Bangkok Burn (26 page)

He laughed, clapped his hands together. “Come on Mr. Chance don’t be like that. Let’s go and have a drink and a talk.” Smooth smile, oozing charm. What was it with these Yakuza guys? Did they have some kind of mold they stamped them out of in Tokyo?

“We’ll follow you. You go ahead. Wait for us by the entrance.”

He nodded and then waved at a van in the car park. It pulled up. The three sumos climbed in. Mr. Smooth followed. Then the van pulled out of the car park.

The driveway into The Royal is a long way from the entrance on the main road. It gave me time to call Mother, set up a restaurant, and check our weapons. The van was parked, hazard lights on, on the main road. Chai pulled up alongside, and I wound the window down. Mr. Smooth opened their door.

“Follow me. I know a good place.” I didn’t give him time to argue. Chai took off. The government had extended the curfew until Monday night, so we only had a few hours. We headed for a place in Thonglor. I figured Steve should be introduced to the other Japanese playground in Bangkok. I was sure he’d already been to Thaniya.

It would take us maybe forty-five minutes to get there, depending on the Sunday evening traffic. There were a lot of people on the motorway, heading back to Bangkok now that open street warfare had ended. The war was still going on. Just now it was a quiet war. The run and hide, snatch and grab war. A power shift had occurred. Normally kept away from the public, this time the disagreements had spilled out onto the streets. A Thai saying, “When elephants fight, it is the ants in the grass that are trampled…” That battle had been fought, won, and lost, but the quiet war was far from over.

Beckham and about twenty of our boys were in the restaurant just off Soi 13 on Thonglor. The owner was a friend of mine. We sat in a private room looking out at a Japanese styled garden. Steve and I sat alone. Chai, Beckham and Tum were having staring matches with the Sumos.

The waitress poured us each a cold beer and left. I’d already ordered our food.

“Salute,” Steve said and raised his glass.

“Cheers.”

“This is a nice place. Quiet.” I let the silence draw out, took another sip of my beer.

“Allow me to express my condolences on the passing of Khun Por.”

“Thank you.”

“The Yamaguchi-gumi board also expressly ordered that their grief at the loss be known. Your father was our respected partner and friend.”

“Thank you. Please do express our heartfelt thanks to the board for their kind thoughts.”

The waitresses arrived bearing food: three different kinds of suchi, sashimi, and various other appetizers. Cold sake was poured into square wooden cups, with small dishes of rock salt for the sake, placed next to them. The chefs are from Tokyo, the fish flown in daily from Tokyo, everything in the restaurant is from Tokyo, excluding the waitresses.

We ate for a while. Talked about Bangkok. He’d been here a few times. His face got red with the sake, but he was sober. Reasonable. Finally he got to the point.

“Chance, the board wanted me to tell you that they also sincerely regret any misunderstandings that may have arisen as a result of Ken’s actions. They understand and appreciate the candid nature of your response. They wanted to assure whoever acted against Ken, that there will be no reprisal for Ken. He acted without honor and betrayed us all.” Steve looked me in the eyes, holding the look.

“I’ll pass it on. I’m sure they’ll be relieved.”

“The board would also like to know when you plan to return the hundred million.”

“Well, that’s a problem, Steve, as the tapes showed the money that Ken stole went up with the warehouse during the protest.”

“The board feels that perhaps the tapes, the fire, and the ease with which the money was stolen are a convenient explanation for one hundred million in cash.”

“The board sits in Tokyo. The tapes came from DSI investigating the warehouses for Ya Baa smuggling. Your guys were filmed because you arrived with a truck in the middle of the night. In case you haven’t noticed, a good portion of the country has burned down in the last few days. The only way anyone knew we had the money in Phuket was if they traced it from Bangkok. We weren’t expecting betrayal from our old respected friend. The whole matter has been extremely inconvenient from start to finish. However, it is what it is.”

“The board is going to be disappointed. They had hoped that this was a simple misunderstanding.”

“Steve, this was Ken’s karma. He pushed his luck and his luck pushed back. What happened is unfortunate but it has happened.” I held his stare. I’m a reasonable poker player. It didn’t look like he was convinced but I wasn’t giving him a lot of room to play with.

“I will report back to the board what you have said. I can’t imagine they’ll be pleased. They were quite adamant in their belief that Ken was set up.”

“It’s possible that Ken was set up. I don’t know what Ken was up to, and I don’t know who was up Ken. What I do know is that he stole your money.”

Steve didn’t say anything, pushing his cigarette pack around with his lighter. I really didn’t want a war with the Yamiguchi-gumi, and stealing the money had only come to me after I decided to borrow the money from Ken. It was a two-birds one-stone thing. Ken had ripped off a couple of families from Chiang Mai and Chonburi. The amounts weren’t small and the families had been hit hard. I was pretty sure this was his doing and not the Yakuza. Bangkok corrupts everyone. He tapped the cigarette pack twice with his lighter. Turning the charm back on. Peace for now.

“Okay, Chance. I’ll talk to the board and tell them how it is. I understand the situation. Can I invite you for dinner, next week? Say Thursday? I should be back by then.”

“Sure, let’s talk about it in the week.”

I watched as Steve and the sumos filed into the van. For big men they were surprisingly light on their feet. Something to remember.

Conflict of Interest

23 May 2010 Pak Nam 9:55 pm

Aunts, daughters, assorted husbands and hangers-on
, were in full attendance at the house when we got back. I slipped around the back and went straight to the guest house. Pichit was sitting in a chair on the deck. He stood up as I approached.

“Por is back. He’s sleeping still. Mother is with him and Doctor Thomas. There’re also a couple of nurses. One of them is cute.”

“Keep your hands off the nurses. We need them focused on Por not dreaming about you.” Pichit grinned at me, happy that Por was back from the dead.

“Yes, boss.”

I went into the house. Por was lying on a bed in the living room, Mother and Dr Tom talking on the sofa, and I heard the sound of giggles coming from upstairs. Somboon watching football on the TV with the sound turned off.

“There you are.” Mother said smiling and patting the sofa next to her. I went over and looked at Por. He looked pale and frail. Someone had brushed his hair the way he liked it. He was so still, I glanced at the heart monitor. I didn’t really understand how the scale worked but a light was rhythmically bouncing in an arc. Come on, Por, wake up, please. I need to talk to you. I studied his face for any sign he might have heard my silent appeal. The black accordion in the glass case thumped down, causing me to start.

Dr. Tom was talking to Mother, keeping his voice low.

“Pregnant by her cousin. They’re looking for a suitable husband now. Would you have any suggestions?”

“What are the chances the baby, will be…”

“Challenged?”

“Yes, challenged.”

“Minimal, less chance than of the baby having Down’s syndrome. In Thailand, less than one in three thousand at her age.”

“And the father…”

“Shipped off to the States - Minnesota. The father’s sister has an auto dealership there.”

“I’ll need to see the girl. Make sure there’s no Romeo and Juliet thing going to happen. But yes, I have some ideas. One young man in particular, good hardworking boy, could use a lift in social stature. I’ll call her mother tomorrow. Chance, how was the golf?”

“Interesting. Colonel Sankit wanted a chat about my prospects.”

Dr. Tom leaned over and peeled back the plaster over the stitches on my eye.

“I think we can get these out. Hang on I’ll just get my bag.” He stood up and walked over to the counter.

“What did Sankit, really want?” Mother asked, lowering her voice.

“He wanted to let me know that he didn’t have anything to do with the attempt on Por's and my life. I found out that he knew about our meeting. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to meet him first and see what he had to say. I haven’t said anything to Pim yet either.”

“No, I can understand that. Delicate subject. And did he?”

“Not sure. He says he didn’t, but he seemed eager to 'put the past behind us'. After the golf, Ken’s replacement showed up at the course. It is a Japanese course so I don’t think they were tailing us. Would have been hard to stay with Chai anyway.”

“Is my Maserati still in one piece?” Mother had a smile on her lips.

“Sorry about Montri’s Porsche. Didn’t think we’d be getting into anything that night.”

“Oh it’s okay. Couple of extra days in the body shop and a few engine parts. I’m just glad that neither of you were in it. What did Ken’s replacement, what did you say…”

“Steve.”

“What did Steve say? Did they ask about the money?”

“Yes. I’m not sure he believed me. Fifty-fifty. Said he’d report what I’d said back to the board in Tokyo.”

Dr. Tom came back, a pack of anti-septic wipes, scissors, and tweezers in hand. He wiped the eye down and started snipping. There was a soft knock on the door. I couldn’t turn and wasn’t facing the door but I heard Pim say.

“Hey, how was the golf?”

“It was good. Your dad and I had a good man-to-man talk?”

“Ooh, what did you talk about?”

“Well, that’s why they call it a man-to-man talk.”

“Fuck off. Tell me.”

Dr. Tom poked the sharp end of the scissors into my eyebrow. I pulled my head away. Dr. Tom hadn’t been exposed to Pim’s way of communicating in English and her ability to flip flop. Switching between immaculately polite Thai, and cursing worse than a trucker on a wet road, in upper class accented English, is one of her trademarks.

“Tom, I don’t believe I’ve had the opportunity to introduce you to Pim yet.”

“Pim and I met at your funeral. Sit still.”

“Yes of course.”

He pulled the last couple of stiches out, placing them in the antiseptic towel. Then he sat back and looked at his handiwork, turned to Mother.

“The scar will blend in with the line of his eyebrow over time. The bit where it cuts through the eyebrow and runs down onto the edge here - that might be better having some more cosmetic work done.”

“Thank you, Thomas, and thank you for all your work today. It’s a relief to have him home.”

Thomas waied Mother. If he’d had a tail, it would be wagging. “I must be going. I have an early surgery to perform.”

“I’ll see you out.” I walked with Tom out around the main house and showed him to his car. Before he got in, I asked him.

“Tom, what is going on with Por? This coma, how long is it likely to last? What’s the prognosis? Truth please, Tom, no sugar coating.”

His owlish eyes blinked a few times. “Chance, Por was exposed almost directly to the blast. You were behind a wall and in an elevator and look what it did to you. An explosion creates intense energy. The shockwave, and the trauma that results is often more internal damage than external. I mean excluding shrapnel, of course. Your father suffered heavy trauma to the brain. Now his body is trying to heal itself. The biggest danger we face is that of secondary infection. We have to be particularly vigilant against pneumonia. We are still within a period where the statistical chance of a full or partial recovery is high. That chance diminishes greatly after about four months. There’s no quick cure. Don’t expect a miraculous overnight recovery. When he does wake up it may only be for a few minutes in a day and the likelihood is that he will be very confused. In the meantime, we have to keep him properly fed, keep moving him, and keep him aware of us through his tactile senses. Soon, I am sure, he will respond. The brain scans are clear and he is stable.”