So he let the phone ring out while he paid his bill.
As soon as he stepped outside he saw the flood had reduced into a giant puddle. He returned the missed call and got the information he had expected; there was no record of a James Arthur Peabody entering or leaving Thailand at any time in the previous two years. He put the phone back in his pocket and walked through the puddle with his confident and rolling stride, splashing water all around him.
Carl’s next stop was a dimly lit bar where all the waitresses were advertised in lace G-strings. ‘Brevity is the soul of lingerie’ said a sign on the wall. Brevity was taken so seriously that some of the girls didn’t bother with underwear at all. The owner was Croatian and had come to Thailand to escape the horrors of the Balkan war. He went north to the hills of Chiang Mai where he chose heroin over his military uniform. Then, after a couple of years, he had chosen lingerie over the heroin and the result was a fetish lounge on Soi Cowboy. Lingerie is a relatively harmless fetish, which is probably why the place was not overly popular.
The owner’s name was Oleg. He was behind the bar hovering near the cashier. He had the hollow cheeks and vague eyes of a person who had abused narcotics to the extreme and somehow lived to tell the tale. Oleg was tall and very thin. He dressed like a teenager in skinny jeans and an overly elaborate shirt and had hair that was spiked up with gel that Carl had always thought looked like a toilet brush. He atypically bought Carl a drink. Oleg never bought anybody a drink.
“Carl, I need your help,” he said, still with the Balkans still in his accent.
“Do I get a clue Oleg or do I need to guess the problem?”
“You see my bar, it is very quiet, no?”
“Yes Oleg, always quiet.”
As they spoke, a heavy red felt curtain that had been drawn across an alcove at the far end of the bar opened. Behind the curtain was a synthetic leather sofa that Oleg’s girls used to solicit tips for fellatio sessions. A slightly overweight and dangly breasted girl came out followed by an enormous Russian tourist. The Russian grunted at her in Russian and kissed her on the cheek whilst slipping a thousand baht note into her eager hand. The Russian left hurriedly.
“We serve anybody these days,” Oleg said in disgust as the door closed behind the Russian.
“So what can I help you with Oleg?”
“I was wondering after all these years you have been coming to Soi Cowboy if you can give me advice on what to do to make more customers come.”
“I hope what you mean is how to attract more customers to the bar. Otherwise it is way outside my field of expertise Oleg.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind, I will tell you a story Oleg. Once upon a time there was a bar on Soi Cowboy and the owner, being new in town, asked a customer for advice. What is wrong with my bar, he asked his only customer of the night. Quite obvious, he was told, you see, the bar is on the wrong side of the room so when the door opens you cannot see the bar or the customers, and as you know, nobody wants to enter an empty bar. The bar owner took this to heart and shut the place down for a month and had the bar demolished and moved from one side of the building to the other. A few weeks after reopening there was little improvement in the number of customers. One night he asked a customer what he thought the problem was. Obvious, he said, the bar is on the wrong side. What do you mean, he demanded. I mean, when the door opens you can see everybody at the bar and what they are all doing and who wants to be seen by people from the street in such a bar.”
“I don’t get it,” Oleg told Carl.
“You will Oleg, you are already halfway there.”
Oleg went back to his corner at the other end of the dimly lit bar where his computer was situated. Due to his history with heroin he didn’t trust himself with alcohol so was addicted to Coca Cola and the Internet instead. Carl had seen him once sitting at his computer surfing Internet porn sites. Carl had thought this very curious indeed because while Oleg was glued to his computer screen three of his naked girls were putting on a show for a customer with a fat wallet. The show included hot dripping candle wax, spanking, and several dildos. Carl had wondered what Oleg could possibly be captivated by on an Internet porn site while all that was going on but he had decided that he didn’t want to know.
The door opened bringing daylight. Damien Southerby came in and sat beside Carl. Carl knew that his real name was Keith Smith but pretended that he didn’t. It was better that way. In Bangkok if he wanted to be called Damien Southerby he would get it and that was fine by Carl. He wore a starched business shirt with twinkling diamond cufflinks and a bright yellow Zegna tie. His watch was a gold Rolex also covered in diamonds. Damien had perfectly styled hair, manicured fingernails and the clear skin of somebody who eats well and visits his health club regularly.
Damien was a crook and a very successful one. He sold dodgy foreign currency investments over the phone that guaranteed a large profit to unsuspecting Australians. The gullible Australian investors never had a chance of seeing any of their money again as the only people really guaranteed a profit were the sellers; there was no investment. Damien and his motley crew worked their phone scam during Australian office hours so their working day ended at Bangkok lunchtime. They, and other groups like them, were frequently seen around the bars early in the afternoons.
“Good afternoon Carl. Bit early for you isn’t it?”
“I’m working. Your wife hired me.”
“Don’t even fucking joke about something like that.”
“Who’s joking?”
“One day you’ll give me a straight answer.”
“One day you’ll deserve one.”
“Seriously, how sure are you about that report you gave us a couple of months ago? We have been discussing it and it just seems too easy,” Damien said.
“It is very straightforward Damien. Thailand does not like, and is not very good at any case that is multi- jurisdictional. So as long as you don’t advertise that you are in Thailand and no client money enters Thailand through local banks and you don’t meet any clients here, the local authorities couldn’t give a shit what you do. The only time that could change is if a foreign government asked for help from the Thai Government. Then, if they knew who you were and where you worked they would probably just make a lot of noise in the hope that you would run away and leave the country of your own accord. There is no benefit for them if they have to build a case and testify in court for the next three years so they will give you the opportunity to flee first. Should you prove stubborn they will simply find an excuse to revoke your visa and deport you. The colonels said if you pay the agreed amount into that account number every month they will let you know if any department in the police is looking for you. Their promise to you is that you will hear about it before your door gets knocked on.”
“Are you sure about this?” Damien asked.
“Nothing in life is guaranteed Damien but that is the way it works. Continue to tell your clients that you are in New York, don’t make enemies in Thailand, and pay your hookers well is my advice. And don’t forget to pay the colonels whatever you do, they know you exist now.”
“Great, great news, thank you. Did Alexander bring the cash to you? Were you happy with it?”
“Yes I saw Alexander a couple of months ago. The bonus you added was much appreciated.” Carl didn’t add that he knew Alexander’s name was really Eric. Carl also chose not to mention that the large bonus he had received went the very same day to a spotty young Finnish poker player in an illegal gambling den whose four sevens had beaten Carl’s full house.
“Good, good, excellent. We must have dinner together soon,” Damien said as he moved down the bar and slipped behind the red curtain to make a deposit.
There wouldn’t be a dinner invitation. Carl made Damien nervous and he would avoid Carl until somebody made him more nervous and he needed him again. Damien or as his mum called him, Keith, had bought his own bullshit and saw himself as a successful globetrotting entrepreneur. The white-collar criminals were a funny lot and they were very prone to fantasy. Carl didn’t question or interfere with Damien’s movie star fantasy world; the envelope was always fat and cash was always preferable. Carl decided to leave the bar before the grunting from behind the curtain started.
By that evening Carl was sitting in one of the crowded big, new and shiny bars that were gradually taking over the limited real estate in Soi Cowboy. He was watching the topless dancers and he was deep in thought. He
