Don't Eat Me

by Colin Cotterill

  The live witness statements and interviews dragged on through the morning. There was to be a football match—the Lao national team against an amateur club from Cuba in the afternoon, so the hearing adjourned at eleven.

  Phosy sat cross-legged on his straw mat and meditated. He hadn’t meditated since his childhood back in the village. In those days he didn’t have so much on his mind and meditation had been an annoying waste of his time. But now, alone, without even the company of a god or a buddha or a fairy godmother, he tried to find some inner peace. He controlled his breathing, searched for truth. Truth was hard to come by. It had been all but absent over the past two days. He doubted they’d ever give him a chance to rebut—to tell his version of the truth.

  At around three, a grumpy woman in an ugly jacket came by the cell to drop off the day’s transcript and copies of evidence. Phosy was surprised to get them. His sympathetic general was no longer around to force the issue. He thought of the tiny scribe in her neat clothes throwing down her shorthand, rushing off to the typing pool where she and her colleagues would hammer the keys of heavy metal typewriters to get the documents together as quickly as possible. And nobody would read them but Phosy. Nobody on the committee would bother. They’d decided long ago he was guilty so what was the point?

  With no team on his side, Phosy had to put together some sort of plan. He had to analyze, to theorize, to search for a way to scuttle Haeng’s meticulous plot. The documents he held were his only weapon. There had to be an Achilles’ heel. He read:

  WITNESS ONE, Phoukon Bounsak: Zil limousine driver on night of August 22nd and the early morning of August 23rd

  STATEMENT: On the morning of August 22nd I drove Judge Haeng to Wattay airport at 7 a.m. We were there for two hours waiting for a foreign dignitary to arrive. He did not arrive. At no stage did the judge ask for the key to the Zil, which was with me the entire time. I returned the judge to the ministry at around 9:30 a.m. At around 8 p.m. I collected the judge from his house in Sikhotabong and drove him to the Soviet Residence on Dorn Pa Mie near the Ammone Temple. At around 2:50 a.m. on the morning of the 23rd I started to drive the judge back to his house, but he was extremely drunk and insisted I get out of the Zil and allow him to drive home alone. I reluctantly agreed to this and walked back to my residence. I did not see the limousine again until 7 a.m. when I discovered it in the Zil parking lot behind the national assembly. It was in good condition. I checked the trunk and nothing was out of place.

  (Note: Judge Haeng admitted his drunkenness, apologized to the driver and thanked him for his honesty.)

  Phosy smiled, had a bite of his stale baguette and washed it down with warm water. He turned to the next statement.

  WITNESS TWO, Kiengkhum Wunphen: night watchman at the Zil parking lot two blocks behind the national assembly building

  STATEMENT: At around 3:45 a.m. I heard the voice of Judge Haeng calling me from the road outside the parking lot. I went to investigate and found Zil number 17—the car allotted to Judge Haeng—parked about twenty meters from the entrance with the key in the ignition. It was undamaged. I drove it into the lot and logged its return.

  Phosy wondered why Haeng didn’t drive the limousine into the lot and stick around to make certain he’d been seen, as that was the point. But the only person who could answer that question was Haeng himself. Of course, it didn’t escape Phosy’s attention that the statements had already been written. The witnesses had signed the sheets after giving practical evidence. The script was already there in black and white. All that was needed was the pretense of a fair trial.

  WITNESS THREE, Sergei Lavlov: third secretary of the embassy of the USSR (evidence given through Lao/Russian interpreter)

  STATEMENT: I had met Judge Haeng on a number of occasions at various functions of our respective governments. On the evening of the 22nd there was a function at our residence on Dorn Pa Mie in the Sok Paluang area. Haeng and I drank a good deal and lamented the shortage of good wine from Europe since the Thais shut down the border. At one point, he told me that he had some excellent wine in his car and would like to share it with me. His limousine was parked in an empty lot along the road. Judge Haeng was angry because the keys were left in the ignition. He opened the trunk and there was a crate of cabernet sauvignon. He gave me three bottles, locked the trunk, put the keys back in the ignition and we returned to the function. There had been nothing in the trunk but the wine.

  Phosy recalled the laughter in the room when the judge asked his Soviet pal whether, given the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, he might have overlooked a skeleton in the trunk. The judge was confident enough to mock. He’d laid his traps and Phosy had stepped into every one. He turned to the next.

  WITNESS FOUR, Nor Sanavong: night guard at Wattay airport

  STATEMENT: I did not see a Zil limousine drive into the airport grounds on the morning of August 23rd.

  There! Nice. Short and sweet and a total lie. But why not? There were any number of ways to coerce a witness, especially a man in such dire straits he needed to take on two jobs. He’d looked uncomfortable even before the short interview. Phosy forgave him.

  The night took a long time in coming, but when it arrived it was as black as any night he could remember. He lay back on the straw mat and thought back to a tiger he’d seen at Vilai’s compound. She paced confidently in her two-meter cage. She was an old girl, magnificent and proud despite having no kingdom other than the concrete and the bars. Zoos wanted them young, mate-able. The card on front of her cage read: skin only. Expert hide workers could skin a tiger without damaging the valuable pelt. No amount of prancing and posing would alter her fate yet the tiger ruled its domain. She would never renounce her vital role in the universe. She would never go peacefully.

  Phosy was sure he had a similar card in front of his own cage. He could feel the knife cuts on his hide. He’d already lost a lot of blood, but he was damned if he’d go quietly.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Tiger’s Final Roar

  Day three, and every day had a new revelation. It was the day of the introduction of the second charge of premeditated murder. The mood was cheery in the courtroom because Laos had beaten the Cubans by two goals to one. It was the only known victory for the Socialist Lao team since records were first kept. The committee members were discussing the winning goal when Phosy arrived in the courtroom. On the far side of the room Judge Haeng was reprimanding his assistants for something that had gone missing.

  “Do you know how much those things cost?” he shouted. “It’s from Japan. I want it found.”

  Phosy didn’t know what they’d lost but he was glad something had gone wrong on the prosecution bench. It was a good omen. The vice minister, who was not a football fan, quickly called the assembly to order and recapped the previous day’s proceedings. He named those present for the benefit of the stenographer and thanked the respected guests. On this occasion, he didn’t ask Phosy if he had anything to say. Even though he still had a point to make, Phosy would have passed on the offer. He’d decided he would be making his point without the benefit of words. He’d gone through the files and statements and found no magic key to escape his destiny. On their march into the courtroom, one of the guards had mocked him for sending out police officers with empty guns. He’d mentioned that with Judge Haeng running the show there would be bullets for everyone. He told Phosy that he had a loaded gun in his belt and that his dream was to be allowed onto the chief inspector’s firing squad. The guards sat behind and to one side of him during the hearing, and the gun was within reach. This would be his tiger’s final roar.

  With his acne still enraged, Judge Haeng returned to his pitcher’s mound.

  “On the evening of September first,” he said, “my team was scheduled to conduct an interview with airport director Maysuk. Our net was tightening and we were one or two interviews short of putting together an airtight case against Comrade Phosy
. Maysuk’s testimony was crucial as his own minor wife had fled and only he was an eyewitness to the proceedings on the night of the nineteenth. Maysuk had talked to me over the phone, told me what had transpired, and agreed to give evidence for this tribunal. One of my assistants and I arrived at his office at six p.m. only to find him stabbed to death and stuffed into a cupboard. According to eyewitnesses, he had been visited an hour earlier by Comrade Phosy. We found the murder weapon hidden down the back of the air conditioner. Obviously, Phosy had used gloves as there were no prints.”

  “Clever of me,” said Phosy.

  “What was that?” said the minister.

  “Nothing, boss,” said Phosy.

  The judge continued, “We were fortunate to find a signed statement in Director Maysuk’s desk drawer. I submit that document in File D. In it, the director confessed that he had fallen into what he called a criminal abyss. He’d been dragged there by his supposed friend, Phosy, and forced to cover up a murder. The policeman had threatened him to keep the events of the night of the nineteenth and all of the subsequent subterfuge a secret, but remorse is stronger than fear. Maysuk decided to tell all. Comrade Phosy, by this stage, had no choice but to silence his friend the only way he knew how. We have two eyewitnesses who saw him park in front of the office just before five p.m. and return hurriedly to his jeep thirty minutes later. Nobody else went into the office until we arrived for the interview. I regret that we turned up too late to save the life of the airport director.”

  There, thought Phosy, time to do away with the only witness who could substantiate all this bullshit. The judge had sent Phosy to the airport that night knowing full well he wouldn’t meet Director Maysuk. Come to think of it, the poor man was probably bleeding to death in the cupboard as Phosy sat there at his desk.

  “I have here an airplane booking to Houay Xai in Comrade Phosy’s name,” said Haeng. “The date is not fixed. I can only assume he was keeping the option open for an escape from the capital if his plans fell through.”

  And naturally I’d flee to a province in the middle of nowhere rather than leave the country, thought Phosy.

  Haeng began to read through a number of minor charges that seemed to have no purpose other than to sully Phosy’s reputation even further; ignoring regulations, recruiting unqualified personnel to assist in criminal cases, perverting justice, and what he called “the trumped-up charges that put an honest, hard-working police chief inspector in a cell.” Some thirty men had signed a petition objecting to their unlawful dismissal from the police force without a hearing. Phosy was surprised they could write.

  That took matters to lunchtime and Phosy had yet to go on a blind rampage with a stolen handgun. For some reason he wanted to hear all of the charges against him first. Perhaps a massacre a few seconds before the committee’s findings would be dramatic enough.

  The judge announced that the following morning’s session would be the last. It would be spent looking at Phosy’s involvement in the setting up of a private vigilante death squad responsible for the murders of over ten people. The committee would be hearing evidence from Comrade Vilai Savangkeo, a respected businessman and close friend of the minister who had been lucky to escape the talons of Phosy and his hired killers even though his house and belongings were destroyed and his livelihood threatened. It was a spicy premise to guarantee the onlookers would arrive early for a good seat.

  That evening, hungry and unwashed, Phosy looked through the new transcripts until it was almost too dark to read. As the letters faded before his eyes he thought again of the sweet old stenographer. As he expected, he hadn’t yet been given a chance to answer the charges against him. Once again, they said there would be ample time to state his case once all the evidence had been presented. He doubted that.

  Again, he wondered about his life and his death. He’d never really experienced defeat. He’d lost a few smaller conflicts perhaps but had always come out on top in the larger battles. He’d taken on challenges that everyone considered to be beyond him but always found something that worked. And now he had to consider life after Phosy. What would his legacy be? Would they see him as an architect of the new regime? Would they ignore his lifetime as a warrior and only remember him as a murderer, a liar, and a traitor? At least, in his few seconds with a gun in his hand, he’d be able to dispense his own justice. Rid the world of Haeng. Perhaps take out his predecessor, Oudomxai. It was all he had to look forward to. He’d have no chance to kiss his wife and child goodbye. No hugs or handshakes. No time for thanks.

  His eyes were tired. His vision was playing tricks. The words on the grey pages were blurring together. But three of those words stood out in bold text, highlighted with a pen. They were out of place in their sentences but he was sure nobody but him would notice the incongruity.

  “Malee . . . . . . . is . . . . . . . . . . . fine.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Not Over Till the Minor Wife Sings

  Whilst waiting for Judge Haeng to arrive for the final morning of the trial, Phosy had time to look around the room. The video cameraman was new. Vilai the trafficker still sat behind the committee awaiting his chance for revenge. There was one Vietnamese expert with an interpreter who looked too young to be taken seriously. Phosy made brief eye contact with the stenographer. She’d changed her blouse. Today’s was darker, more somber, like one might wear on the morning of a funeral. He smiled at her. She blinked and immediately looked down at her pad. He wanted to tell her what joy she’d given him. How he’d actually found sleep thanks to her. It wasn’t just the knowledge that his daughter was safe, it was the fact that amidst all this loathing he’d found one friend. One person who cared. A little bit of faith to hang on to.

  Haeng, flushed red, arrived through the far door with his team. He seemed elated. He spared a glance at Phosy and the look said, “Farewell.” Phosy instinctively knew the last log had been placed on the pyre. Something had happened. There was no way out now. However brilliant his closing remarks, there’d be nobody listening. He glanced over his shoulder at the pistol in its unfastened holster.

  The vice minister did his maître d’ duties and finally asked Phosy if he had anything to say. The policeman shook his head.

  “And, Judge Haeng, what insights do you have for us today?” asked the minister.

  “Thank you, comrade,” said Haeng. “I am delighted to say that the last spade-full of dirt has just been shoveled into our defendant’s grave.”

  “Go ahead,” said the minister.

  “The case has become more airtight than I . . . than we could have expected.”

  He walked to the front of the room. His smile was like a zipper halfway around his head.

  “On this final day of the hearing,” he began, “my original plan had been to present witness statements to support my belief that Comrade Phosy had established a death squad to mete out his form of justice along our southern border. Despite the fact that most of the witnesses are either dead or fearful for their lives, we had damning evidence to support my theory. But the reason I was late this morning is I had some good news to attend to. Thanks to the diligence of the ex-police officers I recruited in the wake of Comrade Phosy’s cull, we were able to capture five members of the death squad. They had fled during his arrest. They are ashamed of their association with Comrade Phosy and have agreed to speak publicly about their missions. Their statements directly implicate the defendant who undoubtedly advocated their violent behavior.”

  “Where are they?” the minister asked.

  “Outside in the reception area,” said the judge.

  “Well, don’t keep them waiting,” said the minister. “Show them in.”

  When they were led into the courtroom, the five death-squad members clearly disappointed the onlookers. There were hushed comments and snickers as they shuffled down the aisle in their leg irons and handcuffs. Everyone had expected thugs. What they got was a
motley crew comprising four less-than frightening men and, heaven forbid, a woman. She wore thick-lens spectacles and had obviously never exercised a day in her life. They were accompanied by four armed military escorts who forced them to stand before the committee. They all avoided eye contact with Phosy, who assumed they too had turned on him. One of the escorts was a man he’d once trusted.

  Judge Haeng, who would never be accused of having a sense of humor, couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. He addressed the court. “What you see here is the hard core of Comrade Phosy’s death squad.”

  There was laughter.

  “They look like people who have lived on the streets for a long time, but do not underestimate them. Under orders from Comrade Phosy they have killed.” He turned to the newcomers. “Which one of you should I consider to be the leader of this rabid pack?” he asked.

  The death squad members exchanged confused glances. Finally, one gangly character with a gravity-defying hairstyle and crocodile boots raised his shackled hands.

  “That might be me,” he said.

  “Very decisive,” said Haeng. “What’s your name?”

  “Wee.”

  “And, Comrade Wee, who is it that brought your fearsome group together?”

  “Chief Inspector Phosy,” said Wee without hesitation.

  Phosy studied the faces of the group but saw nothing legible.

  “And what was your mission?” asked Haeng.

  “To clean up illegal trafficking traders along the Thai border.”

  “By whichever means,” said Haeng.