Bob said his goodbyes to Pat and they agreed not to leave it so long to meet up again. Bob told her that, with his business rapidly growing, he may well have more work for her.
At five the next morning Bob was stood tucked into the house opposite Daeng with a clear view of his tuk-tuk. “This will be easy,” he’d explained to Susie on getting home the previous night. “I’ll simply follow the chap and apprehend him.”
Sure enough at just after five a young man walked down the soi and began to take Daeng’s tuk-tuk. At that point Bob realised that Daeng had left the key in the ignition. Bob wanted to shout out, Good Lord, man! but he satisfied himself by muttering it under his breath. Within a minute Bob had realised the error in his simple plan. The tuk-tuk sped off down the soi as Bob attempted to follow at a quick walking pace while trying to tuck into the side so he couldn’t be observed. He saw the back lights of the vehicle as it turned right fifty metres or so down the small road. Bob opened his notebook and added to his case notes.
5:15am tuk-tuk taken. Affirmative. Turned right at end of soi 5:17am. Pursuit ended.
ELEVEN
Marjorie had been particularly wound up by the most recent BWBLS meeting. Gladys’s throw away comment was anything but a casual remark, in her opinion.
“Typically passive aggressive of her. I care as much about the environment as the next man,” she ranted away to her driver, Sapong, as he drove her to the Central Embassy shopping mall. Sapong spoke solid English, enough for the tasks required of him, but not enough for him to fully engage with Marjorie’s ranting. He had learnt the art of being a sounding board and did a lot of nodding or answering in the affirmative. “Yes, yes, Miss Marjorie,” or when in his native tongue, “khrap pom, khun Marjorie.”
She had been further wound up when, having won the morning’s bridge game she had to endure the horrendous Linda Taylor loudly singing Gladys’s praises yet again. “It’s such a shame Gladys doesn’t play bridge any more. She could teach us all a thing or two.”
Gladys smiled. “I’m far too old for that, Linda, darling, but aren’t you sweet. Reading the Bangkok Post letter page is enough for me.” Gladys had a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.
On that day she’d had another of her long letters published, in her role as chair of the board of the Suprawongse Education Trust. It was such a lengthy letter it almost passed for an editorial, but the paper was more than happy to give up space for Khunying Gladys. This letter was a focus on educational progress in Thailand.
There followed twenty minutes of the women all fawning over Gladys as she explained the programmes her foundation were putting in place and the sterling work they were doing to help children of Burmese and Cambodian labourers go to school. Linda turned to Marjorie and icily spoke, “Isn’t her energy remarkable?”
“I give money to charity, Sapong!” she continued with her rant.
“Yes you good lady, na khrap. Help many people alway.”
“I do, Sapong, I do!”
She continued muttering, mainly to herself really. “Why do they love Gladys so much, why?”
“She nice old lady. Alway smile. So nice.”
“Oh dear, Sapong. You can be terribly naïve at times, you really can.”
Sapong drove into the basement car park at the Central Embassy Mall. Marjorie gave him two hundred baht to get himself some lunch and she told him she would text when she was ready to leave. She’d be at least two hours.
Sapong and his wife Nitarat had been working for the Dubshotts for twenty years, since they were a young couple with two young children. Nitarat was a cook and housekeeper while Sapong worked as a driver, handyman, and anything else that was needed. The Dubshotts had been wonderful employers. Despite Marjorie’s misguided comments and at times what appeared her casual racism, she, along with Humphrey, had been incredibly generous. They paid Sapong and Nitarat salaries above the market rate, but far more than that they had provided them with accommodation and the Dubshotts had funded both their sons’ education through one of Thailand’s best schools. At first Sapong was very unsure of the move. How would their boys, eight and six years old at the time, cope with an environment with so many hi-so Thai people. It was quite something. Parents at the school included government ministers, high ranking military officials, business leaders and even at times film actors. That world was certainly not reachable for the sons of a driver and cook. Humphrey Dubshott had noticed something in the boys. He realised that they were certainly smart enough to cope with the demands of a good school and he had pulled a few strings through contacts at the British Embassy to see to it. Pie and Arm had thrived there. As teenagers they had gone through patches of embarrassment at the difference between their lives and that of their friends, but they had managed to get over that. They realised how hard their parents had worked and that everything they did was for the two of them. In fact their parents felt even more uncomfortable going to any school function than the boys ever had, but they didn’t shy away from any important events for their kids. Both boys had excelled academically and inevitably climbed socially in a way that would otherwise have been unimaginable. However, there were still occasions where they felt like outsiders from their social group. After finishing their high school lives, both had studied at Thammasat University, again with the financial support of Humphrey and Marjorie. Pie had followed a career path in management consultancy and was working in Bangkok, for one of the world’s major firms. Arm had followed a more ‘glamorous’ path and could currently be found presenting a zany and ludicrous light entertainment programme on Thai TV, complete with sound effects; the boings and crashes that Thais found so hilarious. He was something of a C-list celebrity but his stock was rising. That he was an openly gay man was hardly an interest story on Thai TV, but as the son of a driver from a poor farming background who had risen to the top he most certainly was. He was lauded as proof of the changes in Thailand – it wasn’t all about the urban elites. Anyone could rise to the top in twenty-first century Thailand, they said. Of course the truth was somewhat different. Scratch beneath the surface and one could quickly find that Arm and Pie were the exception that proved the rule.
In the industry Nong Arm had been the subject of much bitching and gossiping as for eighteen months he was dating a TV executive some twenty-five years his senior. They’d broken up and the gossipers had cynically claimed Arm had dumped the older man once he established himself in his TV career. Again, the opposite was true. Arm had been the one who was unceremoniously dumped just when he felt they were settled and thinking about a lifetime together. Arm was devastated by the break-up. However, this was something you would never be able to tell from his impossibly over-happy TV persona.
Sapong blended in as he ate his noodles with fish balls on the side soi close to the fancy mall. No one could imagine this quiet unassuming fifty-two-year-old man was the father of ‘Nong Arm’ from the TV. Arm and Pie had wanted their parents to retire now that they could afford to support them, but Sapong had explained to the boys that you don’t just abandon people who have done so much for you. Neither son really understood, but they certainly admired their parents. Sapong and Nitarat found their boys’ lives hard to fathom. They were so different from anything they had ever experienced or even imagined, but they were incredibly proud. Nitarat still got tearful when she saw her younger son on TV, such was her disbelief at how their lives had panned out.
TWELVE
Bob hatched what he thought was a genius plan. He would stake out the tuk-tuk thief step by step. He now knew that the guy turned right about fifty to one hundred metres down the road, so the next time he would simply settle himself in at that corner to see where the thief went next. It might take him a few days but Bob expressed to Susie, “It’s the sort of genius that separates investigators like The Lowe from mere mortals, Suze.”
Susie was not entirely convinced. She sat and pondered for a moment before she made what she felt was an obvious suggestion.
“Why don’t yo
u just go on a bicycle, Bob?”
“No, no, Suze, oh good Lord. Dearie me, the naivety. When one is on what we privates call a stakeout, one must just blend in.” Bob chuckled in the most patronising of ways.
“But at five am with a dark T-shirt on no one is going to notice you at all, come on, Bob, surely?” Susie confidently declared.
“Just not possible, Suze, besides I don’t have a bike,” Bob continued in a similar vein.
“Well, you could borrow mine. No probs.”
“Bob Lowe PI, on a woman’s bike! Tish! Utter nonsense!”
“Well, it’s not actually a woman’s bike.”
“Susie, will you just leave the complex world of private investigations to the experts, namely ME!” Bob now took on a frustrated and angry tone. Susie rolled her eyes “Whatever, Bob.”
Bob’s anger at such an innocuous point, seemed odd but he had bad memories of attempts to use a bicycle, many miserable and humiliating failed attempts. He had of course tried to learn as a child, but the balance and coordination required was totally beyond him. His parents didn’t understand how it was possible for someone to find it so unfathomably difficult even with stabiliser wheels attached. But young Bob just couldn’t do it, toppling over at the merest sight of an obstacle. His parents had quietly given up trying to teach him and the small bike was tucked away in the back of the garage.
When he was in his early twenties a girlfriend suggested a few days’ cycling holiday in Kent, the ‘Garden of England’. He was excited by the idea and had just assumed that with all the years that had passed he would now be able to ride a bike; after all, everyone else could. It stood to reason that he would not have any problems. The reality proved a little different. They had packed their brand-new bikes onto the train before disembarking at a station just outside the Kent county border. Bob’s first foray on the bike was quite remarkable. He had barely pushed his foot on the pedal and he was lying in the gutter at the side of the road.
“Damn and blast! Think my shoe got caught. Unbelievable, right, off we go now.” Bob shrugged off his failure but the second attempt, while slightly better, saw him cycle right into the middle of the road and into the side of a slow-moving car, with a now bewildered elderly driver. Bob tried two more times with even less success. The girlfriend dumped him then and there on the side of the road and cycled off into the horizon. Bob was left with bruises and scrapes and re-boarding a train back to London. He had never bothered to try and cycle again.
Bob didn’t speak to Susie again that evening and left early next morning to continue his stake-out of the tuk-tuk thief. He waited at the street corner with a view of Daeng’s house. Right on time again the tuk-tuk thief did his thing. Bob was tucked in beside a car sipping his 7-Eleven cappuccino and waiting patiently. The tuk-tuk turned right as expected and then instantly swung a left just a few yards further ahead. Bob followed at a swift walking pace and to his surprise saw the tuk-tuk parked up by a house just down the road. He waited, hidden by a shrub and took some notes. Bob’s notes were much like his speaking, Remarkable business, TT parked up outside a house. Waiting.
A few minutes later the man emerged with an older woman and began to load the tuk-tuk with various bags and containers. Bob wasn’t able to get any clear view of what they were but he started to wonder if he had stumbled upon something big. He felt a tingling down his spine, a mixture of fear and excitement. He scribbled in his notes. Possible drug deal?
Bob had recently been watching the hit TV series Breaking Bad and he wondered if this woman in her late fifties had done similar and got some ideas from that. Just what was in those bags. Yaba pills? Cocaine? Ya ice – the local name for crystal methamphetamine. Minutes later the man sped off with the stash and turned right at the end of the road back towards the main Silom Road. The woman walked slowly back into the house. Bangkok never ceased to amaze Bob, here he was watching this middle-aged Thai woman who was possibly a drug kingpin. Bob would set himself up at the next corner next time, although he also considered that this house might need some careful watching. No doubt unsavoury characters would be coming and going all times of the day and night, taking delivery of the good stuff from this unassuming woman.
Bob was very pleased with his efforts and laughed inside at Susie’s questioning of his methods. He wondered if he might write a book ‘Bob Lowe’s step by step stakeouts – for the non-driving, non-cycling private investigator’. A wordy title perhaps but he could work on that.
THIRTEEN
Avi sat in the same bar, and looked at Bob Lowe's business card. After a couple of beers he had texted Lowe a few nights previous. Now he was wondering what on earth he’d been thinking. Employing a private investigator in Bangkok to find a friend he last saw in Tokyo in 1983. He took a big swig of his beer and looked wistfully into space.
"You thinking maak maak again, Avi!" Mint interrupted him.
"I'm remembering an old friend, Mint." Avi felt a tear well in his eyes. Mint didn't notice, she was too busy as the bar was pretty full.
Avi remembered the last time he saw Mo Razzaq, and he was still racked with guilt.
Tensions had begun to appear in the relationship in the early ‘80s if Avi was honest. By 1982 they had more arguments and disputes than good times. But for a while it helped their disco skills, when they were dancing in tandem. Both were so determined to outdo the other that their focus was constant. They never flinched, their scores were getting better and better as their friendship disintegrated. As they approached the 1983 World Championships in Tokyo they had serious hopes of winning the disco pairs, and both would be in with a shout of winning the blue ribbon of disco – the all-around disco champion. Truth was Mo had slowly stolen a march on Avi and had been consistently a top three performer in solo competitions for the previous year, while Avi had rare forays into the top ten. His bust-up with Mohammed was beginning to strain his own solo dancing.
Thinking back now, and even at the time, Avi found it hard to understand why he suddenly began to dislike Mo. He remembered at one time thinking he hated him. Some thirty-five years later and he had no idea at all why. He remembered what he did though, he'd had to live with that shame. That look on Mo's face was permanently etched in Avi's mind. "Why Avi? Why?" With tears streaming down his face Avi had left the venue and taken the first flight to Tel Aviv. He had never spoken with Mo again. In the pre-internet age it was pretty simple to lose contact with someone living in another country.
He held Bob Lowe's card in his hand, having pulled it from the menu in the bar. Mint noticed
"You know Bob na?"
"No, no, Mint, but maybe I speak with him."
"That him na, sit there always. He like drink beer." Mint pointed to a tall and scruffy chap sitting at the front of the bar gazing out to Soi Nana. Avi jigged his way over to Bob's table.
"Bob Lowe, I believe. Mint said."
"Ah the delightful Mint, where is the old girl. Ah, Mint!" Bob bellowed across the bar and waved.
"Sorry. Yes Bob Lowe indeed. Lowe by name... no hang on that doesn't work does it. Good Lord. Let's start again. Yes, I am Bob!"
"Hi, Bob, I'm Avi. I sent you a LINE message the other day, about a case I may have for you, well I thought I had a case for you, but now I’m not so sure if it’s a good idea to go down this path."
"Aha. You leave that to me, Mr Avi. Customer's remorse we call that in the trade, but give me the details and I'll let you know if I can sort you out. No job too small, old boy."
"Well this job is rather big." Avi meekly added.
There was a longish pause and Bob with his improving social skills realised Avi wasn't ready to talk. He tried to change the conversation, gesturing with his hand to the soi.
"Remarkable soi this, isn't it? A decade plus for me and it never ceases to amaze."
Avi looked out wistfully and pondered Bob’s words.
“Yes, I suppose it is in its own way, it’s certainly an odd place. Perhaps that’s why I love just relaxing out here
.”
“It is that. It is that,” added Bob, not quite sure where this conversation was heading. “For many people the beautiful ladies help.” Bob raised an eyebrow and flicked his head towards some of the young girls working in the bar.
“Yes, yes, of course, not really for me though.”
“No, of course not you. Ho ho. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. Eh eh. How’s your father.” Bob had naturally assumed Avi was just being coy or sarcastic or perhaps simply embarrassed.
“Genuinely, Bob. I come here regularly. I drink. I chat. I ‘hang out’ as the kids say. But pick up these girls? No. Not for me.”
This was a new one on Bob, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Of course Bob was aware that many people came to Nana to gawp and experience the place, but they weren’t regulars. A regular punter in Nana’s bars just to drink and chat? Was this really a thing? Bob considered there were surely more straightforward places in town to have a quiet drink.
“Well, of course, the beer can be cheaper here than in other places, you know those fancy hotels, boy they don’t half crank up the prices. Shocking stuff, genuinely remarkable.”
Bob was desperately fishing for a logical explanation to this Avi character.
“Yes that is true, Bob. Can’t say I am really much of a heavy drinker though.”
This was already proving a challenging case for Bangkok’s newest private investigator and he hadn’t even established what the case was yet! Bangkok was always throwing up these bizarre characters and so in that sense Avi was nothing unique, simply by virtue of his apparent uniqueness.
“So, what sort of cases do you take, Bob?” asked Avi, starting to get to the crux of the matter.
“Oh good Lord! What don’t I take?! The range is huge, vast really. Obviously I can’t say too much, client confidentiality you see, but I deal with all sorts. Stolen tuk-tuks, cheating partners, you name it, Lowe is getting right in amongst it.”
The Mysterious Case of the Missing Tuk-Tuk Page 6