The Mysterious Case of the Missing Tuk-Tuk

by Zach J Brodsky

  TWENTY EIGHT

  Much as Bob was enjoying living in Daeng’s old wooden house just off Soi Pipat he felt guilty about how he’d left things with Susie. He decided it was time to send a conciliatory message and ask her out for dinner to make up for his poor behaviour. He invited her to join him and Pat for a bite to eat and a few drinks. Susie had worked with Bob and Pat back in the day and she remembered Pat fondly. They had decided to go to a trendy new group of bars near to Central World.

  Bob battled his way onto the Skytrain. In rush hour the whole system felt like it was at breaking point and he was uncomfortably squashed in. He tried to remain calm, closing his eyes and imagining he was somewhere else. Getting off the train was a whole other battle and Bob lurched into full-on angry farang mode as people tried to barge on before many had got off.

  “For pity’s sake! People getting off here! Hello! Long rot! Long rot!” When Bob was angry his Thai was impossible to understand, he just barked in a full British accent and people didn’t even realise he was trying to speak in Thai. He made eye contact with a fellow farang, and they exchanged a little knowing glance and raise of the eyebrows. Bob grabbed the opportunity.

  “The mind boggles. It really does. I love Thailand but honestly…” While the chap obviously agreed with the sentiment he didn’t want to get embroiled in a cultural debate with Bob and he quickly dashed off. Bob marched to the far exit at the end of the platform only to find that it was an entrance only with just an up escalator.

  “The giddy limit! This is the thin end of anyone’s wedge,” he roared as he stomped back to the stairs, sweat building up rapidly. By the time he reached Pat and Susie in the bar they were chuckling away happily with a bottle of wine while Bob was fully wound up.

  “Never! I repeat, never, do I get the Skytrain at rush hour again. NEVER!”

  “Oh, Bob… shut up!” Susie hollered.

  “Yeh, Bob, don’t ruin the vibe.” Pat went into one of her trademark giggles.

  Bob sat down, irritated but quiet. After ten minutes and a few long swigs of a Hoegarden rose he had calmed down.

  “Nothing like a cold fruit juice to calm the old nerves. Back in the Zen Lowe mode now.”

  Susie and Pat laughed hilariously, Bob couldn’t help but join them as he realised himself the utter lunacy of the word Zen being combined with Lowe.

  He thanked Susie for her hospitality and explained that his irritation and impatience with her was probably out of shame of having to live on her sofa. Both women had noticed that Bob was becoming more perceptive these days.

  “Where I live now, well you wouldn’t call it slick and stylish but it’s real. Deliciously real. Daeng, well he’s like the best friend I’d never met. Wonderful chap. Truly wonderful.”

  As Bob slurped on his third strawberry beer he had managed to totally forget the irritating Skytrain incident.

  “Some of my mates call this a lady’s beer, but by gosh it tastes good. Lowe is fully in touch with his feminine side.” He took another hearty gulp.

  “Er, lady’s beer? That’s a bit sexist.” Susie had a furious look on her face, that caused all her wrinkles to show.

  “Well come on, strawberry juice in beer? It’s hardly macho.”

  Pat then joined in. “Oh, Bob! You are sexist!”

  “Good Lord, ladies, I’m not saying women can’t drink beer. Goodness me they can booze as well as the next guy, I’ve known a few in my time…”

  With that Pat and Susie burst into laughter again.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake! You two characters.”

  Bob downed his pint and thumped the empty glass down on the table and roared, “What woman does that?”

  Bob wasn’t sure how he felt about this Susie and Pat double act. He began to wonder if Susie could put in a good word for him. Tell Pat just how he felt. That was just it though. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about her.

  “Bob! Stop daydreaming.” Susie gave a trademark toothy grin as she spoke.

  “Sorry, miles away. Busy week for me.”

  “Do you ever hear from Alf Hayes anymore?” This was the first time either of them had mentioned his name since the infamous evening when he’d humiliated the pair of them. Susie didn’t even know that Bob had been doubly humiliated by being scammed on the drug deal he had foolishly got involved with.

  “Not a word since. Well you know. That night.”

  Susie gave a partly sad, partly patronising smile.

  “Better off without him. You wouldn’t believe the circles I move in now! Ambassadors and their ilk.” Bob began to embellish the facts somewhat.

  “I’ve also had a very interesting meeting with John Albertson, yes, he of Bangkok Post fame.”

  Bob explained that he couldn’t go into details, but, ‘who knows where that could lead?’ “I suspect he has a case for The Lowe. No doubt that’s why he approached me. Word’s getting about I can tell you. Taking off.”

  “So what about you, Susie? I heard you split from Tong. So sorry.” Pat changed the subject. “How are you coping, na?”

  “Thanks for asking, Pat, you’re so sweet.” Susie glanced at Bob as she said this.

  “It’s not been easy. Tong is back in Nong Khai, I think. Probably with some boyfriend.”

  “Oh! I see.” Pat wasn’t really surprised by this. Even on their wedding day in that nice Bangkok hotel, Pat had never quite felt Tong was really that into Susie.

  “Men, eh?”

  The two women clinked their glasses together. “Bloody men. Sick of them.”

  “Er… hello! I am sitting right here.”

  “Oh, come on, you’re not a man!” Pat found this hilarious.

  “Now who’s the sexist one? I mean if I made a comment like that. The double standards, it really does go beyond...”

  “Shut up!” Again the two women spoke in unison and laughed hilariously.

  Bob found it hard enough to navigate his way through equality issues and the like. These sort of exchanges often confused him. What were the bloody rules? They can joke? When can I? Bob wasn’t sexist, he considered himself a modern man and believed in equality for all, but he kept getting himself into murky waters by his use of language. It was infuriating.

  He managed to change the subject, which was one skill he had learnt. Quit when you’re down, Lowe!

  He updated Pat on his cases. She interrupted him with the odd insightful comment to keep him on the right track, and to try and keep his more absurd suggestions from the forefront of his brain.

  Susie was seriously impressed and rather amazed. To her complete shock, Bob was actually making a success of his PI business, it seemed. He had clients, leads, and was making contacts with some impressive people. She felt strangely proud of how he was doing.

  TWENTY NINE

  Bob had spent many hours and days agonising over a plan with regards the tuk-tuk/drugs/pork case. The result being that he didn't succeed in formulating much of a plan. However, he did manage to get a bit of clarity, largely helped by a simple text message from Pat, Remember the case is about the tuk-tuk

  “Classic Pat,” he mused as he sat in Starbucks the next morning, enjoying a cappuccino. Bob had noticed that slowly he had begun to embrace the pricier café as he could spend hours sitting and reading newspapers, and no one cared. He also felt flush with cash as the money was relatively pouring in. The following day he would start the day on the tuk-tuk case and then head to the Lumpini Park Hotel for his first attempt to assess the theft case that he had been hired by Marjorie Dubshott to solve. Bob had spent some time on the internet researching about the Dubshotts and the Suprawongses and was framing some ideas in his mind.

  "Oh, John!" Bob noticed John Albertson walk into the café, and so greeted him with a hearty shout. Bob was sat in the same seat, drinking the same drink, and again reading the Bangkok Post as he had been on their previous meeting.

  "A creature of habit, I see." John waved his hand around Bob's table.

  "Oh yes, The Lowe is in hi
s thinking mode, a couple of complex cases to solve."

  John had begun to think there could be some mileage in this Bob Lowe; he had chatted with his editor and they were considering a weekly column in their magazine section entitled 'the view from the street', where an anonymous private investigator could briefly outline his cases and key issues. He raised this notion with Bob.

  "What a marvellous idea, John! That magazine needs an injection of Boblowvian thought." Boblowvian. Bob had invented the term then and there. He was instantly enamoured with it.

  They chatted about how this could work and Bob said it would be simply impossible for him to discuss, even covertly, any of his live cases. He would have to write 'as live' but about past and solved cases from the street. He wondered if starting in three to six months might be appropriate.

  "Well at the moment it's just an idea, Bob." John realised he may need to dampen the roaring flames.

  "But a fucking good one! Pardon my French! Lowe!" Bob mockingly slapped his hand and roared with laughter.

  Lowe sat for an additional hour in the café, drinking copious amounts of water, and considering that he had saved at least five baht by doing so. He also managed to enjoy two rounds of free samples, a spinach croissant and a morsel of a muffin. "Utterly wonderful," he thanked the chap who had kindly delivered.

  He strutted back to Daeng's. Tomorrow was tuk-tuk day, and he decided the best course of action was to apprehend the thief as he disembarked near the BTS with his tuk-tuk full of pork and/or drugs.

  Bob crept quietly down the stairs at 4:50am, being careful not to wake Daeng. He was cutting it quite fine, but the tuk-tuk thief had never surfaced before 5:05 so he felt pretty safe. He took a left out of Daeng's house so he could walk the long way round, just to be sure that he didn’t bump into the thief on his way. As he walked, Bob wondered if it was really fair to consider the chap a thief. He was returning the item each day. He vowed to check the dictionary for a full definition of a thief. He suspected there was a German word that would fit. The Germans were usually good for very specific words and he decided they may have one for a thief who stole an item regularly and returned it.

  He verbalised some ideas he was brainstorming for a new word in English "Thieforer" or "Borrowief" – both rather uninspiring combinations of two words.

  "Needs more work, Lowe."

  He returned to a German theme. If the Germans didn’t have such a word then he should create it. “Fluegenshaft!” he shouted. As he walked down the soi with his trademark loping gait he muttered, “Yep, let’s catch this pesky fluegenshaft.”

  He managed to quickly nip into his favourite 7-Eleven, marvelling at the range of products and once again pondering Susie's ignorance. He treated himself to a custardy treat to go with his cappuccino and cheerily informed the young chap working there that the coffee was "basically as good as Starbucks. Aroy!"

  Bob's enthusiastic shouting was a clear sign of his new positivity as his life continued on an upward trajectory.

  He settled down on the steps by the Silom Centre and began to tuck into his custard bun, slurping noisily on his coffee. Inevitably a lump of gooey custard oozed out and dripped onto his shirt. "Oh, damn it, Lowe!" He fumbled around with his 7-Eleven napkin, leaving a residue of tissue detritus on his T-shirt. An inebriated drunk staggered by and stared at the comic scene "Bloody custard buns, old boy!" The drunk didn't react – he seemed British to Bob – but before he went too deep in his judging of this chap traipsing around drunk at five in the morning he remembered it wasn't long ago he was one of them. "New Lowe. New Lowe." He muttered his mantra to himself and surveyed the early morning scene in Silom.

  It was still dark, and there was a building intensity in the atmosphere as the temperature was already stifling and the last residue of the night’s business, typified by the drunk Brit, began to merge with the early morning food stalls setting up before one of Bangkok’s busiest business zones fired into life. Bob continued to mutter, "Marvellous scene."

  Some moments later the tuk-tuk pulled up and stopped by the BTS steps. "Right, Lowe, you're up!" He suddenly realised that he didn't have a clear plan of what he would say, but was confident he could wing it.

  He greeted the young chap with a hello and instantly asked if he could speak English.

  "Can, litten bit." The disinterested chap replied.

  "Aha. Pork, eh? Moo grob." Bob eased his way into his stride. His strategy was to use his amiable style to get the guy onside.

  "Khrap pom. My mother sell."

  "Aha. She's your mother!"

  The chap didn't feel the need to respond and Lowe was now intrigued. He instantly abandoned his strategy, realising he wasn't going to get much small talk.

  "So. This tuk-tuk. Your mother's?" Lowe went in for the kill; the chap didn't reply.

  "Well, it's not it's Khun Daeng's. You sir are a thief, or a thieforer or as the Germans might say a filthy flugenshaft. Kamoy khrap!"

  On hearing the accusation of being a thief the young man replied. "I not thief. I come back every day. Pay one hundred baht."

  Bob didn't quite know how to play this. He was expecting a denial. "Aha. So you admit it! Mai dee! Khun Daeng my friend."

  The young man continued to focus on unloading the pork and setting up the table. Bob was searching for any evidence of drugs. He could only see pork.

  "Sell only pork?" Bob felt in control of this.

  "Not only."

  "Aha! Got you! Here we go." Bob was getting excited.

  The young man opened a bag of fried chicken wings and showed Bob.

  "Bik gai tort! Delicious! Aroy!" Bob had lost his focus and began to get over enthusiastic about the food.

  The man smiled and handed Bob one to taste. He quickly devoured it. Bob asked the man his name.

  "Nont Khrap."

  Luckily Bob had made one advance plan, namely to ask Pat to be ready on the end of the phone to help him in this situation. Bob phoned her and waited patiently for Nont to finish unloading his produce.

  He quickly updated Pat on the situation and handed Nont the phone. "It my friend."

  Nont had an animated chat and at times there was some laughter. His mother strolled along, recognising Bob and smiled at him before asking him if he wanted fried pork.

  "Yes, yes! Wonderful. Who wouldn’t?"

  This was all taking a strange turn. He was buying pork while the thief was chatting and joking with Pat on Bob's phone.

  Eventually he handed Bob back his smartphone and Bob eagerly asked Pat for an update. "Right, Pat, spill the beans!"

  All he could hear was hysterical laughing. "Bob! It so funny..."

  "Stop your infernal giggling, this is important business. Professionalism, Pat. If I’ve told you once I’ve told you… well a few times. Professionalism. Is. The. Key."

  It took Pat some time to fully compose herself. Eventually she managed to explain what was going on. Nont's mother had been selling fried pork on the street for years and years. Every day he drove her to her pitch with all the food items and tables. Recently his vehicle had broken down. He didn't have the parts to fix it, and he didn't want to admit to his mother that he didn't have enough money to repair it. So he told her it was taking some time, but that a friend had agreed to lend him the tuk-tuk. Thus every morning he borrowed the tuk-tuk and collected the pork and table to deliver to his mother's pitch.

  She would walk there, and with all the produce sold would walk back just carrying the table.

  It all made perfect sense. Bob was partly disappointed that it wasn't as exciting as he had thought, but also relieved that he didn't have a big drug case to deal with.

  "Well, thank goodness he didn't know what I thought," a relieved Bob told Pat.

  "He knows! That why he laugh so much." Pat began laughing again.

  "Confidentiality, Pat! Friendship over!"

  He arranged to meet up with Pat for an early dinner to discuss the next steps on this case, now that apparently he had solved it.
<
br />   "Exactly as I expected of course, the drugs angle was always a secondary idea – one that us private investigators have to keep up our sleeves. I certainly didn't expect it to be true."

  "Sure, Bob, of course." Pat did her best to sound sincere.

  THIRTY

  For Marjorie Dubshott the Lumpini Park Hotel was the crème de la crème of the venues for the BWBLS and she tried to ensure that they visited once a month in their venue rotations. She had enjoyed many wonderful evenings there during Humphrey's ambassadorial period and it therefore had a special place deep within her heart. There was a faded grandeur to the hotel that the nouveau riche just couldn't understand. Others always opted for the more opulent modern hotel chains with their slick ubiquitous feel. She arrived early as usual to set up for the ladies and wandered past the photos on the wall – an array of huge black and white images of some of the splendid occasions from over the years. She paused at her favourite. His Royal Highness Prince Charles of Great Britain with Sir Humphrey and Lady Dubshott. Prince Charles was laughing at something Marjorie had said and the photographer had captured the moment perfectly; Marjorie Dubshott relaxed and friendly with members of the British Royal Family. It had been a truly wonderful evening. She felt a deep sense of melancholy as she remembered her glory days. She sped on past the next photo Chanatip and Gladys Suprawongse and went to prepare the lobby area for their bridge and coffee morning. They would usually use the Orchid Room, but it had been booked by another function and Marjorie didn't want to miss out on their monthly visit to the Lumpini. She had arranged the money pot tucked in by a large tree in the corner of the raised mezzanine floor where they would have this week's session.

  The Lumpini was also a perfect venue for Bob Lowe as it meant he could nip back home to Daeng's place and get a few hours’ sleep and still be in good time to settle in at the Lumpini before the women arrived. He reviewed the morning's events in his mind and supposed that it was clear that the woman and her son weren't drug dealers, but then he considered that they were hardly going to admit it to a stranger on the street. He was feeling very much at home now at Daeng's and Daeng was finding Bob a very useful housemate. When Daeng left a dirty plate or glass in the sink, which he now did daily, Bob would inevitably wash it up. Bob got back to the house and found the remains of Daeng's breakfast in the sink. "Khun Daeng, what are you like!" Bob hollered as he quickly got to work on washing up. Bob had taught Daeng one of his favourite thrifty tricks – watering down washing up liquid. He would fill an empty washing up bottle no more than one-sixth full of liquid and then top up slowly with water. Daeng was impressed with some of Bob's money saving techniques. After a couple of hours resting Bob got himself settled on a table in the lobby lounge and sat reading the Bangkok Post with a clear view of the money pot.