Everyone Burns (26 page)

She stares at me for a moment then she nods. “Very well, David.”

“And after you get to your hotel and you’re sprucing yourself up, leave your phone on.”

“Why?”

“Because I might need to call you.”

“Why?”

“Because I just might,” I say petulantly. “God, you ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s because I don’t get satisfactory answers.”

“Well, welcome to my world.”

She pauses and looks at me searchingly.

“I suppose you already know from Deng which hotel I’m staying at?”

“Yes. The Indo-China International. My favourite hotel, so rumour has it. I’m flattered. At least I would be if you’d asked me along with you.”

Mrs
. Charoenkul shakes her head disbelievingly. Then she rises and says formally. “I hope you enjoy your stay in Bangkok, Mr. Braddock.”

*       *       *       *       *

As soon as the door is opened at Don Muang International Airport, Bangkok, I’m off the plane like a greyhound out of the traps. Kat is sitting way back, and I know she has checked luggage –
how much stuff does a woman have to pack for two days?
– so it’s going to be a while before she gets out of the airport. This is good, because I want to get to her hotel before she does. I hurry through the airport, jump into a taxi and tell the driver I’ll give him a good tip if he can get me to the Indo-China International fast. Accordingly he drives like a lunatic while talking to me over his shoulder about what a shame it is that Don Muang will close when the new Suvarnabhumi Airport opens next year. I think he’s more worried about the renewal of his taxi licence than any emotional attachment to the former Royal Thai Air Force base.

The dirty concrete buildings and raised roadways of Bangkok’s suburbs whizz by. They
appear more scruffy than usual in the bright, hot sunlight, and the numerous advertising hoardings look faded and sad. Drying washing hangs over balconies and blackened air conditioning units cling to the sides of buildings, competing for space with satellite dishes and weather-eaten cables.

As we move into the centre of the city the election posters become more numerous. Pictures of Thaksin
Shinawatra appear to be everywhere. His statesmanlike gaze beams out from a blue background, and he is wearing a sensible business suit, white shirt and pale blue tie. His smile appears to say
trust me, what other choice do you have?
The poster is topped and tailed with fiery red blocks: I have no idea what the writing on them says. The election is only five days away, but the excitement doesn’t touch me: I have other things to worry about.

Like a number of the upmarket hotels in Bangkok,
the Indo-China International is located on the Chao Phraya River so that the tourists can watch the charming and the not-so-charming water traffic, and, when they’re bored with that, the setting sun. I tell my driver to drop me about a hundred metres from the hotel and hand him a nice tip. In return he hands me a card. I’ll be sure to use him again the next time I have a desire to die in a head-on collision.

I stroll casually up the street and find a food stall parked on the corner of a side-road almost directly opposite the hotel entrance. I buy some fresh mango and stand chatting to the vendor
as I eat, all the while keeping an eye on the hotel. A furtive looking Thai with a pronounced limp is hovering outside the Indo-China, chain-smoking and watching who gets out of taxis, occasionally referring to a photograph he pulls from his jacket pocket. At first I think it is the policeman I met at Carroll’s murder scene, but realise it isn’t. Whoever it is, he is looking for someone, and I don’t think it’s to greet them.

A few minutes later the taxi containing Kat pulls up, and as the lady alights the limping one looks excited while trying not to. Of course, the mere sight of Kat is generally enough to get any red-blooded male excited, but it may be more sinister than that. I am not reassured when, as she disappears into the lobby, the man consults his watch, takes out a small notepad and scribbles on it.

I light a Marlboro and give Kat ten minutes to check in and arrive in her room before I call her mobile.

“David, I haven’t even unpacked yet.”

“Never mind that. I need you to do something. Go back down into the lobby, and when you come out of the hotel turn right and walk to the 24 Hour Store. It’s about 100 metres. Buy a bottle of water and walk back to the hotel. If you see me, don’t acknowledge me, and don’t look behind you.”

“
Walk?
” she says in an outraged tone. “David, tirak, I don’t
walk
. Anyway, it’s hot and I’m in high heels.”

“Christ, Kat. Then change into some flat shoes.”

“I don’t have any flat shoes with me. Why do I have to do this?”

I make an exasperated noise and she relents.

Shortly thereafter she appears through the revolving door and does as instructed. The suspicious-looking Thai quickly stubs out a cigarette he’s just lit and follows her at a distance. As Kat begins her walk back he pretends to talk into a phone until she has passed him then watches her re-enter the hotel, before taking up his original position. He writes something else down.

I phone Kat again.

“You have a tail,” I say. Then I add, “Quite appropriate for a
Kat
, really.”

“I thought you were my tail.”

“I thought so too. Can you think of anyone other than your husband who would be having you followed?”

“No.”

“OK, sit tight. I’ll call you in a little while.”

“Mind if I get changed now?” she asks archly. “I’m all hot after that walk.”

“Carry on. I’ll be following you later, after I’ve got rid of the other guy.”

I buzz Charoenkul who answers immediately.

“If you are going to get someone else to follow your wife, I suggest you hire a private investigator that doesn’t have a peg-leg. If I can spot him a mile away, I’m sure Mrs. Charoenkul will too, and then everything’s blown.”

Papa Doc is quiet.

“Call him off. Let me do my job,” I say. “You don’t need two guys following her around like some sad music hall duo.”

He sighs. “Very well.”

“Make the call.”

I hang up.

A short time later, the Thai Long John Silver gets a call on his cell phone. He nods, puts the phone in his pocket and limps away. I hang around until I’m sure he’s gone then I walk to my (much more modest) hotel situated above the 24 Hour Store.

I unpack and throw a few essentials into my camera bag then I go back down into the street to look for a biker who wants to make some money. I find a likely candidate called “X”, who
sports a Brazil football shirt and a large collection of tattoos. We hang around smoking at the food stall until Kat appears with her friend, a rather mumsy Thai lady. I take a couple of photos before they step into a taxi.

“Follow that cab,” I say to X, somewhat over-dramatically.
“And make sure they don’t know we’re trailing them.”

We travel slowly through the steamy heat of the city, stopping regularly and choking on traffic fumes. My shirt is soaked in sweat when the ladies’ taxi arrives at the SIH Hospital. X parks a respectable distance away and I climb off the bike. I have time to snap a few shots of their backs before they vanish inside the main building.

Shortly afterwards I receive a SMS from Kat:
Will probably be two hours. Don’t worry we’ll come out the front door

I send a message back:
SMS me when you are done, am going for a cool drink

Since X can’t leave his bike on the main thoroughfare, he puts it in an adjacent side-road, and we have a couple of beers in a lean-to establishment across the way from the hospital. X doesn’t have much conversation, so I send him off to get me a
Bangkok Post
and a packet of Marlboros.

I light up, o
pen the paper and see Mr. Carroll has made the national news. Not the headlines, but enough inside coverage to give my police friends on Samui some serious heartburn. The phone lines from the island to Surat Thani must be glowing.

It’s after 6
.00pm when I receive a message from Kat:
Finished, not good

I pay the bill and tell X to get the bike
.

Kat and her friend emerge arm-in-arm from the hospital. Kat looks grim and her friend is in tears. They make their way to an upmarket coffee shop
nearby and sit down at a corner table. Kat looks to be comforting her companion, who seems to recover for a spell before breaking down again. I take a couple of heartless photographs for Charoenkul.

After a while I can’t bear to watch this anymore, so I send Kat a text for her to call me later
, and get X to take me back to my hotel. I take his cell phone number, book him for tomorrow and pay him for today. Then I go shower and change into cool, dry clothing while I wait for Kat’s call.

She calls around seven-thirty.

“Where are you?” she asks in a voice that sounds strained.

“In my hotel room, not far away.”

“Why don’t you come over? I could do with some company. Sumalee has calmed down, but she’s decided to talk to her husband this evening; and she thinks it best I’m not there. Can you come? I’m in Room 415.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I check no-one is hanging around outside the Indo-China,
but as a double precaution I take the lift to the fifth floor and walk down one floor of steps to Room 415.

“You’ve brought your camera bag?” Kat says opening the door.

“Professional habit.”

Although she’s obviously been through an emotional couple of hours, she’s changed and scrubbed up well. We chat for a little while, and I proffer a few
weak jokes on inconsequential subjects, after which she’s almost back to her usual self.

We have a couple of drinks from her mini-bar then unexpectedly
Kat throws a towel at me.

“Take a shower,” she says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you’re not having sex with me until you
’ve showered,” she replies.

“Are we having sex then?
After what you’ve been through this afternoon? God, you’re a resilient woman.”

She shrugs. “We may as well,” she smiles. “Since you’re here. I
do
have an itch that needs to be scratched, and I don’t feel like doing it myself. Besides which, it will take my mind off things. Do you have any condoms?”

“Only a dozen or so.”

“I’ll try to pretend you didn’t anticipate this. That way I won’t feel taken for granted.”

I strip and step under the shower. Kat
disrobes, ties back her hair and joins me. She turns the shower setting onto ‘narrow pulse’ mode and the hot water hits my skin like tiny needles.

“When did you last come?” she asks as the water splashes off us and the glass walls begin to steam up.

“Centuries ago.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t been riding any dirty little bargirls recently?”

“Scouts honour.”

Kat puts her arms around my neck and kisses me slowly on the mouth. Then she draws her face back a few inches and says softly, “I don’t want you coming straightaway,
tirak, I need you to last. Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

I do as I’m told.

She presses her body against my back, and I feel the hardness of her nipples as she rubs against me. She moves my legs slightly apart with her foot, and I know what’s next. She places her left hand on my chest, and pulls herself against me. She uses her lips and teeth on my shoulder and with her right hand she begins to masturbate me.

“Is that nice, Daddy David?” (There is something a wee bit sick about Kat at times, but I can’t pretend I don’t like it.)

“I think you know it is, Mrs. Charoenkul.”

“You’re such a sweet
one,” she says, wanking me very hard. “Come for your little Katty.”

She bites my shoulder hard and I cry out as I come.

“That’s my good boy.”

“Jesus,” I gasp.

She lets the water wash the semen from her hand, and says in a businesslike manner, “My turn next.”

She soaps me all over, and I reciprocate. In spite of the fact that I’ve just come, my cock is at half-mast as we step out of the shower. In the bedroom we dry each other with soft white towels, and I kneel
down to dry her legs, like a supplicant before the altar of her ripe body. She offers me a foot to kiss and I oblige.

“You’ve done well,” she says. “I’m dry everywhere apart from one place. You can lick that dry.” She grasps my hair and
we fall onto the bed. She pushes my head down over her smooth stomach and waxed pubis, guiding my mouth towards her sex. “Eat me, tirak. Eat me deep. Taste your little Katty.”

I gently part Kat’s velvety thighs and insert the tip of my tongue into her. She is already wet, and I savour
her taste. I peel back the labia with my fingers so that I can penetrate deeper, and I hear her sharp intake of breath. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and she begins to move my head rhythmically against her. My tongue seeks out her clitoris, and I suck on her. She pulls back my head.