Grandad, There's a Head on the Beach

by Colin Cotterill

  “Aung. What’s up?”

  “Where have you been?” he asked. “I’ve been—”

  “You’re not my only emergency. Is it Shwe?”

  “He called. His battery’s very low. They were being herded into a small boat,” he said. “I’m not sure, but I think he said the name of the boat had the word AMOR written on one side. He couldn’t read the Thai on the other.”

  “Did he say how many they were?”

  “Seventeen. Four women. They’d brought over another bunch from a different holding center.”

  So, they’d got their new crew. I wondered what had happened to the previous one.

  “Can you help?” he asked.

  “I hope so,” I said. “Keep your phone on.”

  And I clicked off.

  I wasn’t ready. I needed another day at least. I needed more people. I needed … I needed a miracle. I called Captain Kow.

  “What is it?” he said. His voice sounded like rust deep in the back of the phone.

  “Where are you?” I shouted.

  “Nam Jeud,” he said.

  “It’s started. I know it’s short notice, but did you get in touch with anyone?”

  “Ha! Started, has it? I haven’t got through to everyone yet. I focused on boats around Sawee, like we agreed. My brother’s up there.”

  “Are there any boats out at the moment?”

  “This time of day? Not many. Only the squid trapmen checking their traps.”

  “Are they on walkie-talkie?”

  “Normally they wouldn’t need to be. They only use the wireless at night to tell each other where the shoals are. The trappers have permanent spots, but the transient boats have to follow the squid.”

  “But?”

  “But, well, there’s the karaoke.”

  “The karaoke?”

  “The nights can be a bit long and boring, waiting for squid. And a lot of fisherfolk like to sing. So about a year back we started entertaining each other by crooning over the short wave. And someone came up with the idea of bringing along tape players and singing along with the music. So they—”

  “Kow! We’ve got seventeen people about to be beheaded. Is there a short version of this?”

  “Sorry. Almost done. So, every night you’d take your turn to sing. And the M-150 energy-drink people heard about it, and they launched a CB transceiver karaoke competition with cash prizes. The competition’s next week and everyone’s rehearsing. Night or day we have our channels open. Sing a bit. Get feedback from your mates.”

  “So what you’re telling me is that the trap setters are on air.”

  “You could say. Them and the night boats.”

  “Can you contact them?”

  “My brother Daengmo can.”

  Daengmo? Now, why did that name ring a bell?

  “All right,” I said. “Ask them if anyone saw a small boat leave Sawee before midday. It might be called Amor. At least that’s what’s written in English … or French. There were seventeen Burmese on board. You can’t hide seventeen people in a small boat, so someone must have noticed it. We need to know what direction it was headed. And someone has to get after it.”

  “I’m on my way,” he said.

  “Where to?”

  “If I can get the headings from Daengmo and the karaoke crowd, I can set a heading to intersect with it. It’s all in the angles.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have to be careful with these people. How far out before you lose this cell-phone signal?”

  “About thirty kilometers unless I’m heading toward the islands.”

  “Then how do we keep in touch?”

  “I’ll give you Daengmo’s number. I’ll use the wireless transmitter. You’ll be able to get the bearings from him.”

  “Kow?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll never forget this.”

  “I really can’t tell you how much of a pleasure it is.”

  “We’ll have reinforcements out there soon. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Aye aye.”

  They really said “aye aye”?

  * * *

  When I went to join Mair in the shop, Captain Waew was just pulling out, with the Noys lying down in the bed of the truck. The co-op ladies were up front. Elain was on a rope on the flatbed. Mair was alone, waving to the monkey.

  “Where are all the other ladies?” I asked.

  “I sent them home,” she said. “I sense danger. Your policeman said he’d call you later. I phoned Arny and told him to come home.”

  “Arny? Great! Who else would you phone in times of danger?”

  “Don’t make fun of your brother. He’ll be there for you when you need him.”

  “And where’s Grandad?”

  “Last time I saw him he was rearranging the flotsam on the beach.”

  “Why…?”

  An engine was gunned; I imagined wheels spinning. We ran down and looked along the beach. The tide was low but still only six meters from the cabins. Grandad Jah had laid out a long bridge of bamboo down the sand to the water’s edge. It seemed rather pointless, considering the incoming tide would wash it all away before …

  A roaring Honda City leaped from the carport, gained traction from the bamboo, and sped off over the bridge and into the water. I saw the grinning flash of Grandad’s face as it vanished behind the splash. It had traveled fifteen meters at speed before the wheels began to spin in the sand and the Honda came to a standstill. Only the roof was visible above the waves. I raced into the surf, dismissing my water phobia as trivial compared to the love of my grandfather. But as the water began to crash against my waist, the fear waxed and the love waned. By the time I reached the Honda and the current was forcing me back it, occurred to me that I’d never really been that fond of him. Even so, some insanity saw me pinching my nose with my fingers and ducking my head beneath the surface. I opened my eyes and a stinging wash of salt filled them with pain. Everything was blurry. I pushed my head in through the open window. The cab was empty.

  I burst, spluttering, into the atmosphere and looked around me for the floating corpse of my beloved relative. He was standing beside Mair on the beach, the bastard. I was furious. I wanted to stomp back to him, but the water was buffeting me around like laundry. By the time I washed up on the beach, I was out of breath and out of ire.

  “What,” I huffed, “was that all about?”

  He came over to my supine body and crouched down in one of those impossible country squats.

  “I’ve had an idea,” he said.

  “Please share it.”

  “Well, in an hour or so the tide will be fully up and the car will be invisible from the beach. We have the phone number of the Special Branch fellow. So, we give him a call and tell him the car’s gone. We hint that the Noys came back and drove it off. And they’ll spend the rest of the day, perhaps even the rest of the week, scouring the country for this car. We’ll be out of the loop.”

  “And what happens if they come back at low tide when the car’s visible?”

  “We can drape it with weed and make it look like something being washed up.”

  “And what about you—an ex-mechanic—telling them the pistons are seized up?”

  “A miracle. The floodwater from the river rinsed out all the salt and the thing started working.”

  It didn’t sound at all plausible, but Grandad Jah had that senile look so they’d probably put it down to dementia. And it was good to get one emergency off the front burner for a while.

  “OK,” I said. “Crazy but acceptable.”

  While I was telling them about the Burmese in Sawee, Arny and Gaew pulled up on her Harley, so I had to start all over again. When Ex-Police Captain Waew returned from concealing the Noys, I had to tell him too. After three times of telling it didn’t sound any more hopeful.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” asked Grandad.

  “I have a plan,” I said, and to
ld him about Captain Kow and the small-boat squid men.

  “That good-for-nothing wastrel couldn’t organize fluff in a belly button,” said Grandad. “I’m not putting my life in his hands.”

  “All right, stop it. Stop it now,” said Mair. “I’ve just about had enough of you insulting Kow. Either you button your lip or I’ll punch it.”

  She looked furious, and I’d never seen my grandfather back down to her like he did at that moment, but I could sense some friction between father and daughter. There was too much going on around us to follow up on it, but I put a mental yellow Post-it sticker against that moment.

  Gaew it was who brought us all back to practicalities.

  “We need a boat,” she said.

  “That’s right,” said Mair, still glaring at Grandad. “We do.”

  A boat. Right. It was the one aspect of this mission that I’d tried to drown in my subconscious. As the leader, I could hardly send them all out into the deep ocean and wave my handkerchief from the quay. But I was petrified by the very thought of having nothing but a wooden plank between me and Davy Jones.

  “We’ve got to get out there as soon as we can and help those poor people,” said Arny, pushing his big chest ahead of him.

  Actually, Arny was every bit as scared of the water as me. We’d both had life-threatening experiences in water that I won’t go into now. But Arny had an image to project here, and if it involved wrestling sharks, I felt there was no turning back for him.

  “Now, who do we know with a boat?” said Mair.

  Actually, we lived in a fishing village. Everyone we knew owned or had access to a boat. What she was really asking was who would be dumb enough to lend us one so we could go and get it riddled with machine-gun bullets.

  “Ed,” said Arny.

  “No,” said I.

  “Why not?” asked Grandad. “He’s got a fine new boat. Just finished it a week ago.”

  “Look, just not Ed, all right?” I said.

  “Then give us an alternative,” said Grandad.

  The effects of the antidepressant had abated some. I still felt a tickle when I thought of the male musculature, but I was no longer in heat. I was left with only the shame of the erotic thoughts that had forced me onto our grass cutter. I understood all those addicts who woke up in the bodies of complete strangers and lived those strangers’ lives badly. If we didn’t all die at the hands of slavers or government agents, I vowed I would volunteer at the local drug clinic. I acknowledged my addiction. I am Jimm and I’m a recovering sex addict.

  Mair was talking on Arny’s cell phone. When she finished, I asked,

  “Who was that?”

  “Ed,” she said.

  “Mair, we’re a team,” I said. “Teams consult. Teams don’t ignore the opinion of their daughters. What did he say?”

  “He’s on his way.”

  * * *

  “Chom, thanks for this afternoon. Can you speak?”

  “Do you mean, have I learned the fundamentals, or am I in a position to discuss the illiterate ape I share my office with?”

  “OK. Question answered. Where are you?”

  “I’m sitting in a children’s playground with a cigarette.”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “I didn’t say I was smoking it. I’m just holding it near my lips so that from the police station opposite it looks like I’m smoking, and therefore I have an excuse to be out of my office.”

  “You’re hiding.”

  “I’ve reached my limit. I’m imagining all the things I’d do to him if I were four times the man I am.”

  “You want revenge?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. You remember his address?”

  “I’ve driven past it several times and thrown imaginary Molotov cocktails.”

  “Do you feel like going inside?”

  “That would be what we policemen refer to as breaking and entering?”

  “That’s the one. I bet you’re good at it.”

  “And what, apart from the stimulating rush of adrenaline, would be my motivation?”

  “We’re going after the slavers. Even if we get them, we still wouldn’t have any evidence that Egg was involved. There’s nothing incriminating in his files. We need something that ties him to this whole slavery thing. And we need to know what other police are involved.”

  “Other police?”

  “The Burmese they’ve taken today were picked up by uniformed police.”

  “Do you have an actual witness this time?”

  “We have seventeen of them. But they’re on their way to the deep ocean. We’re going to bring them back.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You don’t have a plan.”

  “I do. It’s coming. And your breaking and entering is a part of that plan.”

  He was quiet.

  “Are you thinking?” I asked.

  “I’m posing elegantly with my cigarette between two fingers as I consider the humiliation of being discharged from the police force.”

  “It can’t be any worse than the humiliation you’ve suffered by being in it.”

  Another silence.

  “You’re right.”

  “So, you’ll do it?”

  “Nobody bullies big Chom and gets away with it.”

  12.

  I Was Feeling Kinda Seasick, but the Crowd Called Arthur Moor

  (from “Whiter Shade of Pale” — PROCOL HARUM)

  The small vessels generally set out for sea from Jamook Prong harbor, but this day Ed’s new seven-meter squid boat was parked directly beside the Honda. The tide was full and the sea was once again nudging the cabins. I’d avoided eye contact with Ed, even while briefing him on piracy matters. I was impressed at how readily he’d volunteered himself and his boat. He’d brought along a friend, plastic awnings salesman and part-time private investigator Meng, to act as crew. I knew that with every new recruit there was one added chance of a double agent sneaking in. There was a lot of piracy bribe money going around. But I’d had dealings with Meng, and he appeared to be the type who found it hard to tell a lie. At 150 centimeters and 40 kilos, however, I didn’t see him wrestling many armed guards to the ground.

  “So, exactly what is the plan?” Ed asked.

  I almost looked at him.

  “I can’t really tell you just yet,” I said. “I’m waiting for the last piece to slot into place.”

  “So, you haven’t, as yet, got one.”

  “I’ve got one,” I began. “I just can’t—”

  “Ho, ho, what do we have here then?” came a booming voice.

  Across the littered sand marched Bigman Beung in what could only be described as an admiral’s uniform. It had more ribbons and twirls than a rhythmic gym club. It was lousy timing. The last thing I needed was drama with our sleazy headman.

  “Beung,” I said, “what are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here is a more likely question,” he said. “And I must say I am very fond of the way your wet T-shirt adheres to your little brassiere, by the way.”

  I was still damp from my attempt to rescue Grandad Jah. That and sweating, and I’d probably end up with pneumonia. I fluffed out my T-shirt, but his gaze remained on my chest.

  “We’re having a launch party for Ed’s new boat,” I lied. “Grandad’s gone to fetch the firecrackers. The monk’s just left.”

  I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see Ed and PI Meng backing me up, but they were off along the beach having a stroll.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Odd, that, considering we already had a launch ceremony for him three weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, right. But this is a private, family celebration. To thank him for all the good grass cutting he’s done for us over the past year.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  My breasts were heavy from his gaze, so it was a re
lief when he finally looked me in the eye.

  “You shouldn’t lie to a village headman, little Jimm.”

  “I’m not exactly—”

  “Why do you suppose I’m here?”

  “I don’t know. To inspect the latrines?”

  “Now, does this look like a sanitation uniform to you?”

  He was right. It certainly didn’t. It looked like a Gilbert and Sullivan costume.

  “I’m here for the voyage,” he said.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where are we going?”

  I shook my head.

  “Captain Kow phoned me,” he said.

  A chunk of meteorite fell from space and landed in my stomach.

  “W-why?”

  “Don’t look so surprised, honey. Me and the captain are like this.”

  He wound his fingers around each other like a nautical knot. I suddenly hated Captain Kow. In one foul phone call he’d doomed our project to failure. I was ready to call it off there and then. To make matters worse, Beung took my hand in his. His fingers were greasy.

  “I’m the main man in these parts. Don’t forget that. Me and the captain have been keeping our eyes on those deep-sea vessels.”

  “You have?”

  “We may look like a disorganized rabble, but the Maprao Coastal Watch has its finger on the pulse.”

  His thumb caressed my palm.

  “And?”

  “We’ve long suspected foul play out there. Your findings have proven us correct. But we knew that we would be up against influential figures. We weren’t certain how to progress. We lacked a solid plan.”

  I knew what was coming next.

  “What’s our plan?” he asked.

  “I don’t exactly—”

  There was a scream from up the beach. Mair came running toward us, waving both arms at the same time, as if scaring off imaginary birds. All the crew members gathered around her, waiting for her to catch her breath. When her voice arrived, it did so in a conspiratorial whisper. We couldn’t hear a word.