The Mysterious Case of the Missing Tuk-Tuk

by Zach J Brodsky

  “Us men have needs!” Bob added, trying to get in on the round of machismo.

  “Too fucking right, mate.” Brian grinned.

  Bob sat there, satisfied but feeling slightly glum. He was saddened for Pim that she had got herself too mixed up with this guy, but on a deeper level he began to reflect on his own years in Bangkok. He felt quite ashamed how he had treated and spoken about some of the women, even if he did have something of a moral compass, in a way that many didn’t. He was determined to help Pim in sorting her life out.

  As the football match moved into the second half, Bob decided it would be prudent to update Brian on the case.

  “Brian, good news. So far your Pim seems to be a good ‘un. I’ve followed her a few times and she has been out with friends, as she told you. Bob slickly flicked through his notebook to give Brian some of the salient details. He hadn’t actually followed Pim, he had just trusted that what she said was true.

  “I’d like to continue a few more weeks. In my experience you need to check these things for a slightly longer period of time.”

  Brian seemed slightly disinterested. “Yeh, no worries, mate. To be honest I suspected Pim was too fucking lazy to be sleeping around.”

  They both laughed, but inside Bob was seething with rage. He hadn’t seen this side of Brian before, and it was clear that with a few drinks inside him and in the company of these friends he didn’t want to appear to be someone who gave a shit about his live-in girlfriend. Brian paid another few thousand baht for continuing work and then informed Bob he was off for a ‘massage’ in Ratchada. He had motioned inverted commas with his fingers and laughed and slapped his mates on the back.

  Bob sent Pim an update that Brian was drinking with friends and would be another hour or so for sure.

  Getting too late for me now, Pim, off to Bedfordshire.

  Pim responded with a confused sticker.

  Sleep time! Bob replied. Then feeling he needed to fully clarify he added, I very tired. I need sleep. In my bed.

  TWENTY ONE

  Sapong was strolling down Silom Road, running an errand for Marjorie. She wanted to confirm some details of a flight she had booked with Singapore Airlines and she hated phoning any customer service numbers. She couldn’t tolerate the holding on for ages and having to navigate which numbers to press from their menus. That was stressful enough. Language was a whole other issue. While it was true that over the years, the quality of spoken English on such customer service calls had hugely improved, Marjorie still strained to understand. And to confound matters, her Thai simply wasn’t good enough for a clear phone conversation. It seemed much easier to send Sapong. He always enjoyed running errands around town, and particularly liked the buzz and energy of Silom Road. All those business types rushing to the office, clasping their iced coffees. It impressed him. This was the sort of life his sons led. There were also a fair number of tourists out on shopping sprees, young university students hanging out in cafés and shopping malls, and of course a smattering of the sorts of random misfits that Thailand seemed to specialise in. One such character staggered past him, a European guy in his thirties with messed up hair and a filthy T-shirt. Sapong wasn't sure if he was drunk, homeless, or both. He seemed to be approaching people asking them for money or something. He looked at Sapong, and Sapong quickly walked by. If needed he could fall back on the ‘No English’ line. Sapong just didn’t get it. Of course he had heard that European countries had plenty of their own problems, but how so many of them ended up like this in Bangkok was beyond his comprehension.

  He saw his old friend Daeng leaning back in his tuk-tuk eating some moo ping. It was a while since he had seen Daeng and so he stopped for a chat. Sapong had known Daeng for years; when he first arrived in Bangkok (before working for the Dubshotts) he had lived just near Daeng and Ploy and they had become quite good friends.

  "How's things, Daeng?" Sapong tried to surprise his old mate.

  "Same as ever." The casual reply was classic of Daeng. None of the 'haven't seen you in ages!’ Daeng was just too cool and calm, nothing fazed him.

  They chatted cordially and Sapong was fascinated by the story of the British detective who was thinking of moving in with Daeng. It seemed Daeng was also talking about being part of his detective business.

  "You’ve certainly lived the wild life, Daeng!" Sapong had always joked with Daeng about his life meeting thousands of characters driving a tuk-tuk.

  He explained to Daeng that his boss, Marjorie, may be in need of a private detective. He had heard her chatting about some issue with the Bangkok Women's group and thought that she wouldn't want to involve the police. He took a card from Daeng and promised to pass it on to Marjorie. They continued to chat, before Daeng had to leave as a customer approached wanting to go to an address near Wireless Road. Daeng sighed, he was feeling slightly lazy but couldn't really turn down too many fares; he was supposed to be working, after all. He was delighted to have passed on Bob's card again and he knew Bob would be excited to hear he was busy recruiting clients.

  Sapong sorted out Marjorie's flight change and then got the Skytrain back to the house. Marjorie always suggested he take the car there, but since he drove most of the time he found it quite refreshing and liberating to be on the train and walking the sois. He had time to catch up with Pie, his elder son. He texted him to ask if he was busy. Pie replied, not directly to the text message but with WhatsApp.

  I told u to use this, its free! Pie always wrote his Thai texts in phonetics with Roman letters, ‘passa karaoke’ as it was known in Thai, karaoke language. His dad could understand it, but he hated it.

  And I’ve told you to text me in Thai! he replied.

  They agreed to meet in a Starbucks near Pie’s office. Sapong would have preferred a small coffee stall but his kids loved to pay the exorbitant prices of these coffee chains.

  They sat down and Sapong immediately tossed a magazine down on the table. “I’m worried about your brother.”

  The magazine was full of glossy candid celebrity photos including some of Nong Arm rolling out of bars in the early hours looking the worse for wear. The article strongly hinted that he may have been taking something stronger than just alcohol.

  “Dad, you can’t believe these magazines. He’s fine. A few drinks, a few clubs. He’s young and that’s the industry he’s in.” Truth was Pie was actually also a little concerned but he didn’t want his dad to catch on.

  “What about diseases? He’s always dating a different guy these days. I see it in these photos.”

  “Trust me, Dad, he’s pretty sensible. You know Arm. We had dinner just two nights ago. He’s fine. He’s not dating all these guys, just paper talk. I’ve always got my eye on him. Don’t worry, and don’t get Mum worried!”

  They then moved on to more standard small talk, before Sapong said he needed to get back. There then followed a familiar conversation where Pie tried to convince his old man to retire. On this occasion, Pie actually felt he had made some progress as Sapong replied, “One day, Pie, one day.” The closest he’d ever got to even considering stopping work!

  TWENTY TWO

  As the days rolled on Bob continued to find juggling his caseload an increasingly challenging and stressful exercise, and now Daeng had informed him of this possible case via his friend Sapong, which would mean more work, potentially. He felt he needed to really push on with the tuk-tuk case, especially as Daeng was now proving to be a useful ally, and perhaps soon to be his landlord and roommate. The least he could do was prove his skills by solving this case.

  Bob was very wary of the drugs issue, with his prior history of briefly being involved in the smuggling game with his former friend Alf Hayes. He didn't want to get involved too deep and still had a paranoid fear of being found out for his actions the previous year. If this was proved to be a drug dealing game he would immediately contact Khun Pun at the Royal Thai Police. No mucking around. He decided he would try and make direct contact with the ‘drug lord’ and
then continue for a day or so to do his step by step stakeout. He still hadn't confirmed where the young man was going with the goods. He had assumed the young man took the ya ice that the old woman had given him to a string of street dealers, but he had to confirm this. No assumptions, Lowe. Always get proof, he had scrawled in his list of rules.

  He sat back in place outside the old woman's house and sure enough, like clockwork she walked down the soi with the bags and table as before. Before walking towards her he made some more notes:

  Are these the same bags that she loaded into the tuk-tuk at 5:30am?

  Why has she now got the empties? Where is the man she gave them to?

  He got up and strolled towards the woman, and managed to battle through a conversation in his finest Thai.

  "Hello! How are you?" he asked confidently.

  "Good."

  "My name is Khun Bob, my friend tells me you are the best cook in town."

  "Thank you very much! Maybe I am!"

  Bob was getting nervous, she wasn't denying a thing! Utterly remarkable!

  He looked from side to side, to make it absolutely clear that he didn't want to be overheard and that this was classified.

  In whispered tones he said to her, "I want be customer. How?"

  "Too late! Sold out for today! I don't sell here!"

  "Of course, of course. Too dangerous!" Lowe nodded wisely.

  The woman looked slightly blank but smiled politely, and then, as so many Thai conversations went for Bob, he started to lose track of what she was saying. She pointed in the direction she came from and he was sure she mentioned the BTS.

  Bob did lots of nodding and managed to end the conversation with a cheerful, "See you next time."

  The woman smiled, and chuckled. She was clearly bemused by this chap.

  Bob raced round the corner to Daeng's house and sat on one of the wooden stalls outside. Daeng had gone off to work already but he was sure he would have no objections to him sitting there, this was, after all, about to become his home. Perhaps.

  He quickly wrote up the incident. He had already learnt that unless he wrote things up immediately then his memory would begin to fade.

  Woman seemed to confirm her drug production – no denial.

  She didn't seem happy at me asking to buy from her house.

  Top work from The Lowe, got her right out of her comfort zone.

  Her main distributors must operate from around the Skytrain stations – no doubt it’s always busy there and thus easy to blend in.

  Slick operator, one would never guess she was a drug baron.

  Remarkable situation.

  Bob sat and pondered. What to do next? He still hadn't found out exactly what was going on with the tuk-tuk and now he was getting himself deep into another, albeit connected case. He vowed to take the next step in his tuk-tuk following the next morning. Though it was now obvious to him, she needed a vehicle to transport her drugs to her distributors at the BTS. She couldn't use her own vehicle as it would link back to her, so she used Daeng's so that if there was any issue with the police, Daeng would be the one to face the music. At some point he would have to break this news to Daeng. Also he had to consider the confusing matter of her stashing the drugs in that vehicle outside her house. The wise old girl, she’d probably claim to the police that it had been dumped there if anyone suspected anything.

  Bob strolled back down the soi towards the BTS, he was feeling quite excited about the prospect of becoming Daeng's lodger and vowed to start packing his bags as soon as he got back to Susie's apartment. When he arrived at the Irish pub he couldn't resist popping in for a pint of Guinness, sure it wasn't a perfect pint of Guinness but as he told the waitress, "When in Ireland, my dear!" This led to a confused conversation in which she thought he was Irish. One pint quickly became three and Bob knew he was getting close to the point of no return. Generally speaking, Bob could drink two to three pints socially, but once Bob Lowe hit four pints, that was it. He would end up doing a marathon drinking session. As a clear sign of 'New Lowe' he paid up and continued his walk to the Skytrain station. Quickly stopping by his favourite pork noodles stall. He took a photo of his bowl of noodles and sent it to Pat.

  "Still the best."

  "Am I? Oh thanks Bob. 555."

  Pat then sent Bob an almost identical photo as she too was sitting down for a quick meal.

  "We same same, Bob."

  This sent tingles down Bob's spine. He slurped his noodles and muttered repeatedly, "Pat Lowe. Patty Lowe. Pat and The Lowe. Hmmmm."

  He texted Pat and asked her to call Daeng about the room. Within minutes she had texted back and said that Daeng was totally laid back, Bob could turn up whenever he was ready as long as he had three thousand baht for his first month’s rent in advance.

  "Remarkable arrangement."

  On his return to Susie’s apartment, Bob quietly packed his few suitcases and decided to leave her a note, to avoid another confrontation.

  Dear Susie,

  Many thanks for allowing me to sleep on your sofa. Much appreciated, but my dear old friend Khun Daeng has a spare room which I will move into. It will help me solve the case too. Wonderful chap, Daeng. Salt of the earth. Old school. Proper Thai. Marvellous. What a character.

  I think this will be best for all concerned. Enjoy the wine!

  Yours etc.

  Bob Lowe (PI)

  Bob attached the note to a bottle of wine – the cheapest bottle he could find in Tesco Lotus, from their imported stock. He struggled out with his three large suitcases and an old sports bag flung over his shoulder and battled his way into the lift and onto the soi to get a taxi.

  By eight o’clock that evening Bob was sitting outside the house with Daeng and Nat enjoying a beer and some khaw man gai. "This is the life!" Bob exclaimed. "This, Daeng. Is. The. Life." Daeng apparently agreed.

  TWENTY THREE

  Avi sat back with his ice-cold bottle of San Miguel Light and was quickly lost, deep in thought. He had exchanged his usual banter with Mint, who was on good form, as always. It amazed him how Mint always seemed to be so happy and positive, yet he himself was always lurching from one apparent crisis to another and was forever at a crossroads in his life. Here he was at sixty, retired and sitting in a bar in Bangkok, once again pondering the metaphorical junction he was at. The only issue tended to be that Avi wasn’t clear what the signs said and therefore could barely begin to consider which way he was meant to turn.

  By most accounts, Avi was one of life’s lucky ones. Things had always fallen into place for him. He’d always had steady employment and the financial security that enabled him to have choices in life, and yet he often felt miserable. He sat alone on this busy Bangkok soi thinking about all of life’s ‘what ifs’ as he was accustomed to doing. He had been born into relative privilege in Israel. His father was one of the most important figures in the Israeli Defence Force, a man who counted Ariel Sharon as one of his friends. Avi had begun to rebel against his father as soon as he could remember. Sol Shielmann not only had a passion for his country but he doubled that with a passion for his country’s military might. Avi found this hard to accept. Like every Israeli, Avi had to spend some time in the army, and in the late 1970s and early 1980s this meant being involved in real and dangerous combat. On one particular mission, three of Avi’s closest friends were killed in an instant from a homemade yet powerful explosive device. Avi miraculously survived, walking away totally unharmed, but he was mentally scarred for life by what he had seen. Sol had tried to use this tragedy as a way to open Avi’s eyes to his point of view. Avi was even more appalled by his father’s attitude. However, his father did have enough love and compassion for his son to be able to pull some strings and have him released from his military duties and then provided him with the funds for world travel, which was when Avi began to immerse himself in the disco scene. When he returned to Israel he did so with a real feeling of positivity about a new beginning, but he quickly grew tired. Tired of bein
g an Israeli with his particular liberal views – it was exhausting. He was forever arguing with people, especially those of his father’s generation about what the path to peace might be. For Avi it meant accepting some wrong-doing, concessions, discussion, negotiations, and compromise. For many older Israelis this was an absurd notion. They would patronise the youngsters like Avi who they felt didn’t grasp the reality of the ‘unique’ situation. This was only half of the story though, when he travelled or met foreigners he often found himself entrenched in a different argument, defending his country. So many people outside Israel just had no idea that there were many people like Avi who felt little affinity with the actions of his country’s government. They inevitably could fall back on an argument of ‘well you would say that’ or ‘you’re emotionally involved so…’ It was infuriating, and ultimately these endless arguments just broke his spirit. In his mid-thirties he had turned his back on Israel. It was the right move, he had no regrets, and yet he was still wracked by guilt. Being Swedish was just so much easier. It was fascinating for him to see the different reaction he got when meeting new people as a Swede. People liked Swedes and the little they knew about Swedish culture was always positive. Bjorn Borg, Abba, Ikea, a perceived relaxed attitude to sex. How could anyone not like Sweden?

  Yes, Avi was lucky, surely. He had always had a good job, he was easily able to move to Sweden and establish himself. He then met Ingrid, who was to become the love of his life. In fact on meeting Ingrid he suddenly became aware that she was the second love of his life. He realised then that he had been in love with Mo Razzaq. Not in a sexual way, Avi wasn’t gay, but in a deeper more meaningful way. He became aware that for years he had been mourning the loss of Mo from his life.