelaporn went red and stiffened. ‘You’ve been asking questions about certain events,’ he said, still in English.

  ‘It’s my job,’ Cavalier said in Thai. ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’

  ‘We mean the deaths of two ladyboys recently,’ Thatanong said in Thai.

  Cavalier looked over at the cricket. A fielder was circling under a high ball for a simple catch. He dropped it. A few spectators groaned; some clapped. It allowed him to collect his thoughts.

  ‘The only person I mentioned the alleged murders to was Mamasan Mali at Foxy Lady.’

  The two chiefs glanced at each other.

  ‘Why?’ Azelaporn asked.

  ‘You know why, Captain,’ Cavalier replied.

  ‘No, you tell me,’ Azelaporn said, abandoning English for his native tongue.

  ‘I am sure you are aware that there is a squad of thugs and killers in Chiang Mai who are notorious for the kind of murders that have occurred.’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’ Azelaporn asked officiously.

  ‘Oh, I do apologise, Captain,’ Cavalier said. ‘This is your business, not mine. I was just being a nosey reporter, going on a hunch that the said thugs might be connected to the decapitations.’

  Cavalier’s directness seemed to startle both cops. At that moment, the province governor walked over to them. ‘What’s happening, Police Chief?’ he asked, hands on hips.

  Thatanong was startled to see his boss. ‘Ah, er . . . Governor, we were just wanting to chat with, er . . .’

  ‘Mr Cavalier here,’ Azelaporn said, finishing his fellow chief ’s sentence.

  ‘Is it urgent?’ Pinawat asked.

  ‘Not really, Governor,’ Thatanong said.

  ‘Are you arresting the man . . .?’

  ‘No . . . no, Governor.’

  ‘Then I suggest you wait until after this match is over. Mr Cavalier will be batting any moment—’

  A loud appeal for leg-before-wicket interrupted the governor. The umpire turned it down.

  ‘Governor,’ Thatanong said, ‘Police Chief Azelaporn must fly back to Bangkok urgently and we both wanted to . . .’

  ‘He’ll have to wait!’ the governor snapped. ‘At least until Mr Cavalier has batted.’

  ‘That may not be too long,’ Cavalier said, smiling.

  Azelaporn looked agitated. ‘I do wish to speak with him now, Governor,’ he said.

  ‘You’re in my province now, Chief,’ the governor said firmly.’ If it is not urgent, you will wait.’ As he spoke, the telling whack of willow on leather had all heads turning to the field. A fast-moving Thai fielder dashed around the boundary and made a fine leaping, tumbling catch.

  The crowd clapped and cheered. Cavalier picked up his gloves, nodded to the police and the governor, and strolled off towards the field. Rafferty, who had heard the exchange with the police, hurried up to him.

  ‘I reckon you might stay out there for a while,’ he said softly, with a wink. ‘Like, a couple of hours . . .’

  More by good luck than skill, Cavalier managed a long stay at the wicket. After two hours of waiting, the police departed.

  *

  Mendez and a few of his closest cronies had spent Friday night partying in the compound with the six girls they had picked up at the entertainment complex. The gathering started harmlessly enough, with drinking, drugs, dancing to the
sophisticated sound system in the in-house disco, and more drinking and drugs. One video, for the Nicki Minaj song ‘Anaconda’, was played continuously on a big screen. After an hour, the girls’ drinks were spiked, so that they were soon lounging listlessly on the black leather couches on the edge of the dance floor. When they were unable to resist, the Mexicans moved in and had sex with them. A few of the girls protested as their clothes were removed and they were raped in every orifice, sometimes by two men at a time. Mendez was the first to penetrate each woman anally, while Minaj’s derriere contortions continued. He kept looking up at the screen and Minaj’s image as he pumped into the groggy girls. Only one, seventeen-year-old Noi, from the heart of Isaan, was spared the physical abuse by Mendez’s thugs. She was the tallest, youngest and best looking. The other five girls were raped repeatedly by up to eight men.

  After a few hours of this one-way orgy, the men left and the girls were locked in the disco. Only the semiconscious Noi was hauled by guards to Mendez’s bedroom and placed on the bed. Mendez followed. He slapped Noi awake, but she was soon asleep again and breathing heavily, due to the combination of too much alcohol and drugs.

  Mendez’s lust was still not sated. He swallowed liquid Viagra, and waited fifteen minutes. He then propped up the comatose girl and fucked her. But even the sex-crazed drug lord had had enough. When he couldn’t ejaculate, he slumped beside his chosen companion and was soon snoring.

  At midday on Saturday, Mendez was woken by the screaming of the girls locked in the disco, their howls reverberating through the compound. He had a terrible headache, which was not helped by the horrible confluence of smells, with blood, urine and faeces in the bed, and vomit on the floor. Mendez staggered to the bathroom and threw up.

  He fumbled for his phone and bellowed to one of his men to fetch the compound doctor, a roly-poly Argentinian, Augustus Sileoni, who had been hired for his expertise in reviving near-dead drug-affected patients. He knocked and was granted grunting admission into the room by Mendez, who pulled on underpants and pointed to the hapless, naked Noi.

  Augustus donned gloves and whistled as he worked, clearing the girl’s mouth of vomit. He took her pulse and checked her eye dilation.

  ‘She dead?’ Mendez asked carelessly.

  ‘Not quite. Pulse is weak and erratic. I’ll use the defibrillator.’

  ‘Get some of the guys to take her to your fucking surgery and have the maids clean up the stink!’

  Three men and two middle-aged Thai maids soon appeared. Two of the men carried Noi away to the doctor’s surgery. The maids fussed about, removing sheets from the bed and mopping up the mess on the floor. The remaining Mexican asked what should be done with the five women locked in the disco.

  ‘I want them shut up!’ Mendez shouted, wandering along a forty-metre hallway, the henchman following. He entered the large kitchen, where more of the Mexican bodyguards had gathered.

  ‘Do you want us to . . .?’ one of the men asked with a devious grin and making a chopping motion with his hand.

  Mendez used a black coffee to wash down a couple of opium-based pick-up pills. Several guards waited for his decision. In the silence, the girls could be heard wailing.

  ‘Shut up that fucking screaming!’ Mendez repeated, banging a fist on the ornately carved table. Four men went to leave the kitchen.

  ‘Offer them three thousand baht each,’ he called. ‘If they don’t agree to keep quiet about last night, threaten them with the chop. Take them to the basement and show them the guillotine.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Just get rid of them! I can’t stand that noise!’ He pointed to one of the men. ‘Offer the good-looking one I had . . .’

  ‘Noi?’

  ‘Yeah, her. Offer her five thousand baht. Check with Augustus and see if she’s all right. She may have to rest up here for the day.’ He took a sip of his coffee and mumbled, ‘I’d like to fuck her again.’

  The henchmen left. Mendez held his head as the wailing continued. Moments later, it stopped but for a few cries. He stumbled back to his bedroom suite, to shower.

  *

  Azelaporn, smarting after the governor’s dismissal of him from Prem, arranged a meeting with Jose Cortez at Mendez’s River Ping compound. Late afternoon on Saturday, the police chief arrived, with four armed police in two vehicles, at the dirt road leading to the building. The guards at the post ushered them through, having been forewarned of the arrival. The cars drove to the steep bunker entrance. A concrete trapdoor slid across; the police cars rolled down the ramp that took them to a deep car park. A phalanx of bodyguards greeted them and escorted Azelaporn to a lift. In Thai, he whispered to his deputy, ‘I don’t like this.’

  ‘Why, Chief?’

  ‘This is like entering a state within a state. Mendez seems better protected than me!’

  ‘Nothing will happen, Chief.’

  ‘I know that!’ Azelaporn snapped. ‘I just don’t like it!’

  Classical music wafted through the corridors, becoming louder as they were ushered into a huge lounge area. Azelaporn was surprised to see a young Thai woman at the piano, and the skeletally thin Cortez, eyepatch askew, playing the violin. Mendez, with dark glasses hiding his hungover eyes and wearing a crimson jacket, was standing with four hefty armed Mexicans in front of a window. They were looking out over deep green jungle and the River Ping. A fishing boat chugged past. Children played on a far bank, as the afternoon light began to fade and the sun started its slow plunge into the mountains.

  Mendez greeted the chief with a hug, and a wide, forced grin. ‘Surprise, eh?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That someone like Jose could play so beautifully!’ Mendez gestured for Azelaporn to sit on the sofa. ‘They’re playing Ravel’s “Jeux d’eau”,’ he continued, still grinning. ‘We will bring not only grand investment to your beautiful country!’

  Waiters offered the guests Mexican beer and the musicians played on. At the end of the performance, everyone in the room clapped. Azelaporn watched as Cortez packed away his violin in a large case.

  ‘That was superb, don’t you think?’ Mendez said.

  Azelaporn grunted. He asked his men and the shy pianist to leave with Mendez’s guards. This left him alone with the Mexican war lord and Cortez. They sat on a semicircular red-leather sofa. The chief began to talk about what it would cost to have someone eliminated.

  ‘Who do you have in mind?’ Mendez asked.

  ‘A foreign journalist.’

  ‘Why can’t you organise it yourself?’

  ‘I’ve just had a confrontation with him. Too many witnesses, including the province’s governor. I need to be distanced from it.’ Azelaporn picked up a beer. ‘Besides, it is in your interest that he be, er . . .’

  ‘Why?’ Mendez asked.

  ‘He has been snooping around Chiang Mai investigating the, er . . . unfortunate deaths of two prostitutes.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Mendez said, as if this were news to him.

  ‘This reporter is also believed to have attacked some of your men on the border.’

  ‘Ah, I read about that. He beat them up and ruined the drug shipment.’ He drank some beer. ‘Chief, you are free to negotiate over that with my colleague here. But I don’t want him detained for too long. I’m flying to Bangkok later tonight.’

  ‘It would be useful if it could be organised tonight . . .’

  ‘How much are you willing to pay?’

  ‘I was thinking a hundred thousand dollars . . .’

  ‘If I throw in another hundred thousand,’ Mendez said, with a prolonged glance at the hit man, ‘I think Signor Cortez will oblige.’

  Cortez grunted, examined his well-manicured nails, and nodded. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, his voice sounding as if he had swallowed broken glass, ‘but I thought I was here for another assignment.’

  ‘That is still on,’ Azelaporn said.

  ‘The coup has thrown out the plans, hasn’t it?’ Mendez asked.

  ‘On the contrary,’ Azelaporn
said, ‘it has accentuated the situation.’ The chief ’s eyes flicked to Cortez. Mendez dismissed the hit man.

  When he had left the room, Azelaporn remarked, ‘Again, it is better that someone from outside the country does this assignment.’

  ‘Does the junta want Gaez removed?’

  ‘No, I do. If he gained power, he would want me to lose my job, and worse.’

  ‘I hear Gaez has more than a third of the armed forces in his pocket, and possible support from the Burmese and Cambodians.’

  ‘That’s an exaggeration. But he must be disposed of before he does build numbers like that.’

  ‘So, let me fully comprehend the deal,’ Mendez said, lighting a cigar, ‘before I meet the generals.’

  ‘The lawyers are working it out.’

  ‘Yes, yes, the fine detail. But the broad brush is what I wish to be clear about.’ He drew on the cigar and blew large smoke rings that were gobbled up by a roof fan. ‘The government will waive my tax for the first year.’

  ‘This is not that unusual. It’s an incentive, to attract business.’

  ‘This applies to all our activities in construction, sport and the medical drug business?’

  ‘Yes. The generals only know about these. They are not aware of anything else.’

  ‘They know about my family history?’

  ‘Of course, but you have built a different operation from your father’s. That’s all that counts. All countries have foreign investors, but as long as they put money into legitimate operations, the past is of no concern.’

  Mendez nodded. ‘I know we have dealt with you all along,’ he said with a frown, ‘but with this change of government, you are still its main negotiator with us?’

  ‘Who else is above all the deals and agreements?’ Azelaporn said, opening his hands. ‘I convinced them of your importance, in bringing in so much legitimate investment.’

  ‘All right,’ Mendez said, reaching to shake hands and grinning. ‘I’m ready to meet the generals in Bangkok.’