The Backpacker (20 page)

ONE

Dave was sitting outside McDonald's when we saw him, on the open-air kiddie seating area. He was stuffing a Big Mac into his mouth and had another two lined up alongside, ready, like a conveyor-belt eating machine. Even from where we stood on the other side of the road I could see the relish all over his mouth. It made him look like a half-starved, rabid animal with white foam running down his chin, the other half of the kill clenched tightly in his hands.

The meeting place had been Dave's idea. Not that I don't like McDonald's, I do, I just didn't think it was a very grown up place to meet, that's all; I'm used to meeting people in pubs. After the Irish woman had told us about Dave we had left Raffles immediately and went to the youth hostel she was staying at for a positive ID. She showed us to his bed space, it was empty of human life but piled high with stuff: clothes, books, guitar strings (no guitar), all of which I recognised as Dave's belongings. ‘When d'you think he'll be back?' I'd asked the Irish woman.

‘Usually doesn't come back until quite late, when the rest of us are asleep. Keeps some pretty weird hours this mate of yours.'

I'd nodded in agreement. Dave, like Rick, often stayed awake all night, whether he had something to occupy his time or not, and I could easily picture him walking around the streets of Singapore, chatting to anyone and everyone he came across. Also like Rick, he loved video games, and I knew that at a push I could find him in the main arcade in the biggest shopping mall on Orchard Road.

The Irish woman had said she was staying in for the rest of the night and would pass on our message to Dave, that we were alive and well and in Singapore, so we wrote down the address of our guest house for him to get in touch and left. On the way out, to confirm that it was indeed the same Dave, I'd checked the register at the reception and found his name: ‘
Lord David Norton - NYC
'

The next day we missed each other again. This time he'd come to our place and left a typically militaristic message saying that we should meet him at the big open-air McDonald's on Orchard Road at 20.00 hrs.

‘D'you think he's going to be pissed off?' I asked Rick as we crossed the road towards the McDonald's. I'd been thinking a lot about this question over the past forty-eight hours. In fact, since we were first told that Dave was here I hadn't thought about much else. The way I saw it we had left him for dead on Koh Pha-Ngan, and however I tried to justify it in my mind I came to the same conclusion; that we should never have left him behind.

‘About what?' Rick replied, looking left and right to check the traffic.

‘You know. Koh Pha-Ngan.'

‘Careful!' Rick put his arm in front of me as a truck rumbled past, the question going unanswered until we had sprinted across the last lane of traffic, onto the steps of the restaurant. ‘Guess we'll find out now.'

Dave was so busy on his second burger that he didn't notice us until we were standing beside him. Some kids were jumping on the playground toys around him so he probably wasn't paying any attention anyway. Every time a kid strayed too close to him a watchful mother would panic and come to the rescue, looking at Dave as though he was some kind of alien, or pervert. I don't think Singaporeans have seen many black people before.

I cleared my throat. ‘Ahem! Sir David Norton I presume.'

His head shot up; eyes like saucers and cheeks puffed out with food. ‘You... ' He hurriedly chewed the food that was stored in his mouth to leave room for talking, and then launched into a five-minute verbal attack, spraying us with hamburger chunks.

I didn't bother to argue with him because most of what he said was true: how we could have come back for him, or at least warned him in some way of what was happening. At first I attempted to give my apology but he wouldn't accept it, saying that I could ‘shove it where the sun don't shine'; my strategy after that was to just say nothing until he calmed down a bit. I knew he didn't mean what he said and would soon be swapping stories with us, and asking questions about how we'd escaped from the island. Dave's youthful sense of adventure didn't allow his memory room to store grudges.

‘I couldn't Dave,' Rick spoke softly after the five minutes of abuse we'd received. ‘Be realistic, you weren't there, how could I?'

Dave had settled down enough to start eating again. ‘You could have left a message. Shit!'

Rick tried to placate him and explained how he'd spent most of the night, after going to Hat Rin, looking for Dave in and around town but hadn't been able to find him. Dave wasn't convinced. ‘Did you look in at the house? Did you think,' he put a finger to his temple, ‘"I wonder if Dave's at the house?" huh?'

Rick didn't repeat that looking up at the house wasn't an option, and accepted responsibility. We both did, and we both apologised. This turned the tables slightly and Dave blushed.

‘So what happened to you after we left?' I asked, finally sitting down. Dave avoided eye contact with me. ‘Dave?'

‘Well actually,' he paused to open his third Big Mac box, obviously trying to hide a grin, ‘I left pretty soon after you guys.' He pulled out the burger and took a bite, more to hide the spreading smile than out of hunger.

‘Yeah, just how soon?'

‘Look, you guys should have told me.'

‘How soon?' I raised my voice and he lowered his eyes like a scolded child. ‘You fucker. I bet you left the same night, right?'

He spread his arms. ‘Well I wasn't gonna hang around to see what happened. Man, those girls were going ape-shit when they found out we'd taken you to the hospital.'

‘You wanker, Dave. Here we are feeling guilty, and you left before us! We're supposed to have come back for you and you'd already gone?' I reached over and grabbed his Coke, taking a gulp.

‘Hey, get your own, Lord John,' he said, snatching the cup back possessively. ‘Remember, I ain't forgiven you two yet.'

I paused. ‘How did you know something was wrong anyway?'

He tapped a nostril with one finger.

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Highly-tuned senses, John. Trained to sniff out these kinda things, know what I mean?'

Rick snorted. ‘Funny you didn't sniff it out beforehand, Mr Highly-Tuned Marine.'

Dave just grinned behind the up-ended Coke cup.

We sat and talked through the past few weeks, each person giving his own account of events and analysing each other's. Upon Rick's disappearance from the house, Dave had spent one night in Hat Rin and had then boarded the first ferry out the next morning, via Samui to the mainland, catching the next train south to Malaysia. He told us how he'd come back from the jungle and found the house empty, most of his money gone, and thought that Rick and I may have double-crossed him; that we were both in on the game with Ta and her friends. He had actually left Thailand before us, taking the train only as far as Butterworth. His original intention had been to spend only a night or two in Pinang to obtain a new visa, and then to cross back into Thailand and head north into the mountains. However, after meeting a Japanese girl who, according to Dave, was loaded, he had decided to stay on that island. A week later they split and he had changed his mind about Thailand, choosing instead to continue south to Singapore, missing out KL altogether.

‘So, what have you boys got planned?' Dave said, after we'd shaken hands and agreed that Thailand was water under the bridge. ‘I know you British, always got something up your sleeve.' He crushed the paper cup. ‘Or perhaps you need a new leader?'

‘I'll ignore that last comment.' I glanced at Rick. ‘How about a drink to celebrate?'

Rick rubbed his hands. ‘Don't mind.'

‘Dave?'

‘Sounds good to me. Hey listen,' he leaned over the table as though ready to tell us a secret, ‘I know this great little bar just down here, got the most gorgeous Singaporean girls inside.'

‘What's the name of it?'

‘Umm, don't remember, exactly. But who cares? I know where it is.'

I thought for a moment and said, ‘Ever been to Raffles, Dave?'

TWO

‘It's simple,' Dave shouted over the music, ‘just lie. You know, just like that Lord John and Sir Rick stuff. I'm telling you, man, it works every time.'

I nodded at him, indicating that I'd heard what was said. The noise from the band in the corner was far too loud for the size of the bar, and every time the drummer hit his snare drum it made me blink.

‘I didn't know they were making a James Bond film out here.' Rick was cupping his ears to shield them from the music. ‘Where?'

‘Maybe not here in Singapore,' Dave replied, ‘but somewhere around this part of the world. I saw it on the TV yesterday, at the hostel.' He looked back at the four Japanese women sitting at one of the tables and winked. They giggled into their hands.

Dave had a new way of chatting up girls that involved him pretending to be a film star. Apparently inspired by Rick's audacity in Thailand with the Sir Rick/Jim Thompson façade, he had taken the idea and developed it into his own American style. It had worked for him in Pinang so he saw no reason why it shouldn't be just as successful in the city. The fact that a 007 movie was being shot somewhere in the region would add credibility to his act.

‘007 is a white man though,' Rick said incredulously. ‘Even Japanese people must know that. Christ, Dave, that drink's gone to your head.'

Dave rolled his shoulders. ‘I don't need to be James Bond. Fuck, Rick, you can be him if you want. I'll be Cubby Broccoli.'

‘What?' I exclaimed, and burst out laughing.

Dave looked surprised. ‘Why not? They won't know what the fucking director looks like.'

Rick shook his head in disbelief. ‘Dave, Cubby Broccoli's a white man as well, and about seventy years old!'

‘Not to mention dead,' I added.

‘Well, fuck him then, I'll be the black dude in the James Bond movie, they always have a black guy.'

‘How d'you know there's a black actor in this James Bond film?'

He pushed his fingers into his curly hair. ‘They always have at least one black and one Chinese. Gives the movie wider appeal.'

I took a sip of beer and thought, before saying, ‘Come to mention it, Dave, you look a bit like that guy in the old Bruce Lee Films.'

Dave's eyes widened. ‘I'll be him then. What's his name?'

‘Couldn't tell you. Tell them you're Samuel Jackson.'

He pointed at me. ‘I fuckin' love you John. That's me, Samuel L. Jackson. Right, John, you're the cinematographer, and Rick, you can be umm... '

‘Stunt co-ordinator!' Rick suggested, pushing out his chest. ‘It's a Bond film, there'll be loads of stunts.'

‘Right on, Rick. You can be the hard man. Let's move it.'

Dave got up to leave and I caught his arm. ‘Dave, you can't just go bowling over there and say, "Hi, I'm a movie star. Want a shag?"'

‘Yeah? I don't wanna dance!'

We looked at each other, puzzled. ‘What?' I said.

‘What?'

‘Dance?'

‘Shag, you said, right? That's a dance. I don't want no fuckin' dancing. Not unless it's in the ol' boudoir.'

‘Dave, shag means... Oh never mind.' I pushed him into his seat. ‘We'll go over and sit at that table next to theirs.' He looked over and then back at me. ‘And casually, as though we've just got into town, we'll start talking about location shots.'

‘Location shots and shit, yeah.' Dave repeated my words, nodding, and the three of us leaned in, almost touching heads. ‘Then what?'

‘That's it. They'll overhear us talking about the movie we're making and fall right into our laps.'

Rick looked over at the four women. ‘I'm not having that fat one.'

‘You don't have to,' said Dave, looking over, ‘there're three others to choose from.'

Dave was wrong; there were not three others to choose from. At best there were two to choose from and even one of those was a bit iffy. I was beginning to wish that we had followed Dave's earlier advice and gone down to one of the discos in town, rather than come to Raffles. It had been my idea, suggesting that a night of passion with a rich tourist would make a welcome change from the usual energetic young backpacker girls.

Raffles, as usual, was full of married women in their thirties, sitting around sipping cocktails after a hard day's shopping in the expensive malls. Most of them were either Japanese or Taiwanese, dressed up to the nines in Gucci and Versace gear that made them look ten years older than they were. Their sole purpose for being in Singapore was to have a weekend shopping spree on their husbands' credit cards, and, we hoped, to have a good time.

Rick said they wouldn't have known a good time if it jumped up and hit them over the head. ‘Too blinded by money to know what a good time is,' he said. Of the three of us he was the most reluctant to go along with the game, but Dave and I buttered him up with tales of the possible rewards involved.

‘Passion,' I said, as Dave and I went through the list of pleasures that awaited us. ‘Passion and good living.'

‘Five-star accommodation,' Dave added, ‘in the Ruffles Hotel, don't you know!'

‘
Raffles,
' I corrected. ‘Caviar.'

‘You'll be a toy boy,' he said to Rick, tilting his head to one side and grinning.

‘Never have to work again,' I added.

‘Just think, as much champagne as you can drink!'

‘OK, OK.' Rick picked up his glass. ‘Let's go over.'

Dave slapped his back, ‘Thataboy,' and we went over to the table next to the four women and listened for clues as to their origin. As soon as they saw us walk over their language changed from Japanese to English, as though they were expecting us to talk to them. We all nodded a gentle bow towards them and sat down. Dave immediately flew into the act.

‘Sir William?' he said far too loudly, gesturing to a chair.

‘Thanks, Dave.'

‘Now,' Dave said sitting down, ‘about those stunts, Sir William. Where do you think we should shoot those city scenes from the new
Bond
movie?'

‘You can call him William, Samuel,' I said, ‘no matter.'

‘Yes. William it is then. Where do you think, William? And please, call me Samuel.'

Rick and I had our backs to the women but it didn't matter, I could see their interest reflected in Dave's face.

‘Well, I thought we could shoot the city scenes here in Singapore. Make a nice contrast, what?'

‘Uh-huh.' Dave looked at me. ‘And what do you think, John? A nice contrast?'

Contrast to what? I wondered. Dave was looking right through me at the women, his head constantly bobbing about, eyes blinking incessantly. His manner was so obviously faked that I had trouble keeping a straight face. ‘Yes,' was all I could manage before picking up my glass and releasing the laugh, echoing inside.

Dave clapped once. ‘So, that's the location sorted. But what about Bond girls? We need lots of girls for this movie. James Bond needs
women, women, women
! Am I right, John?'

‘Yes,' I said, trying to take the glass away. ‘What we need... '

‘Mm?'

‘Are... '

‘Yes?'

‘Some, um, local girls.'

‘Japanese girls you mean? That's a great idea.'

‘Yes,' chimed Rick, and said, ‘
Japanese girls!
' so loudly it nearly burst my ear drum.

‘Hi ladies.' Dave had made eye contact. Rick and I moved apart slightly, allowing Dave to shoot down the centre like a bowling ball, pushing our table to one side.

We all shook hands (a bit formal I thought, though obviously a requirement in Japanese greetings because it was their idea) and introduced ourselves exactly as we had rehearsed. I was a famous cinematographer who, along with Rick, had worked on all of the Bond films in recent years, in addition to half a dozen epics that Dave reeled off in quick succession. Thankfully they hadn't heard of any cinematographers.

Dave had supposedly met us on the set of a film he was shooting with Tarantino, and although two of the women had seen the film, neither of them knew the names of the black actors. As we suspected they couldn't tell one black face from another, and soon Dave was signing autographs. He could have said he was Al Jolson and they would have asked for his signature.

Also as suspected, they were bored housewives of Japanese businessmen on a weekend's spending spree. Every drink, like everything else they bought, was charged to their gold cards, which were paid for, of course, by their husbands in Japan. It occurred to me later, while I was in bed with one of them, that their husbands were probably doing exactly the same thing at home at exactly the same time plus two hours, according to my
Collins Gem World Atlas
, with their mistresses.

Once the barriers were down between us the rest was easy. We ordered drink after drink and their husbands paid for them, and every time I pretended to put my hand in my pocket the women would protest, saying that they'd been to Singapore many times before and it was their privilege to pay for us. After all, it was our first time in Asia!

After an hour or so the fat one stood up drunkenly and said that she was tired, and was given the job of taking all of the day's shopping back to her room.

‘Oh,' I said, trying to look surprised, ‘are you staying here, in Raffles?'

‘Yes, but the rooms are awful, so small. We have one each you know.'

Rick, Dave and I looked at each other and tried to hide our astonishment. It must have looked odd because all three of us suddenly felt the urge to scratch our faces. I turned to the one I'd been talking to and whispered, ‘I tried to book a room here but they were full.'

‘Would you like to share mine?' she whispered back, slurring every word. ‘There's plenty of space.'

I spent a night in heaven, that night in Raffles hotel. After living in crappy backpacker guest houses and sleeping on shitty old trains and buses, the crisp white sheets and marbled bathroom alone were enough to give me an orgasm. We ordered champagne and caviar, polishing off two bottles at God knows how many dollars a throw, before clearing out the mini bar and making love for the umpteenth time.

Their rooms were on the second floor of a courtyard that overlooked a lawn, and every so often I'd go outside for a spot of fresh air, only to find that Rick and Dave had had the same idea. It was like telepathy: three doors swung open and three figures in underpants came outside smoking a cigarette. We always ended up having the same three-way conversation, and always started by Rick.

‘Any luck on finding that Bond girl, Samuel?' he'd ask.

‘Not yet, Sir William.'

‘John?'

‘Nope. Still looking, I'm afraid.'

‘Me too,' he'd reply, and the three of us would go back inside.