15.
Old Pirates, Yes, They’re Rabbi
(from “Redemption Song” — BOB MARLEY)
“So, what do we do with them?” asked Mair. “It’s been such a long time since my last S&M experience. And that was with the clergy.”
Sissi and Chompu turned their heads, raised their eyebrows, and stared at her. Mair’s day clothes were in the back of Sissi’s rental, but she’d insisted on staying in character. She had a good figure for a fifty-eight-year-old and didn’t have too many opportunities to show it off. Sissi had changed into a sensible Japanese cardigan twin set and a long skirt. Chompu was back in his uniform, but his face was a mess.
“I’m rather enjoying this Taser,” he said, leaning over the three manacled villains supine on the living room floor.
“You’ll tire of it,” said Sissi. “We all do, eventually.”
“New toy syndrome,” said the policeman.
“You know?” said Mair. “It’s rather a pity my father can’t be here. He would have so enjoyed electrocuting these bullies. In fact, you make it look like so much fun I’m tempted to have a little zap myself.”
“You’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Sissi reminded her.
“You’re probably right. Too much of a good thing. But seriously, what do we do with them? Concrete boots five kilometers out to sea?”
Chompu found it hard to smile through swollen lips.
“We have the two morons here for impersonating police officers,” he said. “We have the fake police truck out the back. There’s probably some law against cloning police vehicles. We might find witnesses to say they saw these two driving it the day your shop blew up. And even if nobody did, I’m sure we can manufacture some. Our problem is … this one.”
He nodded at Egg. There was a button on the Taser that gave a brief shock. Chompu had been trying out its effects on his office mate. He knew how irresponsible and childish it was, but it was so much fun. He edged the muzzle up Egg’s thigh one yelp at a time. The three men were gagged with Sissi’s foam balls, and Chompu was trying to dissociate himself from any sado-erotic undertones he might have been enjoying. He didn’t want to become—heaven forbid—a pervert. He kept his voice steady.
“We still don’t have anything solid against our lieutenant here. We might be able to convince the other two goons to give evidence against him. We have a trunk-load of circumstantials, but we don’t have … the piece.”
His hand gesture was such that the Taser flipped to one side and accidently shocked Egg.
“Oops, sorry,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to … Never mind. Do we need to recharge this super little piece of equipment at all?”
“You have two more hours,” said Sissi.
“Remarkable. You and I will certainly have to exchange notes some time. But Mair, to answer your question, I certainly have enough to contact my police station and have this rabble collected. My only fear is that little fluffy head here wasn’t acting alone. I mean, if it transpires he has an influential sponsor, he could be back on the streets by tomorrow. These things happen all the time. So if that turns out to be the case…”
He smiled at the lieutenant.
“I’ll kill him here and bury him in the bushes.”
“Oh, yes. By all means, let’s do that,” said Mair. “We can’t possibly rely on the system.”
Sissi looked back and forth between the two, wondering where the bad cop/bad cop routine might end. Or indeed, if it was a routine at all. Chompu was eyeing the lieutenant hungrily.
“Mair,” said Chompu, “I think you’d better avert your eyes. I’m about to do something quite obscene with this prisoner.” He put down the Taser and picked up one of the sharp knives they’d confiscated from the rat brothers.
“Son, I’ve been around,” she said.
“So be it.”
Chompu strode around the three prisoners and knelt at their heads. With the knife in his left hand, he reached forward with his right and grabbed the thatch that sat atop Lieutenant Egg’s skull. He yanked with all his might. There was a faint ripping sound but little resistance. Chompu held his scalp aloft and looked down at the sorry state of Egg’s head. It was a sight of rampant deforestation. Of butchery and disease. It was a hopeless head.
* * *
“How’s everything going? Sissi asked. He and Mair had been about to use the provided key to reenter the Internet shop, but the door was unlocked. There were a dozen people sitting on stools at the computers. All were viewing the slavery site.
“Who … who are you?” asked the spotty owner, rising from the comfortable swivel chair.
“Such a short memory,” said Sissi in his baggage-handler voice. “How’s the block holding up?”
“It’s you,” said Spotty, sitting back down.
“Right. I’m in disguise. Get out of my seat. And what are all these people doing here?”
The lad fled to his desk.
“This is my Twitter network,” he said. “I couldn’t keep them away.”
“All twelve of them? You’re a popular man.”
Sissi checked the counter and smiled at Mair.
“Eight hundred and ninety thousand,” she said. “Almost the population of Swaziland have spent some of the last four hours watching our slaver drama unfold. Not bad. Not bad at all. Even if you assume that seventy percent of them will be too spaced out or high or sleepy to notice it’s reality, or to care, there’ll still be a happy band of activists and journalists and bloggers in search of a point. There’ll be some big names voicing outrage that we haven’t come a long way since the thirteenth century.”
“Who’s your friend?” the shop owner asked quietly, grinning at Mair, who flirted demurely back at him.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Sissi. “What’s happening on the site?”
The owner reluctantly left Mair’s gaze and returned to the computer.
“It’s dark,” said the man.
“I can see that,” said Sissi. “The XR2’s got night vision. Why isn’t she using it?”
“Ah, but Jimm and Ed have turned all their lights off,” said a soft man with a feathery mustache.
“That doesn’t make any…” Sissi started.
“Those lights up ahead,” said a young woman with bluish skin, “they’re the slaver boats. Ed’s using the tide to drift nearer to them. Everyone on Ed’s boat has taken a vow of silence except for Jimm, and she’s whispering her commentary. Even so they’re afraid the sound might carry in the night air. It’s like … incredibly intense.”
“It makes The Blair Witch Project look like it wasn’t real,” said the mustache man.
“It wasn’t real,” said Sissi.
“You say,” said the owner and winked at Mair.
“Yeah, OK.” Sissi got the feeling she was losing control. “Mair, are you sure you don’t want to go and get changed?”
“Yes.”
“OK, so let’s turn up the volume and see what our sibling is talking about,” said Sissi.
“About time,” said blue skin.
Live Internet feed. 9:44 P.M. Gulf of Thailand
(CLOSE-UP JIMM)
JIMM:… and so we’ve come up with a plan. It’s dicey, but we have few options. Grandad Jah and Waew have been plying the ferry skipper with rum. Combined with whatever made him high earlier, he’s now completely out of his mind.
(PAN AROUND TO SHOW THE OLD MEN ENCOURAGING THE SKIPPER TO DRINK FROM THE BOTTLE. CAMERA CONTINUES AROUND TO SHOW ARNY AND GAEW HALF UNDRESSED.)
JIMM: Our brave volunteers, my brother Arny and his fiancée, Gaew, are disguising themselves to look like Burmese peasants. That’s Arny ripping his T-shirt. And there’s Bigman Beung attempting to rip the T-shirt of Gaew. And that’s Gaew punching him in the solar plexus—a lot quieter than slapping his face. You can see the tension’s mounting here. Arny and Gaew will travel on the slave ferry with the inebriated skipper and PI Meng as captain, and me, hidden under a plastic tarpaulin. Ed
and Bigman Beung will head off east and circle round. Captain Kow and Waew and Grandad Jah will do the same to the west. As we won’t be able to outshoot them, we’ll have to try the same tactic that got us access to the ferry. If we can convince them we’re there in some official capacity, it might buy us time to get aboard and disarm them. That, at least, is the theory.
(CAMERA TAKEN DOWN INTO THE SMALL BOAT, AND WE SEE THE SKIPPER PROPPED UP AGAINST THE LITTLE CABIN AND PI MENG AT THE RUDDER.)
JIMM: And off we go. It’s a fine evening for a raid. The rain has stopped now, but let’s hope that the cloud cover remains. There’s a full moon up there somewhere, and on a bright night you can see for miles by moonlight. At some point, when this boat is close to the three slavers, they’ll turn their lights in our direction. I’ll continue this broadcast from beneath the tarpaulin. (ZOOM IN ON THE PASSENGERS) But for now I’m on the open boat with my brave brother and his lady friend. How are you feeling, Gaew?
GAEW: It’s like before a big bodybuilding tournament, you know? The butterflies. Not knowing what’s going to happen. No access to steroids. But I feel proud tonight.
JIMM: Proud about what?
GAEW: Proud of my man here. He was the first one to volunteer. No hesitation. That’s what I like. A brave, decisive man. In situations like this, you find out who a person really is.
(CLOSE-UP ON A VERY PALE-LOOKING ARNY)
JIMM: And what about you, little brother?
ARNY: OK.
JIMM: That’s all?
ARNY: Yeah.
JIMM: There you have it. A strong man of action but few words. Good luck to both of you. We will see—
PI MENG: Jimm, get down.
(CAMERA LENS IS BLINDED BY A STRONG ARC OF LIGHT. WE SEE A MASH OF ANGLES AND SKY AND A BLUR OF ACTIVITY. SHOUTED VOICES IN THE BACKGROUND. A ROUND OF GUNFIRE. THE SCREEN GOES BLACK. ALL WE HEAR IS THE SOUND OF HEAVY BREATHING, AS IF IT’S COMING FROM THE COMPUTER ITSELF. THIS IS ALL WE HAVE FOR ALMOST A MINUTE. AT LAST THERE IS AN EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF JIMM UNDER THE PLASTIC. NOSE RUNNING. NIGHT VISION. A FACE WRUNG WITH PANIC.)
JIMM: (WHISPERED) They … they’ve spotted us. That came (BREATHS) came much faster than we expected. Their spotlights are on us. I don’t know if they’ve seen me. I was directly in their beam … I don’t … just don’t know. One of the guards fired at us. PI Meng stopped our engine and put up his hands. They shouted for us to state our business. They … wait, it’s hard to hear everything from … OK, PI Meng is telling them the story we worked out. He’s the skipper’s nephew. The skipper’s so stoned he radioed for his nephew to come and help him get home. But in the boat the nephew found two more Burmese hidden under the tarpaulin. Wait. I can hear one of the boats start up its engine. PI Meng’s doing a good job in the telling of this lie, but I don’t know if the slavers are buying it. I can’t see anything. I hope they don’t hear the engines of our other two boats.
It sounds like one of their slaver ships is alongside us now. The voices seem to be right over me. I’ll have to be … to be careful. Praise Clint they don’t come on board.
(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)
JIMM: The slaver boss seems to be angry. He’s shouting at the ferry skipper, but he’s not getting any answer. Not surprising, considering the amount of rum we poured into him. I’ll translate.
BOSS: You were supposed to bring us seventeen. Isn’t that right? That’s what they … He’s not listening. Someone throw him overboard.
SKIPPER: Brahhhl’tppaabbrrr.
PI Meng: He gets like this often, sir. I’ll take care of him.
BOSS: I don’t give a damn about him. I want to know about the numbers. Seventeen, they said. One stepped out of line and in front of a few bullets. Now that, to my tiny mind, leaves sixteen. Is that wrong? Anybody here think that’s not right? And that’s what we got. And I don’t like this. Who are you? How did you just happen to be bobbing about in the sea at the right time?
PI Meng: I wasn’t bobbing, sir. I’ve got me own boat. Me and me brother. We wasn’t far away, so when he radioed, we went and met him. That’s when I found the stowaways.
BOSS: Who was riding shotgun on the ferry? Su, get over here.
CREW 2: Yes, boss?
BOSS: You know anything about this?
CREW 2: About what, boss?
BOSS: This unknown person’s claiming there were two extra Burmese in this shipment.
CREW 2: Really?
BOSS: Really? What do you mean, really? You were supposed to count ’em onto the boat. Were there seventeen or nineteen?
CREW 2: When I counted ’em, there was seventeen, boss.
BOSS: And you counted ’em as they arrived on the boat?
CREW 2: Yeah. When they was sitting on the boat.
BOSS: Well, which? As they boarded, or after they were on board?
CREW 2: There was a lot of stuff going on all around. Boats coming in and out. People walking around. We had to get ’em on in a hurry. And there was a lot of ’em. So I had to help with the round-up. Hurry ’em up, you know? Then me and the police boys had to chain up their ankles. Then I counted ’em.
BOSS: Did the police boys tell you there were two extra?
CREW 2: We don’t exactly talk. Not exactly best mates, you know? They’re animals, those two.
BOSS: So it is possible that they brought two more Burmese?
CREW 2: Very possible, boss. Very possible.
BOSS: And what are the chances that these two enormous people hid themselves under a tarpaulin, like that one over there, and you and the police boys didn’t notice ’em?
CREW 2: I suspect we would’a been so stressed out just tying these ones down that we wouldn’t of thought of looking.
BOSS: Jeez! This is the quality of staff we pay the big money for.
CREW 2: One armed guard for all them—
BOSS: Shut up. Just shut up. Moo, get down there.
(THE SOUND OF A THUD AND HEAVY FOOTSTEPS VERY CLOSE)
JIMM: One of them has boarded our boat. Please don’t search. Please don’t search. This is the only place anyone can hide on this little boat. No. OK. OK. He’s at the front. He … he wants to know why the skipper’s tied by the ankle to the bollard. PI Meng’s explaining that when the skipper gets plastered, he likes to throw himself overboard. The family spends hours searching for him. This is the only way to save him from himself.
SKIPPER: Shmmooou tttepbluappat.
JIMM: The guard’s laughing. That might be a good sign. Oh … oh shit. He’s speaking Burmese to Arny and Gaew. That’s going to mess everything up. I have to lift this sheet a little to see what’s … Oh, no.
(CAMERA FACES FORWARD TO CATCH A SCUFFLE BETWEEN ARNY AND THE GUARD. A SHOT IS FIRED FROM SOMEWHERE.)
JIMM:(CLOSE-UP. OUT OF BREATH.) I can’t believe it. Arny went for the guard. Wrestled him. Even got the gun off him. Then someone in the boat beside us fired his rifle. PI Meng ran over to Arny with a big machete in his hand. He pulled Arny off, and it looks like he hit him over the head with the handle. Arny went down like a sack of soggy mice.
(CAMERA RETURNS TO THE ACTION. SLIGHTLY BLURRED SCENE OF GAEW RUNNING FROM HER SEAT AND THROWING HERSELF AT PI MENG. THEN PI KICKS HER TO THE GROUND AND STANDS OVER HER AS IF TO FINISH HER OFF WITH HIS MACHETE.)
BOSS: Hold it. Hold it.
(CAMERA RETURNS UNDER THE TARPAULIN. CLOSE-UP OF JIMM)
JIMM: There are boats all around us now. I think the other two have come to watch the show. This is all too much. It’s happening too fast. Where the hell are Kow and Ed? Whose idea was all this? Oh my Lord. The boss is pacing around saying they were only supposed to have seventeen warm bodies. Nobody mentioned nineteen. Nobody mentioned nineteen. He’d have to call headquarters. It sounds like he’s talking to himself. The crew have other suggestions.
CREW 1: I say, kill ’em. They’re trouble already.
CREW 2: They look strong, though. Look at them muscles. We could get a lot of work out of ’em.
BOSS: Nobody does nothing t
ill I sort this out with them in Lang Suan. If I get a definite seventeen, we shoot these two.
JIMM: The boss is calling land. It sounds like an open channel. If we’re lucky, the reply will be loud enough to hear who he’s talking to and what’s said. But I don’t know. There’s a lot of static.
BOSS: R2 to base. R2 to base. Come in.
(PERIOD OF SILENCE)
(STATIC)
RECEIVER: Can’t you boys do anything by yourselves? Don’t you know I’ve got better things to do than sit by the radio all night?
JIMM: I know that voice.
BOSS: This is urgent.
RECEIVER: It’s always urgent.
BOSS: Let me talk to your father.
RECEIVER: He’s at dinner. What do you want?
BOSS: Can’t you get him away from dinner?
RECEIVER: No. Who do you think you’re talking to? You get your own little boat, and suddenly you think you’re—
JIMM: The channel’s shut down. The boss is angry.
BOSS: All right. Split ’em up. Put Shrek on my boat and Mrs. Shrek on Dan’s. You! You get out of here and take your uncle with you. When he sobers up, tell him he’s fired and he’s lucky he’s not fired at. And you and him don’t mouth off to anyone. We know where you and your relatives live.
PI Meng: What about me?
BOSS: What about you?
PI Meng: I can do his job. I hate Burmese.
BOSS: Get lost.
PI Meng: I’ve got me license and—
BOSS: Get lost or get dead.
PI Meng: Yes, sir.
JIMM: Meng’s trying to kill time till our other two boats make their play. But it’s not working. And we can’t leave. I can hear other feet walking on our boat. They’ll be teaming up to split Arny and Gaew. Of course, I can’t let that happen. This is the moment. If this live telecast terminates in the next few minutes, and if anyone else in the world cares, we have been killed by Thai slavers operating off the coast of Chumphon. Don’t let them get away with it. Don’t rest until these people are found and punished. This whole, dispensable Burmese operation is being run out of the Southern Rescue Mission Foundation in Lang Suan. Voice-print checks on the woman we just heard over the radio will confirm that she is the receptionist there and is probably related to the founder. I’m going to expose myself now in the hope that I can briefly capture the faces of the leader of these villains and his crew on this camera. There are armed guards out there. Anything could go wrong. But let it be remembered that I … we all sacrificed our lives for our Burmese neighbors who are subjected to these terrors every day.
Grandad, There's a Head on the Beach Page 22