Bangkok Shadows

A short dark story, set in Bangkok

‘CAN I HAVE the pork curry, please?’

‘Certainly, sir. Excellent choice, may I suggest you have a side dish to go with it?’

Simon saw that the other customers were eating with spoons and forks. He did the same. The hotel’s restaurant had few customers, scattered around the elegant dining room. Some tourists are in shorts and T-shirts, and others like him are in casual trousers and loose shirts. The Thais were smartly turned out, in suits and ties.

‘I shouldn’t stare,’ Simon mumbled. His food arrived, and he ordered a second beer. ‘I deserve that.’ He grinned and thought about his recent bust-up with his fiancée. ‘Good riddance to her, and cheers to me.’

A glass smashed, plates swept to the floor. Voices raised. ‘Is that Thai or Chinese?’ he wondered.

The well-dressed man opposite Simon was not so well-dressed, as his throat was grabbed. The female accompanying him was shoved violently, she tripped and fell onto the broken glass.

Simon rushed to her aid, and he lifted her from the shards, as he was clubbed with a pistol.

‘Sir, sir, are you okay?’ A lady in a nurse's uniform asked. ‘I must stitch your face.’

Simon didn’t answer; he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He awoke at ten in the evening. A man in a hotel uniform was standing in the corner watching him.

‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. Thank you for assisting our valued customers. How do you feel? We thought you didn’t need a hospital; the hotel nurse treated your wounds. No charge.’

‘I’m in my room?’

‘Yes, sir, we’ve made you comfortable.’

‘What happened?’

‘I’m so sorry you witnessed that disturbance. One of our regular diners was attacked by thugs. So sorry.’

‘Look, it’s okay. I’m fine except for the pain in my cheek. I need to walk around a bit, then get an early night. Thanks again.’ He checked his watch once more.

‘Can I take your clothes to the laundry, again, no charge?’

In fresh jeans and a t-shirt, Simon was glad to escape the overbearing manager, ‘No charge for that.’ Simon laughed.

When he arrived, he hadn’t noticed the grand entrance; he had dived straight into reception to check in. Now he saw other businesses sharing the building's foyer. A law office, a flower shop, a book shop, a beautician, next to a plastic surgery. Simon sniggered at that. He jumped down the steps into the heat and noise of a lively Bangkok street. Looking left and right, he chose left as it looked busier.

‘Now, where are the bars I keep hearing about?’

A new city for Simon with its own rules to explore, he had a lot to learn, but he sensed something or someone behind him. He turned, and suits and tourists continued moving ahead. One shadow stopped, turned and looked at a shop window. Simon shook his head and walked on.

‘Ah, the famous street of night traders. What have they got, I wonder?’ He looked at next season’s fake football shirts. Music blared from bars and stalls. His unease deepened, and he turned abruptly.

‘Are you following me?’ He jumped in front of the woman he spotted earlier.

‘How is your face?’ She asked.

He touched the taped-up square. ‘Okay, thank you. Oh, you are the woman. How is your foot?’

‘Please don’t worry about me. Come with me. Quickly.’

She signalled a taxi and gave the driver directions, then pulled Simon into the rear seat.

‘What is this about? Where are you taking me?’

‘None of this is your fault. I want you to return to your hotel room and enjoy your holiday safely. But first, we must do something. Now, please, no questions.’

‘What do you mean, no questions? I want to know what is going on?’

She clamped up and peered out of the window.

‘Let me out now.’ He thumped the back of the driver’s seat.

‘We are nearly there. Sit tight.’

The taxi turned right onto a much less busy street, then into a narrow road with slum-like buildings on each side.

‘Come on, follow me. And keep up.’ They jumped out of the cab.

To keep up, Simon had to jog. Ahead amongst the seedy homes was a well-lit building. The woman puts her hand across his stomach. ‘Stop. Wait here, don’t let anyone see you.’ Keeping to the shadows, she crept nearer the lights. A face appeared in the doorway, peering up and down the shanty-clad street. He took a step outside and stretched his arched back.

In a flash, she jumped out and stabbed a needle into his neck, and in one move, a pistol was lodged in his gaping mouth. ‘Come on.’ She waved Simon forward.

Simon turned and ran, having no idea where he was going; he took off. He ran past people chatting; others sat around eating snacks; lovers, arm in arm, strolled; children in rags threw a punctured ball to each other. The common factor was that they all slowed and gawped at him. Simon ran faster. A waterway stopped him; there was no way to pass the canal. No left, no right. He wasn’t willing to swim in the murk. On return, he had to pass the staring eyes. Then what?

‘Get in here now. I’m not going to hurt you.’ The woman pointed in through the door. No gun in sight was a relief. He shrugged and followed orders.

‘This is one of the gangsters who attacked my boss and me earlier. I am trying to find him. Don’t worry, I’m on your side.’

A man was lying on his back.

‘Have you killed him?’ asked Simon. ‘Is he dead?’

The man moved his head back and forth and mumbled something in Thai.

‘See, he is not dead. I injected him with a strong painkiller, one we use at work.’

‘At work? Christ, what work do you do?’

‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Panya, I work at the plastic surgery in your hotel.’

‘And the painkiller allows you to chop bits off people, I suppose?’

‘We beautify folk. That’s all.’

‘Please tell me, what has this all got to do with me?’

‘I plan to find my boss. The guy on the floor told me that they have been torturing Bangkok’s most famous plastic surgeon.’

‘Okay, but this has nothing to do with me.’

‘Oh, but it does.’

A mobile rang with a childish ringtone. She snatched the phone from the immobile gangster and wailed. She listened for a few more seconds, then threw it to the floor.

‘My boss died during torture. He gave up the information they needed. Come on.’

Dragging Simon by the arm, they ran to hail a taxi.

‘Dare I ask where we are going? And once more, what has this got to do with me?’

‘We are going to a police station. Then you will know the full truth.’

Bangkok’s streets were jammed, as usual, and they crawled ahead.

‘Well, it looks like we have time. So tell me, what the hell is going on?’

‘The Godfather of the gang needed to disappear. He didn’t want to, so he decided to change his looks. And change them, he meant dramatically. We restructured his face. No one would recognise him.’

‘Yes, and?’

‘My boss was happy with his work, so he secretly took photos, you know, before and after.’

A pair of powerful choppers pulled alongside the taxi.

‘Duck, and run if you get the chance,’ she said as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Then, back to business with a shake of the head, she checked her pistol and pulled Sinon’s head down.

One chopper parked in front of the cab, and the other stopped next to her door. Both riders dismounted and pulled out their weapons. One tapped her window.

The men shouted at her and flashed their guns. The driver opened his door and ran. A head and a barrel poked in.

‘Go, go now,’ she screamed at Simon.

He opened his door and rolled out. Instead of running, he slid under the taxi. One gangster ran around and cursed.

Simon remained still, breathing like a hare when the greyhounds had given up. He saw Panya being dragged away.

Within minutes, police motorbikes arrived.

At the station, he spurted his story. Most officers had no idea what he was talking about; a few had a spattering of English.

‘Sir, sir, please slow down. Let me get a nurse, you are bleeding heavily.’

Simon was panting for breath. A medic arrived and tried to calm him before he removed the strapping.

‘Sorry, please tell me if it hurts. It looks like your stitches burst.’

Simon eased his fear. The nurse stood opposite and flicked her tweezers.

‘What is this?’

‘What?’

The tweezers now held a zip file. ‘Where did you get that?’ asked Simon.

‘That was under your wound. I think the detectives will have more questions for you.’

Simon’s face was cleaned up. He was told to wait. He did, he waited and waited. He stood, ready to leave, when the door opened.

‘Sir, I would like to know why you had photographs of Thailand’s most wanted criminal on a sim file under your skin?’

The END

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