“That’s class,” said one of the lowlifes, laughing, “renting a motorcycle with a chauffeur.”
“Never did learn to ride one,” said Beung. “Sooner be in a car, me. But your charming country’s never heard of car rental. Didn’t have a choice.”
“All right, boy, you can go now,” said the headman.
“I’ll need him to take me back,” said Beung.
“No, you won’t. Sod off, boy.”
“All right,” said Beung. He took a leather briefcase from the pannier, reached into a pocket and pulled out a hundred baht note, which he gave the driver.
“Shit,” said the headman, climbing down from the porch, “the little punk wouldn’t earn that kind of money in a month.”
He held out his hand but the driver stood staring at him. The headman slapped the young man in the face and gestured again for him to give up his Thai banknote.
“Unless you’ve had enough of living,” said the headman.
The boy reluctantly handed over his money. The headman reached into his pocket and gave the driver a few thousand kip. It looked like a lot more than what it was worth. The driver trod down on the kick-starter but the headman grabbed his arm.
“We don’t like outsiders here,” he said. “If you tell anyone where you’ve been and who you brought to us, we really will kill you. Get it?”
The driver nodded.
“Now bugger off,” said the headman.
The boy was shaking so violently he almost went off the dirt track on his way out of the village. They all watched until he was out of sight.
“So, Bangkok, you must be feeling uncomfortable now, right?” said the headman to the visitor. “You’re all alone with a bunch of hicks, and there you are with a bag full of money and no witnesses.”
Beung laughed.
“Something funny?” said the headman.
“Did you hear about Mu Yor down in Savanaketh?” said Beung.
“No,” said the headman.
“There was a fire about four months ago,” said Beung. “Lot of people died there. Twelve to be exact. Tragic, it was. The headman and eleven of his men were burned alive. The whole village football team. There wasn’t much left of them nor the ropes that tied them together.”
“You saying you had something to do with that?” asked the headman.
“Me?” said Beung. “No, no, no. I’m just a business man. But it is the reason I’m here. My predecessor—that means the person before me, just in case you’re as ignorant as you look—my predecessor went into Mu Yor with the monetary advance for a deal not unlike the one we’re attempting here today. But the headman in Mu Yor decided to make my predecessor disappear, take his money, and pretend he’d never been there. In such a way, the merchandise was still available to sell a second time. But word travels fast down there in the bogs and whoosh, barbequed hillbillies.
“My people know I’m here today. I don’t have to be afraid because you look like a man who has an eye to the future. And if this deal goes down successfully you know we’ll all be getting filthy rich together over the next few years.”
After a couple of seconds, during which the words caught up with the headman’s intellect, he smiled, put his arm around his visitor’s shoulder and called for something to drink.
The headman walked with Beung up a winding track on a hill behind the village. Three henchmen tagged on behind them. At least one had a pistol in his belt.
“You do know that was just a test?” said the headman.
“A test for what?” asked Beung.
“To be sure you weren’t a cop.”
“Yeah, really,” said Beung, “this is our new standard uniform.”
“A cop would have crumpled.”
“Give me a break. You know there are no cops patrolling the border. They’ve hardly got enough police to man the traffic boxes around Vientiane. We’ve got it made here.”
“That’s why we’ve upgraded and called in you people,” said the headman. “The Thais we worked with before were small fry. Ten years and we barely made enough to run even. When we heard about you we knew you were pros. Knew you’d have an eye on the authorities.”
“We haven’t been busted in all the time we’ve been operating,” said Beung, who seemed angrier at the dust on his shoes than the sheerness of the climb.
They arrived at a windowless hut with a corrugated metal roof. A man slept under a handmade shelter of banana leaves by the door. The headman woke him up by kicking him in the head. The guard staggered to his feet and made a meal of opening the padlock.
“Once I’m satisfied with the merchandise I give you half your fee,” said Beung, wiping his shoes with a large cloth from his briefcase. “You take them down to the river to your raft and carry them over at night. Our people meet you on the far bank and hand over the other half.”
“Sounds good enough to me,” said the headman.
The drowsy guard finally got the door open and Beung stepped into the doorway. The first thing to hit him was the stench. The only light came from behind him and a few gaps in the roofing but it was enough. There were some fifteen children inside. Beung judged them to be somewhere between five and twelve years of age. They all lay on the dirt floor. Some had the strength to look up but there was no vitality in their eyes.
“They’re all alive, are they?” said Beung.
“Sure they are,” said the headman. “We give ’em poppy tea to keep ’em drowsy. Easier to look after. You want to check ’em?”
“No,” said the visitor. “If they’re breathing I’m satisfied. Excellent work. This is a very professional unit you’re running here. How many kids do you think you’ve shipped over the border in the past ten years?”
“Must be over a thousand by now.”
“All down for adoption in Malaysia?”
“Most of. Then the older ones . . . Well, there are enough perverts to keep us all busy. Know what I mean, Bangkok?”
“I certainly do,” said Beung. “Well, look, this has been a lot of fun, but I’m afraid I have to shoot you now.”
“Yeah, right,” the headman laughed.
Beung unfurled the cloth he’d been using to clean his shoes to reveal a small handgun. He aimed it at the headman who seemed confused, not sure whether this was still some sort of joke. But from the surrounding vegetation there appeared half a dozen armed male and female officers including Hok, the motorcycle taxi driver. There was a brief gunfight during which one of the lowlifes was killed but the others gave up their weapons and put up their hands. All, that is, apart from the headman who stood smiling at the man he’d called Bangkok. The team had been secreted around the village since before the sun rose. They knew of the trafficking operation but not where the children were being kept. So everything hung on Wee’s ability to convince the gang he was a Thai trafficker and be shown the hidden trail. Without Hok on his motorcycle, Wee had been on his own and, once again, he proved his worth to the team.
The men were handcuffed and the children were carried outside and laid in the warming sun. They’d be taken to a hospital and treated for their sores and diseases, and an effort would be made to reunite them with their families. But not all of the kids would have been kidnapped. There were parents who saw the act of selling a child as a necessary evil in order to feed the other siblings. In that case, history would no doubt repeat itself. There were no protection agencies to judge the suitability of a family to raise children.
The traffickers were led back down the trail in a human chain at gunpoint. In the village, an armored truck was waiting for them. As he was being loaded on board, the headman stopped and leaned toward Wee. His breath stank.
“I guess these kids are yours now, Bangkok,” he said. “Did you notice the little hotty in the man’s khaki shirt? If you’re going to keep one, I highly recommend her, if you know what I mean.�
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Wee smiled, took the headman’s arm and guided him up the steps of the truck.
“Let me help you up there, old fellow,” he said.
Vientiane had its hue moods. Some days the colors were so vivid it was as if a team of landscape painters had worked through the night to give the place some character. On others, one might be hard pressed to tell yellow from brown. On this evening, even with the aid of a setting sun, the riverbank in front of Madam Daeng’s shop was a print setter’s rag of greys and blacks.
“Where is he?” asked Madam Daeng.
“I’ve got him somewhere safe,” said Phosy.
“And what are you planning to do with him?” asked Civilai.
Phosy looked into the faces he’d learned to respect, trust and love over the past few years.
“I’m considering sending him back to work,” he said.
He’d expected a barrage of “What?” and “Are you mad?” but instead he saw the tilting of heads as his friends considered the consequences of such an act.
“That might work,” said Daeng.
“I don’t know,” said Nurse Dtui.
“If we make a song and dance of arresting him, Director Maysuk will know that whatever scheme he’d been planning was foiled,” said the policeman. “Like this, it’s business as usual at Judge Haeng’s office until we know how the girl was killed and what the director’s role was.”
“You think the judge will go along with this?” asked Dtui.
“I think he’d grasp any chance at redemption,” said Daeng. “At the very least he’ll be in favor of getting revenge on his so-called friend.”
“What if he makes a run for it?” asked Civilai.
“Haeng? At least that wouldn’t be out of character,” said Siri. “But, honestly, where would he go? I don’t see him swimming the Mekhong and making a new start in Wisconsin. He’s sampled power and that’s a hard act to follow.”
“It’s worth a chance,” said Daeng. “Phosy announces that he’s leaving for his seminar in Houay Xai, which shows that Haeng got him out of the way as he’d promised. Then perhaps we find out what this is all about.”
“Couldn’t you just arrest Maysuk and beat him up a bit?” asked Dtui.
They all looked at her.
“Dtui!” said Daeng. “I’m surprised at you.” She stared at the blushing nurse then turned to Phosy. “But you could, couldn’t you?” she asked.
“I thought about it,” said Phosy, “and it’s not out of the question some way down the track. But there’s a lot to be said for letting him make his own mistakes first.”
“But you aren’t going to the seminar, are you?” said Civilai.
“No,” said the chief inspector, “Dtui and I will be taking a little trip along the river. Our super spies here, Mr. Geung and Tukta, have identified the middleman who’s buying and selling the animals.”
Geung and Tukta high-fived.
“It’s the only link we have to the origin of the skeleton. We need to find out where she came from.”
“You’re taking your wife on a case?” said Civilai.
“We’re a team,” said Dtui. “Country people are much more open about telling secrets to a couple than to a single man.”
“You want us t-t-t-to look after Malee?” Geung asked.
“She’s okay with the neighbors for a day,” said Dtui. “In fact, she’s got a crush on their son.”
“And what do you want us to do?” asked Siri.
“I was wondering if you’d like a trip to the zoo,” said Phosy. “You can take your wife too.”
“And what is our motivation apart from a feeling of superiority over the lower species?” asked Daeng.
“There’s a keeper there named Chong,” said Dtui. “He’s been there for a while. Everyone tells us the animal trade has been cleaned up since the old regime. Director Maysuk told Phosy a trip around the world is every bear’s dream.”
“I hear they get to watch a movie on the flight,” said Civilai.
“I’d be interested to hear just how clean the business really is,” said Phosy. “I’m wondering if our skeleton girl might have learned some truths about the trade and upset the wrong people.”
“You think she was some kind of animal rights advocate?” said Daeng.
“It’s not impossible, given what we’ve seen so far,” said Siri.
“And us?” said Geung.
“Someone has to keep the noodles flowing,” said Daeng. “And I’ve been told by a lot of customers that there’s no difference between a Mr. Geung spicy number three and a Madame Daeng spicy number three. There is nothing more I can teach you.”
Geung and Tukta hugged with broad smiles on their wide faces.
The meeting disbanded, but before everyone went their separate ways, Tukta broke away from her fiancé and whispered to Dtui.
“Can I see you privately?” she said.
“Of course, love,” said Dtui.
She followed the girl to Mr. Geung’s private quarters.
Civilai was the only one with no role in this—in his opinion—rather dull investigation. They threaten the judge who implicates the airport director who confesses to the murder of the girl. It was a script even Hollywood would yawn at. So instead, Civilai responded to the note he’d received from Dr. Porn.
“You wanted me?” he asked, leaning against her office door frame. There was no actual door.
“Ah, Civilai,” she said, looking up from her files. “Nice of you to come. Sit.”
Civilai sat.
“We are being attacked,” she said.
“By whom?” he asked.
“Ministry of Culture.”
“For what?”
“Breach of contract,” said Porn.
“What contract?” said Civilai. “We have no contract, no agreement, no copyright. Nobody’s signed anything.”
“They say you engaged in an oral contract with the vice minister.”
“Well,” said Civilai, smiling, “as some Hollywood producer once famously said, ‘An oral contract isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.’ And, Porn, it has nothing to do with them at all. It’s our damned film that they hijacked. And we, in turn, decided to share it with the Lao Women’s Union.”
“Which is also an oral contract.”
“It’s different,” said Civilai. “We’re friends. Comrades. We rely on trust.”
Dr. Porn swiveled in her chair and took down a wad of papers from the shelf beside her.
“Here’s a transcript of our oral contract,” she said, “just in case you plan to dump us as well. Please take a look at it and sign it.”
“It’s long.”
“Twenty-two pages.”
“Can’t you just pick out the highlights for me?”
“If you insist. We have final say on the script. We approve the actors. We have no obligation to provide funding but it’s not out of the question and we get forty percent of profits derived from the completed film.”
“That’s quite some oral contract,” said Civilai. “Have you rewritten the script already?”
“Certainly not. In fact, we liked it very much. Your Dr. Siri has a knack. I loved the way he wove in the ghosts for a little comedy. We might up the female roles a little, absolutely enhance the Madame Daeng part. But, besides that, I’d say it pretty much stands as it is.”
“You do realize that even a written contract has no legal status here?”
“Of course,” said Porn. “But we’ll send a copy to our sister organization in Hanoi. You wouldn’t want to mess with them.”
“Where do I sign?”
She handed him a pen and pushed the oral contract across the desk. He signed, Dr. Siri Paiboun. That was good enough for her.
“When do we start?” said Civilai.
“We’ve taken the liberty of running auditions already,” said Porn. “There’s been a lot of interest.”
“Is that so?” said Civilai. “And how many roles have you filled?”
“All but one,” said Dr. Porn. “Actually, we’ve been debating whether to make your character female.”
Civilai’s mouth opened but nothing came out. He reached for the contract but Porn beat him to it.
“Well, it seems to be baking just fine in that oven of yours,” said Nurse Dtui.
Tukta giggled. She lay on Mr. Geung’s cot with her legs akimbo.
“It’s not indigestion?” asked Tukta.
“No,” said Dtui, “you really are pregnant. Your body seems in a hurry to announce it.”
“I knew two days after we danced,” said Tukta.
Dtui had spent much of her career in the gynecology ward and she’d learned to read the signs. There were the mood swings, the bloating, the light bleeding, the sore breasts, the nausea, the lethargy. It was all there and more. But the main test was that a woman knows her own body. Tukta could feel the changes. There was no doubt in her mind. Usually Dtui was delighted to pass on such news to her young ladies but there was something uncomfortable about this. Tukta had a life inside her but the baby had a pentathlon ahead of it to make it into the world. It would have to combat disease and sickness and all the odds that nature stacked up against a Down syndrome mother just to make it to the ninth month. Then the serious problems would begin.
“I’m happy,” said Tukta.
“Me too,” said Dtui.
Chapter Twelve
All about Yves
“You can sit at your desk,” said Phosy.
“I don’t understand,” said Judge Haeng.
“We’re putting you back in the game for a while,” said Phosy.
The two men were in the judge’s office. Despite all the drama Haeng had only been absent for forty-eight hours. In Laos that wasn’t even cause for a search party for a public official. They disappeared all the time. Haeng sat and rested his hands on his desktop as if he’d never expected to be sitting there again. He seemed meek and confused.
“Why?” he asked.
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