Bangkok Burn (6 page)

I had already singled out the data for the morning of the eleventh. Calls in and calls out. For Patong area base stations, this is a lot of data. An sql query sorted out those numbers that had made calls from that area in the week before. I focused on those that only made calls on that day. People passing through. For those calls I took them down to the Picocell level. A picocell (pico) is base station repeater within say carparks or a mall. A microcell would cover an area of a few malls, and of course, macrocells are the base station receivers and transceivers which can cover an area of up to, in the case of GSM, 40 Km. Patong area has ten main base stations. Each base station has a collection of microcells and picocells within it. This is a lot of phone calls, however a cell phone is simply a two-way radio. Triangulation is built into the network. All the data is there for analysis, it just takes a bit of luck and a lot of time. Normally I'd farm this out. But I didn't know who or where all of our enemies were.

I eliminated any numbers that were present at tourist spot picos. Kidnappers usually hang out in bars, restaurants, hotels and motels. I overlaid the numbers left on a satellite map of Phuket. Color-coded lines show the movement of numbers flowing from pico to pico. I color coded these according to average time spent at a picocell. If the average time spent in a picocell range is low, and consistent, then they're moving. If erratic then they're stopping places. I adjusted the algorithm to split a color for those which had a 10-20 minute stop at the microcell repeater for Uncle Mike's hill property area.

A thin neon-pink line emerged. It came in from the mainland, ran to the airport, and stopped there for 15 minutes. It then changed to 4 pink lines, went straight to the microcell area and then all 4 pink lines went to a microcell east of the bridge. The four lines tracked south-east until they disappeared out of the data range. I needed more data. I picked up the green phone. Hit 1 on the speed dial. It didn't even complete the first ring before she answered.

“Hello, Mother. How's my funeral going?” I could hear the live pipes and cymbals in the background.

“Wait a second ... there that's better. I can hear you now. The funeral is going good but four streets got hit for protection money last night: four different groups. No one we can recognize. The heads of the five districts are meeting tonight. It was Big Tiger's idea.”

“Okay, maybe he's making his move. What do you think? Are you going to go?”

“No. I want to see what happens. We'll know more without showing our hand.”

“Yes, you're right...”

“Of course I am.”

I smiled. “Mother, I need some more data. Four numbers. I've sent you the numbers.”

“All right. It'll take time. The staff at the telcos are pretty busy tracking numbers right now.”

“Yes, of course. How's it going with the money?”

“It's going. Just like the trace data, it'll take time, another couple of days at least. You'll have to go to Singapore though. We can't move it here. Too much is happening right now. The military is trying to shut down red shirt financing. All transactions in and out are being very heavily monitored. This whole mess, I just can't believe it. Did you hear the BMA plan to shut down the electricity in the red shirt camp? That's no good. The red shirts have generators. Anyway, is there anything else? I've got to get back to your funeral.”

“Yes, couple of things. Can you ask Aunt Ning to visit her Mor Doo, this evening after the monks leave, and to ask him for an update on how I'm doing in the hereafter. She should describe in detail how she saw me dead in the hospital and Khun Por too.”

“Hmm, yes. Are you trying to spread a rumor?”

“Yes. A couple of them. Is Sally there?”

“Yes, she's playing Hi-Lo outside in the Sala.”

“Can you tell her to meet me at her salon at about five?”

“Yes. I see your game. That's good. Maybe draw someone out?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“How is your eye?”

“It's okay. Throbs a bit when I think too much, which means its throbbing all the time. But it seems to be healing all right.”

“Remember what I told you. All of them.”

“Yes, Mother. I remember. I have to go now. Bye, Mother.”

“Take care of yourself.” Her voice nearly cracked. I hung up to save us both the embarrassment.

“Chai, Bangkok Noi.” He nodded.

I called Cheep again.

“Cheep, have your guys ask around yacht haven up north. See if any of the boat boys know anything about a boat leaving day before yesterday. Should have been 4 or 5 people on the boat. Show the photo of the woman if you need to.”

“Okay. I'll send some guys up there now.”

***

Chai stopped outside Mustang Sally's Salon & Spa, blocking the view from the houses opposite. I took the blue and yellow phones, a few bundles of cash, and left everything else in the van. Chai went into the salon before me to check the place out, rolling his eyes at me as he came back, closely followed by a six foot tall, beautiful woman. I climbed out slowly, aching everywhere.

“Oh my God, look at you! I'm so sorry about Por. He was such a darling. Come in. Come in.” At one time, Sally was Bangkok's highest paid call “girl”, a katoey, specializing in femdom. Her reputation for blow jobs was legendary. Able to suck a golf ball through a straw, the most common metaphor. Still dressed in black, she offered me a hollowed, powdered cheek. I gave her a quick peck on the cheek and followed her inside the salon. Hooker to salon is a standard career path, but Sally's success was anything but standard. Known by the nickname, “Dara CNN”, celebrity gossip is Sally's way of keeping the salon full. Sally also does make-up. It allows her to get up close and whisper the latest hot secret in your ear. Sally locked the doors behind us. I needed a disguise and a rumor spread.

“Have you got a weapon. A gun or...” I put some urgency in my voice.

“Yes.” She had a frown on her face.

“Can you go get it? Now.” Her eyes went wider.

“Sure. Yes.” She started to go back up the stairs off to our right, but turned, her foot on the first step and looked back at me.

“Are we in any danger?” She had a sort semi-accusing look on her face, as if to say thanks for dropping this shit on my doorstep. I figured the more she felt that way the faster the news would go out.

“No. Maybe. Probably not. Could you hurry. I left mine with Chai in the van.” You can always play the Griengchai card, as long as the other party feels it. She nodded her head. Mind made up.

“Okay, I'll just go get it.” She pointed up the stairs. “It's upstairs.” She started up the stairs, got about half way up and stopped, leaning over the banister. “By the way, Chai is he your driver or a friend? He's quite a...”

“Sally. Please.”

“Okay. Okay, I'm going. Make yourself comfortable, I'll er, okay, yeah...”

***

My nose was inches away from the valley of Sally's cleavage, she putting extensions into my hair. At least that's what she said she was doing. I hadn't said a word since sitting down and Sally was bursting to ask me a thousand questions. Time to start a rumor.

“Did you get these done in Korea?”

“No, Bangkok. Why? Do you like them?”

“Just curious. Sure. They look good.”

Sally stepped back, long gray hair extensions in her right hand. She tucked her chin in looking down and pushed her tits together.

“Do you think they should be bigger? I was thinking about have them upgraded. Go up a couple of sizes. What do you think?”

“I think they're fine as they are.”

“Would you like to see them?”

“No, it’s okay. I can tell from here. They're fine. Can you hurry this up a bit? I've got to get to Cambodia tomorrow.”

Sally pouted, flounced, grinned, all in one move and went back to putting extensions into my hair. She leaned forward giving me a close up of her cleavage.

“So do you know who, um, you know, tried to kill you?”

“Yes, that's why I'm going to Cambodia tomorrow. It's better if we don't talk about this Sally, and whatever you do, you must keep my visit here a secret. Okay. Promise me. Whatever you do, don't tell anyone.”

“Of course. Darling. I won't tell a soul.”

***

Sally's salon is in the back streets behind Arun Amarin Road. The Chao Phraya River runs by her back door. I stood on her dock waiting for a long-tail boat. Smelly, noisy, uncomfortable, but faster than rush hour traffic. The long-tail that responded to the green light on the dock was driven by a little skinny guy. He gave me a leery smirk when he asked me where to go. He'd obviously picked up Farangs from Sally’s before. The eye-patch had been the problem. Whatever the disguise, the eye-patch would draw attention. Thinking about the Bandidos had given me the idea. Now I looked like a skinny Hulk Hogan in denims. A long, droopy moustache tickled my nose. The black bandana headband, mirrored Ray Bans, skull-and-cross-bones eye-patch were Sally's work. I looked ridiculous, but I didn’t look like me.

The river is only about 200 meters wide at this point, but the landing at the Shangri La Hotel was about 5 kilometers downstream. As the long-tail driver swung into mid-stream, I spent the time trying to figure out how many people Sally would have called by now, and how many of those would call someone else. She'd start with the senior rumor mongers. The one's with the highest celebrity value and work her way down. Working on a 1+1 principle, with an allowance for degradation, it would take about another fifteen minutes to reach the landing and it had been ten since I left Sally's. I came up with a conservative estimate of ten million. It probably wouldn't be that high within 25 minutes but by morning, everyone I wanted to know would have got the rumor that I was still alive.

The long-tail taxi pulled alongside the landing at the Shangri La. I handed over 40 baht to the smirking driver and headed for street. The Shangri La is in a back street off Charoen Krung Road, which connects to Silom. Center of the financial district, also Patpong and Thaniya Plaza are here. Thaniya is a little piece of Ginza, and, at a tenth of the price, is the hang out for Japanese ‘Sararee’ men after a hard day's work on the golf course. Foreigners, especially one's wearing biker leathers and looking like Hulk Hogan, aren't welcome. It was where Musashi Shirotomi, Head of the international division of the Yamaguchi-gumi, had his headquarters. No taxis were around, so I shouted to a kid sitting on a motorbike squeezing his zits in its mirror.

“Hey man, take me to Patpong.” Not that many of our motorbike taxi guys speak English, but this phrase is easily understood.

“Hundred baht.” A rip off, but keeping in character, I nodded and climbed on, wondering what your average Hell's Angel might think of a biker on the back of 125cc Yamaha. Traffic was light, taxis scarce. It didn't feel like Bangkok. Way too quiet for rush hour on a Thursday. But then someone was firing a grenade launcher at the other end of Silom. Not normal times.

As we approached the other end of Silom, where Thaniya was, I could see fireworks rising from the red shirt encampment. On the opposite site of the street were army and police. Barricades had been set up in case the reds tried to invade Silom. A few days earlier, about a hundred meters from where the taxi dropped me, a young student had been killed and 70 others wounded by M-79 grenades. The government said the grenades were fired from the red shirt camp. The red shirts said the grenades came from the government hospital. The truth? Who knew? The guy who fired the launcher. Shades of gray.

About 20 meters into Thaniya on the right-hand side, opposite the new and second-hand golf shop, is a small alley running between two buildings. The first thing you notice about this alley is that it is spotlessly clean. The second is a door at the end of the alley that doesn't have a handle. I pressed the button on the speaker next to the door and took the Ray Bans off. I stood back and looked at the camera on the wall above to my right.

“Please tell Ken San that Chance has come to see him,” I said at the little box. It was hot under all this hair.

The door clicked open and I went in to the hallway behind it. A Japanese guy was waiting in the hall. He patted me down, two fingers on his left hand missing. He nodded at me, bowed and with a gesture of his hand, pointed at the door behind him. I went into a small room with a tiled floor and two wooden benches lining each wall. I sat down and removed the boots Sally had provided. The room was quiet, the slight humming of the air pump for the fish tank next to the door, the only noise. The outside world kept out. I put on the slippers provided and opened the door.