The Travel Mate

by Mark Green

  ‘I’d like to punch whoever recommended this place, but I don’t think I have the strength.’

  ‘Me too …’ muttered Maddie, in a subdued voice. She swept the curtain partition aside and dragged in a sharp breath as a stabbing pain shot across her shoulder. She flinched, shielding her eyes from the low sunlight flooding in from the street, mercifully cooler than the fiery heat of the day.

  ‘Ah culnm,’ she said to Suki, passing her five US dollars, respectfully dipping her head and pressing her palms together under her chin.

  ‘I need a drink,’ said Victoria, joining Maddie on the pavement outside.

  ‘Did you tip your masseuse?’

  ‘Oh yeah. I gave him a few pointers …’

  ‘I meant, money.’

  Victoria shook her head and pulled her sunglasses over her eyes. ‘I’ll deposit something into the local economy shortly – in the nearest bar.’

  Maddie watched Victoria saunter rigidly away.

  ‘Good fun, ja?’

  ‘Definitely an experience.’

  ‘Tomorrow, you thank me. Blind massage is best.’ Barney looked left and right, waved both hands up and down in opposition, then settled on his outstretched right hand. ‘Bye.’ He smirked and marched off, stiff-limbed, to his left.

  Maddie watched him leave. She shook her head, then reached down to rub her thumbs along the top of each thigh, smarting. She shook each leg, then hobbled off down the street, following Victoria’s distant footsteps.

  Eighteen

  Barry plugged his headphones into his MP3 player and selected the shuffle function. He watched the bus station fall away behind him, the ancient engine rattling through the seat’s thin fabric as it strained to accelerate, jolting the passengers as the driver clunked up through the gears.

  ‘Warp factor ten, Mister Sulu,’ he muttered, jiggling and twitching in time with AC/DC’s Shot Down in Flames.

  He winked at the Cambodian lady opposite who had a live duck sat in a straw bag beside her feet. He drew a flat palm across his neck, raised his eyebrows, silently asking: Is the duck for the chop? He noted her affirmative nod, then dropped his gaze to the duck, and gravely shook his head. The duck blinked back at him, bobbing its head forwards as the minibus braked heavily, the side door sliding open.

  Barry looked over at the ten year old boy perched in the open doorway clutching a fistful of Cambodian currency, jabbering at a couple standing by the side of the road. The man turned to the woman, exchanged a few words. She called out, haggling with the boy over the price. The deal done, the couple stepped into the bus, the man handing the boy several Riel notes. Barry watched them settle in a seat, then retrieved his mobile phone from a pocket and began to construct a text message.

  To: Jody

  I’m coming to find you in Phnom Penh. Where you bunking down? Save a cold one for me, I’ll be in the capital in a few Cambodian hours.

  Baz

  PS. I hope your hand doesn’t hate me.

  PPS. My head has forgiven you.

  • • •

  ‘Hey, how was your massage?’ Charlie called out from a side street, jogging up to intercept Maddie.

  ‘Oh, um … quite intensive. Did you manage to catch up with your folks?’

  ‘I did. Pretty good Wi-Fi signal, actually. Skype really is amazing.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  They walked on in silence, Maddie with a slow painful shuffle, Charlie forcing himself to slow to half his normal pace.

  ‘Can I buy you a drink? You look like you could do with some pampering.’

  ‘Pampering? That was the idea of the massage. But yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.’

  Charlie grinned. He glanced directly ahead, aware of Victoria, fifty yards in front. ‘Great, I know the perfect place.’ He steered Maddie down a side street, heading for the river.

  At the bar, Charlie filled two glasses from the jug of frothy beer and took a sip. ‘Less than a dollar a glass, and it’s pretty good – cold too. Cheers.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the open road, full of adventure and discovery.’

  Maddie lifted her glass, catching his unblinking gaze. ‘Ouch.’ She cringed in pain and rubbed her wrist.

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘The German, he told them we all wanted maximum pressure. I heard him laughing at us. Or maybe he was crying in agony, I couldn’t tell.’

  ‘So the masseuses are blind?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘It’s a charity. They’re really good at finding the pressure points. A bit too good.’ She rubbed her elbow, flexed her fingers and rotated her wrist.

  ‘I guess the body is a map and they navigate their way by touch.’

  ‘Yep. The pain aside, it’s actually pretty impressive.’ She lifted her glass, took a long drink. ‘You didn’t fancy it?’

  Charlie took a hurried chug of beer and shrugged. ‘Maybe next time.’

  She nodded and glanced away, down towards the river. She watched a fisherman standing on a wide, low-sided punt. He held aloft a neatly gathered weighted net, then swayed his hips left and right, swooping his hands out wide to cast it over the water. Maddie watched the net fall gracefully over the surface in a perfect circular shape. The fisherman allowed the net to sink for a few seconds, then pulled on a central line, helped to haul it back aboard by his young assistant. ‘Wow, that’s some skill,’ she said, watching the well-practised routine.

  ‘No doubt passed on through the generations. How’s your book going?’

  ‘Oh, good thanks.’ Maddie turned away from the fishermen. ‘I’m a few chapters in. It’s setting up the political situation in Cambodia. The author’s describing his normal life as a doctor, before the Khmer Rouge regime.’

  Charlie dropped his eyes, fiddling with his glass. ‘Some tough reading ahead,’ he said quietly. Maddie watched him trace his finger across condensation droplets on the beer jug.

  ‘What’s your plan for travelling, after here?’ she asked after a while.

  ‘I was going to ask you the same question. Tomorrow some of us are cycling out to the killing caves at Phnom Sampeau. The day after I’m on a bus to Siem Reap to look around the temples at Angkor.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘Possibly up to Laos via northern Cambodia, I haven’t planned that far ahead. The temples are the main tourist event for me. Angkor Wat is supposedly the eighth wonder of the world.’

  ‘Yeah, I read that in the Lonely Planet guide. Apparently a sequence from the film Tomb Raider was shot there.’

  He chuckled. ‘How old is that movie – and it’s still their sales pitch. I guess that’s the draw a Hollywood blockbuster has.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll still be fantastic.’

  ‘We’ll see. What about you? I understand you hadn’t planned on being in Cambodia at all.’

  Maddie’s cheeks creased into a smile. Her eyes shone, radiating energy. Charlie shifted on his chair, fixated on her face. ‘No … it’s surreal. And weirdly, the more strange it gets, the more I feel settled. Can’t figure it out.’

  ‘So no firm travel plans?’

  ‘I don’t even know what tomorrow holds in store. That might actually be the bit I’m enjoying the most. Although I have to confess, it’s still pretty scary.’

  ‘They do say doing something that scares us every day is good for the soul.’

  ‘I’ll test the theory and let you know.’

  ‘I look forward to that.’

  Maddie glanced up, caught the penetrating expression in his eyes. She swept her glass off the table, finished the beer, then stifled a yawn. ‘Thank you, this was really nice. But it’s time to take these tired aching bones off to rest.’ She stood up, groaning as she stretched. ‘That German lad needs strangling. Thanks for the drink, Charlie.’

  ‘You can’t leave me to finish the rest of the jug on my own,’ he said, pulling a bogus sad face.

  ‘That, Charlie, is inevitable. Enjoy.’

  ‘What about the caves tomorrow – there’s a few of us going.’ />
  ‘Maybe …’ she called over her shoulder, already hobbling away.

  • • •

  Fender looked up from behind the English newspaper. ‘Good morning, Rupert. I assume you slept well, didn’t sleepwalk out of the hotel and get hit with the Taser.’

  Rupert slid into the seat opposite Fender and clonked his elbows on the table top. ‘Is all this really necessary?’

  Fender took a moment to finish reading an article, then carefully folded the newspaper and laid it on the table beside his cup of coffee. ‘There’s some elements to your predicament that I’m not fully aware of, yet. So until I feel fully enlightened, yes, all this is obligatory. But the ankle bracelet is fairly unobtrusive – you’re comfortable, yes?’

  Rupert shrugged, reaching across the table to pour himself a coffee.

  ‘Excellent. Now, take a look at this,’ Fender passed Rupert a menu, ‘and fuel up. We’ve a long day ahead.’

  • • •

  Tap, tap, tap …

  Maddie stirred, rotating her head towards the door. She stared at it, blinking. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Maddie? It is Kao. A few of us go to caves. You come too?’

  ‘Um … sure.’ Maddie slid out of bed, opened the door.

  Kao grinned at her. ‘You sleep for twelve hours!’

  Maddie frowned, tilted her head to squint at Kao’s digital watch.

  ‘How you feel?’ Kao rubbed her thumbs on her thighs, jostling her hands back and forth, grinning.

  ‘The massage? Oh, actually …’ Maddie jiggled her shoulders, tentatively smiled, then stretched her hands above her head. ‘I feel pretty good. Wow, that’s amazing, I don’t feel sore.’

  ‘Very good! Breakfast, ten minutes. Okay?’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll see you there.’

  • • •

  ‘How much?’ asked Maddie, peering at the row of bicycles.

  ‘One dollar each, for the whole day,’ said Charlie. He flicked the side-stand down on a traditional lady’s shopping bike with a low crossbar, a rack over the rear wheel and a large wicker basket in front of the handlebars.

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  Charlie shook his head and pointed to the rear wheel. ‘It’s even got a dynamo, for the front light.’

  ‘Wow, retro. I haven’t been on a bicycle for years.’

  ‘It’s like making love, you never forget,’ murmured Charlie, watching Maddie’s neck glow with a red pigment.

  ‘Which gets better with age, like a good wine … so I’m told,’ added Sandy, wheeling his bike away from the neat row outside the shop. He shot Gabby a mischievous glance as she cycled past, returning his wink.

  Kao looked over her shoulder from the lead bike. ‘Ready?’

  Maddie stepped through her bike’s frame and gripped the handlebars. ‘You sure this is a good idea?’ She squeezed and released the slack brake levers. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any rules at the junctions and my brakes feel a bit woolly.’

  ‘There are no rules, just Westerners’ staying alive procedures,’ said Sandy. ‘Number one: look left, right, backwards, forwards, all at the same time. Procedure two: keep pedalling, no matter what. The faster you ride, the safer you are. And three: never, ever, expect anyone else to give way. He who is biggest, squishes everyone else. So in the words of Peter Fonda from Easy Rider, “Ride hard, or stay home!” Let’s pull out.’

  Sandy pedalled out into the deserted side road, whooping like a submarine dive alarm. ‘Wuuuup! Wuuuup!’

  Maddie tacked on to the back of the group, her eyes darting left and right as they approached the first turning. Her fingers tightened around the sloppy brake levers, trailing her heels on the dusty road in an effort to help slow the bike.

  ‘Shit! Shit! Shit! Slow, slow, sloooow …!’ Maddie’s bike squeaked to a halt behind Charlie. He shot her a concerned look over his shoulder.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Here’s a gap. Ready … pedal, pedal, pedal!’ yelled Charlie. Maddie took a deep breath, stood up off the seat and pedalled hard, shooting out between three scooters sporadically scattered across the road.

  ‘Okay, okay, okay, that’s good. Safely across. Turn coming up …’ said Maddie, speed talking, coaxing herself through the manoeuvre. She caught a glance from Charlie. ‘This is crazy!’

  ‘Wait till the main road, it gets better.’

  ‘Better, how—’

  ‘More exciting! There’s the next gap, between the red scooter and the pick-up truck. Go, go, go!’ he shouted, accelerating away from her.

  Maddie gritted her teeth, pushed her body up over the handlebars and forced down on the pedals. ‘Bloody hell!’ she yelled, pedalling fast and breathing hard as she cycled up to Charlie’s back wheel.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘Hey, well done. We’re a proper convoy. I’ll pull out, let you go past on the inside to shield you from vehicles overtaking.’

  ‘I’m okay here thanks, getting the hang of it.’ A nervous smile twitched across Maddie’s lips, growing into a fully-fledged grin. ‘Woo-hoo!’

  • • •

  Rupert stepped out of the lift and slouched his way across the lobby, his Samsonite case skidding behind him on the polished marble. He hunched the straps of his small day-pack off his shoulder and deposited it beside the couch, where Fender stood waiting.

  ‘I almost didn’t recognise you,’ Rupert mumbled, casting his eye over Fender’s lightweight canvas boots, cargo pants with deep pockets, short-sleeve travel shirt and sand-coloured Tilly hat. Beside him, a compact backpack rested against the couch.

  Fender surveyed Rupert for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the suitcase. ‘Check it into reception as left luggage.’ He began to walk towards the reception desk. Behind him, Rupert hesitated for a second too long. Fender turned to study his reaction, locking onto Rupert’s twitching eyes like a Death Star tractor beam.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Follow me,’ said Fender curtly. He led Rupert to a corner of the lobby. ‘Let’s find out exactly what it is London wants. Open it,’ he instructed, prodding the suitcase with his boot.

  Rupert bristled. ‘It’s my holiday stuff, it’s expensive. I wouldn’t want to leave it in a random hotel somewhere and—’

  Fender swung his hand down onto Rupert’s wrist, squeezing hard. Rupert yelped. His hand fell limply away from the extendible suitcase handle. Fender grabbed the case and hauled it up onto the couch. He held out his right hand, hooked his left thumb behind his belt, his fingers laying over the chunky buckle. ‘Keys.’

  Rupert flinched, glanced at the lobby entrance door and began to shake his head.

  Fender pressed the front of his belt buckle. Click.

  ‘Oomph!’

  Fender watched Rupert’s lock-jawed muted gasp. He reached out in time to guide Rupert’s crumpling body down onto the couch, beside the suitcase. Fender ignored Rupert’s wide-eyed whimpering and searched through his pockets, withdrawing a set of small keys. He used them to unlock the suitcase and methodically searched through the contents.

  ‘Hurts, doesn’t it?’ Fender murmured. ‘In addition to the proximity settings on your ankle bracelet, I have a manual trigger for the Taser. Now, tell me Rupert … how much do you know about this particular suitcase?’

  Rupert tried to open his mouth to speak, but could manage only a series of whimpers. Fender carefully checked through each item of clothing, then discarded them, forming a pile on the floor. ‘On initial examination the contents appear to be clean. However …’ Fender looked down at the pile of clothes, then focused back on the case, ‘… the weight ratio seems a little off.’

  He closed the lid and lifted up the empty case. ‘Possibly by an unaccounted kilo or two. Which means either it’s made out of an unusual Samsonite grade of granite, or—’ Fender crouched down, his fingertips tracing every inch of the suitcase’s construction, scrutinising it, inside and out.

  Rupert let out a low squeal, glaring at Fender, unable t
o move a muscle. Fender stopped his search. He eased his fingertips back a centimetre, peered closely at the plastic around the carry handle. ‘The craftsmanship is excellent. They’ve matched the bungs almost seamlessly. It’s time to be truthful, Rupert. Blink once for no, twice for yes. Did you know about the case’s special construction?’

  Rupert squealed and shook his head, an inch either way.

  ‘Stubbornness? Oh dear. You want another hit of Taser?’

  Rupert stared at Fender’s index finger, hovering over his belt buckle.

  One blink.

  ‘Good. We understand each other. So you knew your fiancée’s suitcase was identical to this one?’

  Rupert hesitated, looked away from Fender, who pulled a lock knife from his pocket.

  ‘Please understand, Rupert, your testicles and this blade will have a very close shave unless you’re absolutely, completely straight with me. So, once again—’

  Two blinks.

  ‘You knew both cases had the same inner and outer double skin construction?’

  Two blinks.

  ‘Which contains … cocaine?’

  One blink.

  ‘Heroin?’

  Rupert managed a tiny proper nod, the effects of the Taser wearing off enough for him to partially open his mouth and dribble, mumbling, ‘Same.’

  ‘Quantity?’

  ‘One n’ alf ilo.’

  ‘High purity?’

  ‘Es.’

  ‘In each one?’

  Rupert jolted a nod, able to move his neck two inches now.

  ‘So each case has an approximate street value of one and a half million US dollars, roughly a million pounds sterling.’ Fender stared down at Rupert. ‘You’re in Thailand, Rupert Sullivan. A country with some of the harshest drug trafficking laws in the world, including the death penalty. You and your fiancée are walking around with suitcases vacuum-packed with high-purity Class A narcotics, with a combined street value of three million dollars. Tell me, are you completely insane?’

  ‘Desperate … times,’ Rupert spluttered.

  ‘Desperate indeed.’ Fender slowly folded the blade away, pocketed the knife and crouched down, hunching forwards on the balls of his feet. He levelled a steely glare.