Thai Shorts Page 14

  “Yes ma’am.”

  The two detectives walked outside into the blazing heat that was baking Pattaya and drove back to the police station in silence.

  6. Lek’s Bar

  A Bar story!

  I don’t know if it can ever be right to cover up for a murderer, but that’s what I did. It’s what we all did that day in Lek’s Bar. And to be honest, I haven’t lost any sleep over it. Blade had become a friend, maybe not a good one, but a friend none the less. I can’t say that I like all the things he ever did, but there were times when he made everyone laugh and he was easy with his cash.

  I had been coming to Thailand for years and I always knew that I would retire out here. I had decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t become one of those ex-pat drunks that prop up a bar all day, every day. But it just sort of happened. I made friends with a group of old guys and became part of the family. My name is Arthur Round, but my friends call me ‘Patch’, on account that I only have one eye and, rather than having a glass eye, I wear a patch. Back in England I was an accountant, but all that was a lifetime away now. I’m 68 years old - not that it matters! I could tell you where Lek’s Bar is, but the truth is it really doesn’t matter. It’s the same as a million other bars that you have seen in Thailand and, anyway, Lek doesn’t want anyone to know.

  Blade is the newest member of our little gang and we have only known him for a few months. Looking back, we should have probably guessed why his nickname is Blade. It was easy to guess why ‘One Legged Phil’ and ‘Vodka Dave’ were so called. But I’m not sure why ‘Old Bob’ is called Old Bob, because he is about the same age as the rest of us and at least 2 years younger than me!

  Lek’s Bar is a little hole in the wall type of bar. Down one side is the bar and after dark it is lit up like a Christmas tree with hundreds of twinkling lights. On both sides of the bar the wall is covered with mirrors. It makes the bar look bigger, although mostly they are covered with old calendars, photos, football shirts and a poster of the King. At the back of the bar is a ‘free’ pool table, which is usually covered with pots and pans, handbags, bags of food and one of the girls sleeping on top of it. Behind the pool table is the toilet and kitchen, with a door leading out onto a rear soi. In front of the pool table are a few old wooden dining tables, which have seen better days, where Lek served a good English breakfast. But we spent most of the days sitting at the high stools along the front, looking out onto the soi, watching the pretty girls and the street vendors. After dark we sat at the high stools along the bar.

  Lek is in her 50’s and is still a very attractive woman. She bought the bar after a farang (foreigner) met her while she was working in another bar and fell in love with her. He married her and gave her all his money. Then she divorced him. She runs a good bar and likes to play rock and roll music and chart hits from the 1950’s and 60’s very loudly in the bar.

  One Legged Phil is the original member of the group. He is Dutch and one of the most intelligent men I have ever met. He is tall and thin and has a mop of white hair. He has the look of a mad professor. Then there is Vodka Dave. He is English and, for as long as anyone can remember, nobody has ever understood a word he has ever said. He is drunk when he turns up at the bar in the morning and he carries on drinking Vodka in the bar all day. He usually falls asleep at the table two or three times a day and awakes to carry on drinking. He regularly falls off the stool and sleeps on the floor. Normally, one of the girls will put a pillow under his head and clean up any cuts sustained from these falls. I was the next member of the gang to come along and then it was Old Bob, who is Norwegian, but speaks perfect English. He struggles with his weight and sweats a lot. He always wears huge oversized shorts and Hawaiian shirts, because he thinks they make him look slim. Sometimes One Legged Phil will talk to him in Norwegian, if they want to slag off anyone who comes into the bar. I have also heard One Legged Phil speak to people in the bar in German, French, Spanish and, of course, Dutch. We spend most days discussing astonishing facts, which may not always be true. These days the kids would just check it out on Google on their I-pads or smart phones, but we can discuss for hours how many times someone was married, or how many films they made, or how many football teams they played for. We could also sing along to a line or two of any of the songs that we knew and could remember, if we weren’t too drunk.

  It was only a few months ago when Blade walked into the bar for the first time. He is an American black guy. He is a Vietnam Vet and even now, well into his sixties, he is in good shape and looks pretty tough. Unlike One Legged Phil and myself, he still has all his body parts. When Blade walked in he made quite an entrance. He walked past us and stood in the middle of the bar with his hands on his hips. He looked around the place, as if he was considering buying it, before he broke into the broadest grin and spoke.

  “My name is Blade. Can I buy you guys a drink?” His voice was deep and powerful and we all liked him immediately. He spent the rest of the day ringing the bar bell and buying everyone in the bar drinks. Blade was not short of money and he had a great laugh. At first we all thought that Blade was a great and refreshing addition to our gang, but we soon saw that Blade had a darker side and a temper that was frightening and dangerous.

  It wasn’t alcohol that changed Blade’s mood, but women. He became all macho and possessive. On his second day in Lek’s bar he picked a fight with some young guy who was talking to one of the girls. The poor bloke hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just buying her drinks and laughing and joking with her. He was just about to pay her bar fine when Blade decided to step in and protect her honour, when there was no honour to protect. He got really nasty and started poking the guy in the chest. When the guy pushed him back Blade produced a knife with a flick of his wrist and slashed the guy across the face with it. We all gasped. It all happened out of nothing. Lek went berserk at Blade and shouted at him “I not want problem in bar. I not want you in bar anymore. You big problem.”

  Which pretty much meant he was banned from the bar. But Blade changed back to ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ straight away and convinced the bloke that he thought he was going to harm the girl. He paid the bloke a wad of cash there and then and also paid Lek for the trouble. He gave the bar girl a big wad of cash too, in compensation for the loss of her customer. This was a story that was to repeat itself many times over the next few months - too many times!

  “Unless somebody stops him, I think Blade will kill somebody one day” whispered One Legged Phil into my ear, after another similar episode.

  Blade’s dark moods cast a shadow over the bar and, when he was around, it wasn’t the happy relaxed place that it used to be, but we tolerated it. I think we tolerated it because we didn’t know what else to do. It had become the daily topic of conversation and had taken over from any other astonishing facts, but I think in our hearts we all knew that something bad was going to happen. Another pattern started to emerge with Blade. He started to get rough with the girls too. On the one hand he was starting fights, thinking he was protecting them when they didn’t need protecting. Then he was paying their bar fines and was assaulting and hurting them. It was very clear to One Legged Phil, Old Bob and myself, (Vodka Dave missed most of everything that went on) that the only person the girls really needed protecting from was Blade.

  Blade came into the bar one day with Noy. She was beautiful. She was only 18 and new to the bar scene, having arrived from up country only the day before. She was shy and a bit awkward; hardly more than a child herself, but she had a calming influence on Blade. Day and night they were inseparable. Blade gave her everything, treated her like a princess and her confidence and taste in expensive things grew. She sent a lot of money home to her mama, who was looking after her baby son. Blade was the happiest man in the world. Maybe he had found what he was looking for after a lifetime of searching! Everything in Lek’s Bar seemed to be getting back to normal and I think we were all slightly relieved.
Blades big booming laugh would spill out as easily as his cash and everyone was happy.

  After nearly a month of Blade being with Noy every day, he came in without her and his mood was different. Obviously we asked about her, but he didn’t want to talk about it. We were, of course, concerned for Noy’s safety and hoped that she had just had enough of him and left him. But we were also worried that he had done something really bad and we talked about where he might have dumped her body. We were hoping that Noy would turn up again or that we might hear some good news about her, but we didn’t. Lek said that she would ask around to see if she could find out anything. Blade just refused to be drawn into any conversations about Noy.

  “I don’t want to talk about that little whore ever again.”

  That is the only thing he ever said about Noy.

  The rain was lashing down. After five minutes of deep, rolling thunder claps and lightning that lit up the night sky, the tropical storm started. In minutes all the sois around the bar were flooded. The bar was empty except for Lek, one of the girls, Blade, One Legged Phil, Old Bob, me and Vodka Dave, who was asleep slouched over the table. The bullfrogs, relishing the downpour, croaked so loudly that they sounded like a field of grunting water buffalo. Elvis Presley boomed out from the sound system, but did little to drown out the thunder and rain and bullfrogs. The mood in the bar was as sombre and damp as the night.

  A lone woman walked down the soi, hunched up against the rain. She looked like a drowned rat. She came into the bar. At first I thought it was Noy, she looked so much like her.

  “Good evening Missy,” said Blade, welcoming her into the bar.

  Without a word she pulled a knife and thrust it deep into his heart, as quick as any move I had ever seen Blade do himself. He collapsed onto the floor. It was the first time I had ever seen anyone die and it wasn’t as dramatic as I thought it would be. He moaned as he fell and then he was silent. His muscles flexed and then relaxed and he was dead. There wasn’t even much blood. Before anyone could move the woman tossed down some photos onto Blades body. They were photos of Noy. Her face and body had been stitched up like a patchwork quilt. Her face had become a mosaic of surgical stitches. Blade had cut her up bad and the repair work by the hospital was never going to make her beautiful again.

  “She my daughter,” screamed the woman. “Now, how she can take care of her baby?”

  The woman sat on a bar stool and waited for someone to ring the police.

  “Did you report the attack on your daughter to the police?” asked One Legged Phil.

  “No. I not say anyone. I want to fix myself.”

  “Well, you fixed it alright,” said Phil, leaning over the body. He dug out Blade’s wallet from his trouser pocket and picked up the photos.

  “Here take these and go. There is no point in you going to prison. You need to take care of Noy and her baby now. There is a lot of cash in the wallet, but don’t use the credit cards because the police might be able to trace you. OK?”

  “OK!” The woman wai’d to One Legged Phil and the rest of us.

  “One minute please,” said Lek, taking the wallet and removing 1000 baht. “He has to pay bar bill.” Lek showed the woman out of the back door.

  We told the police that he staggered in out of the tropical storm with the knife stuck in his chest and said that he had just been robbed. Then he collapsed and died and nobody saw anything.

  Vodka Dave woke up and opened an eye.

  “What’s going on?” he mumbled and went back to sleep.

  7. Nana

  A story of a Killer

  Bangkok; 8:30pm. Thursday.

  It was a quiet soi that had just sort of been swallowed up by an expanding city. It was old and narrow. Just a few shop houses and a rice warehouse along one side of the street and a series of brick walls along the other side of the street was evidence of the same sort of buildings in the next soi. Boxes and bags of rubbish that were stacked and piled against the walls crawled with rats.

  All the buildings looked as if they had been built especially narrow so that they could fit in the soi and all of them had seen better days - but nobody living in the area could remember when that might have been. There were only three street lights along the soi and two of them didn’t work. A few neon signs flickered in the darkness and gave the soi an air of gloomy desperation. Rats made up the majority of life that used the soi after dark and they chewed through the black plastic bags in search of food. The rain was washing the broken pavements and thrashing on the rubbish bags, covering the noises of the rats and reducing visibility even more.

  A lone woman turned into the soi and walked along in the shadows, sheltering from the rain. She was looking for something, or someone - maybe her date or a short time customer. She was a long way from the bars in the tourist areas, which thronged with available farang. Half way along the street a movement in a window above one of the shops caught her eye. She watched the heavy set Russian standing in the window wrapped in an old towel. He was having an agitated conversation on a mobile phone. One side of his face was covered with shaving foam, the phone call obviously having pulled him away from his shaving duties. The girl smiled because, at a glance, it appeared as if he was trying to shave with his mobile. Maybe that is why he didn’t look very happy!

  Igor wasn’t very happy. Whoever was talking to him on the phone was giving him news that he didn’t want to hear and he was barking out orders in Russian, heavily laden with curses, threats and swear words. He couldn’t see anything out on the soi. He could only see his own reflection in the glass. The lights from his room washed out everything else.

  A single shot rang out and the window shattered as the bullet smashed into Igor’s forehead. It took a slight moment before Igor fell back dead. His mobile phone flipped out of his hand and slid across the wooden floor and came to rest under the bed, next to several empty vodka bottles.

  The girl in the soi instinctively ducked down. Her heart was pounding. She looked around the soi, but couldn’t see anybody and heard no movement. She dashed along the soi and out of the street into where civilization and street lighting made it feel safe.

  Pattaya; 10:30pm. Thursday.

  The hotel was in a small soi just off Soi Seven. It wasn’t much, but it was clean and tidy and the shower worked. The reception didn’t bother with ID. Nana had already showered and was standing naked in front of the mirror applying make-up. She didn’t need much because she was already so beautiful. Her body was long and lean. Her hair was long and black. She neither liked nor disliked Pattaya. It was just another place in Thailand where she had to go from time to time to make money. There was a TV in the room and it worked, but Nana liked the quiet. She finished her make-up. It was delicate and exquisite, just enough to highlight her beautiful dark eyes and the delicious lips that hid perfect teeth; white and straight. She picked up two long solid silver pins, the size of knitting needles, and used them to pin her hair up high on her head, leaving just long wisps hanging down at the back. The silver pins were heavy but beautiful. The end of each pin was adorned with a silver elephant about the size of a golf ball. She didn’t put on any underwear. She pulled on a long Chinese style dress. It was red and gold in colour and was tight fitting. The slits in both sides went up to her hips and revealed long sexy legs. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She knew that the local bar girls would never be able to compete with her. She left the hotel carrying a small black purse bag and wearing black high-heeled shoes, which clicked when she walked. She turned left onto Soi Seven and walked down to the Beach Road. She jumped on the next baht bus, which took her along Beach Road towards Walking Street. She pressed one of the buttons that were fitted in the roof of the bus as it approached the top end of Walking Street. It made an ugly buzzing sound that was louder than it needed to be. The baht bus stopped in the traffic and Nana stepped off the back. A lucky farang on a m
otorbike behind the bus got an unexpected flash and stalled his bike. Nana paid the ten baht to the driver and walked up along Walking Street. The bright lights were flashing in every colour while loud music booming from every bar assaulted the senses. Beautiful young girls dressed in sexy uniforms stood outside the Go-Go bars, holding up signs bearing beer prices. They waved and smiled to the passing tourists. Girls dressed as schoolgirls, air stewardesses, devils and prison wardens latched onto lone male farangs and dragged them into the clubs. Girls dressed in not very much whistled and cheered as men walked past their bars and they shouted ‘Hello! Welcome!’

  Nana sauntered along Walking Street, taking her time to look at the street magician dressed as a cowboy. He was doing amazing things with a lit cigarette that just seemed to vanish and reappear at his will. Some local teens were break dancing. A juggler threw knives high up into the night sky. A young girl of about 8 years dressed in a leotard was doing acrobatics on a small table and managed to fold herself up to little more than the size of a beach ball. Nana took 20 baht from her purse and placed it into the tin cup in front of the table. She walked further along Walking Street - past the bar where the black girls worked, past the ladyboy bars and further along to the top end of the street, which were mostly Russian owned bars.

  She walked into one of the busier bars and sat at the bar on a high stool. She crossed her long legs, slowly and deliberately. She noted appreciative glances from all the men in the bar. She smiled at nobody in particular and looked around the bar. A fat middle-aged Russian man was sitting at one of the tables along the wall with two young Thai girls. He smiled at Nana and she smiled back. He waved her over, but she shook her head and smiled again. Ivan was a big man and he was used to getting what he wanted. He didn’t have to chase after female companionship, but he decided on this occasion he would make an exception, because the lady sitting at the bar was the most beautiful he had ever seen. He knew that she was new in town and maybe she didn’t realise who he was. He was sure that once she knew he was ‘big money’ she would flock around him like all the rest. He struggled to get up from his chair and the sudden exercise caused him to puff and pant with the effort. His shirt rode up over his huge stomach, scarred with stretch marks. He ran stubby fingers, heavy with gold rings, through his long white hair. He took the half smoked cigarette that was hanging from the corner of his mouth and stubbed it out into the ash tray. He pulled his shirt back down over his pink belly and hoisted up his baggy shorts. Satisfied that he was looking his best he walked over to Nana. He spoke in Russian to one of the young Thai girls working behind the bar and climbed up onto the bar stool next to Nana. It took him a few moments to recover his breath and in that time the girl behind the bar placed two vodkas on the bar - one in front of Ivan and one in front of Nana.