Bangkok Bob and the missing Mormon

by Stephen Leather

  ‘I’ll pass,’ I said. I nodded at my business card which he’d put down on the table. ‘If by any chance he gets in touch again, give me a call, yeah?’

  CHAPTER 30

  The Friday night poker game was at the house of John Muller, an American who I’d met soon after arriving in Thailand. John was a Vietnam vet who’d been involved in the Phoenix programme, winning the hearts and minds of the Viet Cong and occasionally throwing them out of helicopters. That’s just rumour and conjecture, John doesn’t talk much about what he did back then. He’s been married to a Thai lady for more than thirty years and runs a security company that looks after big hotels and VIP clients in Thailand and Cambodia.

  John and his wife live in Sukhumvit 101 in a house they bought just after they married. I went by taxi because a lot of alcohol is consumed on poker night.

  A rottweiler on a chain snarled at me as I pressed the doorbell and ignored my attempts to win it over by making shushing noises. The dog hates me, but when I visit with Noy it’s all sweetness and light.

  The door opened and Muller grinned amiably. ‘Brought your money with you, Bob?’ he asked and gave me a bear hug that forced the breath out of me. I’m not a small guy but Muller is a couple of inches taller and good deal heavier. His hair and moustache are greying but he looks good for sixty-odd.

  ‘I’ve gotta warn you, I’m feeling lucky tonight,’ I said.

  Muller laughed and slapped me on the back, then finally released me and I stumbled into the house. ‘The wife’s out with the girls so we’ve got free rein,’ said Muller. ‘And the pizzas are on the way.’

  I went through to the sitting room where there was a large circular table covered in green baize.

  Somsak was there, dressed casually but expensively in chinos and a pink Lacoste shirt. He raised his glass of brandy in salute. ‘The late Bob Turtledove,’ he said.

  ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere,’ I said. ‘And the traffic was terrible.’

  Muller handed me an opened bottle of Phuket Beer and waved me to an empty chair. I sat down and took out a wad of banknotes.

  Sitting opposite me was a Brit, a real estate agent by the name of Tim Maplethorpe who always seemed to be smiling, probably because more often than not he left the game as a winner. When he wasn’t selling apartments to wealthy foreigners he was usually honing his poker skills on line. He grinned as he played with his stacks. ‘Thought you’d chickened out,’ he said. He was wearing a green polo shirt with the name of his company on the back.

  Muller took my money and gave me chips.

  Sitting next to Maplethorpe was Annan, a muscular trainer who worked at a popular gym on Soi Ekkamai. Annan was a friend of Tim’s and had helped him lose more than thirty pounds over the past two years by setting up a vigorous exercise regime and making sure that he stuck to it. Now he wants to do the same for me but I’ve never been a fan of gyms.

  Annan’s pile of chips was about twice as big as Tim’s but I was pretty sure that the position would be reversed by the end of the game. Not that Annan would be worried. His father owned one of the biggest taxi companies in Bangkok and his mother was a well-known TV presenter who everyone assumed would run for political office within a year or two. Annan was quite definitely hi-so.

  Annan grinned and pointed at my waistline. ‘You need to lose a few kilos, Khun Bob,’ he said.

  I took off my jacket and held it up. ‘That should do it,’ I said. ‘Gotta be a kilo or two there.’ I twisted around and hung the jacket on the back of my chair.

  ‘I’ll spot you in the gym, no charge,’ said Annan.

  ‘I prefer tennis,’ I said. ‘I always feel like a hamster on a wheel when I’m on a treadmill.’

  Sitting on the other side of Annan was Andy Yates, a stockbroker in his early forties who had been in Asia for almost twenty years. He raised his bottle of Corona in salute and went back to arranging his chips.

  The doorbell rang and Muller went to answer it. He returned a few minutes later with three large pizzas.

  Annan grinned as I helped myself to a slice. ‘I haven’t eaten all day,’ I said.

  ‘Your body is a temple,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ I said. ‘I like to think of it as more of an amusement park.’

  Muller sat down and began to shuffle the cards. ‘Texas Hold ‘Em, same as always,’ he said. ‘Rebuys for the first hour.’

  We all nodded. We’d been playing Texas Hold ‘Em for almost a year. We’d tried other variations of poker but we’d all agreed that Hold ‘Em was the best.

  Muller dealt us all a card each so see who would be the first to deal. Maplethorpe got an ace and he punched the air triumphantly.

  I settled back in my chair, munched on my slice of pizza, and waited for Maplethorpe to deal.

  When we first started playing poker on a Friday night, we’d tried bringing in a rule that no one could talk about business. Or politics. Or religion. But as that excluded pretty much everything we wanted to talk about the rule was quickly scrapped and now anything was fair game. Muller moaned about the hassles of doing business in Cambodia, Maplethorpe complained about the state of the Bangkok property market and Annan bitched about his new boss at the gym.

  We were about halfway through the game when Muller asked me if I was up to anything interesting. I told them about Jon Junior and the lack of progress I was making in finding the missing Mormon. ‘I keep trying his phone and the cellphone he called but they’re both off,’ I said.

  ‘Which phone company?’ asked Muller.

  I shrugged. ‘No idea,’ I said. ‘Why?’

  ‘If it’s AIS I’ve a guy who can get me call details and GPS position.’

  Somsak wagged a disapproving finger at Muller. ‘Now John, you know that’s illegal,’ he said.

  ‘It’s a grey area,’ said Muller. Somsak continued to wag his finger and eventually Muller threw up his hands in surrender. ‘Yes, okay, strictly speaking I suppose it might be less grey and more illegal.’

  Somsak grinned and drained his glass. He slid it across the baize to Muller. ‘Fill me up with your excellent brandy and we’ll say no more about it,’ he said.

  Muller went to get a refill for Somsak and beers for everyone else. ‘Let me know the numbers and I’ll get my guy to check them out on Monday,’ he said.

  ‘You’re a star, John.’ I sipped my drink. ‘At least I know he wasn’t caught up in the Kube fire. That’s what his parents were most scared of, I think.’

  ‘How’s the Kube investigation going?’ Annan asked Somsak.

  ‘Slowly,’ he said.

  ‘Will they be charging anybody?’ asked Maplethorpe, voicing the question that was on the tip of my tongue.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Somsak.

  ‘It was terrible,’ said Annan. ‘Two of the girls from the gym died there. Is it right that they locked the emergency exits?’

  Somsak nodded. ‘That’s true, yes.’

  ‘Whoever did that should be locked up and the key thrown away,’ said Maplethorpe.

  ‘Unfortunately it’s not my decision,’ said Somsak. ‘Who gets charged and with what is down to the Public Prosecutor.’

  ‘The lovely Miss Jintana,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Somsak, picking up the deck and shuffling it. ‘The problem is, Khun Jintana might not be the safest pair of hands for such a decision.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘I told you that her parents live in Chiang Mai?’

  ‘Her father’s an MP there, you said. I remember.’

  ‘Well, her family have just registered a large chunk of land by the river, land that used to be owned by a family who just happen to be close friends with one of the owners of the nightclub.’

  ‘No way,’ I said. ‘How much land?’

  ‘Twenty rai,’ said Somsak, studying his cards. ‘Very picturesque by all accounts.’

  A rai is a Thai measurement of area, equivalent to one thousand six hundred squa
re metres. Twenty rai is a lot of land. And land around Chiang Mai isn’t cheap. Jintana’s father was an MP so he wouldn’t be short of money, but it seemed to be one hell of a coincidence that he acquired the land just as his daughter started investigating the nightclub fire.

  ‘Will you be looking at it?’ I asked.

  ‘The land?’ Somsak shrugged. ‘It’s not my jurisdiction.’

  ‘Amazing Thailand,’ said Muller.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Somsak.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘A lot of kids died in that blaze. Someone should be held accountable.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Somsak. ‘And I think that will probably happen, with or without Khun Jintana’s assistance.’

  ‘How come?’ I asked.

  ‘Some very important people lost their children in the fire,’ said Somsak. ‘An Army general for one. Several businessmen with links to local mafia. I think that no matter what Khun Jintana does, justice will be done.’

  ‘You’re talking about vigilantes,’ said Muller.

  Somsak began to deal the cards. ‘I’m not talking about anything,’ he said. He nodded at Yates. ‘Ante up, Andy,’ he said.

  The last hand of the night was a close call. I had an ace and king of hearts and the ace of clubs flopped and the king of spades came on the river so I was looking at two pairs but there were three clubs on the table including the king and Somsak started blinking. It’s the perfect tell, whenever Somsak has a good hand he blinks and he didn’t start blinking until the third club dropped.

  I folded my two pair and Maplethorpe threw down his hand. I’m pretty sure that he’s also spotted Somsak’s tell. Anyway, Somsak took the pot but I could have lost a lot more. I walked away from the game down about ten thousand baht, which is about par for the course.

  I don’t play poker for the money.

  Obviously.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dao-Nok Antiques is open on a Saturday but generally I take the weekend off and let Ying hold the fort. Noy wanted to go shopping in Siam Paragon and who was I to argue? Siam Paragon is one of the biggest shopping centres in Asia, packed with all the top designer stores and home to the biggest aquarium in South East Asia. I’d arrived in Bangkok just after they’d knocked down the Siam Intercontinental Hotel to make way for Siam Paragon, and I’d seen the development grow from a huge hole in the ground to a massive twenty-one acre complex containing four hundred thousand square metres of retail space.

  Shopping with my wife is fun, not the least because I get to see her wearing lots of different outfits and she always asks me what I think.

  To be honest, I’m not the best person to ask because I think she looks beautiful whatever she’s wearing.

  We spent the morning wandering around the shops and then we had lunch at Fuji, her favourite Japanese restaurant.

  As we left the restaurant I saw a face that I recognised.

  Petrov Shevtsov.

  He was wearing black Armani jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt and impenetrable sunglasses. Holding his left arm was a tall, pretty blonde wearing a white miniskirt and impossibly high stiletto heels. They were looking into the window of a jewellers.

  I steered Noy in the other direction.

  We’d driven to Paragon in my Hummer. Driving in Bangkok is generally unpleasant and dangerous and the civilian equivalent of the military Humvee workhorse is the only car that I feel safe in. I figure if it’s good enough for US troops in Iraq and Afghanistan then it’s good enough for me to drive down Sukhumvit Road.

  The basic problem is that Thai drivers have very little respect for the rules of the road, of for the law in general. Drink-driving is illegal but in the evening probably over half the drivers on the road are over the limit. Truck drivers and bus drivers work long hours and think nothing of taking amphetamines to keep themselves going. Most Thai drivers simply ignore zebra crossings, even if there are people walking on them, and a red traffic light is generally regarded as advisory rather than a signal to stop. They weave in and out of traffic and rarely allow another motorist to pull in front of them, and just because a driver indicates that he’s going to turn left doesn’t necessarily mean that the car will actually go in that direction.

  Added together, these factors result in a death rate on the country’s roads which is many times that of Western nations. Maybe it’s because they’re Buddhists and believe in reincarnation, but whatever the reason I only ever get behind the wheel when it’s my Hummer.

  As we headed towards it, I heard my name being called. I looked around. It was the Russian.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Noy.

  I gave her the car keys. ‘Friend of mine,’ I said. ‘You go ahead.’

  ‘Is everything okay, honey?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. It’s no big deal.’

  As Noy went over to the Hummer I turned to face Petrov. He left the blonde girl and walked towards me like a heavyweight heading for the ring.

  My heart was racing but I smiled as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

  Jai yen.

  Cool heart.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ said Petrov.

  ‘Yeah, just doing some shopping.’

  He gestured at Noy who was looking our way as she climbed into the car. ‘I didn’t know you were married.’

  I didn’t know what to say to that so I just shrugged.

  ‘Nice car,’ said Petrov. ‘Thought about getting a Hummer myself.’

  ‘They’re safe, that’s why I like them,’ I said. ‘Anyway, good to see you.’

  I started to walk away but he gripped me by the shoulder, the fingers of his left hand digging into the flesh like talons. ‘You bought it in Thailand, did you?’

  ‘There’s a showroom in Petchburi Road,’ I said.

  ‘I know there is,’ said the Russian. ‘How does an English teacher manage to afford a car like this?’ he asked.

  I smiled and didn’t answer.

  ‘Why did you disappear?’ asked Petrov, lowering his voice to a deep growl. ‘One lesson and then you were gone.’

  The blonde girl was tapping her foot, a look of bored disdain on her face.

  ‘I got a better offer,’ I said. ‘I did phone to let the office know.’

  ‘No one told me,’ said Petrov.

  ‘Yeah, it just came up. An offer I couldn’t refuse.’

  Petrov nodded, his face a black mask, his eyes his eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. ‘That’s what the mafia do, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Make you an offer you can’t refuse.’ He made a gun from his right hand and pointed it at my face. ‘Bang,’ he said quietly, then he laughed and released his grip on my shoulder. He gestured at the Hummer with his chin. ‘Drive carefully,’ he said. ‘Bangkok can be a dangerous place.’

  I watched him walk over to rejoin the blonde girl and then the two of them walked over to a red Porsche.

  I climbed into the driving seat of the Hummer and switched on the engine.

  ‘Who was that, honey?’ asked Noy.

  ‘A Russian,’ I said.

  ‘Good friend of yours?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘He likes the car, doesn’t he?’ she said, squinting into the wing mirror.

  ‘Yeah, he was asking where I got it from.’

  ‘He’s taking a photograph of it, with his cellphone.’

  I looked in the driving mirror. She was right.

  I didn’t think he was interested in the Hummer, though.

  It was a picture of the registration plate that he wanted.

  That wasn’t good.

  That wasn’t good at all.

  CHAPTER 32

  On Sunday Noy went to the Hyatt Hotel to sample its legendary buffet with a gaggle of her girlfriends. The Hyatt’s Sunday buffet is best enjoyed over three or four hours followed by a three-day fast. The food is spectacular, from great sushi and oysters to a full Sunday roast, an array of Thai dishes from across the country, and a dessert spread that has me putting on weight
just looking at it.

  It was girls only so I had the afternoon to myself. I decided to swing by Tukkata’s house in Sukhumvit Soi 39. I didn’t take my car because a black Hummer is pretty distinctive so I caught a taxi in Soi Thonglor instead.

  I had it drop me a hundred yards from the house and I walked slowly down the road. It was in the high thirties so I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves but even so I’d still worked up a sweat by the time I’d reached the house.

  Several food stalls had set up on the opposite side of the road, wheeled trolleys next to a few battered metal tables and plastic stools. The middle stall was selling somtam. I’m a big fan of the dish which is a speciality of the Isarn people, a fiery concoction of shredded unripened papaya mixed with chilli, sugar, garlic, shrimp paste, lime and fish sauce. It’s an acquired taste, but I’d been in Thailand long enough that there were times that I’d get a craving for the dish, ideally with chunks of barbecued chicken and sticky rice.

  The Thais in the middle of the country make a sweeter and milder version and throw a handful of crushed peanuts into the mix, but the lady pounding the papaya with a stone mortar and pestle looked as if she was from Surin and she was making hers Isarn-style with padaek, brined land crabs found in ricefields and canals.

  She grinned with blackened teeth when I ordered a plate and asked me if I wanted it spicy. ‘Of course,’ I said, and laughed. ‘Somtam isn’t somtam if it doesn’t make me cry.’

  She waved me to a table with her pestle. Her husband came over and asked me what I wanted to drink. They didn’t have Phuket Beer but they did have Heineken so I ordered a Heineken and he brought me one with a glass filled with chipped ice.

  I drank from the bottle. Ice is generally okay in Thailand provided it’s come out of a machine. Shaved or chipped ice has probably been hacked off a large block with a dirty knife and is a pretty efficient way of contracting hepatitis.

  When the woman brought over my plate of somtam I asked her about the house opposite. ‘They are a good family,’ she said. ‘They bought the house ten years ago and we were already here. My husband and I asked if they were happy for our business to be on the street and they said it wasn’t a problem.’ She laughed. ‘Sometimes the husband comes here to eat. He says I make better somtam than his wife.’