don't mouth off to anyone. We know where you and your relatives live.
PI Meng: What about me?
BOSS: What about you?
PI Meng: I can do his job. I hate Burmese
BOSS: Get lost.
PI Meng: I've got me license and-
BOSS: Get lost or get dead.
PI Meng: Yes, sir.
JIMM: Meng's trying to kill time till our other two boats make their play. But it's not working. And we can't leave. I can hear other feet walking on our boat. They'll be teaming up to split Arny and Gaew. Of course, I can't let that happen. This is the moment. If this live telecast terminates in the next few minutes, and if anyone else in the world cares, we have been killed by Thai slavers operating off the coast of Chumphon. Don't let them get away with it. Don't rest until these people are found and punished. This whole, dispensable Burmese operation is being run out of the Southern Rescue Mission Foundation in Lang Suan. Voice-print checks on the woman we just heard over the radio will confirm that she is the receptionist there and is probably related to the founder. I'm going to expose myself now in the hope that I can briefly capture the faces of the leader of these villains and his crew on this camera. There are armed guards out there. Anything could go wrong. But let it be remembered that I…we all sacrificed our lives for our Burmese neighbors who are subjected to these terrors every day.
'Oh, come on, sibling,' said Sissi. 'Enough's enough. You're sounding like Miss World.'
'Shh!' came a chorus from the Internet Tweeters.
'You said she can't see how many people are watching this,' said Mair.
'She can't, not on her machine. But she must sense it. You can't have two million eyes on you and not feel the hairs stand up on the back of your neck.'
'It's too much,' said Mair. 'We had a TV, you know.'
'Will you two keep it down,' said the mustache guy.
'You ever attempted to have a webcam removed from your nostril?' said Sissi. 'Mair? What's this about the TV?'
'Just that we had one. Me and Jarooat.'
'Who the…? Who's Jarooat?'
'You don't remember your own father's name?'
'My…? Why should I? I was only, what…four or five…when he left us? You never talked about him. I barely remember his face.'
'We'd sit together, hand in hand, watching exciting programs like this.'
'This isn't a program, Mair. It's-'
'And we'd try not to get upset by them. I'd try not to cry. Because we knew they were sponsored by the Suzuki motorcycle company and Tonaf anti-foot-rot cream and the like. And we knew everything would work out fine in the end because sponsors didn't want death. They wanted happy endings. That's what sells foot-rot cream. And we were never disappointed. Who did we finally get to sponsor our show, Margaret?'
'It's…' Sissi smiled at her mother. 'You know? I do think we had somebody down from Coca-Cola in the end.'
'Oh, well. There's nothing to worry about then.'
'Where's the logo then?' asked blue skin. Sissi ignored her.
'We should be getting back, I suppose,' said Mair. 'There's nobody feeding the dogs.'
'You asked someone from the co-op to do it,' said Sissi.
'Are you sure? Good for me. At least I've been good for something. I wasn't worth a shaved-ice sundae as a mother, if you ask me.'
'Mair, you-'
'Will somebody shut the old woman up?' said some lanky chopstick of a teenager.
Sissi scraped back her chair, grabbed the youth by the neck, frog-marched him out the door and locked it. There was no more backchat from the Tweeters.
'I put my only two children up for adoption, you know?' said Mair.
'Mair, stop talking now.'
'Yes, I should. The show's on.'
JIMM: 3…2…1…Here goes. (THE CAMERA IS EXPOSED TO THE BRIGHT LIGHTS FROM THE SQUID BOATS, AND THE SCREEN IS TEMPORARILY BLINDING. WHEN WE REFOCUS, WE SEE THE SURPRISED FACES OF THE GUARDS. THE FOLLOWING SECTION HAS NO ENGLISH TRANSLATION.)
JIMM: Smile everyone. You're on the Internet-live. Shown worldwide in approximately a billion homes.
BOSS: Who the bloody hell's that?
(CAMERA PANS UP TO THE DECK OF THE LARGEST BOAT AND ZOOMS TO THE FACE OF A SEMI- HANDSOME SOUTHERN MAN WITH A SCAR DOWN ONE CHEEK. IT'S UNEVEN, AS IF THE TWO SIDES WEREN'T MATCHED UP BEFORE THEY WERE SEWN TOGETHER. A NUMBER OF BURMESE HEADS ARE PEERING OVER THE EDGE OF THE BOAT.)
CREW 2: (OFF-CAMERA) She's got a gun.
(MISCELLANIOUS SCREAMS)
JIMM: It's not. It's not a gun. Don't shoot. It's a computer.
(JIMM DOES A SLOW PIROUETTE, TAKING IN ALL THREE BOATS AND THREE CREWS OF HALF-STARVED BURMESE. THE GUARDS ARE HOLDING RIFLES. ONLY THE BOSS HAS AN AUTOMATIC WEAPON. EVERYONE SEEMS TO BE FROZEN TO THE SPOT AS THEY WATCH JIMM.)
BOSS: Don't just stand there. Grab the little bitch and get that thing off her.
JIMM: (OFF-CAMERA IN ENGLISH) That was perfect. A close-up of the gang leader. Get to work now, you computer wizards and come up with a record for him.
(A CREW MEMBER MARCHES DIRECTLY TOWARD THE CAMERA)
JIMM: OK. OK. I'll put it down. Look. It's a very expensive com-
(BUT THE CAMERA ISN'T PUT DOWN. IT DROPS TO THE DECK ON ITS SIDE. A LOT OF PIXELS GET REARRANGED, BUT THE PICTURE RIGHTS ITSELF IN TIME TO SEE THE BOTTOM HALF OF JIMM BEING DRAGGED ALONG THE DECK TO A POINT BELOW THE BOSS.)
JIMM: (SHOUTED) Now would be a very good time for back-up. Hello!
BOSS: (OFF-CAMERA) What are you going on about? Who are you?
JIMM: I am Jimm Juree, a world-famous crime reporter. And this entire operation has been captured digitally and distributed to the World Wide Web-live.
BOSS: We're in the middle of the sea.
JIMM: So?
BOSS: There's no phone towers out here. How stupid do you think I am?
JIMM: Obviously not nearly as stupid as you actually are.
(THERE IS A PAUSE, THEN THE SOUND OF A THUD, AND JIMM FALLS INTO FRAME ON THE DECK. THERE'S THE SOUND OF A SCUFFLE OFF-CAMERA.)
ARNY: Jimm!
BOSS: Keep hold of them two.
(JIMM COMES AROUND SLOWLY AND TURNS TO FACE THE CAMERA-SPITS)
JIMM: (IN ENGLISH) I have just been hit with the barrel of an AK47. I might have lost a tooth. This is-
BOSS: Enough with the foreign crap. Someone bring me that computer.
(SKINNY LEGS IN SHORTS APPROACH THE CAMERA, AND WHEN THE PICURE IS RIGHTED, WE HAVE AN EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF A PARTICULARLY UGLY SEAMAN. HE'S FASCINATED TO SEE HIS OWN FACE ON THE SCREEN. WE CHANGE THE POINT OF VIEW TO THE HANDSOME BUT DISFIGURED BOSS. HE SMILES.)
JIMM: Wait! What do you think you're-
(THE CAMERA SAILS THROUGH THE AIR, AND THERE'S A MOMENT THAT WOULD LATER LOOK SPECTACULAR IN A SLOW-MOTION REPLAY, WITH THE LAPTOP BREAKING THE SURFACE OF THE WATER, FLIPPING AROUND IN THE SURF, THEN BREAKING BACK INTO THE AIR LIKE A RUBBER RAFT. AS IT BOBS THERE, THE REAR END OF THE SLAVER BOAT IS IN CLEAR VIEW.)
