by Wiley Brooks
“Few young Malaysian men know how to live this nicely, Joey,” the fat Thai said to him. “How do you know how to do this?”
“Well, you know, I watch lots of American TV. I want my place to look like a single guy’s apartment on a TV show. Even the kitchen. I cook mostly American foods. I wish there were more TV shows about cooking. I could watch cooking shows for hours.”
Big Willie looked into the bedroom, which was just big enough to have a full-size bed, two nightstands and a dresser. One wall offered a walk-in closet. The bed was covered by a colorful bedspread. The room was filled with natural light thanks to a large window along one wall.
Big Willie then stuck his head in the bathroom. It was small, but clean. It had a tiled shower stall with both overhead and bidet showers, a vanity and a Western-style toilet.
“Is it always this clean?” Big Willie asked.
“Pretty much,” Joey said. “I used to do chores with my American mom at the mission. She taught me to keep things clean and tidy. I guess it stuck.”
“Get in the habit of always of just calling her mom. Same with the pastor. He’s just dad.”
“Okay. I used to do chores for mom.”
Big Willie looked around some more before joining Joey in the kitchen.
“You could easily bring a lady here tomorrow,” Big Willie said. “The only thought I have is that it might look a little too old for you. You’re 26, not 46.”
“I had been thinking about framing a poster I saw for the wall across from the TV. It was for Michael Jackson’s Thriller album. What do you think?”
“Yes. Might be enough.”
After an American dinner of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, Joey told Big Willie that he had thrown away most of his clothes.
“When you think about creating a new you, well, some of the stuff just isn’t as appealing as it had seemed,” Joey said.
Joey walked into his bedroom and came out a moment later with a pair of jeans, two pair of cargo shorts popular with backpackers and two casual shirts and three tee-shirts. The tee-shirts were all new and popular culture. His favorite was a solid black one of Prince with his picture and name in bright purple.
“These are all fine,” Big Willie said.
Day 7
Joey woke up with a plan. He would head to the beach at lunch time to, as he thought of it, practice. He knew he had little trouble with younger women. He could have his pick of women in their early twenties. But he had never tried to woo a more mature woman, one in her thirties.
He figured he had a few things to work on. First, how would he approach an older woman? The younger girls just wanted to have fun. They were willing, maybe even eager to take risks. The hint of danger added to their excitement.
An older woman would probably be a lot more cautious but he had no personal experience to base this on. He’d never been with anyone older than twenty-four. No, he made this assumption based entirely on how older women behaved in movies.
He was sure a woman in her thirties would think twice or even three times before crawling into the sack with a stranger. He was equally sure they still liked a good romp but would likely want to take a slower route to bed. That was okay. His goal wasn’t a quick night of passion and then the immediate payoff. The goal was to build trust. Trust takes time. He’d have to find a new rhythm.
Then there was the whole issue of qualifying them. The last thing that he wanted to do was waste days or even weeks winning over a woman only to find out she didn’t have enough money in the bank to do what he needed.
With that in mind, he put on his cargo shorts and a Polo pullover that he had set aside with Big Willie’s approval, laced up his new Nike’s and headed to the outdoor café next to the Holiday Inn. He was in luck. Sitting by herself, reading a paperback, was a woman he guessed to be about thirty-four or thirty-five. Dark brown, shoulder length hair, glasses. Not a knock-out, but attractive enough.
There were few customers in the restaurant, so he was able to sit at a table near her.
Joey needed to find a reason to start a conversation with her. The best option would be to comment on the book she was reading, but she had the pages turned back so that he couldn’t read the title. He was about to say, “What are you reading?” when the waiter brought her a cobb salad for lunch. She laid the book down on the table and he was able to see that it was The Handmaid’s Tale.
“Is that a good book?” Joey asked her, and without giving her a chance to answer added, “I saw Oprah interview Margaret Atwood earlier this year and it sounded weirdly interesting.”
She eyed him for a moment before answering.
“I saw that Oprah interview, too. It’s why I packed the book for my trip.”
“So, is it? Weird I mean”
“I don’t think I’d say it’s weird, but it is thought-provoking. You know the story, right?”
“Only what I picked up from the show. Let’s see, America isn’t America anymore. In its place is a totalitarian regime that faces the fact that fewer and fewer couples are able to have children. So they round up fertile young women and force them to be handmaids. Slaves basically. Their sole purpose in life is to be impregnated by the husband of a childless couple who would then raise the baby as their own.”
“Wow! You really were paying attention to that interview!”
“Guilty. I love Oprah.”
“She’s great.”
“Yes. I’m Joey, by the way.”
“Andie.”
“Nice to meet you, Andie. Where you from?”
“California. You?”
“North Carolina, but I moved here recently.”
“Really? Work?”
“No.” Joey got a pensive look and gazed out over the water. “I guess you could say I’m finding myself.”
“Deep,” Andie said, and they both laughed.
His BLT, fries and a Coke came. Before the waiter could sit it down, Andie invited him to move to her table. He did. After eating a fry, he told her the story of being born in Melaka to a Malaysian mother and a father who was a sailor on shore leave from a British frigate. He told Andie how his mom died and how he was adopted by a pastor and his wife from North Carolina.
“This might sound cold and heartless, but it worked out great for me,” Joey said. “Here I was a half-breed only child of an ostracized single mother who could barely make ends meet. Next thing you know I’m living on a farm outside a small town in North Carolina. I have two loving parents and everything I need.”
“Wow,” she said, only this time her voice was soft and reflective. “And it sounds neither cold nor heartless.”
He took a bite of his sandwich and told her he could eat a BLT every day and it would never grow old. Yes, it would, she said.
“So,” he picked up the story, “after getting my degree I went to work for a company in Charlotte and tried to start my grown-up life. I woke up one day and realized that I wasn’t happy. Not really happy, you know what I mean? I convinced myself that I wouldn’t be until I came home. So, here I am.”
“And are you?”
“Happy?”
She nodded.
“Well, hmmm, it didn’t work out the way I expected, but I feel like I’m on the path. How about you?”
“Am I happy?”
“Yes, are you happy?”
“Not yet.”
“So, I told you mine. You have to tell me yours.”
Andie frowned a bit.
“I don’t know if I’m as comfortable doing that as you are.”
“Come on. Give it a try. I’m a complete stranger. It’ll be like talking to a shrink. Hey, wait. Would you feel better about it if we went down to the beach, you recline in a lounger and I pull up a chair?”
She offered up a devilish smirk.
“Well, let’s see. I got a degree in philosophy from UC Santa Clara.”
“When was that?”
“’76. Anyway, I was done with school, but you know what a philosophy
degree trains you for?” She made a zero with her fingers and thumb. “Nothing. Nada. And the country was coming out of the worst recession since World War Two. Companies were hiring again, but it was mostly the people who had lost their jobs. Those people had experience and training. I had a philosophy degree. I had to move back in with my mom. It sucked.”
“I missed that recession and the one in 1980,” Joey said.
She told Joey how living with her mother was driving her nuts and no jobs were coming her way. She heard from a college girlfriend that a law firm in “Mo-fucking-desto,” where her friend lived, was hiring typists. She sent in a resume, got a call, drove over for an interview and got the job.
“I knew it was a mistake within a few weeks, but there I was,” she said.
She stuck it out for two years, which, at least, qualified her to apply for law firm jobs in San Francisco. One of the bigger firms downtown hired her for an office support job.
“I sold my car and got an efficiency apartment in the Richmond district. My world was a lot better, even though I knew I would outgrow it. And then what? That question nagged at me.”
It took eight years, she said, but she finally had enough of it.
“Lawyers can be lecherous douchebags,” she said.
“Something happen?”
“Joey, not a week went by that some middle-aged dude didn’t hit on me. I mean, I couldn’t count the number of times a lawyer would touch me, not overtly sexual mind you, but close. And then several times a year one of the guys would literally grab my ass!
“The final straw for me,” she continued, “happened when I went along with one of the attorneys to take notes during an interview with a potential client. When the potential client left, Howard, that was the prick’s name, walked him to the door, said goodbye to the man, then locked the door. I thought, oh shit. Then he turned around and whipped out his a… you know! He said, I swear to God, ‘This give you any ideas?’”
“What a slime ball.”
“You think? I quit the next day.”
She told him that she had saved a little and decided to use it to travel. She figured she had enough to spend about three months in Southeast Asia before she’d have to go back. She was thinking of working part time and going to law school.
The waiter brought their checks. She paid hers and he his. He told her that it was great to meet her, but that he had other commitments that he had to run off to.
“Maybe I’ll bump into you again,” he said politely. He wished her well. They hugged. Then he walked home.
He had to rate his first outing a total success. He was able to break the ice with a thirty-something American woman. That made him feel good. He was also able to steer the conversation in a way to find out that pursuing her would have been a waste of time because she didn’t have enough money. That, he realized would be the biggest challenge. He had to find a woman good for at least fifty thousand dollars.
He was sure he could do it.
Bob’s flight from London landed in Bangkok a few minutes early. Being in first class, he was able to deplane quickly and head to the hotel. Customs was a breeze. He followed the signs for nothing to declare, was stamped and out in no time. His checked bag would be held and forwarded to his next flight. Within fifteen minutes of landing, he was in his room with his carry-on, ready to shave and take a quick shower.
When he entered the atrium bar, it was easy to find Mason. He was the only white guy there. He made eye contact and Mason signaled with a nod. The two men shook hands.
“What’s your poison?” Mason asked.
“Whatever you’re having looks good.”
Mason turned to the bartender and asked for a Jack Daniels on the rocks. “Water?” he asked Bob, who nodded yes. He told the bartender. They had small talk about the flight until the whiskey and side of water arrived, then moved over to a sofa and chair that was set off by itself to afford privacy.
“What’s the plan? How will you begin?”
“I have a flight tomorrow mornin’ to Penang,” Mason said. “There was a murder two days after your daughter’s. This one in George Town. Same MO. Pretty, young thing stayin’ by herself in a low-cost hotel. They found her naked in her room with her throat slashed deep and wide. Everythin’ of value taken. I’m headin’ there first because an old buddy of mine is now chief homicide detective for the Penang police. The Penang police have a lot more going for them than the small force in Mersing. I expect Bo – that’s what we called him back in our Laos days – will have some leads by the time I get there.”
“What about the other girl who was killed earlier this year?”
“Yep, I heard back from Fitz. It’s related. Exact same MO. That’s three we know of. Fitz is gonna go back to see if there were others. I’m bettin’ we find at least one more. He’s also reachin’ out to some of our close allies, the Brits, Australia, Germany, to see if they have had similar cases.”
A bar girl came by and Mason smiled up at her. “Hey sweetheart, kindly bring my friend here and me another round.”
“I’ll head to Mersing after Penang. I suspect I’ll learn somethin’ from the hotel manager and the bartender. I might then head to Tioman Island to see if I can find the three young people Amanda arrived with.”
Mason explained that the nature of investigations is to simply follow down the most promising leads. “You know where you’re startin’, but from there you have to play it by ear. I’m startin’ in Penang and then Mersing. Can’t say for sure yet where it’ll take me after those two places.”
The two men let the conversation veer from the case. Bob told Mason he had served two tours of duty in Vietnam in the mid-sixties. He talked about how much the war had changed between his first tour and his second. He shared some medevac stories, including the one near Cu Chi.
“I don’t know if Fitz told you what I was doin’ when he and I worked together,” he said. “He was on the ambassador’s staff in Vientiane, that’s the capital of Laos. You probably know that. Anyway, I was a newly minted CIA hotshot. This was in ‘72.” He paused to think. “Fifteen years ago.”
Mason said few Americans know much about the wars in Laos and Cambodia that were going on at the same time as the big one in Vietnam.
“The Pathet Lao – our version of the Viet Cong – they were backed by North Vietnam. On our side were the Hmong tribesmen. Fierce motherfuckers. Loyal, too. But greatly outnumbered and outgunned. My job when I first got to Laos was to work closely with the Hmong to try to turn the tide on the Pathet Lao.”
Mason said that after the Paris peace treaty, the North Vietnamese Army stepped up the amount of stuff they were moving down the Ho Chi Minh Trail through eastern Laos.
“I was given marchin’ order to fuck ‘em up as much as I could. We couldn’t bomb their asses from four miles up anymore, but we could sure as shit mess with ‘em on the ground. And that’s what me and my Hmong guys did. We made their lives a livin’ hell. I gotta tell ya, it was fun!”
Mason then turned somber as he told the story about his unexpected trip to Udon Thani and the bombing of his home in Vientiane that killed his fiancé, Sylvie.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about you goin’ to identify your daughter’s remains. I’m thankful I never had to do that with my Sylvie. There was nothin’ left to identify.”
“Can I give you some advice?” Mason continued.
“Sure.”
“Have her cremated in KL You can take her back with you at your seat instead of in a fuckin’ coffin in the belly of the plane.”
The two men quietly sipped on their whiskeys for a bit.
“You know, Bob, when I told you on the phone that I could understand what it meant to you to find the asshole who kilt your little girl?” Bob nodded. “Well, that’s because I’ve fuckin’ been there myself. I tracked down the NVA general who gave the goddamn command that kilt my Sylvie. I found that sonofabitch and I blew his ass to kingdom come while he was havin’ lunch with his girlfriend. I mad
e sure it was his last day on earth. Blew up the entire fuckin’ restaurant. Sure, I paid a price. It’s what eventually got me booted out of the Company.”
Mason paused, then raised his eyes from his glass to peer squarely at Bob.
“I was sittin’ in a restaurant across the street. Lookin’ straight at him. You should have seen the look on his when he saw me, smilin’ like I’d just hit a Vegas jackpot. That look of recognition, then panic. That’s when I pushed the goddamn button.” Mason raised his hand and used his thumb to push a button on an imaginary detonator switch. “He disappeared like that.” Mason snapped his fingers. “It felt so right, Bob. Revenge. It doesn’t right wrongs, but fuck man if it’s not the next best thing.”
Bob took in the man he was trusting to exact his own revenge. After a moment, he raised his whiskey to clink it with Mason’s.
“You are the right man,” he told Mason as the two touched glasses. “That’s what I want. I want the next best thing.”
Before parting, Mason went over how they would work from opposite sides of the world.
“If you need to reach me,” Mason said, “you need to work through Boonsri. She’s my assistant. She’s great and speaks English really well. I will check in with her most days, so she can get a message to me. Be patient, though, because with the time difference it can take a while. We’ll let Boonsri set up when you and I will do a weekly progress call. I’ll tell her when I know what day is gonna work. She’ll call you to let you know I’ll be callin’.“
Mason told Bob that his fee would be one thousand dollars a week, plus another thousand in expenses. “Don’t expect receipts for the expenses,” Mason said. “I’ll keep track in my notebook. You just have to trust me. If I don’t spend the thousand, you’ll get it back.”
Mason gave him a sheet of paper with banking instructions for wiring the weekly fee. He suggested that Bob wire the money every Thursday so that it would show up in Mason’s Bangkok account on Friday.