“Good question, my dear Pim! Good question!”
Pim paid Bob for the next instalment and Bob began to make very complex notes. He was now advising a client to cheat on her boyfriend who was also a client who suspected his girlfriend was cheating, which she wasn’t until perhaps now with the intervention of Bob Lowe PI. This was getting complicated indeed.
Bob realised that what Pim needed was to know that Brian was indeed a ‘bad man’ so she could feel that leaving him was the right decision. Bob decided he must do all he could to help Pim. He texted Brian.
Brian, old boy, let’s catch up for a beet and case update. Bob Lowe here incidentally. Bob Lowe PI (Private investigator).
He then sent another,
*beet.
And another
*beer! For goodness sake. Beer! Drink. Beer!
“Remarkable. Utterly remarkable. Beet.” Bob chuckled heartily.
EIGHTEEN
Marjorie suggested a dinner with Linda at one of her favourite Italian restaurants in the city. A wonderful homely authentic restaurant tucked away around the back of Sukhumvit Soi 20. The owner was Giuseppe Carravalli; an Italian man from Rome, who had lived in Bangkok for over thirty years, he didn't cook himself these days, but the restaurant retained its charming Italian feel, and the authentic décor allowed Marjorie to reminisce about holidays in Italy.
Marjorie arrived at seven pm, just before Linda; she prided herself in never being late, even in a city like Bangkok renowned for its horrendous traffic and particularly at this time of day with rush hour rearing its ugly head. Sapong was something of an expert in reading the conditions and knowing every shortcut there was.
"Sapong, I will text you when I am ready to go, get yourself some dinner." She handed Sapong five hundred baht and waved away his protestations. She would usually give him a couple of hundred when he was having to work late like this but she had no change. Sapong knew he had time to walk down the soi to one of his favourite street restaurants on Sukhumvit Soi 33. The little family run restaurant had been open as long as anyone could remember and had never changed at all, even with the slick modernising of the city that had engulfed most areas.
Marjorie settled herself at the table she had specifically picked out and took the liberty of ordering a bottle of Italian white wine. When Linda arrived she told her it was one of the very best from Tuscany.
"Oh, the holidays we used to have in Tuscany." Marjorie always referred to 'we' regardless of whether she was talking in the past or present. She just hadn't got used to the fact that she was alone, even some five years after Humphrey's death.
Linda had never been to 'Casa Roma' and she'd always been keen to try a new restaurant. It had been highly recommended and had started to add a few Thai-Italian fusion dishes which Linda loved. A little extra spice in her Italian food could never be a bad thing.
As they ordered their second bottle the conversation began to get more relaxed and the pair were getting on like old friends.
"Oh, Linda, something awful has happened and I don't know who to tell about it or what to do." Marjorie dived right in.
"Goodness, what's happened, Marjorie?"
"It's about dear, dear Gladys, it's really very awkward. I mean I can't be sure but..."
"What? What is it? Is she okay?"
"Well physically she seems as sharp as ever. But, well over the last few months I think she is losing her mind."
"Gladys!? No! Surely not, she seems the same as ever." Linda was surprised by Marjorie's comments.
"Yes, oh yes, I know, but something has been happening, and it's too awful. I feel terrible making an accusation." Marjorie, it seemed, didn't know quite how to tell Linda whatever it was she needed to say.
"Accusation!? What's happened!?"
"Well. Please, please, do not tell anyone, but I just need to get this weight off my shoulders and ask someone's advice. I am sure Gladys has been stealing cash from the BWBLS funds, both from the account and the weekly cash takings."
"Impossible! Gladys!?" Linda was shocked.
"Oh, I know, I know. I thought the same. For weeks I thought I must be wrong, but there is no other explanation. I've looked into it all."
The two women chatted on and on as the wine flowed. Marjorie explained that she had been to the bank and they had confirmed that the ATM outside Gladys’s apartment had been the one used for regular withdrawals. Gladys still retained a bank card, as a sort of honour dating back to when she was treasurer and in particular responsible for the charitable funds.
“She can’t possibly be hard up for cash, so the only explanation is that she is losing her marbles. Each week when we put the weekly cash in the tin, while we all focus on our bridge game, well she must be pinching a few thousand then as well. I’ve definitely observed her acting oddly.”
Linda was furious. Something Marjorie had suspected might be her reaction.
“Isn’t that just typical? These rich types. They’ve known nothing but wealth and yet they still decide to suddenly start stealing from the rest of us.” Linda’s voice took on an acid tone.
“Well none of us are exactly hard up, Linda.” Marjorie did her best to diffuse the situation.
“Yes but everyone loves her. How can she behave like this? What a… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so rude but I am incensed by this! I’ll ask Simon what he thinks.”
“No! No, we can’t tell anyone yet. We don’t want Gladys to be humiliated, but well, perhaps you’re right. We must do something.”
The two women chatted away feverishly and Linda agreed that for the moment it was best to leave this to Marjorie. She repeatedly expressed to Linda that she just wanted to help dear Gladys. They tucked into their meal, Marjorie ordered a delicious ossobuco which was the speciality of Casa Roma. She had tried not to wince when Linda ordered a simple pizza. The pizzas were of course wonderful, with fresh toppings and crispy crust, but in Marjorie’s opinion Casa Roma was a few notches up from a mere pizzeria. For dessert Marjorie insisted that they order one tiramisu and one panna cotta to share, and then lectured Linda on the history and origins of both dishes. Linda was enthralled.
“Oh we always love a panna cotta washed down with a chilled, sweet dessert wine.” She looked into the restaurant’s fresco and imagined herself out in the fresh Italian countryside.
Later in the evening as both ladies enjoyed a limoncello courtesy of Giuseppe himself, Marjorie decided to take a slightly bolder approach where Gladys was concerned.
“I don’t want to speak out of turn, but good Lord, Gladys can be infuriating at times. She’s not better than you or me Linda my dear.”
As before, Linda felt somewhat flattered at Marjorie seemingly putting Linda on her own level. She was finally being accepted by the upper echelons of Bangkok’s expat society. They accepted a refill from Giuseppe and before going their separate ways home they enjoyed some mutual bitching about Khunying Gladys.
NINETEEN
Bob decided the early mornings on his step by step stakeout were too exhausting and felt he would benefit from a couple of days of not having to wake up at four o’clock to manoeuvre himself into position in Silom to view the mysterious tuk-tuk thief. Also, now that he had begun to uncover the truth and this equally mysterious older woman, he felt he needed to spend some time observing her actions. He decided to begin a stakeout of her house, starting from a more sensible hour – after eight am. Bob wandered down Soi Convent, popping into the 7-Eleven on the corner on his way. "It's the crème de la crème of the upper echelons of the 7-Eleven world, my dear," he'd explained to his roommate Susie Hoare the previous night. Bob had made a throwaway comment about how he had always enjoyed a visit down to Silom because it allowed him to go to his favourite 7-Eleven and Susie insisted on arguing. Bob was getting fed up with it; she was insistent that all 7-Elevens were fundamentally the same.
"I'm sorry, Susie, but that is the single most ludicrous comment I have heard in my forty plus years on this planet. Really you should
be utterly ashamed of yourself." He was genuinely furious.
"For fucks sake, Bob, it’s just a 7-Eleven!"
"That is just the sort of nonsensical naivety that makes me question your sanity. How long have you lived in Bangkok?"
"Longer than you!" Susie shouted back fairly aggressively.
"And yet your ignorance of 7-Elevens is plain to see. Right, now would you please leave me alone, I want to sleep!"
"Leave you alone!? This is my living room, but okay, Lord Lowe needs his beauty sleep..." With that Susie got up and slammed the door.
Bob had begun to question the rationality of his decision to move in with Susie. Yes, it was enabling him to live rent free, but her attitude was becoming infuriating. She should be honoured to be living with one of Bangkok's most unique private detectives. Yet she was constantly arguing. Bob had quietly stopped mentioning any sort of business partnership as he realised he would find it impossible to work with her.
He chuckled to himself as he examined the items in the vast 7-Eleven at the corner of Convent Road. "Just like any other 7-Eleven. Utter poppycock.” A fellow farang gave Bob an odd look as the tall Brit muttered to himself.
He ordered himself a cappuccino and selected a fresh doughnut. “And I am ordering from the freshly baked counter. The mind boggles. It really does,” he continued to mutter.
On his way to stakeout the middle-aged drug cartel boss (as Bob was now casually thinking of the woman), he passed Daeng who was sat outside his house with his friend Nat.
"Sawat dii, Khun Daeng! I working your case"
"Hello, Bob. Tuk-tuk here. One hundred baht again today."
"Marvellous!"
Bob chatted awkwardly with Daeng, checking the meaning of words and using an app on his phone to look up a few more. Bob found out from Daeng that he had a couple of upstairs bedrooms in his house and that Daeng now lived alone.
"I look bedroom for rent?" Bob asked in his finest Thai.
"Here? How much can you pay?" Daeng replied.
"I not rich man. Little money only." Bob was impressed with how well he was being understood.
"Three thousand baht a month?" Daeng offered Bob a deal.
"Interested! Speak next time."
What a fascinating turn of events Bob thought to himself. There he was fed up with Susie Hoare and her arguing and here was the wonderful Daeng needing a lodger. Bob was seriously considering it, but figured he'd need to get Pat to speak with Daeng and clarify that he had correctly understood.
It would be classic Lowe though, he thought. While others lived in fancy high-rise condominiums, Lowe would live on a quiet off-shoot of Soi Pipat among the real Thai people.
"Marvellous!" Lowe declared out loud as he walked off down the soi.
“When life gives you salty fish. You make fish sauce.”
Nat looked at Daeng, perplexed.
"You want an odd farang guy living in your house! Have you gone quite mad?"
"Why not? It's boring living alone. Would be interesting. Besides, it will help him work my case." Daeng smiled at Nat. "And three thousand baht is three thousand baht."
Nat nodded. They sat in silence for another five or so minutes before Daeng declared it was time to head off to work.
"Go scam those tourists!" Nat called as he wandered back to his house.
Lowe settled himself in beside a tree on the opposite side of the road, just a few yards down from the drug dealer’s house, and proceeded to slurp his coffee and tuck into his doughnut. "Sublime!" he shouted out, then realising he was meant to be quietly poised on a stakeout, he added, "Whoops" in an even louder voice before grimacing to himself, realising his folly. He got out one of his new fancy (but cheap) notepads and flicked through a few pages, adding the odd random comment to help himself.
He started a fresh page and added a title. Stakeout of ya ice cook's house then added, no link to drugs confirmed...but heavily suspected. Bangkok’s answer to Heisenberg?
He made some notes about the house, a typically Thai-style house, with a small front yard that served as a driveway with a very old pickup truck parked there. There was a small wooden table with some rather ornate wooden chairs to one side and a metallic netting-style door covering the front door. It looked like a typically peaceful Thai soi.
After twenty minutes, Bob was alerted to the old woman walking down the soi towards her house. She was carrying one large plastic bag that appeared to be light from the way she was swinging it around. In her other hand she had a fold-up table or chair. She wasn't finding it easy to carry and for a moment Bob considered jumping up to help her, before he remembered his purpose.
She stowed the table/chair in the side by her pickup and then went into the house. He made some basic notes about her appearance. Confirming what he knew from his previous visit; mid-fifties, handsome, almost striking woman, doesn't look like your normal drug dealer.
Bob waited patiently and then after another ten minutes a rather shabby young man arrived at her door. "Aha!" Bob couldn't resist the urge to speak out loud, but he had now learnt to whisper. This, he felt was it, obviously a customer coming to pick up some drugs. He looked the type too, slightly swarthy, almost sinister looking. Bob added, no doubt needs his next hit to get him out of this slump. Bob continued to write copious notes as he felt eventually he would need to involve the police in this matter. The man chatted for a few minutes and the woman kept gesticulating towards the vehicle. Eventually he walked over to the vehicle, lifted the hood and appeared to tinker inside. Amateur hour, you can't outfox The Lowe, he thought and added to his notes – drugs almost certainly stashed in engine of vehicle.
TWENTY
A casual comment by Pat on the recent dinner date had alerted Bob to a fundamental flaw in his BGM (bar girl marketing) policy. With his plan to continue spreading his cards and flyers around the bars of Nana and with him now taking on Brian as a client, why would any Thai woman working in a bar employ him? Of course, Pat was right. If Bob wanted to corner the bar girl market he couldn’t possibly have the girls thinking he may also be working for the ‘other side’ and then potentially stalking and observing them! He started suggesting to Pat that he should add something like “Bar Girls Only!” or “No Farang/Bar Girl cases.” Pat managed to politely talk Bob out of this idea, doing well to suppress a laugh in the process. He eventually vowed that he would get word of mouth spread via his network of bar girls, that when it came to matters of the heart he would never ever take a case for a guy who wanted his girlfriend checked up on. If anyone saw him with Brian and realised it was work, he would say it was a boring, business investigation. The complexities of this business had already become endless. Bob added this rule to his ‘Lowe PI charter’, a sensible list in the back pages of one of his notebooks. Brian would be the first and last client of this ilk, and regardless, he told himself that Brian didn’t count as he was obviously on Pim’s side in that situation anyway. He could quietly spread it around that actually he once double-crossed a farang. Imagine the cult following he would get. Bob began to daydream, imagining himself walking into a bar and a spontaneous round of applause breaking out. Free drinks, free… he stopped his thoughts there, remembering ‘New Lowe’ and all that.
He had been surprised and genuinely touched by the way Pim had spoken of this older German man. It was clear that Pim had real feelings for the man and she had been sure that he was ‘good man’ and that he wasn’t into playing the Nana scene and seeing many girls. Bob added his name to the file and decided that if Pim was thinking seriously about this Werner then he would do some pro-bono work for her just to check up on him. Meanwhile he had promised to help her to meet up with him. She had told Bob that Brian was going out to watch football with friends on Saturday evening, so she made plans to meet Werner for dinner. Bob assured Pim he would monitor Brian and inform her if and when he was heading home. He was aware of the bar where Brian usually preferred to watch football, a large open bar near the top of Soi Nana ‘Nana Nights’ often re
ferred to as NN by regulars. Sure enough, Brian was sat there with a couple of mates. Bob went right over to him “Brian! What a coincidence!”
“Well, we both drink here regularly, Bob, so… no, not really. Join us?”
“Don’t mind if I do! What’s the live game here tonight?”
Brian informed Bob it was Chelsea vs Newcastle and Bob decided to test his West Ham theory. “Aha. Chelsea fan, Brian?” Bob asked.
“Fuck off, mate! West ‘am to the core.”
“Of course, the happy hammers.” Bob was delighted inside. His football knowledge was seriously limited but he was doing his best to fit in. The biggest roar from the table during the first half was when the scores flashed up and showed that West Ham had scored twice in the first five minutes. “Fuck me. West Ham are getting busy!”
Bob was determined to try and steer the conversation carefully towards the job in hand. “I wouldn’t mind getting busy with one of these waitresses.” Bob felt slightly uncomfortable talking like this. He hadn’t used this sort of language since he’d begun on his path to cleaner living. He was thinking of branding New Lowe as Lowe 2.0.
“Take your pick, Bob mate. Little Jit over there’s an absolute fucking beauty. Goes like the fucking clappers”
“Oh yeh? Talking from experience?” Bob was excited now he felt he may be getting close to revealing Brian’s philandering.
“Yep. I bar-fined her about a year ago. Fucking magic in the sack. Does whatever you want, mate.” Brian seemed to be remembering fondly. Bob decided not to push it and to let Brian continue.
“I don’t pick up girls from bars anymore, Bob,” Brian calmly stated, before adding, “now I’ve got a live-in girlfriend.”
Bob was momentarily disappointed before Brian added with a glint in his eye, “I go to a couple of massage places near Ratchada, top secret!” He sat back proudly and winked at Bob.
“Nice one, Brian, you gotta keep a few on the go.” Bob raised his bottle and tapped it against Brian’s. He was celebrating, not Brian’s womanising but that in that very moment he had solved his first case. Brian was getting pretty drunk and enjoying the attention. “Well, let’s just say, Bob, I know a few girls that will do things that my girlfriend won’t do!” His mates roared and laughed.
The Mysterious Case of the Missing Tuk-Tuk Page 9
