First Boyfriend

A short dark story, set in Bangkok

'WHO IS THE new chick?'

'Don't start on her; you have enough girlfriends.'

'Just asking. I've not seen her before.'

'No, she only started here this week.'

'Pretty girl, is she free?'

'I don't know; she is so shy, she hasn't spoken to any of us.'

Trev wandered past the few occupied desks and stood behind Sami, the new girl.

'Hello, I'm pleased to meet you. I'm Trevor.' He held out his hand, then placed his hands together in the more traditional Thai "wai" greeting.

Sami jumped and dropped her phone. Trev picked it up and looked at the screen.

'Boyfriend?' he asked. 'Wow, he's a good-looking guy.'

Sami smiled and ducked her head. 'No, just a friend.'

Trev smiled and waved.

Sami's phone was busy again, 'Big sis, what shall I do? I dropped the phone and lost the connection. Maybe he won't talk to me again?'

'Don't worry, he'll call back. Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be working?' Gel, Sami's sister, said.

'I am, but I must wait for my boss to give me a project.'

'What are your workmates like?'

'Okay, some English, some Thais, all nice.'

'How come you fell for an English guy?'

'I haven't; he is just a guy who found me on Messenger.'

'Yeah, yeah, why are you so worried about him ringing back?' Her sister laughed as she disconnected.

'Hi, again, did you get sick of talking to me?' asked Craig.

'Eh, no, please don't think that. I dropped my mobile.'

'Oh, I thought your boyfriend interrupted our chat?'

'No. I haven't got one.'

'Can I take you out then?'

'Yes, but I don't drink or party, so don't expect much, okay?'

'Let's share a coffee. At the Starbucks near your office?'

'How do you know where my office is?'

'You must have told me.'

Sami racked her brains but came up with nothing. ‘How will I know you?'

'I'm tallish; people say I'm good-looking. Oh, I'll be holding a red rose. See you there after work, let's say 6ish.'

'Did I tell him what hours I work?' she wondered.

The rest of the day, Sami proofread an English-to-Thai translation of a paper on international trade. Boring, but it was a job. Better than her father forking out for university fees year after year.

At 6 pm, Sami waved goodbye to the few remaining staff and slipped around the heavy glass door onto Sukhumvit Road; she crossed the road and entered the coffee shop, where the chill of the air-con was a relief from the traffic fumes. She peered at the sitting customers. Nobody leapt up to order her a drink.

'Americano, please.' Her mug arrived, and she looked around. No tallish, good-looking guys with a red rose. 'Great, he is not here.'

A red rose wafted above a table of noisy tourists. Sami peered around the gaggle of Canadians and saw the back of a man's head covered with lank, greasy blonde locks. He turned and offered the chair opposite. Sami looked down at the hands holding the flower. Dirty with long nails. She sat and immediately regretted it.

'Hello, Sami,' he said. 'Glad you could join me.'

'Hi, you are not as you described.'

'I stretched the truth a little. But I'd love to take you on an evening date.'

'Sorry, but you lied. I don't like liars. Goodbye.'

She felt the rose hit her back as she walked between the aisles, and this time was happy to breathe in traffic fumes rather than lies. She jumped on the first bus that passed.

'Oh God, what a terrible experience,' Sami said to Gel.

'Why not go with a nice Thai boy?'

'No way, they were all so rude when Mum died; I swore I'd never fall in love with a man like that.'

'So, was the Englishman any better?'

'No.'

Her phone bleeped for the sixth time. 'Christ, it's him again.'

'Tell him to get lost in your foulest English language,' laughed her sister.

The sisters lived with their Dad in an old wooden house near the river called Klong Toey. It was a well-known slum district, partly why she had found no suitable Thai lover. Her mother's cancer had drained the family's wealth, hence life in poverty.

There was scratching against the wooden wall.

'Is that rats again?'

'Surely not; Dad put down poison last night.'

'Hi girls, I'm home. Who fancies a bowl of noodles?'

The trio marched to their favourite eatery.

'Well, girls, who had a great day?' Their father asked.

'Go on, Sami; you tell Dad about life in a fancy office.'

Sami described her work, the workmates, and her checking text. She didn't mention the coffee meeting. They strolled home laughing and joking until they unlocked the door.

All three gasped; the rooms were all splattered with dark brown liquid. 'My God, is that blood?' Screamed Gel.

English words splattered and scrawled on the walls, but so much blood dripped and ran that it was impossible to read them.

'Who would have done this, and why?' asked their father.

'We should get the police,' said Sami.

A police officer arrived an hour later. He took a blood sample and left, offering no help or advice. 'No bodies, nothing stolen; what do you want me to do? Wash the walls for you?'

At six the following morning, the father dragged his daughters to his favourite temple. They all sat with the abbot and sought his advice. 'Your problem is near home,' said the monk, raising more questions than it answered.

Sami needed another shower and a change of clothes before she left for the office. The water was powerful for a change, but tepid as the heater hadn't worked for months. Sami let the shower wash away her dark thoughts.

'Gel, pack it in; I will finish in a minute.' The scraping noise was not her sister; the wood panelling splintered, leaving a hole under the piping. Eyes were watching her. Sami slammed her hand against the gap, driving splinters into her palm.

Sami tried to reach for a towel to cover herself, but did not wish to release her fingers on the shards of wood. Instead, she screamed for her Dad.

'Christ, how did anyone get in the gap with all the pipes?' he asked. 'I'd better get the police again.'

'The perpetrator leaves no clues; sorry, nothing I can do,' the officer said. 'Oh, that blood yesterday was a chicken's blood.'

Sami rushed to her office; she spent the day worrying, and her mobile was off and buried at the bottom of her bag.

'Your sister is here. She wants to see you. Do you realise you should not have "outsiders" visiting during office hours? You can see her this time. But not again, okay?'

Sami went to the reception area; she was preparing a mouthful to tell her off. But then she saw the tears.

'What's the matter, Gel?'

'It's Dad; he's dead.' She wailed.

Sami pushed her outside, 'What happened? Did he have a heart attack?'

'We don't know; they came and removed his body. It is at the police morgue; they asked if one or both of us could attend.'

'Come on then.'

'Your father was poisoned with rat poison. Have you got anything to say?' said the officer.

'He was always trying to kill the pests in our house,' said Gel.

'How, then, did he manage to ingest so much? Was he depressed?'

'No, Dad was getting over Mum's death; he was in great spirits last night,' said Sami.

'So, you think it was an accident?'

After floods of tears and an hour-long interview at the police station, the girls returned home.

Neither felt like eating; they sat and stared at the door to their father's bedroom, praying he would walk through and join them. It wasn't going to happen.

After an hour of silence, the rats started scratching at the wood. 'Are they laughing at us?' asked Sami.

The clawing grew louder; it seemed to be coming from Dad's room. A shadow moved in the gap under the door.

Then a loud splintering and crashing as the ceiling caved in, and the bedroom door burst open as dust and insects fogged the room.

'Go on, then, take a look,' said Gel.

'I'm scared; what is happening?'

A smirk appeared on Gel's face.

'That's right; you look, Dad was always there for you. You were his favourite. So you check his room.'

An uneasy query crossed Sami's face.

'What has got into you? What is so funny?'

'Oh, nothing, little sister.'

As the cloud cleared, movement and coughing appeared. 'Hello, ladies.'

Sami screamed. A dusty Craig stared at her.

A snide grin crept to Gel's face.

'What's so funny?' asked Sami.

'Oh, nothing, my darling sister.'

'What has got into you?'

Craig and Gel shook hands. 'A deal's a deal.'

The man punched Sami's stomach; as she bent double, he swept a thick hood over her head, and her hands were tied. Gel giggled as she pushed her hand forward, clicking her fingers.

Craig pulled two envelopes from his pocket and passed them across. He then rearranged Sami's headgear; the hood had eye holes and a small circle stitched for her mouth.

'What are you doing?' asked Sami.

'Have I got time to talk to her before she's all yours?' asked Gel.

Craig nodded, wishing he could speak Thai, as Gel started talking.

'You don't know, but Dad took out insurance on his and Mum's lives when they married. Dad forgot about them until recently. But guess what? He never updated our address. So the insurance company sent information to our old address. And guess what, who lives there now? That's right, our great friend, Craig. He had the wit to contact me. We agreed on a couple of small matters. I get the letters; he gets you. Fair enough?'

'But, you can't. I'm your sister.'

'Oh, I can and will. You had everything from Dad. It was as if I didn't exist. So, bye-bye, I'm moving to a newer home with the insurance payout money. Craig will keep this place as his play palace.'

Gel wandered away, flapping envelopes.

Craig started undressing his victim, then redressing her in army garb; he crossed her chest with empty bandoleer straps and delicately placed a heavy WWII helmet on her shaking head; he then stuffed the chest pockets with radios and headsets. His phone snapped off dozens of pics from all angles.

Proud of himself, he took his ball peen hammer and started banging on Sami's toenails. Her screams got louder as the pain increased.

Sami spotted the shadows moving behind Craig. Then the torturer's attention deflected to the sound of a pistol cocking, and he half turned as a bullet entered his head's cheekbone between the eye and ear. The weapon spat another shot; the second round hit Sami's chest, knocking her from the stool to the floor.

'We don't want witnesses, do we?' Gel cleaned her prints' warm grip and trigger and put the weapon in Craig's hand. She laughed, 'The police will think it's a murder, suicide. They won't even check.' Her laughter screeched as she left the slum.

Hours later, Sami came around; the broken radio caught the bullet's lead.

The END

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