The Second Biggest Nothing

by Colin Cotterill

  “I hoped we’d built up enough gratitude points from all the meals and affection for him to break his rule just that once,” said Siri. “Then I get the second plan tap coming through explaining the two-man Bruce Lee kick. But tapping’s a painfully slow process so we hadn’t really outlined the whole thing. And then it was too late. Ugly was there and we just relied on the warrior spirit to make it work. And there’s Daeng flying through the air.”

  “Not bad for a woman with chronic arthritis,” said Phosy. He’d read Dr. Porn’s files.

  “It was the sedative,” said Daeng. “I could feel nothing below my waist.”

  “It hadn’t occurred to us that Crazy Rajhid would be skinny enough to get through the dog door,” said Siri, keen to get off the topic of arthritis. “But given his girth I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d seen the noodle crowd gathering and heard the whistle and the shouts from upstairs. He leaped three garden fences to get here. He should get a medal.”

  “Where would we pin it?” asked Tukta.

  She didn’t say much, but what she did say usually hit the spot. They drained a lot of laughs out of that, had one more drink and found other things to laugh about. Then they had one more drink. All but Civilai, who was on water. Served him right.

  “And why,” asked Phosy, “did your stash of antique sins not go up in flames at the mere scent of fire?”

  “Now, for that we have to congratulate our resident genius, Mr. Geung here,” said Daeng. “In his role as keeper of the sin bin he took it upon himself to cover every contingency. As you may recall, we have already been victims of vandals and nothing would tickle the fancy of your average arsonist more than a room full of dusty cotton and silk. So he fire retarded them.”

  “How on earth would you go about such a thing?” asked Phosy.

  “Borax,” said Geung. “It . . . it’s quite easy.”

  “Evidently, it’s a sort of laundry additive,” said Daeng. “You soak your natural material in it and let it dry and it makes it hard to ignite.”

  “Not exactly f-f-fireproof,” said Geung, “but good enough.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” asked Dtui.

  “The spirits of the s-s-sins told me,” said Geung.

  They all laughed, even those who were sure it wasn’t a joke.

  “How about Dom’s movie camera?” Daeng asked.

  “It’s on its way,” said Phosy. “I’d like to take it myself but sometimes you have to trust the Thais to do it right. And I suppose this is as much their case as ours. It’s okay. There’ll be someone watching over them.”

  “I think the brief, euphoric life of another generation of flying ants is over,” said Siri.

  “Right,” said Mr. Geung.

  He hopped to his feet and hurried to pull back the screen. They needed the river breeze. Tukta turned on the lights.

  “Where do you think he is?” Daeng asked.

  “Dom?” said Phosy. “No idea. But I’m guessing he’s back in Thailand. It’s not easy for an outsider to disappear in Vientiane. He doesn’t have any relatives or friends here. He’s not the type that could survive in the jungle. All I can guess is that he found a boat and floated home.”

  “But he’s not finished,” said Siri. “Perhaps he’ll reorganize and try again some—”

  “Dr. Siri!”

  Geung had dragged open the shutter and was standing in the entrance.

  “Come,” he said. “Quick.”

  Everyone rushed to the street. Ugly, unconscious, lay in a pool of blood in front of the restaurant. Siri went down on one knee and felt for a pulse.

  “He’s—” he began.

  The crack of the rifle carried along the river in a watery echo. Everyone froze. Siri looked briefly at his wife then dropped to the ground. Daeng screamed. Phosy and Geung ran for the trees and used them as cover as they headed in the direction of the shot. But there was no more gunfire. They saw nobody.

  <<<

  Under the glare of the electric light, Daeng, Dtui and Tukta carried Siri inside and into an alcove not visible from the street. They lay him down and he sat up straight away.

  “Bring in the dog,” he said.

  Tukta returned to the pavement with a towel and scooped Ugly from the roadside as if he weighed nothing. She lay him beside the doctor.

  “You sure you weren’t hit?” Dtui asked.

  “I think I’d know if I was,” said Siri. “I only went to ground under orders. Good thinking, Wife.”

  “We needed the shooter to believe he hit his target,” said Daeng. “Otherwise he’d have kept shooting. How’s the dog?”

  Siri was looking for a wound.

  “He’s been drugged,” he said. “This is where all the blood came from.”

  He pointed at the tail, or what was left of it. The last six centimeters had been hacked off.

  “A lot of blood,” said Dtui. “Nothing fatal.”

  “Looks like Dom’s forgiven Ugly for turning on him,” said Siri. “Still couldn’t bring himself to kill the beast.”

  Dtui went to check on Malee, who’d slept through the drama. Phosy and Geung returned.

  “No sign of anyone,” said Phosy.

  “Not even Rajhid?” said Dtui.

  “He’s not exactly on the clock,” said Daeng. “He could have an appointment with some dolphin up river for all we know. We’re just fortunate to get him when we can.”

  “Will Ug-Ugly make it?” Geung asked.

  “His wagging days are over,” said Siri. “And he’s never going to trust cheese again. But he’ll be fine. Just a bit light-headed for a day or so.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  You’re on Candid Camera

  The next two days flew by in a blur. The police checked every deserted building, every guesthouse. They rechecked the houses of anyone connected to the original Bruce, went through Dr. Porn’s basement, even visited the few seedy opium dens that everyone denied existed. Once again, Dom had vanished. Still, Siri remained out of sight at his official government residence by the That Luang monument.

  The missing camera belonging to Jim was retrieved from the house of Dr. Porn. Dom had obviously lifted it from the Ferrari before the journalists set off. Once developed, the film showed four very clear photos of Dom and the car and the journalists, taken on the morning of the day they died.

  The handheld movie camera and twelve developed films arrived at Phosy’s office from Thailand and with Dtui’s help, the chief inspector went through every second, constantly pausing and replaying. But after no more than ten minutes it was obvious to both of them what had motivated Dom to act the way he did. That evening, Siri broke cover and cycled to police headquarters.

  “Siri, what are you . . . ?” said Phosy.

  “Is that what I think it is?” said Siri, nodding at the film projector.

  “Why are you here?” asked the policeman.

  “I know where he is,” said Siri.

  Dom was awoken by the rattle of a key in a metal lock. The echo bounced around the building like a disoriented bat. He took out a pistol and an M16 and climbed to the top shelf level of the storage facility. In the shadows of the hampers and heavy equipment he couldn’t be seen from the ground. In nine days, this was his first visitor.

  Apart from one red Ferrari, Silver City remained virtually untouched since the Marines locked it up in ’75. They deposited the keys with the embassy, and, under duress, the embassy handed one of those bunches to the PL. But it was an administration without balls. Nobody dared make decisions. Nobody would commit a signature to an order. So, apart from a visit by the Russian circus performers who were forced to camp in the grounds outside, Silver City had been frozen in time. Officials made brief visits, an inventory was taken, but nobody removed anything. The doors were relocked and the keys deposited with the Women’s U
nion. It was perhaps because those keys still hung in Dr. Porn’s office that nobody thought to look there for Dom.

  The main warehouse was a treasure trove of household goods, various electrical equipment and enough weaponry to launch a third world war. Dom had wondered why an aid agency would need so much military hardware. He’d made copies of the keys as soon as he realized their significance, and after his escape from the fake surgeon’s restaurant he set up his secret command post slap in the middle of the city. From there, his plan had been to follow through on his threats and assassinate the widow first. But he’d let himself down again. He was no marksman even though that modern equipment came with manuals. All he had to do was get the target in his sights and squeeze the trigger. Or so he thought. He could see her in the crosshairs. He wasn’t that far away. Yet somehow he’d missed the wife and hit the doctor. Better than nothing, he decided. He saw him go down. He saw them carry the lifeless body into the restaurant. He needed first to be sure Siri was dead, then he’d return and do away with the widow.

  But now he had to lose this unwanted visitor at the storage facility. He crawled to a spot where he could see the entrance. Someone was there locking the door from the inside. He was dressed like a farmer. He wore a broad straw hat so he wasn’t recognizable from above. He had a two-wheeled market trolley that held a cardboard box. Dom crawled to the edge of the stack where there was an uninterrupted view of the ground. The visitor had moved a small table into the space and placed it beside a large white industrial refrigerator. He opened the box and took out a compact movie projector. As there was only one of its kind in the country, Dom recognized it as the one he’d brought from Australia. The newcomer unreeled a long extension cord and plugged it into a socket on one concrete post. Dom remained silent, unseen but fascinated as the man turned on the projector and pressed a switch that produced a neat rectangle of light on the side of the fridge.

  “Dom, I have some good news for you,” shouted the man. The voice was familiar but a little distorted in the windowless chamber. Dom was shocked to hear his actual name.

  “I should have realized earlier where you’d be,” the man continued. “You could probably live here for the rest of your life. Plenty of survival rations to eat. Lots to entertain you. You won’t be able to see the picture from up there but the volume’s probably loud enough,” he said. “Of course you’d know, seeing as it’s your equipment, right? Hope you don’t mind us borrowing this and the camera. If you do want to watch, feel free to come down. I’m not armed. All you’ll see on the screen is a couple of drunks in a bar alcove talking. You should recognize both of them. One of them I think you took a shine to when you met her here. Our pretty blonde. The other’s changed a lot since you last saw him but it should be quite obvious who he is.”

  The intruder pressed play, walked to the wall by the door and sat down on the concrete floor. He took off his hat.

  Dom couldn’t believe his eyes. The audacity. Dr. Siri—uninjured, unarmed and alone—was no more than thirty meters from him. It was as if the old man was giving him a second shot.

  “You’re either brave or stupid,” said Dom.

  “Bit of both really,” said Siri. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. I doubt they’d have let me be here alone if I did. All I ask is that you watch the film before you shoot me. You’ve got plenty of time. And it’ll make things easier the closer to me you are, right? You’re not much of a marksman. No offence.”

  Voices emanated from the projector.

  “Better hurry,” said Siri. “The show’s started.”

  “What’s to stop me from shooting you dead first and watching the tape after?” said Dom.

  “Nothing, except then you wouldn’t get the punch line, would you? And that’s the best part.”

  Dom came down the ladder on the far side of the stacks and walked cautiously to the table. His gun was trained on Siri the entire time. He squinted at the screen. There were two people: a middle-aged overweight man with thinning hair and a beautiful blonde woman who looked quite drunk. He was holding her hand. The Thai recognized her as Cindy from the US consulate but couldn’t place the man.

  “No, Darling, you’re a legend round the bars of Ubon,” said Cindy. “Everyone knows you. I’ve heard a lot about how amazing you are. I bet you’ve got some great stories.”

  “You sure you aren’t with the CIA?” asked the man. “’Cause if you are I’d have to shoot you.”

  “Do I look like the CIA?” she said.

  He laughed and looked into her cleavage.

  “You sure don’t,” he said.

  “Recognize the man yet?” Siri asked.

  “No.”

  “Imagine him fifteen years younger and ten kilos lighter.”

  “I don’t . . .”

  The truth hit Dom with the force of a stack of crates landing on top of him. He looked up at Siri, who raised his hands to the heavens and shrugged.

  “It can’t . . .” said Dom. “When was this video taken?”

  “Three days ago,” said Siri.

  “That’s not possible,” said Dom. “It’s just someone who looks like him.”

  “Stay tuned, viewers,” said Siri.

  “What have you heard?” said the man on the screen.

  “Just some things that can’t be true,” said the blonde.

  “Try me.”

  They were drinking Thai rum with ice and soda. The man was constantly topping up their glasses.

  “They said something about you convincing the US government you were a POW for six years. It would be awesome if it was true.”

  He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

  “No?” she said.

  “Almost got away with it too,” said the man. “I even wrote a book about my six years in captivity.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “True as I’m sitting here,” he said. “I was this close to a hero’s welcome and a million-dollar movie deal.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some shitty little Lao doctor is what happened. But I can’t tell you any of that. It’s kind of classified.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “No, I shouldn’t.”

  She topped up his drink and stirred in a cube of ice.

  “Well, you sure know a way to a man’s heart,” he said. “Okay, I’ll tell you. But it can’t go any further than this bar, you hear?”

  “Cross my heart,” she said, making a finger X on one breast.

  “All right,” he said. “You see, I was quite a well-known anti-war activist in the States. I’d written a book and other stuff. I was invited to run for Congress on a peace ticket, but we had a plan. I was already a decorated pilot.”

  “You were a pilot? Wow!”

  She squeezed his arm. He flexed his muscle.

  “I enlisted so I could operate from inside the insidious war machine,” he said.

  “From minute five to minute eight you’ll notice there was a lot of bull dung getting tossed around,” said Siri. “It’s not easy to separate the fact from the fiction. We only edited out his trips to the bathroom and our girl changing the cartridges. The rest is verbatim. But just bear with it. We make our appearances toward the end.”

  Dom was stooped over the screen, the gun limp at his side. He didn’t react to Siri’s comment.

  “To cut a long story short, I stole an airplane,” said the man. “An F-100. I flew it away from the war zone and landed it in a Communist controlled area. Of course, I disabled it so the enemy wouldn’t use it against my brothers. I hiked a week to the border. I’d broken a leg landing it, but I had jungle training. I knew how to lash it and tolerate the pain.”

  “So where were you for those six years if you weren’t in a POW camp?”

  “Here,” he said. “I shacked up with a Thai whore and her mental son—as a front, mind y
ou. And I continued to fight for our pacifist cause incognito from a village in Ubon. I had to come in to the bars and spend time here, earning the trust of servicemen and journalists and learning their confidential information. I’d pass on this intelligence to the anti-war movement in the States. I knew them all. Jane Fonda was a close friend. She came to visit me here several times. We had a sort of . . . fling. She was serious but I didn’t need all that baggage.”

  “I’m jealous,” said the blonde.

  “No need, Honey. I’ve got plenty of loving to share.”

  “So you were like a real spy,” said the girl.

  “I was a master of disguise,” he said. “I could change identities overnight. I have a knack for convincing people I’m somebody else.”

  “Give me an example,” she said.

  “Well, languages and accents. I can do accents. Australian’s one of my best. I remember I took the whore’s son to Bangkok and got him on a scholarship to Australia by convincing the embassy he was the top student in my school in Ubon. I didn’t have a school but I had all the fake paperwork to say I did. And I had an Australian passport I’d stolen from some drunk here. Even the Aussies thought I was one of them.”

  “And they accepted the boy to study there?”

  “They were desperate for kids from the third world who could speak English to meet their quota and they had a lot of funding for education.”

  “Did the boy know he was there under false pretenses?”

  “He had no idea. I told him the money was from me, but I didn’t have to pay a penny. It was all Colombo Plan funding.”

  “Why send him to Australia and not the US?” said the blonde.

  “Why not what? Send him Stateside? You seem like a clever girl. You’ve probably worked out I’m persona non grata in America these days after all my agitation. They’d never let me back in without throwing me in jail. But the Aussies have a family reunion visa. The boy goes to school, gets residence and I can apply to join him there as his legal guardian. I faked that document too. I can go anytime I like. Just got a little bit tied down here with, you know, business.”