Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat

in the cyberworld meant she had no need whatsoever for the actual, tree-dotted world beyond her walls. After dark she might have squeezed through the gate of the university and done a little power walking but she was too ashamed of her looks to go out in public in daylight. Her looks, I might add, were far from frightening. Once she’d abandoned the demon drink and started to eat Mair’s nutritious but tasteless food, her old ruddy complexion began to break through the crust. Granddad Jah set her up a little exercise station in the backyard with a stationary bicycle and a fold-up yoga mat. She was looking better and starting to feel good about herself. She’d done one or two heavily disguised forays to Tops supermarket and even attempted a daylight stroll around the campus. And I think that’s why Mair’s act of treachery hit her so hard.
    She was back in her shell now, a small dark condominium bedsit shell. She ordered in meals, had a young girl assistant who ran errands for her, and she disappeared completely inside her computer. I was one of her few links to reality so you can imagine how disappointing my regular reports from the bush had been to her so far.
    “Hey, Sissi.”
    “Wassup?”
    Oh, I forgot to mention, Sissi and I throw large helpings of English into our conversations. If we were more confident we’d probably forgo Thai completely. This stew is our sort of private language. English is what they speak inside her computer screen and I get the feeling she doesn’t trust the Thai language anymore, or anyone who speaks it. The staff at her condominium think she’s a Filipina. I, on the other hand, speak English because I had an overseas bridging year between high school and university. I wanted to go to an English-speaking country but they were all full so they sent me to Australia. By the time I’d worked out what they were saying it was time to come home. Mass Communication was my undergraduate major and English my minor. I was halfway through my M.A. in English when Mair sprang her little surprise on me. I speak English with the sort of Thai accent that makes words sound as if they don’t have endings but Sissi understands me perfectly well.
    “Nothing much. How’s the Net?” I asked.
    “Rocking.”
    “How’s Leather?”
    Leather was her current online Lothario. They had a stormy frantic sexual monsoon of a relationship on the Internet. In his photos he was a sort of George Clooney in bondage gear. Sissi’s online persona was…Sissi, eighteen years earlier and knee-wobble gorgeous. In her mind that’s how she still was.
    “He’s getting a six-inch screw in his scrotum,” she said.
    “Impressive.”
    “Yeah. How’s the chicken ranch?”
    “Two new cocks just started last weekend. They’re on probation. If they haven’t performed by Friday they’re out.”
    “How hard can it be?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Mair?”
    “She’s…I think it’s good for her down here. She’s crazy about her dogs and we’ve got the ocean right here and…you know.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Sissi?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I’ve got people dying down here.”
    “Boredom?”
    “No. Murder. Do you think you can help?”
    “Bloody oath.”
    I’d taught her that. It’s Australian. It means ‘yes’. It was one of the few things I learned down under. I talked Sissi through the VW situation right up to the last visit.
    “And I found something, Sissi. This van had a shallow tool chest attached behind the driver’s seat. The tools were still in there. But I found a stash of grass wrapped in plastic. It was taped to keep it dry.”
    “Did you smoke it?”
    “Forty years on? I don’t think ganja improves with age, Sis.”
    “It’s worth a try.”
    “OK, but the point is, the water hadn’t got in. There was paper in there, two sheets torn into quarters. I imagine they were using them as papers to smoke the ganja. And they were torn from advertising flyers I’d have to assume were from the company they rented the van from. It was a Thai travel agency called Blissy Travel located in Surat Thani.”
    “Phone number?”
    “Yeah, but it wasn’t long enough. They only had six digits back then. There’s no Blissy Travel in the book now and the post office in Surat told me the address is now a Honda service center. So I’m stuck.”
    “I’ll see what I can do.”
    “Thanks. And while you’re at it, can you check out a family called Chainawat? They’re the ones who sold the sliver of land to Old Mel.