Little Girl Gone

“It looks like it.”

They shared a quick look, then ran for the station entrance.

Once through the doors, they found themselves in a large, central hall, its roof rising above them in a gentle arc that stretched the length of the space. In the middle was a tiled area crowded with people, and on one side a couple of hundred plastic, orange-colored seats that all faced the same way. Along the edges of the hall were small shops selling food and magazines and whatever else travelers might need.

“This way,” Daeng said.

They quickly worked their way through the crowd to the glass doors at the left end of the hall where they were met by Daeng’s man. Through the doors, Logan could see the platforms, several of which had trains waiting next to them.

The two men talked quickly, then Daeng said to Logan, “You see them?” He pointed out the window. “Over there, just about to get on that train.”

“I see them,” Logan said.

“Then come on. We need to hurry.”

Instead of leading Logan through the door, Daeng headed straight for the ticket counter in the other direction.

“My bag,” Logan said, suddenly remembering that it was sitting in the back of the car.

Daeng said something to his man, who then ran off while Daeng and Logan continued to the counter. The line was a dozen people deep, but Daeng pleaded their case, and got them to the front. As soon as it was their turn, he told the clerk what they wanted.

There was a quick conversation, then Daeng asked Logan, “You have sixteen hundred baht?”

Logan pulled a couple of one thousand baht bills out of his pocket, and Daeng exchanged them for two tickets and change.

“We’ve got to run,” Daeng said, glancing up at a station clock. It was almost ten after six. “The train leaves in two minutes.”

As they neared the glass doors, the man who’d been driving them around town rushed up, carrying Logan’s backpack.

“Thanks,” Logan said, grabbing it as they passed.

“Mai bpen rai,” the man said.

As they reached the platform, Logan asked Daeng, “You want to tell me where we’re going?”

“Chiang Mai.”

Though it had been a while since Logan had been in Thailand, he knew that Chiang Mai was in the northeastern part of the country, hundreds of miles from Bangkok.

“How long’s that going to take?” he asked.

“All night.”

31

Logan and Daeng made it on the train before it started to roll, but just barely. They were still looking for their seats when they felt a lurch as the engine began to pull them out of the station.

“There,” Daeng said, nodding toward two empty bench seats at the end of the cabin.

He took the one facing forward while Logan took the other.

“No first class tickets left,” he said. “You’ll have to put up with second.”

“What’s the difference?”

“First class gets their own cabins.”

Their car was set up like a series of table-less diner booths running down each side. The booths were open to the aisle in the center, but had walls separating the ones on the same side. Padded gray plastic cushions covered the seats, and were comfortable enough for the ride ahead. And while four people could easily fit in each booth, Logan noticed that there were never occupied by more than two.

A pair of elderly Thai women were sitting across from them, sharing some food and laughing while they talked. When one of the women saw Logan looking over, she held a piece of fruit toward him.

He smiled, but shook him head. “No, thanks.”

She held it there for a second longer, then shrugged and pulled it back.

“Mai, khrap,” Daeng said, looking at Logan. “Khob khun, khrap. It means, no, thank you.”

Logan tried it out a few times until Daeng said he had it close enough. The two ladies nodded encouragingly when he finally got it, one of them even clapping a couple of times.

“I didn’t see the others when we walked through,” Logan said in a low voice once the women had returned to their conversation.

“Neither did I,” Daeng said.