“That’s nice to hear,” said Chompu.
“My soul partner then, his name was Wee, beautiful man. He said we shouldn’t take the van straight up to the dealer guy. He said we should enjoy it a little bit.”
“So you didn’t make it to Chumphon?” I asked.
She giggled and I saw traces of the wild girl in her eyes. My mother had those same remnants of devil.
“We didn’t even make it out of the province,” she said. “We were picked up by the highway police the next morning and packed off to the Chaiya police station.”
“What for?” I asked. This and the account of the Surat detective, Captain Waew, were beginning to merge.
“Oh, you know. The supernatural magic of the Kombi. We’d driven around, had a little toke. Drove some more, had a little toke. Next thing you know we’re heading back into Surat. Going completely the wrong direction. So we found a pretty nature spot and bunked down for the night.”
“The police found you naked and stoned in the back of the van,” said Granddad Jah. “You weren’t twenty meters from the highway.”
“We were crazy, uncle. Like I say.”
She giggled again and shoveled in some rice; she seemed energized from the memories. Her past was obviously a lot more fun than her present.
“What happened then?” Chompu asked.
“We were using fake IDs. We knew it wouldn’t be long before the cops got wise to that, then tied us to the other cars we’d rented. We didn’t want to get in trouble. Then this inspector came from Surat and, like, told us he was investigating my dad — except he didn’t know he was my dad — and that we could do a deal. He said he’d keep us out of jail if we gave evidence against the old man. Of course, anything’s better than being in jail, right? So we agreed.”
“To give evidence against your own father?” Granddad Jah asked.
“Yeah. We weren’t that close. I don’t know. We might not have gone through with it if he’d helped get us out, but he just went quiet. Pretended he didn’t know us. I was afraid he was going to let us burn. You know? He was like that. But, anyway, while we were thinking about it, they put us up in this nice little locked-up house with a fridge and a TV. The detective said it was to keep us safe but there wasn’t any way to get out. There was this fat constable there at the gate watching over us. It was cool. We were just hanging out, watching TV. It was all so surreal. Then Dad showed up.”
“And he helped you stage the kidnapping?” I said.
“Yeah. It wasn’t that hard ‘cause the constable had vanished and left the doors unlocked. Weird, that.”
The last of our food order arrived, passing our hopes on the way which were heading at speed out of the window. The bodies in the VW were obviously not this couple.
“Did you go back to the commune after that?” Chompu asked.
“No. We weren’t game. We figured the police would have found out about it and raided the place. Dad told us to get out of town and lie low.”
“Where did you go?”
“Just drifted. Smartened ourselves up. Got casual work here and there and the whole love-child thing sort of got old in a hurry. It turned out me and Wee couldn’t get along in the normal capitalistic world. We drifted apart.”
“Any idea what happened to the VW you’d rented?” I asked.
“No. Last time I saw it, it was in the parking lot behind the Chaiya police station. I imagine they sent it back to the owner.”
“No,” said Granddad, “he didn’t get it back.”
“No? Probably got adopted by some kind law enforcement officer, then,” said Mayuri, out-eating us two to one despite all the talking. “I’d been thinking perhaps the one they found buried was the one we’d used.”
“Any idea who rented the second van?” Chompu asked her.
“No, like I say, we didn’t go back.”
“Do you know the names of anyone else in the commune?” Granddad Jah asked.
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t help. We were all Bread and Steed and Morning Glory. We discarded our decadent labels when we joined the farm. We didn’t know anyone’s real names. Wee wasn’t really Wee, you know? It’s English for urine. It’s full of nutrients. Indian fakirs drink it like orange juice.”
“Nice,” said Chompu, putting down his glass. “Where did you drive your stolen…I mean, borrowed rental cars to?”
“Tako.”
Tako was about thirty kilometers up the coast. There were two routes from Surat. If you took the highway you’d pass through Lang Suan. The quiet back road that avoided police blockades would lead you along the coast almost to Pak Nam. Back then, there wasn’t a bridge so the detour would drag you way up-river almost past Old Mel’s land. We needed to find out who rented that second van.
“Mayuri, you still aren’t very close to your father, are you?” I said.
“Can’t think what gives you that idea. You’ve only met the old bastard once.”
“Oh, just a hunch, I suppose,” I continued. “You’re implicating him in all kinds of illegal activities. You’re calling him names. You aren’t sitting by his bedside holding his hand.”
She laughed and a noodle slipped out of her mouth.
“He doesn’t need his hand held,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“He was kidnapped and tortured,” I reminded her.
“He was not.”
“Do you know anything about last night’s events that you’d like to share with us?” Chompu asked.
“The doctor I phoned said the only evidence of torture they could find was in his imagination. He broke his nose but with all the reconstruction I doubt he felt it. No, I bet he just got downright drunk with his whores and they got carried away in some prank. He doesn’t have a clue when he’s drunk. The terrorist story was just something to save his face.”
“Why are you living with him?” I asked.
“He took me in as an unpaid housekeeper. I was out of work. Out of men. Out of luck. I contacted him and asked him if he had any odd jobs I could do. He asked if I could cook. I’d never actually lived in his house before. Ha, don’t look so surprised. I’m child number four of twenty-eight or so. Seven different women. There was only one that he married. I had to remind him who my mother was. There isn’t a lot of, what you’d call, paternal affection going on here, although there are nights I have to remind him we’re blood relatives, if you know what I mean.”
We dropped Mayuri back at her house, and on the way back across town we admitted we’d come full circle with the VW case. Granddad and I sat in the truck while Chompu popped in to see the duty officer at Lang Suan police headquarters.
“Granddad Jah,” I asked, “what do you make of it all? I mean, the kidnapping, the note to me?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “The girl could have been right. It might have been S amp;M that got out of control.”
“Stripped and handcuffed to a bench in the train station?”
“Some of those bar girls can be vindictive,
“So, what about the words on his belly,
“It means ‘deserved’.”
“I know what it means, Granddad, but why would bar girls write it on him? Don’t you think it sounds like something a bit more sinister? And surely you don’t think the note to me was just a coincidence. There has to be a connection.”
But I didn’t get a chance, then, to hear his response. We were interrupted by the breathless return of Lieutenant Chompu who jumped into the truck and showed us his small but perfect teeth.
“I don’t need to tell you,” he gasped, “I’m not at liberty to tell you this, but…we’ve got good news and bad news and good news and bad news, and then good news. But it’s all better than no news at all. Where should I
