Dilemma

by Stephen Bentley

  In any event, the Brits and Dutch got on just fine, especially since the liberation of Europe by the Allies towards the end of World War Two. It had been a long time, 1662 in fact, since they were fierce enemies and the Dutch destroyed much of the British Navy at anchor in the Thames Estuary. The two countries were now the best of buddies.

  Regan made his call, direct-dialling to his office on the outskirts of London. It was a short call. He informed the office he had made contact with Watkins and he was due to have a ‘business’ meeting with him in Bangkok the following week.

  “Be careful,” said Graham, his boss at DOCS. “Jack has come up with some fresh intel.”

  “I will,” replied Regan but before he replaced the phone on its cradle added, “What? What intel?”

  “He may be into more than just heroin. And he is connected more heavily than we thought originally.”

  “Such as?”

  “Heavy. We knew about the Mafia connection, but he may be in bed with the CIA. That is why I said, ‘be careful.’”

  Regan had no need to ask about Jack and his intel. Jack worked for DOCS. He was an intelligence expert based at GCHQ. He had access to listening devices the public did not know about. Jack had also helped him track down Bill after Bill shot him and left him for dead. Bill then tried to kill his girlfriend. That’s how Graham got to recruit Regan and the rest of the small team.

  Regan liked Detective Chief Superintendent Graham, always had done from the first day of meeting him. No ranks, he told them all - just call me Graham. Graham was the boss of his own brain child - a crack undercover unit to tackle organised crime syndicates. DOCS - Destroy Organised Crime Syndicates. Regan smiled at the thought of the acronym. Who coined it?

  Graham reported directly to a minister in the Defence Department. There was no usual chain of command. There was nothing usual about DOCS. They were not a police unit and had access to facilities the police could only dream about. They were a small unit of hand-picked undercover operatives - Regan, Red, and John Barnard who was ex-SAS. Red had been a long-time undercover buddy of Regan’s.

  * * *

  Regan drove back to Lucky’s Bar with plenty on his mind. He parked the Toyota in the same spot. It was now eight in the evening. As he strolled into the bar, he saw Fon had taken up her usual spot on a stool at the far end of the bar. They smiled at each other. It was the witching hour when magical transformations occurred. Except there was no magic involved, only transformations.

  The regular bar girls would arrive and look, well, ordinary. Then they got to work on themselves. First was the makeup and lipstick, followed by the grooming of long black hair, save for the two girls who had bleached blonde highlights. They also groomed their coiffures. After much reflecting in small mirrors they all carried and totally satisfied with their looks, they one by one retired to the lavatory to change. The change of clothes involved shedding jeans and tee shirts for usually either a clingy short dress or a revealing sexy blouse with tight shorts.

  There were six regular girls, except the two who were not. They were regulars, but they were not female. They were guys who wanted to be girls. They were ladyboys. But they looked oh so feminine and just as sexy, if not more so, than the real girls. What a transformation! All six of them. They were now ready for business under the watchful eye of the Mama-san, Fon. She also made sure the bar fines were paid by the foreigner customer when he engaged the services of one of the girls. The bar fine system was to compensate the bar’s takings in the absence of one of the working girls as she was no longer there encouraging the man to order drinks.

  Regan watched the transformation for the umpteenth time. He did not find it tiresome. It fascinated him. He had ordered his usual beer and felt relieved to find no sign of Watkins at the bar. There was something about the man when he was near to women that made Regan’s flesh creep.

  He was sitting alone at his usual table when a familiar sight walked in to the bar. It was the local police colonel, the head honcho. It must be that time again, thought Regan. Pay-off time.

  Colonel Adirake Aromdee, or AA as he liked to be called, took a chair at Regan’s table and smilingly said, “Hello Mister Steve, krap.”

  Regan smiled back saying, “Good evening AA, krap. Must be getting close to police pay day but not close enough eh? Krap.”

  Regan had been long enough in the country to understand what “krap” meant. It was simply a polite form of address used by men. Women used the word “ka.” AA understood Regan’s British humour. He had spent one year on a course in England and believed himself to be an expert in all things British.

  Tapping his nose, AA smiled and said, “Yes. What you farangs call tea money. It sees us over until pay day.”

  An honest, corrupt cop, thought Regan.

  Most of the colonel’s minions were content to set up road blocks at this time of the month when they needed to supplement their income. They stopped foreigners for all types of actual and imagined traffic violations and fined them on the spot. Receipts were never issued. AA looked after the bar owners.

  Prostitution was illegal in Thailand, but everyone turned a blind eye. It did no one any harm and it was a source of income for girls from the poorer areas of Thailand, who saw it as an easy way to make money to look after their parents. Regan knew the score, plus did not want to draw attention to himself, so he pulled out a roll of Thai bank notes from his top shirt pocket, counted off one thousand baht, and casually slipped it in to AA’s hand. It was worth about fifty dollars, a small price to pay for the top local cop to look after the welfare of Lucky’s Bar, Regan, and all who worked there including the girls (and two boys.) Regan had no idea, but he had a gut feeling the bribe, he knew it was such, was probably about one quarter of a police colonel’s monthly wage. Comme ci comme ca, Regan thought. He also knew it was better to have him on his team than against him.

  Watkins walked into the bar as AA was standing up from his seat at Regan’s table. The colonel was in full uniform. The policeman saw him as another foreigner, nothing more, nothing less. Watkins was curious. First, he ordered a beer and said hello to the working girls who were seated at various stools at the bar. One or two replied with a hello and others giggled. Watkins took hold of his beer, but before joining Regan at the table he spoke again to one girl in particular, Mae. She was the youngest bar girl, barely eighteen. She looked younger than her years.

  Watkins smiled at her and said, “I’ll be back.”

  Mae smiled back, “Okay, you handsome man,” the standard bar girl greeting.

  “What’s with the cop, Irish?”

  Regan had got used to Watkins calling him that. It didn’t bother him.

  “Pay off time.”

  “Thought it might be something like that. Bet it’s cheaper here than in BKK. Cops are greedy there. Hope the pussy is the same.”

  Regan smiled but was once more irked by that word - pussy.

  “What’s the young one’s name?”

  “What young one?”

  Watkins pointed at Mae. “Her. The young one in the blue top.”

  “Mae.”

  “Recommend her?”

  “Wouldn’t know. Never been there.”

  “What are you? Some kind of faggot or what?”

  “No, man. I’m the boss. They respect me, and I respect them. Simple.”

  “Faggot!”

  “Please your fucking self.” Watkins could see that ‘fuck you’ look on Regan’s face and changed tack.

  “Okay. Don’t get sore. I’m joshing you.”

  “I’m not sore. To be honest, I couldn’t give a toss what you think. We meet. We talk. We do some business. We both make money. End of.”

  Watkins laughed, wiping the beer froth from his lips. “I like you Irish. You got balls.”

  Regan thought, I don’t like you and if I wasn’t undercover I’d smack you in the mouth. Instead he smiled at Watkins. Then thought a thought he had thought a thousand times - The best undercover cops are nice
guys. People, bad and good, like the best undercover cops. They are likeable.

  “Anyways, I’m gonna get laid. Need some of that young pussy. Long-time not short-time so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Watkins laughed again once more, wiped the beer froth from his lips and said, “Need some advice, Irish?”

  “Not really, but why do I have the feeling you going to give me some anyway?”

  “You need pussy. Climb into that Mama-san’s pussy. Fuck her and give her a baby. If you don’t, I might.”

  Regan knew he had to stay cool, but it was oh so hard not to knock the man’s head off his shoulders. A few moments ago Regan disliked this loud Texan; now he detested him. But he remained calm and ignored the man. Watkins watched Regan. He was looking for a reaction. Regan looked Watkins right in the eyes with zero emotion. Regan waved his arm in the direction of Mae and only then did Watkins break off the stare.

  Regan watched Watkins discussing prices with Mae. The Texan threw down some bank notes on the bar, presumably bar fine, and left Lucky’s Bar with Mae on his arm. The rest of the night was quiet. Totally uneventful, almost. Three girls had short-time engagements, two long-time including Mae, the rest went home to their boarding houses about midnight. It was a quiet night. Fon and Regan talked at the bar for hours. Regan slowly drank three beers. He listened to what Fon had to say. He watched her eyes sparkle when she talked about funny things. He saw the two dimples in her cheeks when she laughed. And so, to bed they went, together.

  * * *

  Watkins wined and dined Mae first. Not that he cared anything about her. He was hungry. He also decided conversation was not her best feature even allowing for the fact English was not her language. She did speak English, a kind of bar girl English, limited to key words and phrases that were essential to her livelihood. But hell, he thought, she looks good and young . He had paid the going rate for long-time so he had her until six the following morning. After the meal, he checked in to a cheap room. The guy on reception couldn’t care less what he was going to do there. Watkins paid him for the room and everyone was happy. The Texan sampled the goods.

  He decided that Mae’s young figure and schoolgirl looks were exactly what his friend would like. So, he propositioned her. “You like vacation with me?” he asked in a form of English Mae could comprehend.

  Mae smiled in delight. She knew girls who went away for a week or more with their customers. It was a good gig, and more to the point they got paid well and lived in a decent hotel with decent food.

  There was no hesitation on her part. “Yes. I go. Where?”

  “BKK.”

  “Okay.”

  Mae was hoping for one of the islands, but Bangkok would make a change. It was convenient for Watkins that she agreed. Otherwise he would have had to use the chloroform, tie her up, and bundle her into the boot of his car. No way to treat a lady, he thought and laughed.

  * * *

  Mae slipped her arm through his as they walked back to Lucky’s Bar at six in the morning. The big Texan spoke to the man on night reception duty at Lucky’s and paid in full in cash for the room he hadn’t used. He had already dictated a note to Mae which she had scrawled on to a piece of paper from a notebook. At his dictation she wrote:

  Gone to BKK with Les. Back in a few days. Les asked me to say just insurance, Irish. Nothing to worry about. See you next week at the American Steak House. Wednesday at 2 pm.

  Watkins left the note with the night receptionist, walked two hundred yards with Mae to his car, turned the engine over, engaged gear and set off on the long drive to Bangkok. Mae sat in the front passenger seat. Both Regan and Fon were sleeping in Regan’s room, oblivious to this development.

  * * *

  It was eight thirty that morning when Regan read the note. He frowned and handed it to Fon.

  “What that mean? Insurance?” Fon said.

  “I don’t know. That’s what worries me.”

  Both Regan and Fon knew it was not unusual for one of the girls to go on vacation, for a short holiday, with customers they liked and who liked them. It was the ultimate girlfriend experience, paid for of course. Regan decided to play things easy, see what happened over the course of the next few days. He did have that gut feeling that things weren’t right and that the next time they would see Mae was in BKK. He had already formed the opinion that he would need Fon by his side in Bangkok. On one hand, he was reluctant to expose her to danger but on the other, she was Thai, knew Bangkok, the people and the language. He knew he could need her.

  5

  No Feelings, Just Sex

  Friday morning arrived hot and humid. Most days were like that. Take a cold shower, walk outside and in no time at all your shirt would be stuck to your back.

  Watkins and Mae left Lucky’s Bar in the early hours of Thursday morning. Regan knew it was time to pay a visit to the Dutch Consulate. He drove there. The trip took him longer owing to the traffic and a broken-down truck on Telegraph Hill. Regan’s mind wandered to a briefing and debriefing back in London.

  The latter was about Carlo Vitale. He had threatened to shoot Regan as he drove by in Boston. That was two years ago. But it raised questions: what did Vitale know? Did Vitale and the Mafia know Regan was a cop? Did Vitale know Regan would be outside that Boston hospital at that time and on that day? If the answer to either question was in the affirmative, it posed a further question: did the organisation, DOCS, have a security leak?

  Jack and GCHQ provided the answers to all of those questions. Regan’s cover was intact; it was pure chance that Vitale saw Regan in Boston; there was no leak either within DOCS or at the British Embassy in Boston, for it was they who had provided the drivers and security in Boston. Regan and the team were relieved to hear all that good news.

  Boston had also been a success for Regan’s mother and Red. Both had major surgery, and both now recovered. His mother had her life-threatening tumour removed and Red had been fitted with a state-of-the-art artificial arm with a hand that looked real and could grip. It could punch too as Red had proven in the rigorous training regime he had gone through to prove his fitness to continue his undercover work with DOCS.

  Then it came to briefing time, eight months ago. The target, Vitale. There was nothing personal in this. Carlo Vitale had moved up in the world since his capo Bill had been shot dead by London’s finest - the Metropolitan Police. The intel had it he was now capo di capo on the east coast of America through some bloody and violent moves on his part.

  He was busy expanding his dirty empire: cocaine and now heroin. They knew he was behind the heroin being shipped from the Golden Triangle and ending up on the streets of both America and the UK. They did not know how he was doing it. But they did know about Les Watkins in Bangkok. Regan became embedded in Thailand to try to make contact with Watkins in order to flush out Vitale.

  It was a dangerous assignment, even for an undercover cop. Regan dialled the number in London. He got through to Graham on the third ring. “Hi.”

  “Hi Steve. How goes it?”

  “All fine here. I’ve connected with Watkins and have a meeting with him in Bangkok next week.”

  “What’s all that about?”

  “The fifty thousand dollars did the trick. Better than expected really.”

  “How come?”

  “He turned up in person, but not before some Thai gunman tried to rob me of the fifty k.”

  “Fuck me! You okay?”

  “Fine. I smacked the guy with the gun in the face, then Watkins appeared. Thought it all a joke. Said it was his way of testing me.”

  “Testing?”

  “Yeah. See how I reacted. He liked it and seems to like me but he’s a prick.”

  “How so?”

  “Loud mouth Texan. Don’t like the way he treats women. How’s that for starters?”

  “Okay but don’t let this get personal. Stay cool.”

  “Boss, I’m always cool.”

&
nbsp; “Let me know what happens in Bangkok. We need to know exactly how he is shipping all this smack and if our friend Vitale is involved.”

  “He’s no fucking friend of mine. Remember he was gonna shoot me in Boston. Not to mention he almost drowned me in Miami. Fat prick!”

  “Me or Vitale?”

  “Vitale.” Regan was not in the mood for joking when talking about Carlo Vitale.

  “Thought you said you were always cool?”

  “I am. You should see me when I’m angry.”

  “No thanks. I prefer the laid-back Regan. Besides, angry is no good for your health.”

  “Too true. In more ways than one.”

  “Steve.”

  “What?”

  “Well done making contact with Watkins.”

  “All part of the service. I’ll call you when I get back from Bangkok.”

  * * *

  Normal service was resumed at Lucky’s Bar until it was time to leave for Bangkok and the meeting with Watkins. Regan had hmm’d and ahh’d a few times about asking Fon to go with him. He could see definite advantages and the one big disadvantage - he was placing her in potential danger. The deciding factor - her expression every time the trip got mentioned.

  Fon wanted to go. Regan did feel uneasy though. He knew he was deceiving her. His whole life was a lie. His presence in Thailand was a lie. He couldn’t tell her any of the truth. He did not like that, but it was what he did. He dealt in duplicity.

  Regan was still in the bar at two in the morning. Though tired he wanted to wait until Fon was ready to sleep. She wouldn’t leave the bar until content that all her girls were fine. Fon came over to Regan’s table, smiled, took his hand and said, “Let’s go.”

  The situation repeated every night until they left together for Bangkok. Regan had waited four months to bed a woman in Thailand. He could have done so every single night. He didn’t want to. Regan and Fon slept in Regan’s room. They talked. They made love.