The Next Best Thing

by Wiley Brooks

  “You got that right, hoss,” Mason said with a laugh. “I didn’t go nowhere I couldn’t see out the other side. I’ll tell ya what was great about fresh water divin’, though. The manatees.”

  Joey clearly didn’t know what manatees were.

  “People call them sea cows. They’re big-ass lumberin’ creatures. I mean, several hundred pounds big. But tame as a fat dog sittin’ on the porch. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. They just glide along mindin’ their own business.” Mason used both hands to show gentle up and down forward movement.

  After breakfast, they had a few minutes to get ready to go to the dive shack. Back in his hut, Mason pulled on his trunks, grabbed a water bottle and a tube of sunscreen. It was too easy to burn your back snorkeling.

  The three of them headed up the beach the short walk to the dive shack that was in front of the other set of bungalows. It truly was a shack sitting about thirty feet from where the gentle waves petered out. They rented snorkeling gear and an innertube with a mesh inner-lining to throw their stuff into, then headed to the beach. Joey said there was a great spot near the point at the north end of the beach.

  “Lead on,” Mason said. Joey used the rope to pull the tube along in the edge of the surf while the threesome walked toward the far end of the beach. Once there, they threw their stuff in the center area of the tube, put on their gear and headed into the water for the slow swim around the point to a place locals called D’Lagoon.

  Joey was right. It was a great spot. The depth of the water varied from about ten feet to maybe twenty or twenty-five. The coral was spectacular. Mason found himself wondering how long it would stay that way if the tourists ever discovered this place the way they had so many islands in Thailand.

  The sheer number of fish swimming nearby was staggering. Multicolored tropical fish, like you would see in an aquarium back in the States, but bigger and quite literally in the thousands. The fish paid absolutely no attention to the swimmers, which meant the three of them could swim within feet of a school.

  Same with the turtles. They were less colorful and fewer, of course. He could see maybe a half-dozen in his field of view as he snorkeled the point. But they glided along as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Because they didn’t.

  The first shark caused Mason’s pulse to quicken. It was swimming near the bottom and he quickly saw two others near it. They were big enough, maybe five feet, to do damage if they wanted, but like the sea turtles, they didn’t appear to have any interest in the swimmers. Still, Mason found himself keeping a watchful eye out. Same with the barracuda that seemed to want to circle him, showing their long mouthful of teeth.

  It’s easy to get separated while snorkeling. Swimmers spend their time looking down at the coral and the abundant sea life, not over at their friends. Joey raised his head while treading water at one point and it took him awhile to see Jessica. She was fifty feet or so away. Mason was even farther from him.

  That’s when the thought popped into his mind that a snorkeling accident could be the best way to get rid of Jessica when the time came. They could be snorkeling by themselves at a remote location and he could drown her. There’d be no way it would look like murder.

  As quickly as that idea had entered his mind, he jumped to a bigger question that had been gnawing at him. Should he kill her? He didn’t know how much she was worth, but knew it had to be a lot more than fifty-thousand dollars.

  He thought back to all those purses he had dumped because he didn’t know enough to keep them. He had convinced himself that Wallace had left Jess a million dollars in life insurance. If she stayed with him, he was sure he’d end up with a big hunk of that money.

  Get real, Joey, he told himself. It was a pipe dream. She would never stick around with him. Look at her, he heard himself say. She’s beautiful, smart and rich. She wouldn’t settle for him. Not in a million years.

  Then, as if on cue, he remembered one of Big Willie’s rules: Don’t get greedy. He had set out to get fifty-thousand dollars to build Bungalow Paradise. It was within his reach. He could feel it. Stick to your plan, Joey told himself. Besides, there would be other Jessicas.

  Joey watched her swim. She popped up her head and looked around in a small panic, then saw him and immediately smiled. He waved to her and she waved back, then put her head down and began kicking toward him.

  “I should keep her around longer,” Joey thought to himself, “but when the time comes, drowning is the way to go.”

  The three of them swam for a couple hours. The noon sun on their backs and the growling in their stomachs said it was time to take a break. “The fish aren’t going anywhere,” Joey said. “Let’s go eat. We can snorkel some more later today, if we feel like it. Or tomorrow.”

  They swam back to the shore, pulling their tube behind them, then made the walk back to the Majestic Turtle.

  They went straight to their seats at Umar’s little restaurant. They shared a big platter of mee goreng, a spicy-sweet fried noodle dish that contained fresh prawns and an array of vegetables. It was both flavorful and filling. While they were waiting for the food, Joey got up, went into the kitchen area and returned with three cans of cold Tiger beer.

  “We brought the beer from an Indian store on the mainland,” Jessica said. “Muslims are prohibited from drinking or even serving alcohol. We could have kept it in our bungalow, but what good is warm beer, right?” Mason nodded. “Joey struck a deal with Umar. For a couple ringgits a day, Umar would let us keep the beer in his refrigerator, but we would have to get it ourselves.”

  After lunch, Joey said he wanted to take a nap.

  “You going to join me?” he asked Jessica.

  “I’ll lie with you for a bit, but I’m not sleepy.”

  Joey smiled. He took her hand and they left the table.

  “See you later, Mason,” Jessica said as they walked away.

  “You bet, darlin’,” he said. “And thanks again you two for this mornin’.”

  Mason finished his beer and walked back to his cabin. He thought about napping himself, but he had slept so well the night before that he just wasn’t that tired. Instead, he sat on his porch reading a book.

  Jessica came out of her hut about twenty minutes later, saw him and walked over and sat in the chair next to him on his porch.

  “Out like a log,” she said.

  “Does he take short naps or is he out for a while?”

  “Probably a couple hours.”

  “So, Jessica, tell me about you and Joey. Have you been together long?”

  “Not really. I met Joey in my hotel café in Batu Ferringhi about two weeks or so ago. We just hit it off. He’s really a sweet guy.”

  “He would seem that way. What do you really know about him?”

  She took a moment and looked more directly at Mason. The question struck her as, well, odd.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know. What has he told you about his background and all?”

  She stared at him again, an inquisitive look on her face.

  “What are you getting at, Mason? Do you think you know something about him that I don’t? How would that even be possible? You two just met.”

  Now it was Mason’s turn to stare. He would need to tell her at some point. Now was as good a time as any.”

  He took in a big breath and exhaled it through his nose. He looked at her. Clearly, his mind was working.

  “Let’s take a walk up the beach. You’re not gonna like what I have to say.”

  She continued to stare at him. Her heart was racing. This was weird. Finally, she stood and said, “Okay. Sure. Let’s go.”

  They walked north up Long Beach and on toward D’Lagoon at the far end of the island.

  “So, what’s this about, Mason?” Jessica said as they left the Majestic Turtle.

  “It’s a long story and like I said, you’re not gonna like it, but I swear to you, darlin’, it’s true.”

  “Just tell me.”

  He
could hear the exasperation and anger in her voice.

  He told her he was a former CIA officer who now did contract security and investigative work from an office in Bangkok. About two weeks ago, he said, a friend at the State Department in Washington referred a father to him whose daughter had been murdered in Mersing. “Do you know where that is?” he asked her.

  “Yes. Does this have something to do with that Amanda girl?”

  That took Mason by surprise. He stopped walking and turned to her.

  “Yes. How do you know about Amanda?”

  “When we were in the Cameron Highlands, Joey ran into a German fellow. They’d all been traveling together. Martin, that was his name. Martin said Amanda had been murdered that night in Mersing.”

  “What did Joey say?”

  “That he had walked her back to her hotel, said goodnight, then had a message when he got back to his hotel and had to leave. He said he never saw her again.”

  “The police checked all the hotels in town and he hadn’t checked into any of them.”

  Jessica said nothing, trying to figure out what to make of the info.

  “The next day, Joey unloaded everythin’ of Amanda’s that had value to a fence he uses in George Town. Passport. Traveler’s checks. Credit cards. A fancy camera. Even a locket her daddy had given her. The fence, Willie Chirathivat, family originally from Thailand, gave us a full statement to avoid being charged as an accessory to murder.”

  “This is bullshit,” Jessica said. “Joey and I didn’t just meet yesterday. We’ve been together awhile. I’ve really gotten to know him. He’s the kindest, sweetest guy. You want me to believe he savagely killed this girl? Nope. Not the same Joey. You’ve wasting your time.”

  Mason looked into her eyes and could see she was fighting to regain control.

  “I know this sounds crazy, Jessica. But you’re a smart young woman. You let facts shape what you think. There is no place for emotions in an operating room, right?” That statement surprised her. How did he know she was that kind of nurse? Or any kind of nurse, for that matter?

  “Same here. Here’s what I’m askin’ of you, darlin’. Let me tell you everythin’ we know. You try to hear it as someone comin’ to it fresh. I know that’ll be hard, but I know you can do it. Let me lay it all out for you and then you decide if I’m crazy or if Joey has bamboozled you.”

  Jessica peered at him for a long time, then subtly nodded her head yes. And with that, he touched her elbow and they resumed their walk up the beach. Mason took her back to the beginning and walked her step by step through why he was certain that her Joey was the serial killer and that she was his next target.

  He told her the whole story. He started with Joey’s early life as Yusof Zaina in Melaka. How his mother, only eighteen at the time, had sex with a British sailor named Reggie. The next day, Reggie was back on his ship heading to its next port.

  “She didn’t even know she was pregnant for several weeks,” Mason said.

  This wasn’t new to Jessica. She’d heard it straight from Joey, so she had no reason to doubt it. But it also served to vouch, at least some, for Mason’s credibility.

  Mason then spoke about Joey’s formative years with Pastor Johnny and Mrs. Helen. She was thinking yada-yada-yada. Joey had told her about how the American couple had adopted him and taken him back to North Carolina. Then she realized that wasn’t what Mason was now saying happened.

  “Wait,” Jessica said. “I’ve heard most of this story before from Joey. But they adopted him and took him back to America. He never said anything about staying in Malaysia or a church school. If he stayed in Malaysia, how come he speaks perfect English like an American? Have you heard how Malaysians speak English? It’s nothing like Joey.”

  “The Jacksons loved him like a son,” Mason said. “Mrs. Helen tutored him ever’ day. A schoolmate told me that Mrs. Helen and Joey would play a game where they watch a TV show or a movie and he had to try to say lines exactly like the actor.”

  “How long did they live in Melaka before moving back to the US?” she asked.

  “Joey has never lived in the US,” Mason said. She gave him a disbelieving look. “Really. Never. I have a school photo in my cabin that was taken when he was sixteen. It’s clearly taken at the mission. I’ll show it to you later.

  “They all lived at the mission for about ten years. Then one day, without warnin’, Mrs. Helen packed up and left. Pastor Johnny followed her the next month. Turns out she was fightin’ breast cancer. She died about six months later.”

  Jessica needed a moment. She walked the few feet to where the waves were gently lapping the shore and let the water ripple across her sandals. After a bit, she rejoined him.

  “What you’re saying,” Jessica said, “is that he was abandoned by the only two people in his life and they didn’t tell him why?”

  Mason simply nodded yes.

  Jessica asked why they didn’t just take Joey with them. Mason said they couldn’t. It is practically impossible for a Christian to adopt a Muslim in Malaysia and Joey wouldn’t be able to travel on his own until he was eighteen.

  Mason told her that Fitz had interviewed Pastor Johnny earlier that week. The Pastor said the plan all along was that they would keep the mission going until Joey turned legal age. He’d then fly back to North Carolina with them on a tourist visa. Once there, they’d adopt him as an adult.

  “Then Mrs. Helen got the cancer.”

  “So, the woman dies and the pastor doesn’t head back to get Joey?”

  “No. He did. He searched for Joey, but too much time had passed. Mrs. Helen held on for months. Joey had moved away.”

  Mason said Joey lived in the mission for a couple months, but the pastor, thinking he’d be back sooner than later, had only paid the rent two months in advance. Joey was forced out. He had nowhere to go. The money the pastor gave him was gone soon, too.

  “I imagine it was a plumb awful time for Joey,” Mason said. “He was no longer a boy yet not quite a man. With his looks, I’m sure he didn’t easily fit in. You know that picture I mentioned. It was a class photo. He’s standin’ next to the other kids. His looks stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Mason said Joey turned to petty crimes, just not from people in his neighborhood.

  “He told his buddy, the fence, that he took a bus to KL but that he hated it, so he moved on to George Town.”

  “This is all interesting, Mason, but it doesn’t make him a killer,” Jessica said.

  “I’m gonna give it all to ya, darlin’. Hear me out.”

  He then told her how Joey became a skilled purse snatcher in George Town. He explained how Joey targeted older white tourists and how he came to work with his fence, whose nickname is Big Willie.

  Mason said Big Willie helped Joey refine his talent at snatching purses. Joey became quite good at it. Good enough, in fact, that he was able to buy a nice motorcycle and move into an upscale apartment in Batu Ferringhi.

  “So, he was a purse-snatcher. Not sure I’m believing it, but that’s still a long shot from killing that girl in Mersing.”

  “This is going to be hard for you to hear,” Mason said.

  “Of, for Christ’s sake, stop treating me like a child. Just say what you intend to say.”

  “Big Willie told us Joey came to him one day with a plan to use his skills as a fake American to woo young women travelin’ alone,” Mason said. “The girls he had in mind, they all shared two traits. They were in their very early twenties, well, one was nineteen, and every one of them was a blonde."

  Joey had observed, Mason said, that some young Western girls didn’t have hang-ups about sex with guys they had just met.

  "He counted on it never takin’ more than a day before he’d end up in the sack with ‘em. They’d have sex; their guard would be down with just the two of ‘em in the girl’s hotel room. That’s when he’d use a knife to slash across the front of their necks severin’ their carotid arteries. He’d just let ‘em bleed out. Once th
ey did, he’d gather all their valuables, sneak off to his hidden red Honda motorcycle and hightail it back to Penang.”

  Jessica smirked and gave her head a little side-to-side shake.

  “You’re saying ‘them,’ as in he did this more than once?” Jessica said, in a voice that showed she was not convinced.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Joey did this exact same thing seven times that we know of over two-and-a-half years.”

  “This is such horseshit,” Jessica said matter-of-factly. “You’re saying that a boy lovingly raised by missionaries becomes a cold-blooded murderer?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

  She walked on, saying nothing, just staring up the beach.

  “Even if I believed you, which I don’t,” she said after a good minute of silence, “none of what you said describes me or Joey’s relationship with me. I’m not a young blonde bimbo. I’m a thirty-three-year-old redhead. He didn’t rush me into the sack. It took days and I’m the one who started it. Joey and I have been together nearly every minute of every day for two weeks. He’s never made a single threatening gesture toward me. He dotes on me, caresses me. If what you say is true, I should have been dead a couple weeks ago.”

  They continued up the beach. Mason looked at her, then stopped again and faced her. They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Mason spoke again.

  “His fence told us that Joey decided on a new plan. He had come to realize that he couldn’t keep wooin’ and romancin’ pretty young things. He told Big Willie that he would get too old for ‘em. Then what would he do? It worried the bejesus out of him.”

  The new plan, Mason told her, was to target a slightly older, richer American woman. He’d win her trust and probably her love. Once he had, he’d get her to invest at least fifty thousand dollars in his business. The business idea, Mason said, was real. Joey did want to build a bungalow village.

  “He was gonna call it Bungalow Paradise,” Mason said and saw her react to the name. “Once he had the money, he would find a way to kill her so that it looked like an accident. No one would be the wiser. We got all this from Big Willie.”