Fatso’s was a small place with room for about twenty sitting on stools around the horseshoe-shaped bar and another dozen patrons could just about pack into the space by the door. A spiral staircase ran upstairs to a small restaurant area with a dozen tables and the unisex toilets. Big Ron kept a small camera behind the bar so that he could take pictures up the skirts of his waitresses as they went upstairs. The results of his hobby were hanging on the walls of the bar, along with photographs of the Fatso’s regulars in various stages of inebriation. There’s a couple of me somewhere but I don’t go out of my way to seek them out. Part of my past.
I’m not ashamed of my heavy-drinking days. But they’re a bit like an old girlfriend that you never really loved and now half-regret sleeping with. I mean it was fun at the time, but looking back I cringe a bit.
Big Ron slapped the top down on his sandwich and began munching on it. Bacon fat and butter dribbled down his chins and he groaned contentedly. The bacon sandwich was just a snack; he’d start eating in earnest at about eight o’clock.
‘I’m looking for a Mormon,’ I said.
‘You’ve come to the right place, they’re all morons in here,’ said Big Ron. He grabbed a handful of paper napkins and wiped his chin.
‘I resemble that remark,’ said Alan prissily.
‘Mormon,’ I said. ‘Salt Lake City and all that.’
‘The Osmonds,’ said Bruce. ‘I’ll be your long-haired lover from Liverpool.’
‘Not in this lifetime you won’t, you bald twat,’ said Big Ron. Insulting his customers was as much a part of his charm as his habit of photographing the stocking tops of the waitresses. You either loved Big Ron or you hated him, there was no middle ground.
‘He’s a young guy, twenty-one. Wouldn’t say boo to a Peking Duck. Came to Bangkok to teach English three months ago and he’s disappeared.’
‘Says who?’ asked Alan.
‘His mum and dad. They’ve come here looking for him.’
‘What is it with Americans teaching English?’ said Alan. ‘Shouldn’t they be teaching American? I mean, come on.’
Big Ron belched. ‘He’ll be lying on a beach somewhere with a dark-skinned beauty, smoking dope during the day and screwing like a bunny at night. Trust me.’
‘Much as I do trust you, he’s not like that,’ I said.
Big Ron guffawed again, spitting out bits of bread and bacon in my direction. Bee flashed me an apologetic smile and wiped the bar top with a damp cloth.
‘They’re all like that,’ said Big Ron. ‘Americans are the worst. Twenty-four after hitting Bangkok, he’ll have been in the sack with a hooker.’
‘Twelve,’ said Alan.
‘Two,’ said Bruce, ‘including travel time from the airport.’
‘He’s a virgin,’ I said patiently. ‘Born again.’
‘A born-again virgin?’ grinned Bruce. ‘Nana Plaza’s full of them. Little Puy in Rainbow Two has sold her virginity three times as far as I know.’
‘According to his parents, he’s saving himself for the right woman.’
‘If you save wicked women, save one for me,’ said Alan. He reached over and rang a large bronze bell that was hanging just to the right of Big Ron’s head. The Fatso’s girls started pouring drinks for the guys sitting at the bar. One ring of the bell bought a round of drinks. Two rings bought a round for the customers and a drink each for the staff behind the bar. Three rings and everyone in the bar and in the restaurant upstairs got drinks, along with the kitchen staff.
‘I went to his apartment,’ I said. ‘He’d cleared out.’
‘Where was he staying?’ asked Bruce.
‘Soi 9.’
‘He’ll have hitched up with a freelancer from the German bar,’ said Bruce. ‘Soi 7. Or Gullivers in Soi 5.’
‘Lying on a beach,’ said Big Ron. ‘Guaranteed.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Do you want to put your money where your mouth is?’
The thing about Big Ron is that more often than not, he’s right. ‘Maybe,’ I said hesitantly.
‘If I’m right and he’s on a beach with a bird, you ring the bell three times.’
‘Okay.’
‘On a Saturday night. Between nine and ten.’
That was the busiest time in Fatso’s. Maybe two dozen people upstairs eating. Twenty around the bar downstairs. Eight Fatso’s girls. Three or four kitchen staff. Not a cheap round.
‘And if you’re wrong?’
Fingers crossed.
‘Free drinks for a week.’
‘Deal,’ I said. No way was Jon Junior hooked up with a girl. He wasn’t the type.
Big Ron grinned, belched, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
‘Ding, dong,’ he said. ‘Ding bloody dong.’
CHAPTER 5
The cockatoos that live in the garden next to my condominium block woke me up bright and early. The house is owned by a Thai plastic surgeon by the name of Khun Banyat and he lives there with his wife, five children and his collection of exotic birds. I like Khun Banyat and I play tennis with him at the Racquet Club in Soi 49 twice a month but sometimes I would happily strangle his parrots.
I lay looking up at the ceiling wondering what cockatoo would taste like in a hot, spicy soup.
Jai yen.
I rolled over and looked at my wife. Noy.
Noy means small.
She is thirty-two but looks a good ten years younger, with her long black hair spread over the pillow like a raven’s wing and long, long eyelashes. She’s way out of my league, and not because she’s younger and better looking. She’s smarter than me, she’s a better person than I am and she’s kinder to animals. She’s fluent in Thai, English, Mandarin and Japanese, she plays the violin and piano like a dream, she has a real estate business that makes twice as much as my antiques shop.
I’m not good enough for my wife. I’m really not. There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t wonder why she chose me, why she wanted to marry me, and why she stays with me.
She’s well connected too, and could have had the pick of any eligible bachelor going. I don’t think there’s a top Thai politician, Army general or movie star who doesn’t know her and usually when we get invited anywhere it’s because they want to see her, not me. Her dad is an Air Force General and her mother is on the boards of half a dozen charities and is a regular visitor to the palace. They’re lovely people, too, I couldn’t ask for better in-laws. To this day I’m still not sure why I’ve been so lucky.
‘I know you’re looking at me,’ she said quietly.
‘How?’ I said. ‘You’ve got your back to me.’
‘I can feel your eyes,’ she said. ‘And I can hear you thinking.’
‘What am I thinking, then?’
She moved her legs a little. She has great legs. Long, shapely, fit. ‘You were wondering if you could get away with killing Khun Banyat’s parrots,’ she murmured.
‘That’s impressive,’ I said.
‘Then you were thinking about pressing yourself against me and kissing the back of my neck and making love to me before I woke up.’
‘But you’re awake already.’
She sighed dreamily. ‘No, I’m still asleep. So was I right?’
