by James Newman
He walked upstairs and saw Gantira sat on the balcony.
“Come inside,” he said.
She walked slowly inside. Her husband grabbed her by the waist and wrestled her onto the bed. “I know what you have been doing,” he said, and then he slapped her across the face. “Do not speak.”
Gantira lay on the bed shaking. Her husband advanced smiling. “You have neglected your husband. What is it these foreign men have? What is it that you need?” He unbuckled his belt, folded it in half and then hit her across the legs and the chest with it. She brought up her arms to defend herself. Her body tensed and then relaxed. She closed her eyes tightly. Her tears were impossible.
TWENTY-SIX
ON THE beach a hammock hung between two palm trees. The sun rose blood-red above the coastline. Jinx was sitting on a stone table with a tile chessboard embedded on the face. An empty bottle of Mekong and a glass sat beside him. Joe eased up from the hammock and stood. He looked at the man in front of him; there was no possibility of fighting him and winning. He was a hulk of muscle and tattoos.
“More drinks!” He said to Jinx in Thai.
“Arai wa?” Jinx replied.
“It’s the morning and I am thirsty. What can we do?”
Jinx smiled and walked towards a wooden shack. Joe put his hand into his pocket. He could feel the mix of drugs now a fine powder. Norgestic and valium.
“We think you sleep long time.” Said Jinx in English.
“I sleep already,” Joe told him. “Now I am full of sleep.”
“Why you not die?” Jinx said as he put down a bottle of Thai rum and three glasses. “One glass for me, one for you, and one for the ghosts of your friends.”
“Did you see them die?”
“I see nothing. Maybe I have died, and I’m now a ghost.”
Joe pointed over to a fishing vessel on the horizon.
“What they fishing for?”
Jinx glanced over. Joe sprinkled the powder into his glass. He didn’t see it.
“Gung,” – Prawns.
“Chop de Krwap,”
“Cheers.”
They drank down the Sangsom rum. Joe drank his drink, smiled, and sat back down in the hammock. It had been over ninety days. Ninety days of no drink and no women. Ninety days of hell. Ninety days of questioning reality. Ninety days of counting steps and handing over his life to the higher fucking power. The rum tasted good. It tasted like somebody somewhere had put the lights on in his stinking life. Sure his shoulder hurt, his jaw ached, he felt slow and tired. He had been beaten up and he had been shot at. He was sat on a Thai beach with a man that was being paid to kill him. But the rum tasted good and there was no denying taste.
The fishing boats were sailing closer to shore. Birds sang in the trees inland. The rum rushed through his system. Ninety days. He picked up the glass and drained it. Step one. He was powerful and capable of making his own decision. Step two. He believed in the existence of a little bag of powder could deliver him from insanity. Step three. The whiskey, rum, whatever it was tasted like heaven. He poured another one without mixing it and drank it straight. Jinx was talking. His words were a background noise to the booze symphony in Joe’s head. The relapse had awoken him. The new day was dawning.
“You farang are so stupid. You take our women, but only the women that we do not have the time for. You are welcome to them. You have money, but you not have money for long,” Jinx smiled. His smile was like a shark’s smile – four hundred million years of self-assured security.
“Tell me little brother,” Joe said, “What do you dream about? When you go to sleep at night.”
“Being the champion. Being number one.”
“How do you know, once you have got there, when will you arrive?”
“It’s easy...”
“You know what I dream about?”
“What?” His words were sleepy. The tablets took little time to take effect. Jinx’s eyes became heavy.
“This,” Joe stood and brought up a knee to the kick-boxer’s chin. Step four. Jinks rolled back from the chair and sprang to his feet. Five. “You’re a violent messenger, Jinx, my boy. But so am I. It’s a message from London.” Joe hit him again. Step six. He tried to stand. Joe picked up a chair and cracked it over his back. Step seven. The chair splintered into pieces. Step eight. Jinx hit the sand and made the sound of a wounded animal. He got back onto his feet and kicked at Joe. He caught him on the hip. Nine. Joe charged the kick boxer, throwing his weight at the smaller man. Ten. Jinx hit the sand again. Joe put his boot in. The tablets were taking effect. Jinx’s body became limp. Step eleven. Joe smiled. What the smile meant was anyone’s guess. Jinx groaned. His tongue hung out from the side of mouth. A mouth wide open trying to draw in oxygen. He fell down onto the sands and his legs thrashed for a moment. Grains of sand rose up into the cool morning air and then fell back down again. His hands touched his throat and then he stopped moving. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. The final step. A cat was sitting on a nearby chair. The cat yawned widely and stretched its claws. It raised a knotted tail. Joe breathed and looked down at the kick boxer. It was over.
Jinx’s pockets held a set of keys. The jeep was nearby. He fired the engine and drove along the beach dust tracks before reaching the main beach road. Rain began to fall on the road. The sound of dogs barking on the roadside. Joe drove towards the bungalow. The island was a simple lump of rock in the sea. He came to the place. It was quiet. He walked up the steps to the bungalow. His body ached for another shot of rum. A cat slept on the hammock and a towel was hung out to dry. He took the towel, wrapped around his fist and punched his fist through the window. He unlatched the window and opened it. He cleared away the shards of glass and lifted himself through the window and into the bungalow. The only sound was that of the wind blowing through the brass wind-chimes.
He headed for the drinks cabinet and poured some Johnnie Red into a glass and knocked it back. He looked at the shelf and something caught his eye. It was the bronze Buddha. The statue looked offended. Joe reckoned he had a point. It had been ninety days. He looked at the offended Buddha. Next to the statue was a fish bowl. Inside the bowl a puffer fish swam lazily. There was a treasure chest in the fish bowl. Joe stood up and put his hand in the tank. He pulled out the chest. Opened it. A waterproof plastic bag. He opened the bag. There was a piece of paper folded and placed inside. He opened it. He took the paper between his thumb and forefinger, and he pulled it out, stood, and opened it. There was a crude hand drawn map and a note:
Joe,
...Look for the most beautiful house on the island...
Love,
... a bird inside the cage.
Attached was a crude map drawn in pencil and a memory stick. Joe pocketed them along with the letter. He walked out past the cat sleeping on the porch and he got back into the jeep. He pictured the map in his mind, the large house on the hill. The roads were silent. Buffalo grazed in patches of open land and the calling of migrating birds as they flew across the island. A monitor lizard stood smiling beneath a banana palm. There was something about the lizard that made him feel uneasy. He had a premonition.
Joe stopped the truck behind some rocks on a small incline facing the front of the property. He got out and stood in a patch of undergrowth to the left side of the entrance. The jungle above afforded both shade and shelter. He crouched down and observed the long driveway and the entrance to the mansion. He froze noticing a rustling sound that made his nerves twitch. Then he heard a sound like air escaping a tyre. He instinctively knew what it was before he saw it. He spun around to see a king cobra coiled, it’s eyes level with Joe’s. The snake’s body was brown with white and black stripes. Its beady eyes glowed in the semi-darkness of the shade. Joe remained still transfixed within the King’s striking distance. The snake was an arm’s length away and remained still as Joe slowly touched the ground and felt for a weapon. He gripped a piece of wood and brought it up suddenly. The movement caused the snake t
o spit venom at the stick and then the snake lunged forward. It’s fangs held on tightly to the stick. The stick was an extension of Joe’s body. Joe lifted the stick with the serpent still attached and stood up. It’s body reached the ground. Joe threw the branch away from him, the snake holding tightly. The snake landed, dragged its body around and took one last look at Joe before slithering back into the jungle.
He breathed out deeply and swore inwardly. He walked up to the metal gates and then along the perimeter wall. He saw an area where the brick had crumbled and reasoned he could climb it. He walked through the jungle the other side of the mansion grounds until he found the place to the west of the building. Fig vines had grown up the wall and Joe managed to climb the vines before reaching the top. He jumped over to the other side. There was an offensive smell, outbuildings and large cages, inside there were wild cats and dogs. One large cage housed a family of sad-eyed gibbons. He walked past the animals and crouched behind a wall. He surveyed the area dividing his position from the mansion. There was a sala with a man sat inside. He had his back turned to Joe. He crept forward keeping his head down. He reached the sala and looked at the back of the man sitting there, he was still, and Joe realised that he must be sleeping. He sprinted past and reached the west wing of the building. A door was open and he let himself into a large utility area. There were washing machines, filters, a water dispenser. He walked past into a kitchen and then padded down a corridor, past a Buddhist prayer room and into a larger room. A bird perched inside a cage in one corner and eyed Joe suspiciously. A large desk sat along the window looking over the front lawn. Joe opened the drawers one by one. He suddenly felt a presence and spun around. A short powerful-looking man wearing a golfing shirt and chinos was standing by the door smiling.
“Most of my guests make an appointment, Mr. Dylan. But I was wondering when we would finally meet,” he said. “Please sit down. I have been waiting for you.”
“I am ok standing for the moment,” Joe looked over at the caged bird. “Do you mind if I take a closer look? A Rufus-necked hornbill, I believe.”
“Yes. One of the rarest species. In the wild this bird would find a mate and then seal herself inside of a cavity, rock face or a hollowed tree. She would make herself secure whilst the mate would find food and feed the female through a hole in the cavity. If something should happen to the food gatherer, then the mate would perish inside the cavity. Of course in captivity the bird handler takes the place of the mate. I have fed Nok since she was a chick. But I do not think that you have come here to talk about birds, Khun Joe.” The smile remained on his face. “I believe you have come here to steal something that belongs to me.”
“Where’s Gantira?”
“Oh, you know women Khun Joe. They love disaster. They seek it out, rush towards it like ants to sugar. The sweetness consumes them in the end. That sugar-coated smile means little to the outsider. The hand closes the sugar pot, they die inside it. She was a victim of her own success.”
Joe smiled. “Of course she was. I would like a drink. Something sweet. Is she still alive?”
“Yes, what would you like?”
“Vodka, no ice.”
“Certainly,” Shogun walked over to the drinks cabinet and began mixing the drinks. “Have you filed your report?”
“I haven’t. We have the evidence, as you probably know, in several locations.”
“The evidence you have is not worth the paper it is written on, Sir.” Shogun handed Joe a tumbler and then sat down on the sofa. He arched his hands in front of him. “Consider this: An English doctor named Johnson and an English insurance broker named Hale in Bangkok have both conspired to try and cheat our legal system. The Insurance man’s signature is on all of the claim documentation, and the doctor, who was in fact an impostor, signed the death certificates. They were in cahoots. Do you see?”
“Clever tyrants are never punished,” Joe took a drink. It was like an old friend. A chance meeting in a busy street. Waves of tension evaporated. Step one. He was powerless.
“But the foolish ones are always punished. Do you know what they do to foreigners in a Thai jail, Joe?”
“No,” Joe could feel his mind drifting somewhere it had been before. The weeks of sobriety were all history now as he listened to the crime-lord speak. Step two. The belief that a higher power existed.
“It depends. The older and uglier foreigners are usually left alone to do their time. They are not seen as a commodity, just a chink in the system. They improve their Thai language. Non-government organisations bring food and basic supplies. They get through their time and maybe learn from it. If you are old and unattractive prison may come as a welcome break. But Joe you are not young and you are not ugly. A good-looking young foreigner arrives in prison and he is highly-prized by the alpha males. He is a commodity. They make him a special place in the prison and then charge other inmates to visit. They dress him up in women’s clothes and keep him with the transsexual inmates, who help loosen him up. Usually for the first few months the alphas have to hold him down while the inmates visit, but after some time he becomes passive and accepts his fate. Perhaps he even enjoys it. But the commodity becomes old and worn out and the inmates need a younger model. He is replaced by a younger man. The old convict doesn’t know if he should be relieved or upset. He is no longer valuable within the system. He spends the rest of his time confused and in pain. His life is in tatters. He has been ruined.”
“Perhaps he deserved it.”
“Perhaps he did. It is not about the two million. The two million means little to me. Look out the window, Joe. I will soon own all of this. You have come to our island to try and cheat the system.”
“Your life has given you one face, Shogun, and now you are going to make yourself another.” Joe looked around the room. “When does this desire stop consuming you?”
“Let me further explain.” He looked out of the floor to ceiling window to the postcard perfect view of tropical jungle and the beach below. “You are out of your depth here; this is not your place. This is not your system. Our story is better than your story and we have the Government to prove it. You cannot win, Khun Joe.”
Shogun sat on a sofa and lifted a cushion revealing a semi-automatic underneath, “I keep leaving these things around, Joe,” He stood and pointed the gun at Joe. He kept talking. “Let’s see. Where was I? Ah, yes. The investigator decides to flee along with the other two fraudsters. It is impossible to trace his whereabouts.” The smile remained on his face.
“It is easy enough for Westerners to disappear in the East,” Joe said.
“Yes. What are they going to do? Send out a detective to look for a detective?” That smile looked like it was permanent. The safety clicked.
When a man is two foot away from you with a gun in his hand you have a chance, a slim one, but a chance. When he is ten foot away and point blank range you have no chance. Two foot away you can knock the gun to one side and you have a chance at getting a hit in with whatever is to hand. Joe looked around. Nothing was to hand. It wasn’t fear that Joe felt at that moment. It was a kind of excitement. Step three. He handed everything over to the higher power. He may have even smiled as Shogun’s finger tensed on the trigger.
Joe heard the shot. Then he saw Shogun looking at the smokeless barrel and then looking down at his stomach. A confused expression crossed his face and then he touched his stomach with a finger. A spot of vermillion on his shirt grew until it was a large bloody stain. He licked his finger and then slumped forward onto his knees. Behind him, stood a Thai woman with long wavy hair and a .22 in her hands. “We don’t have much time.” Gantira said.
“The bird has spoken,” he said.
“The octopus is gone,” she replied.
The last word. The last breath. Shogun slumped down on the carpet. Nok ruffled her feathers. Shogun’s body fell into the foetal position. Blood seeped out. He had become his dream. He had become an island. An island surrounded by a sea of blood.
&nbs
p; “Gantira, come with me.”
“No. It is safer if we stay apart.”
“But what about you?”
“I will think of something – Go!”
“But...”
“Joe, the cage door has been opened. Now the bird must fly.”
Her eyes were moist. He held her. She looked at him directly “Go now and be careful,” She sniff kissed his cheek and turned and padded out of the room. Joe stared into space for a moment and then paced to the hall and out of the front door. He sprinted up the path to where the jeep was parked.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE SEA was rough. Joe bought three cans of Thai Beer and sat on the deck drinking. The steps were fading into the distance. He bought another three and sat back down. It was good to be back. A group of five backpackers shared a joint top-deck. They flicked through guide books and exchanged adventures. European men sat with Asian women. Joe imagined taking Gantira to a remote island. Making love and drinking cocktails. He pictured the sun setting over the Andaman coastline. Waking up early and swimming in the Andaman Sea. Leaving footprints in the white sand on the way to a beach restaurant where a breakfast of fresh fruits is served with tea from Chang Rai. He would then open a long Russian novel and retire to a hammock and lazily read the pages comparing the cold hard fiction with the wondrous reality. Maybe he would have a massage on the beach before a lunch of fresh seafood. He gazed across the gulf. There were many Islands, not all of them hostile.
As the ferry moved into the dock Joe saw the police reception. He took out his mobile and called The coordinators emergency line. “Sir, its Joe. I need a Lawyer. I’m on the ferry. Surat Thani. Thailand. A man has been shot.”
“Joe, calm down. Sit tight. We have our connections. I have anticipated this moment. Tell them nothing. Our man will be at the station as soon as he can get there.”
Joe joined the line of passengers waiting to disembark. Each passenger was having his or her passport checked by the line of police at the end of the ramp. Inspector Rang pointed to Joe as he walked down the gangplank. Two officers pushed through the crowd and pulled him off the boat using more than the force necessary.