The Amok Runners

by Colin Cotterill

  ‘Hey stupid. Where have you been hiding out?’ he asked.

  ‘They made me a third-row, deep left wing comfort woman,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t allowed to break rank until now.’

  ‘Did they tell you if they ever get the cameras functioning you’ll be trampled underfoot by a musk elephant before lunch? One of your own. Friendly fire.’

  Thirayuth knew every scene in the movie. He’d had the shooting script translated, studied it and memorized the whole thing. Film was everything to him and he was born to it. He took it upon himself to understand every facet of the industry and dedicate his life to making perfect movies. Boon had pointed him out to me. ‘This guy’s going to be the biggest filmmaker in Asia.’ He had the ‘big’ already.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Waiting. Waiting’s what we do on a film set, Jimm. If I could have all those hours back that I’ve spent waiting I’d only be half the age I am now. Right now we’re waiting for the US team to come down and check on us. We’ve been set up and ready for an hour but we can’t film anything till we have permission. They don’t trust us.’

  We sat together at a picnic table and drank warm Coke.

  ‘I’m sorry about what happened to Boon,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, we all are. He should have been here doing this.’

  ‘I don’t understand it. Was anybody – I don’t know, threatening him? Was he afraid of anything?’

  ‘Hard to tell. He kept his feelings to himself mostly. He wouldn’t want to upset anyone else with his own problems.’

  ‘Your boys got any suspicions?’

  ‘Suspicions? No.’

  ‘Too bad.’

  ‘We know who did it, though,’ he said.

  My eyes bulged. ‘You do?’

  ‘Sure. He told us he’d be missing the afternoon shoot on Friday cause he’d been summoned by the dog shits. That’s what he called the cops. Dog-shit brown uniforms, you know?’

  ‘He told you he had a meeting with the police?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone this?’ I asked.

  ‘You mean, like the police?’

  ‘What was the meeting about?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Damn.’

  Sissy had befriended a group of extras. Or at least he’d managed to get as intimate as a man can with people who don’t share his language. While they set up and tested the new cameras, OB walked Arny through the next scene. They only needed our brother’s body as an approximation of Dan Jensen, currently playing Game Boy in his trailer. As they strolled around the set Sissy followed and gave his rendition of a Shan drinking song he’d learned from an old boyfriend. He had an ear for music and retained a vast repertoire of songs.

  Had the extras actually been Shan, Sissy was certain one or two would have sung along with him. Either that or told him to stop butchering their song. They did neither. In fact, they showed no recognition of the song at all. So where did they come from? There were Shan living on both sides of the Thai border but the plantations and orchards of Fang were full of badly paid, poorly treated Shan workers who had fled the Burmese junta. If they were Thai Shan they’d know Thai. Their children, those who had been allowed citizenship, might attend Thai schools. To function in Thailand, at least one person in each community would be able to act as an interpreter with the authorities.

  But, during the many water breaks, Sissy hit them with both Thai and English and they laughed and spoke amongst themselves but they obviously had no idea what he was saying. If they were acting dumb they were very good at it. They’d taken to this clown of a man who sang and laughed and spoke to them in tongues. Sissy even drew them pictures. With the aid of a pencil and the back of a script, He started to draw a map. He began with Fang. They recognized it. They also knew Chiang Mai and Hot near the border. Good, he was getting closer. He drew the Salaween River which divided Thailand from Burma. They nodded and laughed when he mimed a bad attempt at swimming across it.

  He called on a magic communication finger, pointed it at one of the men and used it to transpose him from his circle in Fang to a spot on the map. Together with the word ‘you’ and an exaggerated shrug, it usually had the effect of getting a rough placement. In this case there was no such luck. The extra twirled his own finger in the air, brought it to rest on his naked knee and scratched it. The others laughed heartily. Obviously, geography wasn’t his strong point. Sissy was about to try again when a shadow loomed over him like a bruise.

  ‘They don’t know.’

  The newcomer’s voice was as deep and unfriendly as shark infested mud. Sissy had seen him around. He was dressed as an extra although he stood a head taller than anyone else. This was the man Kuro had identified as the minder. He was a foreman, interpreting for assistant director Quirk and redirecting instructions to the men. He gave us the impression he would have been happier carrying a whip than a bull horn.

  ‘They don’t know what?’ Sissy asked. He rose to his feet so as not to give the whip master the advantage but he still had to look up at him. The skin of the man’s face was pulled back so tightly Sissy imagined an alligator clip behind his head holding the rest of it in place.

  ‘Don’t know what your map means. They’re ignorant.’

  ‘I was just asking…’ Sissy began.

  ‘They don’t speak.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I was just …’

  ‘They’re all legal.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. I was interested to find out where their villages are.’

  ‘Come from everywhere.’

  ‘Right. But just as an example, could you ask this gentleman where he was born?’

  ‘Not my job. I translate for the movie people.’ He leaned his taut face well into Sissy’s space. ‘Leave my men alone.’

  It wouldn’t have been that difficult to bounce up and butt him in the face at that range but probably not wise either. Instead, Sissy smiled.

  ‘Sorry. Just trying to be friendly. See you, guys.’

  He waved but they didn’t wave back. Their heads were bowed and they stared at the grass. As he walked away he heard a volley of abuse from the foreman and he knew he’d touched a nerve.

  Chapter 21

  “You ask how to fight an idea. I’ll tell you how. With another idea.”

  Ben-Hur (1959)

  In the lower-ground floor gallery of the Lamphun Historical Museum were stone tablets and artefacts that dated back to the tenth and eleventh centuries. Some of the stoneware apparently came from an age before centuries had numbers. But in the loft was a rarer specimen. Burmese of origin, unfathomable to many, Khin sat on a wooden box beneath the buzzing and flickering light of a ceiling fluorescent tube. What little meat there had been on her gangly frame had long since been sweated away in that hot, windowless attic.

  The proprietor, a haughty retired school head, had been very reluctant to allow the Burmese access to her precious palm leaf manuscripts. The letter from the history department failed to impress her. She was evidently familiar with Chiang Mai University. It wasn’t until Khin walked her through the stone tablet gallery and translated three ancient texts with the ease of a high school student reading grade-school primers that she relented. She allowed the visitor two days, and the manuscripts were absolutely not to be taken out of the loft. She had presumably assumed Khin would be so uncomfortable up there that she’d give up after a few hours. But she didn’t know Khin.

  Every two hours she would climb down from her steamy aerie, walk across the street to the Haripunchai Temple, and buy ice and refreshments from the straw-roofed shop in its grounds. With these and a crateful of drinking water she was able to work through the night. If the unreasonable proprietor would only allow her two days, she would insist that they comprised of twenty-four hours apiece.

  But it was at 11AM on the second day that the Burmese equivalent of the word ‘eureka’ was heard by one of the museum’s rare visitors. This was a librarian from Nag’s Head, North Carolina a
nd she was probably unaccustomed to seeing dark-skinned women wrapped in a loin cloth descend from the ceiling. When Khin approached her she clearly teetered between running for her life and taking a photograph. But the mad woman was waving a sheet of paper and was so obviously filled with joy that she gave her the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘My good madam,’ said Khin.

  ‘Well, hi there.’

  ‘Yes. I would like to share with you this line which I have just translated from a very old text. It was in a manuscript which refers to the latter days of King Mangrai’s reign.’

  She paused and considered providing her with a context by summarizing Thai history. But she came to the conclusion that such a task might take more time than was allowed on the lady’s tourist visa. Instead, she merely pointed out that Mangrai was the first of the Chiang Mai kings.

  ‘Allow me,’ said Khin.

  ‘Go ahead. I’m all ears,’ said the woman. She started adjusting her digital camera for interior portraits.

  ‘Thank you. Here it goes.’ She referred to her notes. ‘“… and King Mangrai would give much time and wealth to the betterment of the Pa Tan temple. As it was the farthest from the river, it was the most secure in times of flooding. Here it was he wrote his personal history and chose to see out his remaining spiritual years.” Isn’t that marvelous?’

  ‘I must say you have such polished English,’ said the woman.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m serious. Could I trouble you to find the timer feature on my camera? I have so many problems with these new gadgets. My granddaughter bought it for me.’

  ‘Yes. You wish to take a photograph?’

  ‘Of the two of us, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Very well. I shall go upstairs and put on some clothing.’

  ‘Oh, no, dear. I want you just the way you are.’

  ‘Really? Very well. Perhaps if I were to give you my address you’d be so kind as to send me a copy. This is a truly momentous day.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  Chapter 22

  “Danger always strikes when everything seems fine.”

  Seven Samurai (1954)

  Sissy hadn’t spoken to me at all on the brief ride to the set. I deserved it. Once we’d arrived I hadn’t been able to find him all day. We found ourselves at different locations on different schedules. We eventually met up at the house. Even before OB and the stars arrived the place was a hive. The evening security detail had swollen to four and there was now one extra housekeeper and a cook. A young girl was in the side garden hanging out clothes, presumably to be dried by the heat of the moon, and an elderly gentleman was tending the garden. I found Sissy on the balcony out of disguise. She’d unstrapped her chest and was wearing a Mumu and fluffy slippers.

  ‘If it carries on like this, we’re going to have to find a bigger place,’ she said.

  Good, she was talking to me.

  ‘Want to go someplace else?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  We drove into the centre of Tha Ton without speaking and turned into the lane that would take us up to the Hollywood sign and the silvery pagoda on the mountain. Caribbeans negotiated hills with remarkable spunk which was just as well because some stretches of the road were perpendicular and the bends caught out even the most experienced drivers. The entire summit was a sprawling monastery. The monk’s huts were neatly lined up with a karmic view of the town and the surrounding deforestation. The roads criss-crossed like strands of DNA but they all led to the same place - the brand spanking new pagoda at the summit. Although the spire was complete the interior was still undergoing work. Eleven standing stone Buddhas queued politely outside the back door awaiting admission.

  Ours was the only vehicle in the stupa parking lot. We sat on a patch of grass in a spot that gave us a panoramic view of Tha Ton and the steep rolling hills all around it. The river threaded itself between them like a grubby bootlace. As the sun set, the mountains plunged sections of the town into shadow. It was as if the earth were getting itself settled; pulling up its blankets against the night.

  ‘You know I’m sorry, don’t you?’ I said. ‘The thing with Bunny.’

  ‘You could have warned me,’ said Sissy.

  ‘There wasn’t a chance when Arny wasn’t there. He’s fragile enough at the best of times. If he’d learned that Bunny was more interested in his transsexual brother than in him he’d never get over it.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

  ‘Was it really awful?’

  ‘Could have been worse. She’s not talking to me.’

  ‘How far did she get before …?’

  ‘Kiss on the cheek. And I saw her shaved bits.’

  ‘Did she see yours?’

  ‘No. I showed her a photo of Granddad Jah.’

  ‘Well, that’s enough to turn anyone off.’

  We laughed and the chill was thawed. We shared our findings of the day and let those thoughts soak in as the scenery passed through various shades of sunset. Soon, only the lilac tiled spire behind us was tall enough to reflect light from the sinking sun.

  ‘I wonder,’ I said, ‘if maybe the extra wasn’t as bad at geography as you thought he was.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sissy asked.

  ‘What if he pointed at his knee cause the map wasn’t big enough? Cause where he comes from really was that far.’

  ‘But that would mean he was from way up in the Shan states – deep in Burma.’

  ‘Could be,’ I said.

  ‘You think the police here are involved in some kind of trafficking scheme?’

  ‘The cops are immigration. It wouldn’t be difficult.’

  An electric light on a timer above the stupa entrance flicked to life behind us.

  ‘If they were smuggling in illegals, wouldn’t they keep quiet about it?’ Sissy asked. ‘They’d find them work tucked away on plantations and in factories. They wouldn’t put them in a Hollywood movie, goddamn it.’

  ‘Why not? The bigger the daring the less likely it is to be seen,’ I said.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll keep working on it.’

  We walked past the queuing Buddhas on our way back to the jeep.

  ‘Evening gentlemen,’ said Sissy. ‘The bathroom’s free now.’

  I gave them a high wai and muttered an apology on behalf of my sacrilegious brother. There was a crack like someone stepping on a dry branch. I felt a slash at the air in front of my face and heard a crunch. We both turned in time to see a bite-sized wound appear in the neck of the rear Buddha and watched his head nod and tumble to the ground.

  We shouted at the same time, ‘Get down!’ and hit the dirt together.

  ‘Over there, next hill,’ I said.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I felt the bullet pass my nose. That’s the angle.’

  A second bullet whistled over our heads.

  ‘I’m not sure we’re a hell of a lot safer down here,’ I decided.

  A third bullet – lower.

  ‘He’s getting his sights,’ I said.

  Without another word we scrambled on our bellies like commandos in the direction of the jeep. The Suzuki was parked at the top of the hill on a slope. Sissy had put a rock under the back wheel because the handbrake was just an ornament. We made it around to the far side of the jeep just as bullet four clanged into the front fender.

  ‘Jesus, Jimm,’ said Sissy. ‘If he gets the gas tank or the tyres we’ll be stuck up here.’

  ‘Take the rock away,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The rock. Move it out from there. When she starts rolling we get in and stay low till we’re out of range.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a great idea. It’s facing the wrong direction and we’re at the top of a mountain.’

  A fifth bullet whistled just over the jeep. Against his better judgment, Sissy kicked the rock loose. I opened the driver’s side door, took it out of gear and we gave a tug to start the Caribbean rolling.

&nbs
p; ‘Get in,’ I yelled. Sissy crawled over the seat and one more bullet shattered the passenger side wing mirror just above his head.

  ‘Screw this.’

  He threw himself flat on the driver’s seat as the jeep slowly reversed itself down the hill. It picked up speed in no time.

  ‘Sissy?’ I screamed.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Feel free to get up there and steer any time you like.’

  ‘You get up there. There’s a guy with a gun.’

  ‘You’re in the damn driving seat.’

  The jeep was travelling fast now – scary fast. We were on a mountain, going backwards without a driver.

  ‘Sissy!’

  ‘Okay.’

  He squirmed around, took hold of the wheel and poked his head up to glance through the windshield. The chedi was travelling away from us at a cracking pace. There was nothing but blackness in the rear mirror. He wrenched the wheel to the left and felt the jeep skid, tip onto two wheels then hover on its axis. It seemed to ponder whether or not to roll. He stamped on the brake and pushed up against his door. I threw myself across him. The vehicle shuddered then dropped bouncing onto its other two wheels.

  Then settled.

  ‘I don’t usually let girls do that on the first date,’ Sissy said as I looked up from his lap.

  ‘We alive?’ I asked.

  We looked around. We were beyond the crest of the hill, safe from the sights of the sniper and miraculously safe from my brother’s driving. He looked out of the side window at the drop. In daylight it was probably quite scenic. At this time of the evening it was like looking down from an airplane at a midnight ocean – or down the throat of death.