by James Samuel
The line went dead. As James put his phone back into his pocket and refocused on Nhek, he was scaling the hill again with a fisherman right behind him, a glowing smile on his face.
“Mr. James. I want you to meet my friend. This is Preap. He used to work for Mr. Chea.”
James raised his eyebrows in surprise as he looked the fisherman up and down. His hair was rough-cut like he’d done it himself with a pair of shears. The few splays of hair remaining stuck out at all angles upon a crown punished by the sun.
“He speaks perfect English. Perfect,” said Nhek.
Preap bowed his head with his hands clasped together. A traditional Buddhist sign of respect.
“Nice to meet you, Preap. You worked for Mr. Chea?”
Preap spat in the grass at the mention of his name. “I used to work for him. I worked for him for years until he discarded me.”
“Why did he do that?” James was surprised by his accent, free of the intonations of the majority of the local Khmer. “You speak very good English, by the way.”
“I studied in London many years ago, during the days of Kampuchea. I missed what happened in my country. When I returned, I was hired by Mr. Chea as his fixer. Whenever he had trouble with the police or the courts, I would smooth things over. Five years ago, he replaced me. Claimed I didn’t have enough loyalty to the country because I never suffered as everyone else did.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“That Mr. Chea.” Preap spat again. “I would drown him in my river if I could.”
James noted how he described the entire Mekong as his river. Surprised by the educated man reduced to nothing more than a fisherman, James knew he could trust this man. Someone like him should have never ended up like this, impoverished, doomed to die from some malevolence well before his time.
“Mr. James wants to know how to find Mr. Chea,” said Nhek with undisguised excitement.
“To find him? Why would you want to find him?” Preap put his hands on his hips. “You don’t want to do business with him. Look at what he did to me. A loyal servant. I never wronged him, and he threw me aside because of my political beliefs.”
James hesitated over what to say next. He couldn’t just walk up to a random Khmer and tell him he wanted to murder his former boss. He’d only just met Nhek and there was no guarantee he could trust him or Preap. It could be a setup.
“Let’s just say I think that Mr. Chea has outlived his usefulness.”
“You see, you see?” Nhek laughed. “This is a good barang. I bring him to you because I know this is a good man.”
Preap gave James a searching look. “I would agree with you on that, but you must understand that I have a difficult time trusting people after what happened to me.”
James shrugged. “Then I thank you for your help, but I don’t have the time to spare. I intend on meeting Mr. Chea as soon as possible.”
He turned away and put one foot on the edge of the tuk-tuk.
“Wait, wait.” Preap lunged forwards. “I know more than Mr. Chea. I know his friends. I met them all at different times, even worked for them. Let me help you. I have nothing more to live for now. If I’m to die on the banks of this river, I would prefer it if I could satisfy my need for revenge.”
James stepped off the tuk-tuk, trying to hide his smirk. His plan had worked to perfection.
“Mr. James is a good man. He can help you,” Nhek fawned at Preap’s shoulder. “I see him, and I know.”
James approached Preap. “Very well. All I need to know is whether Mr. Chea will be at The Palace tonight? I want to know where his office is and what the best way would be to get to him.”
Preap nodded and accepted a cigarette from Nhek. He sucked on it like he wanted to extract the filter from the tobacco. The fisherman did this until the burning end of the cigarette reached the bottom of the filter.
“Mr. Chea is always at The Palace, yes. His office is on the third floor, the very top floor. You will see it because of the double doors. None of the other upstairs rooms look like that. To get to the top floor, you must be a premium client.”
“Yes, yes, my friend told me about that.”
Preap nodded. “What he might not have told you is that the premium clients on the top floor are reserved for… children.”
James bit his tongue at the thought. He noted the slight pause, the slight hesitation in Preap’s voice. Did he have a problem with child prostitution, or did he believe the foreigner might recoil at the thought?
“Would that guarantee me a visit to the top floor?”
“Most certainly. Times have changed in Cambodia,” said Preap. “It’s no longer acceptable for barang to sleep with children. Not that the numbers have changed so much, it’s just it only happens behind closed doors now. You’ll never see it advertised.”
James nodded.
“What you need to do is whisper it in the ear of the manager in the bar. He also controls access to the upper floors. There won’t be any questions as long as you pay upfront, in advance, with American dollars.”
He took a deep breath. James didn’t mind doing anything to achieve his mission, but he drew the line at child prostitution. Part of him wanted to just shoot his way to the top, but he knew that was the dumb option.
“What about bodyguards?” asked James. “Are they armed?”
Preap cleared his throat and coughed. Clearly, he hadn’t had a cigarette in a long time, yet he held a gnarled hand out, requesting another. Nhek shook his head, all out. James tossed his pack at Preap. The knotty hand clutched it like a life raft in an inky black lake, before depositing it in the waistband of his shorts.
“Armed, yes. But not so bad. Mr. Chea…” Preap spat as he did at each mention of the man’s name. “He always has a couple of men with guns with him. The others not so much. Just fists. Clubs. Sticks. Enough to deal with drunk barang.”
James nodded. Now it made sense. Thom had given them the assignment to take out Mr. Chea first. Although a lucrative business for General Narith, Mr. Chea was the easiest of available targets. Little more than a common crook shaking people down in his neighbourhood. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Who else do you know?” asked James.
“We can talk about that later,” said Preap. “Nhek always knows where to find me, and you can find me yourself. I never leave this river. I have nowhere else to go these days. As long as I stay out of sight, my former comrades won’t raise a finger to finish the job.”
James thanked Preap, who shook hands with both men and began clambering down the steep bank again. Some of the other down-and-outs turned to Preap to speak in hushed tones, eager to hear the news about the common fisherman conversing with the rich foreigner.
Preap shooed them away and grabbed his little pole. He continued his hunt for the toxic catches of the Mekong River in silence.
Chapter Nine
The Doun Penh District became a Frankenstein’s Monster when night fell and the Mekong River formed an endless black boundary, marking the end of the world. The music cranked up, with a raging bass thumping its way through the concrete walls. Drunk foreigners staggered along the crowded sidewalks, some with local Khmer women on their arms. And, still, the unceasing Phnom Penh traffic rushed through the city like blood cells in a vein.
James and Sinclair ventured out of their guesthouse into the scrum for the first time on their trip. The atmosphere of gluttony and indulgence would serve as a perfect cover for a kill.
“Well, this may spell some trouble,” said James. “Hardly a smooth getaway in these streets. Most of the gutters would take the wheels off.”
Sinclair sighed. “I know what you mean. I wish we had decided to do this another night instead, but I already called Thom to tell him we were moving tonight. Our client wants a tight schedule, and so that’s the schedule we’ll keep.”
James nodded. The client was always right, after all.
Together, they made their way towards The Palace. James had to bl
ink away the spots dancing in his eyes from the ugly pink and yellow neon signs. Even the tuk-tuks and the motorbikes had to weave around the revellers spilling into the gutters, the bottoms of their sandals becoming soaked with filth.
James had dressed like an ordinary tourist, deciding not to take a weapon. He couldn’t wear a coat in this heavy humidity, and any other clothing would make it obvious that he was carrying something lethal. This realisation only dawned on him a couple of hours before. A simple hit had become far more dangerous.
“Where’s your Nhek?” said Sinclair as The Palace loomed in front of them.
“Over there.” James pointed at the smiling Nhek standing next to his motorbike. “Good, he brought the bike. I was worried he might have misunderstood me and brought the tuk-tuk.”
Sinclair gripped him by the elbow. “How do we know we can trust him? How much did you pay him?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Sinclair exclaimed. “What do you mean you gave him nothing?”
“He wouldn’t take it. I tried to give him something, but he just laughed and said he’d help us.”
“James, this cannot stand. He must be setting us up. Nobody on this earth would agree to act as someone’s getaway driver if they had nothing to gain from it. When have you ever known anyone to do anything for free?”
“Look, I know it sounds mad –”
“Really? Do you think it sounds a tad like insanity?”
He stopped himself, not wanting to spend the evening arguing with Sinclair when they had a job to do. The truth was James found it surprising as well when Nhek agreed to help him for free. Yet he felt something about Nhek. He couldn’t detect anything malicious, just a pure and well-meaning individual. Of course, as a Buddhist, he believed in karma, so the time to repay the favour would come.
“It’s my decision,” said James. “I’m the field agent here.”
Sinclair opened his mouth like he wanted to tick him off. He only shook his head and gestured towards The Palace.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he said. “Evening, Nhek.”
Nhek had brought along what could only be described as a rust bucket. The old Enfield motorcycle looked like it hadn’t felt the touch of a qualified mechanic in years. Streaks of dirt and grease covered everything like a painter’s fingers, and most of the seat had gone, clawed away in the passage of time.
“Mr. James, I have everything. You no have any trouble with the police. They don’t chase for long.”
“They might if it has anything to do with Mr. Chea,” said Sinclair.
James could see Sinclair’s logic. Still, if they weren’t alerted in time, they would never know that a barang had just murdered one of Phnom Penh’s top businesspeople.
“Don’t worry,” said James. “I trust Nhek.”
“Thank you, Mr. James.” Nhek clasped his hands together and bowed his head. “Thank you.”
Sinclair folded his arms. “I’ll wait at the bar, just here.”
The bar’s tables were lit under a roof of purple neon, glowing like a colony of sick glow worms. Sinclair sat down at a high round table. Seconds later, a waiter in a black shirt appeared.
James tried to give Sinclair a reassuring smile. Even if Sinclair didn’t trust Nhek, he did and that’s all that mattered.
“I want you to be waiting for me,” said James. “I don’t know if I’ll be coming out of the front door or from around the corner.”
“I see everything, Mr. James.”
That warm glow instilled him with confidence as he turned away from the sulking Sinclair and the eternal optimist to face The Palace. He had everything he needed.
James had dressed well and had even worn a gold wristwatch to complete the look. Men like Mr. Chea were attracted to overt displays of wealth. It evaporated all other senses and rational thought. He jogged up the few steps to the raised altar that was the jewel in the prostitution crown of Phnom Penh.
Anyone could enter. The bar downstairs was tastefully decorated with metal chairs and tables that never wobbled. The same garish neon lighting – this time in yellow – illuminated the downstairs. James scanned the area.
Among the usual array of foreigners, he found the security guards scattered in the shadows. They were fat Khmer in dark clothing leaning against the walls smoking cigarettes. They tried their best to seem like ordinary patrons.
James went to the bar and sat on one of the stools. He motioned to the barman for a beer, and he placed a sweating bottle of Angkor beer, the local brew, in front of him. A handkerchief strategically placed underneath caught the pooling moisture.
He sucked on his beer for a few minutes as he watched the movements of the staff. The way the security guards carried themselves gave him some confidence. The patrons didn’t give them trouble very often he assumed.
“Alright? Haven’t seen you around here before.” An older Englishman perched himself on the bar next to him like a vulture. “This your first time?” he asked.
James put on a smile, knowing full well why the old man had come. “Yes, it is.”
He flashed his decaying teeth. The straggly pieces of hair he had left hung like corpses, touching his shoulders. “Another Englishman. Could smell you a mile off. You’ve picked the right place here. I’ve been coming to The Palace for years.”
“Really?” James sipped at his beer again. “Do you live here?”
He scoffed. “I wish. The wife only lets me get away twice a year. She goes away with her friends to shop, and I get to come here.” He gave a sadistic wink. “What happens in Phnom Penh stay in Phnom Penh.”
James gave him a polite smile and angled his head away, trying to detach himself from his seedy friend.
“Oi, if this is your first time here, you must have known about these streets to find this place.”
“I’ve heard things, yes.”
“Good, good, my name’s Mike. If you need someone to give you a look, you can get it with me. The manager has been the same one since I started coming here ten years ago. A good man.”
“I’m John,” James said, not wanting Mike to remember him later. “That’s good. Well, you know why I’m here.”
“Finish your beer,” Mike jabbed the neck of his bottle at his. “Best to get in early before all the good ones are taken.”
James didn’t argue and downed the rest of the Angkor. The lager was little better than the cheapest stuff you could buy in Europe, but it sufficed. He licked away the bitter taste.
“This’ll be the best place you’ll ever find.” Mike lowered his voice. “You know, if you’ve got the money, you can find more than women here.”
James did his best to avoid choking. Mike’s breath smelled like curdled milk. “Tell me more.”
“If you want – you know – something younger, you can find it here. Bora can get you something good. I can walk you through it since it’s your first time.”
James agreed. Every instinct cried out against the abomination that was Mike.
Mike motioned at the barman and ordered him to fetch Bora. The manager of The Palace appeared wearing a blue-grey suit with the top of his pristine white shirt unbuttoned. He had what passed for a military buzzcut and a stern, untrusting expression on his lips.
“Bora, this is my new friend. It’s his first time, and we were wondering if you could take us to the top floor.” Mike released that insidious wink again. “He’s got money.”
“Okay,” said Bora. “Follow me.”
Mike touched him lightly on the back for him to follow the manager. James didn’t get the impression Bora cared much for Mike’s patronage. Nevertheless, Bora cleared a path through the crowded bar until they came to the metal door leading upstairs.
He wanted to stop and walk away, but he couldn’t. A sense of foreboding washed over him. James wasn’t sure he could confront the sick horrors of what went on in these isolated suites.
Chapter Ten
Bora led them through the door to a set of steps that s
wept backwards and forwards. They were covered in a soiled red carpet. Try as they might, The Palace looked as seedy as ever even on the so-called ‘exclusive’ floors.
“You’re really going to enjoy this. It’ll be nothing like you’ve experienced before,” Mike continued to chatter away. “It’ll be the best you’ve ever had.”
James paid him no mind as he focused on the different ways he could throttle Mr. Chea for creating this festering fleshpot.
Bora led them to a reception area on the top floor. It had the look of a tacky Chinese restaurant. An obese man breathed onto his laptop keyboard like he’d just returned from jogging. The Khmer’s fatty eyelids were almost squeezed shut.
Bora said something in Khmer to the man, before departing back downstairs with barely a flicker of acknowledgement.
“Alright,” said Mike. “Here we are. You pay him now.”
“How much?” asked James.
“Well, that depends on what you want. Cor, this is your first time, isn’t it?”
The obese Khmer glared up at them. “What you want?”
“You go first. Make sure you’re okay, then I’ll go. What do you want?”
James said, “Surprise me,” trying to muster enthusiasm.
His answer sent Mike into fits of giggles. “Surprise him, he says. I knew there was a reason I liked you. Good answer. He wants you to surprise him. Give him something really special for his first time.”
The obese Khmer didn’t find a hint of amusement in the answer. He slammed his meaty palm on a bell next to his laptop and a woman arrived. She wore a little cocktail dress, displaying every aspect of her youthful frame.
He spoke to her like a dog in Khmer. She only nodded and disappeared again.
“They’re getting your room ready,” said Mike. “Even in the best places, it takes a few minutes.”
“Five hundred dollars,” the Khmer said.
James snatched his wallet from his pocket and counted out the hundred dollar bills he’d brought with him on the flight. To the average Khmer, five hundred dollars would see them fed and homed for at least three months. In the villages, possibly half the year. The Khmer counted it out and deposited it in the drawer next to him without even a second spent marvelling at the crisp American notes.
