Mr Nice: an autobiography (39 page)

‘My pleasure, H. My pleasure. Missus all right, is she?’

‘Yes, thanks. She and the kids are here with me.’

‘It’s none of my business, H, but if I had a wife and kids, I wouldn’t bring them to Bangkok. I don’t think they’d like massage parlours.’ He looked across the room. ‘Hey, H. There’s that fucking nonce that was in Brixton with us on that table over there. What’s his name? Hobbs, that’s it. Hobbs. The dirty bastard.’

‘He’s with me, Mick.’

‘What! What are you doing hanging around with a nonce, H? Ain’t like you a bit.’

‘I’m sure he’s not a nonce, Mick. He’s just a gay who prefers teenagers to geriatrics. He doesn’t go after young kids. I mean, how old do you think that girl is, the one trying to give you a blowjob?’

‘Yeah, but it’s different here in Bangkok, H. You know that. It’s a different culture. It’s gotta be. And even if, like you say, he’s not a nonce, he’s just an iron, a poof, I wouldn’t trust him an inch. If he can’t keep his arse shut, how can he keep his trap shut? I don’t like him seeing me with you. Who’s he going to tell?’

‘Mick, he’s far less a danger than the two DEA guys sitting at the end of the bar. Besides that, you and I aren’t doing any business together at the moment, are we?’

‘You think they are Old Bill, those two? I’d been
wondering myself, as it goes. And I did want to talk a bit of business with you, H, as it happens. I got this geezer …’

‘Let’s go outside, Mick, and get a bite to eat.’

‘Shall we take these little darlings?’

‘No, you leave them, and I’ll leave Hobbs.’

‘I don’t like the idea of him leering at them when we’ve gone, H. The dirty bastard.’

‘He won’t, Mick. I just told you he’s gay.’

One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble
I can feel the devil walking next to me.

Mickey Williams and I walked outside.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this when I saw you last, H, but I was trying to get a little touch together on me own. I met this geezer in the slammer in Amsterdam. He got Schiphol together there. A mate of his works for a freight consolidation company actually in the bleeding airport. If we send him a box of gear, he can make it come up clean as a whistle in London, Holland, or Canada. It’s a blinding coup, H, I’m telling you. Well, this same geezer, who’s still in the slammer, had a connection out here for sending gear. He gave me his phone number and some kind of address, but no one seems to have heard of him. So if you know someone in Bangkok who can send us 500 kilos, and I know you do, H, you’ve got yourself a nice little trade. I got all the details with me here. I’ll put £50,000 of me own money into it. Fiftyfive, H. Half what we get through is yours, half mine. I got the money sitting in London. That’s how much I know it’ll work. I can’t do no more, H.’

‘Can I sell it once it gets through?’

‘If it pops up in London or Canada, I’d want you to, H, but if he brings it out in Amsterdam, I said he could sell it.’

‘We can do it, Mick. Give me the details.’

‘Another thing, H. I need to change up some money. A few thousand quid. I don’t want to do it at me hotel: they ripped me off once already. The banks are shut, and I’m a bit lairy of banks if I’m not robbing them.’

I flagged a
tuktuk
, and we both took it to the money-lending area of Bangkok’s Chinatown, the largest Chinese settlement outside China. Sitting in the
tuktuk
made me think of Sompop. I would try to see him this Friday at the Erawan Buddha.

Mick and I walked down the narrow, shambolic streets. Doorways led to opium dens and businesses of all kinds. Noodle stalls cluttered the doorsteps. Although it was late, several dozen money-changers were still open selling local currency at prices far cheaper than the banks. They also operated as illegal bookmakers, taking bets for just about anything. We walked into one. Mick’s eyes were darting in all directions. We asked how many baht they would give for English sterling. It was an excellent rate. Mick changed £3,000. We walked out.

‘H, did you get a butcher’s at that peter they got?’

‘At what, Mick?’ I was beginning to forget my cockney slang.

‘The peter, H, the bleeding safe. They might as well stash their loot in a fucking jam jar. That bank or betting shop, whatever it is, got no security, no alarms, nothing. I blagged harder ones than that when I was a nipper. It’s got to be worth going back there, H, one night after they shut. Like taking sweets from little kids.’

‘Be careful, Mick. This city has strange ways.’

Phil was at home when I telephoned. We arranged to meet in the lobby of the Dusithani Hotel.

‘Phil, can you send two tons of Thai by container to the West Coast?’

‘Is the Pope a Catholic? Why do you ask? Of course I can.’

‘Can you change the origin of the consignment and make it look like it came from Jakarta, Indonesia?’

‘Naturally.’

‘How do you do it?’

‘Bangkok is not really much of an international seaport. It’s too far up-river. A couple of local Thai shipping lines use it, but no foreign ones. Everything for the US transits through Singapore. Freight from Indonesia also transits through Singapore. We bung this Chinese freight agent in Singapore a bag of money, and he’ll adjust the paperwork.’

‘Will it be good-quality grass?’

‘The best. The new crop has just been harvested. There’s a sample in that envelope.’

‘Can you make it smell-proof?’

‘No problem there. We vacuum-pack and nitrogen-flush the lot.’

‘Can you do it all on credit?’

‘Say that again. I don’t think I heard you right.’

‘Can you do it all on credit?’

‘No way. Those days are gone, Howard.’

‘They haven’t. I can still get credit in Pakistan, Phil. As much as I want.’

‘Then send two tons of Pakistani hash to Manila. I’ve got a connection there who can re-route it to Australia, where I can get three times the money I can get in America.’

‘Sure. I’ll do that. Just as soon as you’ve sent the Thai.’

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, Howard, but I did learn from you, don’t forget. Why don’t you just pay for the Thai you want, and I’ll pay for the Pakistani I want?’

‘Okay. You want to do the Pakistani one first?’

‘You must be joking. You started this.’

Phil clearly wasn’t going to budge. He was a tight old sod. I knew he got the Thai grass on 100% credit. His only expenses would be transportation and giving the Singaporean freight agent enough money for a night’s whoring in Patpong. But he would never admit it. I’d have to let him get something for nothing.

‘Phil, I know what it costs here. You know I know. Forty
dollars a kilo is the absolute maximum. The rest of the expenses are cheaper than a night out in London. So $100,000 will cover the lot. If you don’t want to give me that on credit, I’ll pay you.’

‘When?’

Phil went into a different gear when he thought he might receive some money.

‘I’ll pay you now, Phil.’

‘What do you mean by now?’

‘Soon. Whenever you want.’

‘What do I get at the end? Credit is one thing, but it costs me loads just to keep my show on the road. There are all sorts of expenses. So many people depend on me to keep them in the luxury they’ve just started getting used to. If I let them down, I’m a dead man. I’m talking about paying off Thai army generals, police chiefs, and Bangkok gangsters, as well as the farmers in Khon Khaen. You know how many deals get busted or never make it. The Thais don’t understand this. They want paying anyway.’

‘I’ll pay you 25% of the gross return. There is absolutely no chance of getting any more.’

‘You aren’t giving much away, Howard, that’s for sure. But I can probably live with it. Tell you what. Give me $100,000 now. When the two tons is on its way from Singapore to the West Coast and I’ve given you the bill of lading and all the other paperwork, give me another $100,000.’

‘Okay. A friend of mine from the nick, Jim Hobbs, is over here with the money. Meet him for breakfast at 10 tomorrow morning in the lobby of the Montien. By the way, I’ve got another proposition for you.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Phil. ‘How much is this one going to cost me?’

‘The same. Nothing. How much to air-freight 100 kilos to Amsterdam?’

‘Now, that really is seriously expensive these days. They’re building a new airport at Don Muang, and security
is really tight. I have to pay the cops, the army, the Customs, the freight agents, and the airline. Credit with those people is impossible.’

I knew full well Phil was lying. Credit was much easier to get for air-freight than for sea-freight because the whole process was so much quicker: hours instead of weeks. There was less time for things to go wrong. But that was Phil. In any event, this deal had come to me purely by chance. I didn’t know how likely it was to succeed. I’d simply go for a 10% kickback and make some more money selling the grass in London, Amsterdam, or wherever Mickey’s guy would clear it to.

‘You must be slipping, Phil. But tell me how much.’

‘I must get paid 50% of the gross when it’s over. And that’s something I can’t be moved on. I’ll need $100,000 upfront.’

‘I don’t bargain, Phil, as you know, but …’

‘You do bargain; you just don’t call it that.’

‘Phil, there’s no way I can give you more than about $75,000, £50,000 actually, upfront, and you’d have to settle for 40% of the gross.’

‘When would I get the £50,000?’

‘In about seven to ten days. It’s sitting in London.’

‘It’s no good to me there, Howard. I need it here, or in Hong Kong.’

‘I’ll get it to Hong Kong.’

‘Okay.’

I gave Phil the instructions for both scams. We talked about other matters. I told him about my progress in researching the tanker transport of water. He said he was financing research into making paper from rice husks and currently submitting the proposal to a joint Saudi/Thai business consortium headed by Sheikh Abdularaman A. Alraji, who, according to the
Guinness Book of Records
, was the richest man in the world. If the committee liked the proposal, the Saudis would build a rice-husk paper mill in
Thailand, and Phil would become legitimately rich. He offered to submit the Welsh water proposal for similar consideration if I could get it together immediately.

I liked the idea. I had all the documents with me in Bangkok. They were in my briefcase ready to impress any official who wanted to open it. With some concentrated effort, I could type up a feasibility report. I was familiar enough with the material. I’d get back early to the Oriental Hotel and make a start. It was, after all, a writer’s hotel.

While Judy took the children to the Floating Market the next day, Hobbs gave Phil $100,000, and I set about writing the feasibility report for the richest man in the world. It was pretty much a re-write of the Welsh Water Authority’s bumf coupled with some bits and pieces and pasted on to Drinkbridge Hong Kong Limited notepaper. The secretarial services at the Oriental Hotel made the report presentable. Two days later it was completed and officially submitted alongside Phil’s rice-husk project.

It was Friday evening. I went to the Erawan Hotel to the site of the Erawan Buddha. The hotel is small and gracious and was once popular with foreign diplomats. It is said that many Thai labourers died during the course of its construction. A small Buddha was placed in the corner of the construction site, the right prayers were said, the deaths ceased, and good luck was bestowed upon the labourers. They made lots of money and became rich.

The Buddha is still there. It has become a shrine for those praying for upward mobility. Strangely shaped instruments blow sacred discords and traditional Thai dancers swirl erotically around the Buddha while the want-to-be-rich make and promise whatever sacrifices they can. Hawkers crowd around selling gold leaf to daub on the Buddha and caged birds to set free when making a wish.

Sompop was on his knees, burning joysticks and chanting. He saw me when he’d finished his prayers. He looked as if I’d answered them.

‘You come back to Bangkok. You want
ganja
? I pray for money and good luck. I see you. I’m very happy man.’

‘I’m leaving Bangkok tomorrow, Sompop. Here’s some money for you. I’ll see you in about a week.’

I had given him the baht equivalent of about $1,000, many months’ wages. I left him on his knees, head buried in the pavement, hands trembling as they clutched the money.