The Honourable Assassin

by Roland Perry

  ‘Where do you stay?’ Ladang asked. ‘We are stuck here.’

  ‘The Grand Millennium, Soi 21.’

  ‘We can’t get through. Not even via its back entrance.’

  ‘What street is the back entrance on?’

  ‘Soi 23,’ Ladang said with a gap-toothed grin as he rubbed his pug nose. ‘Lots of massage parlours; lots of girls.’

  ‘Just a moment,’ Cavalier said, using a second mobile to phone the hotel. The receptionist explained that, because he had not checked in by 10 p.m., his room had been given to someone else. He had experienced minor hiccups at hotels in Asia before but never a cancellation on the day of his arrival.

  He paid Ladang two thousand baht, four times the usual fare.

  ‘If you want me . . .’

  ‘I know, Ladang, I’ll call, thank you.’

  Cavalier lugged his baggage for ten minutes to Sukhumvit Road, where, despite the chaos nearby, he could see foreign males—farang—negotiating with prostitutes while huddling under umbrellas. His navy-blue baseball cap kept his head dry but the rest of him was soaked, from the rain and the dripping humidity, which had his shirt clinging to his back. As he trudged through puddles, he heard a cry he had not heard since before his marriage.

  ‘Where you go hassa man?!’ a prostitute called.

  He grinned. When he had first heard this call, meaning ‘handsome man’, on Bangkok streets two decades ago, he’d looked around for a Hassa Mann, famous Australian Rules footballer of a bygone era. As soon as he smiled, the prostitute hustled on ankle-breaking high heels along the road to him. She was short and wearing a miniskirt that revealed muscular legs.

  ‘I carry for you,’ she said, ‘I carry for you.’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ he answered, gripping his thirty kilograms of luggage. ‘Can you tell me where Galleria 10 is?’

  The woman, while peppering him with questions, especially about his acceptable Thai, led the way to Soi 10 off Sukhumvit, which was one long traffic jam. The hotel, at which he had stayed with his wife a decade earlier, was tucked away three hundred metres along Soi 10, which suddenly seemed a quiet haven. He tipped the prostitute, thanked her, and approached the receptionist in the glass-fronted modern hotel. It was designated ‘boutique’, which usually meant cheap and exotic, with an allegedly fashionable decor. The prostitute lingered at the entrance, hoping she could snare Cavalier for a ‘short-time’ stay, but he waved her a pleasant goodbye.

  ‘You lucky!’ the female receptionist said in English, a sizeable gold-framed colour portrait of the king on the wall behind her. ‘We just have had several cancellations. People don’t fly to Bangkok because of riots. But you need to book over the internet.’

  ‘But I am here!’ he said in Thai.

  ‘Sorry,’ the girl said, her eyes falling to paperwork.

  Cavalier pulled out his iPad, asked her for a wi-fi address and booked in for the night. After ten minutes, he was given a room by the now-apologetic receptionist.

  The hundred-dollar-a-night three-room suite was quiet, with avant-garde paintings, and wallpaper etchings depicting the city skyline. It was after midnight. Despite the hour (it was 4 a.m. Australian time), he was alert and didn’t feel like going to bed. He’d finished unpacking when his mobile rang. It was Jacinta.

  ‘You are in Bangkok?’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘You did not stay at the Millennium?’

  ‘How did you know I was staying there?’

  ‘I spoke to your editor, Driscoll, earlier today.’

  ‘I can’t sleep. This city does that to me. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘No. Tomorrow, maybe.’

  ‘I can’t tomorrow.’

  She was silent for several seconds before she said: ‘I’ll call you. Where do you stay?’

  ‘Galleria 10 on Soi 10, Sukhumvit.’

  Jacinta rang off.

  Cavalier then spoke to the receptionist about the hotel’s safety regulations, fire escape and exits. ‘I always check these things,’ he said, ‘ever since I was caught in a hotel fire in India. Made me sort of compulsive.’ The receptionist went into the office behind her desk and came out accompanied by a staff member she introduced as Manni. ‘Could you show Mr Cavalier around the hotel?’ she asked.

  Cavalier insisted on going down six flights on the outside fire escape and, with Manni guiding him, walked through a kitchen area. He noted a very narrow passage from the hotel’s ground exit to a locked gate and a back lane. They then made their way back up the fire escape to a door on the sixth floor, which Manni had wedged open for their return. When Manni told him the gym and pool on the eighth-level roof area were closed, Cavalier offered him a thousand baht for a key to the pool. After returning to his room, for swimming trunks and a hotel dressing-gown, he took the lift to the roof.

  The rain had stopped, and Cavalier took in the view of the skyscraper-dominated skyline of Bangkok, which was just like any other of the city canyons that had risen like mushrooms all over the affluent Asian centres in the last three decades. At ground level, though, were the still-unswallowed elements of the old Bangkok—shacks and tin-roofed dwellings. He could see down into the Soi, which was flooded here and there. A sudden surge of people flowed and splashed into it and then out again. Some of them were running from the riot flashpoint near the Asok Skytrain station, a few hundred metres away. The noise of the mob, and the military and police following them, filtered up through the muggy, steamy night air and then evaporated.

  The pool was in darkness but for reflections from surrounding buildings rippling over the water’s surface. Cavalier dived in and swam thirty lengths, enjoying the relaxing rhythm of a strong swim, which he always found cleared the head. He stopped for a breather, his arms resting on the pool’s wall. He noticed a figure, half-hidden behind a pillar at the other end. He had not heard them come into the pool area. He remained motionless, staring. Without moving his head, his eyes searched for something, anything, with which to defend himself. A pot plant was five metres away but too big to be helpful. The figure then emerged from the shadows.

  It was Jacinta. She was wearing a dark cap, and a light trench coat with its collar well up. Her stilettos had Roman-style black straps that wound high up her slender calves. A folded umbrella rested, like a sword, at her side. Cavalier climbed out of the pool and reached for his towel.

  ‘You are much fitter than I thought,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

  ‘I try,’ he said, drying himself, ‘and I’m not drinking as much.’

  She took a few steps his way. ‘I thought I should offer hospitality,’ Jacinta said, still without warmth, ‘especially after the way you looked after me.’

  Cavalier pulled on his bathrobe. ‘You sounded distracted on the phone,’ he said.

  ‘It is a very busy time for policing in this city,’ she replied, her expression rueful.

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘There is a special bar not far from here.’

  ‘What about the riots?’

  ‘They’ll abate soon. Even protesters must rest. They will disappear from now until after the heat tomorrow.’

  Jacinta followed Cavalier to his suite. ‘You want me to wait in the lobby?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s a lounge. Make yourself at home while I shower and change. Fix yourself a drink. There’s chocolate, and other rubbish, in the fridge.’

  Jacinta got herself a soft drink and sat back on a sofa. Her eyes fell on the long, dark green bag. She stood up and noticed the books on his desk that were sitting next to binoculars, his Nikon camera and several leather wristbands. Jacinta examined the books’ titles. One was on the French language. Another was on Thai. She flicked through the French book and noticed he had underlined phrases in pencil. She glanced at the other two books. One was a geographical study on Thailand itself with more detailed maps than she had ever seen in a guidebook.

  As Cavalier emerged in jeans and sneakers, he saw that Jacinta had picked up one
of his books on the Iraq War.

  ‘You interested in that war?’ she said, reading the back cover. ‘That was more than a decade ago.’

  ‘I like military history,’ he said, pulling on a shirt that revealed lean, strong, yet unpumped, arms.

  ‘Learning French?’ she asked, pointing to a language text he had brought.

  ‘Brushing up,’ he replied as he put a watch on his left wrist and a brown leather strap on his right wrist.

  ‘Going to France soon?’

  ‘No. I have French friends in Bangkok. Just wanted to be reasonably articulate when I see them.’

  ‘And the bag?’ she said, pointing.

  ‘My coffin? All my cricket gear’s in that.’

  ‘Have never seen cricket “gear”,’ she said.

  Cavalier grinned, and pretended to ignore her indirect request to nose about in the coffin as he reached for his favourite white short-brimmed fedora.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he said.

  SATAN’S CAVE

  They took a taxi to a bar called Satan’s Cave on Soi 33 off Sukhumvit. Jacinta removed her light coat to reveal a sleeveless silk shirt worn without a bra, and the shortest dress Cavalier had seen her in. She wore an Australian opal around her neck and had swept her long hair up into a bun.

  ‘You look like a rich man’s Naomi Campbell tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Huh! She is fifteen years older than me!’ Jacinta answered.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do,’ she responded, beaming at him for the first time, ‘and thank you for the compliment.’

  Satan’s Cave was tucked away down a side alley, which made it almost inaccessible from the main tourist centres nearer to Nana Plaza. The bar was dimly lit, decorated with cardboard cut-out silhouettes of a dark figure with horns and a red phallic tail, a couple of sizeable wall paintings, and six life-size black-and-white photos of stunning young women. There were a few male customers in the shadows, sitting on couches with bar girls. As soon as Jacinta walked in, girls and ladyboys seemed to emerge from everywhere. It was soon apparent that this was her watering hole. Cavalier ordered a Thai beer for himself.

  ‘I thought you were off alcohol?’ Jacinta asked.

  ‘I have been. But I’m in Thailand, on a relaxed working holiday.’

  She scrutinised him. ‘I thought you would be more disciplined,’ she said in English, so the bar girls would not understand.

  ‘I’m just off the plane! I need to relax. I’ll return to abstinence tomorrow.’

  ‘Better to have a Heineken or a Crown Lager,’ she said, ‘less impurities.’

  ‘You know what?’ he said. ‘I’d rather have a double malt Scotch whisky, and you should have one too.’

  As soon as the short, busty bartender, Siriporn, handed them drinks, the bar girls swarmed around, making seductive faces and pointing to themselves. Jacinta frowned at them but Cavalier bought them whatever they wanted.

  Jacinta was soon on her second Scotch and her body language loosened. She wobbled on her seat, steadied herself and remarked, slurring her words: ‘I don’t drink spirits often. I must look after my body, for professional reasons.’

  ‘What professional reasons? If you’re super-fit, it won’t hurt to let loose with alcohol once in a while. You live a tense life.’

  Jacinta shrugged.

  When Cavalier admired two of the photos on the walls, Siriporn told him that the girls in them used to work at the bar. One was called Jane, and the other, Poupei, was a former ‘Miss Ladyboy Thailand’. After an uneasy silence, Jacinta berated Siriporn for her remarks. Siriporn, undaunted, said that everyone commented on the photos and some clients asked questions.

  Cavalier tried to diffuse the tension by saying he would never have picked Poupei as a transgender. He asked how anyone could tell.

  ‘The surgery is so good now,’ Siriporn told him, ‘that it is even impossible for me to tell, and I work with a few of them here! They are even trimming their Adam’s apples, having voice training to sound more feminine. Their breasts are perfect.’

  Cavalier said nothing.

  ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ she said, signalling to another, very tall, staff member, who emerged from a dimly lit corner She was introduced to Cavalier as An Lam. He slid off his stool to shake hands and saw she even towered over Jacinta.

  ‘Show him your breasts,’ Siriporn commanded.

  An Lam unbuttoned her blouse.

  ‘Magnificent!’ Cavalier said, trying not to sound embarrassed. ‘They look natural to me. None of that baseball too-round look!’

  An Lam beamed and Siriporn clapped.

  ‘Touch them,’ Jacinta said.

  ‘No, it’s okay. I can see they’re a work of art.’

  ‘Touch them!’ Siriporn urged him. Going red, he again declined.

  An Lam moved close, sat on the stool next to Cavalier and pushed her breasts at him.‘I want you to feel them,’ she said proudly, in a gravelly voice. She reached for his hand.

  Cavalier put down his drink and used both hands to touch her tentatively. But, with three people urging him on, he stroked and massaged them, which brought cheers and clapping. ‘They are very real!’ he said, withdrawing his hands. Seeing the glow on An Lam’s face, he added, ‘Very sexy indeed!’

  This brought whoops of delight from her and Siriporn. An Lam leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Where I come from,’ Cavalier said, picking up his drink again, ‘surgeons are the best for ankles and knees. Our biggest football code, Aussie Rules, has lots of injuries. But you, here, have the top breast designers.’

  ‘And pussy designers,’ An Lam said, beginning to lift her dress.

  ‘I believe you!’ Cavalier said, ‘no need to show!’

  The others, including Jacinta, laughed at his coyness.

  ‘I don’t have pussy!’ An Lam said. ‘I joke with you!’

  The others laughed again. Jacinta, now well into her second Scotch, relaxed even more. Cavalier bought another round of drinks, which attracted more girls, some of whom began to dance. He joined in and Jacinta soon did too, despite being a little unsteady on her feet. In no time, more than a dozen of them were on their feet, dancing to ‘Uptown Funk’ as it belted out on a wide-screen TV. Cavalier, copying Bruno Mars, tipped his hat to a rakish angle, and executed some karate punches, copied by a couple of the girls. An Nam moved close, bumping her behind into Cavalier’s several times.

  During a break in the music, a thick-necked, square-shouldered Thai in his fifties and wearing dark glasses, entered the bar, flanked by two heavyset men. He sat on a stool a few metres away from Cavalier and the others, and ordered drinks. He gave Jacinta a perfunctory nod and she, looking uncomfortable, responded with a low wai. The bar girls flocked to the newcomers.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Cavalier asked.

  ‘My boss,’ she muttered. ‘Police Chief Aind Azelaporn.’

  ‘For the district?’

  ‘For Bangkok. He is number two, officially. But, in effect, he is number one.’ After a pause, she added, ‘I’ll explain some other time.’

  ‘Not in uniform on a night like tonight?’

  ‘He would have been working. He always loses his uniform to come to his favourite bars. This is one of them. Not good for a top cop to be seen in such places in uniform, although everyone here knows who he is. He has a part share in the place. Secretly, of course.’

  Azelaporn turned a grim gaze on Jacinta. She slid off her stool, wandered over to him, and did a further deep wai. Soon, three bar girls joined Cavalier, wanting more drinks. He had his back to Azelaporn and Jacinta, and engaged the girls in small talk, keeping his responses to a word or two as he strained to hear Jacinta’s conversation in Thai with Azelaporn.

  ‘Who is the guy you’re with?’ Cavalier heard him ask.

  ‘An Australian I met on the trip.’

  ‘Are you . . .?’

  ‘No, we are not.’

  ‘Good, good. You have to be fit f
or your bout—what, ten nights away now?’ After a pause, he continued, ‘You’ve had a bit to drink?’

  ‘It’s my night off, Captain.’

  ‘Okay, okay, but I have a lot of money on you. A lot. You’ve got to look really good. Don’t fuck it up.’

  ‘Have I ever, Captain?’

  ‘No, but you are a girl, and not getting any younger, you know. It’s tougher. I see you have opted not to be part of the squad protecting Mendez when he visits next month,’ he went on.

  ‘No. I opted for the General Gaez squad, which is current. He is due to make a big speech in a week or so, we think at Lumphini Park.’

  ‘The fool! I mean, to have a top member of the military become so political! He expresses a desire to see the government fall!’

  ‘Former top general.’

  ‘Okay, but he still has so much support.’

  ‘You told me he hated you . . .’

  ‘Oh, yes. If he gained power, he would remove me.’

  ‘You’ve never said why . . .’

  ‘I’ve investigated him for corruption, that’s why. He has his fingers in quite a few illegal pies.’

  Jacinta said, after a pause, ‘He’s very, very popular with the troops.’

  ‘That rally will be a nightmare to monitor,’ Azelaporn answered. ‘All incumbent generals fear he could lead a coup. They all suspect he is behind the rioting. Thirty dead! Hundreds injured!’

  ‘You fear an attempt on his life?’

  ‘There have been two before, remember. We never nailed a suspect. Arrested plenty but couldn’t pin it on any of them. The generals thought we were slack, holding back. Mendez is just as much a problem,’ he muttered, ‘he won’t stay in his Chiang Mai compound. I am told by the police chief there that the Mexicans are a nightmare! Half of them are there; the other half here in Bangkok. These pricks get pissed and want to fight. They are so uncivilised! Crazy men!’

  ‘Where do they go?’