that some of his colleagues were always trying to get him sacked. There was one woman, Char-lee, who really hated him and who made his life a misery. ‘He said he was very happy to meet me because I helped him to forget about her,’ said Gay.
Alarm bells started to ring. Char-lee? Charlie? Charles? I started to wonder if my mysterious client was Andrew’s colleague. Suddenly it started to make sense. If the Chinese colleague got hold of a photograph of Andrew in a compromising position, she could do him a lot of damage. She could have sent it anonymously to the board and it wouldn’t be long before Andrew was told that his services were no longer required. Or maybe she’d decide that a little blackmail would be more profitable. I wasn’t happy about being part of whatever her devious plan was, but on the other hand I didn’t want to lose the bonus that I’d be promised. What’s a private eye to do?
Now, not all investigators have the same high moral standards as yours truly. It’s not unknown for a less- than-professional private eye in Thailand to approach the subject of his investigation and, for a higher fee, agree to file a false report. It wasn’t something that I was in the habit of doing, but I didn’t like the way that Charles had been using me. He (or she) had been less than honest, so I didn’t think that he (or she) deserved any less from me. Andrew was just being one of the lads and I wasn’t happy about being the architect of his downfall. So, the next morning I went over to the hotel in time for breakfast. I saw Andrew attacking the buffet and I waited until he’d sat down before I headed over to his table with a cup of coffee. He didn’t look happy as I sat down at his table, but I went quickly into my speech. I explained that I’d been paid to follow him, and that I had compromising photographs of him. I told him about my mysterious client in Shanghai, and that I had become uneasy about what I was being asked to do. For all I knew the girl he’d taken to his room the previous night could have been a client, I said, even though we both knew exactly what he’d been doing. I said that I didn’t want to lose the bonus I’d been promised if I emailed the pictures to my client, but perhaps there was another option. A small token of Andrew’s appreciation, perhaps, and I could tell the client that Andrew had been whiter than white. I smiled and waited for his reaction. To be honest, I had nothing to lose. If he told me to go and screw myself, I’d just send the pictures and report to Shanghai and pocket my bonus. He stared at me for a while, then nodded and pulled out his wallet. He took out a wad of American dollars, peeled off a few 100-dollar notes and handed them to me.
‘Cash,’ I said. ‘That’ll do nicely.’
I pocketed my retainer, wished him a safe trip home, and left him to his breakfast, picking up a sausage from the buffet on my way out.
Later that day I sent an email to Shanghai Charles. I said that Andrew did little more than eat in the hotel restaurants and visit the Huntsman Bar in the basement. He never even had a sniff of a bargirl. I had no misgivings about telling a little white lie. Andrew was a decent enough guy and I had double the bonus that had been promised, so I reckoned justice had been done. Justice A la Thai private eye.
THE CASE OF THE HUA HIN HUSBANDS
They say that all good things come in threes: the Three Degrees, the Three Stooges, the three very attractive young women that spent ninety minutes making my every sexual fantasy come true in one of the upstairs rooms at the Eden Club in Soi 7. I love things that come in threes, especially three cases in the same place because then I can swing three sets of expenses for a single trip. I figure it’s a perfectly reasonable arrangement. If I have to go and do an overnighter then it’s only fair that the client pays for the hotel, my meals and my transport. The client would be paying the same no matter how many cases I was working on. It’s not like I’m being dishonest by billing them all for the same expenses, it’s more that I’m taking advantage of an advantageous situation, and hand on heart I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
Anyway, I was on my way to Hua Hin with a song in my heart and three sets of retainers in the bank, all from women as it happens. When I first got into the private-eye game it was almost always girls I was checking up on, and bargirls at that. But as my fame spread, I started to get a fair number of female clients, usually farang women who wanted me to prove that their husbands or boyfriends were straying. Generally it was money for old rope. There are two golden rules about relationships in Thailand: bargirls always lie, and farang men sleep around. They just do. It’s instinct. The scorpion thing. And generally it’s easier to do a check on a farang man than it is to follow a Thai bargirl. The guy will almost certainly stick to one of the farang areas-Sukhumvit Road, Silom Road, Pattaya or Phuket. He’ll probably be staying in a hotel full of tourists or in a condominium building used by farangs so if I’m tailing him, I’m not going to stick out like the proverbial thumb. But bargirls tend to live in predominantly Thai areas where farangs are few and far between and a hell of a lot more visible.
I like Hua Hin. It’s a seaside resort, but it’s a lot less scummy than Pattaya. The sea’s cleaner, for a start, and there’s a better class of tourist. Families go there, mainly, and retired couples. It’s where the Thai Royal Family likes to holiday so the police in Hua Hin keep a tight grip on the nightlife side and there are no go-go bars or soapy massage parlours. There are plenty of beer bars, and more hookers than you can shake a stick at, but it’s nowhere as in your face as Pattaya or Phuket’s Patong beach.
I drove down in a rented Toyota and booked into a room with a sea view at the Hilton. Lovely.
My first case was Bob from Seattle, a frequent visitor to the Land of Smiles. Too frequent, according to his wife, who had decided to divorce him and felt that there would be a certain irony in having the divorce papers served on him while he was in Thailand. I had a quick shower, downed a couple of JDs from the minibar, then wandered down to the hotel where Bob was staying. The wife had emailed me a picture of her husband so I knew who I was looking for. I got myself a corner booth in the hotel coffee shop and settled down with a copy of the Bangkok Post.
I was lucky and I had only started on my second cup of coffee when in walked the man himself, with an obvious bargirl in tow. By obvious I mean that she was wearing tight blue jeans, a low-cut black T-shirt, and had a tattoo of a scorpion on her right shoulder. Elementary, my dear Watson!
Bob looked bored and the girl had the sultry pout that bargirls adopt when things aren’t going their way. They sat down in the booth next to mine and I flashed her one of my winning smiles. ‘ Falang kee-neo chai mai?’ I said.
‘ Nan-non loei,’ she sighed, confrming that old Bob was indeed a Cheap Charlie.
Bob was so impressed to hear a foreigner speak Thai that he introduced himself and asked if they could join me. He was keen to chat and I guessed he’d been stuck with the sour-faced hooker for a while. The girl started to play footsie with me under the table, which was nice. She slipped off her high heels and massaged the back of my legs with her toes, all the time keeping a butter-wouldn’t-melt look on her face. It seemed that they were both bored stiff with each other.
Bob told me his life story, pretty much, most of which I’d already got second-hand from the wife. He liked Thailand, he said, and was thinking about moving permanently to the Land of Smiles. The problem was, he didn’t know what sort of work he’d be able to do, as work permits are as rare as hen’s teeth in Thailand. Any job that can be done by a Thai, no matter how badly the Thai does it, can’t be given to a foreigner. So other than running a bar or teaching English, there aren’t too many career opportunities.
Bob asked me what I did for a living. ‘Well, Bob,’ I said, ‘I’m a private investigator.’
‘Must be an exciting line of work,’ he said.
I shrugged and took the envelope of legal papers from my jacket pocket. ‘Actually, Bob, it’s pretty boring most of the time,’ I said. ‘Just mundane tasks, like serving summons.’ I dropped the envelope on the table in front of him. ‘By the way, this is yours.’
He said thanks, not realising that I was serious.
As I stood up he shook my hand, and again I don’t think it had quite sunk in. I clapped him on the back. ‘The wife says the next time you’ll see her, it’ll be in court,’ I said. His jaw dropped and I could see that the message had got home. I heard the envelope being ripped open as I walked away and a low groan as he started to read the contents.
I headed back to the hotel, feeling pretty good with myself. I’d only been in town for an hour and I’d already earned a day’s money and covered the cost of my room, the car, two JDs and two coffees.
The second case was a missing person, sort of. A New Yorker called Ann phoned me to ask if I’d track down her husband, Joe, who’d gone missing in Thailand. He’d been at a body-building competition in Australia and had broken his flight in the Land of Smiles with a couple of buddies. The last phone call she’d had from Joe was two
