BANGKOK NOIR
By
Lisabet Sarai
ISBN: 978-1-927476-37-6
PUBLISHED BY:
Books We Love Limited
192 Lakeside Greens Drive
Chestermere, Alberta T1X 1C2
Canada
Copyright 2012 by Lisabet Sarai
Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2012
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
To Gary the Bear – finally!
Chapter One
When the police colonel walked into my bar, I knew it was a bad sign. I was pretty sure that I was up-to-date on protection money. I knew the documents proving that all my girls were over eighteen were stowed in my safe, and I'd done a drug check only yesterday, but I couldn't help worrying.
Police Colonel Apichat wasn't a bad sort. He was always polite, both to me and to my girls, when he came by to pick up the monthly envelope of cash. Occasionally, he'd even accept my offer of a drink. He'd sit at the bar, nursing a Chang beer, hungry eyes surveying the dancers as though he wanted to devour them.
I'd send over two of my prettiest employees to try and cheer him up, but with all their teasing and flirting, he rarely smiled.
That night, though, he looked even more serious than usual. And he was not alone. Behind his wiry, dark-skinned frame I saw the crewcut bulk of his lieutenant, Narongchai. The girls called him Kwai, buffalo, though he reminded me more of a gorilla.
I hurried over to Apichat, and gave him respectful wai. "Colonel, this in an unexpected pleasure. Please come inside. Can I offer you and your companion a drink?"
"Thank you, Madame," he said in English. He always speaks English to me, even though he knows that I'm fluent in Thai. "We are on duty. In any case, we come to tell you the terrible news."
Terrible news? Was the government on another morality and social order campaign? "Yes? What news?"
"A girl from SuperVamp bar was killed last night. Choked to death in a hotel room."
A chill ran down my spine. SuperVamp is on the next soi. I know lots of girls who work there.
"What was her name?"
"Suwannee. Her nickname was Nee." It didn't ring a bell. The name was a common one.
I thought for a moment. "If the murder took place in a hotel room, it should be easy to find the killer. Just look at the registration records."
Colonel Apichat sighed. He was obviously very disturbed. "The victim registered by herself, and paid in cash. The desk clerk never saw her companion." Anger flared briefly in his flat brown eyes. "I don't understand why these girls are not more careful. We make the laws to protect them. They just ignore the laws."
I didn't bother to point out that this was the typical Thai attitude toward laws of any kind. Maybe it was a kind of Buddhist non-resistance, letting the laws flow around them without touching them.
Apichat put his hand to his brow as if he was in pain.
"So, how can we help you, Colonel?"
"Warn your girls. If they see anything that makes them suspicious, tell them to call '1771'. It's a special hotline number we have set up since the crime. Tell them to program it into their mobiles, and to always make sure their phones are nearby."
I nodded. "Of course. I'll talk to them right away." I knew the women who worked for me would pay far more attention to a warning from me than from the police. "Is there anything else?"
He looked troubled. "I think your girls need to be especially careful."
"Why is that?"
"The girl who was killed – well, there was evidence that she had been involved in some S&M activity." He obviously found it difficult to talk about this. "She was found tied to the bed, with plastic clothespins on her nipples, cigarette burns on her arms and legs, and vibrators inside her." The plural seemed to make him particularly uncomfortable.
He pulled himself together and looked me straight in the eye. "We understand your establishment tends to attract – that sort of people."
I couldn't deny it. It's true that The Academy is not a typical Bangkok go-go bar. There are no crowds of bikini-clad girls struggling to look sexy up on stage but collapsing into giggles if you smile at them.
Instead, I'll have only two dancers on at a time. One undulates, near-naked, yearning and helpless, inside her cage. The other, in vixen-wear of leather or latex or chain mail, flaunts her unattainable beauty on a pedestal in the shape of two crouching bodies of indeterminate gender. The two poles of the power exchange, opposite one another. My customers can savor either, or both.
My girls are very special. I have the pick of Patpong, because I'm willing to pay for quality.
I screen them carefully. They need to know how to keep a straight face when their role demands it. They have to be able to understand the difference between a parody of seductiveness and the real thing.
Most important, I only hire women who intuitively respond to the dynamics of dominance and submission. I don't train them in D/s. (I don't dare; if the authorities found out, I'd be closed in a flash.) But I'm always looking for the ones who are natural tops or bottoms. That's what the customers like, anyway, the sense that they're discovering the "hidden truth" about the girl they buy out of the bar. Not realizing that they're really plumbing the truth about themselves.
Of course, much of my clientele is content to simply drink and watch, imagining the possibilities without experiencing them. Which is fine with me. Fantasy is always more reliable than reality. Safer, too.
Murder, though. A shiver ran though me. Bangkok can be a hard, cruel city, but murder is still pretty rare, especially this kind of sick, senseless killing. People here get shot or stabbed for revenge or because of some shady business deal. I can understand murder for a reason. But a harmless young woman, tortured, violated and then choked to death?
It left a sour taste in my mouth, that someone would take the trappings of good, old-fashioned BDSM and twist them to such evil service.
"I haven't noticed any suspicious customers, Colonel. Just the usual tourists, coming in for a beer and a thrill. Don't worry, though. We'll let you know right away about anyone who seems at all threatening or abnormal."
"Thank you, Madame. I appreciate your cooperation." He rose to leave. His eyes flicked involuntarily over to Lin, the tall, muscular woman currently writhing on the "mistress" pedestal, and the muscles in his face tensed as though he was grinding his teeth.
"Come on, Lieutenant," he barked over his shoulder in Thai. Narongchai heaved his bulk off the next stool, reluctantly, it seemed to me. He gave me a lingering stare that sent cold chills down my spine, before turning to follow his boss.
"Good evening, Madame. I'll check in again soon." The skinny colonel and his heavyset assistant disappeared through the curtained entrance of the club.
As soon as they were out the door, the girls crowded around me, all talking at once.
"Trouble, Ajarn?"
"What did police want?"
"He look so serious. He come to close bar?"
Their first worry was for their income. Still, when I told them about the murder, they gasped in uniform horror. Some gripped their amulets. Some made the old sign against bad luck. Only Nok, practical and hard-headed, seemed unaffected.
"That girl, she probably ask for it," she commented.
"What? How can you say that? She asked to be killed?"
"No, of course not. But she want to be tied up, right? I don't think anyone can tie her except if
she agree."
Nok is one of my natural dominants. Sometimes she can be a bit too blunt. Her name means "bird"; she's as sharp and relentless as a hawk.
"Well, for now, I don't want any of you 'agreeing' to anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that could leave you helpless. Understand?"
They all nodded.
"Remember that hot-line number. Put it in your address book. Assign it to speed-dial. Then don't let your phone out of your sight."
They were already pulling their mobiles from their boots or their back pockets, following my instructions. When she was finished, Nok turned back to me.
"Ajarn?" The girls call me "professor", and I don't discourage it. In one of my former lives, I taught business at a Thai university. That was before somebody betrayed me by sharing the details of my private life.
"Yes, Nok?"
"We can still go out with customers, right?"
"It's up to you. As usual. But be sure you trust the person. Be extra careful."
I wasn't worried about Nok, though. Her customers were much more likely to want her to tie them up than the other way around.
Chapter Two
“Nok! Wake up! Your turn for dancing.”
The mamasan poked me and pointed to the stage. That was ok. I really didn't want to think about that girl. Strangled. That was a bad way to die. Struggling to breathe. But maybe there was no good way to die.
That night, I was wearing red leather and black fishnet. My nipples poked through the holes in the net cups. I liked the way the elastic strands gripped them and made them hard. The leather G-string (I think that's what Ajarn called it) was wet inside, with my sweat and my lady-juice. I squatted down on my heels and moved my hips in a slow, sexy circle. The thong stretched tighter between my legs. It rubbed against all the spots that make me feel good.
I like dancing. Not just because of the money. It gets me excited. When I see how much the customers want me, my whole body hums with pleasure. The more they watch me, the hotter I get. And I know that when I am excited ("horny", the men say), I dance more skillfully. I am more graceful and more sexy. So they want me more. They're willing to pay me more. And I can give them more fun.
Seems like a good situation for everyone.
The bar was beginning to fill up. Nu, the DJ, put on some different music, something slow and romantic. The song made my body feel like flowing water. Sade, I think it was. I let the music speak to me. Speak through me.
I picked up the little whip that Ajarn gave me to use in my act and swirled the thongs lazily around above my head. Then I stuck it between my thighs and rubbed it back and forth. Mmm. I could smell myself, as I got more and more wet.
I checked my audience. Everyone was watching me. I chose first one man, then another. I stared at each one until he was too embarrassed and lowered his head. I didn't smile, just stared. Letting them know with my eyes that I was in charge. The boss lady.
At the end of the row of benches, I noticed somebody new. A handsome farang with hair the color of straw, wearing business clothes that looked expensive. He smiled at me, a strange smile that made me feel like I was naked.
Of course, my costume doesn't hide very much. Normally, that gives me a feeling of power. Maybe I will allow them to see the hidden parts. Maybe not.
With this man, it didn't matter what I was wearing. I felt like he could see right through my clothing. Like he could see every bit of me, even if I wore street clothes. My nipples started to ache, and my G-string got more slippery than ever.
For the first time since I started working for Ajarn, I was nervous. I stumbled on my spiky heels. I almost lost my balance. Luckily, I was able to turn the mistake into a sexy dip that showed off my bare rear. Most of the customers didn't notice.
The blond man was not fooled.
My heart was beating so hard that it hurt. When I finished my dancing time, I ran into the toilet and splashed some water on my face. I crouched down, my back against the wall, listening to the chatter of the other girls. My eyes closed, I tried to follow my breathing, the way the monks taught me. All I could see was the farang looking at me, with that X-ray stare of his, like something from a science fiction movie.
I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could. I knew Ajarn would notice if I was gone too long. Finally, I had to go back out. I peeked out from behind the curtains, trying to see if he was still there. When I saw that his seat was empty, I sighed with relief.
I headed toward the bar to get a Coke. My throat was tight and dry. Then I felt a hand on my arm. It was him. His skin was so cool, it made me shiver.
"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. His voice was kind, and made me think of music. Still, I felt something like terror. He stared at me without blinking. Now it was me who had to look away.
Ajarn was on the other side of the room, watching us. I couldn't refuse.
"Thank you, sir. Just a moment. I go get a Coke, come back right away."
"Let me go with you," he said smoothly. He took my arm and walked me to the bar. After we got our drinks, he guided me to a table in the corner.
"Sit," he ordered. I didn't want to, not really. But what could I do? I clicked my glass against his. "Chok dee," I said. "Good luck to you."
His smile made me feel like I had eaten a meal of live butterflies. "Same to you. What's your name?"
"My name Nok. What your name?"
"You can call me Sam," he said. "Nok is bird, right?"
I nodded. He brushed my long hair off my shoulders and down my back. Then he took my chin in his hand. He raised my eyes to meet his again. I felt like I was captured. Trapped.
"Very appropriate. You're as delicate and airy as a sparrow." I thought of those caged birds they sell at the temples. You set the birds free to make merit, but they always return to their masters.
Without warning, he kissed me. His lips were as soft as his voice, at least at first. I thought I should stop him, though. I tried to pull away. His right hand held my mouth against his. His left arm wrapped around my waist. I couldn't move.
So I gave up. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth and suck the breath from me. The funny thing was, as soon as I gave in to him, I began to like it. He smelled like soap and expensive cologne. He tasted like his whiskey. I could feel that he was strong, much stronger than he looked, with his slim body and fancy clothes.
He kissed me harder, biting my lip. I felt like I was melting. He let go of my chin and played with my breasts through the stretchy mesh. My sex was on fire against the hot, sticky leather.
Suddenly, he pinched one of my nipples, digging in his fingernails. His mouth smothered my cry of surprise and pain. After the pain, though, I felt amazing pleasure, shooting up my spine like lightning.
"You like that, Nok." My English is only so-so, but I could tell he wasn't asking a question. He was telling me. And he was right.
I was terribly embarrassed. I wanted him to do it again.
He bent me backwards. My hair nearly brushed the floor. He put his mouth on the other nipple and sucked. I felt like his mouth was between my legs, sucking me there. It was heaven. I reached up, wanting to stroke him, but he pushed my hands away.
Then, when I was not expecting it, he sank his teeth into my flesh. Everything went dark for an instant. Then pain exploded in me, brilliant as the sun. I was burning up, but I wanted to burn.
When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. That strange smile was on his face, but he also looked worried. "That's enough for tonight, Nok," he murmured. "I have an appointment elsewhere. But I will come back for you, soon."
I was too dazed to say anything. He stuffed a thousand baht note into the cup with the bill, to cover two one hundred baht drinks, and stood to leave. I grabbed his shirt. Not thinking, but not wanting him to go.
"Please, sir..."
He flicked his thumb across one of my aching nipples. Delicious echoes of pain rippled through me. "Be patient, Nok. Be patient and wait. Now is not your time."
Bef
ore I could say or do anything more, he was gone. I sat on the stool, confused. Ashamed. Frustrated. Sticky and dirty and smelling like a whorehouse. I buried my face in my hands, almost ready to cry.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Your turn to dance again," said Lin. I nodded and stood up. I was still shaking.
"Who was that guy?" she asked. She knew that something was wrong with me.
"Just a guy," I said. I made myself sound uninterested. "Just a customer."
I paid my respects to the shrine in the corner, then climbed back onto the pedestal. I began to dance, showing off my whip to customers. Trying to look like I was in control.
Chapter Three
The papers the next morning were full of the usual: political squabbles, glittering charity events, the government's latest poverty eradication scheme, the achievements of Thailand's tennis champions. There was no mention of the bar girl's murder.
I wasn't surprised at the omission. Perhaps someone highly placed was involved in the crime. Perhaps the newspapers didn't want to alarm the tourists. Or maybe the police just wanted to keep the whole thing quiet in order not to encourage the murderer. I had heard that serial killers thrived on publicity. Colonel Apichat undoubtedly would prefer to avoid a repeat of such a horrific crime.
It had been a rough night. My sleep had been full of dark, threatening dreams which I couldn't remember, but which left me with a vague sense of dread that intensified rather than dissipated as the day wore on. Around four PM, I showered, put on my "uniform" and headed for The Academy. I was glad to have work to distract me.
On the Skytrain, I got the same stares I always get. Ok, so you don't see that many farang women here who are six feet tall and wear a tuxedo. I don't care, really, what people think. I've never in my life been "normal"; quite a while ago, I decided that I wouldn't waste my time by trying.
Why the tuxedo? It's a costume, that's all. In a way, I'm on stage at The Academy as much as my girls are, playing my latest role. I am the benevolent but strict Professor, teaching, guiding, enforcing the rules, meting out punishments in the rare case when that is necessary. I carry the bamboo cane more for effect than anything else, though a few of my employees have felt its bite.
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