Live Fire (14 page)

He took his John Westlake driving licence and a wad of banknotes from the safe, put the estate agent’s business card into the pocket of his shirt and went back downstairs. The bellboy opened the door for him again and gave him another bow. Shepherd headed back to the beach road and along to the line of Jeeps. The fat woman took his driving licence, slid it into the pack on her belt, then counted the banknotes he’d given her. Shepherd pointed at her pack. ‘I’ll need my licence back,’ he said.

‘No need,’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘I keep for when you bring car back.’

‘But if the police stop me, they’ll want to see it.’

The woman’s smile widened. ‘Police no want to see licence,’ she said. She held up one of the banknotes. ‘Police want to see money,’ she said, and cackled. ‘One hundred baht okay, maybe two hundred baht.’ Two hundred baht was less than three pounds, so Shepherd decided his licence wasn’t vital. The woman finished counting the money, then recounted it, slipped it into her pack and zipped it up. She said something to the man at the wooden desk. He opened a drawer and took out a key on a chain with a small plastic football. He gave it to Shepherd and mumbled something in Thai.

‘Sorry, I don’t speak Thai,’ Shepherd said.

The woman cackled again. ‘He said if you lose, you pay. If you crash, you pay.’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘I’ll be careful,’ he said.

‘Careful or not careful, you still pay,’ said the woman. The smile vanished, she turned her back on him and began talking to the man in Thai.

Shepherd climbed into the Jeep and fired the engine. He reversed back slowly, then joined the flow of traffic. The baht buses that Oswald had told him about crawled along the kerb, looking for customers. Motorcycles buzzed around him, weaving in and out of the traffic. The Thais were on small Hondas or Yamahas, while the Westerners preferred bigger bikes, 1000cc Suzuki street bikes or throbbing Harley Davidsons. Most of the motorcyclists wore cheap plastic helmets and little in the way of protective clothing. Almost all the Thais had on flip-flops – Shepherd dreaded to think what would happen if they had an accident.

He kept his speed low and the Jeep in third gear. The side roads to his left were identified by numbers on blue circles; his hotel was in the one numbered thirteen. The office of the estate agent was in number seventeen. When he reached the turn, he indicated left and took a quick look over his left shoulder. The motorcyclists behind him seemed oblivious to the Jeep’s flashing amber light and continued to overtake him on the inside. Shepherd slowed to a crawl as he made the turn. The street was lined with bars, and motorcycles were parked on the left all the was along, front wheels against the kerb. Shepherd drove slowly. Every third or fourth business was a bar and young girls sat in front of them, wearing short skirts and revealing tops. Many waved at him. ‘Where you go, handsome man?’ shouted one, and giggled.

‘I want go with you!’ shouted another.

Despite himself. Shepherd smiled. He could see how easily a man might come to believe his own publicity in a place like Pattaya.

The estate agent’s office was between two bars, one flying the flag of Sweden, with banners offering free pool and free Wi-Fi connection, the other with the cross of St George offering a full English breakfast and a pint of Chang beer for the bargain price of two hundred baht. It was a little after eleven but both bars had customers, middle-aged Westerners in T-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, nursing bottles of local beer and gazing blearily at the street.

Shepherd parked the Jeep behind a pick-up truck delivering plastic sacks of ice. He walked back to the estate agent’s office, stepping off the pavement to allow an old man to pass: he was carrying a pole over his shoulder with two baskets hanging off it, one containing eggs, the other a metal stove filled with smoking charcoal. He smiled, showing blackened teeth. ‘Eggs?’ he asked hopefully.

Shepherd shook his head and turned to peer into the estate agent’s window. Two dozen photographs of apartments and villas, each with a brief description of a property, were Blu-tacked to the glass. There were three desks in the office, occupied by petite Thai girls in pale blue suits. They were watching a television set in the corner, which seemed to be showing a Thai soap opera. One was munching a chocolate bar, another was using chopsticks to attack a bowl of noodles and the third was eating crisps. None looked up as Shepherd walked in. Leading off the office there was a smaller room in which a middle-aged Westerner in a yellow polo shirt and long khaki shorts was tapping away on a Hello Kitty calculator.

‘Are you the boss?’ Shepherd asked him.

The man stood up. ‘For my sins,’ he said. He had long hair slicked back, pale blue eyes, and the weathered skin of a man who spent a lot of time on boats. ‘Dominic Windsor,’ he said. ‘My friends call me Dom.’

‘John Westlake,’ said Shepherd. They shook hands. Windsor had a gold chain on his left wrist, the thickness of a pencil, and another around his neck from which hung a small Buddhist figure.

‘Can’t place your accent,’ said Windsor. ‘Midlands, I’d guess.’

Shepherd smiled amiably. ‘I’ve been moving around a lot,’ he said.

‘I’m from Norfolk,’ said Windsor. ‘A long way from home.’ He waved Shepherd to the seat on the other side of his desk. ‘Take a pew and tell me how I can help.’

Shepherd sat down and crossed his legs. ‘I’m thinking of buying a place here,’ he said.

‘It gets in your blood, Thailand,’ said Windsor. ‘Every day I get a dozen guys from England wanting to sell up and settle here. The way England’s going, who can blame them, huh?’ He picked up a cheap ballpoint pen. ‘What sort of budget do you have, Mr Westlake?’

‘I want somewhere decent,’ Shepherd said. ‘Three or four bedrooms, pool, view of the sea, maybe. Watch the sun going down with a bottle of bubbly, know what I mean? And call me John. Whenever I hear “Mr Westlake” I think I’m back in court.’

Windsor raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you a lawyer?’

Shepherd laughed. ‘No, Dom, I’m definitely not a lawyer,’ he said. ‘Didn’t get the A levels. So, here’s the thing. I’ve got a place in Spain that cost me eight hundred thousand euros. Probably worth a million and a half now. I’d spend about the same here.’

Windsor’s eyes sparkled. ‘A million and a half euros?’ he said. ‘That’s about seventy-five million baht. You could get a palace for that.’

‘A villa will be just fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’d want secure parking for three cars, maybe four. And a decent security system would be a bonus, though I can always fit one myself.’

‘Is privacy an issue?’ asked Windsor, making a note on his pad.

‘I don’t want to be overlooked, but I’ve no problem with neighbours,’ said Shepherd. ‘So long as the place is secure. High walls for sure, and a decent electronic gate to keep out the riff-raff.’

Windsor continued to scribble. ‘Do you have family, John?’ he asked.

‘Not here,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve an ex-wife back home but she won’t be joining me.’

Windsor chuckled. ‘Coals to Newcastle,’ he said, ‘bringing a girl out here. Why would you when there’s so much on offer?’ He gestured at the three in the office, who were still eating, their eyes glued to the television. ‘See those little angels? All look like good little university girls, don’t they? Wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’ He grinned. ‘Wrong,’ he said. ‘They all used to work in a soapy massage place on Second Road. I hired them as eye-candy but they’ve taken to property like the proverbial ducks.’ His grin widened. ‘I’ll let you into a little secret, John. We have a bonus scheme here. Every guy who buys a property from me gets a free blow-job from one of the girls. How about that? Is that a deal or what?’

Shepherd wasn’t sure if he was joking.

‘Mind you, if you buy a seventy-five-million-baht villa from me I’ll let you have all three,’ added Windsor, and Shepherd realised he was serious.

Windsor stood up and went over to a filing cabinet. ‘I have to say, John, that right at the moment I don’t have anything over forty million, but the ones I have are as luxurious as you’ll get in Pattaya.’ He flicked through the cabinet and pulled out several brochures. ‘Why don’t you have a look at what I’ve got on my books and I’ll make a few phone calls, see what else I can drum up?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Shepherd. ‘Can you show me a few rental places as well? I’m not happy staying in hotels – I like my privacy.’

‘Don’t we all?’ said Windsor. He winked and carried on sifting through the files.

Sweat dripped down Shepherd’s face and he wiped his brow on his shirt sleeve. They were standing at either end of a swimming-pool to the rear of a three-bedroom villa. ‘Is it always this hot?’ he asked Windsor. The estate agent was at the far end of the pool, looking towards the sea.

‘I’m afraid so, but it’s cooler in the evenings and the mornings. If you wanted to get some swimming in, that’s when you’d do it.’

‘I’m more of a runner than a swimmer,’ said Shepherd.

‘I wouldn’t want to run in this climate,’ said Windsor. ‘A few guys jog along the beach road in the mornings and evenings but you should see the state of them. Take it from the Thais – you never see them running if they can avoid it.’ He pointed to the sea. ‘The great thing about this place is the view, plus you’re up the hill so you get a breeze.’

‘But too far to walk into town,’ said Shepherd.

‘You’ve got your privacy, though. And no noisy neighbours with pool parties in the early hours.’

‘What about the seller?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Guy in his late sixties. Used to be a teacher in Birmingham, cashed in part of his pension to build this place and lived off the rest. Had more sex in the five years he was here than he’d had his whole life.’

‘So why’s he selling?’

‘He got sick,’ said Windsor. He tapped his chest. ‘Dicky ticker. Insurance wouldn’t cover his treatment because they said it was a pre-existing condition so he’s back in Blighty, being treated on the NHS.’

‘And how much does he want for this?’

‘Oh, it’s well below your price range. Four million baht is all he wants. You’re right, the location’s against it, but if you wanted to rent for a few months, I’m sure we could get you a deal. Thirty thousand baht a month, maybe?’

Shepherd went back inside the villa. It was small and not particularly well built. The furniture was cheap, there were cracks in the plasterwork and the tiled floor was uneven. Windsor followed him. ‘I’ve got to be honest, Dom. I want better than this.’

The estate agent nodded. ‘Not a problem,’ he said. ‘It’s just I know I can get a good deal for you on it because the guy’s desperate to sell.’

‘I don’t want a good deal. I want bigger and I want better,’ said Shepherd. ‘I want a big pool, and I want a bit of land. Trees, coconuts, bananas – you know what I mean. And I want to be closer to the action than this place is.’

‘Heard and understood, John,’ said Windsor. ‘On the rental side, how much could you run to?’

‘Five grand a month. Six. To be honest, cash isn’t a problem.’

‘The reason I ask is that I do have something a little special. The owner lives in Singapore and he only comes out a few times a year. I know he doesn’t have a trip planned for a few months and he rents it out from time to time. I think if you could run to half a million baht a month I could probably swing it.’

‘That’s about eight grand?’

‘Give or take,’ said Windsor.

‘Let’s have a butcher’s, then,’ said Shepherd.

They went out through the front door and climbed into Windsor’s Toyota. Like the limousine that had driven Shepherd from the airport, a Buddhist amulet swung from the rear-view mirror. As Windsor started the engine, Shepherd asked him about the amulet.

‘It’s the wife,’ said Windsor. ‘The monks came to bless the car and said we should have this fellow to look after us.’ He gestured at white fingermarks on the roof above his head, dotted with gold leaf. ‘They did that too. Seems to have done the trick because we haven’t had a scratch in three years.’

Windsor drove back to the city. He was careful, rarely getting into fourth gear, and his eyes were constantly flicking between his rear-view and wing mirrors. Shepherd guessed it was the way he drove rather than divine intervention that had kept his car in such pristine condition. Every time they went over a bump or a pothole Windsor reached up with his left hand to steady the amulet.

The second villa was a thirty-minute drive from the first, on an estate surrounded by a high wall. A uniformed guard saluted them as they drove in. There were just ten homes on the estate, around a large man-made pool surrounded by palm trees. Each was encircled by its own wall with its own gated entrance, and trees had been planted around the perimeter of each plot giving it complete privacy.

‘This is more like it,’ said Shepherd. CCTV cameras covered the entrances to the villas and several bore signs in Thai and English, announcing that they were protected by private security firms.

‘The security is first class,’ said Windsor. ‘The guys at the main entrance screen all visitors, and if there’s someone you don’t want to see, they’ll turn them away. If you want, you can arrange your own security for the villa. A guard at the gate will cost you about five hundred baht a day for a twelve-hour shift. The one I’m showing you has full electronic security. Flip the glove-box, will you, and press the bleeper thing to open the gates?’

Shepherd found the remote control and clicked it. A large metal gate rolled back to reveal a well-tended garden with dozens of mature palms. The driveway curved in front of a large single-storey villa with a Thai-style pitched roof trimmed with teak and a garage with three doors. Windsor pulled up in front of it. Behind them, the metal gate rattled shut.

Shepherd climbed out of the car. The villa was quite secluded, the walls were high and, from where he was standing, he couldn’t see any of the others on the estate. ‘Who looks after the place?’ he asked.

‘There’s a gardener who comes in every day. He does the pool, too. His wife works as a full-time maid when the owner’s here, but when he isn’t she comes in every few days to air the place. If you wanted her services, a couple of hundred baht a day would do it. She cooks, too.’