“Your parents were Jewish?” Steven asked. “The majority of European refugees during the last World War were Jewish.”
Kronsky grew angry.
“I think you fancy your chances, handsome man,” he replied. “Jewish? You mother fucking penis brain, the foreskin on my dick comes unabridged. Jewish? I’d have been on the side of the Nazis. I’m a Slav and proud of it.”
“That’s the end of that conversation,” Steven’s brain commented, but diplomatically decided against vocalising his thoughts.
Kronsky released his annoyance by giving Rupert a shove. “And you can keep quiet,” he yelled, frightening the normally pompous queen with the tone of his voice.
Steven attempted to defuse the situation by changing the subject back to the mission. “We do have something for you, but first you agreed to do something for us. Like help us blow up your associates’ drug commissary.” Steven stared at Kronsky, waiting for a reaction.
Annoyance started to infiltrate Kronsky’s voice again. “Hush your mouth limey, even jungles have ears. You’ll get your little accident, but not till I know for certain you’ve brought the money.”
“I’ve got the money, Mr. Kronsky. It’s in my case.” Rupert’s nerve broke and he rushed towards the jeep.
Kronsky allowed the ageing British queen to retrieve his effete looking, crocodile patterned document case.
“That’s very nice of you, madam,” Kronsky said, attempting to emulate the Englishness of Rupert’s strangulated-vowels manner of speech. “Perhaps you’d kindly hand it over, old chap.”
Steven intervened.
“He hasn’t got it, he only thinks he has.”
Montgomery-Fairfax looked scared, and his hands started trembling as he desperately sought to open the case.
Kronsky kept him covered with his automatic rifle.
“You scoundrel, Hunt,” Rupert cried as he opened the case, retrieved the important envelope and found nothing inside.
“April fool,” Steven said, blankly.
“You’ve stolen the property of Her Majesty’s government. We’re to pay this gentleman and get out of here. You’ll get us all killed,” Rupert shouted, almost hysterically. “I am sure he will then carry out his part of the bargain. You’ll get us all killed.”
“You’re a lot of help,” Steven said, realising that stealing the cash from Rupert had already saved their lives. Armed with the bank draft, Kronksy would probably have blown them away by now.
“A bit of double-dealing between yourselves, eh? That’s very funny, I don’t think.”
“True, you don’t think,” Steven silently reflected.
“All right handsome man, where’s the fucking money? Trying to make a fool out of me, are you?”
Steven stayed cool. “We hid it down the trail. Let’s just say we were taking out some insurance to retain your goodwill.”
Kronsky grabbed Gunn and pointed his gun at her head. “I’ll keep her as security while you go back and get it.”
Steven stared at Kronsky and smiled. “Do you really think I’d give a shit about the life of a Thai whore? You must be out of your mind. Do what the fuck you want to her.”
“Thank you very much,” Gunn shouted.
Kronsky looked momentarily confused. Steven made an attempt to defuse the situation.
“Hey, why don’t we stop playing games and get on with our deal. Do you really think I’d be fool enough not to bring your money? Your reputation is too formidable. Do your part and you’ll get what’s coming to you.” Steven paused. “Three hundred million dollars.”
Kronsky seemed pleased that his reputation for violence had spread so far beyond his current location.
“Maybe I like your style, Englishman. Why should you give a shit about a Thai whore any more than I would, and only a fool would take my reputation for granted,” Kronsky boasted. “I don’t think you’re as stupid as the fag looks.”
By showing a total disregard for women, and Gunn in particular, Steven’s use of psychology obtained the desired result and: Kronsky released Gunn from his stranglehold and threw her to the ground.
“Thank you for your caring approach,” Gunn said as she picked herself up.
“As I’m paying for your company, hope you didn’t expect me to fall in love with you,” Steven replied.
“Chauvinist,” Gunn answered.
“I should have known that choosing a half farang whore would bring the same kind of crap Western women revel in. I won’t repeat the exercise next time,” Steven added.
“Fuck women, all of them,” Kronsky yelled, joining in the spirit of the conversation.
“You two chauvinists go well together,” Gunn said.
“Shut your mouth, whore,” Kronksy snarled.
Gunn had played her part with an almost Stanislavskian perfection, allowing Steven to fill in additional psychological detail to move the mission along.
“Women can be great actresses,” Steven had chauvinistically thought as he continued to play his role in the jungle drama. But other than Kronsky, Rupert, plus a few parrots who were not exactly critics of any note, the charade had been played out without an audience to applaud or appreciate the authenticity of their portrayals. But perhaps he was underestimating Rupert, who with his fag friends did enjoy watching Shirley Bassey and Celine Dion in concert. Plus the occasional gay weepie of course, where some old queen died slowly from AIDS.
“OK, she may be a whore but she’s my whore. So lay off her and let’s get down to business,” Steven ordered.
“Hey man, no problem,” Kronsky said, paying respect to Steven’s macho approach.
“So are we in business together or not?” Steven asked.
“All right, I’ll go along with your little game. But I’ll be watching you like a hawk. And if you don’t come up with the money.......” Kronsky failed to complete his sentence as Rupert interrupted.
“They do have the money. I had it with me in my document case. A bank draft for three hundred million dollars. They stole it when I got lost in the jungle.” Kronsky glowered at Montgomery-Fairfax, causing him a few more anxious moments.
“Well I don’t think an asshole like you would be telling lies, you’d shit yourself first. And as I don’t see nothing on the ground, I’ll take your word for it.”
Kronsky’s expression suggested he was attempting to understand more about the cool Englishman confident enough to carry out a covert action in his domain, accompanied only by a Thai bar-girl and a petrified English queen.
“All right, here’s the story. You’re a couple of British boys with a local whore wanting to buy some shit from our supermarket. That’s your excuse for being here.”
Kronsky paused for a moment.
“We get the occasional farang chancing his arm in our neck of the woods, trying to cut out the middle men and deal direct. If we don’t take them for everything they’ve got up front, Thai middle men rip them off on the return journey. Dealing direct doesn’t usually get them anywhere, local wholesalers don’t take kindly to it. It’s safer to pay over the odds and buy the stuff in Bangkok. Greed, it always fucks everything.”
“You’re a bit of a philosopher,” Steven commented.
Unsure of what a philosopher actually was, Kronsky was unable to give a sensible reply. Feeling insecure at his ignorance, Kronsky reached into the inside pocket of his flak jacket and like an overgrown baby going for its dummy, brought out a small cellophane packet.
Opening the small container, he spilled high grade heroin on his wrist and sniffed a blast up each nostril. His serotonin levels fortified, with the care of a kid protecting his favourite sports’ star cards, he re-wrapped mother’s little helper and returned it to its hiding place.
“Heroin is much stronger than cocaine. Probably why it’s good for the sinuses,” Steven said, again subtly taking the piss out of the Slavic American gangster.
“What’s a fucking sinus?” Kronsky asked, a puzzled look on his face.
“Up y
our nose,” Steven replied. “Up your nose is where you’ll find your sinuses. What you breath through.”
Kronsky was unsure of what Steven was getting at.
“What’s my nose got to do with anything?” he asked. “Are you trying to take the piss?”
“You piss through your dick cretin, not your nose,” Steven thought, but verbalised his thoughts in a manner less likely to bring the mission to an immediate, brutal conclusion.
“I just thought you were shovelling shit into your brain to clear your sinuses. Heroin is supposed to do that - by completely destroying the sensitive membranes in the nose and throat. It has a few other advantages like you lose your sense of smell. If anyone farts in your vicinity you don’t need to run for cover.” Steven had by now completely exhausted the limited intellectual resources at Kronsky’s disposal.
“Fuck my nose,” Kronsky roared.
Steven had put his dick in a lot of places, but up Kronsky’s nose? Initially Steven’s reaction was to further satirise Kronsky’s stupidity, but again decided against vocalising his thoughts.
“Why don’t you get back to what you were talking about before the discussion about fucking your nose,” Steven finally suggested.
The brutal Slav calmed down, but still uttered a threat to keep his face intact.
“If you’re taking the piss, I’ll have your asshole for breakfast.”
“Asshole on toast. What a strange diet farangs live on out here in the jungle,” Steven silently reflected, before steering the surrealistic conversation back towards somewhere sensible.
“Why don’t you get back to your original train of thought. About the reason for us being here.”
Kronsky’s brain hurt trying to counter the intellectual nature of Steven’s black humour, and was happy to return to something resembling what was for him, a normal conversation.
“OK, then there’s the Thai police at the airport with their sniffer dogs. Even if you’ve paid advance tea money, there’s still a chance the cops will go back on their deal, arrest the farangs and keep the stash to sell on through their agents to another unsuspecting smartass. Then they’ll probably arrest the next set of buyers before they leave the country. That way the same parcel of horse goes round in a continuous circle. And the bad guys in the West think they’re smart.” Kronsky roared with laughter. “Getting shit through Bangkok’s airports is like playing Russian Roulette with all the chambers loaded.”
“The Irish version,” Steven silently surmised. [*]
Albeit he was right, the Irish had about as little leftbrain intellect as the Thais [**]. Fortunately for the Thais, they more than made up for it in creative right-brain intellect. That was more than the Irish could claim. On his last trip to the Emerald Isle, he had overheard two porters discuss the transport of a large bookcase: “We’d better be careful with this, it’s in ‘three’ halves!”
Cognizant of the danger he was in, the lateral side of Steven’s brain went into liftoff as he tried to make sense of an unreal present by logging into sections of what had sometimes been a surrealistic past.
The Kafkaesque nightmare which ambitious Western criminals could find themselves in when trying to do business in the South East Asian drugs trade, was beyond the intellect of most. Only the willingness to pay bribes or commit violence could impress, whence maybe a remotely straight deal could be done. Albeit, violence was a risky gambit that could well backfire. Life was not usually like a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie.
“Where were you?” Kronsky asked.
“Just thinking,” Steven replied.
“Asshole,” Kronsky snarled, reusing what appeared to be his favourite word.
“Cut the crap, Kronsky,” Steven replied, refusing to let Kronsky gain even a small psychological advantage. “Listen, why don’t you continue with what you were telling us about the Thai police, as if we didn’t already know. Come on, give us the benefit of your experience.”
“You really do fancy your chances,” Kronsky snarled. “But maybe I like your style. At least you aint like this whimpering British asshole. And that’s about the only thing he’s got going for him. His asshole.”
Kronsky stared at Rupert, forcing him to look away.
“OK, so here’s how it is. Even if you’re Thai and you’ve done a deal with the cops, there’s still no guarantee they’ll keep to their word. And if you’re tried in Bangkok, twenty five years to life in a stinking Thai jail is what you’ll go down for. Believe me, the worst military stockade is paradise compared to a Thai prison. At least in the military they don’t beat you near to death with batons like the bastards in Thai prisons do.”
Kronsky glowered at Gunn.
“And women too, except they only use canes on them. Unless the girl is willing to suck pussy on a bull dike wardress or enjoys the sensuous delights of a guard’s baton up her pussy, she’d better be into S & M. That or have enough cash to take care of them.”
Kronsky altered his gaze back to Rupert, causing him further anxious moments. “As for faggots, their lives are a misery. If they don’t catch AIDS, it’s a fucking miracle. With every toe rag prisoner gang banging you day and night, it will probably put you off sex for life. I don’t know if you’re into smoking dicks that haven’t seen soap and water for a decade, but that’s what a fag can look forward to inside a Thai jail.” Kronsky smiled as he savoured the thought of other people’s pain.
Rupert looked concerned. What he was hearing was so far away from his comfortable existence in Whitehall, he wished he hadn’t left. Apart from the chance to ogle naked young Thai boys, giving head while another screwed his ass gently with their smaller-than-Europeansized members, he wondered why he had.
Steven interrupted. “But south of Bangkok along the East Coast, you’ll usually be tried in Chonburi. Everyone is bent in Chonburi and you’ll get out if you’ve got the cash and know who to contact. In any event, they’ll contact you when they see a farang in the monkey house.”
“So you’ve been on the wrong side of the law yourself. I’m impressed,” Kronsky stated with surprise.
Not true, but Steven allowed Kronsky to retain the illusion. In fact he’d felt sorry for a penniless Englishman he’d met on a train, and had bailed the man’s Thai girlfriend out from Chonburi jail after she’d been caught with a small amount of cocaine. Amazed as to how easy it had been, Steven got to know some of the bail bond scam artists and had been appraised of the whole bent routine. [***]
Kronsky sniggered. “Smoking dicks that haven’t seen soap and water for a decade,” he repeated.” Looking forward to it, faggot?” he asked Rupert.
“Thanks for the social background, but why don’t you cut to the chase about your plan,” Steven said with some force.
“Right, you’ll need fifty grand American to pay for the stuff you’re supposed to be buying from my business associates. That’s your reason for being her.”
“No one told me about that part of the deal,” Steven said, annoyance colouring his tone. “We’ve only got six or seven grand in cash.”
“That’s because I just made it up,” Kronsky replied. “Didn’t want to risk letting anyone know the whole plan until you arrived for certain. My business with the warlords is too lucrative to risk losing until I get the big money from you assholes. But consider this.”
Kronsky paused for a moment, relishing the power he wielded in his neck of the woods. “If your cover’s blown for any reason, I’ll have to kill you for my own protection.”
Kronsky further considered what he would do if his plan to double-cross his warlord associates went bad. “Or maybe I’ll just plead ignorance and let them deal with you.”
“Ignorance, the perfect alibi for a cretin like Kronsky,” Steven thought, as the sadistic Slav expanded on his plan to scam his Oriental business partners. Then again, perhaps Kronsky intended to rip off the politicians and civil servants Steven currently represented in the jungles of the Golden Triangle. Uncertain where the brutal Slav’s loyalties really lay,
solely with himself he quickly concluded.
“I doubt if they’ll suspect me, they aint that smart. I’ve made more money for them than they deserve, selling their garbage to my Western and Eastern European contacts at prices beyond their wildest fucking dreams. Grouping the various warlords together and operating a cartel so you buy from us or you don’t buy at all, is a profit source they won’t want to lose. I think they’ll give me the benefit of the doubt, should anything go wrong.” Pissed on his own brutality and how it always got things done, Kronsky spoke arrogantly and with confidence.
“Anyway, if the shit does hit the fan I’ll shoot my way out. So for the three hundred million big ones, I’ll get you into the drug commissary. The rest is up to you. How you get your sweet asses back to Chiang Mai, I don’t give a shit. Good situation to be in, aint it? Hope you’re being paid enough and hope you manage to get out alive to spend it.” Kronksy chuckled. “Assholes,” he added.
“How do we get fifty thousand out here?” Steven said, momentarily lost for an answer.
“Do what you did to me. Tell my associates you didn’t bring the cash as an insurance to avoid being double crossed. Say you came to sample the quality of the stuff and you’ll be back with fifty grand after you’ve seen they aint trying to sell you thin air or rice flour. That’ll only take two or three days if you don’t have any problems re-crossing the border a couple more times. I’ll tell them to keep a hostage while you go back to Chiang Mai. They know I’ll kill the hostage ever so slowly if there’s any kind of double deal, so I don’t think they’ll mind in the circumstances.” Kronsky continued to enjoy the power he currently exercised.
“They always give leeway when there’s a chance of making some extra bread. I guess they’ll give you time to go back and get the dough. What have they got to lose?”
Rupert Montgomery-Fairfax jumped at the chance of getting back to Chiang Mai in one piece. “That’s a good idea, Mr. Kronsky. We’ll leave the girl as hostage and Steven and I will rush back to Chiang Mai. Hunt will then return with fifty thousand dollars for your associates. Soon after you’ll get your three hundred million dollars. That should solve everything.”
Sleepless in Bangkok Page 18