Sleepless in Bangkok

by Ian Quartermaine

  “Do you know the language?” Steven asked.

  “The dialect is similar to Isaan, North East of Thailand, so communicating will be straightforward. They’ll trust me because of that. I also speak passable Myanmar, Laotian and a few hilltribe dialects.”

  Steven was impressed but said nothing. Gunn was already too fucking clever for a woman as it was. “Are we in Burma or Lao?” Steven asked.

  “Lao,” gunn confirmed. “But the borders are a bit loose en route so we could be in either at times. Also, different hill tribes regard the land as theirs.”

  “A no-man’s-land adventure,” Steven surmised. “A potential nightmare.” Gunn said nothing but here expression agreed.

  “If they think we’re trying to buy drugs, every hill tribe for miles will be looking for us, hoping to hustle or steal our money. We need to locate Kronsky’s encampment, that’s the main distribution centre for the region. Other tribes not within his cartel will be small change in comparison,” Steven said, giving an outline of the next part of the mission.

  The ferry man, number one wife, number two wife, seven kids of varying sizes, three semi-wild dogs and a dozen Siamese cats, crowded around to gaze at the farangs - something they had never seen before. After a few hisses and growls, even the cats and dogs were friendly.

  In the local dialect, Gunn negotiated a price for the trip across the river. “I have no idea what you said but they look happy enough to help,” Steven observed.

  “Everything possible in South East Asia even when against the law. Not that there is much law and order around here, or where we’re heading. That and money talks. Also they've never seen a farang before, so we are like rock stars from outer space. They also think your big straight nose and your light skin is beautiful. I guess I must also be beautiful to them because of my light skin. We’re movie stars around here,” Gunn explained.

  With the jeep loaded, the ferry and its many human and animal passengers roared across the water as if the driver’s ass was on fire. Thai driving. Powered by a truck engine salvaged from one of the many head-on accidents which occur in Thailand, their transport would have gained a speeding citation if wheels were attached.

  “Everybody on this boat illegal,” Gunn confirmed. “Ferry man and family too. Many hill tribe people told belong to village not their own, region not their own, state not their own, country not their own. Too many governments tell what to do even when people not want. But money make things OK regardless of which headman, government or military in charge. Small money big problem everywhere. That’s why hill tribes grow and sell drugs. Easy to be judgemental from safety of social security West. In China, wise saying state: Must have full stomach before can be judgemental.”

  In the minutes it took the small ferry to reach the northern side of the river, a dozen kids appeared from nowhere. Helping lay wooden boards between the ferry and the shore - a task normally accomplished by two the exercise was accompanied by laughter and general sanook. The grapevine had clearly been effective, and every kid in the small community wanted a glimpse of a farang. The rumour that farangs were all crazy rich, was something each of them wanted to find out.

  Carefully edging the vehicle off the ferry, Steven drove the jeep into the no-mans-land known as the Golden Triangle. Run by whoever had the force to control it - regardless of what government was officially in charge - power would be wielded by those able and determined to impose their will.

  “Normal people not bad,” Gunn said. “Only people crazy for power and money cause problems.”

  “We’re here for money,” Steven confirmed. “I am, anyway.”

  “I’m here for my country,” Rupert boasted.

  Steven gave a cynical look. Rupert was there for sex with young boys and because he’d been ordered to go. Someone in Whitehall’s corridors of power clearly did not like him. Many Thai rent boys clearly did.

  “What are you here for?” Steven asked Gunn before answering his own question. “I know, too many questions. OK, pay the man.”

  Gaining much face, the ferry man accepted the Thai baht which Gunn counted into his hands. The Burmese kyat and Laotian kip were close to valueless, and Thai baht were greatly appreciated on the northern side of the Mekong and its tributaries.

  Number one wife immediately took charge of the cash, giving half to her good friend number two wife. It was take it now or the good fortune Buddha had granted that morning would be Mekong whisky by lunchtime. If left in husbands’ hands, it would soon be pissed away.

  Seeing that the dozen or so raggedy kids were watching expectantly, Steven gave each of them a hundred-baht (£2/$3) note. So it was true, all farangs were crazy rich. Smiling in amazement at so much money just for them, each offered a respectful, hands clasped together wai. Hard bitten as he had been forced to become, Steven was touched.

  Noticing a small boy standing unsteadily at the entrance to the bamboo shelter which passed as his home, and that the child was lame, Steven walked the dozen yards from the river’s edge to reach him.

  “Sabai dee mai?” (How are you?) Steven asked in Thai.

  The child overcame his shyness and laughed out loud. He had never seen a farang before and here was one that spoke in a language he could understand.

  Steven clenched both his fists and held them in front of the child. Gunn appeared and gestured he should choose one. Instantly understanding the game, he touched the back of Steven’s right hand. Amazed at the red coloured hundred-baht note which Steven’s open hand revealed, the small boy gingerly took it.

  The youngster’s beaming smile confirmed that in his small world, he had just won the lottery. He could not believe his luck when Steven nodded towards his other clenched fist. The touch of the child’s finger on other clenched fist. The touch of the child’s finger on baht note. The child cried and Gunn did too.

  Gunn picked the boy up and comforted him, explaining in his own dialect that he could buy almost anything he had dreamed of. Composing himself, the child bowed his head and offered Steven a deeply respectful wai.

  “Steven not entirely bad man,” Gunn said as she wiped the remains of a tear from her face.

  “Let’s give them a party. We’ll buy some fruit, rice and a case of mineral water,” Steven said. “You do the honours as you know the language. Might as well spread some cash amongst the parents as well as the kids. Our governments can afford it. Perhaps our mission will help someone, if only the few people living around here.”

  “Maybe Steven Hunt better than I thought,” Gunn said. “Still chauvinist pig though.”

  60

  The Beast of Bosnia

  Deep inside the hill country in the no-mans-land called the Golden Triangle, driving north towards their destination - the warlords encampment - Steven had time to reflect.

  “South East Asia is beautiful,” he said, as the tranquillity of the scene calmed his senses.

  Gunn smiled but said nothing, she already knew that.

  Steven’s assessment of the landscape was confirmed when the narrow track winding alongside a cliff face, revealed a magnificent waterfall cascading over moss-covered rocks to a lush plain below. Orchid-and fern-laden banks added to the beauty of the scene.

  Leaving the vehicle, Steven and Gunn drank in both the view and the pure mountain water. The natural perfumes emanating from the many blossoms in something resembling paradise, further calmed their senses. The chattering of brightly coloured parrots fluttering above, added to the suggestion they had arrived in the mythical Kingdom of Shangrila. But Thailand and its neighbours were other worlds in so many respects.

  Like a small amphitheatre with a deep pool of water where the gladiators would be in Ancient Rome, over time the cascading waterfall had carved a perfect swimming pool.

  Gunn suddenly started to disrobe. “It’s so hot. I’m going to take a dip in the pool.” Words were immediately translated into deed as Gunn stripped naked and plunged into the cool, welcoming water.

  Montgomery-Fairfax unwound h
imself from his position in the small back seat of the jeep and stared at the slim young woman as she swam naked.

  “Now you Steven,” Rupert said. “I haven’t seen an unclothed male body for almost two days.”

  Steven disrobed and jumped in beside his young Eurasian companion, splashing around in the crystal clear water.

  “Young love, how sweet,” Rupert shouted. “My, we’re all on our holidays.”

  Rupert leant over the edge of the pool to wash his face. “She’s not seeing me in the nude.”

  “Scared Gunn will find out you don’t have a dick,” Steven called out from the water, as he swam in the buff alongside his young female colleague.

  “I don’t know who I fancy most, her or you,” Rupert said, staring at the couple in the water. “She looks a bit like a young boy and although you’re not a boy exactly, I do believe I could fall for you given the right circumstances. If only you weren’t so insensitive at times. I really don’t know who to choose.”

  Rupert giggled like a young girl. “I think Steven wins by a ‘head’, which I’d be happy to provide.” Rupert laughed at his little double-entendre about giving head.

  Steven cuffed the water with his hand, dousing Rupert with spray.

  “Must you,” Rupert said, effetely clasping his hands together and pretending to be upset, whilst silently fantasising how nice it would be to get down on Steven’s hard, masculine body.

  Steven satirised Rupert’s confused and uncertain sexuality. “It’s a shame you weren’t born a hermaphrodite. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, go fuck yourself.”

  Aware of what Rupert was daydreaming about, Steven called out from the water again.

  “Did you hear about the gay whale?”

  Rupert pretended to ignore Steven’s sexually orientated question.

  “It kept biting the ends off submarines and sucking out the seamen.”

  Rupert pretended to be shocked.

  Suddenly Steven held his finger up to his mouth. “I thought I heard something. Stay quiet,” he cautioned.

  Rupert ignored Steven’s low-key command.

  “How dare you give orders to a superior officer,” he said in reply.

  “Quiet,” Steven said again, this time with greater urgency. “I think we’ve got company.”

  “Don’t think I’ll fall for that one,” Rupert said, contemptuously.

  Steven cursed his own stupidity for letting his guard down in the peace and tranquillity of his current surroundings, as a big man dressed in jungle green combat fatigues appeared from the bush brandishing an automatic weapon.

  “There’s someone behind you, Rupert,” Steven warned, extreme urgency in his tone.

  The gorilla of a man who had just emerged from the jungle undergrowth, rammed the barrel of his gun hard against Rupert’s ribs.

  Rupert shrieked with pain as the metal jarred against his soft, out-of-condition body.

  “And who have we here?” the North American come Eastern European accent rasped, his menacing tone terrifying the English ex-public-school fag.

  Rupert instantly regretted his failure to take note of Steven’s warning.

  “If it’s not three little pigs in the forest, hiding away from the big bad wolf.”

  “Don’t shoot, I’m here on Her Majesty’s business,” Rupert cried out as he raised his hands in the air.

  “A queen on Her Majesty’s business,” the big man growled, instantly recognising a fag when he came up against one.

  The invader pointed his gun in Steven and Gunn’s direction.

  “Two water nymphs! What’s the fucking military coming to?” he said, sarcastically.

  “I’m Steven Hunt, this is Gunn,” Steven called out from the water. “I can’t pronounce her Thai surname.”

  The big man scowled, confirming that he was not impressed.

  “The bush telegraph works well. You found our location pretty quick. You’re Kronsky if the description we had was right. You’re not much like your photograph, but I guess you were younger then. Rupert’s already introduced himself.”

  “Do I come up to expectations? Handsome as you thought? What do you think, little lady?” Kronsky grunted, sarcasm still dominating his tone.

  “Where’s your transport?” Steven asked.

  “Up a ways. Didn’t want you assholes hearing me coming. I’m not fucking stupid,” Kronsky replied.

  Steven was uncertain of the veracity of Kronsky's remark - that he was not stupid.

  Jerking his gun towards the water’s edge, the big man intimated that Steven and Gunn should step out.

  As the couple clambered up onto the grassy verge adjacent to the water, Kronsky leered at the young Eurasian girl’s slender, unclothed body.

  “A small pussy, I can see that from here. The slut and me will have to get better acquainted. But for now, get dressed.”

  Kronsky stared at Steven, trying to figure out what he was made of. “You’d better have what I’m expecting or I’m liable to lose this pleasant disposition and exchange it for one where I start hurting people.”

  Kronsky glared at Rupert, already aware of what he was made of. “OK fag, help the whore with her clothes.”

  Rupert hovered around Gunn as she dressed, handing the young woman her clothes and acting like a housemaid. Unbeknown to Kronsky, this was a part Rupert loved playing in his private life.

  Gun still cocked and at the ready, Kronsky continued his interrogation. “IDs at the double,” he snarled.

  “In our travel bags, on the back seat of the jeep,” Steven said, a certain cool radiating in his manner.

  “Well show me the fucking things. Slowly now and don’t pull any funny stuff or your bitch will find herself with a couple more holes you won’t want to get inside.”

  Steven held up his passport.

  “And hers,” Kronsky demanded, his rifle aimed at Gunn’s midriff.

  “Passport in handbag, Steven,” Gunn stated.

  Steven slowly reached into Gunn’s leather handbag and removed her small Thai passport. He threw it at Kronsky’s feet along with his own.

  “And the faggot’s,” Kronsky ordered.

  “Mine’s in my safari jacket. I’m from Whitehall representing Her Majesty’s government. That’s classified information. I have diplomatic immunity. My name is Wupert Montgomery-Fairfax.” As usual, Rupert pronounced his name with the ‘r’ as a ‘w’ and despite the fact that he was scared shitless, the pomposity of his manner still showed through.

  Kronsky boxed Rupert around the ear. “That’s how little a bullshit accent and a double-barrelled name means to me. You fucking asshole, what good is diplomatic immunity out here in no-mans-land? Now get your fucking passport and show it to me.”

  Clutching his head, Rupert approached the stationary jeep with the demeanour of a small boy who had just been punished for being naughty. Picking up his Edwardian style safari jacket lying on the back seat, he reached inside a pocket seeking his passport.

  “Diplomatic immunity,” Kronsky repeated, his tone sarcastic and scornful.

  For fun - his not Rupert’s - Kronsky fired a couple of rounds above Rupert’s head. The effete British civil servant threw himself to the ground, almost crapping himself in the process.

  “Did I give you permission to put your hand in your pocket, faggot? Did I say you could move?” Kronsky snarled, a warped sneer on his face.

  Kronsky attempted to satirise Rupert’s outmoded, British public school accent. “Not such a jolly jaunt as you thought when you were back in fucking England.” Scowling again, Kronsky continued in his own voice. “Any more shit from you and I’ll put a couple more holes in your ass which your fag friends won’t find so inviting.”

  Walking over to Montgomery-Fairfax, Kronsky kicked him in the ribs with his combat boot. Rupert lay on the grass clutching his side. This was not the way he had envisaged his jolly jaunt to South East Asia would turn out.

  “Stop playing games with the queen. He’s fat but he’s sma
ller than you,” Steven said as he finished dressing.

  “I hate faggots,” was the extent of Kronsky’s reply.

  “We’re supposed to be on the same side. Do you want to get paid or not?” Steven asked.

  His hostility relenting as he heard the words ‘get paid’, Kronsky peered at the passports for a few moments. Like an immigration official on a bad day, he threw the passports in the direction of their owners and gestured to Rupert still lying on the grass. “Now you can get up, faggot.” Kronsky lowered his gun and slowly shook his head, a contemptuous expression on his face.

  Montgomery-Fairfax rose to his feet and brushed himself off.

  “This is my world, so take care or each of you will end up with a bullet up your ass. Except her,” the ruthless Slav said as he turned his attention to Gunn. “The bitch will get it in the front end from me and my gun at the rear.”

  Turning to Steven in a knowing fashion, assuming that as an ex-military man Steven had carried out his own share of atrocities, Kronsky’s attitude was more cordial. “You’re ex-service same as me, you know the routines.”

  Kronsky laughed to himself, savouring how it would be if some kind of double-cross was going on and he had the chance to exact a revenge on the fag and the girl, in his own, sadistically imaginative way.

  Steven did not reply.

  “What unit were you in, limey?” Kronsky asked, almost reasonable - for him.

  Steven lied and made a military in-joke. “Pioneer Corps.”

  Kronsky looked puzzled.

  “Never heard of them, are they a special services unit? Can they fight?”

  “More administrative really,” Steven replied, continuing to subtly take the piss out of his ignorant, wouldbe business partner.

  “Most of the fucking British military are fags, like him.”

  Kronsky pointed to Rupert with the barrel of his gun.

  “The British couldn’t kick box the shit out of a kangaroo. Never came to our assistance in Nam like we did for you fucking limeys in the Second World War. Not that I give a shit about what happens between any country, then or now. I was a refugee baby from Eastern Europe when the Second World War ended. The family emigrated to the States soon after. The Vietnam War was my personal favourite. Gave me the opportunity to kill a shitload of people. But fuck the history lessons, I think you’ve got something for me.”