Grandad, There's a Head on the Beach

by Colin Cotterill

  “Mair, speak up,” said Arny.

  She looked back toward the shop.

  “I can’t speak too loud. He might hear me.”

  “Who?”

  “Him. One of the body snatchers. The bombers. The rats. He’s back. He parked up on the road, and he’s sneaking down the pathway. But I saw him. Father, get your gun. Let’s show this motherf—”

  “Mair,” I shouted. “Calm down. Are you sure it’s him?”

  “I’d recognize him anywhere.”

  There was no time for the gun. We all ran up the beach, grabbing whatever weapons we could find among the debris: bamboo, shoes, used hypodermics. We took up positions behind walls and huts and waited. And waited. I was just about to step out and take a look when a stocky man in an airport baggage-handler’s uniform walked brazenly across the car park.

  “Get him,” shouted Grandad Jah.

  We charged, mindlessly, and the man put up his hands and dropped onto his back with his legs in the air like a submissive dog. Recognizing the signs, Sticky reached the intruder first and, without a second of thought, ripped the mustache clean off the man’s face. There should have been blood, but I saw none. The victim did, however, give out a high-pitched scream that I recognized immediately.

  “Hold back, everyone,” I shouted. “It’s a relative.”

  “Sissi?” said Arny, and rushed over to help his ex-brother to his feet. They hugged. I joined the maul. Mair was a little slow on the uptake.

  “Who is that in there?”

  “Hello, Mair,” said Sissi.

  It was obvious why we hadn’t recognized my sister. Apart from the large baggage-handler overalls, she wore a peaked cap and, until recently, an orange mustache. To anyone who didn’t know her as Miss Pattaya World 1992, she was all man, complete with a John Wayne walk and a mascaraed five-o-clock shadow.

  “Somkiet?” yelled Mair and rushed to her first-born. She ripped her daughter away from me and Arny and cried all over her.

  “Somkiet. You’ve come back to us.”

  The plan was complete.

  * * *

  “So, where should I set up?” Sissi asked me. “And are you planning to wipe that silly smile off your face anytime soon?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just think it’s frogging hilarious.”

  “You’d prefer I’d turned up in redneck central, wearing high-heels and a bust-revealing halter neck?”

  “Hmm, perhaps you’re right. Where did you put them, by the way?”

  “Strapped down, reluctantly.”

  “I hope they don’t burst. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Mair’s so happy you’re here.”

  “She looks healthy. All this sea and simplicity’s good for her.”

  “Good for her body, anyway.”

  We were on my veranda, having a very hurried reunion before my boat sailed. Sticky sat at our feet, gnawing on the mustache. I’d told Sissi about the problem we had with the Noys and the Special Branch and that setting up her equipment at our resort might not be such a good idea. We didn’t want them coming back to find a computer operation going on.

  “Well,” I said, “if you need other computers, the Internet shop in Pak Nam’s the only place. If you’re lucky, you might get there before all the high school gamers arrive.”

  “And why would the owner let me take over his shop?”

  “We have a sort of … understanding. He thinks we’re Internet police. You shouldn’t have any trouble. Mair can show you where it is.”

  She reached into her gym bag and produced what looked like a slim slab of plastic slate.

  “All right,” she said. “Here’s the beast. Treat it lovingly.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s a heavy-duty XR2 double—”

  “All right. Enough with the specs. I like it.”

  “You should. The Navy Seals use it on missions. It’s bulletproof.”

  “Really? I don’t suppose you’ve got one about my height and width?”

  “I didn’t have time to get you external cameras or mikes, so you’ll have to do your commentary directly into this little hole here. You’ll get fourteen hours on the battery, but here’s a back-up just in case you’re shipwrecked or cast adrift.”

  That thought appalled me more than catching a bullet.

  “And that’s all I need?”

  “No. What do you think I was doing on your boat just now? I’ve attached one other slice of magic. It’s a lightweight Explorer 700 with—”

  “Just tell me what it does, all right?”

  “It connects to satellites. That’s not so easy on a boat because the receiver usually has to be stable. Close to shore you might have got away with using a cell-phone signal. I didn’t know how far you’ll be going out to sea. But that beauty should give you an unbroken signal from wherever you are.”

  “Great, Sis. Thanks. I see you got along really well with the baggage handler?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You got him out of his uniform.”

  “No. Not my type, as it turned out. He had a spare uniform. But talking about getting along…”

  “What?”

  “Ed?”

  “What about him?”

  “He could shiver my timbers anytime. I can see why you’ve got a thing for that lean machine.”

  “I do not have a thing for him.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll have him then.”

  “Good luck. I’ve heard he’s really turned on by mustachioed airport workers.”

  “You wait till he sees me out of drag.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep him alive for you. Time to go.”

  We hugged but didn’t say goodbye.

  “Are you sure all this is going to work?” I asked.

  “The technical side I can guarantee. All that other stuff—the boating and the shooting and the rescuing and the drowning—that’s up to you lot.”

  * * *

  I walked along the beach. Everyone was on the boat waiting for me. Seven long faces. I was the team leader, and I didn’t want them to see how hopeless I thought this all was. I waded out to them with a hopeful expression. I’d remembered to bring a change of clothes in a plastic bag, even though the standard squid boat didn’t come complete with a changing room. Captain Ed the grass cutter leaped from his little boat into the chest-high water. The waves didn’t appear to buffet him.

  “We ready?” he shouted.

  The water was already up to my neck. I had the computer and the plastic bag on my head. Ed waded toward me. I knew his intention.

  “I’m perfectly capable of getting into a boat without being manhandled,” I said.

  I thought there might have been a little ladder somewhere, perhaps a crane. But there was merely a sheer wall of timber. I couldn’t even reach the top of it with my hand.

  “Sorry,” he said. “But you aren’t.”

  He ducked beneath the water, put his arms around my upper thighs and lifted me as if I weighed no more than a large herring. Apparently the effects of the antidepressant hadn’t quite worn off. Grandad Jah and PI Meng took my belongings, then grabbed my wrists and hoisted me up. In one effortless move, Ed was on the deck at the same time as me. He primed the motor, weighed anchor, and we were off with only a slight bump of the Honda. I wondered how that would look on the insurance claim. Mair stood on the beach waving a discarded plastic bag.

  DEAR CLINT. THE FOLLOWING ACCOUNT OF THE SEA-BORNE QUEST AND THE SIMULTANEOUS LAND INVESTIGATIONS HAVE BEEN TRANSCRIBED FROM LIVE INTERNET FOOTAGE AND INTERVIEWS. IN THE MAPRAO CRIMINAL JUSTICE SYSTEM, THE PEOPLE ARE REPRESENTED BY TWO SEPARATE YET EQUALLY IMPORTANT GROUPS—THE STAFF OF THE LOVELY RESORT, WHO INVESTIGATE CRIME, AND THE FEW STRAIGHT COPS OF THE PAK NAM STATION, WHO MAKE ARRESTS AND OCCASIONALLY PROSECUTE THE OFFENDERS. THESE ARE THEIR STORIES.

  Sissi and Mair left the dogs to guard the Lovely Resort and headed off to Pak Nam in the Mighty X. They stopped off at the post office and collected Mair’s cell phon
e and an apology from Nat the manager for giving away her personal address so recklessly.

  Back in the truck, Mair used her phone to call Meaty of the DSI.

  “What?”

  “My name is Mrs. Jitmanat Gesuwan. I am the proprietor of the Gulf Bay Lovely Resort and Restaurant in Maprao.”

  There was nothing but silence from the other end.

  “It was me who kneed you in the bollocks this morning. I’m—”

  “I remember. What do you want?”

  “Shortly after you left, a man arrived to look at the Honda. He didn’t say anything. He was short-haired and sour-looking, so I thought he was one of your men. He played around with the engine and somehow got it going. My father was impressed. Next thing you know, it was gone.”

  “Someone took the car?”

  “It wasn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Then my neighbor might have been right after all. She said she’d seen two women driving away from our resort in a silver car. That must have been the women you were looking for. I bet you they hired a mechanic. And that would also explain why I found a plastic bag hanging in the carport with a large sum of money in it. It more than covered what they owed. I should think they’re—”

  “What time was this?”

  “Ooh, I don’t know. About two?”

  “And what direction were they headed?”

  “South. Although they could easily have—”

  He hung up.

  “Job done,” said Mair, and took her son’s hand. “It’s nice to have you home.”

  “You’re really something,” said Sissi.

  “Thank you, child. At last my family’s all together. My dream has come true.”

  Live Internet feed. 5 P.M. Gulf of Thailand

  (CAMERA—CLOSE-UP OF JIMM JUREE)

  JIMM: I am reporting live to you from an unstable squid boat rocking perilously in the Gulf of Thailand. This is a live feed. English is not my native language, so please forgive my accent. We are heading out to deep water where at least seventeen Burmese are being held captive as slaves on three forty-meter fishing boats. The slaves are most likely being held at gunpoint. We have no idea how many guards there are or what weapons they’re using. We are one small boat against three large ones. We are a crew of eight with only one handgun between us. Among our number are old men, an engaged couple, and a woman with a fear of water. None of us knows if we will make it back alive. We have no plan other than to find the ships and rescue the Burmese. And, yes, as I speak a fine rain has started to fall. (CAMERA-NOTEBOOK TIPS UP TOWARD THE GRAY SKY. A BLOB OF RAIN HITS THE LENS.) Are we in for another blustery storm to make our venture even more difficult?

  I am your reporter Jimm Juree and I intend to stay here talking to you online until the matter is resolved—one way or another. Will we save the lives of our abused neighbors, or will we be cut down in a hail of machine-gun fire? Only time and the intervention of Mazu, the Chinese goddess of the sea, will tell.

  “She looks fat on this thing,” said Mair. She was leaning over Sissi’s shoulder as they watched the live feed.

  “She is a bit overweight,” said Sissi.

  “But not fat, son. There isn’t an ounce of fat on her. She’s solid, I’ll give you that. A good solid Chiang Mai girl. Look at her. She’s so pretty. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone saw her on this and took a liking to her? Do you think anyone’s watching?”

  “So far … two thousand seven hundred.”

  “Two thousand seven hundred what?”

  “People … watching.”

  “No.”

  “I swear. Look at the counter. This is the number of real-time viewers.”

  “That’s people?”

  “Sure is.”

  “But how did they know? We’ve only just started.”

  “I’ve been putting up links all over. Advertising on Web sites. Facebook. Twitter. Next thing you know, it goes viral.”

  “That sounds unpleasant. So you think there might be more?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “Oh. Then there’s certain to be someone out there who likes her, isn’t there?”

  “A lot of weirdos on the Internet, Mair.”

  “Don’t be cruel. She’s a very attractive girl with a lovely personality and a good sense of humor. Perhaps you could just make her look a little slimmer?”

  “Without the benefits of plastic surgery?”

  “Look at all those buttons and dials. Surely you can do something with special effects?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Live Internet feed. 5:42 P.M. Gulf of Thailand

  (CAMERA—CLOSE-UP OF JIMM JUREE)

  JIMM: This is very exciting. We’ve just heard over the boat’s communication system that Captain Kow, our man in pursuit of the kidnapped Burmese, has sighted their ferry and is holding back so as not to alert the skipper. He has given us his location and headings, and we have changed our own direction and are going at full speed to meet up with him. Our own captain estimates that we should intersect his path in just over an hour. This is an awfully long time in a boat with no roof or restrooms. But we are warmed by the knowledge that the chase is on.

  As I have already introduced you to our brave crew, and as nobody else speaks English, I am debating how I can best—”

  GAEW: (OFF SCREEN) I can.

  CAMERA PANS AROUND TO THE CREW AND ZOOMS IN ON GAEW, HAND ALOFT. SMILING.

  JIMM: (OFF SCREEN) You can speak English?

  GAEW: All those international bodybuilding tournaments.

  JIMM: Well, you get yourself over here. Viewers, this is a golden opportunity for your reporter, Jimm Juree, to hand over to a woman from this very region who knows the sea and the plight of the Burmese as well as anyone.

  GAEW: Actually, we had a rice shop. I only got to go the beach on holidays.

  JIMM: Then let’s hear about the … plight of international bodybuilding. I’m sure our viewers need a break from me.

  Actually, I was dying for a pee. There are only so many things a live-feed audience can stomach. Even the Big Brother people balked at having closed-circuit cameras in the bathrooms.

  “Where’s the toilet?” I asked Ed.

  I knew there wasn’t actually a room, but I suspected there had to be a protocol. A lot of wives came out to sea with their husbands. They’d seen it all before, of course, but they didn’t have an audience of seven—one of whom was admiral pervert Bigman Beung himself. Ed explained. Here again, the wonders of the sarong came into play. I won’t give you a blow by blow. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but my modesty was intact and I had learned one more skill for my résumé.

  While Gaew spouted on about steroids and the cost of good body oil, I sat beside PI Meng the private eye, glad for a break from my live feed.

  “Been busy?” I asked, ever keen to keep up with the local crime scene.

  “Nah,” he said.

  I was hardly surprised.

  “Nothing ongoing?”

  “Well…”

  “Come on. You can tell me. We’ll all be dead by morning.”

  “That’s true. Well, Ari hired me.”

  “The monkey-handler Ari?”

  “When I say he hired me, what I mean is that he offered to give me a finder’s fee if I could locate his macaque. But it’s been gone since Tuesday, so I doubt we’ll ever see that critter again.”

  “Right,” I said. “Long gone, I expect. Across the border to Malaysia, I wouldn’t doubt. It’s like the southeast Asian version of Canada. They have a commune of escaped macaques down there, dodging the coconut draft, singing freedom from slavery folk tunes.”

  “Really?”

  He didn’t have any idea what I was talking about. Few did. I was just about to mingle some more when something occurred to me. I sat back down.

  “When did you say the monkey went missing?” I asked.

  “Tuesday,” he said. “Someone just untied it from his truck and walked off with it.”<
br />
  “And you’re sure it was Tuesday?”

  “Certain.”

  I was confused, but it wasn’t a priority matter. I skipped Bigman Beung and sat beside my brother.

  “You all right, mate?”

  “I’m starting to feel seasick,” he said greenly.

  “Focus on the horizon and imagine you live in that lighthouse over there.”

  “There isn’t a lighthouse over there.”

  “I said imagine it.”

  “I thought you meant imagine living there.”

  “I did. See? You feel better now, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, a bit.”

  “You just needed your mind taken off the sea. Focus on cloud shapes. Focus on a distant light. Focus on Gaew. She’s a lot prettier than the Gulf. You do know she’s impressed with you? You planned this all very nicely.”

  “It was going all right. Sissi didn’t help. Turning up like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Gaew’s seen the genes now.”

  “Oh, don’t.”

  “Now she knows what stock I’m from.”

  “It’s a scientific fact that transsexualism isn’t hereditary. You don’t see me dressing up as … OK. Bad example. The fact is, you’re all man, Arny. She knows that. And when the opportunity comes, you’ll know it too. Look at you. You’re on a boat in the middle of the sea. Miles from land. Who’d have thought that?”

  His eyes rose in search of a cloud.

  “I feel seasick again.”

  “Sorry.”

  I stood up clumsily and punched Grandad and Waew on their upper arms because I’d seen sports coaches do it on TV. It was for morale. They both complained. Said it hurt. I apologized. I returned to my computer and, I hoped, a small but faithful contingent of strangers on the Internet.

  13.

  Some Shy Bruised Eyes Please Go Away

  (from “I Wish It Would Rain” — TEMPTATIONS)

  Even after Lieutenant Chompu’s third passing of the Egg house, all seemed quiet and peaceful. The properties on either side were unoccupied and overgrown. Egg’s house had a concrete front yard, which no doubt made gardening that much easier, and a low brick wall. One short driveway led to an open carport, and one other curved around and headed beside the house toward the rear of the property. The building itself was a two-story show house with all those extras that looked fine in ancient Greece but were over the top for Pak Nam. Despite its opulence, it wasn’t a loved house.