Bangkok Burn - A Thriller

by Simon Royle

  “Yes. Tomorrow morning Thomas is coming with all the equipment and staff for twenty-four hour shift work. I’ve turned the guest house over to him. They’re doing some work today, backup electrics that sort of thing.”

  “I’ll go with you to pick him up.”

  “No, I think you should stay out of Cambodia for a little while. I’ve arranged military transport either side. It’ll be fine and Moo will be with me.” Moo was her name for Beck-ham. Ham is moo as pig is moo in Thai. When Beckham told her he was changing his name from Opart to Beckham, Mother was talking on the phone. All she heard was ‘Ham’ and Opart became, Moo.

  It occurred to me that these little jaunts down memory lane might be my life slowly flashing before my eyes as I proceeded to an untimely death. I doubted Colonel Sankit would kill me, not with Mother there, but when Mother told him I was going to be marrying his only daughter, who knew.

  We pulled up outside their gate. The house set well back from the road surrounded by a high wall. Chai pressed the buzzer by the gate and the gate immediately opened. We drove in and parked on the white gravel.

  Pim’s mother and father came out of the house. They’d been told we were on the way. Though no one had said why, you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. Neither of them looked happy. Pim squeezed my hand and got out. Beckham raced around and got Mother’s door.

  Pim introduced Joom, formally, to her mother and father. Of course they had previously met, and knew exactly who she was, but we have a way of doing things, form, and function.

  Pim’s mother, Khun Suchada, led the way. Col Sankit stepping aside. As I reached the steps he held his hand out towards the house indicating I should go in before him. I smiled politely.

  “No, Khun Por. Please, after you.” My wai kept in place as I said this. As son-in-laws we call our wife’s father, father. Khun Por was more formal as befitting a prospective son-in-law. It caught at the back of my throat. I followed him into the house, clearing my head. It’s just plain wrong to be thinking about shooting your father-in-law in the back on your engagement day.

  We filed into their living room. De rigueur standard issue hiso Louis IVX chair and sofa set was parked in front of an enormous oil painting portrait of the happy couple; he in full police uniform; she in traditional Thai costume. I thought the artist had captured the naked ambition on her face very well. Small talk ensued while the maid brought water and everyone agreed tea would be lovely.

  One of Mother’s special talents, and she has many, is her ability to charm people. Whatever the social station, be it construction worker or Khunying, Mother’s ability to push the right buttons never ceases to amaze me. Of course her spy network, from which the CIA, Mossad, and MI6, could all take lessons, is second to none, feeding her with all the facts, but outlining and coloring in with juicy gossip and tidbits of information gleaned here and there. Mostly out of the mouths of maids and hairdressers. Ask Mother a question and you’ll have an answer within twenty-four hours, at the latest.

  Khun Suchada was the driving force behind Colonel Sankit’s career, one foot always lifted for the next rung up the social ladder. She’d driven Sankit from Police Inspector to Police Colonel, and then to Member of Parliament. Her next ambition was a Ministry, preferably something to do with highways and roads. Having a son-in-law known to be associated with a mafia gang was a definite obstacle on the path to the dizzy heights she dreamed of. She also knew that Mother was a not a person to be treated lightly. Khun Suchada no doubt would also have her spy network. I doubted it was as sophisticated as Mother’s but it wouldn’t be trivial. No self-respecting hiso Thai women’s spy network is trivial.

  Mother, bringing the full force of the information armada to bear on the right flank, turned, smiled sweetly at Colonel Sankit and fired the first broadside.

  “Colonel, these must be tough times for an MP from one of the smaller political parties.”

  The Colonel, who’d obviously seen these types of early skirmishes before, smiled and drank his water.

  Khun Suchada, swiveled her fleet to match the thrust of the attack, hackles visible, a sweet demure smile.

  “Oh Mere Joom, you know how it is, when big dogs fight, the pork is kicked into the small dog’s mouth…”

  Tea arrived. Pim rolled her eyes at me. Mother put her handbag on the seat beside her and reached across for the tea, offered by Khun Suchada. Mother, gave her a sweet smile and gently placed the cup of tea on the table in front of her.

  “Yes, you’re right, but when the big dogs stop fighting, and the pork is eaten, the big dogs look at the little dog and think about lunch. But a small dog today might acquire a big dog’s bite. When the winds of change blow there is always the opportunity to grow. Change is coming. Soon there will be elections. With the election will come opportunity…”

  I wasn’t sure how the not-so honorable Colonel Sankit felt about being obliquely referred to as a little dog, but it was his wife who had started the analogy rolling.

  Khun Suchada’s arguments as to why the son of a gangster would not be marrying her daughter had come unmoored and were adrift on the shores of her ambition. Thrashed and tickled by Mother with just a few words, her eyes had a shining quality. She knew Mother’s word was good and sensed that this was a watershed moment.

  She cast a stone into the forest, to hear the sound of where it may have fall.

  “A ministry…”

  “A Ministry… one of the minor one’s at first, of course. I think the Ministry of Happiness and Wellbeing…”

  “There is such a Ministry…”

  “Not yet, but who’s to say. When cabinets and prime ministers are chosen and there are more ministers than there are ministries. Who’s to say that a few more essential ministries might not be created? What could be more essential than Happiness and Wellbeing?”

  “Yes, I see. I think. What do you think such a Ministry would be responsible for administering?”

  “I would imagine its responsibilities would lie somewhere between the Ministry of Tourism and Sport, The Ministry of Culture, and the Ministry of Human Development and Security. A little bit from each, would be my guess.”

  “And when do you think such a thing might happen?”

  “I can’t see elections before next year. This current mess is going to take a bit of clearing up.”

  “Early next year, perhaps…”

  “Early next year, for sure.”

  “I see. And to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit and your excellent advice.”

  “As you know, dear Khun Suchada, Colonel Sankit, my son, Chance, has fallen in love with your beautiful daughter and today we have come to ask your blessing and permission for them to marry.”

  Khun Suchada, to her credit, managed to act surprised. Sankit maintained the same toad-like expression he’d held since we walked through their front door. Any moment I expected his tongue to lash out and latch upon a fly.

  “Dear Chance. Oh, what a lovely surprise. Pim, my only daughter. Such a match, surely a match made in heaven. We must have a large wedding, in Bangkok, over a thousand guests I would think. It will be expensive but I am sure the Colonel will be happy to sponsor the event. And what should we say the amount of Sing Sodt was?”

  Mother turned to me.

  “Chance, why don’t you take Pim for a walk in the garden. I have much to talk over with Khun Suchada and I am sure you will be bored.”

  I gave Mother a smile. Pim and I retreated. I gave the Colonel a smile.

  In the Sing Sodt calculation everything would be weighed, haggled over, and adjusted to fit a number satisfactory for all. The amount leaked to the press would give no indication of the “finer details” of the deal. The press would simply report on how many million. Even the amount leaked to the press might be false, inflated, or deflated depending on the circumstances. Mother was right to ask us to leave. It was the usual practice, when mothers get down to the nitty-gritty detail.

  We went and sat outs
ide in the sala by their fish pond. On the pond, a dragonfly played with the surface tension of the water. I watched it fly, settle and fly again. A flat slab of rock made me think of the Colonel sitting there, of a night, zapping dragonflies as they skated on the surface.

  “What are you thinking about? You’ve seemed pre-occupied today, staring off into the distance. Is everything okay?”

  A picture of Ken’s dragon tattoo, sliced in two by the croc, flashed across my mind.

  “Yeah, sorry. Just been … yeah, big day. I guess I’m just nervous with how that’s going in there.”

  Pim made a sound somewhere between snorting and laughing.

  “What?”

  “Joom has got my mother licking the hairs on her shin.” I grinned. Pim continued, “She’s so hot for father to be this or be that, it’s got nothing to do with him. And it’s not money. They have enough from when he was a cop. It’s her. She wants to be called, wife of colonel, wife of MP and now, wife of minister. It’s pathetic. I don’t understand her at all.”

  “Pim, I’ve got to tell you something.” She turned at looked at me. I was going to tell her. I was. But it was just too heavy. Whatever happened between Joom and her mother, this was her official engagement day. I wasn’t going to ruin it by telling her, her father had tried to kill me a few days ago.

  “I don’t care what happens up there. You’re going to be my wife. That’s it. All the rest of this, it’s for others, not for us.”

  She smiled, her arms snaking around my neck, her lips close. My luck astounds me at times.

  Men in Black

  22 May 2010 Bangkok 6:30 pm

  The deal was done. Mother called us back inside, telling us that Pim’s parents had granted their permission. Wais to the parents; we called them Por and Mere now. For one moment, when I was waiing Colonel Sankit, he had raised his hand as if to give me a paternal pat on the head. He saw something in my face that stayed his hand, hovering in mid-air. He had turned it into a little wave, saving face. Irrespective of him trying to blow me up, he hadn’t given me the time of day until Mother had shown up with a ministry in tow.

  When we got back in the car, once clear of Sankit’s house, Mother twisted round in the front seat to talk to Pim.

  “Your mother drives a hard bargain.” Mother paused, grinned, and added, “But I’d have paid ten times more.”

  Pim smiled, but the tension of the day and Mother’s words, put a tremble in her lips, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She leaned forward, hugged Mother, and said, “I’m so happy.”

  “Welcome to the family, my daughter.”

  The sun hung low in the rear view mirror as we came down Sathorn Bridge. I called Chai, driving a Porsche Cayenne, in front of us.

  “Pull over at the Shell gas station.” I hung up the phone.

  “Beckham, pull over at the Shell station near Rama 4.” He nodded. I turned to Pim.

  “I’ve got some stuff I have to do. I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

  Mother and I got out at the station, standing by the car.

  “Have you got anything yet from the forensics on the bomb?”

  “Other than it was about half a kilo of Semtex, with a mobile timer, and went off somewhere around the door to the master bedroom, no.”

  “That’s great, when did you get that?”

  “While I was talking with Khun Suchada.” She held up her cell phone. “Don’t worry about Pim. I’ll look after her. You go and take care of business.”

  I nodded, gave her wai and headed over to join Chai. We had to move fast. We had a few of places to go and the nine pm curfew in Bangkok was still in force.

  First stop was an apartment off Suthisan in the Ratchada area. It had taken all of a day to track down Pi Um, Ice’s angry boyfriend. I was pretty sure, dead certain, that Pim’s father was behind the bombing, but loose ends aren’t ends at all. Chai took the expressway off Rama 4. Traffic was much lighter than normal and in five minutes we were at the Suthisan intersection.

  Waiting for the light to change, I looked across the intersection, noticing a white, low slung, modified, Honda Civic. The driver looked a lot like the photo downloaded from Ice’s Facebook page. I touched Chai’s sleeve and pointed at it. The Honda pulled away from the intersection heading back up Vibhavadee Rangsit Road. Chai drove through the red light, straight at the oncoming traffic, and just before I thought we were going to crash into a bus, he pulled a hard right and got us onto Vibhavadee Road about five cars behind the Civic.

  “Nice driving.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Could you warn me when you’re going to do that? You never warn me. You just do it.”

  “Think. Act. Analyze.” Chai said. A hangover from a stint of training he did with a US SEAL team. I’d heard it before, often.

  The Civic stayed on Vibhavadee until Din Daeng, took a left, and headed up Rama 9. Chai stayed a few cars back all the time. Dropping down from Rama 9, underneath the expressway, we got close, just two cars behind at a red light. With the height difference between the Cayenne and the Civic he couldn’t see us. Chai snapped off a couple of pictures of his car and plate. The Civic turned into RCA, Royal City Avenue, to you Farang, the nightspot for young Thais. Not many Farang here, for the simple reason that there are not that many young Farang in Thailand. And RCA, apart from the owners who run the place, is a young people’s place. But there are also motorbike shops, cafes and restaurants, and right now, with the curfew these were open and the clubs were shut.

  It was early, way too early for there to be anything other than staff. With the curfew in place, business here was dead and car parking slots on either side of the road, usually impossible to find, were empty. The Civic pulled up opposite a little restaurant with tables outside. We drove past, nowhere to stop without being noticed. ‘Nong’ Um - we’d only call him Pi if he was older than us, which he wasn’t, being in his mid-twenties - got out of the Civic and headed across the road to the restaurant.

  Chai parked behind a delivery truck about a hundred meters further up the road. We used a dark alley across from our parking slot to observe. I had the Steiners, Chai the camera. The guy Um was meeting with looked heavy. He wasn’t young, mid-forties, maybe early fifties. Pock marked, thin face, high cheekbones. Dark colored skin. Black jeans, white t-shirt, black denim jacket, big amulet, black bandana around his head. Mafia or wannabe? Something about this guy told me mafia for sure. He wouldn’t dare look like him if he weren’t bad.

  The pair of them got up and went back to the Civic. We hotfooted back to the Cayenne. I was hoping he would go back the way he’d come. He didn’t. We waited till he got to the parking toll booth on the Petchburi Road side. Once he was through the toll, Chai threw the car into reverse and headed after him. We hadn’t been there long enough to pay for parking but the attendant was slow checking the time. We lost valuable seconds. Chai stamped on the gas and turned onto Petchaburi Road at speed, the road practically empty, with no Honda Civic in sight. Shit. Up ahead I saw a flash of white. I glanced at Chai. He nodded. He’d seen it.

  Chai got us five cars behind the Civic, now on Pattanakarn, and driving quickly. A glance at the speedometer showed we were at one hundred and twenty. Ordinarily that would be impossible in Bangkok’s traffic, but traffic was light. At the intersection with Srinakarin, he turned left, and shortly after, got up on the Bangkok Chonburi Motorway. The only road in Thailand where driving at one hundred and twenty kph, for four wheel vehicles is permitted. Naturally that means we all drive at one hundred and forty.

  Chai eased up on the throttle and we dropped back a few cars. Usually when we were tailing someone, we’d use six or seven cars, swapping them in and out. There’d been no time to set it up. Also, normally, we’d have just grabbed Nong Um, and had a chat until he told the truth. I had a strong feeling that the guy with Um wouldn’t be so easy to grab. It wouldn’t be easy to get him to talk either.

  Before the motorway rest area, past a strip of shops selling a mix o
f beach stuff, food and coffee, he turned off to Chacheongsao. The light had faded to black now, street lamps and headlights lighting the way. Traffic here was heavier than Bangkok. Trucks, motorbikes and cars all hurried along on the dual carriageway. I looked at the phone, 7:30 pm. The Civic kept going, stopping at the occasional red light, but otherwise keeping to a steady one hundred, one hundred and twenty. We’d invested this much. We stayed with him.

  We continued up the 304 until about forty kilometers in, he turned off onto the inner road. This is a two-way traffic road that runs alongside the highway, supporting local traffic. We turned, and then he took a left, driving down a dirt road. A garage for trucks and a shed for keeping rice marked the entrance to the road. We turned off our lights and followed. Rice paddy either side, the road planted both sides with mature eucalyptus. I wound down the window to see better, the tinted windows not doing us any favors in the dark. We were crawling along.