Bangkok Bob and the missing Mormon

by Stephen Leather

  ‘I could do with some advice,’ I said as he stirred brown sugar into his coffee.

  ‘Buy cheap, sell high,’ he said.

  I grinned. ‘I knew I was doing something wrong.’ I put a spoonful of sugar into my coffee, even though Noy is always nagging me to give up on the sweet stuff. ‘I want to pick your brains about the boiler room situation.’

  ‘Are you looking for another job? Because I have to warn you it’s a young man’s game.’

  ‘It’s a young man that I’m looking for,’ I said. ‘And before you say what I know you’re going to say, it’s a missing person case. A young American, a Mormon. His parents are frantic and I’m trying to help.’

  ‘A young American in Bangkok?’ He raised his glass of red wine. ‘Try Soi Cowboy, then Nana Plaza, then Patpong. If that fails then try the Khao San Road.’

  ‘He’s a Mormon, Brent. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t go out with girls, wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’

  ‘And you think he’s working in a boiler room? I don’t think so, my friend.’

  ‘Someone heard him on his phone, talking about working for one.’

  ‘It’s a high-pressure job, Bob. Not for the faint hearted.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who’s hiring?’

  Brent chuckled. ‘I hope you’re not implying that I hang out with those guys.’

  ‘You know every trader in the city,’ I said.

  ‘That’s true.’ He swirled his wine around the glass. ‘Did he have any experience?’

  ‘None,’ I said. ‘He was doing some English teaching.’

  ‘But he had a good head on his shoulders, did he?’

  ‘I think he’s a normal American kid. Why?’

  ‘It’s a tough job, boiler room guys have to be pushy yet personable, and while they work from a script they have to be able to think on their feet. You know how it works, right?’

  ‘Selling worthless shares to people who should know better,’ I said.

  ‘You old cynic, you,’ he said. ‘But basically that’s it. The boiler room boys have been chased out of the States and Europe so a lot of them have set up in Asia. International phone calls are so cheap these days that it doesn’t matter where they are. Hong Kong and Singapore have been clamping down so more have been moving here in recent years.’

  ‘So what are you saying, he could have gone anywhere?’

  Brent shook his head. ‘Nah, a lot of them are quite small operations, half a dozen or so traders who all know each other. They rarely bring in outsiders. But there are a couple of larger set-ups where they do recruit. Most of them are run by Aussies selling into Australia or New Zealand.’

  ‘Offices?’

  Brent shook his head. ‘Low, low profile,’ he said. ‘They don’t want to be found.’

  ‘So how would my guy have found them?’

  ‘Word of mouth,’ said Brent. ‘Followed by a chat in a pub, then they’d make a few checks and if he panned out then he’d be shown the office.’

  ‘Dead end, then?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘There’s one group I know off who drink at the Dubliner most evenings. They’ve got a place in Soi 33 somewhere and then walk to the Dubliner to wind down. The boss is an Aussie called Bear. Huge bloke, bushy beard. Used to be a legit broker years ago in Hong Kong but got done for insider trading. If you can find Bear he might have come across your lad. They take backpackers on and train them. His name’s Alistair Wainer but everyone calls him Bear.’

  ‘Bear it is, then.’

  ‘Just be careful, Bob. They’re a suspicious bunch at the best of times.’ He finished his wine and held up the empty glass. ‘Another?’

  ‘It’s the least I can do,’ I said.

  CHAPTER 26

  I left Brent in the hotel’s reception area. He was waiting for his chauffer to arrive. He lived about thirty minutes drive north of Bangkok in a gated community on the campus of the International School of Bangkok. The school was mainly for Americans and the Nichada Thani expat community was one of the most secure areas in the country, with its own supermarket, medical facility and shopping plaza. Brent liked the fact that his kids could cycle safely to school and that his wife had plenty of friends and had insisted that his company set him up in one of the biggest villas on the site. Getting to my humble abode in Sukhumvit 55 meant crossing over Sukhumvit Road and catching a taxi. I’d decided against driving because I knew that Brent and I would get through at least two bottles of wine at dinner. I wasn’t worried about losing my licence because like most traffic violations in Thailand, a few hundred baht would make the problem go away. But I was worried about driving while under the influence because even when stone cold sober Bangkok was one of the most dangerous places in the world to be behind the wheel of a car.

  Even at ten-thirty the road was busy so I headed for a concrete overbridge. It stank of urine but it was safer than trying to dodge the traffic. As I came down the stairs I saw the red light of a taxi for hire in the distance and I held out my hand.

  The taxi slowed but before it reached me a large black SUV with darkened windows pulled up next to me. I figured the driver was dropping someone off so I walked to the rear, still waving at the taxi.

  The front passenger door opened and a man got out. The door slammed shut and then someone grabbed my arm and swung me around.

  I put my hands up to defend myself but my wrist was grabbed and my arm twisted up behind my back and before I could react I was thrown against the side of the car. The rear door on the far side of the car opened and slammed shut and a second man came around the back of the car. He was wearing a denim jacket, camouflage cargo pants and impenetrable wraparound sunglasses. It was Lek, from the kickboxing gym in Washington Square.

  ‘Someone wants to see you,’ said Lek.

  ‘Yeah, well someone can come around to my shop, any time he wants,’ I said.

  The man who was holding me dragged me back so that Lek could open the door, then they both bundled me inside. As I fell onto the seat I felt something hard press against my side and I looked down to see a large shiny automatic. ‘Be quiet,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll be quiet, you be careful,’ I said. It was a. 45 and would blow a hole as big as baseball in my gut if he pulled the trigger.

  The man on the pavement slammed the door and jogged around to get in the other side, boxing me in. It was Tam. Like his colleague, he was wearing dark glasses, even though it was late at night.

  Gangster chic.

  The driver stamped on the accelerator and the SUV sped off.

  ‘What’s this about, Lek?’ I asked.

  ‘Just keep quiet and you’ll know soon enough,’ he said.

  We turned left on Asoke, the wide road that runs north-south across the city. Lek jabbed the gun in my ribs.

  ‘Get down on the floor,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  He jabbed the gun, harder this time. ‘Just do it.’

  ‘If you don’t want me to see where I’m going, I’ll close my eyes,’ I said. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  Tam grabbed me by the back of the neck and forced my head down behind the front seats. I could hardly breathe but he was strong so I went with the pressure and slid down onto my knees.

  We drove for about twenty minutes with several turns and once I was pretty sure we doubled back. Whoever they were taking me to see didn’t want me to know where I was. That was a good sign, because if something bad was going to happen to me they wouldn’t care one way or the other.

  We stopped twice which I figured was because we’d come to a red light, but the third time we stopped I heard a gate rattle back and then we drove slowly and made a left turn and the driver switched off the engine.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Tam, patting me on the shoulder. ‘You can sit up now.’

  I did as I was told. We were parked next to a traditional Thai house made from old teak that gleamed in the moonlight. Tam opened the door and got out and Lek prodded me with the gun to let me know that I
was to follow suit.

  They took me up a flight of wooden stairs and Tam, knocked on a large door and pushed it open. Lek prodded me with the gun again, this time in the small of the back. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to have swung around and knocked the gun to the side and pushed him down the stairs but there were two of them and they were both trained kickboxers and besides I really wanted to know who was on the other side of the door.

  ‘Shoes,’ hissed Lek.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Take off your shoes.’

  I sighed and did as I was told. Lek and Tam took theirs off, too, and we lined them up by the door.

  The room was in near darkness, the only light coming from a small bulb mounted in what looked as if it had once been the axle of a buffalo cart. There was a man sitting in a teak planter’s chair. He was wearing dark clothing and had set the light up so that he was sitting in shadow.

  Tam pointed at a wicker sofa and motioned for me to sit down. I did as I was told and looked around the room. There were two doors leading off to the left, both closed, and one to the right that was open and through which I could see a kitchen. An open stairway of thick teak planks led to the upper floor.

  ‘You are Bob Turtledove,’ said the man, in accented English. It was a statement rather than a question.

  ‘If I’m not, you’ve all been wasting your time,’ I answered. I was pretty sure that if they were going to do anything nasty to me they’d already have done it. The man wanted to talk, which was fine by me.

  Lek tapped the gun against my leg as if he wanted to remind me that he was still holding it.

  ‘Please don’t try my patience,’ said the man, again in English.

  ‘Yes, I’m Bob Turtledove,’ I said in Thai. ‘Who are you?’

  I wanted him to speak in Thai because then I’d have a pretty good idea of where he came from.

  ‘You’re not here to ask questions,’ he said. I couldn’t make out his face but he was tall for a Thai and had stretched out his long legs. ‘You went to see Marsh in hospital. Why?’

  ‘What business is that of yours?’ I asked, again in Thai.

  Lek put the barrel of the gun against my forehead. I could feel sweat trickling down my back. I’ve never been happy at people pointing guns at me, especially loaded ones with the hammer cocked. I didn’t think that Lek intended to shoot me but his finger was on the trigger and guns sometimes went off unintentionally.

  I knew that from experience.

  ‘No one will hear the gunshot, except for us,’ said the man, still in English. ‘And anyone who does hear will not care. Why did you go to see Marsh in the Bumrungrad?’

  ‘I’m looking for an American boy who has gone missing,’ I said. ‘His parents are worried. They thought that he might have been in the nightclub when it burned down.’ I switched to the Isarn dialect, which is close to Thai but has a lot in common with the language of neighbouring Laos.

  The man settled back in his chair and I could feel him staring at me, trying to work out if I was telling the truth or not.

  ‘What is his name?’ asked the man, this time speaking in Isarn. ‘This missing boy?’

  ‘Jon Clare,’ I said.

  ‘And that is all you wanted from Marsh?’

  I nodded. His accent sounded as if he was from the north of Isarn. Udon Thani, maybe. Which meant that it was probably Thongchai, Lek and Tam’s boss who had disappeared after the fire.

  ‘And why did you go to the kickboxing gym?’

  ‘Same reason.’

  The man crossed his legs slowly. ‘You were at the Kube with the police.’

  ‘I was there when the police were there, yes.’

  ‘And you spoke to the Public Prosecutor.’

  ‘Khun Jintana. Yes.’

  ‘Did you think that Public Prosecutor might know where the boy is?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘So what did you talk about?’

  ‘I was just there to see the club,’ I said.

  ‘And it was a coincidence that one of the investigating officers and the Public Prosecutor were there?’

  ‘I went there to see a friend of mine who’s in the police,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see that that’s any business of yours.’ I leaned forward. ‘What are you so scared of, Khun Thongchai?’

  He stiffened. ‘How do you know me?’ he asked.

  ‘You owned the Kube and these two work for you,’ I said. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’re here and not in Udon Thani.’

  ‘Because the police are looking for me and Udon Thani is the first place they’ll look,’ he said.

  ‘So you’re hiding?’ I said.

  ‘I’m not scared of the police,’ he said. He reached over and flicked a switch on the wall and the room was flooded with light. The walls, floor and vaulted ceiling were all made of polished teak and two wooden-bladed fans slowly stirred the air above our heads.

  Thongchai was tall and thin, wearing a dark blue Mao jacket ands baggy pants. There was a gold watch on one wrist and a thick gold chain on the other, and five Buddha amulets were hanging from a heavy chain around his neck. Thais wear amulets for a whole host of reasons. Some are passed down from father to son, others are gifts from nearest and dearest, some are worn as good-luck symbols, some for protection.

  Protection?

  That’s right. There are amulets that are supposed to protect against bullets, others that are proof against poison, or car crashes. I couldn’t get a good look at the ones hanging around Thongchai’s neck but I would have bet my last dollar they were amulets that offered protection of one form or another.

  He took off his dark glasses and stared at me with cold eyes. ‘Who told you about me?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re not an official secret,’ I said. ‘The police know that you are one of the owners.’

  ‘And you talked to Marsh about me?’

  ‘Your name come up.’

  ‘And you went to see Lek and Tam to find out where I was?’

  I shook my head. ‘I already told you, I was looking for Jon Clare.’

  ‘You have a picture?’

  I nodded and reached into my jacket. Lek pushed the gun against my neck and I slowly took out the photograph and gave it to him. Lek passed it to Thongchai.

  ‘You think he was in the club the night of the fire?’ said Thongchai as he studied the photograph.

  ‘It’s possible, but your men don’t remember him.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Thongchai, passing the picture back to Lek. ‘I think you can assume that he wasn’t there. One of us would have seen him.’

  Lek gave me the picture and I put it back in my pocket.

  ‘You know that Marsh is dead?’ I said.

  ‘You think I killed him?’

  ‘The thought had entered my head, yes,’ I said.

  ‘And why would you think that?’ asked Thongchai.

  ‘Marsh thought that he was going to be blamed for the fire.’

  ‘It was the band that set off the fireworks,’ said Thongchai. ‘That was what started the blaze.’

  ‘Marsh said that the club was overcrowded and the fire exits were blocked. He seemed to think that he’d get the blame.’

  ‘He’s a farang,’ said Thongchai. ‘They will want the head of a Thai for this.’

  ‘You ordered the exits to be locked?’

  Thongchai shook his head. ‘No. I said it was a bad idea, I said it was illegal and dangerous, but I was overruled.’

  ‘But you’re the owner.’

  ‘I own ten per cent and I have to work like a dog,’ said Thongchai. ‘The other investors put in most of the money but they don’t lift a finger.’

  ‘But you run the place, right?’

  ‘Marsh was the manager but I was there every night. The exits kept being opened from the inside. One guy would pay to go in, then he’d open the door and let in his friends. It happened a lot.’

  ‘So you had the doors locked?’

  ‘No,
I told the other owners that we needed more security, a static guard stationed at each fire exit. I’d already brought the men in but I was told to let them go and to lock the doors instead.’

  ‘Told by who?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you care?’

  I shrugged. He was right. It was none of my business. But a lot of people had died so yes, I cared. ‘Marsh said it was the owners. I assumed that he meant you.’

  ‘I wanted the doors guarded. But I was overruled.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘The sons of one of the big investors. They used the VIP rooms three or four times a week. They’d bring in their girlfriends and order the best champagne and not pay for a thing. They liked to throw their weight around.’

  ‘Marsh said it was your idea to lock the doors.’ Thongchai’s face tightened and I put up my hands. ‘I’m just telling you what he said.’

  ‘I told him to lock the doors, yes. But I was only telling him what they had told me.’

  ‘And he said you left the building as soon as the fire started.’

  Thongchai pursed his lips. ‘He said a lot, didn’t he?’

  ‘He was scared. And now he’s dead.’

  ‘That was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘He said a lawyer had been around to see him. Was that your idea?’

  Thongchai shook his head.

  ‘Marsh reckoned that the lawyer wanted him to take the blame for the fire. Or for the locked door and the overcrowding, at least.’

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Thongchai. ‘It wasn’t mine either. It was the boys. But they’re dead now so there’s no one to back me up.’ He sneered. ‘Not that they would, even if they were alive.’

  ‘They died in the fire?’

  ‘Everyone in the VIP room died. There was just one narrow stairway up to it.’

  ‘Why did you run, Thongchai? And why are you hiding now?’

  Thongchai sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘How long have you been in Thailand, Khun Bob?’

  ‘A long time.’

  ‘So you understand Thai people.’

  I smiled. ‘The longer I am here, the less I understand,’ I said.

  ‘But you know about Thais and revenge?’