The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery

by T. Hunt Locke

  Phitak took note of Power’s pleading expression. The prying bulldog of a reporter was a wisecracking annoying piece of work. But there was also an endearing side to Declan Power. He thought back to his Boss’s final order. Declan was on his hit list. Another slice of humanity drifted from his soul. He steeled himself to his task and flashed a smile while putting a reassuring hand on his target’s shoulder.

  “She’s on the top of my list friend. Stay cool; you’ll be walking down that aisle as planned.”

  Chapter 5

  “What’s this all about Bart?” Morgan asked his voice saddled with unease.

  “Peter, we have a situation that is quite grave. One could say it is of a national importance.”

  Morgan listened and wondered whether Bart had hit the bottle again. But he spoke with clarity and an undeniable fervor accompanied his words. He was about to reply as Bart went to close the office window’s blinds and reopen the door.

  Two large men entered the office. Each wore a uniform. The uniforms in some ways resembled a modern military officer’s garb yet there were elements that harkened back to a distant ceremonial past. It wasn’t the uniform that caused him dread. The two menacing sets of eyes which bore down on him left little doubt as to the nature of their business. He turned to Hartin.

  “Bart, I don’t understand,” Morgan stammered. Why was he pleading to this man?

  “Peter, we have a duty to carry out. As a foreigner living in this great land you have been given much. Now, it is your turn to reciprocate. But before I go into too much detail let me show you a photo that I have just received.”

  Hartin handed Morgan his mobile. He did not try to disguise the smirk which pranced upon his craggy face.

  Morgan took the phone into his hand. He saw the image of a lady and a little girl. The impact hit hard. They were his wife and daughter. Tied up, sporting looks of terror, his family was being held captive in what looked like a cave.

  “There is an audio file Peter. Please press play.”

  Morgan held Bartholomew Hartin’s gaze in a flash of hatred. “You drunken bastard. What the hell have you done?”

  Hartin smiled in response. He snapped his fingers at one of the guards. The guard snapped to his duty, strode forward, and began to deliver blows down on Morgan’s head and shoulders. Morgan collapsed back without defense.

  “Please, Peter, press play.” Hartin’s words seemed to act as an order. The guard abruptly stopped his punishing assault.

  Bloodied and cowered, Peter Morgan did as directed. The audio was far worse than the physical beating. The phone loudly announced the anguished cries of his wife and daughter.

  “Now, Peter, we’ve work to do. Please be a good lad, follow directions, and in a few days time, you’ll have your family back in one piece, or at least relatively so, and you’ll be back to running your newspaper if under a new regime.”

  ‘This is the way to live,’ Declan thought to himself. Bee’s penthouse hovered at the top of the Chiang Mai river skyline sporting a spectacular view with little luxury spared in its design. This was the life he hungered for, a slice of luxury to be enjoyed with Oum.

  “Quite the view,” Bee purred in her husky voice. She handed Declan a glass of wine and casually leaned against the balcony’s railing.

  “I should say,” Declan answered as he gazed at the moon’s shining reflection which danced upon the Ping River’s swift current.

  “The height gets me a bit dizzy though. And, I might add, the wine is not helping.”

  “Then it is working,” Declan said with a laugh.

  “Hmm, I must say, you are expert at getting a girl to take her clothes off. But, still, you’ll need to convince me a bit more.”

  Declan shrugged his shoulders. “Really, it is simple. You may or may not know of my monthly centerfold. These girls come from the bars, from the go-go halls, and the premise is to shine a spotlight on one of Chiang Mai’s premier tourist attractions. It’s good for the girls and it works well for the lads. But, these are working girls. I have this idea to also have a page which features the girl next door type.”

  Bee unhooked the shoulder strap to her summer dress. It fell to the floor. She stepped away from the fallen fabric and stood facing him clad in sheer white lingerie. Victoria Secret summer line 2013 Declan instantly recognized. He now knew where Nikki got her fashion sense from. “Ok, you’re getting closer. So, you’d like to have proper ladies bare all. ‘Good for the lads’ as you say. But what do the ladies get out of it?”

  He took his time looking her over from head to toe. She was spectacular. “As should always be the case, the ladies should benefit most of all. Chiang Mai is littered with ladies both beautiful and educated. Yet they are often tied to dead-end jobs. In many respects they are similar to the girls in the beer bars in that they’re looking for a man. And, in some cases, a little bit of extra money via the freelance trade.”

  Bee nodded and casually shed her bra. She refilled both wine glasses. Declan allowed his eyes to follow her breasts as they bounced alluringly into place. “But, I don’t seem to fit the bill of the ‘girl next door’ do I Declan. Oh, I’m educated. And many a man has called me beautiful. But, in fact, I’m not waiting for a man and I certainly don’t need the money.”

  Declan’s gaze remained on Bee’s perfectly formed melons.

  “They are real I can assure you. Would you like to touch them?”

  “May I?” Declan accepted Bee’s smile as an invitation. “Oh sure, fresh, these are straight from God’s garden. They are perfect,” he said as he indulged in a good squeeze. He returned his attention above Bee’s neck. “I disagree Bee. In a sense, you have the perfect motivation to be the ultimate ‘girl next door.’”

  “That being?”

  “Revenge. You despise your domineering uncle. You hate what he stands for. How do you think he would like a centerfold spread of the Lan Na Princess!”

  A sparkle came to Bee’s eyes. Her panties found the floor. She came up to Declan and whispered in his ear: “You hit the magic spot Mr. Reporter. Snap away.”

  The mood in the Four Season’s nightclub was festive. Convention season was upon Chiang Mai and the men from IBM were competing with the Barclay’s Bank contingent for domination of the dance floor. For the ladies, this was big game season. Dressed elegantly, with just the right amount of squeeze and tease, a lady could win a lifetime of leisure by bagging the right trophy.

  Phitak Pantrem was not that trophy. Despite his youthful good looks and trim athletic physique he did not carry the proper resume for this clientele. He was Thai. So it was with surprise that he heard a call from down the bar. “Buy me a drink,” A sultry Thai voice commanded. Phitak turned in the direction of the request.

  He laid eyes on a stunning display of voluptuous beauty. An eyebrow was raised. “Certainly you should be going after bigger fish.”

  “My boyfriend and I just broke up. He was a big fish. What about that drink?”

  There was an intensity in which her gaze held his. It was tempered only by the playful grin that danced on her full lips. Phitak wrested his eyes away and leisurely took in the rest of her exquisite body. She was squeezed into a small tight fitting evening dress doing little to contain her obvious gifts. She also glittered. Obviously her ex-boyfriend spared no expense as diamonds, jewels, and gold all rivaled for attention.

  He didn’t often mix business with pleasure. But it was not often that a dish such as this was served so unexpectedly. “What’s your pleasure Miss?”

  “You can call me Annie. I’ll have a Cosmopolitan, a dance, and an evening of fun.”

  “Bartender,” Bangkok Man hailed.

  A tear came to his eye. Opportunity was knocking loudly at the door but to see the flames of revolution so clearly cast could not be a cause for mirth. His country was being torn asunder. Even if this moment portended to be a boon for him and his family, he still felt uneasy about the prospect.

  The two men who peered at him from across
his desk did little to unburden his soul. A speech had been brought before him. It was to be delivered at tomorrow’s ceremony. He set his eyes to the document again and tried to digest the enormity of the words it contained.

  “There is no ambiguity here gentleman. This is a declaration of independence,” Thanat said his voice not trying to hide his trepidation.

  “We always knew it could come to this,” said Petch Wattanatip head of the People’s Democratic Republic of Lan Na.

  “But this! A city being torn asunder when all the protestors had to do was bide their time. Everybody knows the judiciary would have ousted the Prime Minister. The judges are in the pockets of the Bangkok Elite. The generals too and surely the tanks would have been rolling soon.” He let his eyes lay hard on Wattanatip. “Yes, I have supported your efforts. An independent kingdom however goes beyond the bounds of our discussions. We have talked of autonomy not of outright independence.”

  “You are our only way forward,” Wattanatip pleaded.

  “And you,” Jaisaen said tilting his head to the elegantly dressed foreigner who had recently insinuated himself into the situation, “Your group is willing to support an independent Lan Na state?”

  “Please, call me Stephen,” the man replied coolly. “Our group supports stability in the region. If a reconfigured Thailand in the south and a revived Lan Na Kingdom in the north facilitates that outcome then the commission is in full support.”

  “I know of your group, the Naresuan Commission, my father was once a member.”

  “Then, sir, you know regional stability is our only concern.”

  “And you’ll go to deadly lengths to achieve said aim.” He was tempted to go on but waved the topic away.

  Thanat clutched the paper which had been written and prepared for him. He held it aloft. “I must present this declaration. It is I who will don the bulls-eye. So, I ask you both: Can I expect the full support of the people you represent in this truly revolutionary matter?”

  Peter Morgan had essentially been placed under house arrest. His paper was being used as the propaganda arm of a newly reconstituted Lan Na government. This truly was a coup. And he and his family were on the wrong side of it. A thought came to his mind. Which side was Declan Power on?

  He watched with forlorn amusement as Bartholomew Hartin tried to assemble the morning edition. He let out a derisive laugh.

  “Not as easy as it looks Bart.”

  From across the room Hartin cast him a glare. “If I were you Peter I would worry about your family and let me tend to the business at hand. Your cooperation is their life boat dear friend.”

  Morgan knew he had but one chance. “Well, if that is the case, let me cooperate.”

  “To say ‘I don’t trust you’ would be a gross understatement Peter Morgan,” Hartin replied with his own grim chuckle.

  “You’ll need to have Power’s photo shoot, his centerfold page, set properly.”

  “My bloody oath Peter Morgan!” Hartin raged as he shot from his chair. “It is just that type of filth that we are trying to rid this kingdom of. The new Lan Na Republic will represent a pure culture and not emit the filth that Bangkok has injected up north.”

  ‘So what is it?’ Morgan wanted to ask, ‘A kingdom or a republic?’ But he had gotten the reply he was looking for. “Ok then. You’ll still need help with the obituaries and classified ads.”

  Hartin sat back down, regained his composure, and appeared to give Morgan’s suggestion some thought. He clapped his hands. “Now good editor you are talking sense.” His mood seemed to brighten. “That will save me a few hours and is the type of cooperation that may well save your wife and daughter’s lives. On with it man!”

  Declan Power wrapped up his first photo shoot. If it wasn’t the professional grade of his photographer Lek, he would still be able to make due. He looked down at the camera. ‘Exquisite’ he murmured.

  “Thank you,” Bee’s voice called. “I was quite nervous you know.”

  “It shows. That heightens the aura of sexuality. This edition will jump off the racks I can guarantee you.”

  Bee gave a wry smile. “But I’ll be out of the country so all the glory will go to you.”

  “And I’ll be on an island with my girl,” Declan added his voicing drifting off.

  She handed him a Stoli and orange juice. “Which brings us back to reality.”

  “Best to go over our plan again.”

  Bee rose and began to pace impatiently. “One, two, three! I know already.”

  “We can’t be too careful. There’s a lot at stake for the both of us. Bangkok Man as well. Step one: I go to cover your brother’s speech.”

  “And I go with Pantrem and get the documents outlining Martin Gay’s TEFL scam.”

  “Step two: I’ll try to get Thanat Jaisaen, Lan Na’s king in waiting, back to his office for an interview.”

  “There I’ll confront my brother with the documents. Bangkok Man will supply the muscle.”

  “Then the trade, the documents for my Oum. Step two is complete.”

  “On to step three!”

  “Step three is the easy part. Oum and I are off into hiding till the dust settles while you and our Bangkok friend are on a plane to China. We’re out of Hades kitchen happy with our lives.”

  Bee let out a deep sigh. “More relieved than happy but at least this nightmare will be over. And you’ll have your blockbuster story.”

  “As long as I have my girl I’ll take it. But that is the plan,” Declan said as he closed his eyes and thought of holding Oum in his arms.

  Annie rolled on top of Phitak. She let out a long low growl as she rode him. He cocked his head to the side and captured Chiang Mai’s skyline as it was framed by the hotel suite’s bayside window. It was a splendid diversion to help him from exploding into her gyrating body. He wanted this to last.

  She slapped him on the cheek. “Look at me!”

  Annie was a dangerous sort. She liked it rugged. He roughly grabbed her breasts and squeezed. Annie screamed. It was mixture of pain and pleasure. Annie again belted him. Phitak pumped harder, threw her off him, entered her from behind, and began to slap her bottom. She grabbed the bedposts and shook violently. They both were coming to a climax and each was trying to suck as much pleasure out of the experience as possible. This was a cocktail to be savored, a one night stand for the ages: ‘Wham bam thank you ma’am’ and on with their lives. Then, amidst the screams, it was over.

  It was no time to cuddle. They both knew this night was for rough passion, a violent collision of heat where romance had no place. He dismounted leaving her with another slap across her bottom. She accepted it with a moan.

  “I’ll be right back Annie,” he said as he walked into the shower.

  “Don’t be long big boy. I’m waiting,” she panted heavily.

  Phitak turned on the shower full blast. He adjusted the temperature knob to its highest level bringing the water to a scolding heat. Bending over, he reached behind the toilet’s water basin. There, taped against the porcelain, he found his revolver. He let out a nervous laugh. Never had he thought he’d have the circumstance to replicate Al Pacino’s famous scene from The Godfather. The bathroom was beginning to steam up. Difficult to see, but as he placed his ear against the door he could hear, more like feel actually, some slight activity in the room. Life in the shadows helps one to develop a sixth sense. It could save a man’s life. He sat down on the throne and began to sing. Loudly.

  Dawn hinted at its arrival. The day, THE DAY, was upon them. Bartholomew Hartin had waited, perhaps wasted, a lifetime for such an occasion. But the bottle was behind him now. The bottle had served a purpose however. It had covered up the shame. He could have been Sir Bartholomew. A Commander of the Realm, a British lord, was part of his inheritance. Yet his father could not countenance that. He was disowned if not disinherited. The image of his father came strongly into focus. His father, also Bartholomew, a man, a lord, who had served his country with distinction a
nd honor, never could come to grips with the fact that he could have sired someone who would be derided as Bart the Fart. Bartholomew Hartin Sr. was a straightforward man. He eloquently stated his feelings to his son on any occasion available. “Monty’s second in command, a decorated hero of El Alamain, the Lord of Dorchester, should never have been on the receiving end of such a cruel joke as you son.”

  Tears began to well up in his eyes, the shame again filling to the brim. “But no!” he bellowed, “not today.” Today was his day of triumph. His father had been the recipient of good fortune. Born into wealth, he merely needed to fill out the prerequisites of his station. The mighty Lord of Dorchester never built anything. Bart the Lionheart had simply fought to uphold the ancient traditions which had been polished and handed down to him in the form of a silver spoon.

  Now a different emotion arose. This too brought tears. A sense of pride and accomplishment took the place of the shame his father had always forced upon him. Today he would experience something his father could have only dreamt of. On this day, Bartholomew Hartin Jr. would be an active participant in the creation of a kingdom.

  He looked at the work Peter Morgan had finished. Yes, a proper order had been restored. No longer would he take orders from a Muswell Hill upstart. Better yet, no longer would he have to tolerate the presence of that Irish lout Declan Power. Sir Bartholomew Hartin, the newly appointed Minister of Foreign Relations, representing the Kingdom of Lan Na, would now take his rightful place amongst the world’s elite.

  “Can’t sleep?” Bee questioned with a yawn as she made her way onto the balcony.

  “A lot on my mind. Actually, I’ve never been much for sleep. Too early for a smoke though,” Declan chided himself as he flicked the spent butt over the railing.

  “Calms the nerves,” Bee said as she handed him a cup of coffee.

  “I never took you as a smoker.”

  “Only after sex,” she laughed.

  “And pizza and wine as well I hear,” Declan said joining in the laughter.