by Tom Vater
Rolf shrugged in frustration.
“It was just an idea Pete, Mikhail and I had. Mikhail does a great tour through the hotel, it’s a total ghost ride. I almost shat myself.”
The Russian grinned with mock malice and showed yellow teeth.
“While Pete wanted to bed a couple of girls in the casino the first night he was up here. How is our happy-go-lucky British pirate? Does he still dream of infinite power and undeserved wealth?”
Rolf did not answer.
“Come on, Rolf, you are not stupid. You know how to run a business. You are good-looking. You still have a nice character. Be careful that you don’t get stuck in the wrong country with the wrong people. Cambodia really sticks to some.”
“Are you going to tell me Kaley is a slut as well?”
Mikhail laughed and poured himself another glass.
“Deep inside, you know what she is, Rolf. Just be careful that you don’t end up in the rain one day. You never know. But the local slut she is not – that’s me! That is my privilege.”
Rolf didn’t answer.
Maier coughed into the silence. “Well, are you going to let me in on something?”
“Only if you sleep with me tonight, young man.”
Mikhail laughed himself into a coughing fit.
“So here comes a well-preserved German of young middle-age with an alleged sack of gold and tells anyone who will listen that he wants to invest, though he has not looked at a single piece of land. And he wants to be let in on something? Into our dark secrets?”
“Why would I invest in a country like Cambodia if I didn’t know who pulls the strings, at least locally? Especially in a small place like Kep.”
“You are right, Maier. Don’t be so touchy. You don’t need to justify yourself. You know how it is in Cambodia. People react to people who ask questions. Hardly anyone does, so it is noticeable. In time, you will make best friends here. Kep is full of nice people.”
Rolf interrupted the monologue.
“So nothing’s going to come of it?”
“Of what, dear? Of us? Nothing, I think. You are too romantic. And you like the ladies too much. And the sad thing is, Rolf, that most of the women around here are so skinny that they almost look like men. Isn’t that depressing? The poor suckers come from Moscow, Berlin and London, frustrated and fragmented by their luscious, voluptuous devotschkas and fall in love with these passive shrimps. Not with me, but with these skinny nothings, who have no tits and no asses. No opinions either. It’s all about power. None of these girls are any good in bed. You need brains, imagination to be any good in bed. You have to be a bit of an artist. Like me. The tough guys from the West, they only come here to load one of these little mice on the back of their rented chopper cycles and drive around like apparatchiks.”
Maier was definitely amused. Mikhail was a freak, a prophet of the damned. A man not to be interrupted.
“But power is something very temporary, very transient. The moment these men look away from their shrimps, they are being ripped off. It was just the same with the French. Look around. This place was once a dream destination. And what happened? After fifteen years, it was all finished. The casino closed and the power evaporated. Even the Khmer, Sihanouk and Cambodia’s elite could not save the dream. That’s why I love it up here. Man defines himself here. The French played around with the country, the Americans flattened it, and the communists had graves dug for the entire population, socialist mass graves. Those exist in my part of the world too. What about yours, Maier?”
The Russian burped quietly and stumbled on without waiting for an answer. “And now the business types turn up. People like you. Do you really think you can help this country? Wouldn’t it be better to throw all the foreigners out for five years, so that the brothels close and golf courses aren’t built in national parks?”
“Is anyone building a golf course up here?”
Vichat increased the volume on his two-way radio. The girl on the coast started to sing. The Russian fell silent and listened to the young Khmer woman’s love song. The moon had risen above the casino, clearly visible above them. The church and several other buildings rose out of the darkness like tombstones. North of the casino, the old water tower appeared to walk, like a UFO from a Fifties sci-fi movie, across the darkened highland. The voice sounded eerily metallic through the tiny speakers, but it dripped with genuine emotion. Words of love amidst war of the worlds.
The voice of the girl brought movement into the tall grasses beyond the station. Maier remembered good times in the old communist Germany, long walks with young women who’d also had beautiful voices. Even his headache was subsiding. Vichat smiled himself into a quiet daze. The song ended and the girl on the coast, a thousand metres below the plateau on which the four men sat, whispered good night.
“So, what about the golf course?”
“Maier, you are a Prussian hunting dog. The tears have not dried yet and you are already asking again. Was it not full of love, young man?”
“I can imagine how we could spoil a place so remote and lovely, and a national park to boot, but I would like to know first-hand of course.”
The huge Russian slapped his back
“Haven’t you noticed yet, that we can spoil anything? Not just here, but in our backyards too. Why bother with Cambodia? Our backyards are legendary. Or is this just your roundabout way of asking more questions about what you are really after but don’t want to tell us about?”
Mikhail had dispensed with his glass. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a long swig before he continued. “You will find strange bedfellows in Kep if you are looking to invest. Some people think the town is a gold mine. Others think the casino is a symbol for past glories. As I said, there are a million ways to spoil the world. And in Cambodia, they have all been tried. All of them.”
Maier turned to Rolf. “A golf course, up here? Who will pay for it? They would have to rebuild the road first, that would take years.”
The younger German did not answer.
Mikhail changed the subject.
“Rolf, I would love to do the tours, but in a few months, or perhaps weeks, the fun and games up here will be finished. You know it. And I am not worth any kind of investment. I am broke and happy, that’s why I sit up here and drink.”
Rolf had nothing to say and stared into the void, his face distorted by something stronger than annoyance.
“If you think Cambodia is so corrupt, why don’t you go back to Russia?”
The giant laughed bitterly.
“To Russia? You will make me cry, if you force me to think about my country. Our rivers are poisoned and dried up, inflation is as high as the Kremlin walls, and life on the street is as brutal as a weekend in a Siberian gulag. We are being ruled by evil bratschnicks, who want to take away our freedom, our culture and our right to drink excessively. We are being watched around the clock, blackmailed and threatened and we are at war everywhere. Just like it has always been. Mother Russia. The newscasters lie that the world will end soon. The president lies that it won’t end. I like being here. For the Khmer, the end of the world will not come as a surprise. One golf course more or less will not make a difference.”
Rolf interrupted the Russian. “There’s a Cambodian investor in Kep who wants to construct a golf course up here. Perhaps he has the necessary contacts in the government to get permission to build in a national park.”
“And that would be Tep?”
“Ah, Maier, so well informed. Then you must know that the resident foreigners in Kep are being asked to come in on the project. In some instances that request looks like an order.”
Rolf nodded. “Yes, Pete is on board.”
The Russian laughed. “Children, children. Everyone wants to have a go. The French, the Scandinavians. Last week, three Japanese showed up here, industrial spies, came from Saigon in a four-wheel drive and had a look at the area. Sweat shop on the beach, resort on the mountain. Everyone thinks you can put a gold
en cow onto this cliff. But the French already tried that.”
“And who exactly is Tep? Or rather, what is he? I met him a few days ago in the Heart of Darkness.”
Mikhail grinned, “Well, then you know everything there is to know. You don’t look stupid, Maier, even if you fall off your bike without reason.”
It was getting cold. Vichat carried his radio transceiver into the ranger building. But the young man stopped for a second and looked at Maier, “Tep no good. Tep Khmer Rouge. Tep, he fight here, he live here. Maybe he think Bokor belong to him.”
The ranger disappeared into his room. Mikhail stared after him, his eyes full of longing.
“He’s got a great behind, that Vichat. But he prefers to listen to the warble of his girl instead of throwing himself into my open arms.”
Mikhail leaned back like a fat diva and looked into the night sky, theatrical, self-important and mocking at once. “The world is not fair. Not even in Cambodia.”
“And Inspector Viengsra works for Tep?”
Rolf and Mikhail laughed.
Mikhail had found his glass and filled it, then drained it in one long swig.
“The dog lover? Has he shown you any property papers which he happened to have with him, when he passed you on his bike? There’s only one thing to say. The relationship between Viengsra and Tep is the same as between the dog and the inspector – symbiotically bestial.”
“And how dangerous is the policeman?”
The Russian laughed drily. “It always depends who is swinging the hammer. It’s all connected to gravity. And our dog lover is affected by it as much as anyone. Most of the time, he sleeps. Sometimes he does evil things for his boss. Kill the dog and he is finished.”
Maier felt sick. But only a little.
“And what does Tep have to do with the execution of that young man, Sambat?”
“You will find out, Maier, of that I have no doubt.”
MOSQUITO
Maier was getting drunk. That seemed to be the best strategy in Kep. He needed a break. The case needed air. The Russian on the mountain had made him suspicious. Something didn’t fit the program. Maier wasn’t even sure whether the man was really Russian or truly gay. It could all be an elaborate act. Despite his doubts, or perhaps because of them, he liked Mikhail.
Back on the beach, his fifth vodka orange done with, he’d asked Les to show him to a hammock. Now he hung in an alcohol bubble between two posts under a straw shade on the flat roof of the Last Filling Station and listened to the surf, drifting off. The crab boats slowly moved up and down the coast. He could hear them putter back and forth, but he was too lazy to lift his head and look out across the sea. The surf made him sleepy. Soon the mosquitoes would come and eat him.
Rolf, the good-looking and self-confident coffee heir, a man who had everything going for him in life, was trapped in a web of trouble that Maier couldn’t decode. Not yet. The detective was sure that his young compatriot wanted to get out. As soon as Maier could make a more informed judgment on Rolf’s entanglement, he would provoke a situation, which would present Müller-Overbeck with an opportunity to slip away. If the younger man did not take him up on his offer, he would report to his mother, the Hamburg ice queen. He wasn’t here to solve local mafia crimes. Still, the girl, Kaley, wouldn’t leave his increasingly cloudy thoughts. In his drink-addled mind, Maier laid out everything he knew about her – her story, her smell, her weightlessness, her hips, the promise he had given and the moment in the ballroom of the casino. Then he left them right there, laid out, and dozed off, dark thoughts on his mind.
“Yeah, yeah, mate, you have no choice. But the apple is not nearly as sour as you make it out to be.”
The scratchy voice of Pete the Englishman woke Maier.
“I didn’t come here to invest in some crazy esoteric scheme with the entire expatriate community. Our business is doing well, better than it did when you ran it by yourself. Without me, you’d still be saving for the next set of equipment.”
The two owners of Reef Pirate Divers sat directly beneath the entrance to the Last Filling Station, and therefore directly beneath Maier. The sunset melted in epic brushstrokes across the evening sky and the mosquitoes were getting ready to attack. Maier did not dare to move for fear of being discovered. Defenceless, he let the insects descend.
“Let’s pull in your countryman first. He looks like he’s got money. But he’s not stupid. We just have to find his weak point.”
“It’s bad enough I am involved in all this shit.”
The Brit laughed venomously. “It says in our contract that I have the right to sell Reef Pirate Divers. But I have no intention of pulling you across the table. We sell the shop, invest in the casino or the golf course, or the dinosaur park, if you like. You know, there are at least two guys in Phnom Penh who want to buy the dive shop; two guys who have the necessary cash.”
“I don’t want any more deals with Tep. He is dangerous. He probably killed Sambat.”
The two men fell silent. Only the buzzing of thousands of insects was audible.
Pete began to talk at Rolf once again.
“You can’t prove that. And anyway, we are in Cambodia. This is not our country. We are guests here. All we can do is adapt to local circumstances, invest our money wisely and hope that the locals will also profit. Not just Tep, but hundreds, perhaps thousands of workers he will have to hire.”
“You know that more people will die. Sambat was just the beginning. I don’t understand why Tep would get rid of a guy who has nothing to do with Bokor in such a cruel and crazy way. Sambat worked with orphans.”
Pete did not answer.
“I’ve had enough. I want to get out and I will take Kaley with me.”
The Englishman hissed back angrily, “Then you lose all your dough, mate. And you know that you can’t take her out of here. Kaley belongs to Kep. You’re not the only one she’s connected to. It’s ridiculous that she’s living with you, mate. Kaley belongs to all of us. I told you that the day after the accident. If you’re sleeping with her, you know the score. She just lies there like a wooden board.” Pete coughed and lit a cigarette. “So here’s some advice. It fucking rained.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“Rolf, there’s so much money in all this. The entire business community of Kep will participate in the rebuilding of the casino. And everyone here knows about Kaley. Even Kaley believes that she is the reincarnation of the Kangaok Meas. That’s the reason you could hush up the accident. Otherwise you’d be in jail or on the run. And I don’t think she’d even go with you. Most importantly, Tep is also convinced she’s the Kangaok Meas, otherwise he would have killed her a long time ago.”
Maier had an overwhelming urge to scratch himself.
Rolf had got to his feet below him.
“Faith is just something we hang on to, despite the fact that we know it’s an illusion. I believe in the Kangaok Meas. Kaley is like a golden peacock. But there has to be a way to free a person from this ridiculous superstition, this darkness of tradition. And from Tep. The old man is not a ghost, but an ex-general who has lost his moral compass and dreams of the times when he could go round bashing people’s heads in with a hammer.”
“Well, wish me a quick death, Rolf, if you believe in all this esoteric mumbo-jumbo.”
RAIN
“I need something against insect bites. Vodka orange, please.”
The Vietnamese girl silently served Maier his drink.
Les rolled the next joint, quickly and with four fingers.
“I’m surprised you lasted as long up there.”
“I fell asleep. I started drinking too early today.”
“That happens.”
“Normally it happens to other people.”
The American laughed, “I fell asleep on the roof last year, buddy. Just like you. I got dengue fever. It shook me three weeks straight. Without my girl, I wouldn’t have made it. Besides the girl, there’s no cure for it. That’s why t
he Brits call it break-bone fever.”
“Black Dog” blasted from the speakers. Maier didn’t really like rock music, but the sounds suited the Last Filling Station. Anything was better than disco. And Les was a nice guy. But it was time to get answers and nice people were always the first toehold in the answer game.
“Did it rain after you slept with Kaley, Les?”
For a moment the American didn’t say anything at all. Maier began to worry that he’d overstretched his direct approach. Les probably had a gun or a club under his counter.
“Yes.”
The owner of the Last Filling Station looked anything but happy after spilling his confession.
“Tell me the story, Les.”
“It’s a long story and you don’t want to hear it, Maier. Not if you plan to invest around here.”
“I am not going to invest in Kep, Les.”
The old war vet growled.
“So what the hell are you doing here?”
“I am a private detective. I am trying to solve a case involving a German client. In order to get closer to solving it, I need to know about the accident and I need to know the story of the rain. You are the only person in Kep I can ask. You are involved in all this here, just like everyone else, and you are also the one who has the least to lose if the community ever goes pop. And that is very likely, and very soon too.”
“Might be your head that goes pop, Maier.”
“Les, the first time I came into your bar, you could see I was not just another hapless westerner about to drop a million into a hole in Southeast Asia. And you asked me whether I was OK. I mean, what a question to ask.”
“Maier, I got nothing against you, buddy. But you got no idea what kind of a swamp you are sliding into here. The people in Kep are cursed – the Khmer, the Vietnamese and the barang. All of them. It don’t matter what you are looking for here, all you’ll find is Cambodian curse.”