Death in the Kingdom (7 page)

I came very close to turning on my heel and leaving the club, but instinct made me stay. I thought I might need someone in this place at some time in the future. I pasted half a smile on my face and went to the bar. A couple of guys in shirtsleeves and low-hung ties moved aside to let me belly up.

‘New to town?' a walrus-moustached red face asked from behind the bar.

‘Just in,' I replied, checking out the barman. He was a jovial-looking character in his fifties, a short barrel of a man with the aforementioned moustache and a fringe of white hair around a tanned dome. He wore a blue polo shirt with a logo that featured a foaming beer tankard and the words: C
ORO
S
TREET
C
LUB.

‘Just a little housekeeping thing,' he said, pushing a clipboard across the bar and dropping a pen on it. ‘If you could just fill in the details. In the meantime, what would you like?' I asked for a pint of Heineken and quickly filled in the blanks. I only lied on occupation and home address, substituting reality with my standard cover. I was a security consultant for Karvonics, a fictitious British alarm and electronics company that existed in all but bricks and mortar. That was close enough to the truth to blur a few lines. The address was somewhere in Surrey, also close enough to smudge the remaining lines. Put it this way, if someone dialled my home phone or my business number, or wrote to my mailing address, they would receive a reply.

The pint was cold and crisp and at thirty-five baht, it was probably the cheapest I'd get anywhere. ‘Out from the old country?' one of the pair leaning on the bar asked me.

‘Via Hong Kong and Ho Chi Minh,' I replied. I didn't want to get the usual bullshit of, ‘You'll notice a huge difference. Must show you around. Christ, you'll have to try the women.' Getting the word around that I was an old hand in these parts would cut a lot of the crap. ‘Dan Swann,' I said sticking out my hand. ‘Karvonics Security Systems.' The other pair shook with damp, limp hands. Peter Something, trade development. Graham Something, embassy underling. We talked football and beer for a few minutes before two teenage Thai girls entered the club to be signed in by the Somethings. That was my cue to get a refill and wander out towards the patio and the pool.

I pushed out through the swing doors only to be hit by a blast of stifling, thick crud. ‘Welcome home,' I muttered as I checked out the surroundings. The patio revealed itself as being quite large. A chest-high green-tiled balustrade separated it from the street below. The pool was a three-quarter-size affair and took up half the space. Loungers, patio chairs and tables scattered amongst the potted palms gave the illusion of a resort setting. Low garden lights were on. It was almost pleasant, but for the lack of clean oxygen. Closer to the bar entrance where I was standing were half a dozen hardwood tables and chairs. Those who had gravitated out from the bar to take in the evening pollution populated several of them.

Four European girls who occupied one of the tables were giving me a very frank assessment.

I gave them a collective smile, turned on my heel and re-entered the air-conditioned comfort of the club. I had no sooner slid into a vacant booth than the patio doors swung open and the four girls trooped in. No, I didn't mind if they joined me.

6

Christ, what a headache! I crawled out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. I didn't recognise the guy who was blinking back at me from the mirror. I sluiced water over my face and fumbled for the magic hangover tablets I'd picked up down at CDS. They were a uniquely Thai concoction and they worked. I decided I would take a suitcase full of them back to the UK with me. If I ever got back there!

I swallowed two of the capsules then turned to the toilet to empty my tortured bladder. There were what looked suspiciously like teeth marks on my right thigh, and a purplish bruise on my belly. It was about then that my memory started to return. I'd been a lucky bad boy.

When I returned to the bedroom I realised there was a shape under the sheets and a tousled crop of red hair on one of the pillows. There were also two used condoms lying on the tiles by my side of the bed. I bent over to pick them up and almost met the bloody tiles headfirst. I carried the rubbers back to the bathroom and flushed them. At least I'd been careful, even if I didn't remember much about what had gone on.

I started back for the bedroom as a series of flashbacks hit me. There had been a lot of laughing and drinking, the four girls and I. A meal somewhere, four thinning down to three, then two in a bar somewhere, then there was me and one other stumbling along a street and falling into a lift. The one had been the redhead. All my befuddled memory could throw back at me were flashes of Red and I lost in a jumble of arms, legs, lips, hips and other bits and pieces.

There was clothing all over the floor, both male and female. A sheer, black G-string was hanging from the wall-mounted lamp above the bed. A black bra of the same material had landed on the side table. I let the shape in the bed be and pulled on a pair of boxers. I found my cigarettes and lighter on the table under the bra and stepped out onto the balcony into the Bangkok morning.

It was early, maybe half five. The traffic was light and the pollution level hadn't climbed past noxious. I realised that this was Sunday. Even Bangkok slowed a little on Sunday morning, but by ten it would be roaring again. I sat on one of the chairs, lit a cigarette and spent the next minute fighting not to cough or vomit. Eventually my system settled down, and the nicotine plus the herbal remedy I had swallowed earlier started to work. After five minutes I was almost feeling human but the sound of retching from the direction of my bathroom told me someone else wasn't. I decided to leave Red to it and eventually the puking stopped. ‘Oh God,' a voice said from behind me. I turned and a pale face under a shock of what I knew to be natural red hair shone at me from the slider into the bedroom.

‘Good morning isn't appropriate at this time?' I asked.

‘No,' she replied thickly. ‘Have you got aspirin?'

‘Better than that,' I replied, flicking away my cigarette butt. I led her back into the bathroom. There I organised a pair of capsules and a glass of water. Then I remembered her name. Red was in fact Barbara, Barbara from Bristol, an embassy clerk. Unsurprisingly her friends had all called her Babs.

Babs had a wonderful pale body with high, red-tipped breasts, long legs that met at a thick dark red thatch that had been carefully sculpted into the shape of a heart. ‘Oh,' she shuddered as she leaned on the vanity and fought to keep the capsules down. Standing the way she was, propped on her straight arms, legs apart, butt pushed back, I had the impulse to press in behind her and see what came up, as it were. I didn't. I was going to be a perfect gentleman, for the moment at least.

‘Just keep them down for five minutes and it'll be okay,' I said, leaving her and heading for the coffee plunger. When the brew was made I took two strong black ones back to the bathroom. Babs was still standing at the vanity, her head hanging down, when I landed a coffee in front of her.

‘I'm never going to drink again,' she announced. ‘Never!' she vowed.

I grinned to myself. How many times had I heard that? I'd never promised me that personally, not since my teens anyway. Alcohol and the conspicuous consumption of it had always been a factor in my lifestyle. I decided that a shower was next on the agenda as the coffee cooled to a drinkable temperature. I dropped my shorts, reached into the cabinet and cranked the control onto full. I'd been in maybe two minutes when the door opened and Babs joined me. I guessed she was feeling a little better. It was soap-and-rinse time with lots of slippery body on body. Nice and sexy, but no sex for the moment. We returned to our coffees and eventually to bed.

Later, much later, when Babs had gone up to her flat on the fifth floor, I made my call to Bernard then went for a walk. I took to my feet as much to catch up on the vibe of the city as to walk off the exertions of the past few hours. I figured if the present rate of sexual expression carried on, I was going to have to get some Viagra. In my more or less sober state, Babs had proven to be some sort of sexual dynamo. I was not a bloody teenager anymore and keeping up had taken some real effort on my part. It had been fun though.

I walked down to Lumphini Park. Being Sunday it was as near to a local holiday as you could get in Thailand, apart from the birthdays of the Royal Family and Chinese New Year. Anyway, the park was full of families and kids. I got the best bits of a barbecued chicken, a cob of steamed corn and a can of Singha and wandered on, letting the atmosphere flow over me. Kids were kicking balls, racing around and yelling. There were a few kites fluttering in the slight breeze. It was a vibrant place. The hawkers and the beggars were about, selling their wares or calling on the generosity of all and sundry. I was always a sucker for kids and cripples, so my pockets were soon emptied of coins.

From the park I headed down Silom to check out Patpong. I wasn't going there for the bars. It was too early for much action but I was just curious to see if anything had changed in the years since I'd last been there. It hadn't, although there was no carnage this time—not that I could see anyway. This was where I'd saved Tuk Tuk's life all those years before. There were still bullet scars on some of the buildings.

‘Ah, memories,' I thought as I moved on.

I sat in a little restaurant across from the Ramada and had a delicious early dinner and a couple more beers while the world flowed by outside. I didn't plan on going to the Coro Club that night, nor of bedding Babs or anyone else for that matter. Even if I was able to rediscover my libido, I doubted my body could take it. I was hoping that with the next day being a workday, Babs would beg off and want to do her hair or something.

Funny thing about libido was that it didn't take a hell of a lot of work to rediscover it.

Babs knocked on my door five minutes after I stepped back into the building. I silently promised to kick that dopey-looking security guard in the crotch next time I went out. She had obviously primed him with a few baht to call her when I came in.

Thing was, this time we climbed into bed and made love without wrecking anything much. We went to sleep in each other's arms. It was almost like married life, or how I imagined it to be in an almost perfect world. I'd been there once and there had been perfect moments but they had been few and far between.

The traffic woke us in the morning. We made love again, then Babs got out of bed, dressed hurriedly and leaned down to kiss me goodbye. I sort of expected her to suggest that we do it again that night but she meant goodbye. Her fiancé, a trade development guy, was arriving back in town that very day. ‘Jody has her man back from Vietnam so she's not available, but Debbie and Sara are free agents. Their guys are in Japan,' she said, referring to two of the other members of the original quartet. ‘They like a little action.' Then she gave me a broad grin that wrinkled her nose and she chuckled. ‘You know we tossed a coin Saturday night. They lost and I got you. Aren't you glad?' she challenged.

‘Oh yes,' I replied honestly.

‘So am I,' she replied, leaning down to kiss me on the lips.
‘Ciao
, Dan, it was wild!' With that Barbara from Bristol, alias Babs, was gone in a flash of legs, red hair and a gleaming smile. I started laughing. It was so bloody funny. There was I, Mr Irresistible Stud, and the girls had played me like, well, like I'd played them. Sort of natural justice and in the long run, honour more or less satisfied. I wondered how I could avoid the other two. Apparently fidelity didn't have a big place in their lives. Hey, just like at home, huh? Fidelity had never been my strong suit. That was something, in hindsight, that I had come to regret bitterly on many long, lonely nights. I'd had my chance and I'd blown it. End of story.

7

The only thing worse than a stinking prawn boat is a stinking prawn boat punching its way across a force ten gale that has dragged up a fat ten-foot swell. Okay, the gale and the wave height may be an exaggeration, but it damned well felt like it. Out of sheer self-defence I had been standing on the upwind side of the main deck for the past hour. That meant I was getting a face full of lukewarm salt spray every few seconds, but it also meant I wasn't downside or inside the boat sucking in the odour of rotting fish and diesel fumes, a combination that could turn the hardiest gut inside out.

‘You want some food?' The guy asking the question was standing in the doorway that led into the superstructure of the fifty-five-foot-long tub. He was holding out an aluminium plate full of an evil red curry. I could have sworn there were things moving in it.

‘Fuck off!' I muttered in English, waving him away.

‘You too,' he replied in Thai as he vanished back inside. I had to grin at that. I'd given the crew the standard greeting when I'd come on board. So apart from a couple of
sawatdee khraps
, I hadn't said a word to anyone in any language. I'd just planted myself out there with my back against the bulkhead and there I'd stayed. I wasn't sure whether it was better to speak their language or plead ignorance and stay with English. I knew speaking Thai could gain me a little respect with this gang of cut-throats. By not speaking it, however, I also knew I might hear something that could ultimately be used to my advantage. Hell, it could even save my life.

Choy and a couple of the crew had had a long conversation as my kit had been off-loaded from The Cabbage's Jeep Cherokee onto the boat. Unfortunately I hadn't been able to put my fake Marlboro pack in Choy's pocket, so I didn't know what the hell had been said. Had he told them, ‘When he's shown you where the wreck is, hit him behind the ear and drop him over the side'? Maybe he had said, ‘Look after the Englishman well because I want him in one piece when you get back!' I knew it would have been one of those, probably the latter because the bastard wanted to kill me personally. Choy's obsession with my death was as plain as the belly on a laughing buddha. I had no illusions at all that, no matter which way this whole thing went, he and I would have our day of reckoning—Tuk Tuk's word or not.