Dilemma

by Stephen Bentley

The Thai soldier lit a flare, signalling to the man on the end of a rope ladder slung from the chopper. The man on the ladder was lowered inch by inch to the roof of the container. Another line was sent down with four grappling hooks. The man from the helicopter scurried across the container roof, fixing all four hooks to the corners of the container roof before he scampered back up the ladder. The strain of both engines could be heard as the mighty Chinook took off, carrying the shipping container with its guns and drugs inside.

  “What’s he going to do with it?”

  “Drop it in two hundred fathoms of water.”

  “Will it be safe there?”

  The Thai soldier replied, “Very safe. It’s where Special Forces do underwater exercises.”

  * * *

  Regan looked in the rear-view mirror for the hundredth time. He had first seen the motorbike some seventy kilometres back and thought nothing of it, but there it was again. One rider, no pillion passenger. All that was discernible was a figure, and by its build, it had to be a man. He was wearing blue jeans, a black windcheater and a black crash helmet with a full-face visor.

  Regan touched Fon’s knee. He smiled at her and said, “Did you mean that back there?”

  “Mean what?”

  “The boyfriend, girlfriend thing.”

  “No.” Fon gave him the full radiant smile and gently punched him on the arm.

  “Steve, we go Phuket. No girlfriend, boyfriend, you bar boss. Me bar Mama-san, okay?”

  “Okay,’ he said but he didn’t feel okay.

  “But... ”

  “No but,” Fon said. “We okay. No complications. You English. Me Thai. Sabai sabai.”

  “What does sabai sabai mean?”

  “I don’t know in English. I think you say no worry. We okay. You say comfortable, I think. You good guy. Jai dee.”

  “Jai dee?”

  “Yes, jai dee, good heart.”

  Regan still didn’t feel okay. His heart felt heavy.

  9

  Blow Out

  Bang!

  The noise startled Regan and Fon. The loud noise sounded like a gun shot. Regan saw no bullet holes in the glass of the Toyota and was relieved to hear the tell-tale rumble and ripple of rubber hitting the road. A blow out!

  “We have a puncture, a flat tyre,” Regan said.

  “You fix?” Fon asked.

  “I fix.” Regan smiled as he heard himself adopting Fon’s pidgin English.

  “Why you smile?”

  “Because we are alive. No gun shots.” Regan smiled again.

  The steering got a little heavy, but Regan saw a place to pull off the road up ahead. He steered the truck to the refuge area and stopped. Fon jumped out with him as he pulled out the jack, wheel brace and the spare wheel. She carried the tools while Regan manoeuvred the spare wheel to the front nearside of the Toyota.

  Regan and Fon got busy changing the wheel. Fon seemed to know what she was doing as she slid under the truck, feeling for the jacking point with one hand while holding the jack in the other. She slipped the jack to line up in the correct position. She slid back out. Her hands were covered in dirt and grease.

  Fon wiped her brow and said, “All good. Let’s change the wheel.”

  Regan laughed and said, “I like your new look.”

  Fon put a finger to her face and smiled when she saw the oil and dirt on her finger.

  “Okay, I’ve loosened the wheel nuts. Let’s jack her up,” said Regan.

  He removed the useless tyre and Fon pushed the good spare in to position. They both lifted it, aligning it with the wheel studs before Regan used the wrench to tighten the wheel nuts. Finally, he lowered the jack and all was good.

  “Thanks,” Regan said.

  “What for?”

  “Many women would not have got their hands dirty.”

  “Not Thai lady, Steve. Thai lady not frightened get hands dirty.”

  “Thai lady look crazy but beautiful with oil on face, old Chinese proverb,” Regan said chuckling loudly.

  “Crazy English man look handsome when he laugh,” replied Fon, as she held out her hand which Regan took.

  He pulled Fon towards him. They embraced, and Regan kissed her on the neck. Regan could see some meadow-like ground behind a row of young bamboo trees. There were two water buffaloes grazing a few hundred yards in the distance. There were no humans to be seen.

  Regan and Fon walked through the fringe of bamboo trees to the flat meadow. He gently pulled her towards the ground.

  “Steve, I need to know something.”

  “Ask and I’ll tell you the truth,” Regan said but thought except who I really am.

  “Tell me about your wife.”

  “Why? It’s still a bad memory.”

  “I need to know. I need to know everything about you.”

  “Why, Fon? As you said before, you didn’t mean the boyfriend thing you said back in the jail in BKK.”

  “Steve, there is much you not know about women. Now, you tell me or not?”

  “Her name was Sarah. She was killed when a big truck drove in to her car. Our daughter, Rose, was also killed.”

  “When?”

  " Many years ago.”

  “You still love her?”

  “Yes, I love the memory of her and my daughter, and I miss both of them. My life has been missing something since they were killed.”

  “I think you blame yourself they died.”

  “Yes, I do. I should have been driving but had to work late. If I had been driving then it wouldn’t have happened.”

  Fon wiped away a small tear forming at the corner of Regan’s eye. “You wrong, Steve. Listen to me. We had tyre go bang. Nothing you or I could do about that. It’s fate. You believe in fate?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Fate means we met. It means we have good times and bad times together. Fate, it mean maybe we not together forever. Maybe too many problems.”

  “Such as?”

  “I said before. Me Thai. You from England. Big problem, yes or no?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I have daughter, Kamon, live Thailand too.”

  “I don’t see that as a problem. She is probably as beautiful as her mother.”

  “Yes, and same cheeky smile.” Fon laughed. “But me Mama-san. You good man. Big problem, yes?”

  “No! No, not big problem. I don’t care you Mama-san or even still work as bar lady.”

  “Hmmm. We see.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means sabai sabai.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Steve, no get angry. You smile. You handsome when smile. Ugly when angry.” Fon squeezed his hand and kissed him on the cheek. Regan smiled.

  “That much better,” said Fon as she rolled over straddling Regan. She unbuckled the belt on Regan’s jeans and pulled down the zipper. Fon lifted her nurse’s uniform dress up around her thighs, pulled down Regan’s jeans to his knees and made love to his throbbing penis. At first, thrusting slowly.

  Regan moaned, “That is sooo good.” Fon gradually thrust faster and faster. Her eyes filled with a mix of love and sheer lust, her wetness filled with Regan’s hot, superbly erect penis. Her back arched in sheer pleasure, Fon let out the final climaxing groan. Regan and Fon felt as one as their bodies and soul had come together in a wondrous union. Two lovers - one shared experience.

  They lay in a blissful embrace, one which seemed to encompass a lifetime, until reality kicked in. Both arose, tidying themselves with Regan hitching up his jeans, zipping the fly and buckling his belt. They walked slowly towards the Toyota. Regan with his long -legged stride, Fon, with the seductive roll and swing of her hips Regan had admired so many times.

  Regan asked, “So, what happened to no condom, no boom-boom?”

  Fon smiled and said, “I make exception to the rule. For you and only you.”

  Regan’s spirits lifted and then fell at what he saw. Regan spotted it first. His si
xth sense took over. It was only a car parked behind his truck, a Mercedes, not so rare in Thailand but this was large, high-end, and expensive. But he knew it spelled out danger.

  He also saw the motorbike speed by. It was the same rider, the same black helmet, the same build. The rider was not Thai. Now he knew something was wrong as he saw the rider pull a U-turn and ride back in the opposite direction. What’s going on?

  Regan soon had his answer when he saw Carlo Vitale, Les Watkins, and the Thais - Arun and Dorn, get out of the Mercedes. Regan’s eyes dropped to the gun Vitale was holding and decided to say nothing.

  “Search him and the whore,” Vitale ordered. Watkins and the Thai hired hands patted down Regan first.

  Watkins said, “He’s clean. Not carrying.”

  “Take his car keys,“ Vitale snapped. Regan held out the Toyota keys for Watkins.

  The Texan moved over next to Fon and started to pat her down, including feeling around her groin and buttocks. Fon slapped him across the cheek. Watkins reeled back and punched her in the stomach. Fon doubled up holding her midriff but said nothing. She made no sound at all. Regan kicked Watkins in the balls, leaving the Texan crumpled and whimpering like a kid in a school yard fight.

  Vitale said, “Enough! Get in the fucking car now!”

  10

  I Can't Swim

  “Imagine bumping into you again Regan, Ryan or whatever your freakin’ name is,” snapped Vitale.

  “Dorn, you drive. Watkins, get in the front. The rest in the back where I can keep an eye on them,” added Vitale.

  They squeezed on to the sumptuous rear seat of the Mercedes. Vitale got in last. He sat next to the rear passenger door behind the new driver. Regan was pinned in next to Vitale with Fon next to Regan. The other Thai managed to fit in between Fon and the other passenger door.

  The Mercedes pulled quietly back on to the main highway to the sound of Watkins still coughing and spluttering as he nursed his balls. Regan felt good about kicking him where it really hurt. As they set off for Phuket, Regan caught sight of it once more. There was the same motorbike, the same helmet, the same build of rider. He thought, Who the fuck is that guy?

  There were still about fifty kilometres to cover before they reached Phuket Island. Regan wondered what on earth he could do. He was a prisoner of Vitale. That could only mean one thing and he dared not think about it. The next thirty kilometres were spent in silence, eventually broken by Vitale.

  “I make you a promise, Regan. When we get to Phuket, I will find out who you really are.”

  “You know already, Carlo. You knew in Miami. You knew in Boston. The only reason you want to kill me is because you don’t like me for calling you a fat pig back there by the pool in Miami. You’re such a sensitive soul. Oh, and another thing - it’s Raygun not Reegan.”

  “Hey, smartass! You got a smart mouth. You will change your tune when you see what I’m going to do with this whore of yours.”

  “You harm her, and I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Vitale laughed. “Good luck, Limey. What you gonna do? Turn into Superman?”

  Fon started to cough uncontrollably. She raised her hand to her mouth and spat the knife into her hand. Before Vitale or anyone could say a word, she unclasped Regan’s Swiss Army knife, released the longest blade, and plunged it straight in to the driver’s eye. It either killed him instantaneously, or he fainted with shock as he made no sound. The driver released the steering wheel.

  The Mercedes slewed across the centre divider of the road and side-swiped a large truck. The car rolled over, first onto the roof, rolled again back on to the wheels, then the roof again, before it halted upside down, sparking and screeching metal on tarmac. Regan thought, it’s true what they say. It was like slow motion and I saw my entire life play out like a movie. He felt his arms and could move them, and his hands. Next, he tried his legs. They seemed to be okay too.

  “Oh my God! Fon!”

  “I’m okay,” she replied rubbing her head.

  Regan looked around. Vitale was gone, nowhere to be seen and the door he had been leaning on had also disappeared. The driver appeared dead and still had the knife in his eye. Regan removed it and wiped it clean on the back of the driver’s seat.

  Watkins was sprawled unconscious in the front passenger seat. There was no sign of the Thai who had sat next to Fon.

  “Time to go,” said Regan. “But not before we get a couple of guns.”

  Regan went to the front seats, first relieving Watkins of his 9 mm pistol then the driver’s .38 revolver. “You know how to shoot?”

  “That one, yes, I know,” Fon said pointing at the .38.

  “How come?”

  “My Papa was policeman in northern Thailand. He showed me how to use when I was a little girl.”

  “What?”

  “You not be surprised. Bad guys were after my Papa. He showed me in case they turn up at our home when he not there.”

  Fon required no second invitation to get away from the crash scene and clambered through the opening where the rear passenger door had once been. Regan held his hand out and helped Fon out of the car. He gave her the .38 to carry as he tucked the 9 mm in to his waist band. Gingerly, they started to walk along the main highway, checking each other out for signs of injury.

  “You seem all right,” Regan said.

  Fon said, “You seem more than all right, Steve.”

  Regan was a little nonplussed by Fon using an English idiom but dismissed it. There were more pressing issues on his mind.

  “How did they miss the knife when they searched us?” Regan asked.

  “I hid it in my mouth when no one was looking. I nearly spat it out when Watkins punched me.”

  “Good work, Fon. Better than the last place you hid it.”

  Fon laughed. “Lady has many places to hide things.”

  Regan smiled and said, “I love your hiding place.” She punched his arm playfully.

  * * *

  They strode out towards Phuket, passing a sign telling them only another three kilometres to the Sarasin Bridge. It was hot and humid. Damp perspiration patches showed on Regan’s shirt and Fon’s blouse. As they walked to the top of a rise, they spotted the pagoda-like structures of the bridge. Relief was in sight as they both knew they could buy cold drinks and something to eat in the refreshment area at the approach to the bridge. Regan had enough money left to buy refreshments and maybe some left over for a taxi to Patong. It was that thought made him curse, “Fuck it! I left my car keys with Watkins.”

  He planned to make it to Lucky’s Bar, get cleaned up, and make his way to the Dutch Consulate so he could report in. After that, he would decide what to do next and what to do about Fon.

  Regan and Fon used the washrooms first to freshen up. The cold drinks and the spicy noodles were perfect. They sat at an outside table watching the world go by and taking in the sights below and beyond the bridge. It gave a beautiful view of the Andaman Sea to the west and fishing villages and Phang-Nga Bay to the east.

  Fon stared out to the sea and said, “Bridge make sad story.” Without prompting, she continued, “Man and lady very much in love jumped from bridge and were drowned. They both die.”

  Regan said, “Why did they jump?”

  “Him poor man. Her from rich family. Her father refuse permission to marry. Make them sad and they decide to die together.”

  “When was this, Fon?”

  “Twenty-five sixteen.”

  “Huh?”

  “I forgot. You have different calendar. Nineteen Seventy- Three,” Fon clarified.

  “Oh, not long ago.”

  “No, I mean yes. Buddha say a connection.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “In life a connection between rich and poor, man and woman, happiness and sadness, life and death. Nothing is alone. Everything how you say it?”

  “Connected?” Regan suggested.

  “Yes. Connected.”

  Regan gazed at her round face with it
s attractive dimples, the high cheekbones, her full mouth, white teeth, and almond shaped eyes that truly seemed to be a window to her soul.

  “Fon.”

  “Yes, Steve?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Fon said with a deep sigh.

  “Why such a deep sigh?”

  “What is sigh?”

  “You know that noise from deep inside,” Regan said then imitated the sound.

  “I don’t know, Steve. Let’s see. Take one day at a time and see what happens.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Regan embraced her, kissing her on the top of her head.

  Regan looked up not wanting to believe what he could see - Vitale and Watkins striding towards them. “Fon! Quick. Let’s go!”

  He took her by the hand and they ran towards the bridge. “We have to run to the middle. That is where the water is deepest.”

  “I can’t swim.”

  “Oh, fuck me. What a time to tell me that. There’s no choice. Don’t jump and those guys will kill us. Take my hand. As we jump, take a deep breath and when your head goes under the water, stick your hands out like this. It will slow you down,” Regan said, gesticulating with his arms out at a ninety-degree angle.

  They ran, fast, for another hundred yards or so. Regan climbed over the metal barrier on to the parapet. Reluctantly, Fon joined him.

  “Fon, kick off your shoes.” She did, as did Regan.

  As they stood on the parapet looking down some hundred feet at the water below, Regan grasped Fon’s hand, looked over to the fast approaching Vitale and Watkins, and shouted, “Geronimo!”

  He leapt away from the bridge still holding Fon’s hand. Seconds later, he released Fon’s hand as he felt the impact with the clear blue water. Taking a deep breath, he followed his own advice and used his outspread arms as a brake. He felt sand below his feet and started to rise in the water. He looked about him in the clear waters and saw Fon also rising from the bottom. He pointed to the surface. Fon nodded to acknowledge and kicked her legs and clawed away at the water above her.

  They surfaced together within three yards of each other. Regan kicked and swam the short distance to her.

  “See you can swim,” Regan said.