by Jay Tinsiano
Richard ordered drinks for the girls, which consisted of an inch high measure of orange juice and cost the same as their beers. He gave them to the girls who made small talk before leaving them to find more willing customers. After a while, a young couple came on stage and started a live sex show for the crowd. Twenty or thirty positions later, they trooped off. Their bored expressions throughout the entire spectacle indicated it was just another day at the office. Frank took in the seedy atmosphere and drank the beer in quick gulps.
"There’s a free table at the back, let’s grab it," said Richard.
"You’re a sad old man, Rich, knowing these type of places," Frank said jokily.
Richard laughed. "Yeah. Just red-blooded. But it's all part of Bangkok's rich tapestry, you know."
Richard gestured for more drinks from the waitress dressed as a Playboy bunny.
"I like to live a certain type of life, Frank." He lit his tenth cigarette of the hour. "I can meet people here. For the kind of business I do."
Frank sensed a change of tone in the conversation.
"There’s ways of staying out here and making money and that’s what I do. I’m not a traveller Frank, I live here."
He smiled again, but Frank could tell by his eyes he wanted to get something off his chest.
"I guessed as much," said Frank. "So how does someone from the old country make a living here?"
"Well there are all kinds of business one could get into. Asians love to do business, Frank. It's in their blood. That's what I love about it over here. No bullshit."
"Yeah I can imagine," nodded Frank.
Richard continued to talk about the black market, currencies, precious metals like gold, even selling snakes. It was a crash course in being a hustler in Thailand. After a few more beers, Richard mentioned he had a problem. He needed someone to bring some gems to Bangkok from the south. It was an easy deal, easy money. No borders to cross. He used travellers all the time, apparently.
"Thanks for the offer, Richard, but it’s not really my line. Not right now anyway," he said.
"No problem, Frank." He searched his wallet and gave Frank a business card that only had a Bangkok phone number on.
"Just give me a call if you change your mind."
Frank took the card and slipped it into his wallet.
Chapter 9
The night bus left Bangkok in the early evening, heading south. Frank's head felt like it was lagging a few feet behind him, due to the relentless drinking nights that Richard had persuaded him to go on. He exhaled in relief and was glad to be leaving the manic city behind him and fell into a deep sleep.
Around five o'clock the following morning the coach pulled into Surat Thani; the bright sunlight already bathing the streets in a yellow glow despite the early hour. Frank grabbed his bag and headed off to find out the boat times to Koh Samui. Scanning the timetable, Frank could make no sense of it and wandered over to a nearby café to ask the owner. A tall, burley, dark haired man had the same idea and was turning back from talking to the small, jovial faced proprietor.
"There’s a six hour wait," he said to Frank’s unasked question.
"For the boat to Samui?" Frank asked.
"Aye. You’d think they’d put ’em on more regular, like."
The big man slung his huge backpack down next to a table in a way which suggested he was going no further. Frank joined him for breakfast, ordering banana pancakes and coffee whilst the Irishman ordered half the menu. He offered his massive hand to Frank.
"Jimmy," he said, a smile forming across his broad, deep set features. Jimmy was a bus driver from Lisbon, Northern Ireland. But driving buses was just one of a long list of occupations. He’d taken off two years previously and had been over the Americas and was now covering Asia. They drank bottles of rice whiskey to pass the time until finally their 'Coconut boat', a two level transporter that crammed in as many travellers as possible, was available for the crossing.
Once they had both finally arrived on the island, the two men found a tuk tuk and headed for a stretch of beach called Choeng Mon, which Jimmy had heard about. They found a bungalow each, behind the guesthouse restaurant but only metres from the beach. They did their own thing in the day and met up for meals in the guesthouse restaurant, Frank burning his mouth on Coconut Soup and Thai style curries, which he was developing a taste for, and Jimmy trying everything without hesitation. The menu was geared to tourist 'Farangs' and wasn't very adventurous, but Jimmy managed to persuade the waitress to deliver 'off the menu' real Thai food.
One balmy evening, after dinner, Frank took his leather waist bag with his money and passport to the reception to book a boat trip, while Jimmy decided to stretch his legs and walk up the beach. Then he spotted that the best hammock on the beach was free and decided to grab it.
Swinging lazily, Frank watched the sun disappear below the horizon amid magical colours of the emerald sea. Daydreaming of the next stop on his trip; he weighed up whether to head to Penang in Malaysia, or to carry on down the coast of Thailand to Kota Bharu.
The light faded fast and Frank finally went to return his moneybag to the guesthouse safe, but no one was around at reception. He walked back to his hut, stashed the bag in the bottom of his rucksack, locked the door and headed for the beach to see if he could catch up with Jimmy. A Thai man in black shirt and long shorts walked past him, avoiding his eye.
The beach became deserted once past the last busy bar that catered to a happy drunk crowd, apart from the sounds of the lapping sea. Pink and neon blue lights winked in the darkness ahead and Frank moved towards them, stumbling in the thick darkness. The lights turned out to be a small lonely bar and Frank made out a Thai woman serving a man. Getting closer, he recognised Jimmy’s distinct Northern Irish accent.
"Hey Jimmy, had a good night?" Frank said as he patted him on the back and pulled up a stool.
"Hey Frankie, how’re ya doing there? This is Mimi," he gestured to the middle aged woman, who gave Frank a broad smile.
Frank eased onto another stool and slapped his Lucky Strikes onto the bar top.
"Very nice to meet you, Mimi. I’ll have what he’s having."
Mimi grabbed a bottle from the cooler and put it in front of Frank with another beautiful smile before disappearing round the back.
"So, been in touch with anyone back home?" asked Frank, as he started to pull off the bottle label, bit by bit.
"Home? Yeah, haven't been back there for a while. To be honest, there are a lot of bad memories back there," Jimmy's huge forearms dominated the bar and he shrugged.
"Ahh, sorry to hear that, Jimmy. We're all running from something I guess."
"Well, my da’ was killed in an I.R.A. bomb when I was fifteen or so. He was a policeman. It was a kick in the teeth for a lad to lose his father like that."
Frank shook his head. "I’m really sorry mate, I didn’t realise. I lost my parents when I was young. Car crash."
Jimmy grimaced in sympathy and he held up his beer: "To loved ones." A clink of bottles. "Yes, let’s drink to that."
The light began to break as the two men staggered through the sand. The orange glow of a rising sun sparkled on the sea, revealing a fishing boat out on the bay.
"This is the best thing I ever did, so it is," Jim started, admiring the same view Frank was.
"All those shitty days of packing, driving and shovelling crap in people’s gardens. It’s like, why doesn’t everyone just take off, leave it all behind? This is what I’m gonna do from now on, Franky boy, jus’ work when I can and travel and enjoy the world’s beauty whenever possible."
"Exactly right," Frank agreed.
As they approached their line of huts in the early morning light, Frank noticed something was wrong. The towel he’d left hanging outside was strewn over the steps, his door was slightly ajar and, with a sinking feeling, he suddenly noticed the damage of a forced entry on the frame. Inside, his clothes were strewn over the floor. He dived down into his bag, desperately looking for his money and
passport. Both were gone.
"Shit!"
"I’d better check my hut too," said Jimmy and he quickly moved across the yard.
Frank tried to retrace his steps in his alcohol riddled mind.
Jim returned after a couple of minutes.
"My place too, only I left my valuables with the restaurant owners."
Frank stood up, looking around, flushed with anger. "Shit! I just cashed in a large travellers' check!" he punched the wooden wall suddenly, with the side of his fist, and stepped outside, looking around angrily, as if the culprit might just still be hanging around.
He slumped down on the steps to his bungalow, sobering up quickly as the realisation hit that he was now virtually penniless, apart from the small amount of money he had on him.
*******
"Hi … Richard?" There was a pause on the line.
"This is Richard."
"It’s Frank, from Bangkok. We went to Pat Pong. Remember?"
"Oh yes, Frank. How are you? Enjoying the sights?"
"Yes, or I was. I have a little financial problem. I was thinking about your offer."
"I see. Sorry to hear that. Where are you now?"
"Well I’m at Suret Thani, I’ve just been to Koh Samuri."
"Can you go to Krabi? I have a friend there."
"No problem."
"Great. Find the 'Bird House' in Krabi town. It’s very quiet down there. You’ll meet a guy called Greg. Be there by the fifteenth; that gives you a week. He’ll give you everything you need."
"Thanks. Listen, I've a friend in the same boat, we both got robbed at the same time. He's an Irish fella. Is there anything he could do? He's broke as well."
Richard exhaled slowly over the line.
"I'm not sure. Probably not right now, not this time, but we'll see … maybe something later. What's his name?"
"It’s Jimmy Duffy, but it's no problem, Rich. Thanks mate."
"Goodbye Frank." The line went dead.
Chapter 10
Theo left his rented condo overlooking the beach in a short sleeved white shirt and slacks. A Toyota pick up truck stood outside, its engine purring as Theo climbed in. He nodded at the driver and they pulled away.
The Toyota moved fast down the Mapusa-Anjuna road towards the town of Mapusa inland.
"Take it easy," said Theo, in Chinese Mandarin.
The truck paused at a crossroads while a herd of goats were shepherded across, and Theo leaned and spat from the window. His mirrored sunglasses glinted against the hot sun, turning towards an old man who was sitting outside a makeshift wooden snack stop. His watery eyes glanced up at Theo briefly, considering him for a moment before looking away. He reminded Theo of photographs he had of his late father, Daaruk Kumar.
Daaruk had come from Southern India and had always wanted to help people throughout his life. Born in the Bengaluru region, he had moved to study at Mumbai University and made the decision to join the International Red Cross. The war in Vietnam had begun and Daaruk found himself based in Saigon at the Red Cross Vietnam Southern branch where he met Theo's mother, Pham Thi Qui, a Vietnamese nurse. Eighteen months later, Theo was born – as Amith Kumar – in 1968, just as the combined forces of the North Vietnamese Army and Viet Cong launched the Tet offensive against U.S. army positions.
Daaruk's work required him to be based up towards the warzone for a while, just as the war intensified. On a particularly humid hot day in May 1969, Daaruk and his small team entered a village to bring medical supplies. A passing U.S Apache patrol sweeping the area mistook them for Viet Cong and attacked them with machine gun fire. There were no survivors.
The young Amith and his mother weathered the storm until 1975 when Saigon fell to the Communists. The bitterness at his father's death stayed with Amith throughout his youth and he was won over by the communist cause, joining the party and becoming an active member.
At the age of twenty, Amith travelled to Hanoi in northern Vietnam and worked for the administration of the party. Being mixed race, Amith had to work extra hard to prove his loyalty, but he didn't care. His aim was to make a difference in the way he saw the world, his motivation was a kind of vengeance.
After a few months, Amith got an opportunity to visit the Hong Kong branch of the Chinese Communist Party with his boss, for a strengthening of ties between the two parties. Amith was amazed at the wealth he saw on display there, but equally disturbed by the hidden poverty embedded in the urban concrete jungle that was shown to them by the local party leader, Hu Lam.
"See how Capitalism divides and pushes down the poor here. They never show you this side of Hong Kong, do they?"
Amith had seen his share of poverty, but had to agree it didn't make any sense considering Hong Kong's high per capita wealth. He was then introduced to a tall man from Beijing called Peng Quan. Quan told him, due to his cultural background, he would be a useful asset to the mainland's cause. China was soon to take back Hong Kong from the British and there was a lot of preparation required. And so Amith's involvement with the 5th department of Ministry of State Security had begun.
The truck negotiated the swarms of tuk tuks, beaten up cars and scooters as they entered the town. It was market day; stalls and traders peddled their wares selling everything from fresh fruits, vegetables and livestock to carved wooden monkeys and fake branded clothing. The main street thronged and heaved with a mass of locals and the odd traveller checking out the offers.
The truck turned off and parked up in a quiet street, scattering a group of street dogs.
"I'll call you in a few hours and you can take me to the airport," Theo said, jumping out of the truck. The driver nodded and drove off. Theo unlocked a door that led through a garment shop, nodding to the owner, who impassively sat staring out toward the front. He then proceeded to climb a creaky stairwell and unlocked another door to a sparsely furnished office. There was a single desk, a filing cabinet with a fan on top and a table with a few papers scattered across it. Theo switched the fan on and removed a painting on the wall which revealed a safe door. He dialled the combination and pulled out a M-125 Fialka electro-mechanical cipher machine, which was the size of a typewriter, and placed it on the desk.
Theo then plugged it into a socket in the wall and connected it to the phone line before typing in the words: Frank Bowen.
Chapter 11
Frank shuffled along the shore from the phone booth and headed to the bus station with his heavy bag in tow. He had decided to travel to Krabi early to check everything out.
Krabi was indeed a quiet town. The streets ran in squares across each other and there was a main road along the riverfront, which moored various tourist boats and a seafood restaurant. Small islands jutted out from the emerald water as reaching for the clear sky. Frank had heard ‘James Bond Island’ was around here where they had filmed ‘Man with a Golden Gun’, but that little excursion would have to wait.
Frank looked at the notes he had jotted down when speaking to Richard. They included the name of the place with a rough map. The guesthouse café had an array of photos of local beach places to stay. There was no sign or mention of this 'Bird Cage' place though?
"I want to go the Bird Cage, tomorrow?"
"Bird Cage?" said the jovial, moustached, Thai man. ‘There is a place called the ‘Bird House’ just outside town."
"Ah right. Yes, that’s probably it."
"Run by Mr Ron."
"Uh huh."
"Do you bird watch?" the proprietor asked, looking at Frank intently through his shades.
"Uh? ...oh yes ... sometimes."
The man babbled Thai at a bored looking kid playing the computer game in the corner of the café and then picked up the phone and spoke to Mr Ron. The bored kid strolled past Frank and got onto a scrambler bike, revving the engine impatiently.
"Yes, he take you there now," the café owner gestured for Frank to jump on the back.
They scooted up through the town and up a steep hill where the countryside began. He
busted a left through an open cast iron gate hidden from the road and, suddenly, they had arrived. It turned out Frank could have easily walked there in ten minutes, but at least he now knew where it was. He offered the bored boy a ten baht note, but he just smiled and took off without a word, leaving Frank alone in the undergrowth.
Plants grew high in the small, secluded garden and the grass was badly in need of a trim. Small insects buzzed in the evening ambience. There was a scent of sweet flowers lingering in the air and an old rusty bike leant against a white building that ran parallel to the path. Here were the guest rooms, a line of eight doors and a toilet and shower area at the end. Frank walked past the bike and saw the man sitting on the patio through the gloom.
Mr Ron stood up from his chair, sporting a white linen suit, and greeted Frank. He was average height, but more western looking than most Thais. It was the prominent nose and chin that made him look like an Englishman.
"Hello," he said, slightly effeminately, "I am Mr Ron; can I help you at all?"
He seemed surprised at having a visitor but was warm and friendly and spoke fluent English with barely a trace of an accent. Behind him, there was a wide wooden patio with a railing extended over, what seemed like a marshland. The panoramic view extended across the horizon, revealing long grass, palm trees and little shack huts dotted in the distance. Beyond the jungle overgrowth, mountains rose on the landscape; grey hazed mounds for their distance.
"I know it’s out of season and everything, but I wondered if I could hire a room for a week. I prefer a quiet spot like this, to staying in the town," said Frank as he walked slowly over to the railing, gazing out at the view.
"It is indeed a beautiful spot,’ the Thai man agreed, moving elegantly to what looked like a disused dusty counter at the side of the bar. He took a key from a hook that belonged to pigeonhole shelves and handed it to Frank.
"Somewhere for the birds to come; that’s why we have bird watchers stay here," he said, smiling.
"Yes I can imagine."
Frank paid for a week and, as Mr Ron began to walk away, the Thai turned back to face Frank. "There’s a fridge behind the counter, help yourself. Just write down what you’ve had."
With that, Mr Ron disappeared on his bicycle down the path, moving awkwardly through the long grass.
Frank had a smoke on the patio and gazed at the view again. Did Mr Ron have a connection with Richard or this Greg character? He was supposed to meet Greg here in five days time, but right now the place was completely dead. There was no one else there at all.