Hungry Ghosts (13 page)

“
The Bump and Grind. It’s in Patpong. Just ask anyone. Everybody knows it. I’ll be in the upstairs bar.”

It sounds like a real classy establishment. I wonder if I should wear a tie.

Lise disentangles herself from Jezz and takes me to one side to discuss in a low voice the financial arrangements for ‘afterwards’. Satisfied she gives me a big hug, and squeezes my bottom with both hands.

“We’ll have a lovely time, David,” she whispers in my ear and licks my neck.

“You will too,” says Jezz, lighting up one of my cigarettes.

“I’ll be waiting for you,
tirak. And I’ll be hungry,” Lise adds.

I pay the bill, leave Jezz my packet of cigarettes and
say
au revoir
to the happy couple.

It may not be much of a lead – and it may all be bullshit – but it’s all I’ve got at the moment.

13

Information

Two young, well-dressed Thai men watched
the Englishman leave the table, and saw the woman kiss her bearded boyfriend and disappear in the opposite direction. They exchanged a few words and the shorter man set off after Braddock while his companion crossed the road and sat down across from the American.

“May I buy you a drink?”

Jezz looked up in surprise.

“Hey, this is my lucky day,” he said.

The Thai smiled at him in a friendly manner.

“I’m always ready to make new friends,” he replied, “
particularly if those friends are willing to help me out too.”

The American spread his arms.

“Hey, isn’t that what we’re on this beautiful planet for? To help each other?”

Drinks were ordered and the Thai put some Baht notes on the table. Jezz looked warily at the newcomer, but seeing nothing too threatening in his gaze carefully picked up the money and put it away in a pocket.

“So what do you need from me?” he asked.

“Just some information.”

A few minutes later, the young Thai was walking down the street talking into a cell phone.

“Khemkhaeng?”

“Yes?”

“The Englishman is still making his way around the hostels. As well as showing photographs of the woman he’s asking questions about Andrews.”

“Is he now? It sounds more and more like he’s working with Janus.”

“He’s going to the Bump and Grind tonight to see if he can find Andrews. One of the bargirls is meeting him there to point out Andrews. Later, apparently he’s taking her back to his hotel – though we already know where
that
is.”

“I’ll
ring Andrews and tell him to stay at home tonight. It’s best they don’t meet.”

“What do you want
us
to do?”

There was a pause at the end of the phone.

“Continue tailing him today to see if there are any other developments. Then pick him up tonight and bring him in.”

“I thought Mr
. Sangukhon just wanted us to tail him,” the Thai objected.

“The situation’s changed. He knows about Andrews. We need to find out what else he knows.
It will be easier and less risky to bring him in at night.”

“What if he resists?”

“Take two more men with you to the club. Pick up the girl too. Do what is necessary.”

Jezz still sat at the table drinking a Coke and smoking a Marlboro. When he was sure no-one was looking he reached into his pocket, took out the money the Thai had given him and counted it. He smiled to himself. It was turning out to be a good day.

He wondered if he should tell Lise about his good fortune. Then he shook his head.

“Naw,” he said to himself, “She’ll make her own money tonight. She doesn’t need to know.”

14

Lunchtime

“I was supposed to be seeing David for a session this afternoon,” said Nittha Rattanakorn, “but he’s been called away on urgent business to Bangkok.”

“More likely he has urgent business with some married woman and is giving her bedsprings a pounding as we speak,” replied Kat archly.

Nittha’s eyes opened wide.

“Do you think he goes for married women?” she asked suddenly interested.

“I really wouldn’t know,” said Kat, regretting her unguarded remark and endeavouring to sound casual.

“Then what makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “He’s been in Thailand for a few years already. I should have thought he’s past the bargirl stage by now and has moved on to something rather more exotic.”

“Do you think so?”

“I don’t really know him that well,” Kat added. “Perhaps I do him an injustice.”

She looked at Nittha’s face and from the look in her eyes she could imagine the cogs turning in the other woman’s head. But those thoughts were not suspicious ones of Kat and Braddock.

She fancies him
. A wave of annoyance swept over her, but she concealed it with a wide smile. She put her hand on Nitta’s wrist.

“Why? Do you think he’s attractive?”

Nittha giggled.

“I’ve often wondered what it would be like to do it with a
farang,” she responded.

Kat laughed convincingly. “I would imagine it’s no different than with our husbands; except perhaps the conversation afterwards would be in English.”

Nittha giggled again then gestured at a waiter for the bill.

The two women were just finishing lunch at an exclusive restaurant overlooking one of Samui’s sandy bays.

Although Kat considered Nittha Rattanakorn a silly and rather spoilt woman, charity events often threw them together, and on occasion they would meet for lunch. Nittha was at least educated – Kat didn’t have too many educated friends on Samui – and if she could be kept off the topics of fashion and film stars, Nittha
could
be entertaining company. At other times Kat simply found her irritating, although after years of marriage to Deng Charoenkul the policeman’s wife had become expert at concealing her exasperation behind a façade of charm.

Furthermore she did feel a certain obligation to be gracious to the gangster’s moll sitting opposite her. She had, after all, slept with her husband
in the recent past and was accordingly in an ideal position to make a comparison between the bedroom performances of David Braddock and Thongchai Rattanakorn.

Not that she was about to do so.

“So tell me, Nittha, what
exactly
do you go to see David Braddock for anyway? You never really did tell me.”

Nittha bit her lip.

“It’s for my nerves, Kat,” she replied earnestly. “You know me. I’m a martyr to my nerves.”

Kat patted her hand
sympathetically.

You lying cow
, she registered through the smile.

“And by the way,” Nittha added. “I think Thongchai and David might have some business
together. I overheard my husband mention him the other day.”

David
.
Kat grimaced inwardly.

“What sort of business?”

“I have no idea. But perhaps we’ll have him over to the house for dinner.”

It’s not dinner you want him over
to the house for
, mused Kat with a twinge of jealousy.

“Well, that should make for an entertaining evening,” she said without a trace of irony in her voice.

The bill arrived and the two women divided it between them. Kat checked her appearance in her hand mirror.

Still there
, she thought.

*       *       *       *       *

When Geordie Sinclair put down his cell phone on the desk he was in shock. To be more precise, he was in a state of happy delirium.

He had just taken a call from his ex-wife, Joy. Such calls were a rare event
and when they did occur they were inevitably punctuated with bad feeling and ongoing haggles over money. This one, however, had been different.

Joy’s partner had moved out and in a
n uncommon moment of regret and guilt she had called Sinclair and offered an olive branch: perhaps she had been wrong about his seeing the children, that it would not be disturbing and confusing for them. Would he like to come over to England and see them in the summer?

Sinclair knew Joy of old. She was skilled in manipulative
behaviour and he was highly suspicious of this apparent change of heart. He doubted it would last and the whole episode would in all likelihood turn out to be about finances. Part of him, however, wanted to believe; and it was the first bright ray of possibility that had penetrated the darkened ruin of his failed first marriage.

The remains of his lunch sat ignored on his desk as he stared into space
, his mind racing. Even if this ultimately turned out to be a pyrrhic and temporary victory, he needed to savour its sweetness. He needed to tell someone.

Unfettered momentarily from his habitual shyness and without thinking he picked up the phone and called Wayan. He had been practicing the speech he would make when he finally asked her out, but now in the rush of the moment he no longer felt tongue-tied, and the preparations seemed needless.

“Hello.” Wayan’s singsong Balinese voice answered after only two rings.

Too late to back out now.

“Wayan, it’s Kenneth.”

“Yes, I know, Mr
. Kenneth.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘Mr
.’ Kenneth.”

There was a small, non-committal laugh at the other end of the phone.

“Anyway, Wayan, listen,” he rushed on, surprised at his own boldness and confidence. “I’ve just had some really good news. My ex-wife has just called me and she is talking about letting me see my children in England.”

“Oh, that is wonderful. I am so happy for you.”

“I need to celebrate with someone. Today. Will you come out with me this evening for dinner? We could go to Bophut Jazz and see Jingjai and her band performing. I’m sure you would enjoy it. And … I would take it as a great favour and an honour.”

There was a short silence at the other end of the phone.

“Please,” Sinclair said.

“Of course I will. You should have someone to celebrate with.”

“I will pick you up at eight o’clock. Will that be OK?”

“I will be ready for you at eight o’clock.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

Sinclair put down the phone.
He’d done it. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, and a wild sensation of delight coursed through him.

The Geordie
jumped to his feet, let out a yell and punched the air, oblivious to the astonished stares of the Smiley Cars office staff.

*       *       *       *       *

I think I’m becoming more virile as I get older
, thought Papa Doc as the demure waitress placed his lunch in front of him.

He
gazed out serenely from his balcony table at the clubhouse. There were few other diners and it seemed as if the view of the golf course below was laid out for his personal enjoyment. The fairways looked iridescent in the bright sunlight and the bunkers appeared as white tempting oases beckoning the unwary player. In the middle-distance a few miniature, brightly-clad figures moved around unhurriedly. Beyond the dark green of the Samui tree-line the sea was calm and still.

The Chief permitted himself a rare moment of reflection
on the previous day’s events.

Although he
entertained a vague suspicion that his mistress’ afternoon climax may have been faked, he had no such doubts about his wife’s vocal – if somewhat quick – orgasm of the evening.
Nobody
was that good an actress.

Even after all these years
together I can still make Kat throb with pleasure
. He smiled and straightened the napkin on his lap, marveling at the still-potent manhood that lay beneath the fold of cloth.

And as for his mistress … well, perhaps he would call around later and make sure he did a proper job this time.

It’s my goatee that’s putting her off a bit
, he mused.
But given the spectacular effect it’s having on my wife in the bedroom, she’s just going to have to get used to it
.

Charoenkul was in a good mood, matters of sex aside. He had checked with his bank that morning and a large
r-than-expected deposit had been made from one of his more dubious business enterprises. Lunch at the golf club had seemed an appropriate way to celebrate.

He cut into his steak and watched the blood ooze onto the plate. He nodded appreciatively and took a sip from his wine glass.

Life is really not so bad
, he told himself staring at the small buttocks of the waitress bending over an adjacent table.
As for my promotion, I will just have to be patient a while longer. It will come. It must
.

His
cell phone rang and he was tempted to ignore it, but he saw the number was that of one of his senior officers, so he pressed the ‘answer’ button.

A few moments later Papa Doc was wishing he hadn’t
picked up.

He pushed aside his plate, downed the wine in one and
called for the bill.

It was a stony-faced Deng Charoenkul that left the dining room
and headed for his car.

It was unlikely h
is mistress would be seeing him that evening.

*       *       *       *       *

Mongut Sangukhon looked up from the bowl of
som tum
that had just been set down for him. Anchalee took the seat opposite him and he permitted himself a moment to gaze at his mia noi.

The sun s
lanted through the open windows of her city apartment, catching the pale petals of the flower that was fixed in her long black hair. She was dressed in a simple white robe tied at the waist with a gold sash. As was her custom, Anchalee wore little makeup, only sufficient to highlight her dark hazel eyes. Mongut approved of the modest way she attired herself. It lent an air of domesticity to their arrangement, a feature that was notably lacking from his home life with his wife Janjira.

A
nchalee had unusually pale skin for a woman from Isaan and her frame was delicate, her movements graceful. In another time and another place, Mongkut could have imagined her as a
geisha
; indeed he sometimes fantasized on this image.

His
mia noi
had almost died giving birth to their daughter, Ayang. A conventional ‘Western-style’ delivery would have been unusual anyway in Thailand, but even a C-section operation had nearly cost Anchalee her life. The doctors had at first been unable to stop the blood loss and Mongkut had for the first time in his life felt real apprehension at the prospect of losing her. However, she had survived and the experience had brought them closer together.

I
n his eyes it had weakened him.

His feelings for Ayang had further weakened him.

This must be how it is for ordinary people
, he thought.
Love, family, trust
. But these were not for him, even if he allowed himself the occasional indulgence in that direction. Ambition, money and power were the altars at which he prayed.
Anything else is just sentimentality
, he opined.

Sentimentali
ty could destroy a man – particularly one in his position – and so he found himself in this occasional no-man’s land, caught on the barbed-wire of an affection he grudgingly accepted.

Anchalee caught him watching her. She sometimes noted the conflict in his eyes, as if two men were
struggling for mastery inside him.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Mongkut shook his head and attacked the
som tum
. Anchalee usually cooked Isaan dishes for him when they ate together, and she was a good cook.

His mind clicked back to business. Khemkhaeng had issued the order to pick up the Englishman, Braddock, and he
, Mongkut, had spoken over the phone to his partner in Cambodia to do the same with Janus. His father had not been informed of these developments. He had resolved to deal with the old man on a ‘need-to-know’ basis from now on and live with whatever consequences followed. Mongkut had had enough of asking permission. If he was not to be given the authority he would seize it.

Now was the time for decisiveness, not vacillation.