Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson (22 page)

The waitress came over and asked me if I wanted another drink, so I ordered a JD and Coke and bought her one, too. She sat next to me, stroked my thigh and told me how handsome I was. She whispered in my ear that if I paid her barfine and took her to a short-time hotel, she’d screw me for free. That was a standard bargirl scam, I knew from experience. She was banking on the fact that she’d be so good in the sack or I’d be so drunk that I’d forget the deal and pay her when she left. I told her that she was cute, which she was, but that I really liked Number 27. But I hear she has a few boyfriends, I said.

The waitress nodded sympathetically. Yes, she had a soldier in Germany who liked her a lot and a man from Australia who gave her money. I figured Australia was close enough to New Zealand that it was probably Hank she was talking about, but even so it looked like my client was getting the short end of the stick.

I paid my bill, waved goodbye to Elle and ducked as she blew me a kiss. The next day I emailed Hank with my report. I gave him all the details I had on hairdressing schools, and told him that he could expect to pay about 30,000 baht for a year’s course at a good school, or about half that for a six-month course. If Elle were to graduate from one of the good schools she’d have no trouble getting a job in Bangkok. And I told him that he probably wasn’t Elle’s only sponsor. There was the German soldier, and there could well be other men who were sending her money. And I made it clear that she was still happy to have her bar fine paid.

I got an email back thanking me for my help, and I figured that would be the end of it. Hank wasn’t stupid, he’d been around the bar scene long enough to know how it worked, so I assumed that he’d do the sensible thing and just cut his losses. He was a nice guy, too, because he didn’t ask for a refund. He’d paid for a week but I’d only worked on the case for an evening. He didn’t ask for a refund and I didn’t offer. Rules number one and two came into play.

It turned out that I was wrong. Not about the refund, but about Hank’s intentions. He phoned me from Auckland and told me that he’d had several long chats with Elle, that she’d left the bar for good, and that he had paid for her mother and daughter to join her in Bangkok. Elle was working in a small hair salon and she was just about to start at hairdressing school. Hank wanted to pay me to check that Elle was being straight with him. He wanted me to check that she had left the bar and that she was indeed going to school. He said that he would send me a week’s retainer by bank transfer, so I told him I’d do what he wanted. I figured he was wasting his time, but if he wanted to throw good money after bad then rules number one and two of the private-eye game came into play.

That evening I went back to Soi Cowboy, had a few JD and Cokes and bought a few for my friendly waitress. Elle had indeed quit her job, which was one up for Hank. Elle had told him that she wanted to enrol at a beauty school in Soi 55 and Hank had wired the 20,000 baht for the year’s tuition. The next day I headed out there and spoke to a group of motorcycle taxi boys. They knew nothing about a beauty school and that was strange because the motorcycle boys spend all day ferrying people up and down the road and usually know everything that happens in their area. One of them said there was a small place down the road where young girls practised cutting hair, but it wasn’t really a school. I gave the guy fifty baht to take me to the place. It was an open air set-up with two chairs for cutting hair and a reclining chair next to a tap, all under a tattered awning tied to trees with lengths of rope. Below the awning was a hand-painted banner offering lessons in hairdressing and sewing with a ‘special promotional rate’ of 2,000 baht for a six month course. I asked to speak the boss and an old woman stepped forward, her face the texture of old saddle leather.

I gave her my biggest smile and threw in a respectful wai, then told her that my girlfriend wanted to learn hairdressing. No problem, she said, they were open five days a week from nine until five. Girls paid a flat 2,000-baht fee and turned up whenever they wanted. I mentioned that I knew a girl called Elle who had enrolled at the school and the old woman nodded enthusiastically and said that yes, Elle had enrolled but that she didn’t turn up very often. I asked her if the girls who completed the course received a diploma and she grinned, showing me a mouthful of bad teeth, and said sure. I doubted that the diploma would be recognised by any decent beauty salon but at least Elle hadn’t lied about signing up for a course in Soi 55. But she had lied about the cost, and had obviously pocketed the difference. I asked the old women if it was okay to take a photograph of the ‘school’ to show my girlfriend and she readily agreed. On the way home I popped into an internet café and emailed a quick report to Hank, along with the digital photograph.

I figured that would be the end of the romance. She’d lied to him about not going with customers, and she’d fleeced him for 18,000 baht. Hank was enough of a realist to know that a girl who lies twice will keep on lying. And that without trust, no relationship has a hope in hell of surviving. I was wrong. Six months later he phoned me again. He was in New Zealand, and he was still very much in touch with Elle. After my second investigation, he’d had several long heart-to-heart chats with her and she had agreed to leave the temptations of Bangkok and to live with her mother and daughter in Udon Thani. Apparently the fact that he seemed to be aware of her every move had convinced her that there was no point in lying to him anymore. He had agreed to give her one more chance, but only on condition that she stayed with her family in her home town once she had graduated from the hairdressing school. I had already told him that the school’s diploma wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on, but she had attended classes every day and he had phoned her constantly, checking that she was sticking to her word. She was always either at school, or at home, and after six months she’d proudly sent him a photocopy of her diploma and headed back to Udon Thani with her mother and daughter. Hank had paid to set her up with her own beauty parlour and wanted me to drop by next time I was in Udon Thani to check on her progress. He wired me a two-day retainer and we agreed that I wouldn’t charge him for travel expenses. I figured he’d already paid me enough, plus I had several bargirl investigations arranged for Udon Thani. The Isaan town is a major source of prostitutes for Bangkok’s red-light districts. Probably a third of all farangs who ask for my help have gotten involved with girls from Udon Thani. The girls are pretty, generally, and darker than the Thais think is attractive. Their looks, coupled with the poor farmland and lack of decent jobs, mean that there is a constant stream of young girls on the busses into the capital, eager to work in the bars and massage parlours. Many meet a farang who wants to take care of them and every week dozens head back to Udon Thani with the promise of a monthly ‘salary’ from an overseas sponsor. A good percentage of them go straight back into the arms of their Thai boyfriend and husband, and once the sponsor starts to get suspicious that his sweetheart isn’t being as faithful as he’d hoped, that’s when they call me in. I had four Udon Thani investigations ready to go so I added Hank to the list, hired a nondescript Toyota and drove over to Isaan with my wife. She’s from near Udon herself and speaks Thai, the Isaan dialect and Laotian so she pretty much covers all bases, language-wise.

Elle’s beauty parlour was next to her house, some forty kilometres from Udon Thani. I wore sunglasses and a Singha beer baseball cap just in case Elle were to recognise me from my visit to the bar in Soi Cowboy, and I dropped my wife off outside the beauty parlour. I drove off and parked a mile or so away while I read the
Bangkok Post
from cover to cover and then drove back to collect the little lady. She’d had her hair cut and washed and her nails done and Elle had obviously studied well because she looked great. My missus and Elle had chatted away, as the girls do when they’re getting their hair done, and Elle had pretty much recited her life story. She had a boyfriend in New Zealand who loved her and who was coming to live with her one day. His framed photograph was hanging above her framed diploma, and there were snapshots of the two of them together all around the mirrors in the salon. The man took care of Elle and her daughter and her mother, and he was a good man with a good heart, Elle had said. She even offered to ask Hank if he had any friends who might be interested in my missus, but my missus, bless her, said that she was happy with the farang that she already had. That’s what she told me anyway, but I deleted Elle’s number from her mobile when we finally got back to Bangkok, just in case.

Elle said that her parlour made her about two hundred baht a day, which was pretty good money for Isaan, and a lot more on days when there was a function or party in the village. She enjoyed the work and loved her boyfriend, she said, and she was finally content with her life.

‘She’s a lucky woman,’ my wife said to me as we drove away from Elle’s house. She was right. Elle had been lucky to escape from the bar scene, and she was lucky to have a man like Hank supporting her. Most men would have given up on her long ago, cut their losses and found themselves another girl. But Hank had persisted and by the look of it his persistence had paid off. So maybe Hank was lucky, too. Only time would tell. Time, and maybe another visit from the Bangkok private eye.

‘What about you, love of my life?’ I asked the wife. ‘Do you feel lucky?’ She just gave me one of the smiles that the Thais are famous for, and said nothing.

THE CASE OF THE MISSING MOTOR

Dave was one of my best friends in Thailand. I wouldn’t exactly stop a bullet for him, but I’d trust him with my wallet and maybe even my girlfriend. He’s from the UK, one of those northern towns where it always seems to be raining, and he made a living as a freelance journalist. He was in his early thirties when I first met him. I was managing a big hotel in Surin and he wandered in with a young bargirl. I kept in touch with him over the years and when I moved to Bangkok he became a regular drinking partner whenever he passed through the city. He was younger and better looking than me so he was a good guy to use on my bargirl investigations. A bargirl who was supposedly not working might turn me down but might well a take a couple of thousand baht to be bedded by the young Adonis.

During one of his frequent stopovers he met Nong, a twenty-two-year-old student at one of the local universities. She quickly became his regular girlfriend, and we’d often go out to Thai nightclubs as a threesome. Nong had an older sister, Sen, who had landed herself a wealthy Japanese guy a few years earlier. She had prised a four-million baht dowry from him which enabled her to buy a nice house in the suburbs, a new car to drive around in, and enough spare cash to be able to send money to make life a little easier for her parents back in Sara Buri. Sen didn’t approve of Dave. I got the feeling she thought that her little sister could do better. The Japanese businessman had gone back to his wife in Tokyo, and Sen had been trying to encourage Nong to land herself a wealthy benefactor. Dave earned enough to get by, but he was never going to get rich working as a freelance journalist. Sen would have been much happier if Nong had landed a rich Japanese, or a rich American, or a rich German. In fact, so far as Sen was concerned, nationality wasn’t important but money most definitely was. Their parents were good, middle-class Thais, who owned a small banana plantation in Sara Buri, a town in the centre of Thailand. Once she reached eighteen, the parents had sent Nong down to live with Sen and get a decent education.

After Nong and Dave had been going out for a couple of months, Sen put her foot down and sent her younger sister back to Sara Buri. Dave wasn’t too bothered. He was travelling all around the region, and with his good looks he had more than his fair share of female admirers. But before long Nong was back in Bangkok and she soon met up with Dave again. Sen started to realise that she wasn’t getting anywhere by trying to keep Nong and Dave apart. She even began to drive her younger sister out to the airport to meet Dave whenever he flew into the country.

Dave used to join me at my favourite stamping ground on the corner of Sukhumvit Soi 13 for a few cold beers. It was during one of these evening drinking sessions that Dave told me that Nong had been asking him to buy her a car. I was surprised because Nong had been really good about not asking Dave for money. In fact the only time he’d mentioned giving her money was when she’d asked him for 5,000 baht for collagen injections to puff up her lips, which was sort of for his benefit, I guess. A car was a big investment, and Dave was having second thoughts. I sensed the hand of Sen and felt sure that she was putting Nong up to it.

Dave said that he was happy enough to spend money on Nong, but he’d rather set her up in a business. Nong had said that a decent secondhand car would cost about 100,000 baht. In fact, Sen was offering to sell Nong her own car. Sen was planning to upgrade to a newer model and rather than trading it in she wanted to sell it to Nong. Dave reckoned that he could rent her a nice shop in Marboon Krong and stock it. He decided to have a long talk with Nong and suggest that she let him set her up in business so that she would be more independent. A business would be an asset that would hopefully grow in value, but a car would be worth less every year.

At the time, Dave was sleeping on the couch in my living room. He was only in Thailand a few days each month so there was no point in him renting a place of his own. If he wanted to sleep with Nong he’d book into a hotel. Not that I was a prude, it’s just that the sofa wasn’t big enough for two and I wasn’t prepared to give him my bed for sex. Anyway, Nong came around to my place to talk things through with Dave. She said that she’d talked it through with Sen, and decided that buying the car was the best option. Nong would learn to drive then she’d be able to drive herself to university, and she and Dave could use it for sight-seeing when ever he was in town. The car was a five-year-old Honda Civic and Dave had already asked around a few dealers and been told that the going rate was between 150,000 baht and 180,000 baht, so it seemed that Sen was giving them a good deal.

Dave figured that if the worst came to the worst he’d be able to get his money back, plus maybe a small profit, so he let Nong talk him into it. They went to the bank together and Dave withdrew the money from his account and gave it to her. He didn’t ask for my advice so I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help but think that he was being a bit rash. I’ve come across countless horror stories where gullible farangs have bought cars, houses, land and even businesses from the relatives of their Thai girlfriends or wives, only to have it all end in tears. Not that Dave was gullible, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t married to Nong and he only saw her for a few days each month. And why did a student need a car? I didn’t even own one, if I needed wheels I hired a car. Anyway, he didn’t ask for my opinion, so I didn’t give it.

Everything went fine for a while. Nong learned to drive, and she would pick Dave up at the airport whenever he arrived in Thailand. The flat I rented came with its own parking space so when Dave was in town he left it there, and when he was away, Nong used it.

After a few months Dave was sent to the UK on an assignment. While he was away, I went out on the town at one of our old stamping grounds, the RCA, which was where young upper-class wealthy Thais would hang out of an evening. I knew most of the Thai doormen, and on my way into one of the bigger discos one of the doormen pulled me to one side and said that he wanted a word with me. He told me that he’d seen Nong in the disco with several young Thai guys. I wasn’t surprised. Nong liked to go out and have a good time, and with Dave away and her driving around in a decent car, Thai boys would be around her like flies around shit. I phoned Dave and told him the bad news. He was philosophical. He said he’d noticed that she was becoming a bit evasive of late and that she’d started switching her phone off late at night. Dave felt that the love affair had just about run its course and was planning to call it quits anyway.

The following week he stopped off in Bangkok en route to Hong Kong. He booked into a hotel so that he could spend some time alone with Nong. Actually, I figured he just wanted a few last shags before calling time on the affair. Anyway, once the sex was out of the way, he got down to some straight talking with the lovely Nong. He told her that he knew about her nocturnal activities at the RCA. She just shrugged and she was there with friends. He knew she was lying, and got the impression that she didn’t care whether he knew or not. What really ticked Dave off was the fact that she had been pretty much the perfect girlfriend right up until he’d paid 100,000 baht for the car.

Dave told her that it was best they just go their separate ways. Nong shrugged. Dave said he’d arrange to sell he car and he’d split the money with her, fifty-ffty. Nong shrugged, then left.

Dave called her the next day, but Nong didn’t answer the phone. He phoned the sister’s house, but no one answered. That really annoyed him. He had to go to Hong Kong so he left a spare set of keys for the Honda with me and asked if I’d take care of the car until he got back. I had a couple of jobs lined up where a car would be useful, so I took a motorcycle out to Sen’s house. There was no one at home but the car was in the driveway so I drove it back to the city. I decided not to park it in my space just in case Nong started to get possessive over the car, so instead I left it in the car park of a nearby hotel.

I was watching TV a few hours later when the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole before opening the door. It was Nong. I told her the Dave wasn’t staying with me but she kept ringing the bell. I opened the door to give her a piece of my mind but as soon as I did three heavy set Thais in cheap suits charged into the room, followed by Nong’s older sister. I made a run for the kitchen, thinking that I was about to get a kicking. My plan was to grab a bread knife and start flailing it around, but one of the men pulled out a badge and started screaming that he was a policeman. I calmed down a bit and looked at the badge. It looked real enough.

Sen began screaming that I was the farang who’d stolen her car, and it all fell into place. Nong didn’t say anything, she just stared at the floor. One of the detectives grabbed my left arm. I started talking to the senior office in Thai and asked him if I could talk to him one on one, that I was sure there had been a mistake and that we could easily sort it out. The officer agreed and his two men ushered Sen and Nong out into the corridor.

I offered him a drink and we both sat down with tumblers of Johnnie Walker Black Label and Coke. The detective explained that Sen had returned home to find the Honda Civic had gone and that a neighbour told her that a farang had driven it away. Sen had gone straight around to her local police station and they had asked the police in my area to make enquiries.

I hit the roof. I told him that it wasn’t Sen’s car any more, that my friend Dave had paid 100,000 baht for it. I explained that Dave had given me the key and that Dave was planning to sell the car when he got back and give half the money to Nong. I was just an innocent party, and I resented the fact that Sen was laying the blame at my door.

The detective shrugged, finished his whisky, and then went outside to speak to Nong. He came back after a few minutes and said that there seemed to be a difference of opinion over who actually owned the car, and that the police would have to sort it out. He seemed like an okay guy so I asked him if we could both go to the police station where the complaint had been lodged and explain the situation to them. I’d feel happier if he was with me. For all I knew, Sen might well be tight with the cops there.

The detective agreed and he drove me in his pick-up truck while Sen and Nong followed in a police car. We reached the station just before midnight and we were all ushered into the duty captain’s office. The captain was overweight with short, close-cropped grey hair and a jagged scar across his left cheek as if someone had stabbed him with a broken bottle years ago. He grinned when he saw me and I saw the flash of a gold tooth at the back of his mouth. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he tried to work out how much money he could extort from me.

As soon as Sen walked into his office she started mouthing off again, that I’d stolen her car and lied to her sister, that I’d told Nong’s boyfriend that she was sleeping around, that I was a liar and a thief and that I should be sent to prison.

I turned to my new-found detective friend for support but as soon as he started to speak the captain jabbed a finger at him and told him that he was out of his jurisdiction and that he might as well go straight back to Bangkok. My detective hurried out, clearly embarrassed. Sen launched into another verbal attack, pacing around the room as she accused me of stealing her car, lying to her sister, having bad body odour, and everything else she could think of. When she finally ran out of steam, the captain picked up a toothpick and began jiggling it between his front teeth as he waved at me to speak.

I spoke slowly and clearly, in my very best Thai, with lots of smiles and nods. My fate was totally in the captain’s hands. If he decided there was no case to answer, I’d be tucked up in my bed within hours. If he decided I was guilty or didn’t like the look of me I’d be in a prison cell for up to a year waiting for my case to come to court. I explained that the car belonged to my friend Dave, that he had paid 100,000 baht for the car, and that I had the keys. I took them from my pocket and waved them over the captain’s desk. If Sen wanted to give back the 100,000 baht, she could have the car.

The captain grimaced, tossed the chewed toothpick into an ashtray, and told us both to make written statements. That took the best part of two hours. Then we were back in the captain’s office. He read through the statements while Sen sat in the corner, glaring daggers at me. Eventually the captain tossed the statements into a metal tray on his desk.

‘You must tell us where the car is, then we can decide how much money you owe,’ he said.

Sen let out a sharp yelp of triumph, but the captain silenced her with a cold stare.

I offered to go and fetch the car but the captain said no, under the law he couldn’t let me go until the car was returned. I knew that I had no choice other than to give him the keys and tell him where I’d left the car. I said that the apartment car park was full so I’d left it at the nearby hotel. Two uniformed cops took me upstairs and I was placed in a small waiting room while the captain sent one of his men to fetch the Honda. It was three o’clock in the morning. Two hours later the captain came upstairs. The older sister had taken possession of the car, he said.

I hit the roof and shouted that it wasn’t her car, that she’d been paid a 100,000 baht for it.

The captain said that the car’s papers were in order and showed Sen as the owner. And that for the moment, I was to remain in police custody. With that, he turned and left. A uniformed officer gripped my arm and took me to a holding cell. There were twenty men in there. No bunks, no pillows, no blankets, just a bare concrete floor, a foul-smelling bucket to piss in and a tap with a short length of hosepipe attached for washing. Several of the men already there were curled up on the floor, trying to sleep. The overhead fuorescent lights were on. Rats were scurrying around the edges of the cell, and there were cockroaches all over the walls.

A couple of Thai men with tattoos came over and asked what I’d done. I told them about the car. They were in on drugs charges. One had been caught with several kilos of amphetamine tablets in his truck and would almost certainly get the death penalty. I squatted against a wall and cursed the day I’d offered to help Dave out.