Jimm Juree 01; Killed at the Whim of a Hat

home about but I doubt brand identity was the reason the bottles remained untouched on the top shelf. We weren’t living in Paris. Since we’d arrived, I’d taken it upon myself to work my way through the stock to clear up that shelf for sardines. I had one case to go. The bottle and one spare glass sat beneath my seat. I mean, it would have been rude to drink alone and not offer. He’d accept, of course, sip at his drink, say it was delicious, and leave nine-tenths of it behind.
    I heard footsteps along the sand and stared moodily at the shimmering boat lamps strung out across the horizon.
    “First sign of alcoholism.”
    I turned my head to see Granddad Jah standing black against the light from the kitchen with his hands on his waist. He looked like a bulimic superhero.
    “It’s late, Granddad. You should be in bed.”
    “It’s half past seven.”
    “You can never have too much sleep.”
    “You do know I drove the motorcycle all the way to Surat for you this morning?”
    “Yes. You want me to reimburse you for the petrol?”
    “No, I want you to have the decency to keep me informed of ongoing inquiries.”
    “What makes you think I’m not?”
    “I saw you.”
    “Saw me do what?”
    “Go into that place.”
    “What pla – ? The foundation? You were in Lang Suan?”
    “I was passing.”
    “Passing? I had the truck. Arny had the motorcycle all afternoon. Lang Suan’s twenty kilometers away. How did you happen to be just passing?”
    “There are motorcycle taxis. There are buses. I’m not completely senile, you know? I have been getting around for seventy-odd years without the benefit of an escort.”
    I laughed.
    “You were doing surveillance,” I said.
    “I was not. I was just…interested. After all I’d heard that morning from Captain Waew I wanted to see for myself. It was curiosity. But I saw you waltz in there as calm as you like, and I tell you…”
    I waited a long while but he didn’t finish the sentence. As time was pressing and I had a young man to let down gently, I ran through the content of the interview with Sugit as succinctly as I was able. Granddad Jah didn’t nod or make comments. He merely squatted on the sand in that rural toilet pose I’d always failed to get comfortable in. When the story was told, he stood without creaking and said:
    “All right. I might have some free time this week if you need…”
    He turned to walk away.
    “Granddad?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I think I’m going to need a lot of help on this one.”
    He looked back. Even with the moon masked by clouds I could see the glint of his false teeth by the lamps of the fishing boats. He grunted and walked back toward the lights of the huts.
    According to my luminous pocket alarm clock it was seven fifty-five when my second visitor arrived. Punctuality wasn’t a word that found its way into the vocabulary of too many of my fellow countrymen so I was impressed.
    “ Koon Jimm,” I heard and paused to study one or two more boats before looking back over my shoulder. Ed was standing behind me. He was wearing a white silk shirt, local style, and shiny black fisherman’s trousers. There was something heroic about the way he looked. Missing only a scabbard in his belt, I thought. Even his mustache fitted the costume.
    “Ed, isn’t it?” I said.
    “Yes.”
    He walked down the sand and stood beside my deck-chair, breathing in the salt on the sea breeze with one healthy gulp. From where I sat he seemed every bit as tall as the coconut palms, every bit as upright and resilient.
    “How did you know where to find me?” I asked.
    “Looks like someone turned one of the table lights to face this direction,” he said. “I could see you a hundred meters away.”
    “Well, that was a bit of luck, wasn’t it?” I said. “I usually sit here in the dark of an evening and disappear into my thoughts. I’m having a glass of wine. Would you like one?”
    “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t drink.”
    “Good for you. I have a glass rarely. It stimulates my imagination. Please sit down.”
    There was only the sand but he found a spot two meters from my seat and folded himself down onto it. To my utter surprise, Gogo got to her feet and waddled over to him as if they’d been wagging buddies for years. He caressed her with one of his big hands and she rolled over to show him her belly. Her underside had always been taboo. Not even Mair got to touch it, but there was the grass man fondling her nipples with