Gaijin Cowgirl (17): Fugitives

“You need money, Suki. A lot of money.”

(Previous chapter, or start at the beginning.)

Suki checked her watch again: still no sign of him.

The fading sun bathed the street in warm colors. A tuxedoed pianist played a Beatles song from across the lobby. Waitresses in sarongs silently conveyed trays of cocktails. But the placid scene could not calm the beating in her chest.

“Simon Newby,” she said into the hotel’s marble vastness, “you are officially late.”

“Only by two minutes.” She gasped, for there he was with a cocky smile and a scratched motorcycle helmet in the crook of his arm.

“Simon!” She wrapped herself around him. “Simon.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I didn’t see you—”

“I nicked Lotdorn’s bike. Thought maybe another ride would, uh, rekindle memories, yeah?”

He led her to the waiting bike outside. She kissed him. “I’m happy to see you,” she said before squeezing his spare helmet over her long platinum hair. He winked and snapped her visor down.

They roared off, Suki clinging tightly to her driver as he wound through traffic. Faces of an alien city blew past her, but she felt safe. Hong Kong had been a Valium blur. Meeting that Australian fossil Val had dug up had been unsettling. Now she was careening madly through Bangkok, but with Simon, and that made her think she had a chance to come out of this nightmare feeling like how she felt now: alive.

He knew the back ways, sometimes riding over construction sites or screaming down tiny sois. Each soi bent and curved, and Suki quickly lost any sense of direction. She could tell from the dense warren of shop signs glittering with kanji, instead of the ornate Thai alphabet, that they had entered Chinatown.

He drove her to an outdoor night market, a mini-city of food hawker stalls and strings of fairy lights. It was a circus of sounds: the whooshes of woks and the laughter of children, the clinking of ice from whisky carts or the band on stage singing Thai folk songs. “Cheap and cheerful,” Simon said, “and bloody good.”

He ordered tom yum gai soup and green chicken curry to share. They sweated as they ate and cooled their tongues with sugar cane juice.

Then they talked. She told him about her life as a hostess. She thought she had made a mistake, but she wasn’t going to apologize for a job that was quite routine in Japan. She explained it and he nodded and kept eating.

“I wasn’t very good at it,” she sighed. “Val, though, she was very good.”

“In what way?”

“She’s so pretty, and so confident. I could never be like that. I wish I could. All the men loved her.”

“Rubbish. You’re a stunner, Sukes, you really are. Absolute stunner.”

She was about to rebuke him, but then stopped. “Thank you, Simon.”

“Well then smile, yeah?”

So she smiled.

“Better,” Simon said, reaching for more condiments – chili peppers, sugar, vinegar.

“When I was a teenager,” she said in a low voice, “I’d let men touch me on trains, and then chase them and make them pay me money or embarrass them.”

“Trains? In the middle of the day?”

“They’re very crowded at rush hour.”

“That’s mad.”

“It was shameful, but I never felt shame. I didn’t feel anything.”

“But you do now?”

“I don’t know if I can ever go back to Japan. It’s too crazy. I can’t think about it.”

“Your problem isn’t you, Sukes, it’s Val. She’s the one who got you into this mess.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.” She stared at the winking strings of light. “It’s not her fault that nobody in Japan will ever miss me.”

He set his fork down. “Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Promise me you’ll never think like that again.”

She sighed, looked away.

“Oi, promise.”

She looked him in the eye: “I promise.” Brightening, she added, “Hey, I brought something for you.”

She pulled a black-and-white photograph from her purse. The picture was of him, fists raised in a fighter’s stance, outside a café in Harajuku.

“Brilliant!”

“That was the day we met. It’s for you.”

“It’s fantastic,” he said, admiring the shot. The photograph had a crisp vitality that made him look like a street fighter with a story to tell. “You’ve got talent, no doubt.”

“I wish it was that day,” she said. “Before all this happened.”

“You should become a photographer,” he said, still admiring the picture. “Get paid for it.”

“My dream’s to be a photojournalist. I studied it in New York.”

“So do it. Give it a go.”

“Val wants to find the gold.”

“Sod Val. It’s your life, Suki.”

“She needs me to take the pictures, document the treasure. I’m her witness.”

“Then what? These bent cops and CIA agents are just going to say ‘Right, pack up chaps and leave the poor girl alone?’”

“I don’t know.”

“The answer’s not in a million years. So even going on this trip into the jungle, which by the way sounds completely daft, and finding the gold, if it’s there, but then not taking any, is just rubbish.”

“Do you have another idea?”

He finished eating his meager helping and put his fork down. “You need money, Suki. A lot of money.”

“For what?”

“For what? Come on, if you’ve got these bastards chasing you, you’ve got to sort yourself out, and that takes a lot of dosh.”

“We’re not trying to profit from finding the treasure.”

“It’s all fine and well for Val to say that, but you’ve got other considerations.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“If everything you been talking about is true, it’s bags of money, innit? Who’s going to notice if you take some for your troubles?”

“Aren’t you eating, Simon?”

“I hit my limit; got to watch the pounds.” He pushed away his plate. “You could do anything you want. Buy a new identity.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“I do.”

“What if there isn’t any treasure?”

“Damned well better be.”

She watched Simon go pay a lady behind a stall for their food. She wanted to feel those strong arms around her. She adored the idea of taking care of him and living a simple, quiet life.

“Now what?” she said when he returned.

“If you want, I’ll show you what I’m training for.”

“Lumphini Park?”

He did a quick one-two move. “Closed tonight, but Ratchadamnoen Stadium’s practically around the corner.”

He took her there. The smell of beer and sweat, trapped in the cloud of cigarette smoke, permeated the interior. Tourists filled most of the benches up front. Most Thai men stood behind a chain-link fence dividing them from the better seats, noisily changing money and consulting the day’s sports pages. Below, a four-piece band played a steadily accelerating rhythm. In the ring, the two contenders practiced their individual rituals, the ram muay, bending and stretching, kicking and bowing. They said their silent prayers and removed their Buddhist amulets.

This was now Suki’s second visit to see a fight, and this run-down stadium was a cheap sibling to the clean arena in Yokohama. The tourists were bemused, the Thai gamblers anxious. She had expected something grander of the nation’s premier stadium. But it felt alive.

The music slowed as the fighters gave a wai to their coaches, the referee, then each other.

“First round’s usually a bit of testing, a bit of appraisal like,” Simon explained, but she only half-listened. While the fighters engaged, a fury of elbows and knees, her fingers explored his hand. He turned at one point to say something to her, but her gaze caught him. As the crowd gasped at the action in the arena, she cradled his shaven head and put her tongue into his mouth.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Nighttime Bangkok blew past as he raced through the half-lit streets, a rush of glitter and grime. She thought about their conversation, the potential of riches and the avarice of men who would murder for them. Was there something so bad about wanting something for herself?

* * *

Val’s attempt to spend the morning exploring the area didn’t last further than a few footsteps beyond the hotel. Kids assaulted her with water guns and giggles. Before she knew it, Val was the local wet T-shirt champion. She retreated inside, past the doormen who didn’t bother to hide their mirth.

The elevator doors parted, and Muddy walked out, wearing a bathing suit and his Wallabies T-shirt. “Looks like they got you,” he said.

Her arms still covering herself, she nodded. “I was going to do some shopping, but maybe not.”

“I’m headed to the pool.”

“I might as well join you, I’m soaked anyway.”

She went to her room to put on a bikini, wrapped her waist in a sarong and headed to the hotel’s pool. Muddy lay like a prone ostrich in a sun lounger, his shirt partly covering his face like a hat, but he kept an eye on her as she crossed the deck. For the first time, she felt as though he was taking notice of her as a woman. The way he stared from below his shirt was unpleasant, but it was also reassuring; she was used to the male gaze, and anything that felt normal was welcome.

Val released the sarong from her hips and spread it on the sun lounger beside his.

“How’s the water?”

“Fine,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Don’t know why I asked, considering how wet I got out there.”

He chuckled. “The Thais like to blow off steam. National motto here is mai pen rai – don’t worry, be happy. They really go for it during Songkran. Entire country becomes one big water fight. Cleans the slate for the new year.”

“I’d like to clean the slate.”

She dived in and proceeded to swim laps for a good thirty minutes, relishing the exercise. When she returned, Muddy was sitting up, chin in hands, looking gloomy.

“You okay?”

“I think she’s actually leaving me.”

“Jodie?”

“Yeah. I rang her after brekkie.”

“I guess she was upset.”

“You could say that. We’ve had fights before, but not like this.”

“I’m sorry. I feel guilty.”

“Nah…she’ll be right. I got me in this, I’ll get me out.”

“That’s what I try to tell myself all the time.”

“Once we uncover that gold, Val, it’ll all be okay.”

She put on her sunglasses and lay back.

“Val.”

“Yeah?”

“Depending on what form we find the gold, I mean in bars or if it has to be melted down, or what, we’re still going to need a way to monetize it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Turn it into cash. I used to know people who could, for a very large fee, do that kind of thing. Not nice people. Right-wing types. I don’t want to go back to them.”

“Muddy, I really don’t know what to tell you. I know why you’ve come, and that’s fine with me. But I’m not taking any of whatever we find. It’s blood money.”

“It’s as much a part of history as finding Peruvian gold in a Spanish galleon.”

“That’s old news. Whoever owned the gold taken by the Japanese may still be alive.”

“Not for much longer. Listen, Val, what I’m saying is, I think I know someone who can help me contact the kind of people I need.”

“Can’t you take it to a bank?”

“A bank? You must be joking.”

“I bet a gold dealer or a pawn shop could do it.”

“Val, you have no idea of the size of these finds. If this one is half of what the small ones in the Phils yielded, then we’re talking about truckloads.”

“But….”

“No but. We’d better be straight, I’m here to get rich.”

She raised her shades. “I understand.”

“Now I’m helping you, and I need you to help me.”

“How?”

“Your father. He has connections, knows bankers, businesspeople of different

types.”

“Keep my dad out of this.”

“He’s already in it, Val, remember? He sent you to me.”

“I know, but me and my dad don’t really get along.”

“I’m not asking your hand in marriage. I want him to return a favor.”

“No, it’s out of the question, Muddy. I won’t ask him for anything anymore. Look, we’ve already agreed you can have a portion of whatever we find. What you do with it is your problem.”

His face reddened. “Thanks for nothing.” He stormed off, leaving “Bitch” to hang in the humid air.

* * *

As darkness crept over the city, Val could see her reflection sharpen in the tall glass walls of the hotel lobby. She could see the worry on her face. She couldn’t stop thinking about the exchange with Muddy.

The Australian was the next to arrive. He nodded and sat in one of the plush chairs across from her.

Suki was last, with the Englishman at her side.

“Val, you remember Simon?”

She extended a hand and affected airiness. “Sure. Fish’n’Chips.”

“Big Mac and Fries, we meet again.”

“Simon is coming with us,” said Suki.

“To this meeting?”

“All the way,” he said. “I know the story. I ain’t letting anything happen to Sukes.”

“Christ,” Muddy groaned, “how many people know about it?”

“Nobody,” Suki said.

“Simon, I appreciate the offer,” Val said. “We may have to travel for a long time. I don’t know what we’re in for.”

“That’s why you need me,” Simon said.

Suki clutched his arm. “I want him to come.”

“Well…” Val didn’t see the point of saying no. “Fine then. Muddy, this is Simon; Simon, Muddy.”

“All right?” Simon said, extending to shake hands.

They were fools to put such faith in her, Val thought. But she was also glad that, for whatever motive, they were coming with her. “Then let’s go,” she said, leading the group outside. A slight breeze tousled her hair. Enough heat lingered in the tropical night to make wearing long-sleeved linen feel just right. She sensed a renewed confidence in her step.

Silom Road was as manic as ever. They slivered through a jumble of people and hawker stalls crowding the treacherous sidewalk, all packed in beneath the concrete hulk of the Skytrain.

Songkran celebrations raged on in the red-light district. Everybody was armed with a water gun or a bag of liquid paste – tourists, girls, touts, and the stall vendors, all were engaged in a battle royale. Even the policemen were exchanging watery blows with the almost naked girls.

“Your average quiet Tuesday night out,” Simon said.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Suki said, eyes bulging.

A laughing girl careened into them, leaving streaks of talc across Val’s cheek. Muddy stared hungrily after the girl as she disappeared into the crowd.

“This is it,” Val said.

They entered Bluegrass and occupied a booth. The scene hadn’t changed much: a few fat expats on barstools; a young Western man tending bar; and Nim, the waitress, wiping clean a booth table where a prim looking Thai woman, perhaps a local mama-san on break, was sipping a glass of whisky.

Nim smiled when she saw them again. “Hello, good evening.”

“Hi, we’re back,” Val said. “Couldn’t get enough of this place.” They had a few minutes to kill before Jiraporn would arrive, and ordered a round of soft drinks.

“Muddy,” Val asked, “have you ever dealt with a local reporter?”

“No, why?”

“This Jiraporn guy, I don’t know if he’s going to respond to me. He may need to hear it from you.”

“Kind of a bloke-to-bloke thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Actually,” said the prim woman in the adjacent booth, “I’d rather hear it from you, lady.”

“Oh!” Val said, feeling foolish. “You’re Jiraporn!”

The woman stood up. Val saw now that Jiraporn was quite beautiful, with high cheekbones and a haughty mouth, but her severe hairstyle and thick glasses made her look like an unfriendly librarian. Both Muddy and Simon couldn’t help but gawk as Jira slid into the booth, her curves accentuated by a slim white blouse and a narrow dark skirt.

She offered her hand, Western style. “Jiraporn Phongpaichit, but you can just call me Jira.” Val shook and introduced everyone.

“Mr. Carl wanted me to meet you,” Jira continued. “I expected only two people.” Her voice carried an accent that Val couldn’t quite place. It was more than the usual Thai lilt. She had studied or lived in the West, but there was another sound mixed in with her English.

“This is all of us,” Val said. “Carl had only met me and Muddy. I’m glad you came. Thank you.”

“Mr. Carl told me a little about what you want.”

“Well,” she said, “why don’t you order something to eat or drink. This could take a little while to explain.”

Val told the reporter the salient details, keeping her voice low.

“We need your help in two ways,” Val concluded. “We need information about the area identified by the map, and we need someone like you to come with us and publicize it. Now that we’ve told you so much, I hope that person will be you.”

“It is an interesting story, Khun Val,” Jiraporn said. “Personally I’m curious. But I agree with what Mr. Carl said yesterday.”

Val realized she needed a different approach. She smiled. “Where did you learn your English?”

“London.”

“It’s not your first foreign language.”

“You picked that up? I went to university in Paris. My father thought I should be a diplomat or an investment banker.”

“Guess it didn’t work out.”

“At first he got his wish. I was a management consultant in London. But it didn’t suit me. Have you ever had clients, Khun Val?”

“Yes, but probably not the kind you have in mind.”

“I don’t recommend them,” Jiraporn said. “I started writing for the London financial press about Asia, because I had the experience and the contacts. I wanted to help my country, so I came back.”

“Couple of steps down in pay,” Muddy commented.

“Money is not my worry,” Jiraporn replied. “And I don’t owe anyone favors.”

“And the gold – does that interest you?” Simon asked.

Jira smiled. “Yes, it does.”

“Do you believe me when I say I don’t care about the gold?” Val said. “Muddy would need to get something to compensate for his time and expertise. But the rest of us – we’re not trying to strike it rich.”

Suki and Simon traded a glance.

Val added, “I hope you see that.”

Jiraporn shrugged. “I doubt you’d be able to keep your hands on very much even if you find it.”

“Why?”

“This is Thailand,” Muddy interjected, “where property rights are a work in progress.”

“Oh not at all,” Jiraporn said. “Property rights are quite secure, if not in strictly legal terms, then in terms of…what is the expression, might makes right? That gold is someone’s property, and if they are able to, they will claim it – one way or the other.”

“Is that why you won’t help us?” Suki said.

“I just don’t have the time. If you get to the border and find the gold, call me – here’s my card – and I’ll drive out. In the meantime, if you want something published sooner, try the Thai-language papers. They love publishing rumors.”

Val leaned forward. “After everything we have disclosed, Jiraporn, I’d prefer to work only with you.”

Muddy rolled his eyes. “I’m going to the dunny,” he said. “Excuse me.”

Suki and Simon huddled by the jukebox as Muddy went to the bathroom, leaving Val awkwardly alone with the reporter. Her little coalition was already falling apart. She couldn’t make even a conversation in a bar work, never mind getting them to trek into the jungle.

Bluegrass’s main entrance swung open. Val saw the startled look on Suki’s face. She twisted around in the booth to see.

Jeb Maxwell entered the bar.

(Next chapter.)