Bangkok Burn (13 page)

I called Pim.

“Search the net for charter companies in SEA, start with Singapore, Phuket, and Malaysia.”

“Hang on a second. It’s a bit noisy here, hold on…” I could hear the noise of monks chanting, chatter of women in the background.

“Okay what did you need?”

“Search the net for charter companies in SEA, start with Singapore, Phuket, and Malaysia.”

“Okay, got it.”

“Once you’ve got a list, call them. Tell them we’re looking to charter a Hatteras 53, must be a Hatteras 53. If they say okay, say you want it immediately. If they say okay, then talk to them about where the boat is and talk about price. Whatever price they give, say you’ll think about it. Any hits let me know, right away.”

“Okay”

“Thanks. I’ll call you when I get to Phuket, if I don’t hear from you sooner.”

Chai closed the gate after Mother and joined me. It was hot now, just after noon. The loading bay was in the shade, the concrete warm, the air dusty. I walked back inside to the office. The air-conditioning too cool, I eased the thermostat up to twenty-four Celsius. It reminded me of the Cambodian freezing to death.

I put the phones on the desk along with my guns. I felt lighter. The chair was comfy, overstuffed with a high back. I kicked off my shoes and put my feet up. I noticed the headache I’d had for the last few days was gone. Chai followed me into the office, a bottle of Johnny Walker black, two glasses, and an ice-bucket in his hands. He put them on the desk and shut the door of the office. He poured us both two fingers and dropped some ice into each glass. The warehouse was silent except for the sound of the air-conditioner in the office.

“Cheers. Good idea.” I raised my glass to Chai and took a good swallow, the whiskey burning its way down my throat and hitting my stomach with a warm wash. I took another sip, a smaller one this time and let it rest on the back of my tongue.

“Where do you think Ken will make his move?” Chai asked.

“Chumphon would be my guess, halfway between here and Phuket. Time enough to get set up. He’s got the tracking devices to follow so he knows where they are. Our guys know what to do right?”

“They know what to do.”

“I don’t want anyone getting killed over this. Nice and easy.”

“They’ll surrender the money without a fight, but if the Yakuza come in shooting, they’ll defend themselves. Okay?”

“Sure. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Although it is a risk. That, and Ken just having them executed after they surrender.”

“He won’t. Stealing the money is one thing. Killing a bunch of our guys another. He doesn’t want a war, he wants the money.”

We were both operating on the assumption that Ken would try steal the money. Ken had put tracking devices in the smaller bundles. X-ray had showed them up. Otherwise nothing would have detected them. They had only just now started transmitting. We had kept one. Wafer thin, Japanese technology.

“You heard anything about Uncle Mike?”

“Nothing. We’ve got feelers out but nothing’s pinged back yet. I tell you, Chai, I can’t figure out what’s happening. The bombing, the attacks, the kidnapping. None of it. I’ve got no idea where it’s coming from or even if it's connected.” My gut screamed at me - it’s connected, don’t be a fool. And I knew my gut was right. I just couldn’t figure out how.

Shells by the Seashore

16 May 2010 Bangkok 3:45 pm

I’d dosed off,
the chair, whiskey, and lack of sleep, combining to put me out. I woke up with a stiff neck and a mouth made of sandpaper.

The light on Lilly’s phone was blinking. A missed call, ‘Unknown Number’. It must have just rung. Something had woken me up and Chai was nowhere to be seen. It rang again. I took a swig of the whiskey now heavily diluted by the melted ice. It tasted terrible but did the job of removing the sandpaper.

I answered the phone.

“Don’t fuck around with me. Don’t forget I hold your Uncle’s life in my handsth.”

“Is he there?”

“Firsth we talk exchange.” His lisp was really annoying me. I forced myself not to pay attention to it.

“All right. Talk.”

“Wednesday morning in Phuket. You have money with you in two wooden boxes. Each box must have a hook and lifting straps attached. On Wednesday morning, before eight, I will call you with further instructions. You understand this?”

“Yes.”

“Now your Uncle Mike will say hello to you.”

“Chance?” His voice sounded weak and scared. I had never heard him like this. Guilt crashed over me. If only I had answered his call and gone to see him.

“Uncle Mike, are you all right?”

“Yes, Chance a bit seasick, but otherwise fine.” His voice normal, bouncy, with a grin in it, cheeky. I immediately heard sounds of a scuffle and Uncle Mike crying out in pain.

“
Stop it
,” I yelled down the phone.

“Your Uncle is all right. Don’t worry.” He sounded out of breath. I was going to kill him. He continued talking.

“Wednesday. You will see. He will be alive. You follow my instructions exactly. You bring the money.”

“Wednesday morning, I’ll be there.”

He hung up. So they were on a boat. Most likely the Hatteras, and most likely they had stayed at sea, avoiding marinas, knowing I’d search them. If they stay at sea, they’re almost impossible to find.

I walked out of the office. Chai was sitting cross-legged on a mat just inside the loading bay, a stripped Uzi beside him. I cleaned up in the washroom and went out to him.

“Wednesday morning, Phuket. Uncle Mike sounded okay. They’re on a boat.”

“Boat is tricky.” He didn’t look up from cleaning the gun.

“Yes it is. We’ll think of something. Let’s make a move. I want to get to Big Tiger’s place early.” He nodded, picking up the barrel and sliding it into the stock. Efficiency born of familiarity, his movements.

***

We were dressed for the occasion. I had a pair of Tomcat Berettas in my boots, and I’m pretty sure I saw Chai sneak a few grenades into the backpack on the floor at his feet. After the last few days, we’d settled on a fortress mentality. Trust no one, check everything, and be prepared, always. We were in a taxi, Chai driving, me, the foreigner, in the back seat. ‘Tamada’ - normal. We took the back streets.

The little war in Bangkok was still going strong. The fight had left the stage, the conference rooms, the boardrooms, the parlors of the powerful, and hit the streets with a vengeance. The CRES had just announced that Monday and Tuesday would be public holidays, to give them a chance to deal with the situation. I read that as, the army would be hitting the red shirt encampment at midnight on the eighteenth. It’s the way it works. I was glad I’d be out of town.

By the time we reached the pier, it was dusk. We parked a few hundred meters away. Chai went first to scout it out. I looked out at the Gulf. The sea here is a muddy brown, where the effluent of the Chao Phraya pours out. Seagulls swirled above the calm sea, squawking, their work would soon be over. A few couples, some with children walked the promenade, if you could call a pavement lined with convenience stores and restaurants, such a thing.

My cell phone rang. Chai.

“Clear.”

I walked to the pier. As I reached it, a white Toyota Urvan pulled up at the entrance, about ten meters away. I made direct eye contact with the driver and saw that he recognized me. I looked up the pier to see Chai already moving. Still walking, I quickened my pace up the pier, looking back at the van. The door of the van slid open. Daeng climbed out, saw me, a look of surprise, and startled, as he looked at something behind me. I spun around, five meters from me, a man with a double barreled shotgun coming up, pointed at me. I won’t be fast enough flashed through my mind.

I dived watching the twin barreled mouths swing with me. A chunk of the man’s head flew off and he fell sideways. Chai fired more shots, the Uzi clacking, spitting out shells. A couple walking arm in arm on the pier not comprehending what was happening, looking puzzled as, his back to them, Chai crouched and stalked forward. They couldn’t see the weapon in his hands but then the woman saw the guy with a big chunk of his head missing and she screamed. Chai did a complete 360 turn his eyes sweeping over me, as I now crouched looking around to see if there were any other threats. Chai flicked the muzzle of the Uzi at the woman and held a finger to his lips. The woman stopped screaming.

Chai dropped the muzzle on the silenced Uzi and showed the woman his fake police badge. He told her and her boyfriend to get out of there. They nodded and took off. He called to Daeng to get his guys to throw the body in their van and take it to the farm. Daeng told his boys to do as Chai ordered, and called up to the restaurant. I lit a cigarette, my hand shaking. I looked around but everyone was busy, no one noticed. Then I saw Chai watching me. He’d noticed. As Daeng’s boys picked the body up, Chai walked over and quickly rummaged through the pockets finding nothing. The killer could have been Thai, Cambodian, or Laotian, but I would have put money on Cambodian and I’m not a gambling man. Chai picked up the shotgun, broke it, and took out the shells. He gave the shotgun to Daeng’s boys, telling them to file any numbers off it.

Chai handed me the shells. Triple-aught. At fifteen feet, one shot would have blown a hole in me you could put your fist through. Two would have cut me in half. I let out a long slow breath. That was close. Adrenalin cooling, I felt like I wanted to puke. I sucked hard on the smoke. Daeng was on the phone, Chai standing near me. A boy and a woman arrived on a motorbike, the woman sitting side saddle on the back, holding a bucket and a mop. Daeng showed her where to clean up.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chai said.

“No. Let’s go have dinner,” I said, putting the shells in my pocket.

Big Tiger was waiting for us at the entrance.

“Fuck my mother, but believe me I had no idea that was going to happen, Chance. Fuck you have to believe me.”

“I believe you, Tiger. Has the Aussie showed up yet?”

“No sign of the fuck yet, but he’s due very fucking soon. Let’s get off this fucking pier. The heat is enough to kill a fucking camel.”

Big Tiger took us to the elevator. The door held open by one of his ‘dek-serve’, a waiter. I wondered if Big Tiger and ‘Heaven’ shared the same designer.

Tiger had cleared the top floor. The girl from the other night was sitting waiting at the table. Obviously we wouldn’t be talking business. Tonight she was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Very short, shorts. Chai took a seat at a different table with Daeng and I sat down with Big Tiger and the girl.

Tiger had ‘Hotel California’ by the Eagles playing on the room’s speakers. Apart from that it was like eating in the middle of an auditorium.

“Tiger. Can I make a suggestion?”

“What?”

“Let’s move outside, where we were the other night. This is too formal. Keep it light.”

The girl smiled. Tiger scowled at her and gave me a pissed off look.

“What’s wrong with here? Outside is too fucking hot.” His hand waved around the scarlet red papered walls interspersed with tall white columns. Folded up tables ringed the empty space around us. You could hold an Olympic ice skating competition in the space we were in the middle of.

“Just trying to help. I am the Farang here, right?”

He thought about that. I watched the thought move behind his eyes. He reminded me of one of our crocs. An old, fat one.

“Well fuck me. What’s the fucking difference, right? Let’s go eat the fuck outside. Why the fuck not?”

He got up. The girl rolled her eyes in my direction. I kept my face expressionless. Sorry babe, not playing your game. She adjusted focus and scuttled after a muttering, cursing Big Tiger. I could tell this was going to a barrel of laughs.

While Big Tiger went off to berate a dek-serv, I chose a table at the corner of the balcony, with my back to the sea, facing the door to the restaurant. Chai sat down at a table between me and the door. Only two other tables on the deck were occupied.