Say Uncle

by Benjamin Laskin

  He mumbled something in Thai and tuk-tukked off. No more than a minute later another tuk-tuk puttered up beside me. I shook my head in annoyance and kept walking; head down, paying him no attention. He kept pace with me.

  “Where you go?” he asked.

  Again I shook my head.

  “Where you go?”

  I stopped and yelled at him. “Nowhere, okay? Leave me alone! Gawd…”

  He continued to putt along next to me. “What you look for?” he said. “Girl? You want girl?”

  All the tuk-tuk drivers and taxi drivers knew where you could find some action and made a commission on any customer they brought in. I’d been asked the same question countless times already. The drivers carried little cards or booklets with them with the same kind of ‘menus’ I saw on Patphong Road. Many had pictures of the girls they said they could get for you too. He offered me one of his sleazy catalogues. I waved it away.

  “Pretty girl,” he said.

  “I’m not interested. Fuck off already, would ya? Jeezus.”

  “Pretty sister, maybe?”

  I stopped in my tracks, turned and strutted up to him. “What did you say?”

  He grinned, shoved the booklet of nude girlie shots into my hand, and sped away.

  “Hey!” I chased after him but he quickly passed out of range.

  I glanced at the booklet in my hands and opened it. A note fluttered onto the street. I picked it up. It read:

  If you want to see your sister again, take the 7:30 sleeper to Chaing Mai tomorrow night. You’ll be contacted. Bring the journals. ALL OF THEM. We are watching you. Any attempt to contact the authorities will result in your sister’s painful death.

  Hello. Goodbye

  By eight o’clock the next morning I was back on Khao San Road sitting at the Hello Restaurant, my pack and Doreen’s beside me. I had breakfast and waited for Aurora Borealis. The man, not the lights, though as I waited I thought the odds of seeing either of them in Bangkok were about the same.

  I was a nervous wreck. I had tossed and turned all night in a puddle of sweat, fighting off nightmares and mosquitoes. All I could do was wait and hope that I’d be contacted. Aurora Borealis, or whoever the hell it was that was supposed to meet me, was my only chance for some answers. I looked forward to giving him a piece of my mind. And if that didn’t get me my answers, I was prepared to stab him in the eye with my fork. What I needed most from him was the rest of the journals. That was the ransom asked for by the kidnappers. If I had the journals I could get Doreen back. And that was the only thing that mattered.

  The restaurant recessed into the building, had no doors or windows, and was wide open to the street. Ceiling fans swiped at the warm, heavy air. From where I sat I could keep a lookout on the people bustling past along the sidewalk.

  The unending stream of travelers strolling by amazed me. None of them was the type of tourist I saw back home. The majority appeared to me to be young-looking Europeans who decades earlier might have been called hippies. Many wore loose-fitting cotton trousers or skirts and brightly-colored silk or cotton tops. Tattoos and body piercings were omnipresent. Only about half the men had long hair, however, and not all were young. Some looked more like ex-military types who had been based in Southeast Asia for some reason or another. By the looks of some of them, they found the lifestyle of drugs and women—both of which were cheap, plentiful, and good—more appealing than going home.

  The longer I waited the more anxious I became. I recalled the kidnapper’s note saying “we are watching you.” Who was “we”? I observed the other customers in the restaurant and grew increasingly paranoid. In my addled state of mind they all looked suspicious to me.

  I sat and waited. The hours passed. I wondered if I had screwed up on the day. Was I supposed to have accounted for the time change between the States and Thailand? Maybe I was a day early, or was I late? I cursed under my breath and reread Aurora Borealis’s note. When I looked up I saw the fellow I had met at Chai’s House coming up the sidewalk. He saw me, flashed a friendly smile, and waved. What was his name again? … Oh yeah, Max.

  I saluted him in acknowledgment, but in such a way as to intimate that he needn’t bother stopping. I didn’t want to chance missing my contact because of his presence. He walked up to my table anyway. Again I noticed his slight limp. In his hand was a folded newspaper, The Bangkok Post.

  “How’s it going, Guy?” He put out his hand. “Mind if I join you for a cup of coffee?”

  Shit.

  “Actually, I’m expecting someone.”

  “The friend you mentioned yesterday?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Has your sister checked in yet?”

  I shook my head. I was surprised at how quickly a lump formed in my throat, and at how close I was to bursting into tears.

  He frowned sympathetically. “Hey,” he said, “don’t worry. I’m sure she’s okay. Maybe she’s just having a fling with some Italian stallion or Nordic beefcake. It happens all the time around here. Young woman. First time away from home. The exotic Orient. Wants to return to college with a few stories to tell her friends. Meets a handsome stranger with a charming accent… You know?”

  “Still, I know my sister. She’d have left some word.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Did you go to the police?”

  “Yeah, but they said they couldn’t do anything until the person was missing for at least forty-eight hours, and even then…”

  “Well, maybe you should go to the American Consulate.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s what I’ll do.” I couldn’t tell him about the note and the threat the kidnapper had made about what they’d do to her if I tried contacting the authorities. Talking about my situation made it feel all the more hopeless.

  Under different circumstances I’d have enjoyed talking to Max. He seemed like a nice guy, but I had too much on my mind and wondered if my contact was waiting in the wings for him to leave. I didn’t have any male friends to speak of back home and Max seemed like a guy I could get along with. As much as I always dreamed of having a great girlfriend, there were times when a really good buddy was just as desirable. A guy needed a buddy. A guy without a buddy was like a Super Bowl without beer.

  Sensing my reticence he said, “Well, I’d better be going.” He stood and put out his hand. “Good luck to you, Guy. How long do you plan to be in Thailand?”

  “It kind of depends, you know.”

  “Right.” He held out the newspaper. “You want this? I’m done with it.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “There’s a good article on the hill tribe people up north in case you guys think of doing some trekking. Page twenty.” He set it on the chair beside me.

  “Thanks, I’ll check it out.”

  I watched him stroll away and felt all the lonelier in his wake. I sat stupidly expecting some man to rush into the vacant chair but no one came. Bored, I reached for the paper. A book slipped out from between the fold. On sight I recognized the writer.

  I bolted from my chair and charged out of the restaurant into the middle of the street. A tuk-tuk nearly ran me over. I spun circles calling out Max’s name.

  Gone.

  Cursing, I went back into the restaurant and sat down. People stared at me like I was deranged.

  Max? He was Aurora Borealis? He told me nothing! Just another damn journal. But I needed all the journals. The kidnapper was explicit about that. All the journals or Doreen dies.

  I was beyond furious. The game had reached a new level of absurdity. Nothing made sense. I couldn’t understand why any of this was happening. I flipped through the pages of the journal searching for a note or letter, anything, but I saw nothing but the same messy scrawl that filled the previous four journals.

  Hill tribe people?

  I picked up the newspaper again and tore through it. On page twelve I saw the article on the hill tribe peoples that Max had mentioned. I read it looking for any kind of clue.


  The story was a travelogue describing peoples who lived a primitive life in the secluded hills and valleys in the north of Thailand: the Lahu, the Akha, the Karen, the Lisu, and others. They were nomadic peoples who for centuries had roamed freely between the borders of Thailand, Myanmar, and Laos. Modern political reality corralled them and ended their roving ways, quickly altering their cultures. For the most part, however, the 21st century was still a distant, noisy neighbor.

  The article also mentioned the booming trekking business that took camera-toting travelers through the rugged hills to see these hill tribe peoples, even stopping for the night in their villages. The trekkers hiked, rafted, and rode elephants. It all sounded fun and interesting, but those were two adjectives that no longer fit into my travel plans.

  I stared at the two color photos on the page. One was of a misty mountaintop with primitive huts, the other of a Karen woman sitting and weaving. A coil of metal rings around her neck had stretched it like a giraffe’s, a custom unique to women of that tribe. I read nothing that had anything to do with my plight, however. My eyes drifted about the page. Page twelve?

  Didn’t Max say the article was on page twenty? I flipped through the newspaper. On page twenty I saw a short article on a fund-raising benefit to be held that afternoon at one o’clock at the Oriental Hotel. I leaped from my chair, threw down some money, grabbed up the paper, journal, and backpacks, and bolted from the restaurant to hail a taxi. It was already ten minutes to one.

  Killing Time

  The traffic was typically, unnervingly congested. I squirmed in the back seat of the taxi, nearly clawing at the windows.

  I reread the article describing the benefit. The purpose was to raise money for the erecting and funding of a school in a small, impoverished Thai village up north somewhere. The show was to feature an exhibition of traditional Thai dance and music, as well as a number of Thai celebrities: television personalities, a singer, and a comedian.

  The highlight of the afternoon, however, was a fashion show featuring the latest creations of Thailand’s top clothing designers. Scheduled to appear among the models was the world famous Noriko O, from Japan. The Noriko. My Noriko. The article said that Noriko was the principal sponsor of the benefit and that she would also give a short slide presentation.

  I had to see her. It was a long shot, but she was the only person I knew in Thailand. I didn’t know what she could possibly do for me. I doubted that she would even remember our encounter, but I was desperate. I recalled Noriko asking me if she ever needed my help could she count on me. I hoped it worked both ways.

  The taxi pulled up to the hotel at three o’clock. It was no two-bit guesthouse, and I felt immediately out of place in my grubby shorts and T-shirt. Believing that they would not let me in dressed like I was, I lugged the packs to a small restaurant down the street and changed in the bathroom. Jeans and a sport shirt was the best I could do. I couldn’t be dragging two backpacks around either, so I persuaded the restaurant owner in English and sign language to let me leave my bags with him for a couple of hours. When I stuffed a thousand baht into his hand he quickly understood.

  I returned to the hotel and strolled brazenly into the lobby, pretending I knew exactly where I was going. The sign announcing the benefit was in Thai but I recognized the picture of Noriko on the poster. It also said 4F, which had to mean the fourth floor. I headed directly to the elevator, my hiking boots thumping on the teakwood floor. The concierge, a well-dressed man of about forty, intercepted me in front of the elevator.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “I’m on my way to the benefit,” I replied smiling.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes taking note of my attire, “but it’s sold out. Besides, it’ll be over shortly.”

  “Hey,” I said, “your English is very good.”

  “Thank you,” he said woodenly. Flattery was not going to get me anywhere, not even into the elevator.

  “It’s really important that I attend,” I said. “Couldn’t I just stand in the—”

  He was shaking his head before I even finished.

  “I’ll buy a ticket, of course. How much?” I pulled out my wallet.

  “A ticket was 20,000 baht a plate.”

  “Do I get to keep the plates?” I joked.

  He wasn’t amused. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave.”

  He nodded past my shoulder. I turned and saw a large, barrel-chested man in a blue blazer, one of the hotel’s guards I guessed. He returned the nod and crossed the lobby towards us.

  “Hey,” I said, “this is a benefit, right? A fund raiser?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I want to make a contribution. A really big contribution.”

  He smirked. “You can put your contribution in an envelope and I will see that it is delivered.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you. You look like an honest fellow, but if you were me would you hand over a really large sum of money to a complete stranger? I don’t think so. So how about I just jog up there, drop the money off, and be back down before you can say Gautama Buddha?”

  He spoke a few quick words of Thai and I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw the cold, brown eyes of the guard ordering me to scram.

  “How’s it going to look when Miss O, Noriko O, a personal friend of mine, by the way, learns that you refused my generosity?”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand.” The man signaled the guard with a toss of his impatient eyes to rid him of this bum.

  The man squeezed my elbow and guided me towards the door. I didn’t resist. Once outside he gave me a shove to send me on my way. He stood watching me, arms crossed, making sure I was not coming back. I walked on and turned a corner.

  They weren’t going to get rid of me that easily. I waited a minute and then peeked back around the corner. The man had returned inside. I cruised the perimeter of the hotel, which was lined by trees and thick bushes that hid a high chain link fence with barbed wire on top. Around the other side I saw a gate where a delivery truck was backing in. I tiptoed over alongside the truck, crouched down, and using the truck as cover, was back inside. As soon as the coast cleared, I sprinted over to some large crates and ducked behind them. I heard the sound of splashing water and the cry of children. Swimming pool. When it looked safe again, I darted off, keeping close to the perimeter where I could disappear behind a tree or into some bushes.

  I felt less conspicuous among the guests in their bathing suits. I meandered along the garden paths that connected the two pools with the hotel itself. Wanting to avoid the central lobby area, I spotted the less frequented staircases and climbed to the fourth floor. I circled the hotel until I came to an extended balcony with two large, stylish white doors. I guessed that behind them was the banquet room, as every other set of doors I had passed were numbered and looked to be guest rooms. Large, Victorian-style windows straddled both sides of the doors. The curtains were drawn shut and so I figured that the slide presentation I had read about was in progress.

  I cupped my eyes against the glass and peered between the crack in the curtains. The curtains flung apart and the lights switched on inside the banquet room. I grimaced, waved, and casually backed away mumbling, “Shit, shit, shit…”

  The doors flew open and two security guards rushed out, hands on their holsters. They shouted at me in Thai. I didn’t have to speak the language to know what they were saying. I froze.

  They hauled me out of the guests’ sight, shoved me against the railing, and frisked me. One of the guards got on his walkie-talkie. “You guest here?” he growled.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Name?”

  I said the first that came to mind. “Bond. James Bond.”

  “Room number?”

  “Huh? Oh…325.”

  The guard relayed the information on his walkie-talkie. The other kept me pinned to the railing. I could see by the guard’s expression that my story wasn’t washing. No su
rprise there. The guard looked me over head to toe as chatter came in over his walkie-talkie. I figured that the man from the lobby was giving him my description.

  Oh well, I thought, what was the worst thing they could do to me? Take me in to the police for questioning? Big deal. A little trespassing was all they could cite me for. I saw the guard’s watch. Hold on. It was already four-thirty. I had to be on that seven-thirty sleeper to Chaing Mai! I didn’t have time for any police questioning. And what if I were seen going into a police station? The kidnappers might think that I was talking and—damn. I had to get out of there.

  But I couldn’t move. The guard had me squashed against the railing with my left arm cranked behind my back. Down below was the swimming pool. I was desperate. If I wiggled free I could leap into the pool and maybe get away, though I’d really have to fly, or else go splat on the Kool Deck. Did I have that much adrenalin?

  The guard holstered his walkie-talkie and mumbled something to his buddy. I took another look at my tormentor’s watch. Rolex. Either it was a fake like the ones I saw sold on Patphong Road, or he ‘found it’ somewhere on the premises of this ritzy hotel. I bet on the latter. With my free hand I dug my fingers under the elastic band and tore it from his wrist.

  “Back off!” I shouted, holding the watch over the side of the railing. “Back off or the watch gets it!”

  The guard intuited my meaning and stepped back, letting me go. The other guard drew his gun and pointed it at me.

  “If I go, it goes,” I said.

  The watchless guard knew what I meant and started pleading with his partner. I figured that he was arguing that the watch was worth more than they both made in a year. They yelled at each other, and they yelled at me. I inched away from them, all the while dangling the watch perilously close to the tip of my index finger. The panic on the guard’s face told me that the watch represented more than a prized possession. It was his pension plan: the Thai version of a 401(k). The guard with the gun made a move to follow me. I held up my other hand and ordered him to stay and threatened the watch again. He was super pissed off. A woman called out my name. I glanced towards the voice. In my astonishment I dropped the watch.