 
Death In Mindanao

Chapter1

Jerry the Finn swaggered into the Tachilek immigration office and demanded his passport. The uniformed men and the office girl backed off from him in horror, not only was he staggering drunk but he stank of cheap whiskey and the vomit that stained the front of his tee-shirt. Producing his passport in record time; it was the only one left because the Thai border was minutes from closing, they watched him leave with palpable relief. The day pass system at Myanmar immigration requires border crossers to leave their passport at the office. But it wasn't alcohol that drove the Finn towards the stylish archway that contained the Thai border post, he wasn't any where near drunk by his standards- Max had got him to limit his intake, but the potent cocktail of heroin and amphetamines that coursed through his veins.

Ignoring the offered arrival form he brushed aside the unenthusiastic clutches of the immigration officers, burst through the remaining tourists and visa-run Expats and fell splendidly down the steps into Thailand.Two blonde backpackers hurried over to him with anxious cries and helped him to his feet, retrieving his small heavy back pack as the Thai police came running down pushing them out of the way. They had been expecting Jerry but not this late and in this condition; wondering if he had lost his nerve or the greedy Burmese had decided to keep it all for themselves. Their furious officer, nothing less than a police colonel, grabbed the backpack from the girl, not noticing that the other girl wore an identical one. They dragged the roaring thrashing Finn back up the stairs, the enormously strong man taking care not to hurt anybody during the struggle. Max wandered forward playing the interested onlooker and the girl handed him her backpack. The switch was on.

Max threw the backpack into the trunk of the small black BMW. Hired in Chiang Mai for the week it made the required statement. Winding the engine up he dropped the clutch and pointed it south to Chiang Rai. Behind the tinted windows he was a rich Thai businessman heading back to Chiang Mai after a weekend of screwing under age Burmese girls. Coming to the first check point he revved the motor angrily and was waved through by the Thai police eager to go home at the end of their shift. Good, the police hadn't realised the dope was gone, but the second check point twenty klicks further south was too much of a risk. He swung right into the Mae Salang turn off and headed through the mountains for the Fang to Chiang Mai road. It may even be a good idea to spend the night at Mae Salang, they would never think of that, assuming that he had slipped through the checkpoints and had gone to ground in Chiang Rai; he had driven past an interesting looking karaoke bar there the previous year, probably full of Lisu or Karen girls but there may be a pale, breastless Chinese girl who had disgraced her family working there.

Mae Salang was full of Chinese, even the street signs were in Mandarin. A Nationalist regiment, cut off from the eastern coast of China by Mao's army after World War Two had fled into Burma expecting a welcome from their former English Allies. The British, their hands full with resurgent Burmese nationalists, were hardly overjoyed at the arrival of a fully equipped, battle hardened Chinese regiment with nowhere to go. They directed them south to Thailand; still smarting at the American decision that all non-communists were good people and that the Thai treachery in the late war could be forgiven, they decided that the Thais deserved them. In typical Thai style the government decided that the Chinese would come in handy one day and pointed them into the remote northern mountains, informing them that a professional reorganisation of the opium trade would be appreciated as long as the Thais got their cut.

The tiny ivory skinned girl snuggled against Max; she couldn't believe her luck, a rich old _Farang_ who had been happy with a blow job and a quick fuck. He slept like the dead after running her hands over her body thoughtfully for a while, lowering the level of a bottle of Islay Malt as he did so. He would be more enthusiastic in the morning, the old ones always were, but with luck he would leave the remains of the bottle along with a good tip. She stroked his penis thoughtfully; it was amazing that no matter how much she tried to remain detached her body always went into immediate convulsions when a long pale Farang organ entered her. Perhaps it was how they stroked and caressed her with fingers and tongue beforehand where as her tuktuk driving boyfriend entered her immediately and it wasn't until after his second or third orgasm that she managed to enter into the spirit of things. She gently rubbed the sensitive area under the glans, feeling the white snake stiffen and a tiny pearl of sticky dew appear on the end. She heard him chuckle and lowered her mouth to him, thinking that if she got him off again she could sleep in the morning. But, by the Gods, why was it so sweet, why was it so sweet.

Pleased with his day Max lay awake as the exhausted girl slept beside him. It was always easier to let the hot ones get on top and ride themselves out then give them a bit extra for luck. Finding Jerry after all these years had been nothing short of miraculous. He had gone to Mae Hong Song with a plan half formulated; he needed a mule, a drug courier, who was a step above most of the Farang junkies that hung out there. Someone smart and suicidally brave; some one desperate enough to risk all on one throw of the dice. As he crossed the street an almost forgotten gravel voice, last heard a quarter of a century ago in a Brisbane pub, roared across at him. "Hey, stuck up Pommy bastard, stop, I want to talk to you." He wanted to hug Jerry the Finn but knew that he wouldn't tolerate any of that "fucking poofter bullshit" so settled for returning the bone shaking punch to the shoulder that had left his arm numb to the wrist.

In the nearest restaurant Max ordered two bottles of Leo beer, he knew that Jerry would drink straight from the large bottle, to the mortification of the Thai waiter, so included an extra one for himself.

The big Finn looked at him affectionately, "Fucking Pommy cunt, Jeez you got fat" he said; Max had made the mistake years earlier of telling Jerry of his English origins. The years hadn't been kind to either of them, of a similar height Max was well over a hundred kilos and Jerry's ravaged face spoke of other bad habits than the booze and black girls he had once craved. They talked well into the night; only memories for now, business would come later. Where was PJ? He of the Bourbon and Coke and Rothman's plain cigarettes, twenty years dead, most of the remaining tissue on his two metre frame tumours. He had been Max's special mate when they had headed for Cairns in the seventies and shared the willing hippy girls. Smoking grass to be part of the scene but alcohol always the drug of choice. Some fucking flower children we were thought Max.

Brownie, as fastidious as an old maid, cleaning pub cutlery with an immaculate handkerchief before eating; dying alone and in terrible pain, too proud to reach for the phone and call a friend, desperately ashamed of the colostomy bag.

Bombhead, who had walked out the pub one day, had his stomach stapled and given up beer and pies. Max had seen him a few years previously driving a courier van and the once affable big man had barely spoken to him.

Lee, who had parked in the bush with a bottle of scotch and run a hose from the exhaust pipe to the window; his wife and family had him under pressure to leave the woman and child he loved and one day he had just said "Fuck every thing".

Ivan and Melvin, drunk and stoned early one morning in the outback, turning their car into an abstract sculpture on the front of a road train. The brotherhood of the pub.

Reminiscences over; Jerry, as always, got straight to the point. "I'm on the fucking hammer" he said "Fucking drunk one night they make me try it; I can beat anything but not this. I make enough for my stuff doing six and five with the junkies waiting for money from home but I got to get back to Finland, they got good rehab there."

Six and five was the old Asian bargirl loan system, borrow five pay back six at the end of the month. His iron face softened "I got daughter in Australia I want to go back to, God she fucking beautiful".

Max put the proposition to him. Jerry was smart enough to see any flaws in it but could add some input to improve the plan. Max told him he had one hundred thousand US; some his, the remnants of his divorce settlement but the bulk coming from silent partners in Australia. They would buy Burmese ecstasy, not the pills- the powder, the active ingredient. The pills could be made up in Australia and sold there. The younger generation spurned heroin as an old man's drug and barely even smoked marijuana, they wanted to dance all night and half of the next day. Jerry listened carefully, he trusted Max, everyone trusted Max, he was the one who had never let anybody down.

Only his family, his parents who had sent him to university only to see him to drop out and go to jail for safe breaking, leaving them shattered. Virtually condemned to a life of menial labour by his record he had done the lot, driven cabs, trucks, painted houses and shovelled shit.

Only the wives and girlfriends who had loved him, Lisa the Australian who had seen him sell the florist business she loved because he said that a recession was on the way. She had made him pay with years of adultery. Da, the twenty year old Lao bar girl, who had shared his bed for a year, thinking her life would change when his divorce came through. Regina the Filipina woman who still waited for the phone to ring and finally Thuy, the devout Vietnamese Catholic, who had given him her virginity. Max had ignored her emails for two years now.

Months before Max had invited two friends to a steak dinner in a Sydney pub; they went back a long way, calling themselves old school chums: the school had been Pentridge Prison in Melbourne. Neither were serious drinkers so Max ordered low alcohol beer for himself. He laid out the plan, producing a map, feeding them enough line to keep them on the hook but withholding vital details. Either of them was capable of taking the scheme and using it themselves.

Harry had been the success story of the three. Now known as Sydney's porn shop king he was a crime groupie and loved only guns and cash money, but his empire was becoming shaky. He had sold guns to the wrong people who had used them to exterminate their opposition in the Melbourne amphetamine war. The police had trapped a middle man and he had set Harry up with an undercover agent. The Taxation Department was waiting in the wings; they knew that Harry hadn't banked a single hundred dollar note since they had appeared on the currency scene. After the police were finished they would pick the carcass. Harry's criminal record came in three bound volumes and he was unlikely to see the light of day again, and it would be an impoverished daylight at that. Harry fancied overseas retirement and liked the idea of a last minute earner.

Rex was another kettle of fish. Unlike Harry and Max, both from middle class backgrounds, he had been virtually abandoned at the age of six and ended up in reform school for the crime of running away from his foster parents. Meeting real criminals there he had been an apt and enthusiastic pupil, finally being freed at the age of eighteen. The reform schools had had trouble keeping him in one place too. Rex had immediately embarked on a career as a professional criminal, a used car yard stocked with stolen cars, a partnership with a builder that under cut the opposition because Rex was stealing the required materials off their building sites. Strictly small-time he was a frequent guest of her Majesty's Prisons. Then one day, he had been ripped off by a pair of junkies that he thought he was buying a truck load of stolen goods from. As they relieved him of his cash he heard one remark that they would buy dope in the comparatively marijuana friendly state of South Australia and sell it in the less tolerant Eastern states at a handsome profit. Being at gunpoint at the time he gave it no further thought that day but later drove out to see a grower friend of his. On hearing the proposition the grower said it would work but like anything organised by dope smokers it usually went tits up. If it could be run as a disciplined operation by someone who could keep his mouth shut and not personally use up his stock, sure it would work.

Rex embarked on his new career and after a year of trial and error turned it into a million dollar operation. Intensely paranoid he seldom slept in the same bed and bemoaned the gradual disappearance of public phone boxes, his only electronic means of communication with his clients.

Rex had noticed the demand for party pills but had also observed that the production was controlled by leather jacketed gentlemen with a low tolerance of competition. However they were wary of Rex who tended to take a similar attitude to protecting what he regarded as his and he had been assured by distribution level people that there was sufficient demand in the market to leave room for him. Rex had put to Max a plan to bring the pills into Australia from Europe using commercial shipping, but Max knew more about boats than Rex after a stint as in the Painters and Dockers and knew it wouldn't work. The work force in the merchant marine now almost exclusively consisted of Eastern Europeans and a few Asians, most of whom spoke little or no English. They were highly unlikely to risk their jobs and freedom for pie in the sky.

So Max laid the plan out. He and Harry would put the money up, Harry the bulk. Rex, who Max well knew would be reluctant to part with cash, would be in sole charge of manufacture and distribution. Max would do the work and take the risks. After expenses they would divvy up twenty five, twenty five, and fifty. Max with the biggest cut to pay his operatives. "Done deal" they said, neither stood to lose any thing they would miss.

Max had spent several nights a week over three months in Tachilek whispering in the right ears. Dropping a few dollars, making himself popular with the small brown Burmese prostitutes who didn't mind an occasional _yah bah_ themselves. Crazy drug the Thais called it. He knew that the drugs were controlled by several factions, the Shan State Army, who used them to finance their war with Yangon, the United Wa State Army and the PRC Chinese the most prominent. Personally he preferred doing business with the Shan but recent heavy fighting in the South had driven them further into their mountain fastness. The Chinese were recent arrivals on the scene but had made heavy inroads with a savagery that had even made the Wa take a step back.

Finally he was invited to accompany a tuktuk driver who drove him several kilometres west of the Sai River. When he saw his future partners his heart sank; small, dark and wicked they were officers of the Wa Army forces. Only a generation before the Wa, a primitive mountain tribe, had been taking heads as part of their religion. The Shan and Karen, the enemies of their blood, had parted with theirs reluctantly and at a high cost. Treacherous by nature they had eventually joined forces with the Burmese generals and assisted them in their murderous campaign against the other ethnic groups. Max knew he would have to step smartly to keep his body organs in their correct place.

Max was well aware Jerry was in for a hard time but the Finn had assured him that he had been through it before. If the rewards were there he would cope, and Max had already put a hundred thousand baht in his account. The buy had gone off well, both _Farangs_ aware that every detail would be reported to the Thai police and had gone over the procedure a dozen times. Max had crossed the border early and tested the E in a hotel room then doing the buy in a large outdoor restaurant adjacent to the border post. Ignoring the sellers' advice to leave immediately he had gone across the street to another restaurant and started drinking with a waiting Jerry. Horrified by this lack of professionalism the Wa had departed; arguing publicly about the distribution of Max's money. Another identical back pack had been produced and Max headed for the border, the Finn nursing what the Americans called a speed ball that he would put in his arm when his courage needed a touch of insanity. He only drank now from habit; now that his Aussie mates were all gone he didn't enjoy it as much anyway.

Max raised his arms and was patted down while the Thai police tore the lining out of his backpack; no way was there twenty five kilos of powder there. The floor was littered with pirate DVD movies and cheap clothing, the typical purchases of a _Farang_ tourist on a day trip to Myanmar. Police Colonel Duangvichit was not amused; the easy money from the amateur deal was not working out as simply as he had assumed. He could hold Max but if he did the big blonde _Farang_ who obviously had the drugs may not make the crossing, leaving the Burmese to take all the pickings. The drugs could be confiscated and sold back to the supplier, a common practice every time people who were not in the system turned up to make a buy. A hundred thousand US wasn't peanuts and maybe his superior would stop making jokes about his Lao name for a piece of that. Also there would be _Farangs_ to put in jail. Thinking deeply he smiled at Max in apology and indicated to the police to let him go.

End of chapter 1

Chapter 2

Max spent some time thinking over his breakfast rice and omelette. Not being a fan of Chinese steamed buns he had settled into a Thai restaurant, sending across the road for Chinese tea. He couldn't see any problem getting down to Chiang Mai where he would get the train to Bangkok. Booked well ahead he would arrive with minutes to spare and be on his way before anyone noticed. Being a tall, fat Farang had its disadvantages when it came to being inconspicuous in Asia. He felt a twinge of guilt when he thought about the Finn's breakfast, no way would Duangvichit have accepted his protestations of drunken innocence, but hopefully the backpacker girls would have fled back to Mae Hong Song before someone inquired about their part in the drama. You could never tell with fucking junkies though.

Warming up the BMW he headed south through the mountains, happy with the difficult drive, time spent behind the wheel was easy time to him. Ten years driving cabs in Adelaide had sorted that out, as had twenty years in the trucks. When people pointed out he must be eighty years old with all the jobs he had had Max merely said that a hundred hours a week allowed for considerable over lapping. He liked the cabs and had nearly bought one but Leah wanted her own house, a good investment back then. Sure, but when you had your own car you could run it eighteen hours a day, only coming home for a nap and a quick bang, essential to keep you from accepting the many offers a good looking young cabby got. Better than living on café food and pills to keep awake, the customers could pick that in an instant. His mate PJ had cleaned his act up big time with his own cab in Hobart; pity he hadn't given the smokes away too.

Max left the car at the Thapae Gate, a well known part of the northern Thai city of Chiang Mai, ringing the hire firm with directions and an apology for not returning it to the office, saying he would pick up the false passport and the deposit the following week, flagged a passing tuktuk and headed for the airport. He was there long enough to buy a cheap suit case, concealing the backpack and his own small bag, walked out and got a cab to the train station. Timing it well he settled into first class for what he hoped would be a relaxing ride to the capital.

Waking up with a start- and a erection, it was amazing how a night of sex fired up the system, Max looked out the window. Fucking police every where on the platform and some of higher rank than the normal tourist checking squad.

Where was he?

Phitsanulok, a large city of central Thailand; what to do now?

He grabbed his bag and headed down the train to the third class carriages, there would be a crowd down there and a pack of tuktuk drivers waiting for customers among the backpackers getting off the train. He went down the steps and pushed through the crowded platform, people getting on, people getting off, tuktuk drivers clutching at potential customers; he was off the platform and into a tuktuk before the delighted driver realised he had a fare. Declining an invitation to see the Chinarat Buddha or partake of a massage with a friendly young lady he directed the driver to Wang Thon, a few kilometres east of the city, but safely off the Bangkok to Chiang Mai road and rail routes. He would get the bus there and flee to the North East, crossing the Mekong at Nong Kai into Laos.

God, Laos, it would be like going home.

Max looked out of the window as the land grew steadily poorer; Isaan, the largest and least wealthy province of Thailand, a land that supplied it's daughters to the bars and brothels of Central and South Thailand. Max had slept with Isaan girls as far south as Sungai Kollok, a shit hole brothel town on the Malaysian border. They catered almost exclusively to Malay men who crossed the border to frolic at pursuits denied them in there own country. Max still remembered the joyous reception he had received on his first visit, ordering a round of drinks in a small bar and sending out for Tom Yam Goom- spicy shrimp soup, pork BBQ and rice for all; while across the street half a dozen gloomy Malay men shared a soft drink and dickered with the Mama San for a bulk rate.

Isaan girls, nearly every Farang who married a bargirl ended up with an Isaan girl. Max remembered that once, drunk in the early days, he had asked a stunningly beautiful Korat girl why she worked bar. She looked at him in amusement, "When I was a little girl" she said, "my father walked to the village meeting, sat at the back and said nothing. Now he rides there on his new motorbike, sits in the front row and when he speaks, everybody listens. That's because I work bar."

Few things are less comfortable than a Thai inter-provincial bus if your weight is in excess of a hundred kilos and your back nearly crippled from years of picking up things that were too heavy. Especially if some of them didn't belong to you.

Max made the most of the many stops to stretch, finally giving up at Udon Thani, he capital of the North East, it was too late to cross the border bridge anyway and he had to think about the dangers of leaving through Thai immigration. Getting into Laos across the Mekong illegally was a breeze, a hundred small boats made the trip across the river every night carrying cheap Thai goods to Vientiane and returning with Lao produce and illegal immigrants for the factories and brothels of Thailand.

Getting back into Thailand was another matter, he had planned to run overland, south to the Malay border- a simple tactic using the Thai road and rail system but the Thai police were onto him, The fucking Wa had set him up, he had hoped to buy the E off the Shan, they had a reputation for honesty and may have even walked it across the border in the mountains, making delivery in Thailand. The charade at the border with the Finn had definitely been plan B, covering the worst case scenario. Now the hunt was on, the police wouldn't expect Max to head for Laos, but his name would probably come up on the computer the minute he handed his passport over. Better to cross illegally, stamping his own passport using the skilfully crafted Thai immigration exit stamp he had purchased in Bangkok's Khao San Road, then go back into Thailand through one of the 'casino border crossings' where the immigration officials just stamped the passports and ignored the computer. This meant back to the Golden Triangle, only a few kilometres from the Mae Sae crossing hehadjustleft or overland through Cambodia to cross near Hat Lek.

Max went into town from the bus station and booked into a cheap centrally located hotel. The temptation to do the extra hour into the border town of Nong Kai was there but time wise it made little difference. He showered up and walked around to Steve's Bar; more of a restaurant than bar, Steve's Thai missus had run a good food pub in London for ten years before her first husband died, then she married Steve and talked him into taking her back to Thailand. He had had a few laughs in this bar in the past, no bar girls but draught Heineken and good grub. Imported Australian lamb chops were a house speciality and after two days with one meal it fitted the bill precisely.

One night he had walked in on a visa run, where a temporary visa was extended by leaving the country, from Laos and watched hilariously while the place stopped dead leaving Steve to serve the drinks. The eyes of every waitress and barmaid were glued to the TV in stunned silence; the English magician David Copperfield was weaving his spell over the audience. Max had caught one's eye, "Phee Mor?" he said, Ghost Doctor?

She never doubted it for a minute. Sophisticated Thais they may pretend to be but they were all Lao or Khmer this far to the North East. They knew a genuine witch doctor when they saw one.

The draught beer and lamb chops settled Max down; he was wary of this, feeling good didn't necessarily mean things were good but at least you could put things in perspective. He could cross the bridge early using his second legal passport, a British one. If he was questioned by the sleepy Thai officials about the lack of an entry stamp he would produce the Australian, showing the near lack of empty pages as an explanation for the switch. There would be no police there and if they put the number of the Aussie passport into the computer he would just walk away, hopefully across the bridge into Laos, stamping the passport himself on the way. There was no love lost between the Thais and the Lao anyway, the Lao still holding a grudge over several border wars and the Thai theft of the Emerald Buddha, which they had stolen from the Thaïs several centuries before.

The beer was going down well and as usual Max's thoughts turned to the fair sex, One of the waitresses was particularly attractive but Max doubted she was on the game. He had a lot of mates in Asia who specialised in the conquest of this type of girl, believing that she was only interested in their charm and good looks. Max knew it was all about money and subsequently only went with girls after the price of the night had been decided up front. Tiredness and booze were catching up with him so calling for the check bin, the tab system of keeping track of the customer's expenditure, he paid up, tipped the waitress and barmaid a hundred baht each and walked out to their grateful wais.

He decided he wouldn't mind getting laid; if he ran into Da in Vientiane tomorrow being horny would offer no assistance in any discussions. Plus if he ended up in the slammer it could be a while before he got a sniff of pussy again. Entering the hotel foyer he noticed a group of young women sitting in the corner. An older woman beckoned him over but he turned away with a show of indifference; one of the girls approached him as he picked up his key but he smiled and said " _Mai kop khun khap, mao mak mak_ ", no thanks, drunk too much. Letting himself into the room he turned on the air con and TV and laid back on the bed expectantly. Within minutes there was a knock on the door, he let it knock twice then opened it, leaving the security chain in. Two girls stood there smiling. Sure, they would do nicely.

Max had slept with three girls at the same time once and when telling of it to gaping pub drinkers in Australia said that the problem was that you kept losing your place and having to start again. He always enjoyed a threesome though, letting the girls work on him, usually one either end, until he was ready to burst. He didn't mind if they messed around together a little bit but was not into extended lesbian shows, he could watch that on porn movies and save paying the girls.

The first time he tried it was at a beach resort one Christmas in Northern Luzon about two hundred miles north of Manila. He had got drunk and taken a half African-American girl back to the hotel suite, he had been in the chips then and it had a living room and a spa tub. The girl said she could she could only stay an hour, she had to get home. Max hated that, he should have been told it was a "short time" before leaving the bar and had angrily taken her back and claimed a refund.

Somewhat annoyed with himself he had gone back to the hotel, and reluctant to sleep alone on Christmas Eve had looked into the hotel night club. It was minutes from closing time and most of the remaining dancers were getting dressed but a solitary girl still swayed hopefully on the stage. Max paid her bar fine her on the spot. The bar fine system, for the uninitiated, involves a payment to suposedly compensate the bar for the loss of the girls work if she leaves with you. In Thailand it means exactly that and the wise man negotiates a fee for any extracurricular activities he may be hoping for before he pays it. In the Philippines it usually covers the earlier mentioned activities for the duration of the night as well.

The girl was strangely reluctant and Max, drunk, annoyed and unromantic had banged away for half an hour before falling asleep unfulfilled. The next morning both were apologetic and she asked if she could spend the day with him. Max was going to the nearby town of San Fernando to check the markets for silver jewellery and had plans involving less alcohol and a more enthusiastic girl for that night. Considering himself kind hearted to a fault with the opposite sex Max said he would call in and buy her a drink.

Returning with tongue dragging about four that afternoon, conveniently the bar's opening time, he ducked in and, ordering a San Miguel, he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit bar. The girls were getting onto the stage in their dancing "costumes" a small bikini, and Max thought he recognised his erstwhile partner. Beckoning her down to his table she came and sat beside him and he realised she was several years younger, about nineteen, a considerable effort on his part considering his alcohol intake the night before. As she looked at him with out recognition he saw the correct girl enter the bar and duck down behind the island stage when she saw them. The penny dropped. Wrong girl, right girl comes in and tries to hide to save embarrassment all round. Oh boy. Max went and got her, full of apologies, they looked similar he said. They were similar, at least cousins, possibly even half-sisters; small hooked nosed girls from southern Mindanao, Arab blood. Pure Sulu Sea pirate stock.

All pride restored with a drink Max started looking at his watch, he had heard of Philipino bars in town where nearly anything could happen and he wanted to conduct a survey. The older girl recognised the signs immediately and suggested Max take them both on. "One up, one down" she said. Max stopped dead in the act of calling for the check bin. Two girls?

Was he up to it?

Even then, on his way to his mid fifties, he still surprised himself on occasions . "OK, why not?" he said. While they were doing whatever bargirls do before leaving the bar Max hurried back to the suite and turned on the spa tub taps. Teenage masturbatory fantasies were rushing through his mind and all would be played out tonight, he could see it coming.

The girls arrived and primly removed their clothes, holding towels against their bodies as they tiptoed into the tub. Max joined them, raising the water level considerably. Strategically placed beers added to the festive atmosphere and the three people began to cleanse each other. The younger girls body was stunning, her small breasts were rock hard almost as if silicone enhanced, impossible up here. He washed her down and grabbing his shampoo he began washing her hair; always a turn on for him and guaranteed to put even the most hardened bargirl off balance. Looking down he saw that the older girl was soaping her work mate's breasts unnoticed. Suddenly realising what was going on the younger girl pulled away, squealing with embarrassment and outrage. Max nearly lost it; dragging the girls from the tub they rinsed off and set to partners on the bed.

As an introduction to threesomes no man could have wished for more, the older girl refused to let him enter her, directing his efforts at the younger who welcomed him with mouth and pussy eagerly. Finally collapsing utterly sated on the stained sheets Max marvelled at his endurance as the younger girl rolled to the other side of the bed and fell instantly asleep. Dozing off himself Max was awakened by an angry blow on the back. The older girl took his hand and placed it between her legs. She wanted to be fucked and badly. Her very arousal brought Max back to life and the girl came the second he entered her. Her single orgasm lasted fifteen minutes before she passed out.

The next morning she woke early and talked to Max earnestly. If he stayed with her he could do this all the time; she would organise anything he wanted and as long as she could be there it would be OK.

"Bloody hell," thought Max, "but what would a man do to give himself a treat?" He slept all the way while his amused fellow traveller drove back to Manila.

The pair of young Thai ladies were not in the Filipina girls' class but they took the edge off his anxiety about the following day, like most Thai prostitutes they had picked up some basic massage and managed to get the kinks out of his back allowing him the untroubled sleep that had become so essential to his wellbeing in his later life.

As usual Max abandoned sophisticated plans and headed for the border like any other tourist, first the bus then a tuktuk to the Friendship Bridge, declining the drivers kind invitation to allow his brother to organise his visa. Force of habit made him do it himself at the border and save ten USD. The sleepy Thai immigration officer hardly glanced at his passport.

"Kop chai lai lai", he said to the Lao border official as he passed through, thank you very much, his first Asian language slipping easily off his tongue.

End of chapter 2

Overland Run: part 3

Walking out of the immigration area Max strolled across to the collection of decrepit taxis and tuktuks lined up in the car park. The same old faces sauntered across to him and inquired where he wished to go. He negotiated an hourly rate, saying that he had indeterminate business on the way to Vientiane and directed the driver east, away from the city. Five or six kilometres later, on a road he knew well having dodged every pothole on it by motorbike many times, he halted the driver next to a couple of Lao style houses and got out, giving him twenty baht and pointing to the small restaurant across the road telling him in halting Lao to eat, he would have at least an hour to kill. A small, very pretty girl child, came out of one of the houses and let out a shriek when she saw him, turning and running back into the house. It was Per, Da's daughter, and she would be first with the news that Max was back. Still remembered after four years thought Max, he remembered that Per, then four and rarely seeing her mother would attack her violently if she showed any affection to someone other than her. Max had stopped Da punishing the kid saying it would only make her worse and then made sure that she was not left out of any hugs on the rare occasions they saw her. Poor little bitch he thought, passed around the family all her life while Mum worked bar to keep everybody. Da's mother wasn't much help, living in Thailand with an unemployed tuktuk driver, but her two sister's were good people- Noh and Noi, both married, Noi separated. The family had tried to direct him away from Da to Noi doubting that she would be able to keep him. Da was incapable of refusing any one with fifty USD, equally incapable of seeing that fucking for money had any bearing on a relationship.

Still, she had loved Max for a year, believing that he would take care of her and her family, and given the time over again he probably would have. Their year together had changed Max's outlook on life completely, she had painstakingly shown him how to get along in Asia. Politeness was every thing and any show of anger was demeaning to everyone involved; laughter was not always to show humour, it could cover embarrassment, disappointment or grief. Max vividly remembered a video he had seen later of a Khmer Rouge executioner being interrogated by Vietnamese forces after the invasion of Cambodia, which had stopped the genocide that had been totally ignored by every other country in the region as well as the United States. The man, possibly minutes from death himself, had confessed to numerous murders while laughing nervously and artificially through out.

Living with a woman nearly thirty five years his junior had been a first for him too. One night she had taken him to a disco that played only music that Max had assumed was techno. Deafened and disorientated by the flashing lights and thrashing beat he had seen a boy collapse on the dance floor, his first experience with the party drugs. Later the police had come, checking a few ID cards, mainly the good looking girls, and had looked at Max in silence for a long time.

He had loved her friends, all young and beautiful they would turn up at the apartment he shared with Da bearing shopping bags of food from the market and cook up huge Lao meals. Broke at the time Max had eaten anything put in front of him, whole boiled cucumbers in soup, pig's entrails crisped on a charcoal fire and one memorable day liver and cauliflower soup. On the side they had pounded up at least half a kilo of the tiny _prik nuu_ \- "mouse shit" chillies; serving Max first then stirring the chilli, mixed with a little fish sauce, into the remaining soup. It had made Max's eyes water from two metres away.

After eating they would sleep on the floor, arms around each other like lovers, a less charitable man would have suspected lesbian relationships but Max had never seen any other sign of one. He suspected they just took all of the genuine affection they could find.

Then the cards would come out; Max was a reasonable card player having played serious bridge at one stage of his life and they taught him the game. It was a form of a game he had played as a child and called rummy; the Americans called a similar game gin. Most of the girls were dynamite players and Buddha help Max if he played the wrong card, allowing the girl next to him to lay down her hand in triumph. One day Va, an older girl, who worked with Da as the cashier and manager of their bar had turned up with two nearly full quart bottles of spirits. She had been running a little river front bar on the side in what her boss called a bamboo tent, and the authorities had evicted her, and a dozen similar establishments, on in the expectation of future development.

The word passed around rapidly and the neighbours turned up for a party, some bearing booze them selves. Not fond of the available gin or vodka, Max had gone and bought a bottle of Thai whiskey for himself, drinking it with Coke. Several hours later the place had looked like a bombsite, bodies asleep every where, only a surprisingly sober Max and a not so sober Tip left standing- or sitting, anyway. Tip was a stunning beautiful Lao girl with Chinese features, Lao people were very much a mixture of ethnic appearances, ranging from slim pale Chinese like Tip to short dark mountain people like Va. He suggested cards and her not having any money had decided to play for kisses. Win or lose Max got a kiss- starting on the cheek and moving to her bud-like lips. Just as he was about to suggest below the neck kisses, possibly progressing to below the waist, Da had woken up and goggled drunkenly at them.

Years later Va had told him that Tip had been bitterly disappointed at the outcome and had schemed on how to arrange a rematch for a long time.

The girls drinking habits were surprising. Da could make a Bourbon and coke last all night and walk out leaving half the drink behind; then on other, rare, occasions get falling down drunk. Not working under the "lady drink" system where they received a percentage of the cost of the drink from the bar, they felt no obligation to accept drinks from customers which possibly prevented the slide into the alcoholism that so many Thai bargirls suffered from. Of the others only Va drank on a daily basis.

The family came out to meet Max in force, they had genuinely liked him even though he had contributed little to the family coffers. He had left before his divorce settlement and only returned briefly on a couple of occasions since, usually with a mate who was disinclined to spend time with a local family. Realising he would have to eat with them Max sent across the road for deep fried chicken's feet and other finger food and several bottles of Beer Lao. They ate and talked, with difficulty, a mixture of Lao, Thai and English. A young niece was produced, a shy leggy fourteen year old on Max's last visit, to assist in the conversation with her schoolgirl English. Max had found that the Lao were generally better educated than the Thais, particularly the older ones. He had known many who spoke Russian, having studied at universities in the old USSR, French from their colonial heritage, Vietnamese, the language of their new colonial masters and Lao and Thai. English was a common language in Vientiane, a left over from the Vietnam war days.

Finally he broached the subject, where was Da? They were immediately evasive, discussing it amongst themselves. Da was in Thailand. Pattaya? , Bangkok? More evasion, obviously she was with someone else. He summonsed the taxi driver, giving both the sisters fifty USD; he knew this was an enormous amount for them, a worker was lucky to get a dollar a day here. Max accepted their wais, a wai from a Lao was worth ten from a Thai and the smile always genuine. The Lao took no shit from anyone.

Settling back in the collapsing taxi seat he directed the cab to a near riverside hotel in Vientiane. The couple of bottles of beer he had drank, served by village girls making sure that their heads were always lower than his, had whetted his appetite. Not that, he thought ruefully, it took much to whet his appetite these days.

Showering, always showering- Da had taught him that the stench of unwashed bodies was one of the more offensive things in South East Asia, then with an application of deodorant and aftershave he headed for the town. Stopping at an exchange he picked up a wad of kip, smaller than in the old days he thought when the largest note was five thousand- about fifty cents US, now they came in tens and twenties. He could have paid in Baht or even USD but he liked the millionaire feeling of kip. First to the Samlo Pub, darkness was falling and he walked in and ordered a Beer Lao. The Samlo, prince among pubs, once run by the legendary Paul T Bounds who had sold it to his Cambodian manager Putt, a street kid Paul had pick up out of a garbage heap after his dying mother had carried him to Laos from the killing fields of Phnom Penh, on foot. Now Paul had disappeared somewhere in Thailand, the heavy daily intake of alcohol finally taking it's toll, and Putt owned everything. A lesson to us all thought Max.

Putt as always was pleased to see Max, he sat where he could see the till and Max knew none of the girls. As always, the girls had work to do in the Samlo, tending bar, cleaning up, cooking and none left the bar till closing time. After that was their business.

Soon the freelance prostitutes would be in, he would know most of them, Niem of the slim body and the five children, she had moved in with Max and Da for while and he had teased her, "didn't your Mama ever teach you that boom boom made babies?" She was the worst card player Max had ever seen and had started moving her children in one by one until one day he had thrown her out. The crunch had come when Max was watching a new neighbour move in. A Lao man of Max's age who had lived in America for twenty years then been sent back by his company to establish a business footing. He had looked in the open door and seen an unhappy Max watching a group of kids play cards. "Do you know how old these children are?" he said.

Max knew that none were over eight.

Max explained the situation.

"No good for you" said the Lao man.

That misunderstanding sorted out for the meantime he proudly introduced Max to the young lady who would be keeping him company for the duration of his stay. Plump, twenty two, pleasant faced and not very bright, Max made appreciative noises. Unfortunately Da arrived on her motorbike, hair flying, clad in shorts and tank top, leaping from the bike blowing Max a kiss and running inside. After at least a minutes stunned silence the Lao man turned sadly away. Still speaking English he said. "I suppose it's all very well for those who can afford it."

Glory days.

The other girls, half Indian Pian, then sixteen and mildly retarded, Paul used to tell the punters she was the last of the Lao royal line, "one of the old Kings grand daughters" he would say. Sometime she used to fuck them under the abominable pool table up stairs. One of her regulars was a senior embassy official who turned up in suit and tie once a week. He always gave her a thousand baht note that Paul's Thai wife would cash for her giving her back five hundred baht in Kip. Pian always sent out for food for everybody when she had a customer.

Glory days.

Door, who had lived in France, well educated and speaking perfect English; her Belgian ex boyfriend was in a Lao jail and likely to remain there for a while.

"What for?" Max had asked Paul one day.

"For being a fucking arsehole" Paul had said.

Max had taken her along with Da and the other girls to a large hotel swimming pool one day and she had flaunted her body in a bikini in front of the tourists, unashamed of what she did to live. Marijuana was her drug of choice.

Glory days.

Max raised a glass to Putt, no good buying the miserable sod a drink; he was only here so the word would get out of his arrival. He finished his drink and paid the check bin and walked into the now dark street. As he left he heard a squeal of delight and a bowling ball shaped figure ran to him almost dragging him to the footpath with a hug. Big Deng, deputy to the Nai Barn the, chief of the local government area.

Chief ? Mayor, supreme court judge, militia commander and lord high executioner was more like it. A useful woman to know. She loved Max as much as everyone else did. One night, weeping bitterly after Eric, her Icelandic boyfriend, had betrayed her with two half Nigerian girls, a not uncommon blood line in Laos, she had begged Max to sleep with her. Da was out of town and Max had looked at it and declined with an eye to future consequences. "No boom boom, just to hold," she had howled.

Sorry darling: one more let down.

Eric was dead she said, killed in the act of demolishing his car, two bottles of Thai whiskey a day had finally caught up. Stan was dead, the Pommy mechanic whom Paul had paid to bash his Thai wife after she had attacked him with a meat cleaver. His Lao wife had stolen all he had and done a runner, unable to find work he had killed himself. The thought of going back to England and begging for a pension after thirty years was too much.

One night, drunk, he had let a lady boy have oral sex with him and next day the whole town knew. The delighted Lao girls, led by Big Deng, had tormented him for weeks. Vientiane was like a small country town for _Farangs_.

Charlie was dead, minor surgery gone wrong in Phnom Penh, Phin his Lao wife had lost the plot and waited in Nong Kai for Max to return, convinced that Da had stolen him from her the first night he had arrived in Vientiane. Fucking hell, thought Max, glad he hadn't lingered in Nong Kai, if you put all this in a book the publishers would laugh you out of town. But that was Laos.

Promising Deng he would return he headed down the quiet street to Khop Chai Der the popular back packer restaurant that served cheap draught beer and over priced food. They specialised in _See Dam_ , the table barbeque shaped like a metal Mexican's hat. Sitting on a charcoal fire with the rim full of stock you grilled meat on the black top, _See Dam_ meant black in Lao and Thai, and braised cabbage like vegetables in the stock. Some of the idiots spent more on food in a night there than they had in the previous week.

Seeing no familiar faces he didn't linger, not one of his favourite watering holes he had gone there on occasions when he felt like playing the old Asia hand to impress the tourists.

As he left a tuktuk driver called out to him "you were the boy friend of Da?"

Max nodded agreement. Now the word would be out for sure. He headed for the Mekong, a street away, he needed a good dose of it. The glimpse he got from the friendship bridge hadn't been anywhere near enough, he wanted to sit and drink and watch the lights of the Thai towns on the other side play on the water. It was a shadow of the river he had first known, sand bars black in the moonlight, he remembered when dozens of dragon boats had staged a regatta, each propelled by fifty paddlers. If Max could get ten minutes alone in an American ICBM site he would cheerfully nuke the Chinese dams upstream that were slowly strangling it.

Settling at a street front café, he ordered beer and eyed a small figure who shuffled through the dirt towards him. Filthy, with legs twisted at grotesque angles from polio, it was Noi the crippled boy-man who had a begging round in the city. Most of the Vientiane beggars were street kids or mentally retarded and they all gave Noi a wide berth. Max had given him a five thousand kip note most days and Noi had kept the other beggars away when he had drank and eaten with Da at the riverfront restaurants. Intelligent and shrewd he had been to Europe also, taken by Eddie the imprisoned Belgian, where doctors had looked at his legs and shrugged. The disease had run it's course and the paralysed legs were beyond salvation.

Noi hadn't made the most of his opportunities, fond of drugs he had settled for begging. Max didn't doubt that put in the poor little bugger's situation that most people would have turned to drugs too. One day he had seen him in a pristine white shirt, incongruous against the other rags and the matted filth of his hair. To Max's amused inquiry Noi had loftily informed him that he was on his way to school. He reached out a small strong hand in supplication, "Max, I need fifty thousand kip for my books." Laughing, Max had given him ten thousand- twice the usually daily score. Most of the expats despised Noi, they had all given him money for a fresh start and he had blown it. Even Paul had finally got sick of him but Max was not judgemental, very much a pragmatist he believed in the right of everyone to change the circumstances of their rebirth.

One night when Da was in Thailand, he had knocked on Max's door. He was clean, his shining hair neatly combed. He scrambled onto a chair and accepted tea. It was a nice place he said, plenty of room, how about if he moved in with Max? Max averted his eyes, fine by him he said but Da wouldn't stand for it, didn't want anyone else living there. Sorry.

Another friend who had expected too much of Max.

Noi, a common name in the Tai group of languages- meaning small and therefore often unoriginally given to children of both sexes, said he hadn't seen Da but would keep an eye open. Times were hard he said, the standard of tourists had risen and the police kept moving him on. His three wheel cart was in the repair shop, he needed twenty thousand kip to get it out. His clothes were rags but fifty thousand would get him out of the shit all round. Max handed it over to the astounded Noi without further discussion who obviously bitterly regretted not asking for more. He looked at Max again, there were other changes besides the weight and the extra years. Sometimes being tall and complete wasn't everything. He waved and moved off towards a group of tourists, scooping up a little more dirt and rubbing it into his hair.

Da pulled up on the red Honda Dream.

"Hello" she said, "Remember me?"

End of chapter 3

Chapter 4.

Da had loved Max but had no illusions about him. When he had came back to Vientiane expecting to live with her after a brief earlier affair, which she considered at the time that she had never been properly compensated for, he had handed over a wad of US dollars telling her to get an apartment, furnish it with fridge and TV and get herself a motorbike. A motorbike, all her friends had motorbikes but her family had always come first; enough for a new Honda Dream, 110ccs and shining red. She hadn't bought a new one although there was sufficient money, carefully checking the second hand models, knowing that one a year old, it must be repossessed of course, would have run any problems out of its system. With that single stroke he had won her heart.

Amazingly she found that Max was easy to live with, easygoing, clean and above all totally accepting of her culture and religion. She found out early that his funds were limited and suspected he would move on when he became wealthier. Still, while it lasted, it was better than working the Samlo Pub. She hated Putt who had propositioned her then cut her wages for every shortage in the till when she had laughed at him. Max was easily pleased; sexually he was lazy and uncomplicated. Sure he never took his eye off the other girls but had never made a move on them either. That slut Tip had tried her best but he had never bothered. He had been smart enough to realise that she would have known about it before his cock was dry.

The only problem for her had been Rick, slim and athletic he brought American tour groups to South East Asia four times a year and always summoned her to spend two weeks with him at the end of the tour. Once he had given her a thousand USD and often two hundred dollars would turn up in her bank account. This was money she could not, would never be able to, afford to lose. Da knew that she was beautiful, more than that she was vibrant with personality to burn. Men, particularly _Farangs_ , loved being seen in public with her, seeing other men's envious looks. She knew her body wasn't so hot any more, Per had seen to that. Married at fourteen, giving birth at fifteen; her husband, thirty years older and furiously jealous- with good reason, she had fucked half the village boys before he started beating her, then one day bashing him back, unnaturally strong, she had broken his nose and blackened his eyes, telling him he wasn't Per's father. The laughing stock of the village he had moved to Thailand in humiliation and the family had brought Da down to Paul at the Samlo Pub.

Max had often joked about giving her a good hiding and one day she had wrapped her arms around him and lifted him off the ground. At that time he had been ninety six kilograms, exactly twice her weight. A fly in the ointment had been Paul's wife Dang, the Thai girl, who always wanted Da to go with her to the expensive hotels to pick up rich travellers. She had given that up but Dang had harped on about it constantly, unable to understand why she would give up the money for Max.

Too complicated, too close to home.

Their life had been better than good, Max had soon tired of the disco scene, happy to have a few beers around town and talk bullshit to the tourists. She took him to Lao weddings and birthday parties and it was if he had been born to it. Never superior, only returning a wai if it was offered, shaking hands gently without the bone crushing grip detested by Asian men- most of whom could have taken out a _Farang_ twice their size, and dancing with the old ladies in the traditional circle. He ate and drank everything offered, even dipping into the tray of duck's blood with chilli, coriander and peanuts offered after a _bar-see_ , the traditional Lao religious ceremony held in the home on special occasions, one night. The ex-monk doing the ceremony, deeply impressed, had thanked Max for coming in a formal speech and made jokes about the quality of Lao pussy. Even Da didn't know how much he understood, but he always looked as though he followed every word and laughed in the right places.

Cum, the public servant's, weekend parties- only for his cronies and their _mia noi_ , young girlfriends, that she had taken him to. Max would need all the government friends he could get if he was to live in Laos. Cum had no wife but two girlfriends and brought them on alternative weekends. Max used to get their names mixed up causing great hilarity amongst the other Lao men. The men drank Johnny Walker Black label, served by Cum's girlfriend in a single glass around the table. The first time they had believed a _Farang_ would think that one glass amongst six was easy drinking so he would continue to drink beer between rounds and would fall by the wayside quickly. Max had taken to the Chinese tea on the table, drinking cup after cup between whiskeys until only he and Cum were left drinking. Cum had embraced Max and kissed him, the only _Farang_ he ever wanted for a friend he said.

Later, after food, a man had arrived with opium. Max had watched fascinated while he had scraped shavings into whiskey in a porcelain lid, dissolving it into a black tar, then to Max's disgust he painted it on a cigarette. Declining the offer of the drug he had later said to Da that he had been disappointed when a large water pipe wasn't produced. She had asked him if he wanted to try it that way but he said no, he already had enough bad habits.

So here he was, back in Lao; she had been in Nong Kai with her mother and her new baby, Frank's baby, when she got the news. Frank the American bar owner in Pattaya who hadn't been able to keep his hands off his own staff while she was pregnant. Totally stupid, a hundred thousand girls in town and he had humiliated Da on their door step. One night she had broken a beer bottle over his head and taken the baby and got the bus back to Lao. He was lucky it hadn't been a knife to his cock. She knew that he would follow her eventually but now Max was an added complication. The crux of the matter was that she loved Max, had wept for a week when he had told her, by email of course, that it was time they both moved on.

She thought about Jane, her new daughter, life would be as hard for her as it had been for Da as a child if she never had a _Farang_ father or uncle to take care of her. Jane would never be beautiful like Per, or even be pretty, having her father's heavy Irish features that had not mixed well with her Asian blood. She thought about Max's baby, if it had been Max's- doubt had made her abort it, so many abortions, sometimes unable to afford the pill, sometimes forgetting to take it and sometimes it just hadn't worked. Terminations were so easy, just an evil black pill and a couple of day's pain and illness.

Damn Max for a fool for not taking her sister Noi; sure Noi was plain and plump but what did that matter in a wife. _Farang_ men were so stupid; he could have been her brother in law and built Noi a home on the Mekong that he was always looking at. A home that Da could have come back to when it all got too hard in Bangkok or Pattaya. Noi would have waited on him hand and foot, and saved five hundred out of every thousand kip he gave her, she cared nothing for clothes, jewellery or cell phones. Max could have come and gone as he pleased, fucked every whore in Thailand then come back to Noi who would have given him a home and children without recriminations.

Max asked Da how she had been, scrutinising her carefully. She had lost a lot of the appearance of child like innocence that had attracted him to her in the first place, on her twenty first birthday he had taken photos of her in a plain white dress, remarking to Dang that she almost looked virginal causing that most un-virginal lady to laugh that hard she had to sit down.

He had kept those photos for years, sticking them on the wall of the cheap rooming house where he had lived in Brisbane while waiting for his divorce settlement to come through. He remembered the shared bathroom and kitchen and the other residents; alcoholics, a few junkies, all wary of Max who barely spoke to them- once shoving a man half his age down the stairs without a moments hesitation after being threatened. Following him down stairs he had stamped on the guys dislocated kneecap causing him to pass out with the pain. The old Max would have talked to him, given him a few bucks, settled things peacefully but now he had things to do, places to go. No time for that bullshit. The next day he suggested to the guys on his floor that they all kept the kitchen clean and they had done it with out argument. When his money came through they had come out onto the footpath and shook his hand and stood and watched the taxi drive off until it was out of sight.

Da ordered food, the standard river front fare- fried pork, fried rice and sliced cucumber; he would have preferred the barbequed chicken on bamboo sticks and sticky rice from the evening street stalls on Khounboulom Road but that could wait for another night. He let Da talk, she told him about Jane and Frank and he agreed that Frank was a dickhead but she should give him another chance. Maybe she should talk him into moving to Nong Kai, there was only one decent bar there and more and more _Farangs_ were moving up that way as they married Isaan bargirls.

Max had no illusions about marrying a bar girl, it could be done if it was handled properly. When he started with Da he would give her weekly housekeeping but she would be broke in two days, then he gave her money to run the house when she asked for it. If it was for the family she had to tell him; he knew that there was no way out of giving them money but he kept it to a minimum. Noh's husband, the head of the family was an OK guy, he looked hard for work and every year took his family to Thailand when friends got a building contract. Max had thought about setting up a woodworking shop in Vientiane, giving jobs to the family, He could train them, he had basic skills there, but every stick of timber in Laos was controlled and sold by the Army; Eric the Icelander had told him that, he had a contract to set up sawmills in the north but had fucked it up with booze and bad temper. If things were done slowly in Thailand the Lao made them look like greased lightening and losing your temper with them was nothing short of financial suicide.

However his immediate problem was getting the drug stash into a southerly direction, if the Lao police got wind of it, or worse the Army, the consequences would be catastrophic. He had decided to go over land to Siem Reap in Cambodia playing the tourist taking his bargirl girlfriend to see the sights. Da would be the first choice there. He had to be careful, if she suspected the E she would run a mile. He would ask her to come then offer money if she was reluctant. He had to think of an excuse for not flying, he suspected that the airport scanners were drug sensitive and didn't want to find out the hard way. If he could stick to trains and buses and get down into Malaysia, the next step to Indonesia was easy. What ever happened was better than going back to Australia and living his final years out in a fucking doss house.

They walked across the road to the river bank, a few bamboo bars had sprung up again when the promised development hadn't realised. Da knew he would want to drink and look at the river and listen to her talk. She made a couple of efforts to draw him out on his life since he had left but he shook his head, too many fuck ups, too many bars and too many women he said. She said she had to go and got on the motorbike looking at him for a long time then swinging across the road, hair flying. Max drank a little longer, looking at the river, then paid the bill and walked back to the hotel.

He never even asked for the key, just walked past the desk to the stairs, they knew her of old, and would have handed it over with out question. He knocked on the door and after a minute she answered, wet and wrapped in a towel. Not the first time he had dragged her out of the shower, they used to joke about it. He stripped and joined her in the shower and she soaped him down and washed his hair while he sat on the toilet seat. Then she squatted as he washed hers, taking his cock into her mouth as he did so. Towelling himself off he went out and lay on the bed, wondering if this was the same room where he had watched the hijacked planes crashing into the twin towers on TV while Da showered after work. Unbelieving he had thought it was a Thai movie until the scene was repeated over and over again. Da had come out and looked when he had pointed at the screen.

"America no good" she said, the three or four years of Communist sponsored education she had received coming to the fore.

Now she came out of the shower and climbed on top of him, " _Boom Pooie_ " she said, Lao for fat. He didn't care and he kissed her face and rubbed her back until tears ran down her cheeks and he licked them off. He ran his tongue down her body, sucking the engorge nipples, never leaving her back alone with his hands; she had liked to pretend she could handle him sexually but he still knew the right strings to pull. Raising his head, knowing she would be disappointed, he traced his tongue around the lobe of her tiny ear. Galvanised she thrust against him, eyes staring, clutching at his cock, trying to force him into her. Turning away he licked the other ear delicately until she wrapped her arms around him and thrashed against him. Gently he lowered his face and put his tongue where she had originally wanted it sucking gently on the small bud of her clitoris. If it was going to be a long night he had better get the first couple of rounds in on points.

The sun was well up by the time Max got back to the river. Sitting at the same table he had breakfasted at for such a long time he ordered eggs and French bread. Stipulating Lipton's tea, a cup of Lao tea contained half a tin of condensed milk, several table spoons of sugar and still came to the table blood red. He remembered when he would arrive at this table with sweat running off him like water, he would walk the full length of the river front road and back, then sitting down and drinking a bottle of cold water while tea and breakfast came.

While he was contemplating the past he realised that he was under scrutiny and looked up. Pale tan slacks, light blue shirt with brown loafers and, God help him, white socks. Why didn't they just get Australian Embassy tattooed on their forehead?

"I presume you're Max Bryant" said the vision splendid. Max looked at him in silence. Slightly disconcerted the man said, "we know who you are, and it's our duty to inform you of the danger your in."

Max continued with the implacable look, practised over the years with various women determined to break through the barrier. Growing more annoyed the official saw Max hold out his hand palm up. Fumbling he produced a card which Max scrutinised for minutes then asked him to stop blocking his view of the river. As Max carefully copied his name into a dog eared note book, David Mortimer- where the fuck did they find these people, the now visibly annoyed pride of the Australian diplomatic corps sat down and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper.

The Thai police, in the person of Police Colonel Duangvichit had informed the Australian Government Embassy in Bangkok that Max Bryant, Australian citizen, had left the country illegally in the possession of a large amount of illegal narcotics. Max's government was reluctant to go to the Lao police after the Bali Nine debacle but felt that Max should return to Thailand and give himself up. The government would do their utmost to have him transferred to an Australian Prison after he had pleaded guilty to avoid the death penalty.

Max finally spoke, letting the contempt leak into his voice. If that was all they could do after all the pairs of pale tan slacks and light blue shirts that Max's taxes had paid for over the years they could stick their help up their arse. The matter between him and Duangvichit was personal and not legal and if he returned to Thailand he would certainly be charged with possession whether he had any drugs or not. Should he be arrested in Laos, carefully omitting that it would not be for the first time, regardless of the circumstances his lawyer would cause the Embassy the greatest public embarrassment possible. So pick the bones out of that and fuck off.

Mortimer got up furious, normally used to Australians coming to his office with their cap in their hand begging for visas for their Lao girlfriend; he had enjoyed telling them that sexual intercourse between a Lao citizen and a foreigner was illegal and they had better get home on the first plane for their own safety. Max was a totally new experience to him; failing to offer the respect he warranted and spurning the generously offered advice.

He would make sure that his report would recommend that this overweight creature with the feral eyes got the full treatment in the unlikely event he should ever step off a plane in Australia again. Striding off, he thought that if this was the type of Australian coming to Laos he had better recommend that the Embassy Club raise their annual dues by another thousand dollars.

Max paid up and headed back to the hotel, Da was still asleep, only hair showing above the thin blanket, so he took a quick shower and slipped, still damp, into the bed. Coming erect almost immediately, certain woman had that effect on him while others needed to work on it; he began to stroke her hair and pushed it aside to kiss the back of her neck. She made a sleepy noise of appreciation and pushed her splendid buttocks into his groin, allowing him to slip between her legs into her pussy. Just like old times he thought.

End of chapter 4.

Chapter 5

The quality of travel information in Laos varies. It mainly depends on how recent it is, the borders of four of it's neighbours opening and closing sporadically. It depends more on the personal safety of travellers than international relations and a spot of banditry can involve border closures as a cheaper option to hunting down the bandits. Difficult when unpaid local police or even soldiers may be involved.

Max wandered down to the guest houses and made inquires, The Cambodian border was definitely closed people said, there had been intermittent fighting between Khmer forces and an unknown group east of Kratie. Former Khmer Rouge fighters were suspected but probably just starving farmers. The Chinese and Vietnamese borders were open but Max disliked the suddenness of justice to drug traffickers there. Too many honest policemen left over from the old days when Communism was God. That left Myanmar and Thailand. Max knew little of Myanmar; Burma he called it, the same as the Thais did- the Burmese were their old enemies, the same as the French were of the English, the Greeks of the Turks. Now they smiled at each other with weasel's teeth and kept their hand on the knife in the back of their belts.

So it was back to Thailand, Noi the beggar would get him to people who would take him across the river and he would run overland to the Malaysian border. He would stamp his passport himself, not that it would matter if he was pulled up. Getting into Malaysia would be easy there was just the small matter of avoiding the Thai police; some of whom would have a photo of Max in their shirt pocket by now, with a promise of a slice of the money that the drugs would bring. That would mean that his first stop would have to be a place where fat aging Farangs were the norm. Where else but Pattaya?

Walking back towards the Samlo Pub, as indecisive as usual, he saw Da at the next door restaurant. She was sitting with big Deng and Ting, the cook at the Samlo. Ting was one of his former apartment visitors, a good plain Farang cook she had been taught by an Australian who turned up out of nowhere before Max's time and disappeared a year later. Paul had suspected that he was a former Pattaya papa-san who had fled a few hours ahead of an audit of the books. Now probably gone to Phnom Penh where new bars were beginning to open. Max had spent time there and had never seen anyone answering the cook's description. A bad place for the light fingered, Phnom Penh.

Deng greeted him happily, offering an imaginative description of his and Da's reunion the night before and expressing the hope that they had had at least one for her. Enjoying the old banter Max informed her that there was one for her anytime she wanted it, preferably more than one. Laughing he joined them and asked Da if she fancied a trip to Pattaya. Stymied by the unexpected offer, she did the Lao thing with difficult questions and ignored it completely. Max wisely never persevered and changed the subject to the old topic of "has anyone heard from Paul and Dang". Not a peep, they had sold up and gone to Udon Ratchathami where Dang had a house for her Mother. Before long Va arrived, eager to see Max and after the reunion they headed for the main street for lunch, breakfast for the girls. Always the noodle soup Max had eaten under a dozen different names from Bali to Loung Prabang, Saigon to Zamboanga, always the same format, noodles in meat stock laden with what ever was cheap and fresh at the market that morning. The main difference regionally being the tray of condiments, chili powder, crushed peanuts, sugar and various sauces. Da ordered extra coriander leaf for Max and watched him add fish sauce and a little fresh chili in rice vinegar. The girls ladled everything on with impunity.

Anyone who claims to be an experienced traveller in South East Asia can easily have his credentials checked by asking him what the womenfolk show the greatest enthusiasm for. The guys who haunt the bars will say things like sex and money or, closer to the truth, children- particularly boy babies. Max didn't doubt for a moment that it was food. Sure there were things more important, money, sex and children, but food was what really mattered to them. He could lose all interest in eating just watching the girls eat, they would devote themselves to a feast, if it was offered, with unrivalled enthusiasm; left to their own devices they would send out for snacks all day, a sliced green mango with salt and chili, a plastic bag full of soup to be tipped into a bowl and shared with the same spoon passed around the table, a handful of larp, the fiery ground meat salad of Laos and the northern provinces of Thailand with a bag of sticky rice eaten with the fingers. If there was too much food they would sleep and eat again. Bodies storing energy for the seasons when the rains may not come.

Max headed for the market, the Talart Sao\- supreme among Asian markets and, after browsing the bottom floor through force of habit and nostalgia, bought a colourful piece of woven string. Feet aching he got a tuktuk back to the hotel and strangely not feeling the need for alcohol slept till Da returned. He took the gold chain off his neck, two baht in weight, nearly an ounce of pure gold, removing the gold encased ancient Buddha amulet and gave the chain to Da. The gold would give her enormous face amongst her friends, easily replaceable as it had no sentimental value but could be redeemed for cash anywhere. The amulet was a different story, centuries old it's power had saved the live of Max's Thai wife's great uncle, shot three times at point blank range in the mountains of the Golden Triangle. Surviving he had ordered the original silver Buddha encased in gold out of gratitude and his nephew's daughter had passed it down to Max. Showing it to Da, no need to explain anything there, she recognised it's importance immediately, he placed it on the string and let her tie it around his neck. Time enough for new gold chains later.

Da was in two minds or more about going to Pattaya with Max; she wanted Frank to come to her so she could milk him for all he was worth for the family. If he saw Max with her he may give up, baby and all. Max by this stage was well into plan B and never pushed the issue suggesting a return to the river front where he could buy a Bangkok Post and read the news with a couple of bottles of Beer Lao, the best way to spend the late afternoon in Vientiane, with the sun going down like a great red ball through the smoke of the burning rice stubble in Thailand over the river.

Noi appeared like a wizened black spider; working the lever of his redeemed three-wheel cart to propel himself a long. Max jokingly offered him a thousand kip and laughed when he turned his head away in contempt, Noi never accepted anything under five thousand from anybody. Clad in new shirt and jeans Max noted that he was comparatively clean by yesterdays standard's. A pair of jeans lasted Noi a week, the toughest denim soon gave up the fight against constantly being dragged on the footpath. Clothes cost money but food was plentiful for all in Vientiane, the street kids hung around the food stalls late at night, begging for leftovers. Max remembered a girl of about six who ran with a gang of children around the same age. She had pale blonde hair and fair skin through the dirt; some German's daughter, sired in a moment of passion and her existence never suspected by her father. Max suspected that she would be carefully watched until she approached puberty then kidnapped and sold in a nearby country where blonde hair was prized. The leader of the gang had been a girl about eight who collected everybody's takings at the end of the day and bought food for the unit. Max had walked past them one night after what had obviously been a good day's begging and surreptitiously watched as the older girl shared out ice creams and small plastic bags of soft drink amongst the tiny homeless children sitting in an eager circle.

Noi accepted Max's invitation to join him and took a glass of beer, imperiously ordering ice from the disgruntled waiter and calling him

or younger sibling. Sure he could get Max to people who would take him across the river, anything for a friend. The charge would be minimal but he would have to pay a tuktuk to take him into Nong Kai and make sure that it was sufficient to keep the driver's mouth shut about him. A group of _katooey_ or lady boys walked past greeting Max and Da; they were friends with the Lao girls who considered them fellow women, trapped in male bodies. Very much accepted in all levels of Thai and Lao society Max had seen them dancing in religious processions many times. They flirted with Max briefly, offering a massage with all the trimmings and laughed when he politely refused. Like drugs they were another bad habit that he did not need. They moved on to cruise the riverfront, their customers generally alone and lurking in the shadows, men too ashamed to mix with homosexuals in their own country they came to Asia to patronise the slim brown boys who had no concept of sexual shame. Some stayed and enjoyed the lifestyle as well, Max had seen a man his age in the Chiang Rai market one afternoon happily telling a young Thai man what he would cook for him that night and showing him the fresh carefully selected vegetables.

They walked back to the hotel; Da wouldn't have cared if he held her hand but Max was wise in the ways of Asia, knowing that the older people would find it offensive. He had been happy with her before and had enjoyed being with her this time but realised that any permanent renewal would be trying to cook on cold ashes. He remembered reading a quote somewhere that said that love was like a good cigar, you could let it go out and relight it but it never tasted quite the same.

Da said she had to stay in Lao, her Mother was ill; Max knew that the only way the old battleaxe would get sick was if she dropped a handful of cards on her toe. He had admonished Da once for giving her money and Da had turned to him and said, "sure, Max, she not good woman but she my Mama and when she dead I don't have". Her father had died when she was young and the family had lived a hand to mouth existence until Da had gone to work in the bar.

Entering the hotel room they surprised two men in the process of emptying Max's case onto the floor and raking through his belongings. His first thought was that they were police but when one produced a knife he knew that they were thieves trying to rip off the dope. Relieved, he picked up the rooms only chair and when they took a step back flung it through the window, shattering it and cascading glass into the street. Horrified they halted their assault and Max grinned and showed them the door. As they left Da came out of her initial shock and showered them with Lao invective and blows from the umbrella she had brought with her the day before, following them down the corridor as they fled from her improving aim. Definitely time to head south thought Max who had put the drugs into a new bag that morning and booked into another hotel as Da slept. He replaced his belongings and bid her farewell. She could handle any police inquiry and pay the hotel for the damage, he could hear the reception staff running up the stairs now, the would be thieves obviously having left by the back door they had forced to enter by. He walked quickly but inconspicuously to the river picking up his other bag on the way and paying the bill. Noi was waiting with a tuktuk and they drove west through the old town and finally stopped at a small dock where a six meter punt laden with farm produce waited, the boatmen indicating Max to hurry. He held out a hundred US to the crippled man but Noi turned his head away; begging was one thing but taking money for helping friends was another. Marveling, Max boarded the boat causing it to lurch dangerously and he sat, half fell, onto a pile of sharp skinned jackfruit.

Minutes later he was in Thailand negotiating the fare into Nong Khai with a smirking tuktuk driver.

End of chapter 5

Overland Run Chapter 6

Nong Khai is arguably the pearl of Isaan; the north east corner of Thailand that's main economic product is it's daughters who travel every year to the bars and brothels of Bangkok and Pattaya. The rainfall is lower and the crops produced usually of poorer quality to those from the rest of Thailand.

Nong Khai, however, is the border crossing town to Laos and hugs the Mekong for several kilometres. It once impressed a Newsweek magazine team to the extent that they included it in a list of one of the top ten places in the world to retire. Based on a number of criteria, cost of living, climate, health care etc they forgot to include distance from the grandchildren. Max genuinely liked Nong Khai, preferring it to Udon Thani, Khon Kien and Korat, the other popular settling places for Farangs in Isaan. As foreigners took up with bargirls they were usually persuaded to set up home in that particular girl's town of origin, and most times this worked out well. The horror stories that did the rounds, in Max's opinion, usually involved guys who weren't capable of sustaining a relationship anywhere else in the world. Sure there were a few mugs but most men spent a year or two in the fleshpots before deciding on a girl, then only after a lengthy courtship. He freely admitted that he was no one to talk having fallen into a few relationships on a single night's acquaintance, usually combining love with a desire to leave town after having outworn his welcome.

A lot of his business investments had gone off the tracks; he had avoided bars, realising that combining alcohol and business was no good for him. A genuine liking for women didn't help either, a brief foray into bar management in the Philippines hadn't lasted long after seriously damaging a customer who brought back a young woman decorated with cigarette burns. Once again, there had been no formal challenge, the guy sneering at Max one moment while complaining that she had refused to indulge in anal sex, then bleeding profusely while trying to work out which were his teeth on the floor and which was broken beer bottle.

His venture into the jewellery field worked well for a while, but cheap products from China cut into his lines and he lacked the capital and the knowledge to compete in the more expensive side of the market. Land speculation in Thailand had also been moderately successful but the properties he still owned were in the name of a Thai woman who suspected that Max may disappear permanently from the scene once he had cashed up.

Paying the driver handsomely when he alighted at the Tesco shopping mall he went in for several minutes, and then left by another entrance, calling a waiting tuktuk and heading for the river front. Booking into one of the hotels there he walked down to the market that ran along the river front. Restaurants were built out over the Mekong and he chose one that offered live freshwater shrimp, directing that they be served in a tom yam soup with rice. Once more he gazed out across the darkened river knowing that one of the lights east of the bridge on the other side was Da's home and wondering if she was there.

The _gung_ (shrimp) were superb and he ordered side dishes of fried chicken wings and leafy steamed green vegetables. Pleased with the meal he wandered the market for a while, buying a gold plated jewellers loupe that he didn't need and as an after thought a good quality flick knife. Knowing the shop owner from previous visits he accepted the offered ten percent discount realising the price was fair and the guy would refuse to allow bargaining for his merchandise.

His next stop was a bar in the main street run by a Dane who Max knew from his time in Vientiane; he was a regular customer of the Lao 'princess' and his bar was a popular meeting point for expats in the area. Max was expecting to see expats there but the sight of Harry sitting at the bar took him back considerably.

"What the fuck are you doing here and how did you know where I was?" demanded Max, "I got Da's phone number when we were here in '04 and rang her from Bangkok" said Harry, "I've been hanging about Bangkok waiting for you to turn up for a week now, that fucking Finn you did the switch with told the police you were heading overland to Europe through China so I worked out you would probably go East, then South, but decided to check with Da who said you had been in Vientiane; so I took pot luck and flew to Udon Thani and headed for the river on the chance you were here."

The short fat man was sweating heavily in the heat but declined a beer, accepting another Sprite lemonade and ice.

"My lawyer said I was going down big time so I decided to do a runner, years of work down the chute over a few drug dealers knocking each other off, they ought to give me a fucking medal."

Max swallowed heavily on the Heineken draught. One thing he did not need was a passenger who didn't know any more of Asia than the bars of Pattaya and Angeles City.

Harry dropped his voice to the typical prison yard whisper, hissing from the side of his mouth;

"Stash the E" he said, "I've got major problems with some of my cash I've sent up here, Charlie Gilmour has been handling it in the Philippines and has started mumbling about investments going wrong. Max, you always said he was an ex-copper cunt that couldn't be trusted and it looks as though you were right; I need a back up to get what's left off of him and you're the only one that I can trust."

"Why didn't you get Rex" said Max, "he'd sort Charlie in a second", remembering an episode in the past where Gilmour had borrowed money from Rex, only returning it when one of his sons had rung him early one morning, crying in pain and humiliation and pleading with his father to repay the debt. Harry had negotiated a truce between the men, needing both on his side but Max had never trusted Charlie since.

He had left the police force under the apprehension that he could make millions as an importing entrepreneur but even his good deals had gone wrong through an ongoing problem caused by continually spending more than he earned. Based in the Philippines he had acquired a taste for younger and younger prostitutes, barely skirting the legal limit, and mostly paying them to lay in bed with him while he boasted of his business exploits. Max had no doubts that any money placed in his hands would disappear with promises of later repayment; but Harry being an old ex-con, was prepared to take the risk just to have an ex-copper at his beck and call. Fucking egos he thought in disgust.

"Rex is in South America and won't answer my calls" reported a despondent Harry, confirming Max's theory that he was the second choice. He had no doubt that Rex had better things to do with his time and he hated the Philippines after losing a thousand dollars in a card game to a couple of jeepney drivers in his younger days. It was a standard scam, they knew a dealer at the casino who would let a respectable tourist win but first they had to show him the finer points of the game, did he have any money they could practise with? Even the real smart guys like Rex couldn't get their dough out quick enough. Max sometimes wondered if greed was the major stimulus in life. Personally he would rather be in the short-time room of a Fields Avenue bar banging a twenty year old go-go dancer.

"Harry, I've got to go down to Malaysia, the Thais will pick my passport in seconds if they check it here, I can stamp it myself at the borders and it will be accepted by the next country but I can't fly on it. I've got to get this E into Indonesia within a few days or Duangvichit will tip off his Malaysian mates, if he hasn't already, and I'll be fucked big time. It would be just his style to get me hung over there; but he wants the dope as well"

Harry held up a plump hand, "All we have to do is get to Pattaya" he said, "Louie is waiting there with a yacht and we'll be out of the country in a blink of an eye"

Fucking Louie the Legbreaker, former Adriatic charter boat skipper and Balkan war criminal, Max thought. With his luck the UN war crimes tribunal would arrest them along with the assistance of the Thai police on the high seas. For years it had amazed him how guys like Harry amassed a fortune; they went like a bull at a gate with no thought for the consequences and when the dust settled they came up smelling of roses. He decided that after years of "favours" for Harry and serious work for pub dinners and a few drinks he would make sure that this time his efforts would be properly compensated.

Harry liked people to be in debt to him, basically insecure he doubted the sincerity of most of his friends and used money to keep them in his web. Once Max had owed him twenty grand and had never been more thankful than the day he had paid it back, seeing Harry's attitude change towards him from patronising to disinterested. Now Harry needed him, and escape from Thailand by sea had it's attractions, he had sailed competitively in his youth and where his size, age and lack of practise would limit his use as a deck hand he could still take the helm and navigate competently while the others did the real work. Knowing Harry, Max doubted that he had worried about employing a cook so he could make himself useful there too.

Max decided that the best way to Pattaya was to hire a car and drive down, taking a Thai driver with them to bring it back. That would also eliminate the need for the close scrutiny or deposits of passports. They would attract attention on the bus and he feared the airports would be watched by Duangvichit's men. The Danish bar owner was summoned and a practically new Toyota was rented using Harry's money and Max set about thinking what he would do with the dope.

He let Harry rabbit on about his bad luck and the ingratitude of people like Charlie and Rex while he reviewed the changed circumstances. If the E was lost due to this diversion Harry would never cover Max's share, merely promising that he would be "looked after" at a future date. He would be broke again and running a building job for peanuts when Harry built his new house wherever he decided to settle. No, the shit was coming along too, it could go to the Philippines where he could keep his eye on it and he would take his chances there. He knew the country well and given a reasonable start could lose himself on one of half a dozen islands.

Harry had the menu and was ordering up big, glowering when Max said he had already eaten and choosing a selection of pies and pastries, the speciality of the bar. Max got the barmaids attention and pointed at the lone bottle of Haig Dimple; if Harry was paying he may as well make the most of it. He cast a professional eye over the young, and not so young, ladies sitting in the back corner, they too could improve the level of the present company. Too late he sensed a movement behind him, turning to meet a frantic embrace and an overjoyed shriek. It was Phin, her of the dead husband, and she wanted Max as a replacement it seemed. Deciding the best thing to do was to act as if he was pleased to see her Max ordered a beer for her and patted her behind consolingly while she told him that they had been destined for each other from the first day he arrived in Vientiane. "Fucking Da steal you from me" she cried drunkenly- sure, she had made a move but backed off hurriedly when she saw his interest in Da. Small and demure Da was lethal in a girl fight, Max had seen her take out a six foot lady-boy in Udon one night, giving him a Muay Thai kick to the groin then finishing the job with one of her six inch platforms used as a bludgeon as he lay howling on the footpath.

"I love you so much" Phin loudly informed Max and the whole bar, the Dane started to move over threateningly but Max waved him a way, he would switch her from beer to Thai whisky and hopefully she would pass out soon. He introduced her to a mortified Harry who squirmed with embarrassment and looked at the ceiling. Phin undid Max's belt and groped him happily, oblivious to any onlookers.

Max had always wondered about her relationship with the dead Charlie, he had only come to Vientiane once a year to see Paul and have a haircut. He had paid a year's rent on a room over a shop, laid up with Phin for a week and gone back to Phnom Penh. Paul had confided in Max that she gave the best blow job in town after a few drinks but Max wasn't in the mood to find out. Phin had been attractive once, but booze had wrecked her features and thickened her body. She obviously had money because she had bought Max drinks in the past when Da was out of town but he had ducked away before any more intimacy was suggested. He ordered a Mekong Whisky for her to drink with the beer and turned to Harry who was looking at him with a mixture of disgust and amused disbelief.

"Do you want her bawling and waking up the whole fucking town?" said Max; "a couple of drinks will see her right then we can get an early night and get away in the morning."

Famous last words he thought as dawn and a crashing hangover woke him and saw Phin snoring happily along side. He vaguely remembered the frantic gobbling technique she had used in an attempt to arouse him before passing out seconds before he had. Pleasantly surprised at the presence of a third party in the bed, an impressive erection, he prodded Phin with it until she awoke and immediately took it into her mouth.

Surprised once more by her enthusiasm Max lay back enjoying her expertise, expecting her to pull away at the moment of climax but she continued to slide her lips the length of his shaft accompanied by a maddening vibrating tongue technique as he emptied himself down her throat. Phin pushed him onto his side and straddled him, rubbing her pubic bone furiously on his hip until she panted her heart out.

Many a good tune played on an old violin he thought as he headed for the shower with a bottle of water from the fridge. Phin selected a large Singha, obviously her breakfast of choice, and asked when they were heading off to Pattaya. Choking on his water Max informed her that the trip was strictly business and he would be back in a few days. Realising that they would have to be on their way before she was drunk enough to protest he rang the reception desk was relieved to find the Thai driver was waiting and rang around for Harry to find him on his second plate of bacon and eggs in the dining room.

They headed south waved off by a subdued Phin.

End of chapter 6

Chapter 7

Pattaya, city of broken dreams; thousands of men arrive every month and are greeted by tens of thousands of welcoming sex workers. To many of the new arrivals it was paradise on earth, so many willing women and it was so easy to convince themselves that the money that changed hands was a small token of appreciation and not payment to prostitutes. After all the girls enjoyed themselves, welcoming being taken for meals before going to the hotel, it was just like a date but you never missed out at the end. No quick kiss goodnight and heading off with an unsatisfied erection here. And the girls were young, men in their sixties who had cast lustful surreptitious glances at girls in shopping malls at home now found themselves in bed with hard breasted, taut buttocked women in their early twenties. And the girls were cheerful and willing; they would show the guy what they enjoyed in bed and usually had no hesitation in doing what ever first timers shyly suggested.

The wowsers and do-gooders hated Pattaya. They would preach on street corners and enter the bars to talk to the girls, trying to persuade them to give up their wicked lives and accept Jesus. Few did, the bottom line was that the family needed the money at home; there was usually a child to support, the product of a village affair in their early teens with the Thai boy friend fleeing the scene as soon as responsibility reared it's ugly head. Plus it was a fun life, raised with an easy attitude to casual sex their lives were one long party. Their peers at home worked in the rice fields, aging prematurely, worn out with child bearing and matrimonial abuse.

Then there was a chance of the ultimate reward- a rich Farang husband who would take them back to their home and build a big house, there would be jobs for all, sisters cleaning, brothers gardening and _Mair_ and _Por_ would be honoured with regular gifts of money until they were the envy of the village. She would achieve the most improbable position dreamed of in Thailand, a younger daughter who was the head of the family. No wonder they pranced and squealed in the street out side their bars every night attracting passing tourists in to sample their charms.

Like all paradises though, serpents lurk in the long grass for the unwary. Many tourists stayed, mesmerised by the promiscuous life style or falling in love with small brown girls less than half their age. Some could afford it and lived like potentates of old; big houses for a fraction of the cost in England or Germany, a pension of several hundred Euros a week went a long way in Thailand and there were many other expats to spend the days and evenings with. Winter was nonexistent and if it rained, as it often did, the rain was warm and cleansed and cooled the air for a few hours. However many who remained could not afford the lifestyle. Furious wives extracted large percentages of the joint assets, superannuation funds were plundered by greedy lawyers and often guilt rode on their shoulders like a fifth horseman. As the money ran out they leapt from hotel balconies into the streets below that had seemed paved in gold a short time before. Others attempted to supplement their incomes in various ways, legitimate enterprises floundered and sank in seas of Thai dishonesty and corruption and forays into the murky underworld world of Pattaya often resulted in more suicides, some managing to tie their ankles together and their hands behind their back before placing a plastic bag over their head and leaping to their death. Others died in the road from the traditional Thai execution method, a bullet fired by a motorbike passenger into the back of the head. Murders and suicides were only investigated if the police received heavy pressure from overseas but few governments or families cared about the black sheep who had thrown everything away for the sleazy joys of Pattaya.

The girls too had their problems. Alcoholism and drug abuse were rife, some hated the life and the sexual humiliation they considered came with it. Disease was their constant companion, gonorrhoea, syphilis and herpes a regular problem with the black spectre of Aides hanging constantly over them. Self mutilation was common and many girls covered their beautiful bodies in tattoos. They were preyed upon by their own kind- for Thai men Pattaya was heaven too, particularly if you could get a couple of attractive bargirls to fall in love with you. The prospect of the slim young bodies of their own countrymen was often too hard for the girls to resist. Thai men scorned condoms and spread STD's with impunity and they preyed on the Farangs with various techniques ranging from scams to outright robbery and murder. Pattaya definitely wasn't a game for young players.

Max and Harry selected a hotel in South Pattaya, there was no word from Louie so they decided to lay up inconspicuously until he was ready to pick them up. Max generally avoided Pattaya; he'd been there three or four times, twice with Da, the first time being her first trip out of Laos. She sat on the beach for a long time looking at the sea when they got there, then refused to get out of bed for the rest of the trip. Max was a learner then too but realising she was disappointed with the bus trip got the shuttle to Bangkok and flew back north. She threw up constantly on the way home.

The second trip was with Harry and they flew in from the Philippines. He rang Da with instructions to meet him and she arrived on the bus, disliking Harry on sight but forming an alliance with his Philipina girlfriend. Harry got off the plane with the flu and stayed in bed for most of the trip. Max escorted the girls around and spent most of the day around the large hotel pool. An incident there confirmed his thoughts about Pattaya, a group of about a dozen English lads in their twenties arrived, straight off the plane, and took to the pool early in the day. Around five in the afternoon they were brick red from sunburn, drunk and singing football songs. Max, who hadn't seen any of them leave the pool all day, regardless of their alcohol intake at the island bar, escorted his ladies back to their rooms to a despairing cry of "Hey, are you Chelsea or fucking wot?" If you wanted to get pissed and sit in a pool all day you could do it closer to England than here he thought, all that flight money spent and then sleep through the readily available crumpet every night.

" _Everybody knows where you go_

when the sun goes down,

they say you only live for

the lights of town"

Sang Johnny Cash, lines that could have been written about both Max and Harry; good intentions discarded they showered and headed for the bars. Max had spent a few days of his wild post divorce party there on his last trip several years previously, a party that had lasted a year and disposed of a large slice of his financial settlement from his divorce. The girls from Walking Street and the Sois off of Beach Road would have long forgotten him but he was prepared to make new acquaintances on the strength of Harry's money. Pattaya girls didn't stay long in the same spot, moving from bar to bar as the fancy took them, others heading off with customers who thought they were boyfriends and settling down for a couple of years. A quick beer in the notorious Dogs Bollocks on Harry's insistence culminated when a surely bar owner played a song mainly consisting of a the chorus, "You fat bastard" so they moved on to a lady-boy bar across the road. Harry liked these bars, Max remembered a night in Nana Plaza when he had half the bar stripped to the waist along with his Philipina girl friend, resplendent with a recent Australian boob job, and Harry with a surgically enhanced male tit in each hand crying, "Max, have a feel of these, they're just like real ones!"

Glory days.

They moved down the street after a few drinks to one of the many Italian restaurants, ordering minestrone and freshly baked bread, followed by the pasta of the day- Spaghetti Marinara, fresh seafood in a creamy garlic sauce with more crusty bread. Max ordered red wine by the glass but Harry was back on Sprite and ice. Wiping his plate he looked up to see Louie enter the restaurant with two large men following. Fucking Russians, thought Max- and not nice ones either.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union some of the former citizens with any money began to avail themselves of the delights of world travel. A few of the men graduated to Thailand and took back stories of the tens of thousands of women in places like Bangkok and Pattaya who were fleecing the tourists of millions and were almost totally unorganised. These stories reached the ears of the flourishing organised crime bosses who were busily running the docile Eastern European girls into the western world and their greedy eyes turned eastward. These men had run Russia in the past, a few were ex-politicians but the majority were former secret policemen. They came from the ranks of the KGB and military intelligence and had used their brutal talents to set up a crime network that was starting to make the Mafia look small time. A squad was set up and sent to Thailand where they were instructed to recruit local criminals to do the legwork and get the girls organised. The Russians would then scoop the cream off the top of the lucrative industry. Little difficulty was expected, the smiling, gentle Thais would be easy meat for the Cold War veterans, a few executions and maimings would bring them into line and then the good times would commence.

It soon became apparent that the Thais were not as obliging as the Russians had expected. The girls had no ties to the bars and their families were in some unpronounceable village and were virtually untraceable. Their names were impossible, and the first hint of a threat would put them on the next bus south to Hat Yai or north to Chiang Mai. The bar business was the same and there was always someone there from the village next to home, or someone's cousin to show you around. The Thai criminals were even less obliging; first they supplied unreliable translators and promised assistance that never eventuated. When the Russians got nasty they reacted with a ferocity that left even these veteran executioners stunned. Russian dead were found in the streets on a daily basis, others just disappeared- legend had it that the ringleader was taken twenty kilometres out to sea off Pattaya in a tour boat and thrown over the side by Thai policemen. Pleading that he couldn't swim that far back to land he was informed that he misunderstood, he was being deported and had to swim in the other direction, several hundred kilometres to Vietnam or Cambodia.

Badly hurt the Russians began changing their tactics, fire bombing the Thai owned bars at night and retreating to secured apartments during the day, the war of attrition finally ending in a wary truce with the new comers getting concessions in certain areas and being allowed to bring European and Siberian girls in to service the tourists who didn't fancy the small brown women.

Louie let out a cry of joy when he saw Max, hugging him and planting a kiss on his cheek; like Jerry the Finn he thought that Max was as hard a man as himself. This happy misapprehension came about a decade before when Max was on remand in the old Adelaide Watch House police cells when Louie witnessed a Greek weight lifter running along the cell block corridor to explain to Max who ran the floor at the same time that worthy gentleman opened a steel barred cell door. The resulting fractured skull kept the Greek rapist out of court for several years finally having him declared unfit to stand trial. The totally undeserved reputation kept Max in free beer in the less reputable pubs for quite a while afterwards.

Barely acknowledging Harry, the bosses and officers were a necessary evil while the real men did the work; he introduced Max to the Russians.

"Meet Mick and Hans" he said, "We were in Yugoslavia together after Tito died".

Mick and Hans?

"Don't worry about that, we all have new names now, come we drink, my friends' bar is most exclusive. Many young girls and real Vodka, not the American piss." They followed the Russian thugs down the street, moving along several minor sois before arriving at a bar whose clientele looked like arraignment day in the Hague War Crimes Tribunal. Harry looked at his watch and Louie beckoned over a couple of flaxen haired Moldavian girls who had possibly lifted weights for the USSR in the great steroid days. A ducking and weaving Harry was quickly escorted back to the bar by these ladies both at least six inches taller than him and placed on a bar stool between them.

Max knew there would be no business discussed that night so settled down to drink and check out the scene. Vodka was brought along with a platter of smoked sausage and ham and another of pickled fish. Icy cold the spirit was obviously straight from the freezer and he acknowledged the toast to friendship and tipped the freezing burning liquid down his throat. A slice of ham followed and he indicated to the barmaid to bring glasses of water. Louie order beers all round as well and then crossed the room to commandeer the pool table. Scarred veterans of a dozen small wars and drug conflicts gave way in respect, here were Louie the Legbreaker and Mad Max who had killed the Greek who had been disrespectful. (The story had improved, like good wine, with age). Pool was played with little regard to the result and women and old times discussed. Louie had grown dope and collected bad debts, in both careers the business skills of Australia's southern European community had left him with little profit to show, finally turning to door work in nightclubs for the easy women and the ample opportunities to teach loud mouth punks a little respect.

Glory days.

Leaning on his cue stick, the game forgotten Louie placed an affectionate arm around Max's shoulders. When this nonsense with Harry was finished he had men's work for him; the Americans were looking for security contractors for Iraq. Age was not an issue as long as they could fight and were not afraid of the sight of a little blood. More than a hundred thousand US a year was offered per man, more for supervisors. Money for teaching a few Muslims respect, he would have done it for nothing as he had shown the Fascists during the Balkan wars and his father had taught the German Nazis before him. Max was unsure about Louie's politics suspecting that he had changed sides when ever it was expedient. The big Yugoslav poked Max's stomach in a friendly manner, when they were ready there would be a months hard training at a former Khmer Rouge camp picked out in Cambodia. They would run everyday, no booze or women and get themselves into shape. They would practice with the new weapons and take to Iraq a platoon that was a force to be reckoned with. Max tried to make enthusiastic noises, his experience with firearms was limited to slaughtering a few rabbits with a .22 as a teenager. He hadn't avoided Vietnam but it had not come his way, the birthday marbles dropping either side of his.

Deciding to leave Harry to his fate Max gave Louie a friendly punch on the shoulder and said he was keeping some ladies waiting, it was well after midnight by this stage and the Russians were arguing loudly with a group who looked like Poles. Leaving a protesting Louie who was too drunk to get off his barstool by this stage he hit the street, walking back to Beach Road where the action was really at it's peak. Freelance prostitutes, most of them male, clutched at him as he walked by. Laughing them off and making sure that no hands strayed to his pockets he finally reached the safety of Walking Street where safely organised sex was available at nearly every door. The bass of a hundred amplifiers pounded his ears and the shrill cries of door girls rang over the top of the noise. Touts plucked at his sleeve, girls at his groin and finally he entered Regina's, one of Asia's great nightclubs. Naked girls danced on every table; on the stage that divided the floor fifty girls danced, all of whom, for the sake of a couple of inches in height and a different economic background, could have been in demand as models and movie stars anywhere else in the world. Some only wore garters in which eager hands pushed one hundred baht notes. Others, baby faced, were clad in short high school tunics, minus knickers. Stern girls in leather underwear lifted proud chins in disdain. Something for every one here thought Max; the drooling customer's eyes would really fall out if they saw the bars where the rich Thais go, only the second team here. Well, the third, second best worked the Jap bars in Bangkok; rule of four reigned there, four inches, four minutes and four thousand baht. Who would want to prop up a drunk hundred kilogram German for an hour here when you could get the easy life there?

Max felt like sex, approaching sixty he fervently believed that if you went with out too long at his age it was the beginning of the end. He had pulled his dick regularly in Australia and saved the spare dollars for a regular visit to an Asian brothel. Terrible to forget the touch of warm brown skin. He remembered laying in bed with a Thai girl once while the Madam pounded on the door, crying that his time was up. Amazed that he could speak Thai and knew her home town of Surat Thani the girl had laughed and begged him to meet her after work. Her sister's marriage was breaking up in Queensland and Max was just the guy to settle down with her, they would head off tomorrow. There was just a small matter of the Vietnamese brothel owners wanting back the weekend's takings, the three thousand dollars she had done at the casino on the way to the bank for them.

It was always surprising how once they realised you were from home that they tried really hard for a genuine orgasm; Max recognised the difference between the natural convulsions of the vaginal walls over the false sighs, pussy clenching and head thrashing. Sometimes money wasn't everything he thought, considering the greed factor again. He left and finally settled for a beer bar, pounding music made conversation unnecessary and a round of drinks for three or four girls settled things down so he could watch the street. He had had enough surprises for that night.

"Where was he from?" the girls asked, eyeing him dubiously, he was too easy with the surroundings for just of the plane. "How long was he here for?" Max just smiled, letting them sweat a little, then one spotted the Buddha on the string around his neck and the pressure was off. He beckoned to one of the older girls, his back and neck were stiff from the car ride and the lack of sleep. He had driven several hundred kilometres while Harry and the Thai driver slept. A deal negotiated they headed for the hotel, Max comfortable that the drugs were safely stashed in the baggage store in case a curious Louie and his Russian mates had decided to check the room out. No way were they getting any of that.

End of chapter 7.

Chapter 8

Max watched the twenty metre yacht cut through the water towards the tourist launch. Custom built for ocean racing after World War Two she had campaigned successfully for more than a quarter of a century before being sold off as a cruising boat. Changing hands many times, her condition deteriorating accordingly, she was still a handy ocean going yacht. Virtually unsinkable on the ocean, fast and stable, her first owner had built her for comfort below decks as well; she would sleep a dozen easily and had a roomy galley.

The mainsail dropped and she came about into the wind, the jib holding her steady. The Thai crew of the smaller boat unceremoniously shoved Max and Harry up onto the deck followed by their bags and several cartons of supplies. Almost immediately the yacht was under way again, Louie howling at the crew to get her back under full sail and anxiously scanning the horizon for Thai police or customs boats. Max went below, deciding to give the bunks a miss for the sail locker, if the sea was calm he could drag a couple of sail bags on deck and sleep. He could hide his bags under the sails and watch incase anyone went down there.

Louie was all business now, he had kept the boat at Kompong Som, formally Sihanoukville, in Cambodia; picking her up and skirting Thai territorial waters to pick up Max and Harry from a pre-organised tour boat. Once underway he wasn't worried about any interference if he kept to international waters, the governments in this region were too touchy for one to risk stopping boats that could be from a neighbour and it wasn't as if there were drugs on board he thought unsuspectingly.

There was nothing like a good boat running before the wind thought Max, the mainly Philipino crew raised a threadbare spinnaker and the grand old boat leapt forward, her bow wave hissing away from the hull as she headed southwest, turning away from the coast where she would eventually cut back towards Borneo. Pirate country he thought, this fucking mob would feel right at home.

He went back and spelled Louie on the helm, and waited while charts were brought up. He could hear Harry vomiting over the back of the boat, the crew had stopped him going below when they saw the signs of seasickness. "Serve the little fat cunt right" he thought unkindly, "Maybe he'll lose some weight."

He inspected the charts with Louie, they would keep well clear of Vietnamese waters then head for Northern Borneo going through the narrow strait between Sabah and Palawan into the Sulu sea. The Sulu Sea was once infested with pirates before the Englishman Rajah Brooke had driven them from the seas and carved himself a kingdom in Northern Borneo. Those were the days of the great freebooters thought Max, taking what they wanted under the Union Jack and God help the natives if they got in their way. He could have done that he mused, Rajah Max had a good ring to it, a harem of a couple of hundred girls, the best grub and booze brought in from Europe, those were the days. Now the pirates and the pirate hunters wore suits and ties and worked out of multi storied office buildings.

A quick check below had revealed the presence of half a dozen AK47s, a box of grenades and something that looked like a .50 calibre machine gun, the results of Louie's Cambodian shopping trip. God help any fishermen who decided to supplement their income with a little piracy he thought. He breathed a sigh of relief that Harry would be incapable of shooting at seagulls with the big banger for a few days, but once his stomach settled Max would get Louie to remove a few crucial parts from the weaponry and put the grenades under lock and key. He had once been on a fishing trip with Harry off Sydney Heads when he produced grenades and started dropping them over the side instructing Max to get a net and scoop up the stunned fish. Removing a pin from one he had clumsily dropped it in the boat and the evil black shape had rolled under the gunnels causing them both to abandon ship in considerable haste and swim furiously away from the boat before it disintegrated. Large toothy creatures had appeared on the scene just as a police launch arrived and plucked them from the water.

Glory days.

The plan was to head for Subic Bay where an Angeles City bar owner had arranged to have them brought ashore by fishing boat. Philipino immigration stamps were being purchased that would pass at a casual glance and Charlie would be unaware of their imminent arrival. The boat was headed due east by this stage a spanking North Westerly wind driving them up to twelve knots. The wind was steady and would last for days and Max decided to sleep for a few hours then cook for the crew before taking the helm for the night watch. Steering a good boat at speed under a cloudless tropical night sky was as close to sex with a beautiful girl that loved you as it got.

Waking around dark he lit the stove and began opening tins of stewed beef, putting a pot of water on to boil for the noodles. Tinned tomatoes went in with the stew and chopped fresh onions. After the noodles were cooked he stirred the heated meat mixture into it and tipped a packet of grated cheese into a separate bowl, sliced a couple of loaves of the fresh bread brought that day and called the men to eat. As always when he cooked he wasn't hungry himself, he would eat a sandwich in the night when one of the crew came on deck to relieve himself, letting the man take the helm for ten minutes. Harry had recovered a little and assisted Louie in disposing of the food while the Philipinos mixed it with the rice they had cooked during the day, squatting on the deck and talking to Max in Pinoy English with a sprinkling of Tagalog and Vasayan. He held the boat on course, watching the compass and looking over his shoulder occasionally to make sure the boats wake was a perfect straight line. The men started to go below to sleep and the full moon came up out of the sea and Max was at peace with himself.

Six days later they were in Philippine waters, the wind had a lot more north in it now forcing them due east, they would tack when they sighted Panay Island and run North West to Mindoro and back into the South China Sea, keeping well clear of Manila Bay before tacking easterly back into Subic Bay. A bored Harry had shown them the chart at one stage, they could have run straight through the middle of the South China Sea and saved several days. Max had shrugged but Louie pointed to what looked like fly specks on the map, "Spratly Islands" he grunted, "at least four countries warships there all the time, watching no one tries to land on them. Oil rich" he said, "Everybody wants them".

Subic bay is one of the worlds best harbours; during the Vietnam War you could have walked across it on the decks of aircraft carriers, battleships and the other shipping that that was vital to the conduct of a war. As they entered it Max saw the lights of a solitary rusting cargo ship anchored about a mile off shore. It had been there a year ago too so he decided it wasn't going anywhere. A light flashed several times nearby, it was Bill, a former Queensland prawn trawler skipper, now the owner of Bill's Bar in the middle of the Angeles City bright lights. As the yacht slowed to a stop he brought his cabin cruiser along side. Luggage organised they climbed down to the smaller boat, not even the slightest swell disrupting their transfer. Charlie Gilmour welcomed them exuberantly.

Harry shot a look at Bill that would have disabled lesser men; the brawny former prawn boat skipper rolled his eyes at Max and shrugged at Harry. "Got the word you were coming" Charlie cried, "everything's organised, you're staying with me, and I've got a good house lined up for you to buy if you're moving up here" he said to Harry who feigned deafness.

Charlie immediately tried to get Max onside, realising that none of them would stay with him, his house keeping was less than impeccable due to his habit of trying to give his girlfriends respectability by paying them to take care of the house. An eighteen year old bargirl from a hillside squatters town trying to run a household full of gadgets she had never heard of. They stayed in bed watching TV till Charlie threw them out, then changed houses with the irate landlord keeping his deposit bond.

When they walked up the beach to the car Max got in the front seat, only wanting a freshwater shower, and for the first time in more than a week, a drink. Charlie was as bad as Harry when it came to the grog, Max had spent too many nights in the Angeles's bars watching him drink nothing but bottled water. They drove quickly through the former port town of Subic Bay, once sharing the honours of America's principal Pacific navel port with San Diego and Pearl Harbour. Once every street had been lined with bars and the footpaths crowded with sailors and their bargirl conquests; now a few deceptively quiet bars and half a dozen resort hotels along the beach were all that remained.

Charlie went to turn into the Blue Rock Resort, the more exclusive of the hotels, no doubt determined to show the clientele that he still had friends but Max waved him on, pointing south to Angeles City, he wanted a drink and he wanted to get laid.

The drive took about an hour, Max hated driving with Charlie, who showed off his police academy driving skills on every occasion, over taking lines of traffic then narrowly avoiding disaster from oncoming cars by forcing his way back onto his side of the road. He never doubted that Charlie could drive but he had serious doubts about the abilities of the Philipino drivers sharing the road. They sped through the narrow track cut through the _lahar_ ; the volcanic ash from Mount Pinatubo that had turned to mud overnight and concreted entire villages into history. The lights of Clark Airbase appeared on the horizon and they crossed over a narrow bridge into Angeles City, aptly named city of the angels, and Max waved Charlie in to a Perimeter Road hotel owned by a former Sydney criminal reputed to have cut the toes from some of the perpetrators of Australia's largest armed robbery with bolt cutters before fleeing to the Philippines with their reluctantly given up share of the job.

Charlie fled after dropping them off, the old gunman's intolerance of ex-coppers, Charlie in particular, was legendary so Max organised rooms, deposited his bags in one of the securest hotel lock ups in Asia, and proceeded to wash the salt off.

The receptionist, Colt, named by her father after his favourite tipple, had had her eye on Max for a long time, but Max never wasted time on good girls, too much trouble lay there; families, fathers, payment for lost virginity- he was in a Catholic country now and would conduct himself accordingly. He waited in the restaurant for Harry, the first beer of the evening lasting about two swallows, the hotel also included a small nightclub where the go-go dancers supplemented their incomes with customers in the hotel rooms. Max had known guys who had come there for a holiday and never left the pub, working their way through the dancers by night and spending their days around the grimy pool. There was even a weight room for anyone nostalgic for their prison days. Seeing Harry arrive he quickly ordered another beer for himself, he wanted to get things straight about Charlie, who would be waiting anxiously out the front of the hotel to take them to the town, before they set out.

"It's probably easier to let the cunt talk himself out of it" decided Harry, " he'll have something to sell or barter to make up for any money he's done".

Max didn't doubt it, Charlie always had some thing in reserve for the next deal. Once he had shown Max a warehouse full of designer brand children's clothes, overruns and faulty stock, normally millions of dollars worth on the retail market available for less than a dollar an item. Inquiries showed that the licensed retailers knew all about them and would block any attempt to sell them in a first world market. A bulk sales merchant in Australia finally took them after Charlie had the labels cut off, then defaulted on the majority of the payment. Story of Charlie's business career.

They met him in front of the hotel and they drove along the Clark Airbase Perimeter Road into town. Once the largest airport in South East Asia where B52s and other heavy bombers had taken off every day to bomb Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia. They had dropped more bombs on Laos alone than the entire ordinance dropped on Germany in World War Two; thousands of US servicemen running the base along with tens of thousands of Philipino workers. The Air Base supplied every thing required for living, an entire city of houses and shopping centres, sports fields and club houses, everything except sex, and to supply that a forest of bars sprung up just outside the boundary fence.

The Americans had gone and the city was empty but the bars remained and attracted thousands of men from all over the world every year.

Chapter 9

Chapter 9 (Harry's Story)

Harry had known Max since he was seventeen, well over six foot and ten and a half stone in the terminology of the time. All bones and hair, as enthusiastic as a Labrador pup, an empty page awaiting the pen. He had seduced Max away from the forces of good, sneering at the university politics of the time and showing him that wealth was the only option available to intelligent men. They had used their college science to blow safes all over the city until an error in tactics had left both of them as guests of Her Majesty. Harry had planned on doing the time easily, planning his next career move, until one night the cell door was opened and prison officers had taken him to the main gate; his mother was in hospital seriously ill. He was being checked out and a car would take him to her bed. After various bureaucratic fuck ups she was long dead on his arrival and he swore that the system would pay as long as he could make them. All he had wanted to do was tell her he was sorry.

After release he never saw Max for years, going back to school, finishing his degree and even teaching for a while until he saw a fellow ex inmate one night and bought a brothel. Assured that the girls did eighty tricks a week he hung around the shop and was pleased to see that a hundred and twenty was the average. Having lunch with the vendor a few weeks after he happened to mention the discrepancy to see the former pimp explode with rage "fucking bitches, fucking bitches, that's what happens when you don't watch them!" he shrieked to the amazement of the other diners. The lesson learnt well, Harry became one of the leading brothel owners in the city and later switched to sex shops seeing that they were a future cash cow. "Real" crime always stayed in the back of his mind and he financed many an armed robbery and drug crop. Taxation was an anathema to him, he stashed every cash dollar away, losing much of it to the lawyers and accountants who constantly battled to balance his books or tried keep him out of jail. Women still eluded him, shy with the opposite sex, even as a brothel owner he was unsure of the correct approach, but wise enough to avoid his staff; he discovered the Philippines where hundreds of young women leaned against him uninvited in bars, drank the drinks he ordered for them and carried out his long suppressed desires in bed.

The forces of law and order took little time to start placing serious surveillance on him, jail became a regular part of his life. He found out that money bought privileges, and came to enjoy the prestige that being a heavy criminal with money to back him brought in the penal system. Sex became something he looked forward to when he got out, laughing at the jail poofs who hung around he accepted the odd blow job but made sure that no one thought that he was 'that way'. He put money into legitimate enterprises, building property management and more sex shops. Cash was hidden or lent to 'friends' who disappeared; as long as they paid him respect Harry never cared, all that mattered was the acceptance as a serious criminal amongst his peers.

When Max appeared back his life he was amazed to find him married; a tattered marriage at that but still something that had eluded him personally. Max had a lot of ideas that he didn't want to involve another return to jail on his part and Harry passed them on to professionals who paid Harry a commission, who saw that Max picked up a few dollars. Warehouses were emptied with the information that only a truck driver could give; semi-trailer loads of valuable stock disappeared enroute. When Max's marriage fell over and he disappeared into Asia Harry thought long and hard, he waited for Max to reappear and introduced him to the Philippines where he spent money lavishly but it was always understood that Max would pay it back. A considerable disappointment was hard to conceal when he did; his plans for Max involved him carrying out the criminal side of his operations and financial dependence was important.

Some what piqued Harry turned to his businesses, in the nineties nothing had gone wrong, everything turned to gold, his love of guns brought bikies and ex soldiers to his door, hand guns and automatic weapons were readily available to the criminal classes while honest citizens shook in their beds unarmed.

But forces of the ungodly had learned many a trick since those days, Harry's banking was carefully watched, his expenditure became a matter of major interest, minor criminals were offered exemptions to knock on his door with bags full of stolen goods. Not that they needed any encouragement, there was always a line up anyway.

Harry dodged most of them with aplomb; never inclined to violence he had noticed that Max had a tendency to go from nice guy to psycho very quickly, always ready to pick up the nearest available heavy object and pound an unsuspecting assailant, Harry envied the lack of forethought involved. Violence was something that he bought from guys like Louie, to them it was just a job, part of life, and carried out with a complete lack of passion. Max was different, he was incapable of beating up a passive victim, the fury only emerging when he considered someone was putting him or someone he cared about under threat.

Harry had been amazed when Max had come up with the drug smuggling scheme. He had always considered him too straight for that line of business. Drugs killed people and Max worried about that sort of thing; he wondered what inner demons had changed the man who had once been so easy going, so caring of his friends and as loyal as a dog.

Harry had several plans in reserve; it would suit him if the drug deal went wrong, the money mattering little to him, but would place Max completely under his control. There was no room for partners in Harry's world, only employees and trusted ones were few and far between. In Australia he had employed managers from the straight world, letting them run his legitimate businesses but without exception they had fled when the dark side of his dealings appeared. He was totally incapable of understanding their reasoning, to Harry if you were making money it didn't matter where it originated from and if it was illegal the thrill of beating the system made it all the sweeter. Totally amoral he never suspected for a moment that others weren't the same under a veneer of respectability.

Guns and money, nothing else mattered in the material world, once he had worried over the lack of a permanent woman in his life but found that he could buy one on a casual basis at any time. Many moved in for a few weeks, sometimes more, but they either stole off him or decided that the emptiness in his soul wasn't worth the money he gave.

Angeles City was Harry's special turf; after a 'new broom' mayor had closed most of the Manila bars he had enthusiastically embraced the former Air Base bar area. Here was the place where he had launched his hunt for Yamashita's Gold, the elusive millions, some said billions, hidden by the retreating Japanese in the closing days of World War Two. Reputed by military historians to be the best general in the Pacific Theatre, Yamashita Tomoyuki- the Tiger of Malaya, had withdrawn with his troops into the mountains of northern Luzon and prepared them to sell their lives dearly. Never defeated by the American general, Douglas Macarthur, he had surrendered only at the direct order of the Emperor. Smarting at the missed opportunity to show his military superiority a probably lucky Macarthur had hanged Yamashita within months of the war ending for war crimes committed by troops outside of his command; then it was realised that they had neglected to inquire as to the whereabouts of the gold that had been looted from the bank vaults and personal treasuries of Hong Kong and Singapore.

Legends sprang up around the missing hoard; Ferdinand Marcos was said to have found some of it and shipped it to Swiss banks. Maps were sold to fortune hunters and they plunged into the jungles and mountains of the Cordillera Central, some reputed to be more successful than others. Harry had produced a map of his own, swearing that he hadn't paid a cent for it- the seller only requesting a percentage of the find. Yamashita had temporarily dammed an isolated river in northern Luzon, building a bunker on the dry river bed, filling it with the gold and dynamiting the dam, removing all traces of it before machine gunning the slave labour force. A survivor had played dead and crept away before being buried alive.

Harry formed a syndicate and sold shares to anyone who would listen. Hundreds contributed to the fund and years later they still waited for a dividend. A cynical Max had once inquired as to the progress of the treasure hunt only to be told "there's no problems, it's just on the back burner." Max had considered finding the gold to be the easy part of the operation compared to the logistics of shipping the tons of bullion out of the country under the noses of the greedy Philippine Government. Government agents had confiscated tons of platinum valued at nearly half a billion dollars in 1996, the finders still waiting for their share of the proceeds.

Like all those who invest in easy money schemes the punters weren't too surprised at the lack of profits; treasure hunting is always something that you tell your mates about in the bar, not something you do personally and a small investment in that field only added a little spice to the tale.

Harry resented having to leave Australia, he enjoyed his life style and the thrill he got running legitimate businesses in conjunction with crime. The importance of having dependant staff and the good feeling that came with seeing they were well looked after. Never a mean man he was generous to people he liked and stored favours the way a squirrel stored nuts for the winter. The Philippines was his main resettlement option, a friend had recommended Mexico and Central America but the crime syndicates there frightened him and he suspected that the girls were large and hairy.

Thailand appealed but he harboured a long standing suspicion that Thai girls were adverse to oral sex. He confided this to a stunned Max one day, who had more Thai tooth marks on his cock than a bowl of durian ice cream, and said it was to do with religion. The Buddhists preached against blow jobs he said, where as Filipina Catholics could do it as long as they confessed it in church afterwards. Bemused, Max only said he should look at it as a challenge; personally he took his partners as they came, always looking at the pleasure they did give him rather than complaining about any shortcomings on the technical side.

Harry had plans of establishing a small empire; a hotel, a couple of bars and maybe a resort. Cash from Australia could be successfully laundered, the money flowing to other countries, cheap goods for export bought by a carefully watched Charlie Gilmour, a challenge in itself, and imported to Australia and the States.

In his later years he had begun asking girls to beat him with small whips before sex, at first enjoying their amusement but one night he had seen a look of contempt from an older girl that had driven him into a sexual frenzy. He had angrily grabbed her throat during orgasm, only stopping when she screamed but had always wandered afterwards what it would be like not to have to stop. Money could buy that in the Philippines.

Max had tried to talk to him once on one of the few occasions he had got Harry drunk after listening to stories that only a former brothel and sex-aids shop owner could tell. He had told Harry that there was nothing like the first years of new marriage to a young wife when it came to sex. You didn't want anything but her, came home in your lunch break, looked for excuses to send the kids to bed early, spent hours just laying together talking, laughing, screwing, believing that it only happened to you and that it would last for ever.

Harry had looked at him for a long time without speaking.

He had decided that he would have Max's drugs stolen, he could sell them cheaply here and Max would be stranded. He worried a bit about Rex, regretting the lost contact so he could discuss the options available. Rex had strong views about honour amongst thieves, he was unpredictable and thought Max could do no wrong, he would only accept him being robbed if he thought it was for Max's long term benefit.

Harry wondered about Max's Thai connection, knowing that he had a woman there, puzzling over the psychological weakness that took a man back to the same woman. He knew that Max was sexually amoral, taking women as he found them but always seeming to have the one thing that had eluded Harry, a woman who loved him for himself alone. Being an intelligent man he had puzzled over this for years, never suspecting that in relationships you only got back what you put into them in emotional terms.

He had loathed the sea journey, tolerating the crashing reaches against the wind but becoming nauseous as the yacht ran swiftly before the gale swaying gently as it sped along with the waves; but mainly he had resented the change in Max, steering the great boat, leaning into the wheel with his shirt off with stomach hanging uncaring over his jeans, hair turning into straw with the salt, only handing over the wheel to sleep or cook. He envied the easy relationship Max had with the Philipino crewmen laughing and joshing them about their sex lives. Once he had found a bottle of scotch Louie had below decks and poured a large glass, taking it up to Max who accepted it with thanks. Harry had gone up an hour later to replenish it but it was still sitting precariously on the rail untouched. He didn't like it when people didn't conform to the picture that he had of them.

He knew exactly what would happen tonight. Max would buy drinks for the youngest most nubile bar girls, teasing them and asking about their Philipino boyfriends and laughing at their squealing denials while he slipped his hand under the bra of their bikini dancing costume to fondle a hard teenage breast. Later in the night an older girl from his past would appear, hugging him in welcome and settling back to talk over old times. Max, drunk by this stage, eventually taking her back to the hotel; appearing with her in the morning, breakfasting like long-term lovers and toasting each other with orange juice, while Harry sat wearily with a couple of bored teenagers who were hoping that he would give them their tip so they could get home and sleep after a night of faked lesbian performances and Viagra assisted sex.

He knew it was too late to take back what he had missed now, his only other option was a long jail sentence in Australia and at sixty it had lost it's attraction, boredom would kill him and the future had to hold some excitement or he would be forced to look back on a wasted and empty life.

Chapter 10

Overland Run10

That morning Max wanted to immediately head south down through Luzon, into the Vasayan Islands and through Mindanao to Borneo. Easily and inconspicuously done on local buses and ferries, just a tourist seeing the country on the cheap and doing the final leg with one of the many illegal boats that ran between the Philippines and Malaysia. He hated the thought that too many people knew about the drugs he carried and only wanted to get a way before a serious interest was taken by undesirables. Rex was an integral part of the plan and contact with him was essential before anything went much further. Harry had had a word with the hotel owner and a wary Charlie had turned up for breakfast and was deep in conversation with Harry at the other end of the table. Max knew it boded little good for him and was tempted to leave while they were shovelling down the hotel's famed poached eggs and bacon but the prospect of arriving in Australia without a contact there was daunting.

He was surprised to see the smouldering old gunman owner leave the restaurant, he usually sat there most of the morning eating fruit and reading the English language newspapers; his former two bottles of vodka a day habit having reduced his constitution to a state where he often wondered if a watery grave under the Harbour Bridge may not have been a better alternative to his present situation.

Even more surprising was the arrival of a pair of Philipinos who were obviously armed and even more obviously not members of the local forces of law and order. The New Peoples Army were strong in the Pampanga area that included Angeles City and often offered the only justice available to the local residents. Communist by reputation they ruled a large number of rural communities, taxing them for nearly forty years but dispensing retribution to the police chiefs and army colonels who robbed and raped the local peasants with little regard for future consequences. The execution of an American Army NCO had been condemned world wide as a terrorist act but it was well known locally that the family of a fourteen year old girl he had raped had donated heavily to the NPA the week before the killing.

Many Philipinos have Spanish blood and these men were heavily moustached with long black hair tied back in pony tails, they went straight across to Harry, and Charlie who started to sweat heavily his receding hair ignoring the latest transplant to show his pink scalp, and sat down; one barely bothering to conceal a light automatic weapon under his khaki jacket. Max's lady companion got up and spoke to them briefly in Tagalog before giving him a quick good bye kiss. Her sister, a long term consort of Max's before marrying well into the Philipino business community, had belonged to the political arm of the NPA. No harm would come to him from these guys, Max was tempted to join the group but pulled off his tea shirt and walked to the pool in his shorts before diving clumsily in. Let them scheme, he thought, all would be revealed eventually. He was relieved to find out that Harry's local contacts were through these people and not through the police force.

With considerable mental exhaustion he realised that scoundraly work was afoot; Harry knew nothing else and he shouldn't be surprised, he had to take full advantage of what he knew of the local ground and never cease to watch his back.

He walked across to Harry's table when he left the pool, his hangover slipping away as he called the waitress for more orange juice. A beer would be nice but he needed his wits about him and any show of weakness was to be avoided in front of the Philipino guerrillas.

Harry, straight to the point, said that there were several boxes to be collected from his Filipina girlfriend's house in Zamboanga City far to the south. He declined to elaborate on how they had got there, merely saying that it was important that they got back to Angeles as quickly as possible and, smiling, he said that Max was the only one he trusted to supervise their movement. Unfortunately, he said, Louie and his boat were possibly unavailable, hinting that he fell into the category of the untrustworthy, but Max, Charlie, the local help- here he waved airily at the Philipinos, and several gentlemen he was in the process of employing would collect the goods and bring them to him. As much as he would love to accompany them, and Max believed him, there was serious work to be done here and it could be only done by him. Max understood immediately that he wanted Charlie Gilmour out of the way while he went through the process of setting up his new empire. Charlie's contacts had to be approached and their loyalties either bought or their influence negated.

Max suggested they island hop down to Mindanao using one of the small local airlines, he wanted to spend as little time there as possible, he wasn't sure of the working relationship between the NPA and the local Muslim guerrilla group, Abu Sayef, but suspected that it may not be a close one. In a country racked by corruption and crime he knew that a common cause amongst insurgents didn't necessarily mean a desire or an ability to work together, particularly amongst groups of such diverse political and religious beliefs.

Charlie disagreed, he wanted to get a mini bus and pass as tourists but Max knew that he was only talking to be important. They would be constantly stopped by police, army and local militia road blocks and the consequences of a fire fight after a too close inspection would be disastrous.

The Philipino immigration stamp in his passport would pass inspection and there would be no reason for domestic airport security to question it. Even if there was a computer check Max knew he could talk his way out of it; the immigration officer had forgotten to enter the arrival- a common event in a country where public servants were notoriously underpaid. Max had actually heard of a guy who, on arrival in Manila for the weekend from Hong Kong, had walked confidently past a slow moving queue of several hundred arrivals pointing at his bag like he had gone back to get it and, eager to get to the Ermita bargirls, just walked out of the airport like he had every right to do so. When he arrived at departures several days later he had bluffed his way through, cursing the incompetence of the officials and threatening to complain to their superiors about them. Possibly an urban myth but more than possible in places like Manila where confidence and disdain for authority worked miracles.

Max gave up on the plotters and headed for town, walking the couple of kilometres in the heat and enjoying the sweat running down his body. Perimeter Road was busy with jeepneys and trikes- the ubiquitous three wheeled motorbikes that carried a couple of normal passengers or six bargirls but he ignored them until he came to Illusions, an outlying bar that specialised in daytime players. The girls were nothing special but they wore bikini bottoms and cut off tee shirts that just covered their bare breasts and there was a room out the back. It was a favourite amongst foreign guys who lived in Angeles and were in a relationship who wanted a little bit on the side without complications.

Max had been well known there and those girls who remembered him squealed and waved so he bought drinks for three or four of his former favourites and settled down with a bottled water. Best to stay sober this early, he was too agreeable when drunk.

The girls demanded to know why he had stayed away so long and where he had been. Cambodia he said, noting the dubious looks on their faces. Cambodia had a bad reputation amongst them; they believed it was a place where men went for young girls.

He took his digital camera out and turned it on, showing them the photos on the display screen of the Angkor Wat ruins so they could see that there were attractions for tourists too. He flicked through to the Killing Fields and their faces lit up in horrified fascination at the piles of skulls. By this stage the whole bar was around him and he waved at the glaring Mama San and indicated drinks for all. They were cheap here, the girls were expected to run as many customers that they could through the back room on the short time system as they could rather than make their money on drinks. The youngest girl looked at Max white-faced.

"Were there ghosts there?' she said.

Max nodded his head solemnly, "the fucking place was crawling with them" he replied.

"Had he seen one?" she said with trembling lips.

Another solemn nod, "I could see them in the corner of my eye" he said pointing accordingly, "but when I turned my head they disappeared".

The girls shrieked as with one voice, they were convinced that they had all seen the same thing regardless of whether the priests scoffed at their stories. Ghosts existed, and in a place where more than a million people had died where better to see them? More drinks were ordered, most of the girls switching from Coke to Philipino rum to settle their shattered nerves while Max ordered a beer. The conversation remained on the subject of ghosts and Max wondered about the fascination Asians had for them. He had never met anyone up here, regardless of religion, who doubted their existence and there were few people who wouldn't admit to having seen one. In Thailand even dreaming of one required a trip to the temple where the associated evil could be blessed out of you.

In Laos or Thailand he would have sent out for food from street stalls but it worked differently here, in this bar some of the dozen girls were from several different Vasayan islands and some were local, they wouldn't normally eat together as Thais would and the Mama San would want them back to work. The bar owner, a scrawny Australian, sent him over several drink vouchers which he acknowledged. It would be bad form to use them to pay the bill, they were meant for the next visit, so he put them in his pocket and called for the check bin. Disappointed, several of the girls aroused themselves from the contemplation of ghosts and tried to tempt him into the back room but a heavy session in bed with his recently departed partner before breakfast that morning had reminded him of his age. Promising to return in a more active mode he tipped heavily and made his way back to the street.

Max always believed that Angeles City was sin heaven for guys his age or older. Pattaya was great for every one but for older men who wanted to pretend that they were still attractive to younger women Angeles was the best spot on the planet. Most Filipina bargirls dreamed of a marriage to a foreigner followed by immigration to his home country where she could bring her children up far from the perils and poverty of the Philippine Islands. A considerable number of the girls arrived at the bars virgins, cherry-girls as they were known, and were convinced by their older sisters and cousins that their virginity was a saleable commodity and there was always a chance that their deflowerer would fall in love with them and take them away from the sordid streets of Angeles City. Most were conned out it by the wiser regular visitors but there were always a few, usually the prettier ones, who had their dreams fulfilled. Max didn't doubt that any Thai bargirl hearing about this would fall about laughing but he still believed that Angeles was a unique micro-culture that would keep a sociologist enthralled for a life time, providing he was male and prepared to use himself as a subject.

The bargirls addressed the Mama San as Mummy and the bar owner and male manager, or Papa San, as Daddy something that happened occasionally in other countries but the idea of the bar as a family unit was much stronger here. The best bars usually employed girls from the same town and many were related. This was vital as a support system for new girls some of whom were only eighteen and had never had personal contact with foreigners. Their first experience with them was often frightening and the culture shock occasionally sent them scurrying for the first bus home, but the sight of an older sister or cousin strutting topless before the monsters, teasing them for drinks and fondling their cocks under the table gradually reassured them and finally convinced them that this was the only escape from their impoverished lives at home. Max always remembered drinking with Bill the Queenslander one night in his bar while they watched a crowd of practically naked dancers laughing and chattering during their break.

Bill had shaken his head. "Poor little bitches" he said "they think this is all there is to life."

And it was true, they saw other girls working in shops and offices but it was a world they never even considered was available to them. Some customers would send them to school but few continued with it, for them the only escape from the bars was marriage and surprisingly enough most of the Filipinas made good wives. Raised in a patriarchal and Christian society they settled into Western society a lot easier than their Thai sisters.

Max knew quite a few men who had long standing marriages to Filipina bar girls and some had not necessarily been cherry girls or new arrivals at the bars. The chances of a worthwhile relationship were good and as long as reasonable precautions were taken few men were ripped off. He was convinced that no girl set out in marriage with this in mind but if her life were made unbearable through physical or mental abuse she would flee with everything she could get her hands on, and why not?

In a similar position he would do the same.

He strolled into Fields Avenue, the most concentrated area of sin he had seen any where in the world, a late lunch called and he decided to check his email at a local café then head for a Continental deli he knew that served European hams and cheeses on freshly baked rolls. Canned soup from Germany could be ordered as well- the whole meal only 200 pesos or five bucks US. Later he would take a trike back to the hotel and have a couple of beers before a shower and a few hours sleep. He knew that Harry would have been out with Charlie, looking at houses and possible investment properties and was now probably asleep in front of the TV in his room. They would hit the bars again and finish at Bill's, where Max would be told the plan formulated that day and expected to go along with it.

He was surprised to find Harry in the hotel restaurant talking to the owner and was told that Charlie had been more persistent than usual. He wanted to stay in Angeles with Harry and let Max handle the pick up of the goods in Mindanao.

Max immediately protested, Charlie could handle all the paperwork and tickets and shit, that was what he did best and Max would keep him away from the help; he was capable of driving an Asian man into a killing frenzy with a sneering comment or a loud temper tantrum in seconds. Max had told him once he had learnt nothing in fifteen years in Asia only to see him go open mouthed with astonishment.

"You've got to keep on at them Max" he said, "they're a mob of useless lazy bastards with no concept of any work ethic or doing anything properly".

To Max this attitude completely explained Charlie's lack of business success north of Darwin.

He told Harry to get things organised promptly, he untruthfully hinted Rex had been in contact via email- a mystery to Harry, and was waiting for the gear in Australia. The sooner the pick up was done the sooner he could be on his way. The longer he stayed here the more likely people like Charlie would get a sniff of the dope and either set people to steal it or give him up to the police to bolster his shaky relationship in that area.

Max agreed to meet Harry at six that night so they could head off for a meal and another night around the bars where Max would find out what had been decided for his future.

Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

Charlie Gilmour, failed and disgraced police officer, failed husband and boyfriend to many women and soon to be failed rag trade manufacturer and exporter was almost in tears. He was good at this Max thought, he had you thinking that the whole world conspired against him and his personal happiness while he worked on a way to fuck you over.

"I don't know why Harry wants me to go" he whined, "I can do a lot more for him here than traipsing around the country. You can handle that better than me Max, you know I fly off the handle at the Pinoys if things go wrong, and it will, we won't spend too much time traveling with that lot without someone fucking up."

Max, who had no intentions of spending much time with a bunch of gunmen, was working on a way to get rid of them for most of the outward journey and meet up in Mindanao but also had no intentions of telling Charlie this. Harry didn't mind alterations to his plans as long as he didn't know about them before hand and the end result was still what he intended. Max never doubted that Charlie would run back to Harry with the news and was enjoying his tantrum anyway.

"Cop a look at that Charlie" he said, "You wouldn't need Viagra to keep a woman happy with a tongue like that." He was watching Harry who had approached the nightclub stage and stripped a teenage dancer to the waist and was happily licking her small breasts.

"You wouldn't think he'd be interested if you'd seen the hammering these two Russian scrubbers gave him in Pattaya last week" he said without envy.

Charlie resisted the diversion and persisted with his original topic. "Please tell Harry you don't want me along" he pleaded, "he'll listen to you, he doesn't take any notice of me any more".

"Probably because you've spent half that cash he gave you to look after" said Max with out rancor, "don't worry Charlie, it'll only take a few days and we'll be back before you know it. As long as we keep it business like and don't spend too much time in the one spot, particularly on the way back these fucking mystery parcels, all should go well. Just keep your fucking mouth shut and let me do any talking."

He turned away from the sulking Charlie and signaled a hovering waitress for another beer and realizing he knew her from an earlier visit he mentally penciled her down as a possible bed mate as the night was coming to a close. He ordered a drink for her also and after collecting the drinks she sat next to him, glowing with pleasure at his recognition of her and forgoing the usual well worn preliminaries of introduction and intelligence gathering common to bargirls throughout Asia. She snuggled against him happily as they played "have you seen so and so lately" confident that she had a customer for the night. She knew she had no hope with Harry or Charlie who stroked their egos with the younger more beautiful girls but Max cared little for age or looks. Once he had spent weeks with a thin, plain girl from the same bar even taking her to a Subic Bay resort for a weekend as if she was the best looking dancer in Angeles. When pressed for the reason for the attraction by a baffled Charlie he had shrugged and said "my cock loves her mate, she's nearly killing me."

Charlie had shaken his head in wonder, almost contemptuous of someone who hadn't realized that sex had nothing to do with the type of girl you allowed yourself to be seen in public with. It was all about showing off, being one up on the next guy as far as he was concerned.

As they finally left the club, Harry replete with the teenage dancer, Max happy with his waitress and Charlie disdaining the rest as unsuitable Max suggested an early meet in the morning. He wanted to get on the road he said, tickets could be booked in the morning and maybe a start, at least to Manila, made in the afternoon. He would catch up with an agent for SEA, a small domestic airline that went every where, and see what was involved in getting to Mindanao. He and Charlie could go with them and the others with Philippines Airlines, a more tolerant airline to those who wished to check in fire arms on departure. The NPA also had many sympathizers, some of whom worked for airport security. Best to not appear as a group before they had picked up the goods he said, planting the seed that had occurred to him during Charlie's whinging. Harry who, unusually for him, had consumed several beers nodded agreement.

"As long as the security is in full attendance on the way back" he said, "I don't want you cunts getting lost with my stuff" and laughed to show he was only joking.

Satisfied Max walked off to a waiting trike as Charlie protested that he had his car there, "too much of a crowd" Max said, "I might want to stop for a drink on the way back to the hotel anyway."

He climbed into the trike with the girl on his lap, adjusting his seat to accommodate the erection that always started to rear it's head at the prospect of a new pussy and hearing the girl laugh as she felt it. He wondered how long sex went on for guys who stayed with the same woman all there adult lives. Did boredom set in and it become a weekly then a monthly event? Finally ending as they approached their sixties and friendship replaced passion. He thought about his Thai wife and hoped not. He would make a real effort to do the right thing when he got home, maybe just a massage and a blow job occasionally he thought unhopefully, nothing that was really classed as being unfaithful. Getting home would be the problem; particularly in one piece, so many loose ends to tie off, so many betrayed people to fix up.

Oh well, he thought, most of the guys he had grown up with thought that bowls at the RSL club on a Saturday and a beer afterwards was a big deal; with the lawn to worry about on Sunday morning and a nap with the Missus after dinner, hoping the couple of glasses of cask wine with the roast lamb would have put her in the mood for a leg over . At least he had lived he thought as the trike accelerated down Perimeter Road, racing another which was being cheered on by its pair of drunken customers.

Charlie looked at the chunky Cessna sitting on the runway like a minibus with wings. "I don't know why you brought that fucking heavy backpack" he said, "you said we'll only be gone for a couple of days, you could have left it at the pub."

'You never know what you'll need on a trip" said Max, "we want to look like tourists anyway don't we?"

"Why couldn't we go Philippine Airlines?" the ex-cop whined, "at least they've got a business class, it's wasted on that lot and I could have driven us to Manila to pick it up."

"Shut up Charlie, Harry want's us to look like a couple of mugs seeing the sights and this is how it's done" Max replied, 'We'll change for Cebu City at Manila then get the next flight to Zamboanga, Marylyn will pick us up and take us to the stuff, we'll be on the way back before you know it."

"Fucking Marylyn?" howled Charlie, startling several passengers already bemused at the sight of the tiny propeller driven plane, "that slut fucking hates me, no one said anything about her being involved, at least if there's any thing of value there she'll have already stolen it" he sneered.

Marylyn was a tall rangy Filipina who had kept Harry company on his Philippines visits for a few years before he moved on. Personally Max had thought he could have done a lot worse, a woman of many years experience in the bars she had genuinely liked Harry and he, not recognizing affection, had paid her well for her time and she had built a new house in her home town from the proceeds. Max doubted she would rip Harry off and would be being paid well for her input anyway. Charlie hated her after seeing her with another guy in Angeles while Harry was in Australia and after triumphantly bearing the news back had been laughed at by all concerned.

Max had always got on well with her after informing her he intended to settle down in southern Luzon with one of her friends. Amazingly she broke the bargirl code; looking at him without expression but shaking her head minutely. Max had second thoughts and not long after found the object of his desire to build a nest with was keeping a husband in her home village.

The small plane took off and purred contentedly over Manila Bay. The lack of a pressurized cabin kept it under 10,000 feet and Max happily watched the small boats beneath them working the hundreds of fish farms. That was the real Asia he thought, Work, eat and breed. Hard work that killed most of them early, he had seen men unloading boats on the Mekong in Vientiane, straining under huge loads as they staggered ashore. It was slowly changing though he mused; he had seen it in his time in Asia, certainly for the better. The down side for the likes of him was no more daughters sent off to the cheap bars of Angeles and Pattaya, they would go to the schools now to learn nursing and teaching or stay home to work in the shops and new factories and good luck to them, there would be enough left to last him out and he had no sons to miss out on their bounty.

Almost as soon as it reached it's maximum height the plane dipped into Manila Airport to touch down and they disembarked to transfer to the Cebu flight.

Charlie thought Cebu City looked nice from the airport but Max knew that the nearby metropolis was a huge vice ridden slum, once a desperate woman had offered him a 'massage' for twenty pesos, fifty cents Australian, and pimps paraded flocks of girls, some as young as twelve, along the darkened downtown streets and sold them for as little as a hundred pesos a time.

Max had spent time there with an Australian Vietnam veteran who scoffed at places like Angeles. "I can get drunk and laid here most nights for five hundred pesos...about twelve dollars," he said "why would I go to shit holes like Angeles and pay sixty for a beer and more than a thousand for some stuck up bitch that may not do what I want anyway?"

Max, who had acquired a dose of Chlamydia from a cute but slightly simple street prostitute, knew that it wasn't all roses there.

After some investigation the pair found that the options involved an early morning flight to Zamboanga or two ferries that went via Dumaghetti on Negros Island and took more than twenty four hours. Max marked the latter down as a possible return route and Charlie booked them on the morning plane.

Now fully in control of the situation he approached the hotel booking desk and after a moments perusal of their book chose the Golden Valley Inn and informed a bemused Max that with a name like that it must be a comfortable hotel on the outskirts of the city. Max, who had met his ex-serviceman friend at a bar across the road from this fine establishment and later the same night contracted Chlamydia on one of its beds took no steps to enlighten him.

"Sounds good to me Charlie" he agreed, "I might have to have an early night though, bit shagged out after last night. Don't let me stop you having a look at the town though."

Once booked in Max decided to do as he had promised and settled into the comfortable room with the TV on and a bottle of Johnny Walker Black on the bedside table. As he started to doze a preemptory knock on the door revealed a company seeking Charlie who informed him that they appeared to be in the centre of what passed for the action part of town.

Feigning amazement Max said, "You could have fooled me Charlie, I thought you said it was on the outskirts of the city, I'll come out but not if you're not gonna have a drink, I had a guts full of that with Harry and if I have to drink alone I'll do it here in front of the TV, I'm ready to crash anyway."

Full of Charlie's reassurances that a good time would be had by all they stepped out onto the humid smoky street and were immediately approached by several young men offering female company. Cheerfully declining Max lead Charlie into a nearby outdoor bar where he ordered a couple of San Miguels. Making a bold attempt to match Max's intake Charlie soon waxed voluble, telling Max he was one of the few of his mates he really trusted and he couldn't understand why people held him in so little regard personally.

"I bust my guts for my mate's, all I ask is a little respect in return" he waffled, swigging unsteadily on his fourth beer. He peered myopically at the attractive young girl wearing a small back pack who had mysteriously appeared at Max's side. "Jeez, they fancy you Max" he cried, "how does an ugly bastard like you do it?".

"What the fucks in the back pack anyway?" Max, who knew very well it was her days work clothes from the factory down the road and she hoped to wash them in some mug's hotel room bathroom while he waited hopefully on the bed winked at Charlie, "that's for you to find out mate, this girl tells me she's a specialist and carries all the necessary equipment."

He ordered another beer for a goggling Charlie and winked at the girl, nodding in his direction, making the universal sign for wealth by rubbing finger and thumb together. Instantly she changed sides, lowering her head shyly under Charlie's enthusiastic gaze as Max bought her a drink. He shook his head at the warnings of a frantically beckoning expat across the room and confident the girl still carried the germs that had caused him so much pain previously he paid the bill and apologizing to all for being so tired he left happily for his hotel.

The first light of day the next morning found Max eating an omelet while a nauseous Charlie sipped warily on an orange juice.

"How did you go mate?" he cheerfully inquired, "turned you inside out like rubber glove did she?"

Charlie shifted in his chair uncomfortably, "to be honest I don't remember too much about it" he said. "Funny taste in my mouth this morning though and it's not just the booze" as Max suddenly choked on the omelet.

"Don't worry about it mate, she's probably just a college student you had the good luck to pick up on the way home from school."

They departed for the Airport, Charlie harboring a suspicion that somehow, somewhere along the line he had been got at.

Max never tired of flying in the Philippines, everything lay beneath him, islands big and small, volcanoes dormant and active, coral reefs in turquoise seas and the spider web patterns of fish farms in the bays of the larger islands. On international flights he always requested an aisle seat, he could walk around when he wished, get drinks from the galley without bothering with the bell and talk to the other passengers as he desired. Flying over the Philippines was a pleasure that demanded a window seat even with Charlie snoring beside him sleeping off his hangover. He wondered if the girl had picked up any other diseases in the couple of years since he had seen her, Charlie often bragged he was partial to anal sex and never used condoms, childishly refusing to do anything that reduced his selfish pleasures in any way. Not that he would wish AIDS on any one but who was he to stand between Charlie and something he didn't doubt he richly deserved.

The terrain became mountainous as they flew over the large island of Mindanao. This was the Muslim part of the country and if the Spanish had arrived a hundred years later they would have found all the islands converted to that faith. Instead they had brought the Catholic version of Christianity building magnificent churches in dirt poor towns and cities while the populace barely subsisted and sent their daughters to the brothels and bars to aid in the family's survival. The Americans had added to the chaos, building enclaves like Clarke air base and Subic Bay naval base through out the islands and ignoring the rest of the country. Rich in natural resources the Philippines remained one of the poorest nations on earth.

Chapter 12

Overland Run Part 12

As the reluctant traveling companions arrived at Zamboanga Airport a massive rolling wall of black clouds approached from the south west, great thunderclaps warning of an impending tropical downpour of considerable proportions. They hurried to the terminal noting a heavy military presence both on the tarmac and in the building itself. A Philippines Airways plane was also unloading passengers and Max noted the two NPA fighters amongst the crowd leaving the plane. Their body guard-escort had arrived and he noticed with a sinking feeling one of the army officers pointing at them. As quickly as he could without breaking into a run he headed for the terminal cursing the backpack that would have to be waited for at the luggage collection. There was a ear shattering clap of thunder followed almost instantly by torrential rain and to his horror he recognized a different sound, the clattering roar of an automatic weapon as one of the Philipinos opened fire on the approaching soldiers. Many of the disembarking passengers failed to notice it as the chaos of the heavy rain began to drown out sound and vision but Max saw a soldier go down turning the rain on the tarmac red as he fell then screaming passengers started falling as the troops fired recklessly into the crowd. Charlie, the police officer in him taking over, grabbed Max by the arm and they ran terrified into the terminal, pushing through the horrified onlookers.

Most of the onlookers were still unaware of the turmoil outside until the building's windows began to shatter, the guerillas had not arrived alone and their companions were adding to the carnage outside. Max saw Marylyn standing near the exit and he grabbed the frightened girl and together they ran for the carpark, closely followed by Charlie. Both of the middle aged men were fitter than their girth indicated and they followed Marylyn to her car with out too much physical distress. The long legged Filipina opened the doors of the compact Toyota and Max pushed her out of the way to let Charlie take the driver's seat. Sometimes lunatic driving was called for. Amazingly Charlie stopped at the carpark boom gate and handed the stunned attendant a hundred peso note, automatically she pressed the open button and the small car laid rubber all the way to the highway. Max looked back and saw that grenades had added to the destruction of the airport and the elimination of their former companions.

Trembling with the adrenalin rush of the escape Max noted a satisfied smirk on Charlie's face; the arsehole had shopped their escort to the authorities in an effort to take control of the job. He sincerely hoped the Cebuana girl had given the cunt AIDS.

Several hectic miles down the road Max made a reluctant Charlie surrender the wheel to Marylyn. It was time to take to the back streets and Zamboanga City was the Mindanao girl's town. She had recovered from the shock of the firefight and he shoved Charlie into the front passenger seat and squeezed into the back. From now on he would watch the man's every move, he didn't want to be the next one eliminated from the operation.

The small car weaved through the back streets before turning into the country side. The rain had reduced the traffic flow and they moved rapidly away from the city. After an hour they turned into a dirt track, sliding in the mud but there was enough gravel for traction. Soon they came to a small house on the outskirts of a village almost hidden by a variety of palms, banana trees and thin stemmed papayas. Max got out, still trembling with reaction and Marylyn rushed to him, hugging him and holding him close. She may have been Harry's girlfriend but Max had always been the only man who had ever treated her as a human being rather than just someone there to be fucked. She acknowledged Charlie with a lift of the chin and led them into the house that Harry's money had built.

Like most Philipino houses, or most Asian houses for that matter, it was full of people. Marylyn's mother directed traffic, her two teenage son's watched TV and several nieces and nephews headed outside as the rain stopped to clean up.

"I'm not fucking staying here" snarled Charlie, and Max turned on him instantly, the day's fear and hatred that churned in his guts turning to violence. He grabbed the amazed man by the throat and used his bulk to slam him against the wall of the room, feeling the whole house shake.

"Listen you fucking arsehole, the cops will be nailing what's left of one of our former friends to the floor by his balls now, they'll have our description out of him in an hour. Two fucking fat foreigners, one with the worst fucking hair transplant in the world. OK, fuck off to the Zamboanga Hilton and we'll be gone two seconds after you leave." He drew a clenched fist back "If you make it back to Angeles Harry will be waiting for you, you cunt"

Charlie wasn't a coward but he recognized the danger he was in immediately; he held his hands up carefully, not touching Max and slowly forming his features into an ingratiating smile.

"Sorry mate, pressure of the day and all that, this will do fine, just got a bit carried away."

Still shaking Max pushed himself away from Charlie, coming back from the brink, the lack of fulfillment bitter in his mouth. He knew the cunt had set those guys up, but wasn't a hundred percent sure. To get rid of him now would cause friction with Harry, he had to let things settle, get his dope back some how and sort out what Harry wanted.

Suddenly he realised that Marylyn was rubbing the back of his neck talking softly to him holding him and telling him to be good.

He turned to her, "some fucking hostess you are, a man's been here half the day and hasn't been offered a drink yet"

Laughing, letting the tension ease, she went to the fridge and got a couple of beers opening the first and handing it to Max. She took the second for herself, calling to one of the children to get something to Charlie, smiling innocently as he glowered at the insult.

Max ran his hands down the splendid naked breasts, mentally agreeing that saline bags felt better than silicone as well as being so much safer. Not that Harry would have cared when he remodeled the girl so he moved his hands to her buttocks, all natural, and ran a finger along the cleft of her butt. Never stopping the gentle stroking as she rolled him onto his back and lowered herself down onto him, a spasm of pleasure running through her almost immediately. When there both sated she snuggled into him and chuckled, "All the more nice for wait so long Max, good to be with a man and not have to wear schoolgirl clothes with no panties" she laughed.

Not wanting to hear about Harry's peculiarities he rolled on his side and whispered in her ear, telling her about the bag at the airport then telling her everything else. She was silent for a long time then started whispering back.

The next day a council of war was held after breakfast. The TV news informed them that all the guerillas were dead, one having died in custody, and two foreigners were being sought by the security forces. They were vague about what the foreigners were being hunted for but hinted that some terrorist connection was suspected. An intensive search of the city and surrounding area was underway, and hundreds of police and troops were moving on known Abu Sayef strongholds incase they had been involved in the previous days action. Several Generals appeared on the screen, shaking hands and smiling broadly, a successful action against guerillas was a rare thing for them and they were making the most of the occasion. But then they didn't usually get such reliable information, thought Max bitterly. He mused happily for a while on what the NPA would do to Charlie Gilmour if they ever found out about his treachery.

A small van arrived at the house, two men who Max recognized from an earlier visit as Marylyn's cousins got out and opened the back door. The first thing he noticed was his backpack and behind it a small wooden crate. They produced a hammer and a small jimmy bar and soon revealed a shrink wrapped bundle of six large, heavy brief cases. Charlie slit the plastic with a kitchen knife but these were no ordinary briefcases, the locks were like nothing Max had seen before and an 'accidental' slash with the knife barely marked the fabric showing some sort of fine stainless steel mesh incorporated into it. Not impregnable but it would certainly involve considerable effort to open them without the keys. Charlie couldn't keep his hands off them, Max saw greed and curiosity oozing from every pore in the man's body. "How did they get here?" he asked, addressing Marylyn directly for the first time since the airport.

"A small cargo ship" she replied, "So many come to the port from all over Asia; this one from Java originally, but who know where it go in between."

Max was pondering their options, flying out was impossible, even the ferries were being watched he knew. A mini bus or other large vehicle had to be rented and they would go overland to one of the other Mindanao cities with a ferry port. Maybe a large fishing vessel could be hired to get them back to Luzon, but not here, the triumphant Philipino security forces would be determined to cap their victory of the previous day with the capture of the foreign 'terrorists'. Max knew that the competence of the Philipinos had risen dramatically in the last few years. In 2002 they had called on the American military to help rescue American missionaries kidnapped by Abu Sayef. Max didn't doubt they had deserved all they got, as would any one who arrived in a militant Muslim area brandishing bibles, but the Americans had put several thousand troops into the area; rescuing the surviving missionaries and giving the Philipino forces months of intensive anti-terrorism training.

Charlie carefully edged Max away from Marylyn until they were out of hearing range. "We're rich Max, the bags have to be full of money, millions, fuck Harry... lets go, we need this more than him and he's shit on both of us for years."

"And where will you go Charlie? He'll get you in the Philippines and if you run to Australia Rex will be waiting."

He noted the suspicion of a smirk appear on the other man's face, God he'd love to play poker against this idiot. Somehow Rex was out of the equation but he knew it would only be temporary, Charlie was incapable of taking Rex out permanently; it would be a anonymous phone call to some countries immigration. Rex would be in a South American prison somewhere while his documents were checked. Possibly he had been set up but Max knew the street smart ex-con would buy his way out quickly.

"You have to be joking Charlie," he continued "Marylyn would have half her family down on us with jungle bolos in seconds, we can't get out of here without her and you know it. Wait till we get back to Angeles and you can rip him off a few bucks at a time like you always have."

"We can pay the slut off" hissed Charlie, "A thousand bucks is a fortune to a peasant like her, she's got no loyalty to anyone, she'd sell her own fucking kids for fifty."

Cursing, he knew that he was helpless without Max though, in one night he'd got the bitch on his side, you'd think she'd been fucked that many times her cunt would have as much feeling left as a piece of liver. Rapidly sinking into his 'the whole worlds against me' mode he backed off.

"Just an idea" he whined thinking he'd wait for his chance and Max could get fucked.

Max was pleased with what Marylyn came up with in the transportation line, a long wheelbase Toyota Land cruiser, several decades old and well worn but she assured him that the engine and transmission were fully reconditioned. There were plenty of them around and the tinted windows would hide the passengers from a casual inspection. He and Charlie would sit in the back making themselves difficult to see even with the front windows down. Max didn't know the large islands interior, his visits had confined him to a few of the coastal cities, but he knew if they could get to the north coast there were regular ferries heading into the Vasayan Islands and up to Luzon. What they would need was a driver and a guide, preferably one of each. There was plenty of room for four people and their luggage would fit in the back with the briefcases. He sent Marylyn into town to stock up on bottled water and stuff he and Charlie could eat like packet food and fruit. He didn't want anyone laid up for days after a plate of chicken adobo at some jungle village café. Marylyn came back in an hour with enough provisions for a week, she also had the several maps of the interior he had asked for. Mindanao was about three hundred miles long and he knew that the roads would be ordinary at best. It was the least populated part of the Philippines but he expected a slow trip. They would drive nonstop until clear of the southern part of the island, military operations against Abu Sayef were on going there and the risk of being stopped and searched would be high.

Max imagined the dilemma of some twenty year old army lieutenant when a search revealed the drugs and the briefcases. Try to keep it and run? Hand it over to his superiors and never see it again? Maybe murdered by his own platoon when they realised what he had. It would almost be worth getting caught to watch the kid trying to figure it out.

They spent the day getting their clothes washed and loafing around, Max considered trying to tempt Marylyn into her room but knew she wouldn't be in it while Mum and the kids were around. It had only been after the rest of the house had been asleep that he had been welcomed into her bed. It would be no secret he knew but Philipino mothers were good at denial, she would be happy to believe that a daughter made enough money for a house, car and college for the kids working as a 'waitress' in Angeles City. He knew Marylyn had been superb at her profession, raking in the commission on at least twenty drinks every night then carefully choosing a bed mate from the throng of admirers who hung around when Harry was away. He thought ruefully that he was probably the first person to enjoy her skills for free in nearly twenty years. She had told him once that she had married at sixteen and had two kids in a short time when her husband just disappeared. Whether he had been killed by bandits or run off to Manila with another woman she never knew. No one had seen or heard from him since. Barely old enough to work in the bars of Angeles she had the made the pilgrimage that so many girls from poor families made every year.

A strange Philipino arrived and Marylyn introduced him as her brother surprising them all by declaring him an occasional member of Abu Sayef. Charlie, still the detective at heart queried this instantly, he knew Marylyn to be a devout Catholic and wanted to know how the fuck she had a Muslim brother. "Same Papa" she said, "my Mum only girlfriend, he was Muslim, her Catholic, he don't marry her so she bring me up Catholic."

She laughed at Max, "Better to be Catholic" she said, "I can have many lovers then confess at the church every Sunday."

"Fucking no principals at all" sneered the highly unprincipled Charlie Gilmour.

The half brother would drive she said and she would come as the guide and interpreter, Max waited for the howl of outrage from Charlie but to his surprise the ex-cop just gave his little smirk and said nothing.

They got an early night, except for Max and Marylyn who managed to find each other in the darkness, and were on the road well before daylight.

The island of Mindanao is heavily forested and largely undeveloped, rich in minerals it represents the future of the Philippines which accounts for the ongoing battle with it's Muslim inhabitants who want independence from Manila. They drove along the long narrow peninsula that Zamboanga was on the southern end of, negotiating the winding jungle roads with care, coming out of the mountains occasionally to pass towns full of rusting shacks made from flattened out petrol drums and scrap timber, some of it only tree branches. They decided to stop the night at the small city of Ozamis, just a bare hundred miles from Cagayan de Oro the city that Max had decided to get the ferry to either Cebu City or Dumaghetti. Both cities would offer plane flights to Manila. He considered getting the ferry all the way to the capital but decided to delay the journey while he took stock of matters. He suspected that Charlie was up to something and wanted him to get around to it on neutral ground rather than the rat hole of Manila that he knew so well and had so many contacts. Charlie hated Philipino ferries anyway, avowing that they rolled over too easily drowning hundreds of passengers which, in all truth, they had been known to do.

On the assumption that they would be caught just as easily in a small hotel as a big one they checked into the best hotel in town. Max and Charlie were gratified to find that their were suites with spa tubs and took one each, the brother being given fifty US dollars, not enough to arouse local interest, and told to hide himself and the car for the night. Charlie headed for his room complaining loudly of back pain while Max and Marylyn headed for theirs, looking forward to the hot tub after the day's grimy drive.

Within twenty minutes they were in the tub swapping spit, as it was known in Max's teenage years, as the bath slowly filled around them. Before it was full she was straddling his lap, holding back as the best courtesans do, knowing that when she came it would take him with her.

The first need fulfilled they headed for the town centre and found a restaurant specializing in the local seafood. Black squirming mud cabs were produced for their inspection and a small coral trout taken off the ice to be tested for freshness. This was the Asia Max loved, a new town, eating fresh food full of the local flavours in the open air so they could watch the passers by and soaking up a completely new and strange atmosphere. Across the road the lights of a disco flashed, live bands were offered and he knew that Philipinos were the best and most highly sought after musicians in Asia. He had surprised many a night club band in places as far apart as Bali and Ho Chi Minh City by coming up and complementing them in Tagalog or even Broken Spanish, the unique dialect of Southern Mindanao. He prided himself with his ability to say "thank you", "hello" or order a beer fluently in a dozen Asian languages. "Beautiful girl" was one of his specialties too. Deciding things were going too well he got Marylyn to ring the hotel so he could invite Charlie out. They replied his room wasn't answering making him wonder where the devious man was.

The firefight and deaths at the airport had shaken him considerably, it was the first time he had experienced that sort of violence and it had left him disturbed. The casual, easy going façade was severely cracked and now he decided he would leave nothing to fate. Squirming on the ground in his own blood was a very real possibility.

They spent a few hours in the night club before returning to the hotel and sliding into the large bed, Marylyn marveling at his reaction, "Max, you are young man" she sighed, "no take Viagra even."

The next day found them on the road, Charlie informing them he had gone to bed and turned the phone off after a bath and a room service meal. Max doubted this, Marylyn had said the hotel clerk said the phone wasn't being answered, but let it lie. The car turned out of the fields outside the city and the road ran along an isolated coastal area, following sandy beaches.

"Pull over mate', Charlie said to the driver, "I need a piss." Max agreed, too much juice and tea to settle the slight hangover at breakfast had filled his bladder too. They climbed out the back doors and Charlie walked to the driver's window and leant in as if to say something. He produced a gun from his suit pocket and shot the Philipino in the temple, blood and brain tissue splattering Marylyn in the passenger seat. Obligingly she leant screaming over her brother allowing Charlie to club her with the gun butt, then he turned to a stunned Max, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into the gun barrel until it touched his face.

"Right you fucking know-all dirt bag, here's where you get yours" he snarled triumphantly.

Chapter 13 Charlie's Story.

Overland Run Part 13

Charlie Gilmour had been destined for great things; the son of a very senior police officer he had wanted nothing else as a boy other than to join the Force as soon as he was old enough. He had excelled at the academy, scholastically bright he had also grown up among coppers, he knew the internal politics and how things worked. No one was surprised when he graduated with the Sword of Honour as head of the class and was photographed with the State premier. Years later a teenage bargirl had stolen the sword thinking the hilt was real gold.

He was a natural during his short stay in the uniformed branch. He terrified street punks, lashing out with fist and boot when there were no onlookers, and petty thieves and professional shoplifters gave his beat a wide berth. A good athlete he played in the second team for a local major league club and was never too busy to stop to chat to little old lady supporters who he knew would ring the station singing his praises regularly. His rise to the plain clothes division was rapid and surprised no one.

It was here that his career began to falter. His enormous ego and cynical manner disturbed his peers and superiors alike. His fellow detectives, already wary of him because of his father's high rank, slowly eased him out of the 'boy's club' that is essential to any group of people carrying out this type of work. They cover each others backs and do extra duty so a mate can slip off for an hour or two to meet a girlfriend. They drink together and share information and membership is essential in the Police and Armed Forces alike. A less easily wounded man than Charlie would have seen the problem and sorted it out but the only thing that occurred to him was that they didn't like him and he began to develop the paranoia that would haunt him for the rest of his days. His blossoming attraction to young girls came out at police parties and functions where his attempts to flirt with the teenage daughters of his superior officers was noted with considerable annoyance and concern on their part.

He became solitary and friendless and began to develop bad work habits in the absence of any guidance by his more experienced work mates. His father retired early due to bad health and no senior officer stepped forward to replace him as a mentor. The lowest branch of the plain clothes division that most young officers start in is burglary. Seldom is great detective work called for, break-ins are attended and reported, signs of the technique or fingerprints of a known criminal are looked for and then the rounds of the informants begins.

Charlie once told Harry that all burglaries that are solved are usually solved through information given to the police. The offender flogs his ill gotten gains and heads for the pub where, after rewarding himself with a few alcoholic beverages, he begins to brag of his exploits. Other criminals down on their luck, betrayed girlfriends and people bearing scars from the fight outside the pub the night before whisper in the ears of the police. The money that changes hands in minimal, the criminal classes betray their fellows to be important in the eyes of the police and themselves and Charlie failed to see this. He treated informers with contempt and attempted to obtain information through coercion and fear rather than by flattery and by making the snitch feel his efforts were appreciated. In a short time he could clear the front bar of a pub that was a known criminal hang out merely by walking through the door. The people the police depended on to help solve most crimes fled before him and finally he resorted to a technique that had worked well when he was in uniform. He lied in court.

Magistrates in the court of petty sessions seldom take much notice of the low life, drug addicted criminals brought before them. Bag snatchers and people who rob small shops at knife point rarely bother with good lawyers, taking the free Legal Aid offerings who never query a police officer's testimony. Burglars, however, consider themselves a cut above these people and tradesmen in their own right. A fair bust with the resulting jail term is considered an occupational hazard but they tend to be reluctant to roll over for something they didn't do. The better lawyers they employ cross-examine the prosecution witnesses closely and senior magistrates take a very dim view of public servants giving false testimony. After several warnings Charlie realised his career was going no where and devoted more and more time to his developing business interests.

A nightclub was bought in his wife's name and a trip to Asia persuaded him that import/export was the coming thing. He brought containers of cheap goods into the country and went around the shops during duty hours selling them off as a wholesaler. Then he picked up a business from someone else, believing the original concept would make him rich. It was run the same way as a popular plastic goods manufacturer operated. Women were recruited as consultants who ran parties in private homes. The difference was the goods offered for sale were sexy lingerie and night wear. Sex toys were also offered to the all female customers and a male stripper provided entertainment. The deal for the operator was that they bought a 'kit', consisting of enough stock for several parties along with whatever she need to run the party and cover several training runs with experienced women. It worked well, but like most things Charlie ran, he fucked it up. A woman operator pulled out owing several hundred dollars for stock and after a couple of threatening letters Charlie went to her home, showed his police ID card, and told her to pay up. Terrified she went to a popular TV news show where the well known host pounced on the story with glee. Charlie's superiors found out about this about the same time as a complaint arrived about him ejecting a drunk from his nightclub with too much enthusiasm, resulting in the hospitalization of the offender. Deciding to take the easy course of action they summonsed him to the office and suggested that with so many business interests he should devote himself to them full time. It turned out a bad day all round as he arrived home to find several officers from the Australian Taxation Office waiting to interview him.

In his last few months as a police officer he had been involved in an investigation of Harry and the associated search of his home. Harry lived in an apartment converted from a three story building and the opulence of the surroundings left the investigating officers astounded. A sauna and large spa tub filled the huge bathroom, a lounge bar took up all of one floor with racks full of imported champagne taking up a wall. Expensive artworks were every where and the walk-in freezer in the kitchen was full of lobsters and steaks. Charlie was filled with admiration and when the case was over and his career in tatters he picked up the phone and called Harry.

Their relationship had strengthened over the years, Harry loving having an ex-cop on his leash and Charlie finding the friend and mentor he had yearned for in the police force.

Now on a lonely tropical beach he had committed murder and was prepared to commit another.

"How do you feel now bigmouth" he spat, spraying Max with saliva "you're not so fucking smart now, sneering at everyone else and crawling up Harry's arse while your own fucking useless life goes further down the toilet every day."

He heard a groan and a scrabbling noise from the car and involuntarily his eyes flicked to the source of the sound. Max grabbed his gun hand with his left hand and pushed the gun away from his face. Some people are weakened by terror, even passing out from fear, but others obtain superhuman strength. Fathers lift cars from run down children single handedly, soldiers club a dozen of the enemy with their rifle butts and Max pushed the gun away from his face. At the same time Charlie heard a click and felt what seemed like a sharp punch to his chest and he looked to see Max holding a camouflage green, cylindrical object about six inches long against him. Usually the best flick knives work with the blade opening from the handle they are folded into and the ones that shoot the blade from the end are cheap rubbish, but the knife Max had bought in Nong Khai had been made in Italy for NATO special forces and the razor sharp blade flew from the end of the handle with a massive force propelled by the powerful internal spring. Max heaved the knife upwards and across the stunned man's chest, cleaving through ribs and slicing arteries and heart muscles alike. His chest cavity suddenly filled with litres of blood and it sprayed from the awful wound splattering Max's face and upper body. For the last time, as the gun slipped from his nerveless fingers, Charlie produced the hurt and hard done by look Max knew so well. He opened his mouth to protest about the unfairness of it all but only blood came out and he slumped down onto the crimson sand.

Max turned to see Marylyn coming from the car as sheeted with blood as he was. The gun butt had only caught her a glancing blow barely stunning her but the cut in her scalp had bled as profusely as only a head wound can. She walked to the dead Charlie, spitting on him and kicking him in the face then she took the knife from Max's shaking hand and cut Charlie's belt dragging his trousers down, pulling his sagging genitals taut and severing them from his body with a couple of hacking slashes. Contemptuously she tossed them further down the beach to waiting seagulls and turned back to Max, kneeling at his feet and hugging his trembling body.

"God will reward you for this" she said, "there is no sin in taking the life of a man like him, we would all be dead now if not for you."

She took Max's hand and lead him to the water slowly undressing him before removing her blood stained clothes. To his amazement he saw that his cock was rock hard and she took it in her hand, "You took a life" she said, "Now your body wants to make a new one, but first we must wash that animal's blood off"

Later she scrubbed their clothes in sea water while Max lay naked in the shade of the palm trees sleeping as if he was as dead as Charlie. When Max woke up, she decided, they would drag Charlie's body into the sea where the tide would take it out and the oceans' denizens would dispose of it quickly. She would clean the car seat with seawater and a bucket in the back and they would lay her brother's body under the palms away from the road where Max was now. The mosque in the next town would be informed so they could collect him for a proper Muslim burial. She would tell them he had been murdered by para-military forces hunting Muslim guerillas. The less officialdom knew about this the better.

Max woke to see that the sun was setting and helped Marylyn drag the body into the sea with the tide beginning to ebb. He got a clean shirt from his bag and decided to make do with the salt encrusted jeans. He thought back through the events; he had taken the knife from where he had hidden it with the drugs in Thailand only the day before. Not a knife fighter, or any other kind in his opinion, he still felt a sense of security from having it in the back pocket of his jeans. The police had gotten awfully close to him at Zamboanga and, illogically, he thought that the threat of it might buy him a few minutes time in a confrontation.

He couldn't believe he had killed Charlie, they had been somewhere between friends and acquaintances for many years. Charlie always rang if Max was in Australia and invited him out for a meal or offered the use of one of the season tickets he always had for the football. He thought about Charlie's adult sons who often came to the football with them and had been occasional drinking and whoring companions in the Philippines. Now he had killed their father. He wondered if Charlie would have pulled the trigger; he would never know now but it hadn't occurred to him to wait and see at the time. The knife had come out as naturally as a breath of air and he would take to his grave the feeling of his former mate shuddering on the blade like a gaffed fish. Thank God for Marylyn, he had no idea what he would have done if it hadn't been for her, probably driven the blood soaked car into town, leaving the bodies near the road for the next traveler to find and run for the police.

Charlie must have gone out last night and bought the gun, he knew enough of the country to approach a taxi driver or even a police officer and negotiate for a weapon. He threw it as far as he could into the sea, It was a rusting revolver that he assumed was around .38 caliber so there was no spent shell on the ground.

He decided that they would drive straight through to Cagayan de Oro. Where ever they went now the car must come, they had too much baggage and it would attract attention as they lumped it around, the unusual brief cases crying out to onlookers that they contained valuables. There were regular car ferries to Manila but he feared that they would be being watched by the police. Alternatively they could book into a hotel, stash everything in a room and lay up for several weeks till the heat died down. The more he thought of laying up with Marylyn the better he liked it, both veterans of many sexual encounters they could wile a way the days comparing notes. He grinned to himself, he may still be horny for his age but he suspected the attractions of a week of non stop screwing were gone. He could see himself wandering the town's bars, drinking and possibly attracting attention.

And in the end that was exactly what Max did. He sent several emails off to Rex; the only way he could contact Harry was to leave a message at the Angeles City hotel and it would have been a message he would have found impossible to word. The death of Charlie and the presence of his bags in Max's hands alone would have horrified Harry. He would have known about the fire fight at the airport by now as well as the search for the two foreigners and possibly already had people looking for them. Marylyn's family had been told nothing, they were used to her leaving at a moments notice and she ruled them with an iron hand.

He was musing on this in a small bar near the docks. Marylyn had gone to visit friends and to check on the car in a lockup garage that they had rented attached to an all night service station owned by a distant cousin. Max had promised to stay in the room, a promise he had kept for at least thirty minutes, then using the excuse to himself that there was nothing on TV he had flagged a trike outside the hotel and gone out for a drink. Heading the driver towards the sea he stopped him at the first string of coloured lights, with instructions to wait outside. The bar was small and dirty, a few scrawny prostitutes eyed him hopefully but he ignored them. After more than a week with Marylyn he was starting to understand why Harry used Viagra. But maybe she wasn't like that with him, perhaps she saw Max as a holiday from paid sex, for her pleasure and not the customers. Fondly thinking of the gasping, heaving woman under him he thought that she was certainly making sure she was getting that. He sighed wearily as she though of the things she had done to him to arouse him when he thought further sex was impossible, urging him on with tongue, lips and fingers until he was near collapse. Something good had come of it though he thought, he must have lost at least five kilos.

In the interests of further weight loss he ordered Philipino rum with fresh lime juice and soda indicating to the barman to open a new bottle and leave it on the bar. The last thing he wanted was a Mickey Finn. He would pay for the bottle and take it with him giving it to the trike driver as a tip or maybe leave it with the hookers.

They would make their move in a couple of days he decided, down to Negros on the ferry then overland down the large island to Tacloban. Marylyn had given him several thousand US dollars half, he suspected, of the contents of Charlie's wallet; the money Harry had given him for expenses and emergencies. Well it as certainly an emergency he thought and considered the option of a private plane to Clarke air base from Tacloban. Too risky here, the air port may still be being watched. Then it became immaterial as for the second time in as many weeks he found himself at gun point. Four police officers entered the bar with guns drawn and genially invited him to stand up and put the palms of his hands against the wall while they searched him.

Chapter 14

Overland Run 14

The Philipino police force is probably the worse trained and most poorly paid in Asia. Max was sure others would disagree, citing the Cambodians as less well paid and the Lao as more badly trained but for a combination of factors leading to a higher degree of indifference to any police work and incompetence he stood behind the Philipinos.

A national newspaper launched a campaign one Christmas to have them issued with small tool kits and materials to make models at home that could be sold for extra money.

New year is a dangerous time in the Philippines, dozens die every year from fireworks and gunshot wounds. The police contribute to this by firing their guns in the air at midnight and what goes up must come down, usually in densely populated areas. In Angeles City one year the station commander personally taped every gun barrel as officers went on duty; signing the tape and saying that an explanation would be required if any guns were fired. The entire complement returned the next morning with the tape broken and guns empty, including the commander's deputy.

The arresting officers weren't sure what they had in Max. They had been told to watch for two large foreigners but to them most foreigners were large and the other descriptions were sketchy. A phone call to Manila revealed that the entry stamp in Max Bryant's passport was not recorded so the locked him up while to await further instructions. They took his belongings but left him enough money to buy food from the vendors who came through the cell block and hire a bed and blanket.

Max wasn't surprised to find that all sorts of small luxuries were available if you could pay for them; he had known an Angeles City bar owner who had spent a month in Luzon's foreigners only prison after refusing to pay bribes to the local police force. Set up with an under age bargirl, he had gone into jail with his driver/bodyguard and his girlfriend and sat it out until the charges were dropped; paying for a cell, beds, furniture and food and drink- all optional extras during his incarceration. People with no money slept on the floor of a large communal cell or in the dirt of the prison yard if it was full.

Max couldn't see himself waiting it out in comfort. there was a nagging fear that Marylyn would disappear with the bags and the dope. He had a couple of hundred US dollars on him, the remainder was stashed in his room, and it wouldn't last long, The vendors were unused to foreigners but still raised their prices hopefully and he could only hope that the police would put him in the too hard basket and let him go.

After a week several large gentlemen arrived and knocked him about the cell for an hour then tearing his shirt off as one produced a length of bamboo and thrashed him with it.

Where had he come from?

Where was he staying?

Where were his bags?

Where was the other foreigner?

Not the most courageous of men Max knew that the consequences of revealing all would be far worse then allowing the punishment to continue. He suspected that the new arrivals weren't associated with any sort of federal security force; the beating was too amateurish. Carried out by smirking thugs who allowed him to roll against the wall, protecting his genitals, as they thrashed him with the bamboo cane and laughed.

They only came back once more, a few days later, working him over in the knowledge that it hurt more on the new bruises. He remained silent again but knew that they were only going through the motions. Thank God it wasn't Thailand where the police and prison guards could have tortured him all day just for the fun of it.

By his calculations it was two weeks before he was taken to the Governor's office and released into Rex's custody.

"That's five grand you owe me Max" said the short nuggety man. "You get yourself in this shit and then expect your mates to come around and pull you out of it".

Max could tell the small man was very pleased with himself, he liked Max and enjoyed helping him out.

"That fucking Marylyn's as tight as a clam, not a word about where the stuff is or where poor old Harry's bags are, you must be hung like a fucking donkey to get that sort of loyalty out of a woman."

Rex was firing on all four cylinders and as happy as Max had seen him for a long time. He handed over Max's watch, a Longines Max liked a lot, having bought it on impulse the day his divorce came through.

"Why don't you get yourself a Rolex like Harry and Charlie" he laughed, "then you'll look the part too."

Max suspected Charlie's Rolex was in Marylyn's handbag but decided not to take that any further.

"So how did you get here, I heard a rumour you were locked up in South America" he said, changing the subject.

Rex laughed as he lead Max to the waiting car and driver, "Some cunt tried to set me up in a coke deal over there, just a fucking amateur, I was only there to see the sights, and next thing they're whistling up the coppers"

Max could believe this, Rex lived for the tourist bit, scorning the world's girlie bars and ignoring the overseas criminal opportunities laid in his path to look at castles and pyramids. He always said he made his money in Australia and spent it overseas.

He winced as he got into the car, the freshly healed skin breaking and the blood showing through his tee-shirt.

Rex was unsympathetic,

"We got worse than that when I was in the boy's homes, they used to give us credits for what we did wrong during the week, then we got so many strokes of the cane on Saturday morning. For a lot of the weak pricks the waiting was the worst, they'd break down and cry and beg when they were taken up for the beating."

He looked at Max, "I never did and I bet you didn't either, you fucking pisspot."

Max saw the friendship and sympathy in the man's eyes and said what was expected,

"If you've finished fucking wanking on can we go somewhere for a drink?"

Chuckling Rex waved the driver on, "There's a sheila waiting to see you first then you can get cleaned up. The emails caught me in Hawaii and I changed planes and headed here, you're lucky that I never had the New Zealand flight back to Australia."

He became thoughtful. "Harry's having a blue fit, I've never seen him like this. Where's fucking Charlie? He should have been back in that shithole Angeles by now."

The silence held so long broke and Max told Rex where Charlie was.

Rex shook his head and whistled appreciatively.

"You were fucking lucky Max, I'd have blown you a way with out the conversation. That's a real amateur's mistake, standing around chatting while the guys scheming up a way of getting out of being shot. If you're ever holding the gun mate let him have it. You've got the advantage, why throw it away by giving the mug a chance?"

He looked at Max's face.

"Hey, I was in a few bad fights in the old days" he said, "but I never pulled the trigger on an unarmed man. It was mainly knives and iron bars with the gangs, then the bikies had guns so everybody got them."

"Don't worry about Charlie, he was a piece of shit anyway. He only got what he's had coming for years. Let's have a look at the knife mate."

Max handed it over, marveling that the police hadn't stolen it, but then for five grand he supposed the police chief would have made sure that everything was returned. At least they hadn't connected him to the rebels, or the bigwigs from Manila would have been involved and a million bucks wouldn't have bought him out. The Yank anti-terrorist people would have watched the situation closely and God help anyone who allowed a suspect to walk away.

Rex snapped the knife open a couple of times, shaking his head in admiration at the high quality workmanship. He noted the blade sharpened on both sides and it's needle sharp point and handed it back to Max.

"Nice shiv" he said, "I know blokes would give you five hundred bucks for that in Australia."

They got back to the hotel where an ecstatic Marylyn waited with antiseptic and sticking plaster, the damage was minimal with a bit of broken skin on his back with a lot of bruising and a cut over his left eye that should have had a couple of stitches but it was too late now. Rex diplomatically remembered the need to buy toothpaste and departed towards the market promising to return in an hour. Max doubted he would need any more although a night watchman at the jail had brought him an almost black skinned girl of indeterminate age a few days prior in return for twenty dollars then watched the performance through the door. The woman had seemed stimulated by the voyeurism and had clung to Max, shuddering and heaving as he vented the built up frustration and pain on her body. Later Max had offered the turnkey a turn at the woman but the man had turned his head away with a strange look on his face and Max noticed that his skin colour was practically identical to the girls and the shape of the eyes and nose very similar. Nothing like keeping the business in the family he thought.

The lovemaking with Marylyn was special even for them, not only did she use a surprising gentleness but it was if they both realised that their relationship was drawing to a close. He had come twice with very little effort on his part when Rex knocked on the door as he dozed in the Filipina girls arms.

"Come on, off the nest, root rat" Rex informed him through the door along with the rest of the hotel.

"We've got to get organized, I'm not staying in this shit hole one second longer than necessary and if we hang around the coppers might start getting ideas about a regular source of income."

The ferries that run between the Philippine Islands vary in size and quality. They range from large ships with four or five decks, complete with bars and restaurants, down to small craft carrying less twenty people. There are many incidents of them sinking with considerable loss of life which is usually put down to poorly built and maintained craft. In fact the best designed ships would have difficulty coping with the freak waves that are caused by the Pacific swells, often typhoon driven, that are built up as they come out of the deepest water on the planet into the shallow channels between the islands.

When there is a storm warning out passengers are banned from the upper decks of the larger vessels in an attempt to keep the centre of balance lower in an effort to prevent the rollovers that account for nearly all of the tragedies.

Max quite liked them, he found that people traveling by sea were friendlier than they would be on land, perhaps the adventure of a voyage and the shared assumed danger made them more open. He left Rex and Marylyn in the lower deck which contained many rows of bunks in tiers and went up the stairs to the bar which offered views of the passing coastline.

They had driven the car on as the sky began to darken, finding that the last ferry that day was bound for Dumaghetti, the southern most city on the large island of Negros. Max knew Dumaghetti well and had visited it on several occasions. An open, clean city it was the home of Silliman University where thousands of young woman studied various disciplines. In the evening most of them met their friends on the broad esplanade and sat in the outdoor restaurants or walked hand in hand in the manner of good friends in Asia. Max considered this superb eye candy and had wiled away many a happy hour with an Australian Vietnam veteran who lived there. The guy swore that many of the girls supplemented their income with part time prostitution, a theory dear to expats in most Asian university cities, but Max had never tested this. Dumaghetti was a place where he had brought girls from Angeles City to relax for a few days; the small expat community had several good bars and restaurants and the lifestyle was very laid back. He had considered living there once; the ex-serviceman had showed him several beach front houses on the outskirts of the city with ridiculously low rentals but he had eventually settled in Thailand for what had seemed like good reasons at the time.

Even though the ferry docked just after midnight they had decided to stay on board and disembark at daylight along with most of the other passengers. Rex agreed with Max that the heat would be off them, the authorities would have assumed that what ever they had come to pick up, and neither doubted that the captured guerrilla had told them all he knew, was weapons or explosives that were bound for the areas of the country in conflict.

Max also realised that Marylyn was in 'go home' mode, she considered that her part of the job was done and her holiday was over. The death of her brother had made her realise that it was time to go home. She didn't want any part of a future with Max, dearly as she loved him, she knew she would be better off with Harry. He was much more predictable than Max and after what had Max had whispered in her ear that first night she saw that there could be a future for them.

She thought about the plan and could see no fault in it and suspected that only a man could think of it. It was a combination of loyalty, friendship, revenge and one-upmanship

Chapter 15

Overland Run 15

Louie Marincovic was a Serb who had spent his formative years in a Croatian orphanage. Separated from his parents at an age he couldn't remember and for reasons that had always been vague to him he was reunited with his then widowed father at the age of twelve and, further education omitted, he worked on the Adriatic fishing boats before turning to the more lucrative tourist yacht trade. Smuggling cigarettes and hashish followed naturally to any Mediterranean seaman and he developed his fighting skills during these years. The promise for a better life, along with a desire to remove himself from the proximity of the local police force, brought him to Australia where eventually some vaguely remembered loyalty later took him back to the Balkans' war. Trained by butchers and witnessing butchery on both sides he returned to Australia where breaking a few legs in the interests of commerce seemed like almost an act of kindness compared with what he had seen in the break up of Yugoslavia. Smarter men than he used this talent and he began to realise that his prison terms barely compensated for what he considered to be doing favours for friends while teaching respect to those he didn't doubt deserved it.

Never happier than when he drank white wine and soda with ice straight from a beer jug as he toasted the health of his many friends he had began to sicken of the years of paid for violence; throwing punks from nightclubs and maiming people for bad debts. It had been easy early, favours, always favours for people like Harry who he thought were his friends. Believing everything they said but later wondering whether what he had been told was true.

When Harry asked him to hire an ocean going boat and hinted Max was involved he accepted gratefully. After sailing the yacht from Australia to Boracay where his crew were paid off and flown home he recruited local Philipinos sailors and sailed across the South China Sea to Cambodia. It was an easy time there and he developed the idea of forming a team of mercenaries to work for the Americans in their various spheres of conflict. He never doubted for a moment that Max was smarter than him and never doubted the big man's courage. He would be the wedge and Max the hammer and together they would make enough to retire in a style that wouldn't involve a man shaming himself by twisting the scrawny testicles of some office worker who had run up night club bill that he thought he could ignore.

He hadn't minded the fights with the drunken punks outside the nightclubs but had hated knocking on doors the next day, often answered by young wives with children, to present the bill the husband had tried to escape.

During the sea journey to the Philippines he and Max had talked long into the velvet nights. He had rejected Max's plan at first, loyalty was always his first option, but Max had explained the logic behind it in great detail. Everything from the beginning had been a play against the odds, carefully thought out and each step meticulously planned and every diversion allowed for. Subsequently when he sailed between the islands of Cebu and Negros and turned into Dumaghetti ferry harbour he wasn't surprised to see Max and another man waiting on the end of the pier.

He knew Rex by reputation, like him a man of the orphanages; no one who hadn't been there could begin to understand the loss of childhood it involved. The work, the lack of love; sometimes replaced by rough affection by the decent people working there or sexual assault by the indecent. Rex had run away, finally becoming a criminal through his rejection of the inhumane system that had been forced upon him while Louie had stayed; worn out with the never ending agricultural slavery until his father had turned up one day and taken him to his fishing boat where the work and lack of love continued.

People tend to think that child slavery is a third world thing but children in Western institutions have been unpaid laborers up to quite recent times.

He brought the boat in on the leeward side of the pier and Max took the thrown lines and made them fast.

The three men conversed briefly and then Max and Rex headed back to the esplanade, walking about a kilometre to the hotel they had booked into after leaving the ferry that morning. Marylyn hadn't unpacked and after an hour's conversation with Max she went outside and flagged a trike to take her back to the ferry and home. The years of whoring in the Manila and Angeles City bars had taken a heavier toll than she had ever told anyone. Now it seemed that her time had arrived, prosperity with a man she could control. With enough time for another child that would hold him to her with even stronger ties. Max was home free, the hard times were already forgotten, she could tell that by the look on his face when they got off the ferry with out even a second look from the dozing police officers who always met the boat for something to do to pass the time. She hoped she would see him again, as the friend he had always claimed to be and she had accepted him as, but was prepared to accept the loss for the golden future that lay ahead. She smiled as she thought about how many other girls' futures would turn golden from this weeks work.

Max and Rex had as close to a night on the town that could be managed in Dumaghetti and in Rex's company. They kicked off with a Mexican meal then had a bar-hop of the girl free drinking spots where the local expats hung out. Max contemplated a trip out to the City Limits bar that was precisely in that position due to city laws that forbade the presence of girlie bars inside that area, but decided against it. He had had bad experiences there with the voracious bargirls who were more than capable of drinking all night on a punters tab then doing a runner out the back door when the question of a bar fine came up. He didn't want the consequences of an angry Rex remonstrating with the management after drinking more than his capacity as he occasionally did in Max's company. Instead they finished up at the outdoor restaurants that lined the road north of the ferry terminal. The beer was cheap and the local hookers flocked there in droves. Nothing as refined as college girls hoping to supplement their allowance but at least a man never missed out.

As they sat down Max waved away several hovering pimps. If Rex was horny he would look for one of the tables full of girls around them and send over a couple of bottles of San Miguel, knowing that an invitation to join them would follow immediately. It was strange how he despised the local vendors of female flesh but felt quite comfortable drinking with the foreign bar owners who sold girls on a nightly basis. He justified it to himself by saying that they had been through the mill as well and the girls that worked for them used them up as happily as they did the customers. He had met a few he had no time for but even those never handed out retribution to a backsliding girl with the viciousness of a local pimp.

However Rex only wanted to talk, wisely drinking one beer to Max's two, while he tried to draw his friend out on what was planned with the drugs he had financed. Max waved his doubts away saying that every thing was organized.

"I know things have fucked up here mate but its all back on track now, tomorrow we'll get on the boat with Louie, or the next day if you're crook, and head back to Harry who'll meet us at Subic Bay."

"Come on mate, drink up, see that little sheila eyeing you off? She'll turn you inside out like a rubber glove if you give her half a chance."

He sent the expected beers over to the girls' table, he wanted Rex with a hangover tomorrow. The short man would not be a loser in this, his investment would be returned with a handsome profit. He knew that Rex was smart enough to not turn nasty outside his home turf and Max's recent entry into the brotherhood of Cain would make him think twice anyway.

"I've got more respect for my dick than you have for yours root rat" Rex laughed, "you can stick it into them if you want, but ok, lets go over and give them a hard time."

Max lead the way to the girls' table and they wiled away the rest of the night laughing and teasing the happy girls. They loaded themselves and the six girls into several trikes and drove along the moonlit seafront to their hotel. A bundle of hundred peso notes silenced the feeble protests of the reception staff who were also sent out for more drinks. Max settled back sleepily in a chair with a beer as Rex disrobed while happily peeling the clothes from the squealing girls. Orgies weren't his scene and he realised that his participation wasn't required, only his presence. This was what turned Rex on after the few occasions he had drank to excess; willing women in quantity and an amused observer while he frolicked amongst them. As well hung as most short men he changed partners frequently, the alcohol slowing him down and Max knew he would crash out almost immediately after his orgasm. But first he would insist on every girl having a genuine climax, driving hard until she panted her heart out against him.

"Come on root rat, aren't you up to a bit of sport or have you drank to much." He crowed "The piss was always your downfall."

Max laughed, wondering what drove him on, and eyed off a couple of the more experienced girls. His back was playing up again.

Glorying in being back on the yacht again Max saw Rex settled in to sleep off his hangover and helped the crew get the boat ready to sail. They were glad to see him again and offered ribald comments regarding his time ashore. Max assured them that they were justified, hoping that their sisters hadn't been in the same towns as he had. They pushed the beautiful old boat away from the dock and set the jib to take them slowly out of the harbour while they hauled up the main sail. There was barely a breath of wind but she was that light in the water they headed off into the tropical dawn easily, cutting through the glass like sea.

Rex came on deck about noon; not usually a drinking man he suffered more than most after a booze up, as he called it, and liked to sleep all day afterwards but his mental alarm bells woke him and he wanted to confront Max about the dope. The boat was under a light spinnaker, her movement on the sea barely noticeable, and he saw Max and Louie near the stern with four of the bulging bags from Zamboanga. The back pack from Thailand added to the pile he noticed as he wandered down to his mates, accepting the ice cold can of lemonade offered.

"Thanks very much mate, I barely remember getting on this fucking boat" he said to Max.

"Where the fuck are the other two bags, what's going on with the dope and where the fuck are we going."

Max took a deep breath and took out the flick knife that he had killed Charlie with. He picked up one of the bags and forced the blade in behind the lock. Meeting the expected resistance he snapped his fingers at Louie who handed him a battery powered angle grinder. A shower of sparks and the lock fell off and Max opened the tightly paced bag, tilting it so a pile of bundled green Australian hundred dollar bills cascaded onto the deck.

"There's more than a million here" he said, "you split that with Louie. That's a nice piece of change considering Harry put the money up for the dope."

Rex eyed the loot greedily. "Where's the other two fucking bags Max?"

"Gone with Marylyn, she'll make sure Harry behaves himself."

Astounded Rex shouted in Max's face "You've got to be fucking joking, he'll have every gunman between here and Macau on your fucking arse, and mine too if I go along with this"

"What will he pay them with then?" Max quietly retorted "all his moneys here, he'll only get what Marylyn has if he goes along with her, A bar, a hotel, maybe a resort, there's plenty there that he can keep himself occupied with."

"For fucks sake Max, she won't give him a fucking cracker, she won't part with a cent of the three or four million in those bags!"

"That's a chance he'll have to take but she likes the idea, she knows that the profits from his hidden legal businesses in Australia will be coming every year in cash to back up any investments they make, and plus she likes the idea of having the whip hand for a change"

The big man smiled grimly, "And who knows maybe he will too."

"So you walk off with the other three bags, not a bad fucking earner Max!"

"I've had expenses that haven't occurred to you Rex, the buy was set up on both sides from the beginning, Duangvichit's my wife's half brother, he needs at least a million to square up the Thais and get Jerry out of slam. Then he has his own modest expenses; he's not doing it for nothing."

Rex looked stunned, "So you had it set up when you brought us into it you cunt?"

"Nothing was set in stone, the whole thing swung on so many ifs. You sit with your safe dope runs in Australia and think it's the same everywhere... the risks in Asia make you look like a small time pool hustler. No trust, only hope that everything will go right."

Louie turned away from the helm, "I still don't like taking Harry's money" he said, "He worked for it and we steal it off him."

Max swung to him, "He'll make it all again or die trying, he loves the challenge, the rip off will inspire him and Marylyn will give him an edge he's lacked before, a woman that loves him is something he's never had, he'll grow balls out of this."

He grabbed the Yugoslav by the shirt, trembling inwardly, "We'll make a dollar and keep him happy doing what he loves. What do you think would happen to him in those fucking Angeles bars with no inspiration in his life? He'll end up strangling some hooker just to see what it feels like; I've seen it coming for years."

Louie sat back nodding his head, Max had convinced him on the run to the Philippines but he wanted to hear it again. So much money, he could go back to the Adriatic; a boat, maybe a bar where he could drink among men who respected him and take advantage of the Scandinavian girls who holidayed there.

Rex settled back, half sulkily, "at least we've got the dope to sell anyway."

Max waved away a horrified Louie, tearing back the zip on the backpack that that wrecked his back on such a long journey.

Picking up one of the packets of white powder that appeared he slit it with the flick knife, the razor sharp blade spilling the chemical on the deck.

"Come on guys, a taste; lets see what it does to the younger generation."

He licked his finger, dipping it in and sucking it greedily. Both of his mates drew back in horror, Louie also in the disgust that showed on his face.

"Fucking girls", Max sneered, "How the fuck will you know it's the goods if you don't try it, go on one taste won't make your balls drop off."

Gingerly they stepped forward, their manhood challenged they licked a finger and placed the tiniest amount on their tongues.

Rex was the first to speak, "its fucking icing sugar" he said, "all this for fucking icing sugar."

Max ignored him and began to cut the rest of the bags and tipped them over the back of the boat. A silver stream of tiny sparkling crystals went into the rising breeze as the boat picked up speed.

Home soon he thought, to his Thai wife, taking wealth and comfort for both of them for the rest of their lives. Her family would benefit and Max would reap the respect they would offer him. The days of whoring, cruising from town to town, city to city, living off his wits would be over. But first Jerry would be taken to Europe for rehab, carefully watched as he was weaned off the hammer and regained his life. Then a few drinks to celebrate and back to Thailand.

But then he'd always wanted to see Central Asia. Tashkent, Samarkand...the Golden Road cities. The girls who lived in those sandy towns would be worth a look. Easily done on the return journey. A few weeks wouldn't matter.

His reverie was interrupted as the last bag went over the side. Rex stood over him.

"Seeing as you're supposed to be such a hot cook you could have baked us a cake out of that sugar you're wasting, root rat."

The End.

