Hungry Ghosts (11 page)

He consulted his watch.

“I’ve got time before I have to leave for the airport. Join me?”

He was going away again. He’d only just got back.

“You don’t know when you will be coming home?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m afraid not.” He looked at her earnestly for a moment, and she thought she saw something stir in his eyes. “Why? Will you miss me?”

It was probably just her imagination.

Wayan smiled a housekeeper’s indulgent smile and shook her head.

Yes, I will
, she thought.
More than you know
.

*       *       *       *       *

“You really love him, don’t you? I can tell,” said Jingjai.

Da
was perched on the reception desk bouncing Pratcha on her knee.

“Of course I love my Tong,” she responded. “He’s my sweetheart
as well as my husband.”

She tickled the baby under the chin.

“But I’d never tell him how much. It doesn’t do to admit something like that to a man.”

Jingjai laughed.

“I’m serious,” said Da earnestly. “They just take advantage.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, I’d better go. I need to ring Mrs. Tesman but I’ll do that later from home on my cell phone. I don’t suppose she would appreciate a call now. It’s very early in the USA.”

“Do you think Mrs
. Tesman is happy with –” Jingjai gestured vaguely.

“– With how things have turned out?”

Her companion nodded.

“Oh yes,” asserted Da blandly. “Absolutely. What is more, I think we will be getting a nice big bonus.
Khun
David is such a pessimist about these matters. He should leave these things to me. Sometimes he can be such a
man
.”

She
packed up her infant appurtenances, gave Jingjai a peck on the cheek and made her way carefully down the steep staircase of the David Braddock Agency, still yammering away in baby-talk. The street door slammed closed behind her and Jingjai was alone.

The girl with the diamond
in her tooth tapped her fingernails on the desk and looked at the phone.

Although she had been light and friendly with Da, she had things on her mind.

Her family.

Her musical career.

Her employer.

She was concerned for David Braddock, although she had said nothing to Da about the nature of his trip to Bangkok. Da had assumed it was routine business and – unusually for her – had not wanted to talk about details. Her mind was still on her recent triumph with the American client.

Wiwatanee Lamphongchat knew, however, that this assignment to find the missing woman was anything but routine.

Since her teens when she had learned about the true nature of her
family ‘business’, Jingjai had felt ashamed. She had made it her priority
not
to get involved and to get away from Bangkok at every opportunity. She had wanted to carve out a career for herself, and not to accept her family’s offers of assistance. She knew this was making the road ahead of her harder, but she didn’t care. The money was ‘dirty’ money and she wanted nothing to do with it.

Although life, of course,
was not so black-and-white.

She still felt a sense of guilt that her father had died without their being properly reconciled, and she had kept in touch with her mother and her uncle although she held the
se relationships at a distance.

And notwithstanding the fact that she had kept aloof, it was unavoidable that she would still get to know things about the Bangkok dealings that she would rather not have known.

Like about the Sangukhon Family.

She had heard names mentioned.

She had heard about some of the activities that were carried out: the grubby dealing, the extortion, the threats, the beatings and worse.

Jingjai
knew that David Braddock was walking into a dangerous situation and the time she had spent with him led her to believe that he was a man who was careless about his own safety.

And he
had
helped her when she needed it.

She leaned forward and rested her head on the desk.

Why couldn’t life just be straightforward?

Why couldn’t she just be a musician? That’s all she wanted.

That, and to be left alone by her family. Not to have this sense of shame hanging over her like a cloud of flies that followed her wherever she went.

But this was self-indulgent thinking.

She sat up straight in her chair.

There was something she should do regardless of what was best for her.

She looked at the phone, picked it up decisively and pressed the buttons.

*       *       *       *       *

The afternoon sun glinted off the body of the New Siam Airways jet as it taxied towards the terminal at Koh Samui International Airport. It was one of the newer ones in the fleet and the red-and-gold swirling logo covering most of its fuselage looked gaudy against the hillside backdrop of dark green trees.

From the departure area David Braddock sipped his complimentary coffee and watched the plane come to a stop and the ground-crew begin their routine tasks: a small, dusty brigade of assorted vehicles and men in bright jackets converging slowly on the aircraft.

The private investigator was unconcerned by the fact that the plane was late. The airline packed so many daily shuttles back and forth between the island and the capital that a minor hiccup in the morning schedule invariably meant delays to the flights later in the day.

Besides, he was in a good mood. There were days when the events of his past did not pursue him; when the wild beauty of the Land of Smiles inveigled its way into his weary heart, and a certain lightness of spirit infused him with optimism.

Today was one of those days.

Besides, he looked forward to an early return to Bangkok. There was
an element of the city that appealed to his jaded appetites; and on this visit – perhaps – he would achieve something worthwhile. If he could assist in finding the missing woman, maybe there would be some karmic reward at the end of it, one he could discuss with the Old Monk over a cigarette or two.

In his bones he knew the chances of finding
Rosie Fletcher were slight but he travelled in hope.

Inside the plane a burly Thai man unbuckled himself and rose ponderously to his feet. The passengers in his immediate vicinity moved away to make room for him to remove his bag from the overhead locker. Aside from his size, the expression on the man’s face suggested he was not the kind of individual one would wish to annoy.

Bumibol Chaldrakun had not travelled to Koh Samui in hope. He had travelled to the island with
a grim sense of purpose and darkness in his heart.

Bumibol
cleared his throat and glowered at the man in front of him who was struggling with his rucksack.

He wanted to get off the plane. The cabin pressed in on him, made him feel confined and uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles.

Soon
, he thought.
We’ll see what we need to see
.

9

David Braddock’s Journal

“So your name is Dick Blackheart?” I ask.

“
Richard
,” he says with a fixed smile, “
Richard
Blackheart.”

He is
patently irked by my inappropriate levity.

“Ah.”

We finish the handshake and some of his clamminess attaches to my palm.

“And this is
Nigel.”

The monstrously overweight pile of offal at his side gives me a nod and raises his glass.

Both English. A greaseball and the Earth’s equivalent of Jabba The Hut. It makes me feel like ripping up my passport.

Dick
, Jabba and I are standing at the bar of Siam Welcomes You, an unprepossessing pick-up joint in Patpong, with whose fleshy pleasures I am only too familiar.

I have already dropped off my bag at the nearby hotel Jingjai had booked for me and I figured a drink or two would be in order prior to starting my serious investigations and more intrusive PI behavior tomorrow. The places I need to get footpadding around are better visited during daylight hours
, although I am carrying Rosie Fletcher’s photo with me on the off-chance some lead might present itself. The odds of this are long indeed in Siam Welcomes You. In all my visits here I’ve never seen a white woman, and the typical male patrons I encounter wouldn’t be wasting their precious Bangkok shagging time on a British wench. Not when there is so much brown, nubile skin around.

My two latest acquaintances are a case in point. Having observed the necessary pleasantries they are back to ogling the girl on the small corner stage performing dubious acts with a vertical pole.

The place is reasonably busy. Most of the comfortable seating is occupied by middle-aged
farang
men with youthful Thai flesh draped over them. The girls appear to be hanging on their every word. The background music is as ever pitched at just the right volume to encourage close physical proximity. In the dim light Janice, one of the girls I know, is feeding nuts to her bald and besotted companion. She gives me a sly wink when he’s not looking. I wink back.

Mama-san appears with the statuesque Pichaya in tow.

“
Khun
David,” she warbles. “So nice to see you back so soon.”

Her
businesslike eyes automatically assess my spending potential for the evening. Her dispassionate brain is doubtless registering her provisional assessment:
not happy, not sad, not drunk and doesn’t want to get drunk, may or may not want a girl tonight
. Mama-san should really be a behavioural psychologist – although the money wouldn’t be so good. Her short, tubby form somehow still manages to exude a certain power and grace despite the incongruity of her surroundings.

“Mama-san,” I murmur taking her hand and kissing it respectfully. She gives a feigned blush
. I turn my attention to Pichaya, but Mama-san forestalls me.

“No, no,
Khun David. Pichaya is not for you tonight.” She nods in the direction of Dick and Jabba, who suddenly notice her arrival.

I look at Mama-san.

“
Two
of them?” I ask. “And
those
two?”

Mama-san shrugs. Pichaya moves past me, and as she does so puts a hand on my arm and whispers in my ear, “It’s just business, David. That’s all.” She
seems sad, although she smiles readily enough as the two Englishmen disappear with her through the door that leads to the upstairs bedrooms.

I look at Mama-san, but she waggles a finger at me.

“Good customers,” she asserts. “And better for Pichaya if she goes with two, that she does it here where I can keep an eye on her.”

“I guess.”

The thought of that sweet girl with the pile of hideous blubber and his oily mate doing God-knows-what to her makes me feel depressed. I’m tempted to offer Mama-san a wad of money to get Pichaya back downstairs, but I know that would be pointless: she has her establishment’s reputation to think of.

As if she can read my mind, she hoists herself up onto a bar stool and says, “You don’t think about this now,
Khun David. I realise Pichaya is one of your favourites, but you don’t think about this.” She pats my wrist. “Let me buy you a beer. After I find you another girl. Come, sit.”

I take the stool next to her.

“I’m not in the mood for a girl this evening, Mama-san. However, I will have a beer.”

She rolls her eyes like she was expecting that response.

“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, though.”

The owner of
Siam Welcomes You digs me in the ribs.

“You want to talk dirty to Mama-san,
Khun David?” She flutters her eyelashes theatrically and smiles. “Ah, this will be like the old days when I was young and beautiful.”

“You are still beautiful.”

She smooths the line of her red silk dress and beckons over the barman whose gaunt features look cadaverous in the bar’s blue light. I don’t recognize him.

Mama-san spots my puzzlement. “This is Dino,” she says. “He’s my new barman.
” Dino appears underwhelmed by the introduction. “Noum has moved back to Udon Thani. His father died last month.”

“Ah.”

“A beer for Mr. Braddock and my usual,” Mama-san orders. She watches Dion saunter off and tuts to herself. I’m guessing she’s not too impressed with Noum’s replacement.

“I need to pick your brains,” I tell my hostess. “I’m in Bangkok on business
, not pleasure. I’m looking for a missing Englishwoman.” I take out the photograph of Rosie Fletcher and hold it out to her. “I know it’s a long shot but I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

Mama-san barely looks at the photograph.

“I have no interest in foreign women,” she snorts. “Only Western men. White women don’t come in here. You should know that.”

I put the photo away.

“And don’t think about asking my customers either.” There is a hard edge to her voice. “They’ve come here to enjoy themselves, Khun David, not to talk about missing women.”

The drippy Dino arrives back with the drinks.

“So if you can’t help me with that, Mama-san, what can you tell me about the Sangukhon family?”

Her face registers shock.

“What?”

“The Sangukhon family?”

She pulls me close to her and drops her voice.

“I heard what you said. You don’t mention the Sangukhon name in here.”

“Why not?”

She casts a withering gaze in the direction of Dino and he takes the hint and moves off to the other end of the bar. When she looks back at me
there is anxiety in her eyes. It is the first time ever I’ve seen her ruffled.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” she asks.

“Not intentionally.”

“The Sangukhons are powerful people. You don’t cross them.
You don’t ask about them either.”

I light a Marlboro and put on my best I-couldn’t-give-a-crap expression.

“But you do know them?” I persist.

“Of course,” she snaps, “Everyone in Patpong does. Well, we know their people anyway. Why
are you interested in them?”

“I –”

She holds up a hand quickly. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. It’s better for me that I don’t.”

Mama-san takes a gulp of her drink. Her hand is shaking slightly.

“And better for you I don’t know either.”

She takes a deep breath then turns to me brightly. The old businesswoman reasserts herself, and she slaps on a huckster smile.

“Anyway, Khun David, that’s enough of this serious talk. We don’t have serious talk in Siam Welcomes You. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to ask one of the girls to come and sit with you?”

I shake my head as I
blow cigarette smoke.

“If you don’t want to go upstairs I can call Kai for you. It’s her time of the month. She could just sit and talk with you. You could buy her a few drinks.” She nudges my ribs. “And maybe
she could give you a quick blow job before you leave, eh? Remember the last time you came here and didn’t want to do anything naughty? You men are so weak.”  A dirty laugh accompanies this last remark.

I don’t respond for a moment. The last time I came here I spent time with Pichaya. Now she’s upstairs with those two …

“No thank you. I’ll just stay here a while and have a few drinks. Don’t worry, I’ll leave some money behind the bar for the girls.”

Mama-san looks at me in a concerned fashion and shakes her head.

“You’re waiting for Pichaya, aren’t you, Khun David? To make sure she’s all right?”

I give a non-committal shrug.

She finishes her drink and climbs off the stool. It’s time for her to socialize and make sure all her customers are happy.

“It’s a nice thought,” she says
absently, “but you’re a fool if you think you can rescue her, you know. Nobody can rescue her.”

I look at my
rotund hostess.

“It’s the life
,” she adds.