Bangkok Haunts

the laptop, I don’t release it from my grip. Once I read about a courier who brought two bottles of Mouton Rothschild ’45 from London to Hong Kong and for secuirty reasons had the briefcase containing them cuffed to his wrist. Well, this is the porn industry’s equivalent of Mouton Rothschild ’45. I have to wait about an hour before I get the call: he’s arrived.
     
    We’re sitting in his office now, having carefully reviewed Damrong’s performance with Khun Tanakan. It’s around midnight. When Vikorn turns to me, I cannot read the expression on his face. There is a frown of sorts, but it is complex and nuanced by what might be a smile flickering over his lips from time to time. I’ve known him so long, though, all I need do is check his eyes: bright and shiny. He speaks very softly, like a lover. There is gratitude and caress in his tone.
    “Sonchai, I might need a witness.”
    “Yes?”
    “Someone with the smarts to understand what’s going on, and at the same time the foresight to realize that any breach of confidence could be fatal.”
    “I’m not following, Colonel,” I say.
    “You know the way our country is, Sonchai,
ti-soong, ti-tam.
” The reference is to the Thai feudal system, called high-low or, if you prefer, top and bottom. “If I do this alone, he’ll find a way of pulling rank.”
    Light breaks in my frontal lobes. I feel a delicious frisson of fear and excitement. “You want me to be there when you put the squeeze on Khun Tanakan?”
    Vikorn raises a finger to his lips. “He won’t know you’re there.”
    “Why don’t you video it?”
    “Because he will insist on meeting in his office.”
    “So how can I be present?”
    “You’ll come as my assistant and bodyguard. He will not allow you into the room during negotiations, so I’ll be wired. You’ll have the recorder. You will also listen over a headset so you can claim to be a live witness if things go wrong. We’ll make it look like you’re listening to music—what are those stupid things called?”
    “iPods.”
    “Right. You’ll be one of those switched-on cops, like in the recruitment posters.”
    “This could put my life at risk, Colonel.”
    He raises his eyebrows, then looks away. “Ten percent for the relief of poverty.”
    “Twenty.”
    “Done.”
    I shrug. If it is the Buddha’s will that Khun Tanakan’s wealth be more equitably distributed, who am I to argue? Anyway, I wouldn’t want to miss Vikorn doing what he does best.
    “You better tell me about the case again,” Vikorn says. “It’s a murder investigation, isn’t it, or have I got that wrong?”
    “Sort of.”
    “Anyway, one thing is for sure. We can’t let this Baker character hang out unprotected. Have someone arrest him on pornography charges. I want him in the cells, where I can keep an eye on him.”
    “Okay,” I say, “okay.”
    As I’m preparing to go home, with most of the station in darkness, I realize I’ve not given much thought to Baker these last few hours. Hanging the laptop out of his window like that was humorously amateurish, the kind of dumb reaction of a born loser. But losers scare easily, and now I know what is on the hard disk. I call the guard at Baker’s apartment building.
    “He left with a rucksack more than an hour ago, after that Englishman left.”
    “Why didn’t you call me?”
    “You only bribed me for one call.” I groan, hang up, then dial the station operator to get me Immigration.
    “He can’t get far without his passport,” a cheery voice advises.
    “He’s running for his life. Maybe he has a forged passport. Maybe he bought a spare one in Kaosan Road.”
    “Okay, send me a good copy of his passport mug shot in the morning, and we’ll send it out in digital form to all major entry points.”
    I say something sarcastic that repeats the words
all major
and
in the morning.
Thais don’t react well to sarcasm, though, and he grunts noncommittally before closing the phone. I call Vikorn, who promises to kick ass; after all, he’s the one who wants Baker arrested.

11
    I expected Vikorn to use his Bentley, which only goes to show how vulgar and unsophisticated I am. Of course, he is visiting the great Khun as Humble Cop, so we sit in the back of a particularly banged-up patrol car. Fortunately, the journey lasts only ten minutes, which is just about the upper limit of the Colonel’s tolerance as we bounce around on the torn-up backseat. He is in full police colonel uniform,