Bangkok Burn (18 page)

Despite Joom’s mood, the river was not frozen over and we made swift time to the opposite shore. Ba Nui who’d answered and dropped the phone looked at me with terror. Mother stopped and assured her I was not a ghost and encouraged her to take a feel of my arm to be sure. It looked as if Ba Nui was not convinced on the first and declined absolutely on the second, grabbing Mother’s hand bag, and taking off up the path to the house.

As we reached the top of the path and walked around the pool, Mother turned.

“You’re staying here tonight. I’ve prepared your room. Pim, of course you will stay again tonight. The guest room is yours for as long as you need it.” It wasn’t a request or a suggestion.

“Yes, Mother.” There was no way that Mother would let Pim and I share a room in her house if we weren’t married. Never spoken but understood by all. Cultural rules telepathy. Thailand is a very male dominated society. Run by women. We all know that.

My room was on the second floor at the back of the house overlooking the river, down the hall from Mother and Por’s room. Pim was in one of the guest rooms on the third floor. My room had a window seat. It was my favorite place to read. I hadn’t been back there in ages. After a long hot soak I lay in the window seat, lights reflecting off the river. I looked around the room: a silver gun Mother had bribed me with to get me to go to the dentist when I was six; my degree on the wall - the joy in their faces when I looked out for them in the crowd after receiving it; the .22 air rifle - Por telling me never to point it at anything I didn’t mean to destroy. The movie of my life played scenes queued by the objects in the room.

I thought of Pim. Her intelligence, beauty, strength of character and I thought of the choice I had to make. I felt guilty that my planning to leave the family had brought this bad luck upon us. Irrational I know, but only if you’re a Farang. If I left the family, Mother and Por would be heart broken. If I didn’t leave the family, Pim would leave me. The look on her face when she’d learned I’d killed again, a look I didn’t want to see again.

There was a soft tap on the door. Pim. She sat down on the polished teak wood floor next to the window seat, didn’t say a word, looking out at the river, her right ear waiting for words from me.

“I don’t enjoy killing.”

“I know.”

“Only when it is a matter of life and death. Yes, I’ve killed. Last one was an accident. He was behind the door of the container when I crashed it with the forklift. He may have survived but I doubt it. If someone came to harm you, I would kill them before they had the chance, if I could.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Six including the last guy.”

She nodded. A tear swelled up from the eye I could see and rolled down her cheek, making a spot the size of a one baht coin on the white cotton of the seat's cushion.

“I killed a kitten once, in London, outside my flat in Kensington late one night. We’d just come back from the pub. The kitten was in the gutter next to the pavement. It had been run over by car, its back and hind legs crushed. It was crying in agony. I was the designated driver, only had one glass of wine all night. Stone cold sober. I drove my mini over the kitten. I still feel the bump the car made when it ran over the kitten. I still think about it. How do you live with it?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She laid her head on my thigh. I stroked her hair.

“It’s done. It is the past. They were situations. Me or them. Karma. I carry the faces of all of those I have killed and I’ve thought countless times about each one. Could I have done it differently? I can live with it because I am alive. It’s the only answer I’ve come up with.”

A Mickey Mouse Exchange

20 May 2010 Trat 8:30 am

It was a three hundred and seventy-five kilometer drive
from Mother’s house to Hat Lek, Little Beach, in Trat province. We left just after five in the morning, three black Lexus RX350’s, each carrying 33 million dollars. Red siren lights and two BMW police cars led the charge. We made the distance in just under three hours.

There were nine of us, excluding the cops, all we could fit in the vehicles. Chai, Tum and me traveled in one, Cheep and his boys in the other two. The rest of our crew was on full alert back in Bangkok as rumors of a redshirt protest surfaced. When I left, Mother was telling organizers of both red and yellow shirts that if anyone came to her district to cause trouble, they’d be getting a beating. So far no one had shown up. The red shirts might take on the army and the government, but Mother was a whole new level.

Pim and I had shared a muted goodbye, a strange dreamy look still in her eye. It kept surfacing in my mind all the way to Trat. We had pulled over before the town of Trat and removed the sirens from the vehicles. Now we were just a caravan of “Poo Yai” – big shots – on our way for a weekend’s gambling at the Koh Kong Casino. Next to the casino was‘Safari World’ with its crocodile show. We’d supplied the crocs and the training for the show. But all that was on the Cambodian side of the border where gambling was legal.

Hat Lek is one of the quieter border crossings with Cambodia. A seaside town, more fishing than tourist boats, with most buildings single story and made of wood. The main road split the heart of the town in two, continuing right to the border crossing. A trickle of tourists, bent double with backpacks, made their way to the border crossing. We had taken over a small restaurant about three hundred meters from the border. The restaurant backed onto the sea. I sat at a rear table with Chai and Cheep. The view looked out over the Gulf of Thailand. On the table in front of me, Lilly’s phone, signal strong. Silent.

Three cups of bad coffee later, the phone rang.

“So you made it. You don’t look as pretty as you used to. Maybe your HiSo girlfriend will find another man.”

“Let’s skip the bullshit and get to the point. Where and when?”

“Right now, Koh Kong bridge.”

“That’s in Cambodia. We’ll never get across with all this cash.”

“One vehicle, two people, already cleared. Thai and Cambodian checkpoints. Just drive through.” I hadn’t expected that. Lisp or Leon had more clout than I’d imagined. “But leave now.” He hung up.

I picked up the phone, nodded at Cheep.

“Get everything loaded in one car. You stay here and stay on the comms. If we change route or have an issue, I’ll call you. Chai you come with me.”

The car was over its maximum payload so Chai was taking it easy. We crawled through the Thai and Cambodian checkpoints, the officers turning the other way as we passed. Koh Kong bridge was seven and half kilometers from the border. Driving in Cambodia - anywhere, but especially Cambodia - with a hundred million in cash was not a low risk proposition.

Keyed up, talking to Cheep and keeping him informed of progress, Chai and I eyes moved left right to see any threats, keeping the speed low. A couple of taxis overtook us but apart from that we were alone. We reached the bridge fifteen minutes later. Chai lifted his Steiner 7 X 50s.

“There’s a car parked about three hundred meters up. Three people inside. One’s wearing a hood. The others have caps and cartoon masks on.”

Lilly’s phone rang.

“Looks like the guy in the car is talking on a phone.”

Chai answered Lilly’s phone and held it to my ear. We guessed they might be watching us and I was wearing the plaster box I’d had made last night. It fitted up to my shoulders and could be broken apart with a twist of the wrist. Inside was just big enough for the two Berettas. It was heavy and itched but might give us an edge.

“Get out of the car, and I’ll get out of mine. We will start walking with your Uncle Mike. You give me your car keys and the money. I give you my car key and Uncle Mike.”

“You take the hood off Uncle Mike.” Chai swapped hands with the phone and the binoculars. Watching. There was a delay.

“They’re taking the hood off. It’s Uncle Mike. He looks okay. They’ve put the hood on him again now.”

“So now you see. You walk. We walk. We pass each other on the bridge. Simple.” He hung up.

“We walk across. Swap car keys in the middle.”

Chai nodded, did a quick weapons check and climbed out. He walked around and opened the door for me. I climbed down.

“Cheep, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Chance. I can hear you.”

“We’re making the exchange now. Keep the line open.”

We started walking. They started walking. My eyes strained to see Uncle Mike’s condition but he was too far away. We walked, fast, long strides, the plaster box bouncing against my stomach. As we got closer, I was sure it was Uncle Mike. I’d recognize his rolling gait anywhere.

“Yes, it’s Uncle Mike for sure. Cheep, they’ll be taking the Lexus from the Thai end of Koh Kong Bridge.”

“Got it, Chance. Be careful.”

When there was a gap of about twenty meters, the taller of the two Mickey Mouses held up a palm and shouted, “Stop.” It sounded like a Thai person speaking English. He pointed at me and dangled car keys. He pointed at Chai and held up a palm. Clear enough.

I walked forward gesturing with the plaster box at Uncle Mike. The tall guy hung back as the shorter Mickey Mouse brought Uncle Mike towards me. As he passed me, he threw a set of car keys to Chai and then pushed Uncle Mike. He grabbed me, twisting me around to face Chai and sticking a gun in my throat. He snatched the keys and I felt him toss them to the taller Mickey. He was bending me backwards, dragging me by the throat. I was off balance. I watched Chai pull Uncle Mike behind him. I could hear running and figured the tall one had bolted. As I risked a glance behind me, the gun pushed harder into my throat.

Chai was running and pulling Uncle Mike to the other car. He’d taken Uncle Mike’s hood off. I could see his light brown hair. I stumbled against the guy dragging me. He staggered, released his hold on my throat and grabbed me by the shoulder. He still faced back to Chai, but had turned me to face the Lexus. Tall Mickey reached the Lexus and climbed in. Short Mickey glanced behind and releasing my shoulder took out a box with a switch and an antenna. Shit! A bomb, I thought. He held the gun on me and watched Chai and Uncle Mike at the same time, glancing from them to me.

Behind us, tall Mickey got back out of the Lexus and shouted something. It sounded like Cambodian. Short Mickey turned to face him and I lunged at him. My wrists twisted uselessly as the box held together trapping my hands but I kept going. He pressed the switch and I watched Chai and Uncle Mike blown backwards as the pickup on the bridge exploded. The shockwave and sound reached us almost simultaneously. He sidestepped and smacked me on the side of the head with his gun. Dropping the device, he grabbed me again, forced me around, gun at the nape of my neck, walking fast. I looked back. Chai and Uncle Mike hadn’t moved. I was filled with rage, arms twisting inside the box trying to get the damn thing open.

I heard a cough and a thud behind me. I turned. Short Mickey was lying face down, bullet holes in the back of his denim jacket and a bloody mess at the back of his head. A wave of relief. Chai, kneeling, weapon pointed. I smashed the box on the ground, turning around. Tall Mickey took out a gun and fired. The front window of the Lexus exploded. He looked at the space where it had been and took off running. Berretta’s in hand, I went after him.

I went past the Lexus, arms pumping, adrenalin surging. I was gaining on him. In the shadows, I spotted a motorbike fifty meters from me. A rider on a motorbike. Tall Mickey jumped on the back and the bike accelerated away. I steadied myself. Aimed and fired a group of three. The range was too much for the little .25 gun. They sped off over the hill.

I ran back to the Lexus, a spare set of keys in my pocket. Chai had the other. I jumped in and hit the starter button. I gunned the engine, shoved the gear in ‘drive’ and pushed hard on the accelerator. The Lexus jumped forward, wind in my face, from where the window had been shot out.

I pulled up alongside Chai, Uncle Mike smiling. Chai pushed his way into the back with the money and Uncle Mike, jumped into the passenger seat.

“Chance, man. It’s good to see you.”

“Same here, Uncle Mike, but we got get going.” I nodded to the Koh Kong end of the bridge, a police car approaching. Chai leaned between the driver and the passenger seat. Before I could say no, he fired, spent cartridges flying past my ear. The police car stopped and started going in reverse.

I threw the Lexus into reverse and looking back, hand holding the wheel steady, drove as fast as I could. The cop car, discouraged by the burst from Chai’s Uzi, kept its distance. I flung the wheel hard right spinning us around and slamming the gear into drive at the same time. Thinking fast. There was no way we’d get back across the border in the Lexus, not with a blown out front window along with what had happened at the bridge.