“Holy Buddha,” he spat. He gazed apprehensively up the staircase then motioned to Power. “Chief, your lieutenant is right. I’m not trying to put you in the gulag but someone may well be. Wait for your team. Power, come on, we’ll go in first.”
Declan hesitated. He was used to reporting on stories. Now he was the story. Or at least a key player in the drama and the thought made him queasy. He gripped his phone and then instinctively activated the camera. Game on.
“What are you doing?” Pantrem complained.
“Adjusting the focus.”
“No photos!”
“I’m a reporter and you’re cops. You do your job and I’ll do mine.”
“A story!” the Chief shouted angrily.
“Yes, a story. Chief, just think about it, a front page hot off the press story where both you and Bangkok Man come off as heroes!” A headline image leapt into his thoughts. “The Lan Na Ripper!” he exclaimed with excitement. The title jumped out of his mouth with excitement. His heart began to pound with both exhilaration and fear. The implications caused the Chief and Pantrem to retreat into their own thoughts.
They both came to the same conclusion. The Chief started off towards Job commanding over his shoulder, “Don’t touch anything. I’ve got final say on what photos you can use.”
Pantrem swallowed deeply and nodded his assent. Simultaneously they set their gaze on the pulsating lights coming from above. Slowly they began their ascent. ‘The stairway to hell,’ Declan murmured envisioning his headline with trepidation.
The moon hung tenaciously to its domain. ‘A full moon at that,’ the Lan Na King thought ruefully. The act had been completed to perfection. The glimmering photos proved as much. It was not uncommon for a leader to use a provocation to start the wheels of history into motion. It was said that Franklin Roosevelt knew well the Japanese plans to attack Pearl Harbor. If the act was savage the result would be pure. That was the key. In any case, nobody of value had been sacrificed only the sad refuse of the gutter.
The men who carried out the atrocity were chosen well. Butchers by trade, drunkards and whorists by night, they were easily enticed into employ. Their wives would reap a healthy benefit for the deed they had just performed.
This was of little solace to the two men who produced the human carnage at Stairway To Heaven. They now found themselves tied to a stake. In their drunken stupor they could still fully appreciate the horror of being on the other side of the butcher’s ax. The walls began to run red, the blood spurting mightily where a limb once hung. Their pitiful cries for help were easily engulfed in the cavernous maze which ran underneath mountain.
Martin Gay huddled shivering in the corner of the cave that had become his home. His plot for escape was beginning to come into focus. The food supply afforded him was getting low so he no longer offered any to his cell mate. Little appreciation his generosity had garnered anyway. What was that? Gay shuffled to the gate. He gave it a rattle. A smile came to his bearded countenance. He tugged on his beard. Cries of pain filtered through grotto. He covered his ears but the shrieks continued to burrow into his head. Then a realization came. The cries were not coming from without, but rather they were emanating from within the lair. Martin turned to his friend. He dropped to his knees and sobbed. His companion filled the walls with the bellows of the insane. Ben Post had gone mad as the shrieks of his imprisonment attested. Silent for days, refusing to eat, the pressure had finally taken its toll.
Martin Gay cradled his friend’s head to his bosom. “I understand mate. I truly do.” He didn’t know for how long he continued to console his bereft friend. Finally the cries stopped. The droopy eyes signaled that Ben Post had drifted off to sleep. With a deep sigh, a sense of determination, and the knowledge that the gates of his captivity would soon fall, he too relaxed into slumber.
Butchered flesh has a heavy dank smell. It is said that the stench of a decomposed corpse is almost impossible to get rid of. It is as if the spirit of the body righteously clings to the spot of its demise. Pantrem and Power stood paralyzed by the sight which greeted them. The room was splattered with blood. The dark red liquid was so prevalent that they needed to carefully make their way across the room trying not to contaminate the evidence.
They came astride the dance floor. “The Mayor,” Declan choked.
Bangkok Man looked grimly on the horror. Tied in a tight embrace to one of the dancer’s poles were the ‘Mayor’ and his wife Mama Joy. Well their torsos were attached to the pole. On the stage floor were scattered their limbs. Next to those, staring bluntly at the dazed witnesses, were the decapitated heads of the victims. Each held a gaze of speechless terror.
As if on cue Declan and Phitak jerked their heads away in revulsion. The butcher’s axe however left no refuge from the depravity. Horror met them in every direction. Declan began to reign in his disheveled brain. It was time to cowboy up. Professionals need to thrive in times such as these. He steadied himself to approach this like a crime reporter. Inhale every detail and look for the why as well as the what.
Phithak Pantrem must have gone through the same mental process. He took out his notepad, adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and began to take notes. Declan spoke slowly into his recorder. He began to snap photos. Snap save snap save. He repeated the process without bothering to look at the photos. One glimpse was enough.
It then hit him. There were three farang, foreigners, seated around the stage. Their penises were inserted in their mouths sticking out like limp cigars. They had been escorted upstairs by three of the club’s hostesses. The ladies heads had been lopped off and put on the table in front of each man. Dinner served. Declan walked carefully up to the nearest table. The lady and her guest’s hands were entwined.
“How the hell was this pulled off,” Bangkok Man said trying to digest the atrocity which confronted him.
Declan was at a loss. He noticed that there were half empty glasses at each table. He picked one up and brought it to his nose.
“Don’t touch anything!” his fellow witness snapped.
“Poison,” Declan whispered.
Pantrem nodded. “It makes sense. Nobody seems to have made a run for it. But how did the culprit get everybody upstairs? Wouldn’t the pub staff downstairs have known something was amiss?”
“An after-hours party,” Declan answered absentmindedly.
The Chief joined them and looked grimly over the crime scene. “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely.
“Somebody pays for a private party after hours.”
“Ok, what happens then?”
Declan looked at him oddly. The Chief knew well the festivities involved in an after-hours celebration.
“I mean here, in this establishment,” Pao clarified.
Declan got his drift. Each club has their own particular way of satisfying a customer’s request. “The pub staff is let go and whoever is invited gets the run of the house.” Declan pointed to the desecrated corpses. “They were all invited to a party. The drinks and the girls were paid for and the ‘Mayor’ and Mama Joy attended to make sure things didn’t get too out of control.” Declan rubbed his chin and gave the matter further thought. “My guess is that the ‘Mayor’ didn’t trust the person who had paid for the party.”
“Why,” Pantrem questioned.
Declan walked over to the booth he had sat in the previous night. “This lady,” Declan tried to explain before finally succumbing to the totality of the carnage. A tear crept into his eye as he searched for a breath. He knew the lady only too well. Kiki was her name. She had been Declan’s first centerfold girl. They had been lovers many years back before he had fallen in love with Oum. More than that, they were friends. The sight of her decapitated head was too much. His world turned to white bringing him to his knees.
“Everybody down the stairs now,” Job commanded. Job eased Declan up and guided him down the stairs back to the pub.
Easing gently into a stool he took a grateful gulp of water. “Where
was I? Oh yeah, Kiki has been, was, employed here for more than ten years. Stairway To Heaven was her home. To the ‘Mayor’ and Mama she was like a daughter. Kiki was family. And she was more than just a bargirl. She would help run the place acting as a mamasan second in command. The only instance where the ‘Mayor’ would chaperone a party like this is if he didn’t trust the customer. He wouldn’t put Kiki in harm’s way.”
A commotion erupted around the entrance. The forensic unit had finally arrived. The Chief quickly went over to the head crime scene investigator and apprised him of what lay in wait. Job hopped to his duty as well. Pantrem and Power were left to stare at each other numbly.
“So, you’ll run with this story then?”
Declan nodded. “You know it and I know it Pantrem. This is a story of a lifetime. And I’m a newspaper man climbing the ladder.” He walked behind the bar and produced a bottle of Hennessey. He poured two glasses.
“But what exactly is the story Power?”
Declan lit a smoke and slid the pack towards Pantrem. Bangkok Man looked at them suspiciously. “Shit, why not. I’m trying to quit.”
“Not the night for that. Even my lady took up a stick a few hours ago.”
They both inhaled deeply and slumped onto their stool. “I’m not sure what the story is Pithak. But something hit me as I walked in here tonight.”
“What’s that?”
“I took a look down Loi Kroh towards the Night Bazaar. It used to be that the pubs ran all the way down to the Bazaar and across Chang Klan Road towards the river. Not anymore.”
“What does that have to do with this?”
“You are up here to put the screws to Thanat Jaisaen. The big wigs in Bangkok are beginning to take his Lan Na separatist rhetoric seriously. Hell you elite won’t even put up with a Prime Minister from the north.”
Bangkok Man took a drag from his cigarette and pushed his empty glass across the bar. “Me! An elite? Far from it pal. But some are getting nervous I’ll admit. Still, this has nothing do with the political unrest. I’m investigating a tax evasion scheme.”
Declan shrugged his shoulders and refilled their glasses. “His vision of a Lan Na renaissance does not include the likes of all this,” he asserted waving his arms around the seedy décor. “Jaisaen wants to portray Chiang Mai as a sea of virtue positioned against Bangkok’s river of filth.”
“For all his flowery words he’s a gangster you know,” Pantrem spat.
Declan shrugged. “There are a lot of gangsters running around. Here, Bangkok, Boston, everywhere, people are trying to get fat.” He chugged down the last of the whiskey and lit another smoke. He looked at his watch, “Time to write a story.”
“You’ll use the photos?”
“That’s an editorial decision. But, knowing my boss the guess would be yes. Don’t worry though. You and the Chief will come off as heroes.”
“May help to save some lives, though it’ll kill business,” Pantrem shrugged.
Declan laughed. “The Lan Na King may well kill off the Loi Kroh red light district. But like any strong weed another Loi Kroh will sprout up and prosper.” He looked at the Chief who was busy filling out the necessary paperwork allowing the forensic specialists to proceed with their gruesome task. “Pao’s one of the good ones you know,” he stated staring Bangkok Man directly in the eye.
Pantrem shook his head. “Bangkok’s not after him. Keep me posted on what you dig up.”
“Does your phone have Line?”
“Good idea,” Pantrem said raising his i-phone in the air. Declan did likewise and they both shook their phones until the connection was made.
Connected, Declan slapped a big handshake on the out of town investigator and walked out into street. He didn’t trust Bangkok Man. But he sure as hell would use him. A hint of dawn had made its way down the disheveled corridor that was Loi Kroh. He lumbered his big tired frame towards Best Bar.
Chapter 4
The drugs were enforcing a powerful jolt to the body. “The wonders of modern medicine,” the future King Mengrai noted with awe. The doctor to supervise this procedure had been chosen as carefully as the regal name. The revived Lan Na Kingdom with Chiang Mai as its glimmering capitol needed to be presented as a shining jewel set in the foothills of the Himalayas. The Lan Na king also needed to be a pillar of vitality. A deep breath was taken. A satisfied smile followed. The body was getting stronger by the day and the mind remained resolute and focused.
The vigorous lord set a confident gaze over the mystical Suthep Mountain. Wat Doi Suthep, the Vatican of Lan Na Buddhism, bounced to life with the dawn gently caressing its golden stupas. It was an auspicious beginning to what would be a monumental day.
The evening’s raid on the bordello had gone off as perfectly as one could expect. Like any good military leader, a political strategy lay behind the violence. The press would take the bait and the police would be left grasping at straws. A speech would be prepared. It would be a powerful call to the people of the north to take matters into their own hands and not be subject to the oppressive overlord to the south. Bangkok could barely run its own politics. How could it be expected to efficiently run matters in the north? A call for independence would echo throughout the mountains.
A rage began to mix with the potent brew coursing through the veins. For too long Thailand’s capitol city had tried to humiliate The Rose of the North. Duly elected Prime Ministers such as Thaksin Shinawat, a son of Chiang Mai, had been driven from office on trumped up charges of corruption. A fist came crashing down on the desk. No longer would this be tolerated. It was time for action. A deep breath brought on a sudden calm. Anger would not win the day. A smile returned. This brought on an even more powerful realization. Yes, it was ‘he’, he alone, who would return Lan Na to its rightful place amongst nations. The day would be won. And a new king would be crowned.
Declan was accosted by a group of frantic ladies of the night as he entered Best Bar. Fear was encasing the city in a powerful grip. Loi Kroh was ground zero. “Declan! Declan! Did they catch the crazy man?”
Declan was after a killer. He was also after a story. “You mean the Lan Na Ripper? No girls. The police have not cuffed anybody yet. The Ripper is still on the loose. But you’ll be safe here!” There was a bit of carnival barker to his act but he knew two things: The girls would set ‘Lan Na Ripper’ through the streets like wildfire. More importantly, the fear it would render would also be their best protection.
The chorus of shrieked fright enveloped the bar as he made his way to the back office where Oum would be doing her best to put things in order. He noted more than a few foreigners, and some familiar faces, hanging around the bar.
‘Shit, let me get my hands on that muck and that’ll be the end of this horror.’
‘Hell, I know how to use a blade. It’ll bloody right be the end of his days!’
Bravado was aplenty on a drunken early morning Declan thought with a smile. He was tempted to show them the photos of the fresh carnage. Then Oum would have to set to cleaning the floor. Better to leave them in their cups. But a story needs background so he put his elbow up to the bar. “Let me buy a round gentlemen.”
Naturally this was met with approval and they all hunkered closer around the bar like good punters and joined in the gossip of the day.
“Good on you Declan,” an elderly gentleman opened. “I’ve been in Chiang Mai for about twenty years now and I’ve never seen the likes of this.”
“It’s a terrible business it is,” another joined. “Declan, working on the story are we?”
Declan nodded silently as he finished filling the mugs. He set each beside a shot glass of Hennessy. With a hoist of his glass he cheered, “Lads.”
“John, I am indeed working on the story, but I likely know little more than you,” Declan answered hoping to get the tongues wagging.
“The street’s a changing, too many thugs roaming around. Used to be Loi Kroh was a civil place,” the old man continued. “You could co
me down for a pleasant night, good drink, good mates, and walk home with a frisky companion for the bed. Now, you’ll see a bust up almost every night.”
“Times may be a changing Jimmy, but the ladies are still pleasant!”
This drew a cheery agreement and the mugs were raised: “To the lovely ladies!”
Now was not the time for idle banter so Declan started to exit. Oum would be waiting. Before he got from behind the bar another gentleman saddled up to a stool.
“Having a party are we. A pint will do me fine barkeep,” he called to Declan.
Declan nodded and set him up with a shot and a beer. “On the house mate,” he said with a yawn.
“Cheers! We ran down here as soon as we got the news. My girl is a dancer at Stairway. She’s in a right mess she is.”
Declan’s ears perked up. “Were you there tonight?” he queried. Everyone turned their heads and craned their neck in anticipation of some fresh news.
“Just a few hours back. Hell I just got off the plane a few hours back. Came over to Stairway to pick up my girl, we’ve had a thing going for a year or so, takes care of me real good when I’m in town. Know what I mean?”
A chorus of mumbled “Yeah, yeah,” followed.
“All right then, well I only stayed for a drink and wanted to get over to me hotel with my lady.”
“So, you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?” Declan pushed.
“Nah. There was one thing though. Two men were organizing a party upstairs. Free drinks and all that. Heck, there were only a few punters in the joint and a handful of girls left. But enough for a party I guess.”
“These guys, organizing a private party as you say, anything unusual about them?”
The man leaned back in his stool looked at Declan suspiciously. “You a cop? I’m not much for cops.”
“Declan, a cop! No mate,” Jimmy snorted jumping to Declan’s defense. “Declan is a newspaper man. He covers Loi Kroh and does right good by the girls he does,”
The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery Page 9
