 
Simon Palmer Lost Innocence

Lost Innocence

 Part One

'The Accused'

Simon Palmer

Copyright (c) 2014 by Spanking Pulp Press

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by James Hollister at Pixel fox

Photography by Bordin Vamanond

Models: Chris Wegoda and Narmfah Fn'z

Edited by Dan O'Shea, Tracey Hale, John Daysh and Alan Hoff

Content Edit by James A. Newman

Copy Edit by Richard Ayres and John Daysh

Final proof read by Alasdair McLeod

Additional material and writing assistance from Alasdair McLeod, Conrad Jones, John Mathews, Stephen Leather, Mitchell Blake, Warren Olson, Greg Noonan, Barry Palmer, James A. Newman, John Daysh and Alan Hoff

"A fast-paced novel based on events unfolding in Bangkok, has me eagerly looking forward to Palmer's next work."

-Warren Olson Author of Thai Private Eye

"I picked up Lost Innocence and read over a hundred pages in one hit. Intoxicating addictive writing and just the beginning from this highly talented writer. Can't wait for the next one,"

-Conrad Jones Author of Soft Target

LOST INNOCENCE PART ONE 'THE ACCUSED'

ONE

I WAS LAZING on the golden sands on the south-west coast of Thailand, the blazing sun beating down on my body. The view as I gazed out over the vast expanse of the Andaman Sea was breath-taking. The subtle, salty scent of the sea engrossed me; the serenity of the still blue waters only broken by the sound of the waves lapping against the rocks.

I reached for my bag, searched for my book and was about to begin the latest Conrad Jones crime- thriller, when my eyes met those of a struggling hawker. She was well covered up and wore an old, straw hat over a tired, bronzed face.

A sharp pang of sympathy rattled inside of me. I didn't have the heart to wave her away and found myself pointing to some fruit that I didn't really want. I dug deep for some change, paid and smiled as she handed me some sliced melon in a bag with a pointed stick. She thanked me, gathered up her wares then strolled off on her way down the beach.

I returned to my book and was surfing through the pages when it suddenly felt hot. Can we turn it down to tropical? A bead of sweat rolled down my nose, stopped then dropped onto a page. I wiped it away, squinted up at the sun and strained my eyes. A rank stench in the air then aroused my attention and looking around I couldn't tell what that was or where it was coming from.

My parched throat and desert-dried lips cried out for water. I scrambled in the sand for my bottle, but couldn't find it. I stretched down for my things - my bag was gone and so were the melon and my book. I lay back for a moment when the back of my head brushed up against somebody's feet. I turned to apologize, but couldn't be more shocked; the beach was now packed. So many dirty, stinking bodies, laying crammed together within so little space.

I covered my ears as a cacophony erupted in a language I didn't understand. Then the stench struck again. It was stronger than before and this time I recognized it. It smelt like human waste mixed with stale sweat, repulsive body odour and cheap cigarettes. I glanced around to see who was smoking; everybody was.

Something smooth and oily ran under my right hand. It felt like a cockroach, it was a cockroach. I shuffled back and watched it scuttling off. I thought it was gone, but then another appeared and then more. I brushed them away and what was once golden sand was now a dark, hard, filthy floor. My body started to tremble - my nerves were on edge.

I glanced up at the sky but all I could see now, was thick black smoke. I coughed uncontrollably until the smog finally cleared and several stained panels emerged with flickering strip lights. The sky had transformed into a filthy ceiling, the beach a neglected cell, crammed to complete capacity.

Trauma and terror possessed me as I realized I had to face this reality and deal with the torment all over again. My mind had been playing tricks on me, creating a mirage of a beach, a mirage of freedom. I was in the worst-place-in-the-world. I was in a Thai prison.

I was in Hell.

Horrid memories of this living nightmare began to resurface; that first day when the cell door swung closed; the complete helplessness of being locked up. I couldn't have been more terrified as three heavily tattooed guards with shaved heads and beer-breath had taken hold of me, dragged me outside, held me firm and stripped me. I hadn't struggled. I'd just stood there naked; the fear of being raped had restricted any movement. I was bent over by two guards while the third parted my butt-cheeks, reached in and shoved his latex covered finger up as far as he could. I jerked forward, stifling my screams as somebody squeezed my balls, hard – it hurt. They had supposedly been checking for drugs but more likely just enjoying the sadistic infliction of pain.

A coughing fit brought me back to the present and I glanced up to see a thick blanket of smoke circling above me. Prisoners were smoking then dropping their smouldering butts between the cracks in the floor. They lay, still burning below me, smoke drifting up as I feared burning alive or suffocating from smoke. My throat felt sore and my pounding heart continued beating through every inch of my being. I needed water. I needed to get out.

I was the only foreigner or farang as we were known here and although we were packed in so tightly, I had never felt so alone. The heat was so oppressive and the stench was so rank, that I almost threw up - twice. A creaking noise distracted me and glancing up I saw a worn-out ceiling fan wobble as it spun round. It was hanging on by two rusty screws and looked like it could fall at any time. My sweat-dampened clothes clung to my body and the pain of lying on such a hard, wooden floor was horrendous. It was thick with dirt, covered in blood stains and other stains I couldn't identify and didn't dare to try. Most of the others had a bed-roll to sleep on; I only had the floor.

Bugs continued to torment me; it seemed they were waiting for me to sleep or die so they could feast on my body. I fought them off but it was exhausting and futile. Some sampled my blood while others defecated, leaving foul traces of their presence. My mind began playing tricks on me; it was as though even when they weren't there, I could still feel them crawling all over me.

A man with a faded tattoo of an eagle on his chest was holding a syringe and sucking something into it. He stuck a needle into his friend's arm, drew some blood, then combining the two substances, he injected the mix back into the emaciated arm; all the while his friend gazed, sickly into space.

After several long, drawn-out hours, the yelling subsided and I noticed most of the others trying to sleep. The thick fog of smog was beginning to clear and my fear began to yield to fatigue. As I closed my eyes, images of my family calmed me and for the briefest moment I had escaped. Amidst all this chaos, the thought of them may have been the only thing keeping me from going insane. I fell asleep.

A wave of guilt crashed down and woke me as I thought about my mother. It was her rule that this being the first time I was away, I would ring her every Wednesday. With all that had happened this week, I had forgotten to phone home.

TWO

LOUISE WAS SITTING in her spacious kitchen with her hands wrapped around a hot mug of caramel coffee. An attractive woman in her fifties, she had grape-green eyes and sunset-yellow hair.

Her husband burst in, eyes darting all over the room. "I'm late and I can't find my keys."

Stan had short, bear-brown hair, Sinatra-blue eyes and a bent nose. He was of a similar age to his wife, had taken reasonably good care of himself and had retained his boyish looks and charm. "Lou darling - have you seen my keys?"

She rolled her eyes. "Try the coffee table."

He rushed out and returned moments later, jangling his keys triumphantly. He leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. "What ever would I do without you?"

She didn't reply.

"Is everything okay dear?"

"Michael didn't call me yesterday."

"Should he have?"

"Yes, every Wednesday. I told you that."

"He probably just forgot."

"I'm sure you're right, it's just—"

"What?" Stan asked, waiting for a chance to sneak a peek at his watch.

"It's so unlike him not to call."

"Then call him, dear. There's no harm in that."

"I did already; no answer. I hope he's okay."

"Try him again later....I really must run."

Stan waited for the approving nod from his wife then slipped out of the door.

THREE

TIME STOOD still and sweat dripped off my body as I fell in and out of consciousness; this had to be one of the longest, most uncomfortable nights of my life. I shuffled around, trying to sleep and just as I was finding some peace, a piercing bell rang loudly in my ear. The others woke; the unbearable cacophony erupted once more and seemed even louder than before. Everybody reached for their cigarettes, lit up, took a long drag then blew smoke up into the air.

Once I was done coughing my lungs out, I wiped my eyes then started to stretch. Startled by several offended bugs, dropping from my shorts, I watched, shocked as they hurried away in different directions. My head was still sore from the heat and my aching body was now suffering as much as my nerves.

It wasn't long before the cell door slowly opened and three surly guards stood at the entrance. The inmates finished their smokes, rose and packed away their things into the corner of the room. I had nothing; not even a pair of flip-flops for my feet.

We were filed out and escorted through a dark, dingy hallway until arriving at a metal doorway that had more locks than Fort Knox. It was unlocked then pulled open with a creak. We stepped single-file down some broken steps to a yard and were met with the harsh humidity of Bangkok. My feet were black from the dirt and burnt on the hot stone of the sun-scorched yard. I took a breath of foul air. It tasted of shit, smelt like rotting garbage, but it was still good to be outside.

I saw some small, metal sheds to the left, an over-crowded rubbish area to the right and at the back were suspended troughs filling with water. I licked my lips and tried to control my raging thirst.

Following the others into a cramped dining shed, I took a metal tray and got in line. Two inmates, one with a ripped ear, the other with acne, stood behind a small table and dished out what they referred to as food. I was served a small scoop of brown rice with tiny squares of cabbage. Finding a table on its last legs, I brushed away some lively ants and sat alone. The rice smelt of burnt rubber, the cabbage was tasteless but it was food and I was famished.

After breakfast I walked over to the back of the yard, found a plastic bottle and filled it up from the trough. Warm, dirty water ran down my arm as I drank. It tasted like cat's-piss, but it was water and I was parched.

The others were stripping off, taking a bowl from a man with brown hair and beady eyes then stepping over to the troughs to wash. Following suit, I pulled off my sweaty clothes and stood naked feeling eyes on me. I tried to hide my modesty with my bottle and made my way over. 'Beady Eyes' held out his hand. I shook my head. He grunted, took a pen, scribbled something on his hand then handed me a bowl with a crack down the middle. I nudged my way in amongst the naked bodies and held my place. I reached up and scooped a bucket of water. It wasn't clear or clean and smelt like a sewer.

I was about to splash the water over myself when I felt a strange tickling sensation on my foot. I backed away and witnessed a huge, greasy brown rat dashing off. I screamed, the others laughed - my wash was over before it had begun. I returned the bowl to 'Beady Eyes,' climbed back into my clothes and stepped away from the crowd.

I came across a cracked piece of mirrored-glass glued to the wall and stopped, saddened by the image that greeted me. My eyes looked heavy and tired; the blue had faded to grey and wrinkles I hadn't had before were now stretched over my forehead. My face was filthy and my hair seemed thicker, probably from the dirt.

Wondering what we were supposed to do now, I observed the others. Some were sat on the floor playing cards, others were gambling; throwing stones against the wall, some were sleeping on the floor like strays and others stood around talking.

As the sun grew stronger, I could feel it burning the sides of my arms and jabbing at the back of my neck. The Thais were unfazed but I was concerned and searching for shade. There didn't seem to be any shade and the sheds were now locked, so I resorted to sitting on the floor with my head down; one hand fending off mosquitoes, the other protecting my skin. It wasn't long before I grew hot, hungry and lonely. I feared sunstroke, starvation and insanity.

It felt like hours until the sheds were unlocked. I stumbled in for some food and was served some watery, vegetable soup by 'Ripped Ear.' It tasted of a sickly, sour-stew and smelt like gasoline. I finished quickly to avoid the taste, stepped over to the trough and filled my broken bottle.

It wasn't long before we were summoned back inside. I followed the others to our cell and it was made clear that we should return to the exact same spot as before. I remembered roughly where I'd sat; searched for my neighbour, but couldn't find him. Everybody was now in their place but me.

I stepped over the others, looked around and finally found my guy. I knelt down, eased back into my patch of dirty floor then felt something crawling up my leg. I shook off an angry cockroach and gained the attention of an old guy with oily hair and a flat, boxer's nose. He was sitting with a lady-boy who wore heavy make-up over a masculine face. She had anorexic legs, scrawny knees and was kitted out in a short, sleazy, red dress.

"You want blow job?" 'Boxer's Nose' offered.

I shook my head as 'Scrawny Knees' lowered her eyes to my groin. 'Boxer's Nose' laughed, slipped down his shorts then pulled 'her' head down onto him. He fixed his eyes on me as 'she' sucked him. I looked away.

Another man with a bushy beard was scooping up bugs from the floor, tossing them into his mouth and then swallowing them whole. If he missed, they ran down his beard to escape. He was quick, he would catch them, follow the same routine and they'd eventually meet their fate.

A prolonged churning in my gut along with bowel movements alerted me that I had to go. This would be my first time to use 'the hole' and I wasn't looking forward to it. I rose to my feet, stepped over the others and arrived at the dirtiest, smelliest hole I'd ever seen. Bugs were everywhere. I kicked them away, they came back – I gave up. I held my nose, took another look - I couldn't go. I was about to return to my place when my bowels rumbled then roared. I turned back, slipped down my shorts and folded my body into an undignified squatting position. I balanced, closed my eyes and tried to ignore the attention I was getting from the others.

Distracted by some strange, screeching noises beneath me, I dreaded to think what it was, clenched my bowels with urgency and finally managed to evacuate them.

Concerned by the thick, runny texture of my stool, I was more disturbed by the lack of any toilet paper, but blown-away by the half-filled bucket of water placed to the left. It smelt as if a dead animal had died inside and was decomposing at the bottom - it probably was.

My legs began to shake then ache from all the squatting and I knew I had to end this episode somehow. After a slow count of three, I quickly wiped my backside with the back of my hand, dunked it in the bucket, twice, shook it dry then pulled up my shorts. I stepped over the others, slightly relieved and returned to my place.

After another long night and very little sleep, I found myself out in the yard. Breakfast had been dreadful and the bugs as restless as ever. I'd spent most of the morning brushing them away then feeling completely exhausted, I'd fallen asleep.

I was in the midst of a dream when I was awoken by someone kicking at my feet. I wiped my eyes and glanced up at a heavily tattooed man through the rays of the sun. He was stocky and had a mean-looking face with blood-shot eyes - he looked high.

I thought it best to turn away but when I did, he started screaming at me in Thai. My heart raced as another tattooed man turned up with uneven eyes, black teeth and a bent nose. He glared down at me with a hostile stare and smiled evilly as the other Thai continued to scold me.

The shouting suddenly ceased. I scanned the yard for a guard – no guard. Unsure of what they wanted; I listened as they talked. 'High', then pulled down his shorts and hung his manhood inches from my face. Reaching for the back of my head, he took a firm grip and pulled me into position. I held my mouth shut tight and turned my head away. 'Black Teeth' made a fist and struck me hard on my head – it hurt. I reached up to protect myself and was almost crying as I waited the inevitable, too afraid to fight.

I was struck again – it stung. I turned my head to face 'High' and felt the tip of his manhood rub up against my lower-lip. My mouth stayed shut. I closed my eyes and braced myself – nothing happened.

I heard some Thai spoken but it wasn't from my attackers, it was in a softer tone. I opened my eyes and saw a farang was now sat on the floor next to me. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to the Thais. 'High' pulled up his shorts, snatched the whole pack then strolled away with 'Black Teeth.'

The farang turned to me, raised his hand to my shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Are you alright?"

I sat there still shaking. "I will be."

"Take a minute to calm down."

I rubbed my eyes. "Thank you for saving me."

"No problem mate. What's your name?"

"I'm Michael." I reached out my hand to his. He took it and shook it. "I'm John."

He had a sympathetic, honest look about him, fair hair, deep brown eyes and a small, firm build. I guessed by the light wrinkles on his forehead and the occasional grey hair that he was in his forties.

"Where did you come from?"

"I was moved from another cell."

"How long have you been here?"

"Ten years. Have you just arrived?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"It takes time to adjust."

"How has it been for you?"

"Tough. The heat, the lack of decent food and never enough water, I was ready to give up."

"What got you through it?"

"I met a guy who introduced me to Buddhism. It showed me a new appreciation of life."

"Sounds like a worthwhile religion."

"It's not a religion if you follow it right. It's kept me alive. Have you ever tried meditation?"

"I can't say I have."

"It will calm you; help distract you for a while. Would you like to try?"

"I guess we have time."

"We have nothing but time."

John smiled then suddenly looked serious as he began. "Straighten your back and breathe as deeply and as slowly as you can."

I couldn't focus. My grandfather came to mind; this would be the sort of mantra he'd rehearse.

"How are you feeling?"

"Better thanks, but my mind keeps drifting."

"It will at first."

"Can we try this again later?"

"No problem mate. What came to mind?"

"....My granddad, Nigel. He's into meditation."

"Sounds like an interesting guy. It's good that you have family to focus on while you're here."

I flinched at a cockroach. John laughed. "You'll get used to all the bugs."

"What about infections?"

"You stay strong physically and mentally, your body will take care of itself and meditation can help cool you down.....how you doing for money?"

"I don't have any."

"You contacted your embassy?"

"I haven't, no."

"They would have been informed. They'll send you some cash while you're inside. It may take a while, but if you leave your ATM card with a guard, he will eventually sort you out."

"I don't have my card and I already owe a guy."

"I'll take care of that."

"Thanks. I'll pay you back when I can."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"How long you in for?"

"I got life."

"That's tough."

"I'll tell you why I'm here if you really want to know, but I warn you right now, I'm not an innocent man. I'm serving time for my crime."

"Have you made many friends?"

"Not really and I can speak Thai."

"Has that helped?"

"I can talk my way out of trouble."

"What do the Thais think about us?"

"Not much, but they think we have money."

"What if we don't?"

"You don't do well without it, not here."

"I've seen vouchers. How do they work?"

"Almost everything is paid for with vouchers or coupons that you buy from a guard."

"How are the guards?"

"Lazy bastards that have trusted inmates called 'trusties' or 'blue-shirts' working for them."

"Do they ever get rough?"

"Not if you pay. The poorer inmates are beaten."

"That's sad. What can you do about that?"

"I find its best not to get involved and besides it's so hot out here, it never lasts long."

"Can you buy sun cream?"

"No sun cream or condoms, just in case you're looking at the lady-boys. There's plenty of AIDS lingering about and every STD you can imagine."

"Can I at least get a razor and a tooth brush?"

"You can buy disposable razors, toothbrushes, paste, soaps and similar stuff at a stall near the laundry. They open it every Friday."

"What about toilet paper?"

"I've never seen that in here. Thais don't use it."

"You never told me why they moved you here."

"I pay a guard so I can move every few months. I've been looking for someone to talk to."

"I'm glad you arrived. I was about to be raped."

"It looked that way and don't ever cry in here. You show weakness, you will get raped."

As the sun poured down, we talked about the rules of the prison, or rather he talked and I listened. I was glad to have found a friend.

"That's enough about that," he concluded. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

I considered sharing and figured I should tell him something. "You want the long or the short?"

"What do you think?"

FOUR

"I WAS decent at sketching at school but when I floated the idea of attending Art school, my dad wasn't keen. He didn't appreciate my gift but I stymied him when I was awarded a scholarship to one of the most prestigious Art colleges in London.

I had a few months before my first term and decided on a trip to Thailand. My plan was to sketch 'Working girls' that worked the seedy hostess bars of Bangkok. I liked the look of them and had seen enough online to send my libido off the Richter scale.

Within days of arriving, I rented a real studio and it didn't take long to find the bars. I saw an interesting looking place, local to me and stepped inside. A girl wearing a long, red evening-gown with a slit in the side caught my attention. Her face was made-up nicely and her eyes had a look of a dreamy sadness. Her curvy body was to lust for; her hair was long and black – I was drawn to her. I met Mon the mamasan, paid the bar-fine and waited while Bee changed.

She appeared a few minutes later in a pair of ripped jeans and a short, tangerine t-shirt that barely reached her belly button. I took her home in a taxi and directed her to the bathroom to change. I placed my sketchpad on its easel, searched through my pencils and selected two of a similar shade.

I waited a while then leaning my head to one side; I caught a glimpse of her in the bedroom kicking off her jeans. She stood there in a tight pair of tiger panties that stretched over her taut buttocks - I couldn't help but stare. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and unclipped her tiger bra exposing her upturned breasts. She slid down her panties revealing a tiny path of pubic hair and then tossing her clothes onto the chair; she stepped over to the bed and slipped between the sheets.

She saw me watching her, grinned cheekily then turned back the top sheet, inviting me to join her. My heart was racing. I had the most beautiful girl in my bed waiting for me, but all I could think about was sketching her.

I walked over, held out a towel and waited as she wriggled into it. I led her to the studio and sat her on a stool facing me. She watched as I began sketching her, but couldn't keep still. I offered her a whisky Cola and after several sips, she relaxed.

I sketched her for hours, pausing only to loosen my wrists, change pencils or take a drink. When I was ready, I showed her what I'd done. She smiled, took a picture on her mobile then sent it to a friend.

We worked all night, finishing in the early hours of the morning. I paid her a couple of thousand, put her into a taxi, returned to my studio then rolled into bed. Against my better judgement I had allowed her beauty and innocent charm to burn into my brain – I knew I had to see her again.

Over the next weeks, I took Bee and other girls back and my pencil came alive when I did. I slept most days, worked tirelessly through the nights and it wasn't long before my studio was filled with sketches depicting, what I considered to be some of the most beautiful bar-girls in Bangkok.

One evening I was invited to take a girl I'd never seen her before called Mia. She had long, brown hair and a firm figure that curved in all the right places. She moved warily as if experience had taught her that and watching her glide towards me made me think of honey dripping from a spoon. She looked a little younger than the rest, but Mon had insisted that I take her, so I did.

We entered my studio; she flicked through my sketches and her eyes lit up. I pointed out the bathroom; she disappeared to change and returned in just a towel. She made us both a drink then I sat her on the stool facing away from me. I tried to pull the towel slightly from her shoulders but she stopped me. 'What you do?'

'I want to sketch your neckline. Can I?'

She nodded and allowed me to slip the towel from her shoulders. I stepped back, looked over and was shocked. She had dropped it to her waist. Her thick, black hair now hung down her long, slender back. I loved the pose, took up my pencil and began.

Once I was finished, I invited her to see. She glided over like a ghost, her hair hanging over her breasts, rubbing gently against her nipples. I felt her warm, soft breath caressing the back of my neck as she stood behind me. She seemed to like her sketch. She came around to face me, undid her towel and let it fall to the floor. She stood naked before me. She was gorgeous, enticing, inviting but I was suddenly tired; my energy was drained and my mind was somewhere else. I tried to focus, picked up the towel and wrapped it back around her waist.

It may have been the alcohol or simply the lack of sleep but I was incapable and couldn't go on. She took my hand, led me to the bedroom and lay me on the bed. She pulled off my clothes. I didn't stop her; it was challenging enough just staying awake - then my heavy eyes gave in \- I was gone.

The sound of knocking on a door dragged me back to consciousness. Looking over at the sun shining brightly through the blinds, it was clear it was day. I threw back the covers, pulled on my clothes and followed the knocking to the main door. I swung it open to be met by Annie the landlady, flanked on either side by two uniformed policemen.

'They come for you,' she snapped.

My head felt sore. 'What do they want?'

'They take you to station.'

'What...why?'

She didn't reply. Everybody was so serious so I quickly gathered my things and returned to the main door. Gripping an arm each, they hauled me out of the building and wedged me into the back of a car.

At the station I was marched down a dimly-lit corridor then thrown into a small, windowless room. It had a wooden table, three chairs and a small fan that wasn't on. They left me alone and locked the door. I turned the fan on full then reached for my phone but damn; I'd left it at home.

The door opened and a senior-looking policeman with hooded eyes, thin greying hair and a double chin, stepped in. He sat down, took a file from a folder and opened it. 'I am Police Captain Nincotte.'

'Hello.'

'You are Michael Walker?"

'Yes, and I've no idea why I'm here.'

He took a long, heavy sniff like a hound dog on a hunt then smelt my breath. 'I can smell the alcohol lingering in the air. You had a few last night?'

'That's not a crime.'

'It's not, but taking an underage girl home is. The girl you took last night was only fourteen.'

The memory that Mia looked younger than the others suddenly jolted me.

'She says you beat and then raped her.'

'What! I didn't touch her. I only sketched her.'

He pursed his lips then placed some disturbing photographs in front of me. 'Take a look.'

'What is this?'

'It's pictures of bruising on her body.'

'I told you, I didn't touch her.'

He pushed some paperwork under my nose.

'I can't read Thai.'

'Tell me what happened last night.'

'I took Mia back to sketch her and that's all I ever did. Whatever happened after she left the studio has nothing to do with me.'

'Your semen was found inside her.'

'That's not possible and in any event, how do you know it was mine?'

'It's all in the report.'

'I told you I can't read Thai.'

'Her parents don't wish to press charges, but they will need compensation to cover all the medical costs and trauma. She will require counselling. You need to pay a hundred and twenty thousand baht.'

The penny finally dropped. This was a scam and I was its latest victim. Well, he'd picked the wrong guy this time. 'I won't pay!'

I used his silence to get my thoughts in order. He had to be a corrupt cop. The evidence was false. My semen inside her; how could he have had that tested so quickly and how would he know it was mine? He'd have to have had my DNA on record and how could he have it here in Thailand. That huge amount of cash would take care of whoever was involved.

He gathered up his paperwork with a sigh. 'You'll have to pay or you'll go to jail. I'll give you some time to think it over.'

He rose and left the room. I could still feel the alcohol seeping from my sweat, fear was beginning to grip me and I was desperately trying to suppress it. One thing was certain and I had to hold on to it like a life raft; I didn't rape or beat any girl.

He returned with a smug smile on his face. 'I have some good news.'

My eyebrows raised a 'what'.

'The bar has agreed to pay twenty thousand. After all, they had employed an underage girl. You pay only a hundred thousand and you can leave today.'

This blatant attempt to manoeuvre me only confirmed my suspicion that I was being set up and stiffened my resolve to resist it.

'I would pay if I were you; if you don't you'll go to prison until a Court date is set. That could take a while and Thais don't take kindly to farang rapists.'

It was as if his English was too good and this whole thing had been rehearsed. 'Mr Walker?'

I gritted my teeth. 'I'm not guilty. I won't pay.'

'The longer you leave this, the more difficult it will be to release you. Are you sure you won't pay?'

I nodded \- he left. Two policemen stepped in, pulled me to my feet and escorted me out to an over-night cell. It was a small room with a concrete floor, stained walls and smelt like rat faeces. There was no blanket or pillow and when I pulled the cord to the overhead fan, it whirred for a while then stopped dead. I wasn't given any food or water and as I sat there alone, it wasn't long before I had fallen prey to an army of ants. Throughout the night my earlier resolve ebbed and flowed. I was afraid and missed my family more than ever before.

The following morning I was given a bottle of warm water and a small bag of rice with a miniscule amount of sliced chicken sprinkled on top. The rice tasted rough and the chicken was tough. I was allowed five minutes in a small, smelly bathroom while a policeman waited outside. It smelt of burnt hair and came with cracked tiles and a stained squat toilet that hadn't been cleaned in a while. There was no hot water, no towel, no toothbrush, absolutely nothing. I made the best of it, washed, cleaned my teeth with my finger then tidied my hair.

Handcuffed and shackled, I was driven to the Court where I was held in a hot holding-cell that smelt of sour milk. There were a few others waiting, mainly Thai, but nobody talked to me. I sat on the floor and waited in fear; what was I doing here?

I was finally called up and taken to the courtroom that was like any other courtroom back home, except they had prints of Thai royalty on the walls. It all smelt woody and the whole thing felt unreal, but once the three judges arrived, reality hit hard; this was really happening.

All the proceedings were in Thai. I didn't have a lawyer or translator and I just stood there listening while several men talked and occasionally glanced back. I wasn't even allowed a phone call.

Once the hearing was over, I was brought straight here. I still don't know what's going on. I'm just waiting for this to be over. I've tried speaking to the guards but they don't seem to speak English."

"Some do," John stated, "especially when they want money. Have you called home?"

"Not yet. I didn't want to worry my family. Do you have any idea how these things work?"

"They have twelve days to collect evidence and build a case against you. If they're ready within that time, they'll take you to Court and charge you with a crime. If they don't have enough to make a case, they'll have to let you go. You were framed. It happens, but now you should pay. Didn't you say your dad's a lawyer?"

"Yeah and my grandfather was as well."

"Then call home."

"Thanks, but I can't plead guilty to a crime I didn't commit. I'd rather do the twelve days."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"This is just something I have to do."

I set my mind on the twelve days. I would wait it out; they'd have to let me go.

As the sun set, we were taken inside. John spoke to my neighbour and a little space was given. Once we settled, John turned to me and asked. "Do you still want to know why I'm here?"

"I do but only if you're ready to share."

"It's a long story."

"We're not going anywhere."

FIVE

"HAVING NEVER taken a decent holiday before, I decided on a trip to Thailand, booked a flight and flew out the following week. Mate, I loved it. The friendly people, the food, the females! The 'working girls' weren't like prostitutes that I'd seen before. Here they seemed like regular girls; some even had day jobs and came out at night for some extra cash.

I met some local farang teachers over here and it wasn't long before I was offered a job. I returned home, said my goodbyes, moved here and the next few years flew by. I loved my job and after flings with several females, I finally found my soul mate, Nui.

She taught Thai at the school where I worked and I fancied her. Her perky breasts pushed out against the tight, bright blouses she wore and her bum was firm and rounded like a ripe peach. It wasn't only sexual though, I mean it was at first, but then it was more. She was smart, sensual - she was the one.

We went out for a while and it wasn't long before we fell in love. I proposed as we kissed off the coast of Pattaya. It was real romantic until she saw a used condom floating nearby. She still accepted though and later that year, fell pregnant. I couldn't have been happier. We shared our savings and put down a deposit on a house in On Nuch.

Our wedding day arrived and many of her friends showed up, but no one from her family. My mum made the trip over and the guys from school were there; it was an amazing day.

Life was going great until one morning I heard her scream. I rushed to the kitchen and found her staring at a man at the door. He had bottle-black hair, round, crooked eyes and stank of whisky.

'What you want?' She asked him in Thai.

'I want only to be a part of your life again.'

It was obvious she knew him and I knew she could take care of herself. I was about to give them some privacy, when she started laying into him. He stood there and listened with his head bowed. I couldn't help feeling sorry for him. She paused then turned to me. 'This is my father.'

He raised his eyes to mine. 'I am Somchai. It is nice to meet you.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am John.'

'I not be good father. I want second chance.'

I glanced over at Nui. She nodded - we invited him in. Over tea, we sat down with the wedding album.

'Look beautiful,' he stated at almost every picture of Nui. She never grew tired of hearing it.

I excused myself and popped out to the local shop. I wanted a beer with my father-in-law and we were running low. When I returned, my potential drinking partner had gone and Nui was in tears.

'What happened, honey?' I asked, rubbing her shoulders and wondering when I'd have the chance to crack open a beer.

'My father is ...son of bitch. He not come to see me. He in trouble and need money. It is always same with fucking guy. We not help. He left my family many time, he better dead.'

She stormed off. I took her a hot chocolate, had a sneaky beer then went out to look for her father. I found him sitting alone in a bar.

'Why you come?' he asked, surprised.

'I wanted a beer with my father-in-law.'

'I want a beer with you too, John.'

He ordered me a Chang. We drank.

'Nui tell you why she upset with me?'

I nodded.

'I know it look bad that I ask. She only family I have. Sorry if my English not good.'

'Why do you need money?'

'I have company; have hard time with economy. I borrow from Japan guy, pay interest, make business better, but not get better. Now I can't pay back. If lose business, lose everything.'

'How much do you owe?'

'Over two hundred thousand baht. Can you help? When company better, I pay you back and more.'

'We just put a deposit on the house and with a child on the way we don't have any spare cash.'

'I understand. Sorry to ask.'

'I'm sorry I can't help.'

'That okay. I find another way.'

The following morning he rolled up at the door and stumbled in with torn clothes and blood on his chin. 'Sorry John, I had nowhere to go.'

I handed him some tissues. 'What happened?'

'The sharks came this morning. I have two weeks to pay or they kill me. Then they come after Nui.'

'Nui! How do they know about her?'

'She put something in paper about wedding. They see her name and know who she is. You better leave Bangkok, I'll be all right.'

'There may be a way I can borrow the money.'

'Thank you John. I promise I pay back.'

'Don't thank me yet, this may not work out.'

I helped him into the living room, laid him on the sofa then stepped upstairs. It had been a while since I'd spoken to my old boss, Briggs but if anyone could stump up some cash at short notice, he could.

He was a dodgy geezer but he'd always paid cash and had a few quid lying around. I'd worked for him before, delivering packages around Melbourne. He'd never told me what was in them – I'd never asked.

I took a phone card and called him. 'Mr Briggs?'

'Is that you John?'

'Yes, how are you?'

'Still rocking and rolling. How are you?'

'I'm good, but I need to ask a favour.'

'So much for the foreplay, what do you need?'

'I need two hundred thousand Thai baht.'

'...What for?'

'My father-in-law ran into some debt.'

'You're married now? My invitation must have got lost in the post.'

'It was a small do.'

'Two hundred thousand isn't much.'

'I've just put a deposit down on a house.'

'I see. You want me to sort you out?'

'I'd appreciate it but I'm not sure when I can pay you back.'

'Maybe there's something you can do for me.'

'What's that?'

'I need a package bringing back from Bangkok.'

'What's in the package?'

'....You calling on a card?'

'Of course.'

'It's five kilos of junk.'

I was shocked, yet didn't hang up; I feared for Nui's life. I couldn't handle the thought of losing her and was actually considering this.

'What are you thinking, John?'

'Can't you just loan me the money. I'm not a drug smuggler. I don't want to be.'

'The way I see it is we both need a favour.'

The phone started shaking in my hand. 'How would it work?'

'You pick a package up from a guy over there, he straps it on real tight and you get on the flight. My usual guy's done this a million times but this time he's not available.'

'What if they search me at the airport?'

'They won't unless the alarm goes off. You have to make sure you don't have any metal on you."

'What if something does go wrong?'

'Then you sit tight. I take care of it.'

'How would you know?'

'You text me on the plane before you take off – tell me the flight is on time, but make sure you do or I'll be onto my guy to bail you out.'

'Who's your guy?'

'He's a big Japanese boss out there.'

'I wouldn't get caught?'

'Everybody gets paid, nothing goes wrong.'

I closed my eyes as I realized I was about to take the biggest risk of my life. 'Okay I'm in.'

'You got a pen?'

I took down the details of who to meet and where then ended the call. Later over dinner, I told Nui my mum needed to see me and I had to fly home.

'I come with you,' she said with a firm frown.

'You don't have a visa for Australia.'

'Why you need to see her now?"

'She has a problem.'

'What problem?'

'It's personal.'

'You tell me John, or I'll call her.'

'She's drinking again.'

'I not know her drinking before.'

'I never told you because it's personal. So don't call her, you hear?'

'We're family now John. Not have personal. I not call her, but I'm coming to the airport.'

'Let's see how you feel on the day.'

'You leave when I'm pregnant. I want a dog.'

'Not that old chestnut again.'

'I want for when you away.'

'I'm never away.'

She walked off, but at least the die had been cast. I felt guilty for lying but didn't see another way. I would get in, get out and our lives would be back on track. The departure date soon arrived. I was in the bedroom saying goodbye.

'Don't go,' Nui begged with tears in her eyes.

'I have to go. We've already been over this.'

She scowled then pulled up the bed-sheet.

'How you stop your mum from drinking?'

'I'll think of something.'

I wiped away one of her tears, kissed her forehead then backed away. Leaving her this way was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do and lying made it even worse. I thought about her father, about the loan-sharks and knew if I'd told her the truth, she'd never have let me go.

'Wait!' she screamed. 'The baby's kicking.'

I stepped back, sat on the bed and felt him kick. This wasn't the first time but it was strange he was doing it now.

'He not want you go.'

'I have to go.'

'Then go,' she hissed with angry eyes.

I picked up my bag at the door, took a taxi and headed to the address Briggs had given me. I arrived thirty minutes later at an apartment building on Thong Lor and after showing my ID to a lady with a glass eye, I was taken to a small room a few floors up that smelt of salty glue.

Three guys were sat on a rug smoking and playing cards. They glanced over as I stood waiting. One had a slight scar along his left cheek, the second had a silver nose piercing and the third wore shades.

'Where Jay?' 'Scarface' asked.

'He's sick,' I replied.

'Scarface' stood up and clapped his hands like a boss. 'Nose-ring' and 'Shades' sprang up, stepped over and slipped off my shirt. I was standing in the middle of the room topless, when 'Scarface' turned up with a razor and started shaving my back. The bastard cut me and didn't even care. He laughed, dabbed up the blood with a tissue then carried on.

'Nose-ring' mixed something in a bowl, which he plastered on my back. 'Shades' pressed the package onto my lower-back and 'Scarface' taped it on tightly with thick, silver tape. My shirt was thrown back on and I was pushed over to the door.

'Good luck. 'If get caught, not call us.'

The others laughed. I didn't. I stepped over to the door and stepped out. Next stop - the airport.

Arriving, my nerves were on edge. I had five kilos of heroin strapped tightly to my back in a country where the death penalty still applied. I checked in then stepped over to the security check where three staff followed their routines of passing luggage through a conveyor, X-raying it then checking passengers for any metals.

I glanced over at a guy with a spiked hair. He was facing me through a free-standing metal-detector, tapping a portable device on his thigh – this was the guy I had to get to past without sounding the alarm.

I crept up to the first check, emptied my pockets into a plastic container with my shoes and belt then stumbled to the second detector. I stopped and stared at 'Spike.' He waved me on. I walked through like a zombie on crack - no alarm. I breathed a sigh of relief, picked up my things, slipped on my shoes and belt then strolled away.

'Mr Lawrence?' My name rang loudly in my ear. I turned back to see a senior-looking police officer standing before me with two policemen by his side.

'Please come with me,' he barked.

I was taken to a room with a table and two chairs. It smelt of wet paint and dust. The door was locked; I was alone and couldn't get a signal on my phone. I sat back gently on a chair and anxiously waited.

A farang with dandruff on his shoulders entered in a grey suit and striped tie. He was carrying a brown folder under his arm. He pulled up a chair, slipped some photos from the folder, spread them across the table then picked one out. It showed me standing outside a building with a Thai lady.

'What were you doing at a drug dealer's?'

He pulled out some papers and nudged them over to me. 'I have these to sign. Take a minute to read them by all means.'

I didn't look. He waited, watched then laughed. 'This loyalty always amazes me....We know exactly who you are and who you work for. If you sign you get full immunity. All you need to do is testify against Briggs.'

He glared into my eyes. I held my poker face.

'I must warn you that once I leave this building, the deal is off. I have the police waiting outside. I wonder what they'd find if they searched you.'

He slipped out a pen and placed it on the table. I glanced down at the papers - they were in English. I tried to read the words but couldn't take them in.

'If you don't sign, then you'll end up in a prison here, for life. That's if you're not given the death penalty. You have a child on the way, don't you?'

My stomach turned - how could he know that?

'Are you still waiting for Briggs to bail you out?'

I held my breath then eased it out slowly.

'It's not gonna happen. I promise you that. This is the only deal and time is running out.'

He rose then stepped out of the room. I stared at the documents, but still didn't sign.

Ten minutes later he returned, glanced down at the un-signed papers and sighed. He picked up the pen and pointed it towards me. 'Last chance John.'

He waited then withdrew the pen.

'Good luck inside,' he said, then left.

My heart was beating off the chart as I sat there waiting for Briggs to save me. A few minutes later, the two policemen from before rushed in with a photographer. The camera flashed as I was pulled from my chair, spun around and bent over the table. They lifted up my shirt; cheered when they saw the package then ripped it off and laughed liked they'd won the lottery. The senior policeman strolled in, his officers handed him the package and they all had photographs taken with it, then pictures of the three of them pointing at me.

Once they had finished, the senior policeman took the package, weighed it in his hand then wandered over to me. 'Mr Lawrence. You are under arrest for trafficking a Class A drug.'

I was handcuffed then marched out past a crowd of people who stared. Then, crammed into a car with government plates, I was driven to a police station. I was allowed to make a call. I tried twice. Nui didn't answer and neither did Briggs.

When I appeared in Court, I pleaded guilty and was sentenced to death. His Majesty commuted that to a term of life imprisonment, and here I am. I've served over ten years so far. I've never appealed my sentence, called home and apart from the embassy, nobody knows I'm here."

John paused as I sat there transfixed. His story was so vivid that the prison walls had gently blurred into my peripheral vision, then returned with a jolt once he had stopped. I had been so deeply engrossed in his past, so utterly immersed in his world that for a moment nothing else mattered.

Grateful for the distraction, I became acutely aware of my own body and noticed large beads of sweat forming beneath my temples. I wiped my brow and steadied myself. "Why have you never called your mum?"

"I couldn't put her through it, and when Nui didn't answer, I saw it as a sign that I shouldn't tell her. I was ashamed of what I had tried to do and I couldn't handle her seeing me in here.

"What happened to her father?"

"I don't know and I've never heard from Briggs."

I could see the remorse and pain in his eyes spiking, so I stopped questioning him, left him alone and tried to settle for the night.

SIX

MY DREAMS continued to taunt me with images of open fields and lush green grass. It was heavenly, but only added to the trauma each time I woke up. "Sleep well?" John asked as I came around.

"No, and my dreams seem so incredibly real."

"I've done ten years and every time I wake up, I forget where I am. You never get used to that."

The bell sounded, the others packed away their things and we were filed out into the yard. John handed some coupons to a trustee and we were allowed access to a food-shed.

Grubby-looking cooks were busy standing over charcoal stoves and fighting over space, while other inmates lingered around waiting for their breakfast. John put our order in; it eventually arrived and was just as bad as what I'd had before.

After breakfast it was time to wash. We stepped over to the troughs and stripped off under the sun.

"Remember, mate. Keep your movements to a minimum. It will help keep your body cool."

"The water's filthy," I complained.

As I washed, I felt a warm tingling sensation on my foot. I glanced down, followed a stream of water to its source - somebody was peeing on me! I gave him a dirty look, splashed copious amounts of water onto my feet then shook them dry. I backed away, dressed then caught up with John.

"Where do you get clean clothes?"

"The lady-boys control all that. The washing lines are round the back, but watch that nobody nicks anything. I stand around and wait."

John glanced up at the sun. "What I wouldn't do for a nice cold beer."

"We'll have one on the outside, one day."

Once the day grew tired, we were taken back inside. On the way back to our cell, John spoke Thai to a passing guard, a coupon changed hands and I was taken in another direction.

"What's going on?' I asked.

"You're calling home. You have a chance to get out, you bloody well take it."

I was marched down the corridor and shuffled into an abandoned office by a guard with a bald head. He handed me an old mobile that felt warm and sticky in my hand. It worked and after three double rings a soft voice answered, "Hello."

"Mum?"

My throat was dry - my voice was croaky.

"Why didn't you call me on Wednesday?"

"How are you, Mum? How's the weather?"

"Never mind the bloody weather. What's going on? Why didn't you call?"

"I'm sorry."

"You sound funny. Is everything okay?"

"No Mum, it's not. I'm in trouble."

"What happened?"

"How's Dad? Is he there?"

"No. He's at work."

"I've been arrested."

"Arrested! Arrested for what?"

"It doesn't matter. I didn't do it. It's a scam."

"What were you arrested for?"

"I didn't do it, Mum."

"Michael!"

I paused then the words finally slipped out. "...For beating and raping an underage girl."

She didn't speak. I could still hear her breathing heavily down the phone.

"Mum?"

"Is this a joke? I don't get it - it's not funny."

"It's not a joke Mum.'

"You would never do such a thing. I raised you better than that."

"Of course I didn't and you know I never lie."

"Well then, what happened?"

Her voice was not her own - neither was mine. I could sense a high level of anxiety in her voice and knew it would only get worse if I didn't explain. So I told her of how I'd sketched working girls, how one had framed me, possibly drugged me, and the mess I was in. Then, when I told her of my decision not to plead guilty and not pay what amounted to a bribe, she predictably hit the roof. "You have to pay!"

"I have to do what I feel is right."

"This is not right, Michael."

"They can only hold me for twelve days. Then they have to charge me with a crime or let me go."

"What if they do charge you?"

"The evidence they have is fabricated."

"I'm calling your father. He'll come over and you do what he tells you, you hear?"

'Bald Guard' tapped on his watch.

"I have to go, Mum."

"Hang in there. Dad's coming."

'Bald Guard' snatched the phone from my hand and hung it up. As I was escorted back to my cell, I could still hear her worried voice in my head.

"Who'd you speak to?" John asked.

"My mum."

"How was she?"

"Shocked, upset I hadn't taken the deal."

"So your dad will come and pay you out."

"Probably, but I want to do the twelve days."

"He won't let you."

"I'll tell him it's the right thing to do."

"I'm sure he's not as stubborn as you. The police captain framed you and put you in here \- let it go. You can't beat him. You put yourself through all this, for what?"

"I need to show him that he can't get away with it. He can't continue this scam."

"Why you?"

"I don't know. It just feels right."

"I don't understand you. Is this a British thing, something about pride?"

"It's a bit of that and I don't want anybody back home even thinking I could do such a thing."

"Surely they wouldn't believe it."

"Who knows? I was sketching prostitutes. If I pleaded guilty, they may believe that I was."

"It's your journey mate."

John left me alone. I allowed my thoughts to run freely and my father popped into my head. Mum must have called him by now and asked him to come home. I dreaded to think how he'd react when he'd heard the news.

SEVEN

STAN TRIGGERED the electric gate by remote then drove up the impressive U-shaped drive. He parked outside his detached country house, turned off the engine of his Bentley and climbed out. The pollen in the air tickled his nostrils as he stepped over to the house. He entered through the double oak doors and found his wife in the kitchen, staring into space.

He took a seat by her side. "What's going on?"

She looked over at him but didn't speak.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"It's...Michael."

"What's happened?"

"He's been arrested."

"For what?" Stan rose from his stool.

"Beating and raping an underage girl."

"What! Who told you this?"

"He did."

"When?"

"Does that really matter?"

"There must be some mistake."

"He called me from the prison."

"A Thai prison?"

"Of course a Thai prison. He's in Thailand."

"Are you sure he wasn't just protesting or something? People are always protesting over there."

"He told me it was a scam."

"What was a scam?"

"He was sketching prostitutes."

"What! Why?"

"For his art."

"And he raped one of them?"

"Of course not."

"Then what's he doing getting arrested?"

"I just told you. It was a scam."

"What was he doing with an underage girl?"

"He was sketching her."

"His bloody art again. I told him he should have got a proper job."

"Let's not get into that."

"Why not?"

"It's not the time....What are we going to do?"

"I'm going to have to go out there and that's that." "Will you go alone?"

"No. I'll take dad."

"Do you think he'll go?"

"Not for me, but he'll go for Mike."

"Bring my baby back, Stan, please."

Stan nodded then turned to leave.

"Where you going?"

"I'm going to see my dad. Can you call him? Tell him about Mike and that I'm coming over."

"Can't you tell him from the car?"

"I could, but he likes you."

Stan turned away from his wife, left the house, climbed into his Bentley, raced down the drive and opened the gate.

Stan hadn't seen his father in a while, it had been even longer since they'd worked together on a case; but this time was different, this was Michael.

He entered his father's spacious living room and faced him; back straight, legs in and facing front. The smell of lemon tea lingered in the air and one lonely chocolate biscuit lay on a plate next to a faded Wedgewood teapot.

Nigel was sat back on the sofa, engrossed in his iPad. He had aged well, was still physically and mentally fit with a full head of bushy grey hair and hazel eyes. He was dressed in a pair of casual trousers and a pale blue shirt.

"I just heard," Nigel said as he placed his iPad down and swiped the last biscuit. "I watched a documentary on the 'Bangkok Hilton.' It looks horrendous."

Doris, Nigel's wife was perched on the other sofa opposite. She was a small lady with short brown, greying hair wearing a beige skirt over black tights. Her eyes showed concern as they crossed between Stan and Nigel.

"I need your help, Dad."

"We've discussed it," Doris interrupted.

"And?" Stan asked with eyebrows raised.

"Your father isn't well enough for a long trip."

"What's wrong Dad? Don't tell me the cancer's back. I couldn't handle that today."

Nigel swallowed the last piece of the biscuit and licked his lower lip.

"Dad?"

"It's not cancer. It's a heart condition."

"What's wrong with your heart?"

"As long as I take things easy, nothing."

"A trip to Bangkok wouldn't be taking it easy," Doris grumbled.

"What if you came and just sat in the car?"

Nigel looked over at Doris for her approval. She shook her head. "Not this time, Stan. I love Michael but I love your dad too. You're on your own."

Stan took out a handbook of Thai phrases and dropped it on the table beside his father.

"What's that?" Nigel asked.

"It's a book about the language. I've had a look at it but I can't get my head round it."

"Won't you need it?" Doris asked.

"I bought an extra copy for Dad."

Nigel picked it up and started to skim through the pages. A flight ticket dropped out.

"I took the liberty of booking us a suite at The Landmark Hotel."

Nigel looked at Doris with puppy eyes. She shook her head and frowned. Stan sighed and left.

Doris waited for the front door to close.

"You're making the right decision, dear."

"You made the decision, not me. It doesn't feel like the right decision."

"You have to think of your heart."

"I am thinking of my heart."

"Then why the sad look on your face?"

"Because I'm thinking with my heart too."

EIGHT

STAN WAS returning to his car when he heard the sound of gravel flicking up from behind. He turned to see his father standing before him.

"What's the plan, Stan?"

"We go there and pay Mike's way out."

"What if that doesn't work? What then?"

"It's a rape charge in Thailand, the sex capital of the world. They don't go to trial there, they settle."

"How do you know that?"

"That's the word on the street."

"Which street is that, Sesame Street?"

"I spoke to a guy on the way over."

"You don't seem to be taking this seriously."

"Of course I'm taking it seriously. Why do you think I came to you?"

"Your mum won't let me go."

"When did you start taking orders from her?"

Nigel took Stan by the arm. "My grandson's been charged with rape; he's alone in a Thai prison. Do you have any idea how bad they are?"

"I had a look on YouTube."

"He'll be scared. You need to get him out."

"Will you come?"

"Not with these meds I'm on, but keep me posted and make sure you have a back-up plan in case you can't just buy your way out. And there's no way Mike would have beaten and raped some girl."

"I know."

"Well, he's going to need you to tell him that."

"I will."

"Good. Then go and get our boy back."

NINE

A GUARD with a Scorpion tattoo called my name. I stepped over some motionless bodies and followed him to a small room which was divided into two by a bent wire mesh that hung from the ceiling. Both sides had a wooden table, two chairs and an old fashioned phone taped to the mesh.

I sat and waited until the door to the other side burst open and I came face to face with the man who had put me here - Nincotte. He took a seat and picked up his phone. "Thai prison is not so nice like in your country. You had enough?"

I wanted out, but couldn't let him beat me.

"It will cost you a hundred and fifty thousand."

He reached into his pocket and produced a credit card - my credit card. He taunted me with it for a moment then tucked it away.

"Give me the pin number, or we'll see you in Court next week. A date will be set for a further hearing and that could take a while."

"I know you only have twelve days to charge me."

"You'll be charged with rape."

"...With what evidence?"

"We have the semen, the photographs and the witness statement from Mia."

"How did you know it was my semen?"

"We matched it with your DNA."

"That was quick."

"We're quite efficient over here."

"Was there anything else in the doctor's analysis, perhaps a drug that put me to sleep?"

"You were shown the report."

"It was in Thai."

"We are in Thailand."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You beat and raped an underage girl."

"We both know that isn't true."

"I have the evidence right here."

"Do you know my father's a lawyer? He's flying over right now. My time here is almost up then you'll have to let me go."

"Who told you about the twelve days?"

I didn't reply.

"Did he tell you that they can be extended several times before we even charge you?"

My balls dropped. I looked away. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me scared.

"I didn't think so and your father may be a lawyer in his country, but this is not his country. You've survived so far, but things could get worse."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I wouldn't advise you to wait and find out. A hundred and fifty thousand, Michael, and you walk away this week. Do we have a deal?"

I shook my head.

"What's wrong with you?"

He sat and stared for a minute without saying a word, then rose up and walked out.

My thoughts caught up with me. The twelve days could be extended? John hadn't mentioned that. I sat for a few minutes in a cold sweat until he returned. "Last chance, Mr Walker."

My mind drifted over to John and how he was offered a similar way out and hadn't taken it. He was stronger than me. I wasn't sure I could do this, go on, but then I'd already come this far.

"Well?" Nincotte pressed.

I looked at him with purpose. "No deal."

His jaw dropped. "You are willing to stay here?"

I shook my head and nodded nervously at the same time. I didn't know what I was agreeing to, but I stood my ground determined to beat this man.

"I may not be able to release you in the future. Every day you're in here the paperwork increases."

I didn't look at him. He waited for a while then eventually stood up and stepped out. A few minutes later, 'Scorpion Guard' arrived, pulled me off my chair and returned me to my cell.

"Are you alright?"

"I just had a visit from Nincotte. You didn't mention that the twelve days can be extended."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. What happened?"

"He offered me a deal."

"That's great....but you didn't take it."

"I thought I could do the time and beat him."

"You fool. You had a way out and now you're stuck in here, for who knows how long."

It suddenly hit me what was happening. My heart started racing and my body started rocking.

"Michael, calm down."

It was too much; the bugs, the smells, the people. I needed to get out. The thought of being trapped in here any longer overwhelmed me.

"Come back Michael." He leant over, took a grip of my shoulder and squeezed it like a medicine ball.

"Tell me about your father."

"Why?"

"Just do it. Trust me!"

"He's very down to earth; took his law degree in Leeds. He never wanted to be a lawyer but his father pushed him into it. He scraped through law school, went on to work for his father's firm and that's where he met my mother. She was a legal secretary."

"You mentioned your grandfather was a lawyer. Tell me about him."

"He ran a law firm until he was diagnosed with cancer. My dad took over and it wasn't long before they clashed. Nigel retired and beat the cancer."

"How did he beat it?"

"After going through all the chemo, he turned to a spiritual healer; got really into spiritualism and never looked back."

"He left his company with your dad?"

"Yes, but I think he's regretted it although he isn't driven by money. He never was."

"That's great. How come you call him Nigel?"

"It's just something that stuck over the years. I think it makes him feel younger."

"That's sweet. You two close?"

"We are. He gets me. He appreciates my art."

"You love him more than your dad?"

"My grandfather's great, but he's more a mate than a grandfather. We've had the best chats down the pub; he's told me some stories. My dad is a friend, but more of a dad, if you know what I mean. He doesn't always make the right choices, but he'll always get there in the end."

John nodded. "You feeling better, mate?"

"Yeah, I am thanks but now I'm tired and thinking about my dad."

"Get your head down. We can talk later."

TEN

IT WAS a busy morning at Heathrow Terminal Three. Stan was wearing a striped blue tie over a stylish white shirt that hid under a smart blue suit. He was weaving his way through a crowd of people heading in the opposite direction.

He escaped into the VIP lounge, poured a neat Scotch, took a bowl of salted nuts and sank back into a sleek, leather armchair. A few drinks later his flight came up on the monitor.

He took another handful of nuts then headed for the gate. On the way to the plane, he selected some newspapers and boarded the plane into first class. Flicking through the Financial Times, he checked his stocks whilst ignoring the safety demonstration and as soon as he could, he ordered a drink.

His Scotch was delivered by a gorgeous Thai stewardess wearing a traditional silk sash that stretched diagonally from her neck to her waist. Her make-up was flawless and her long, thick hair was tied back. She smiled as she bent over and served him. He caught a whiff of her perfume; it smelt like an exotic beach. He nodded his thanks and his mind strayed as he admired her figure and watched her pert bottom sway as she walked away.

Finishing his drink, he reached into his carry-on, pulled out a green and white bag and slipped out the latest crime thriller by James A. Newman. He reclined his seat, sat back, flicked through the first few pages of 'The Black Rose' and began.

Awoken hours later by a change in the incessant drone of the engines, they had begun their descent. A look out the window confirmed it was night but below the clouds, the distant lights of Bangkok sparkled like a Christmas night.

Flight TGF107 touched down with a bang, a wobble and a skid. Stan was one of the first off and after queuing for ages at passport control, he headed to baggage. Retrieving his Samsonite, he wheeled it towards the exit and was greeted by a Thai lady in a beige suit. "You like Limousine sir?"

Stan shook his head. He loved a little luxury, but loathed being ripped off. He followed the exit signs, stepped out of gate five, through some automatic doors and bam - Bangkok humidity.

He sought refuge in the first taxi he could find and judging by the shabby state of it, he wished he'd taken the limo. He sat there for a minute and melted as he noticed an ornamental Buddha stuck to the dashboard. The air-conditioning was fine. Stan was tired; if this car could move, it would do.

"Where you go?" the driver asked with a slight smile under his thick lips.

"You know the Landmark hotel?"

"You want take expressway?"

"If it's the quickest way."

The driver nodded. Stan peered out of the window as they drove off into the night. Cars, buses, motorcycles and trucks were everywhere, overtaking, undertaking, speeding and rarely indicating. It was a white-knuckle ride all the way. They eventually arrived at the Landmark and Stan, still a little shaken, didn't know whether to tip his driver or slap him in the face. Still alive, he opted for the tip.

He climbed out into the humidity, left his luggage to be collected by a porter and made his way up the stairs to the grand entrance. Crossing the gold marble floor, he stood at reception and was greeted by a lady dressed in a gold jacket and brown skirt.

"Welcome to the Landmark, sir."

Stan checked in, followed his frisky porter to suite 1918 on the nineteenth floor, tipped with a purple five then took a look around. There was a long black table with black chairs, black sofa, black plasma -everything was black - even the bed sheets were black. He stepped into the bathroom expecting black soap - it was pink. He unpacked then lay on the bed.

He was dozing lightly when he was woken by loud ringing. He reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Stan?" A familiar voice asked, from the other side of the world. "Have you seen Michael?"

"They don't allow visitors over the weekend. I'll call you as soon as I've seen him."

"Alright. Go back to sleep."

"Thanks, take care, bye."

Stan hung up and sat there. He felt a sudden urge to go out. He sprung from the bed, pulled on a pair of brown shorts, slipped into a crisp white shirt, strapped on his Cartier then splashed on a little Old Spice. Finally, after applying a little mousse, he styled his hair and was good to go.

He was stepping down the street and into the oppressive Bangkok heat when a filthy-cute girl smiled as she passed him by. She was tall, thin and busty with firm thighs and long legs. She wore the highest of heels and the shortest of pink dresses. Stan smiled back then noticed more ladies hanging around and hooking on another corner. They were wearing the most revealing of outfits and strutted down the streets like they owned them.

He continued on his journey and noticed the streets didn't quite share the beauty of the girls. He had to tread carefully over crumbling concrete, side-step around copper piping sticking up from the ground and duck under thick electrical cables that hung down. He was passed by motorbike taxis and converted motorcycles with multi-coloured carriages. The drivers tried to catch his attention by slowing down and beeping their horns. He ignored them, walked on and passed several people begging. He sympathized, yet didn't care to spare any change.

Feeling beads of sweat trickling down his back, he was considering an escape, when he was met by a short Indian tailor standing outside his store.

"I have a wonderful suit for you, sir, for a good price. Please come in and take a look."

Stan needed to pee, but wouldn't buy a suit in order to do so. He was about to walk on when his attention was diverted by a beautiful girl standing across the street. She was hopping on the spot and waving at him. He waved back, stepped onto the road, weaved his way between slow-moving cars and joined her on the other side.

"Hi. My name Aey," she smiled saucily.

"I'm Stan. Why were you waving at me?"

"I think you want massage. Take look?"

Disappointed that he didn't know her, a massage did seem like a good idea after a long flight. He peered between a pair of heavy gold curtains and saw several more attractive ladies standing around. They wore loose colourful uniforms that showed a little cleavage and had their hair tied back. They smiled sweetly at Stan as he stared - he was sold.

Seeing an assortment of shabby shoes outside on the floor, he slipped off his designer sandals and tucked them behind a pair of red flip-flops.

"You want oil massage?"

Stan stepped in and looked around. An interesting ambience was created with scented candles, running waterfalls, Oriental music and prints of temples on the walls. "Alright," he agreed.

The sound of running water heightened his urge to use the restroom. He stepped into the toilet and found himself leaning and crouching under a sloping ceiling to pee. He returned to his masseuse and she led him upstairs to a row of cubicles. Each had a thin mattress, a soft pillow and a white hand-towel folded as an elephant.

"You like shower first?"

He nodded, hung his clothes on some bendy hangers, took a towel, headed for the bathroom and showered over a toilet with no seat. Then returning to his cubicle, he lay face-down on the mattress and loosened the towel.

It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop; that was if you had a pin and you wanted to drop it. Stan then heard some small steps creeping towards the door. The sliding doors slid open; Aey crept in, knelt before him, slipped off the towel and placed it to the side. He smelt her cheap, tangy perfume. He wouldn't have bought that brand for his wife, but he liked it on Aey.

Stan was naked and suddenly aware of the air conditioning cooling his buttocks. Aey placed her cold fingertips on his legs, glided them up to his thighs then continued up his back.

She screwed open a jar of oil. It smelt of lavender. She poured plenty on his body then rubbed her small, firm hands up and down his legs, back and buttocks, spreading scented oil. Her nails dug in, her palms pressed down and her fingertips teased. Stan moaned and rocked his body gently as she continued to caress him.

About thirty minutes later she asked him to turn over. She didn't offer him the towel. He didn't want it, didn't need it. He turned over slowly, held in his stomach and searched her eyes for any sign of shame. She wasn't shy, didn't seem to care. She sat up and smiled at the excitement he was showing her - mission accomplished.

As he lay there naked, aroused and waiting for what or who would come next, guilt took a grip. He thought of his wife back in England and wondered how he'd allowed himself to be in this predicament.

His guilt was soon dispelled when she continued massaging him, caressing him, nudging his member as he lay there. It pointed to the moon. He moaned then reached up to brush against her small, soft, cup-cake breasts. She smiled, pulled up her shirt and bra and allowed him to fondle her. He squeezed her young, ripe nipples gently as she moaned.

Abandoning any pretence that she was massaging his abdomen, she gave full attention to his penis, utilising firm, sensual strokes. He enjoyed the motions as she brought him closer to climax with every stroke. His body suddenly stiffened and his face strained as he came - almost in her face. She continued stroking him with an even firmer grip and faster pace until he raised his right hand. She stopped and smiled like the cat that'd caught the cream. Wiping her wet hands on his waist she smiled and demanded, "Don't move till I get back."

Stan nodded. She stood up and stepped out.

He lay there for a while catching his breath then reaching for the towel he pulled it over his loins and wiped himself.

She returned a few minutes later with a steaming, wet hand-towel, tutted that he'd taken the main towel, removed it and tossed it to the side. He lay there naked, suddenly feeling exposed. She dropped the hand towel onto his crotch. Stan twisted his body like a lizard then realising it wasn't that hot, he laughed. She soaked up his sperm like a horny mistress. She was rough. Stan was aroused. She finished. "How you feel?"

"Relaxed."

"You take shower then come down for tea."

"Thank you."

He watched her leave, had a shower then made his way downstairs. He drank a cup of warm tea, paid, left a decent tip, took a card and walked out.

Back on the street and feeling the heat, he escaped into a pink Toyota disguised as a taxi. A young man with an Afro smiled through the rear-view. "You want see beautiful lady?"

"Where? How much?"

"Not far. Not much"

"Let's go."

After a slow-moving journey along Sukhumvit Road, they arrived at a street of bars lit up by bright neon signs. Sexy, young ladies lingered outside in short skirts, shorter shorts, swim-wear, night dresses, sexy dresses, lacy lingerie and whatever else would catch the eye. Stan had never seen so many beautiful girls in one place and smiled at them all.

He stopped at a food stall serving fried crickets and wondered how drunk he'd have to be to try one of those. Then passing a bar with a wooden door, he noticed a couple of ladies sat at a table in lingerie. The one on the right was the prettiest, thought Stan but she hadn't seen him. The one on the left did. She rose from her stool, glided over, reached for his hand and led him inside.

Stan stepped into a small, smoky room with a long bar to the right, leather booths to the left and a stage area just large enough for a couple of girls to perform - and they did.

'Hotel California', played loudly around the room, but Stan wasn't listening. He was too busy ogling the girls on the stage. Two, probably a little south of seventeen stood naked, danced erotically and stared at themselves in mirrors on the walls. They seemed perfectly natural sporting their stuff for all to see. Stan felt a little sorry for them, but that thought was soon lost to lust.

He was shown to a booth and smiled at by a farang sitting opposite. He looked around fifty, had thick, brown hair and wore a pair of cream Chinos under a chequered shirt.

"What you drink?" a pretty waitress asked. She had her hair tied back and her teeth behind braces.

"I'll take a Heineken."

'Bony Nose' peered over. "Ze name is Helmut."

"Stan. It's my first time here."

"You want zome company?"

"Sure, it's always nice to meet new people."

"I was talking about za girl," Helmut laughed.

"Oh. Then why not."

As the music changed to another eighties' track, Helmut waved over an older lady. She wasn't as slim or as sexy as the other girls, had heavy makeup and bushy hair. She strutted over, blocked Stan's view of the stage and spoke Thai with Helmut.

"Who's that?" Stan asked as she walked away.

"The mamasan. She's in charge of the girls."

A few minutes and a new track later, two attractive ladies in silk robes appeared and slid in next to the boys. Helmut opened his girl's robe to reveal a lovely little figure wrapped in purple lingerie and half covering a perky pair of fake breasts.

"We buy them a drink then we can play."

Stan agreed, ordered two shots of Tequila and turned to his girl. Her smile was encouraging; she had a pretty face framed with brown hair and busy eyes that kept flicking between Helmut and Stan.

"What you name? Where you from?"

"I'm Nigel," Stan lied.

"My name Pancake."

Two shots of Tequila soon arrived on a silver tray with a sprinkle of salt and two wedges of lime. Stan watched the girls as they downed them, licked the salt and sucked the lime.

Helmut, noticing Stan was a little shy, leant over, opened Pancake's robe and copped a feel of her breasts. "At least get zee money's worth."

Stan looked down at the red lingerie embracing Pancake's slender body, but didn't touch. Helmut fondled his girl's breasts, right in front of Stan then reached down to stroke his fingers between her legs.

"You can take any of zese girls upstairs to a private room and have ze wicked way."

"I couldn't possibly."

"Maybe after a few more drinks."

"I don't think so. I feel a little bad for the girls. I couldn't take advantage of them."

Several drinks later, Helmut was looking at his watch. He turned to Stan. "I have work tomorrow."

"That's a shame. What do you do?"

"I own ze travel agency. Perhaps ve can do zis again, anuzzer time?"

Helmut reached for the bill. Stan pulled it away and paid. Helmut handed Stan his card.

"Thank you Stan. It's nice to have met you. Call me if you want annuzer night out."

"....Definitely." Stan nodded.

Stan tucked away Helmut's card, followed him out of the bar and said goodbye. He continued his stroll down Cowboy, reached the end, then turned onto another road. It had several scruffy taxi drivers standing around, waiting for their prey.

"Taxi sah?" A cabbie asked with dry lips.

Stan waved a dismissive wave - he wasn't done yet. He continued on and was walking down a quieter road when he was accosted by three girls sitting outside the small entrance to a bar.

"You want drink, handsome man?" a tall, feminine lady offered. "You look like Tom Cruise."

"I'm heading home," Stan replied.

"I go with you?" She asked with hopeful eyes.

She was sexy in a sleazy way with thick black hair and long legs. Her make-up was heavy and her thick eyelashes fluttered sensually at Stan. His eyes fixated on her black high-heeled boots that stretched half way up her legs.

"One for the road?" she smiled.

He nodded and followed her into a small, dimly-lit room where several black-leather barstools were lined up against the bar. It smelt of stale spunk. He ordered a whisky soda as she slid in next to him and started rubbing his leg.

"You buy drink for me?" she asked.

Stan nodded to the bar-maid. A whisky Cola arrived and Stan and 'Black Boots' clinked glasses.

"What your name?"

"Nigel," Stan lied again.

She pressed her hand firmly against his crotch and began to caress him. He opened his legs a little and glanced down to see she now had a firm grip on his member, through his shorts. He contentedly sipped his whisky while she slowly opened the buttons to his shorts, snaked her hand in and found her way to the fly in his boxers. Stan sat back, allowing her to search; he wasn't shy, he was too excited and too drunk to care.

She was quick to find his member and it was already giving her a standing ovation. She pulled it out right there in the bar and patted it like a pet. Stan blushed, but didn't stop her and watched as she took his balls in her hands and squeezed them.

There was nobody else, save a chubby, bar-maid wearing a denim skirt over a pair of pink stockings. She had placed some tissues and a small bottle of Johnson's baby oil on the bar counter. As Stan enjoyed another first-time experience in the 'Land of Smiles,' 'Black Boots' took a little oil on her hand, applied it to Stan's manhood and started to stroke him. He was shocked. The barmaid didn't look, didn't care and continued drying glasses. Stan sat back with one eye on 'Black Boots' hand and the other on the door.

He was reaching the point of no-return, when she slowed down then stopped. "You want more?"

"Okay."

"Let's go upstairs."

"What's upstairs?"

"Have private room."

Guilt had lost out to lust, again. Stan finished his drink, pulled up his shorts and followed her up a flight of broken stairs. They arrived at a room that smelt of smoke and sex. It had an old pool table with a torn cloth and a small, empty bar.

She locked the door behind them, leaned him up against the pool table and rammed her tongue down his throat. After several seconds of a sloppy snog, she broke away. "You want fuck me?"

Stan nodded.

She unbuttoned Stan's shorts and slipped them down to his ankles. She stepped over to the bar, rummaged around and found a dusty bottle of Thai whisky and some mixers, hidden in a cupboard underneath. "What you drink?"

"Whisky soda." Stan replied.

He started to shuffle over like a penguin to take his drink, his shorts still around his ankles.

"Stay there," she laughed. "I bring to you."

He shuffled back feeling foolish and waited. His heart thumped as she glided over, placed the drinks on the side then fell to her knees. She pulled down his boxers, took his manhood in her hands and tickled the tip with her nails. She took him deeply in her mouth and caressed him with her long, strong tongue. He glanced down; her eyes met his as she started to suck him fast and furiously. He could feel himself coming, again, and reached down to take her firm, left breast in his hand.

She continued, careful not to finish him, her musky perfume tickling his nostrils. He reached down, slipped his hand through her dress and ventured down her legs. He was about to reach her opening, when she stopped him. He paused for a Mississippi count of three, then tried again – this time she allowed him safe passage.

He reached down, grazed her thigh and then continued further on his voyage until finally arriving between her legs. Expecting a shaved, smooth moist opening, he was more than gob-smacked when he felt a long, hard bulge, taped up and strapped firmly to her inside leg. He felt it again - to be sure – it was still there - fuck!

A tsunami of aversion, revulsion, repulsion horror, disgust and despair swept over him, amongst other emotions that had all arrived simultaneously. He almost threw up. He lifted her(?) him(?) it from him and pushed her(?) him(?) it away. He stumbled into his clothes and dashed for the door.

"I thought you knew," the lady-boy cried out as she stood back scratching her head.

He struggled with the lock, opened the door, legged it down the stairs and rushed out of the bar. Then bolting blindly across the road, he side-stepped a taxi-tout to be hit head-on by a Tuk Tuk.

ELEVEN

RAIN WAS splashing off the window panes and the wind howled like an angry child: it was a cold, wet morning in England. Doris was in the bedroom and had just finished on the phone, when Nigel drifted in from the bathroom.

"Who was that?" he asked, drying his hair.

"Lou. Stan was hit by a Tic Tac."

"A what?"

"I'm sure she said Tic Tac."

"The mint?"

"She said it's some sort of a motorbike with a carriage attached. Stan was hit by one of them while crossing the street. He'll be in hospital for a while."

Nigel stood shaking his head. "Idiot."

"So what now?" Doris asked.

"What do you mean? I have to go."

"You can't go. You're not well enough. You will have to send another partner!"

"I should have gone in the first place."

"But it's so hot and humid over there."

"Then I'll walk slowly, drink lots of water and avoid bloody Tic Tacs."

She stormed off down to the kitchen while he followed, strolled into the living room, picked up the Thai phrase book, then entered the study.

The aroma of fine Italian leather lingered in the air and every photo frame, organizer and business necessity lay neatly in its place. A luxurious black leather chair stood behind a grand desk and shelves were loaded with legal books. A Picasso graced the main wall and a framed Michael Walker hung proudly alongside.

Using his thumb print and a six digit PIN, he opened his safe, withdrew his passport, credit cards and a jiffy bag stuffed with fifties.

Doris followed him back up the stairs.

"What do you know about Thai law?"

"I'll find a guy out there."

"This is insane. You're not strong enough."

"I've never been in better shape."

This was a blatant lie. He used to play squash every Tuesday, go fencing on Fridays and spend Sundays at the golf club. Nowadays, he would take it easy with a little gardening on a fine day.

"I don't think you're thinking straight."

"Do you want to help me pack or are you just going to stand there whinging?"

She could feel she was losing this battle. Her eyes filled with frustration and fury.

"I think you're a stupid, selfish old man!"

He lunged forward, took her by the throat and pinned her up against the wall.

"Perhaps, but this is my decision, not yours."

"You're hurting me," she wheezed, the colour of her cheeks fading from her face.

He released his grip. She fell to her knees. Gasping for air, she picked herself up, stumbled out of the bedroom and struggled down the stairs.

"I'm sorry." Nigel screamed. He stood at the top of the stairs waiting for a response. She didn't reply. He turned back to the bedroom, threw some clothes into a Burberry bag then picked out a suit.

Back in the study and dressed, he flicked through an app. on his iPhone and checked for the next flight to Bangkok. Then flicking onto Amazon, he searched for a book and downloaded the latest John Daysh, 'Cut Out the Middle Man,' for the flight. He turned to his bookshelf, slipped out 'A Course in Miracles' and packed it. He left his bag by the front door and strolled back to the kitchen to find his wife. He leaned over to kiss her, but she turned away.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. It must be these new meds. I really don't know what came over me."

Her top lip raised, yet she didn't say a word.

"I guess we'll talk later then," he frowned.

He stepped over to the counter, poured himself a half cup of coffee and after a few sips, he was ready to leave. He picked up his things at the door, stepped outside to the garage and glancing up at the grey sky, he opted for the Jag.

En-route to the airport, he pulled over to the side of the road and called his daughter-in-law on the hands-free, "Hi Lou."

"Hi Nigel. How are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you holding up?"

"As well as can be expected."

"I'm heading to the airport now."

"Thank you."

"Tell me everything Mike told you."

"Alright, where do I begin?"

"From the beginning. I need every detail."

Nigel listened and took notes on a pad attached to the dash. Once the call ended, he checked the rear-view, pulled out and pushed the pedal to the metal. He inserted a Sinatra CD into the player, nudged up the volume, broke the speed limit and tapped on the wheel as Ol' blue eyes flew him to the moon.

Nigel's flight landed early. He struggled through immigration, picked up his luggage and headed over to the nearest Bureau-de-Change. After exchanging a stash of cash with a sexy cashier with dyed hair, he avoided the taxi touts and headed for the exit.

"What the hell," he cursed at the humidity. He dived into a green and yellow Toyota, wiped the sweat from his brow then noticed a middle-aged, wrinkle-faced man glancing back at him.

"Hot?" he laughed.

Nigel nodded, unfolded a piece of paper and handed it over. 'Wrinkle-face' held it up to eye level, nodded, handed it back, switched on the meter and drove away. Nigel sat up, opened his journal and peered out of the window.

It seemed the whole population of Bangkok was on its way to work. People were crammed into open buses and hanging on the outsides, young girls in short skirts and tight shirts were riding side-saddle on motorcycles driven by men in bright orange vests and battered trucks emitting thick, black, toxic substances into the atmosphere were driven as if their drivers were drunk. Nigel thought the traffic in London was bad - welcome to Bangkok.

After a while, they finally arrived at a run-down apartment building. It was crumbling on the outside and the neighbourhood looked rough.

Nigel turned to his driver. "Can you wait? Can I leave my bag?"

"Okay," the Thai nodded.

"What's your name?"

"My name Pang."

"Thank you, Pang. I'm Nigel. I won't be long. You can leave the meter on if you like."

Nigel climbed out of the car with his Thai phrase book in hand. He stepped over to the entrance, rang the main buzzer - nothing. He pressed again and waited. He glanced back at Pang who was out of the car and leaning on the boot. He was a short, skinny man with a kind, trusting face, wore tight, shabby clothes and his shoes were literally on their last legs.

Nigel was about to press again when the door swung open and a lady in tight, striped leggings appeared. She was holding a steaming bowl of soup and eating something spicy.

"Can you speak English?"

She stood there with a blank expression. He repeated his words slowly - she didn't reply. Sweat was beginning to ooze from his body.

"What you want to know?" Pang asked. He had stepped over from the car.

"I need to see the studio rented by my grandson. Can you tell her that in Thai?"

Pang nodded. A long conversation ensued. Finally Pang turned back to Nigel.

"Your son with Police, not come back yet."

"Yes, I know. I want to see the apartment."

Pang turned to the lady; another conversation began and ended with her putting down her bowl.

"Can you join us?" Nigel asked Pang.

Pang nodded, locked the car and followed Nigel and the lady inside. She led them through a dim hallway and up a wooden staircase. There was a smell of vomit in the air. Nigel, feeling the heat, turned back to Pang. "No air-conditioning in here?"

"Not have, but in room may have."

After climbing the staircase, Nigel and Pang were led into Michael's studio. Nigel caught his breath, flicked on the air-con and took a look around. It was a fair-sized studio with a low ceiling but could have used a little more light.

There were sketches of several girls pinned to the walls. Nigel stood back and admired them. Then spotting a sketch on an easel he took out his mobile and photographed it. "Excuse me, Pang."

Pang stepped over and stood at his side.

"Can you find any other drawings of this girl?"

Pang studied the sketch, checked the others and returned a few minutes later with another two. He held them up for Nigel to photograph them.

"You want to work for me?"

"How much you pay?"

"How's five thousand a day?"

"What you want I do?"

"Drive me around and translate a bit."

"...Can."

"Good, then let's go."

They left the studio. Nigel thanked the landlady with a thousand on the way out. She was shocked.

Pang rushed ahead down the stairs, opened the back door of the car and then helped Nigel climb into the back. He got into the front and waited.

Nigel fumbled around in his trouser pocket, pulled out another piece of paper and handed it over. Pang's smile turned upside down as he read it.

"You know the place?"

Pang nodded then drove away like a chauffeur.

TWELVE

JOHN AND I were walking the yard.

"Where are the guards?"

"They watch from air conditioned rooms and only come out when officials are visiting."

"You said they were lazy."

I noticed some scratch marks and faded blood stains high up on a wall. "What happened there?"

"An inmate must have tried to escape. I saw a guy use two suction devices like the ones used to carry glass sheets to help lever himself up. He reached half way before being spotted by a blue shirt."

"What happened to him?"

"The blue shirt called a guard. He was ordered to come down, but didn't. They shot him in the leg, he fell and later in the cell, he removed a blade from a disposable razor, slashed his left wrist then wrote a suicide note on the wall with his right hand – in his own blood. Suicide is really common in here and nobody bats an eyelid."

I was about to comment when 'Bald Guard' appeared and called me over. I turned to John and smiled. "That must be my dad."

"Good for you mate. Get out of here."

I followed the guard and was taken to the interview room. A guard on the other side ushered someone in but it wasn't my dad who'd come all this way to see me; it was my grandfather.

He took a few steps towards me, sat down, placed his hand on the mesh and waited while I did the same. His eyes flickered back and forth between where our palms faced, only the mesh between us. We picked up a phone with our other hand.

"I saw that in a movie, but it's usually a glass partition. What are they trying to pull in here?"

It was lovely to see him. He could take a tragic situation and make it funny. I loved him for that.

"How's the food on your side?"

"It's terrible. I've lost weight."

"I can see that, you look grubby too."

His smile faded to a frown. "Listen, I'm not sure how much time we have. I know what happened and I sympathize but if this goes to Court, you could be stuck in here for ages."

"Where's my dad?"

"He's here in Bangkok. He had an accident."

"What happened? Is he okay?"

"He was hit crossing the road, but he's fine. He just can't move around too much."

"Was he drunk?"

"He'd had a few."

"Have you seen him?"

"Not yet. I wanted to see you first. Look, I've more than enough cash to settle this. Your mum said they had already offered you a way out."

"They did, but only if I accepted the case against me and paid my way out."

"You mean it wouldn't go to Court?"

"That's right but if I fought the case and lost, I'd have a record and never be able to come here again, that is, after serving my sentence."

"Would you want to come here again?"

"I have my reasons and I didn't do anything."

"I know you didn't, but they don't care about that. They just want money and I want to get you out. Your mother's worried sick."

It hit a nerve when I thought about her and what she must be going through. I could still hear her frightened voice in my head.

"I'll offer a decent stash of cash to make this go away. You ready to go home?"

"I'm meditating with an Ozzy guy in here. He was arrested for smuggling heroin."

"Glad you're keeping such good company."

"It's not like that. John's a good guy."

"Good guys don't traffic drugs, Mike."

"He did it to save his family."

"I'm glad you've found a friend, but don't get too close....How you doing for money?"

"Not good. I owe John a lot."

"How do I get money in?"

"You need to pay a guard. He would get it in."

"Could we trust him?"

"No, but if you tell him there's more coming, he'll get it in, minus his commission."

"I want you out, Mike."

"If they can't charge me in twelve days, they'll have to release me or extend it for twelve more days."

"What if they do extend it?"

"The evidence is false. They won't....I've come this far. Let me wait it out. Trust me, I can do this."

"You think you can you handle a few more days?"

"I know I can."

Nigel raised his eyebrows. "All right, we'll try it your way. In the meantime I'll track down the girl who's accused you and send you some cash."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Will a hundred thousand be enough?"

"That's too much. John warned me about that. You give too much, the guard may do a runner and where would I keep so much cash safely in here?"

"How much do the guards get paid?"

"Between four and eight thousand a month."

"So how much should I give him?"

"Five thousand. Then another five next time."

"Is that enough? That's nothing."

"It's enough in here."

"Where did you find the last girl you sketched?"

"At the same bar where I found all the girls. Her name is Mia."

"So it was Mia who accused you of raping her?"

I nodded.

"Your mother said she was a working girl."

"She was, but I didn't touch her."

"She said you never slept with any of the girls, you only sketched them. Is that right?"

I lowered my eyes.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did, Mike. There are some real beauties here."

I nodded my head. "I thought about it but never did. What can I say - the art took over."

"I can imagine."

"I never raped Mia. You believe me, right?"

"Of course I believe you. I've been to the studio and seen what you've done. Great work, but right now I need the name and location of the bar."

'Bald Guard' leaned in and rapped his knuckles on the door. I quickly told my grandfather what he needed to know, then watched as he was escorted back to what I used to know as freedom.

THIRTEEN

STAN WAS lying in bed like a dead cockroach. His left leg was raised and his right arm was up while a nurse wearing a tight white uniform and a tantalizing perfume checked his blood pressure.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she bent over, showing a bright orange bra stretched over a couple of cupcakes.

"A little better now, thanks."

She finished her routine, smiled then left. Stan thought of his father. He was embarrassed at what had happened on his night out, but nobody needed to know the truth about that. He had to think of a less incriminating story.

He flicked through the channels on the small television, but the only English options were BBC World News or MTV, neither of which grabbed his interest. He was about to check his email, when a short Thai man wearing tight trousers strolled in.

"I think you've got the wrong room."

'Tight Trousers' stepped out, checked the number on the door and returned, "You Mr Stan?"

"Is that for me?" Stan asked, catching sight of a bulging plastic bag.

"Have fruit," the Thai replied, handing it over.

"From my father?"

He nodded as he watched Stan pull out an apple and take a bite. "...Where is he?"

"He at hotel."

"Why doesn't he come?"

"I not know."

Stan removed a magenta-coloured fruit. "What?"

"...That Thai fruit."

Stan held it under his nose. "And you are?"

"I am Pang."

"Pang... Sounds more like a noise effect from the old Batman TV show. How did you get that name?"

"My father give me."

"Fair enough. Are you from the hotel, Pang?"

"No, I am taxi driver. I work for Mr Nigel."

Stan lowered his voice.

"I see, but 'Are you talking to me?' "

Pang didn't know the movie quote and stood there with a blank expression.

"Can you bring me a DVD player so I can watch some movies? I will pay you for your trouble."

"You want me to buy you DVD?"

"Yes. You need money?"

"Will look first, check price, you can pay later."

"Can you buy some new movies in English? And tell my dad to get his arse over here."

FOURTEEN

THE BANGKOK sun had set, it was seven-thirty in the evening and Nigel was singing a ropey rendition of 'New York, New York' in the shower.

Once dried and dressed, he slid into a pair of leather loafers and left the hotel. Pang was leaning on his car, wearing an old blue suit with the usual tight-fitting trousers. Nigel appreciated the effort but cringed. He waved him over. "You saw Stan?"

"Yes I give him fruit. He ask when you come."

"Later. We need to find this girl." Nigel showed Pang the picture he had taken at the studio.

"That girl from before?"

"That's right, but first I should tell you why we need to find her. Join me for a beer?"

Pang nodded then followed Nigel into the hotel.

They were sat facing each other sipping beers at a candle-lit table. It was romantic, but it wasn't meant to be. Pang listened as Nigel finished explaining what had happened to Michael.

"That's pretty much it, Pang. My son Stan came here first, but was hit by a Tic Tac."

"You mean Tuk Tuk?

"Whatever, so here I am."

"Should be father take care."

"I know."

"Bad things happen here. Foreigner cheated, they pay, go home sad, but that better than prison."

"I get what you're saying Pang, but Michael wants to do this the hard way. I need to find this girl. Can you help me?"

"Can, but not easy. Have many girls in Thai."

"I've noticed."

Nigel paid the bill, then stepping out onto the street he saw some stray dogs that looked like they'd crawled to hell and back. He bought a hundred baht's worth of cooked pork from a street vendor and laid it out. They crept over and lapped it up.

Despite having the name of the bar, Pang still took a while to find it. He finally pulled up outside a little hostess bar where several girls were sitting outside in short, sexy dresses. Their focus turned to Nigel as he climbed out of the car.

"Welcome, handsome man," shouted one. Nigel read the name of the bar: this was where Michael had found his girls.

It was a seedy place with a low ceiling and smelt of stale smoke. Scantily-dressed girls sitting around tables talked, waiting to be picked out by a stranger.

"What you want drink?" a short waitress with a silver ring in her right eyebrow asked.

"Does it hurt?" Nigel asked, pointing at the ring.

"Only if you pull it."

"We need to speak to the manager."

"Boss called mamasan," Pang broke in. "Maybe better I talk to her."

"Thank you Pang. You want a beer?"

"Does a bear sit in woods?"

"That's 'shit' in the woods," Nigel corrected Pang, then smiled at the waitress. "A couple of Changs please and where is the mama's boy?"

"Mamasan," Pang corrected Nigel.

The waitress pointed to a lady standing by the bar. Pang nodded, approached her and started another long-winded conversation. Nigel followed Pang and found himself listening, despite not understanding a word. His eyes wandered around the room taking in the many young, beautiful girls. At a break in the conversation, the mamasan looked over at Nigel. "You like come back-room?"

"You speak English?"

She nodded. Nigel and Pang were led to a small room that doubled as a laundry and a kitchen. There were bed-sheets tied up in balls in one corner and staff sat eating on a rug. The mamasan pulled out some folded chairs and offered a seat. Her staff picked up their plates and hurried out.

'Eyebrow Ring' returned with a couple of beers and handed them over. Nigel thanked her, took a sip then showed the mamasan a picture of Mike.

"You know him?"

"Are you his father?"

He smiled. "No, I'm his grandfather, Nigel."

"Hello Nigel, I am Mon."

"You know my grandson? You know Michael?"

"Yes I know. He take girl, make picture."

Nigel showed the picture of the sketch of Mia.

"This is the last girl he did. Can I see her?"

She peered at the picture, "I not know her."

He looked into her eyes. "Take another look."

She looked again. "Not my girl."

She began to edge away as Nigel glanced at Pang then pointed with his eyes at the door. Pang rose and blocked the exit.

"What you want? I not know her."

"I know you sent her home with Michael. You persuaded him to take Mia, didn't you? She drugged him then he was arrested the next day for raping her. He was asked for a hundred thousand. How much of that was your cut?"

"I told you I not know her."

"My grandson is rotting in prison. I want him out. Where is she?"

"Why he not pay?"

"So you do know her?"

"Some girls not stay long time; hard to know."

"I bet it is."

"I not know her."

"Think carefully, Mon."

He leaned in to break her, but then tensed up, breathless and red-faced.

"Are you all right Mr Nigel?"

Pang rushed over; the exit was now clear. Mon rose and stepped towards the door.

"You will bring Mia to me," Nigel wheezed with the little breath he had left.

"I don't know her!" Mon cried then walked out.

"What wrong?" Pang asked.

"I have a heart condition. I need to rest."

"Where you want to go?"

"Back to the hotel. Help me up and take me to the car. We can try this again tomorrow."

FIFTEEN

STAN STIRRED from his sleep, stretched awkwardly and yawned. His breakfast tray was on the side table and a quick scan confirmed what he already knew, mango and sticky rice, again. It may have been de rigueur in these parts, but he would have killed for an English breakfast. His stomach rumbled and so transferring the tray to his lap, he began to munch through his breakfast.

Startled by some heavy footsteps, he glanced over at the door and saw a rough-looking lady with heavy hips and thick, fat lips. He wasn't sure where he'd seen her before, but it seemed that she knew him. She strode over, clanking her heels, then stopped, towering over him. "Hello, Daddy."

The tall figure was heavily made up with bright red lipstick plastered over rubbery lips. Horrified, Stan realized who she was and flashed back to that fateful night near Soi Cowboy. He almost choked on his mango. "What do you want?"

'She' pulled out a bar bill, handed it over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"How did you find me?"

"I send you here after you have accident."

Stan couldn't take his eyes off her huge lips that he'd kissed; the same lips that had been wrapped tightly around his member. Her hands were huge and her feet were bigger than his!

"So I pay you and you go away?"

"You pay bar and you owe me for upstairs."

"What's the total?"

"Six thousand enough."

Stan frowned, reached for his wallet and was leafing through some notes when two men strolled in without knocking. One was his father!

Nigel's gaze focussed on the strange looking lady sitting on the bed. Stan ignored 'her' and forced a smile for his father. "Hello Dad.'

"Stanley. Are we interrupting something?"

Stan glowered at the lady-boy. "Get out!"

Nigel looked on with sympathetic eyes as Pang frowned, Stan blushed and the lady-boy blinked.

"I come back when you not busy." 'She' rose from the bed and stepped out. Stan ignored the noise of her clanking heels. "So dad, how are you?"

"One sec, Stan." Nigel followed 'her' out into the hallway. "Excuse me. Does he owe you money?"

She turned and smiled. He slipped out his wallet, opened it and invited her to reach in. She took six thousand and tucked it into a hidden compartment in her bra. "You want some company?"

"Sorry but we're looking for someone right now."

"Who you look for?"

Nigel held up his phone and showed her the photo of Michael's sketch of Mia.

"I not know her but maybe I can find her. I know many people here. I know police captain who like lady-boys. Maybe he will help."

"That's something. See what you can find out."

"Fine. You have number I can call you on?"

Nigel handed her a card. "I'm Nigel Walker. I've written my Thai number on the back."

"Nice meet you Nigel. I am Sung."

"You want a copy of the picture?"

"Please," she replied. She took his phone and sent the picture to her Samsung. "I see what I can do."

"Thank you Sung."

"If I help you, you pay me, okay?"

He nodded. She turned then sashayed down the corridor, her high-heels clanking on the hospital tiles. Nigel turned back to Stan's room and frowned.

Stan was lying in bed red-faced when Nigel walked in and stood over him. "Cheating on Lou is one thing, but with another man?"

"I only had a drink with 'her', 'him'."

"Anyway, she's helping us now."

"She's doing what?"

"She's helping us find Mia."

"Of all the people you have to deal with."

Nigel changed the subject. "I've seen Mike."

"How is he?"

"He's okay, but refused to let us pay."

"Why did you give him a choice?"

"He's determined to see this through, says that once he's done twelve days, they have to let him go. They don't have hard evidence to charge him with anything."

"How many days has he done?"

"I didn't ask."

"So, what does this mean for us?"

"It means we're going to be here a while longer. If he doesn't get out, we need to find the girl, persuade her to come forward and withdraw her accusation. Who knows what'll happen if this does go to Court? I'll be meeting with a lawyer later."

"Okay, Dad. Good work. I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Stan pointed to his bad leg.

"That's all right, I'm better off without you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm on the case."

"Take a seat and fill me in."

SIXTEEN

MY MONEY had finally come through. It had been given to 'Bald Guard,' then most of it had found its way to me. I bought flip-flops and clothes from a guy with dog breath, topped up on toiletries then took care of John.

"That's more than you owe me, mate."

"It's not nearly enough for all you've done."

"You can survive in here with money, mate."

"Where can I get hold of a bed roll?"

"They're usually inherited when someone dies or is released. You want me to get you one?"

"Why don't you have one?"

"I'm okay on the floor...You want to hear about the first girl I ever took back to my room?"

"Yeah, okay."

"I'd never paid for sex before and was nervous the

first time I did. I'd met Suk in a pool bar. She was a tall, sexy babe with long, black hair and high hips. She wore a tight white dress with a slit to show a little leg and her firm arse was as wide and as round as a water melon; it showed through the creases of her dress whenever she took a shot. We played a few games. She soon warmed to my charm and I eventually asked her back.

When I got her to my room, I was embarrassed at how bare it was. I was travelling on a budget and I didn't care but it was basic. All it had was a creaky, double bed, tired, torn bed sheets and a dusty fan that hardly worked; even the window was cracked.

She stepped in and didn't comment - didn't care. I handed her a beach towel, directed her to the bathroom then sprayed a little Brut around the room. I threw all my loose clothes into my case under the bed and was sliding it back when she returned in just the towel. She glided over to me, her shoulders smooth and her smile naughty.

I lay back, invited her to join me and watched as she climbed on the bed and crawled over to me like a horny cat. She smelt like a strawberry cheesecake with vanilla cream. She reached over, unbuckled my belt, slid down my shorts then pulled off my boxers with her teeth. Then losing the towel to reveal a perfectly made pair and the smoothest of openings, she took me in her mouth and earned her name.

Once she felt I was ready for more, she stopped, slipped a rubber onto 'Little John,' lifted her body onto mine and began the most erotic bouncing I'd ever experienced. She rode me like a horny bride on her honeymoon and didn't stop till I was done. She was the first I'd ever paid for and still the best."

He paused for effect then turned to me. "You don't talk about women much, mate."

"I guess I don't have so many experiences."

"You must have a story or two."

I cleared my throat as I thought of something and began. "I was returning home from work one evening and riding an escalator when I saw the most beautiful girl coming down the other side. She was wearing a sleek black dress with a silver strip and for the briefest moment, her eyes met mine. I looked back at her – she was smiling at me."

"And then what? You got off, went down to find her, got her number, bought her dinner?"

"No. I was on my way home."

John sat there with a bemused look. "Is that it?"

"That's how it happened."

"That's hardly a story, mate."

"How old will your son be now?"

"...The same years as I've been inside, ten."

"I wonder how he looks."

"I can only imagine. It drives me to go on, hoping that one day I'll meet him and be back with Nui. You know for the last ten years I've tortured myself for what I did. Agreeing to smuggle heroin was bad enough. I never wanted to do that in the first place, but disappearing from my wife's life when she was heavily pregnant, leaving her as her father did before; if she never forgives me, I wouldn't blame her. When you get out, I want you to go to her and tell her why I did what I did and ask her to wait for me if she hasn't met someone else. I can't hide anymore, its killing me."

"Are you sure you want me to tell her that? Why don't you think about it first?"

"That's all I've been doing for the last ten years. Just see that she's all right, please."

I nodded, he went quiet – I left him alone.

The heat from the scorching sun bore down on us. John and I were standing butt-naked by the trough, washing ourselves as others tried nudging their way in. I was shocked when a short man standing next to me pulled down his shorts then masturbated onto the floor. Some of the others laughed, some slapped the back of his head.

I waited for John then followed him to dry out under the sun. He handed me some clean clothes.

"Cheers," I smiled as I slipped them on.

"Would you like to meditate?"

I nodded and joined him as I did most days. His first instruction was always to sit cross-legged in the lotus position, with my back completely straight. This allowed the diaphragm to move freely and therefore helped breathing. He went into great detail and although I always tried to take in his words, I often found myself nodding off. This time was no different. He tapped my hand then went off on one of his rambles.

"Your mind may begin to wander. It tends to flow towards whatever attracts it. Compose yourself with determination, resolve and intent. Do not let it drag you where it wants to. If you meditate daily, soon your inner strength and mind-power will grow. Meditation is the gateway through which you pass to the world of freedom."

I nodded - we began. He was a little over-fanatical for my taste, but at least I was exploring something new. I respected him. He was a wise man who had used meditation and Buddhism to help release the guilt of his crime. From what he claimed, it had not only preserved his sanity, but kept him alive.

The room filled with shouting from the inmates. John cocked his head to one side, listened then announced, "Someone has died."

I watched as a motionless body was poked, prodded, pointed out to a guard then dragged away by a couple of trusties.

SEVENTEEN

NIGEL WAS in the shower singing Sinatra's 'My Way', but his way, which was sadly out of tune. Ten minutes later, dried and dressed, he was walking through the lobby, when he was called over by a pretty receptionist. She handed him an envelope. He opened it. Inside was a photo of a pretty young girl standing at a bar in a white dress. She wasn't posing for the picture; it was as if she hadn't even known it was being taken. On the back was a note written in English: 'Find Puku - find Mia.'

"Who gave you this?" he asked. She asked a colleague who asked someone else, who then asked someone in the back - nobody knew.

He left the hotel, found Pang by his car and showed him the picture. "Somebody's trying to help."

"....Who?"

"I don't know. Yesterday at the bar, did you tell Mon where I was staying?"

Guilt reared its ugly head on Pang's face.

"It may have worked in our favour. Somebody brought us this picture with a note on the back."

Nigel took out his phone, flicked to the picture of Mia and compared it with the picture of Puku.

"Look at this Pang. I think Puku is Mia's sister."

Pang nodded. "Where you want to go?"

"...Back to the bar."

Nigel and Pang returned to the bar and parked on the opposite side of the street. Pang was about to step out when Nigel stopped him. "Wait a minute. I think Mon's expecting us. None of the girls are outside. Do me a favour, walk around the back and see if there's any sign of police cars tucked away."

Pang walked off and returned a few minutes later. "No police car, but I look in back window and see Mon with men. Look like security. What we do?"

"We wait and see if Mia comes out. It may take a while. We'll need coffee and doughnuts."

Pang walked off into the night.

Nigel was watching the bar and craving for a coffee, when his trusty driver suddenly appeared at the door. He leapt from his seat, caught his breath then wound down the window. "You frightened the life out of me. Where were you?"

"Sorry, but I not find doughnut."

He handed Nigel a plastic cup of cold coffee then climbed into the driver's seat. "You see Mia?"

"Not yet."

"What we do?"

"I think we're done."

"Where you want to go?"

"Back to the hotel."

"What about the doughnuts?"

"They'll have to wait for another day. We should get some sleep. We have an important appointment with a lawyer, tomorrow.

The following morning, Nigel and Pang arrived at a modern office building on Ratchada. After looking online for a reputable law firm which handled criminal cases, Nigel was quietly confident that he had found his guy.

Arriving on the fourth floor of a plush-looking office-block, they stepped through some automatic doors and were greeted by an attractive young lady wearing glasses like a French teacher in a porn flick.

"We're here to see Mr Pamon."

"Please follow me," she replied in perfect English.

They followed her into a modern office with a long conference table and four leather chairs. Nigel smelled the fine leather - he approved.

"Please have a seat," she smiled. Nigel and Pang took a pew as the receptionist knocked on a back door, poked her head round and spoke Thai.

A young, smartly dressed Thai man with short, immaculate hair entered with some paperwork and approached them. His breath was minty fresh and his face looked photo-shopped. "Hello, Mr Walker. I am Pamon."

Nigel rose and shook the lawyer's hand with a firm grip. Pamon waied Pang, they exchanged a few words in Thai then all took a seat.

"I looked into the case and can confirm that your grandson's being held on remand while the local prosecutor builds a case against him. They have a witness statement and evidence against him. I have to admit, it's not looking good."

"He was framed."

"Perhaps, but in Thailand we rely on facts and statements. It wouldn't be looked on favourably if he pleaded not guilty; not here. Usually this type of case is settled out of Court. They very rarely make it to a courtroom and if they do, it depends on the judges."

"Judges?"

"Yes we have three; one senior. We don't have a jury as such. I would advise him to settle, should that option be still available. In Thailand, if you plead guilty you are given a lesser sentence than if you plead not guilty and the verdict then goes against you. If he does go to Court pleading not guilty and loses, he could serve up to five years."

"Yes, but he's innocent."

"Perhaps, but to prove that, you'd need to bring in all the people involved and prove their part in a conspiracy; if this is in fact what this is."

"Of course it is."

"It could take months to dig deep enough for evidence to implicate these people and you would need to enlist the services of a private investigator. Corruption and deception are rife here in Thailand. Before you undertake such a long and dangerous journey, I would still advise you to try to settle."

"Michael doesn't want to settle."

"Well then," Pamon handed Nigel a business card. "Call this PI and you'll need a Thai lawyer too."

"Are you not available?"

"I'm sorry, but I really have no interest in taking this case. I've read the arrest report and the police captain involved is highly decorated."

"That doesn't mean he's not corrupt."

"No, but it's dangerous to accuse a man of his stature of any wrong-doing in such a serious crime investigation, let alone take him on in Court."

"Then at least help me to do the right thing."

Pamon began to leaf through the paperwork. Nigel glanced at it, but it was all in Thai. He slipped out the photo of Puku and lowered it onto the pile.

"And who is this?"

"We think she's Mia's sister. We need your help."

"I'll help you, but I'll not appear in Court. You'll find it difficult to find a reputable lawyer who will."

"Thank you. That's something."

"Be careful, Mr Walker. I'd suggest you leave any further investigating to the professionals."

"I will. Many thanks."

Nigel and Pang rose and stepped out.

The evening had arrived. The street lights were on and the 'Working Girls' were out. Nigel and Pang were parked in the same spot as before, but this time the coffee was hot and they had doughnuts.

"I'm going to need you to go in."

Pang opened the car door - Nigel pulled him back.

"Not yet, we need to make a plan first."

Nigel took out Puku's picture. "I want you to pretend you're a customer. You know what I mean?"

Pang nodded. Nigel continued. "You go in, buy a drink and look around. If Puku or Mia are in there, pay their bar-fines and bring them to me. If they're not, see if there's anyone else who knows anything. You can bar-fine whoever can help us, okay?"

Nigel handed him six thousand. "Keep it nice and friendly. We don't want to start any trouble."

Pang stepped out and went in as Nigel sat back and watched.

He'd polished off the doughnuts and was wiping his mouth when he noticed some commotion outside the bar. The main door opened, Pang rushed out and sprinted across the street to the car. Nigel sat up, shuffled over, fired the ignition then leaned over to push the back door open. Pang dived in.

Two thuggish-looking Thai men appeared at the entrance, saw Pang's taxi and took up pursuit. One of them had a gun. Nigel pulled out, reversed down the street at speed, spun round and skidded away throwing Pang around in the back. About a mile away, Nigel glanced over his shoulder - all clear.

"What happened?"

"Better not go back." Pang straightened his shirt and tidied his hair."

"You need a beer?"

"Two beer, but later. Have somewhere to go."

"Where you want to go?" Nigel asked. It was as though their roles had been reversed.

Pang began to explain the route. Nigel slowed down and pulled over. "You want to drive?"

They switched places and Pang drove away like a man possessed.

"What happened back there?"

"I meet Bee. She give picture of Puku. She hear me talk to mamasan at bar. She hear name hotel."

"Was Mon there?"

"Not need her. We find Puku, we find Mia. Bee tell me where to go."

After following the signs for 'Angel Entertainment', Pang pulled into a complex on Phetchaburi Road. Nigel was about to get out, when Pang stopped him. "Wait, Mr Nigel. Puku work in there. She massage girl, sex massage. We should pay for massage then talk to her. I go. I know these places."

"Are you not married?"

"Am, but not have sex, only massage."

Nigel surveyed the entrance of the club. It was similar to that of a five star hotel, except for the outside walls displaying erotic posters of beautiful young women. "Ok, Pang, you're up again, but..."

The back door swung open and a tall man in a creased suit looked down with wild eyes. "Welcome sah. Please come with me."

Nigel stepped out and was guided into a hotel lobby with a large glass screen to the left. The host guided Nigel over to the glass, then stepped away to take a call. Nigel peered in and gasped at what he saw. Sitting on benches under bright spotlights, were beautiful, young girls in black, evening dresses with numbers attached in red. They wore enticing makeup and had their hair styled elegantly. Some stared at Nigel and smiled, while others watched a small TV hanging high in the corner.

Nigel turned to Pang. "These girls are for sale?"

"Choose girl, have massage upstairs."

"You mean sex?"

"If want, can."

Nigel shook his head. "Any sign of Puku?"

"Not see."

Nigel noticed a small, open bar, a stone's throw away. It was obviously designed so that you could look at the girls from there.

"Fancy a beer? You've earned one."

Pang nodded and followed Nigel to the bar.

Two beers later, neither Nigel nor Pang had seen Puku. "Where the hell is she?"

"She with customer. You should have massage."

"Why me?"

"They saw me drive you."

Nigel wasn't sure how these places worked, but knew that the bar wasn't for socializing. He glanced at the glass once more - still no sign of Puku.

"You see girl you like?" Pang asked.

"...Three across on the third row."

Pang narrowed his eyes. "Can you show me?"

Nigel and Pang rose and walked over to the glass. Some of the girls straightened up and smiled, while others pushed out their chests or flicked back their hair. Nigel's eyes were on a lady who had thick, shiny black hair, a slender figure and long, inviting legs. She noticed Nigel, straightened her shoulders, stared down at him and smiled.

Pang waved at one of the managers. A young lanky lad in a lemon suit strolled over.

"You see something you like sah?"

"Thirty-two," said Nigel.

'Lanky Lad' disappeared into a back room.

"Mr Nigel?"

"Yes Pang?"

"Have massage before you ask about Puku and not ask too much. Better you get to know girl first."

"I got this, Pang. Go and get yourself a beer."

After hearing her number, Nigel's choice slipped out of a side door to reappear moments later at his side. She slid her soft hand into his and led him to the lift. Her breath smelt of pesto sauce, her hair of sweet popcorn.

Once they arrived on the fourth floor, she walked ahead and led him down a long, carpeted corridor. He watched her body sway swiftly and confidently, each step like a model on a catwalk.

She stopped at suite 1213, swiped a plastic key card through the lock and the door sprung open. She entered and flicked on the lights and AC. Nigel crept in behind her and took a look around.

It was like a decent hotel room, but with some notable additions; the biggest being a large circular tub standing in the corner on a white tiled floor. On one side of the bath was a large inflatable Lilo leaning up against it and on the other side lay a basket of sex accoutrements.

She stepped over to the tub, turned both taps on and sprinkled in some salts. Then, returning, she knelt before him and slipped off his shoes.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"My name Noy," she replied as she removed his socks and rolled them up. "What your name?"

"I'm Nigel. Why do you work here?"

"I do to take care of my father and sister. I send money back to them."

Turning to his trousers, she began to unzip them as he stood there allowing her to slip them off and hang them on a chair. She unbuttoned his shirt and as she did, he felt her nails graze up against his chest. She added it to the rest of the clothes and was about to slip off his boxers when he reached down and stopped her. "I can do it."

"...Up to you."

He stepped over to the tub then turning shyly away; he stripped off his boxers and watch. Naked, he then clambered into the warm, soapy water. The temperature was perfect, the bath salts relaxing - he could smell the subtle, salty scent of the sea.

He turned back and watched as she kicked off her heels, then slipped out of her long black dress to reveal a sleek pair of black panties and a lacy, black bra. He already had lift-off and it was showing though a small circle of soapy water.

She unhooked her bra, releasing an inviting pair of breasts then stripping off her panties, sensually; she revealed a birth mark of an Acorn on her bum. She laid her underwear on the bed then after tying up her hair in a knot she stepped naked to the tub and hopped in.

Squeezing some liquid soap into the palms of her hands, she added water, lathered it up and rubbed it on his chest, stomach and arms with slow, sensual, circular strokes. She turned him around, lathered up some more soap and soaped down his back, shoulders and neck.

Once he was sufficiently soaped, she turned him back and invited him to stand. He stood slowly, almost poking her in the eye with his excitement. She laughed at his soapy member, took the shower head, shuffled in and rinsed the rest of the soapy water from his body.

Reaching for the basket of sex accoutrements, she took a thin, red tube, squeezed some clear gel onto her fingertips and returned to fondle his balls.

"What's that?" he asked, feeling a warm, tingling sensation around his genitals.

"You not try before?" She smiled saucily.

He shook his head.

"...Special for you."

He stood excited and erect as she caressed him between her long, painted nails. Then opening her mouth, she took him in deeply as he stood there, soapy water still dripping from his body. She started to suck him, her tongue doing the tango around his tip. He'd never experienced a blow job so good.

Pang was down at the bar nodding his head to a track and enjoying a third Chang - on Nigel's tab when he witnessed his boss and his lady emerging from the lift - something was wrong. Nigel was following behind, trying to speak, but she was away.

"Noy!" Nigel called out. She turned a corner then disappeared through a side door.

A manager with a long stride and a rash on his chin caught up with Nigel. "Is everything okay sah?"

Pang arrived, spoke Thai to 'Rash Chin' then turned back to Nigel. "Girl ok for you?"

"She was fine. She got jumpy with my questions."

"What questions?" 'Rash Chin' asked.

Nigel took out his phone, flicked to the picture of Puku and showed it to him.

"I was asking if she knew her."

"We have lots of girls here."

Nigel took out a thousand, folded it and slid into the manager's hand.

"I know her, but I don't know where she is."

"When did you last see her?"

"We fired her last week."

"Is there anybody who would know where she is?"

"Her friend Tee might. She used to work here."

Nigel sighed. "You fire a lot of girls?"

"It's hard to get good staff."

"Where is she now?"

"She works at a massage place not far from here."

"What's it called?"

The manager handed Nigel a card. "A friend of mine works there. Tell him I sent you."

Nigel settled both bills then turned to leave.

"Are you alright Mr Nigel? What happened?"

"I'll tell you all about it in the car."

"Where we go?"

"To the pharmacy then I need to call a PI."

EIGHTEEN

THE PLAQUE read HARVEY GOULD, P I. It was the middle of the day, but the blinds were closed. Inside a desktop sat flanked by three non-matching chairs, a creased, leather sofa and a bookcase full of fiction.

A middle-aged man lay back with a pair of briefs hanging around his ankles. A gorgeous, young lady was bent over him in a pair of pink panties that stretched over her pert buttocks. Her head was bobbing up and down and her long, thick black hair swished around her neck with each bob. Harvey lay motionless, moaning.

He was an ex-pat who'd lived in Thailand for many years. He was short and stocky with dark brown hair and light brown eyes. He currently had one lady in his life for which he cared for-his assistant Bo: She was assisting him now.

He'd found her working the seedy hostess bars of Bangkok and taken her home. They'd become more than friends, she knew the capital well and had helped him on a few cases. He'd offered her a better life and with his investigative skills and her knowledge of the streets, they made a good team.

Harvey's body suddenly stiffened. He was about to let go, when the Mission Impossible theme rang loudly on his phone. Her head popped up, Harvey pushed it back; she couldn't stop now. She continued. He finished. She left for the bathroom. The phone was still ringing. Harvey answered, out of breath. "Hello?"

"Is this Harvey Gould PI?"

"Hello? Yes, this is he."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I was just working out. Who is this?"

"My name is Nigel, Nigel Walker."

"Hello Mr Walker. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a couple of missing Thai girls."

"Are they officially missing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are the police looking for them?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you know them, personally?"

"No, not personally."

"Can I ask why you are looking for them?"

"Can we meet? I'm at The Landmark."

"I know it well."

"Are you free today?"

"One second, let me see."

Harvey laid the phone on the table and rustled through some papers. "Mr Walker?"

Nigel coughed.

"I have a window after six."

"Why don't we meet in the pub downstairs, say around seven?"

"That works for me, see you then."

Harvey hung up, took a tissue, wiped his crotch then pulled up his shorts. Bo stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed. "Who that?"

"It was a client. We have a case."

"It about time."

NINETEEN

NIGEL STROLLED into the Huntsman and clocked a middle-aged man in a wrinkled shirt and creased trousers. He was sitting with a gorgeous girl about a third of his age, wearing tight, faded jeans with designer rips in the knees and a top that teased.

On the table beside them was a chunky camera with an enormous zoom lens.

Nigel approached as the man and his companion stood up and smiled. "Mr Walker I presume?"

"Hello, Mr Gould."

They shook hands, each trying for the firmer grip.

"Harvey is fine. And I should call you....?"

"Mr Walker."

"....Very well then. This is my assistant, Bo."

Nigel shook her hand. "That's a strong grip."

"She's real tough. I'm an ex-marine. I taught her everything she knows. Take a look at her knives."

Harvey pulled up her top at the waist to reveal a set of throwing knives hanging from a black belt. Nigel noticed a cute belly-button piercing of a white flamingo on her toned stomach. He diverted his eyes back to the knives. "Would she ever use them?"

"You never know when you're in the red zone."

"Well, nice to meet you, Bo. This is my partner, Pang – working partner that is."

The Thais waied, then everybody took a seat. Nigel's eyes flickered onto the table.

"That's Lisa my Leica9. She's ideal for outside shots, excellent zoom, definition, you can take shots without a flash; great for private surveillance."

"Very impressive."

"So you have two girls you want us to find?"

"That's right."

Nigel felt a vibrating in his pocket. "Excuse me, I have a call."

He rose and stepped away. "Hello?"

"Hello, Daddy.....You forget me already? I am Sung, your son's special friend."

"Oh, hi Sung. Did you find anything?"

"Not yet. It's difficult without good picture."

"I understand. We're looking now for a girl called Puku. We think she's the sister. I have her picture. We're also looking for her friend who works at Evita."

"I know that place. Who is friend?"

"Her name's Tee but we don't have her picture."

"Okay. I see what I can find out about Puku. Not forget to send picture."

"I'll do it now."

Sung hung up. Nigel was about to return to the table when his phone rang, again. "Hello?"

"Hello, Mr Walker. This is Pamon. I just heard that the case has been postponed for twelve days."

"Why? What does that mean?"

"It means they're not ready to charge him with a crime and he may still have time to make a deal."

"That's good to know. Can I call you back? I'm in a meeting at the moment."

"Of course. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

"...Not at all. I'll get back to you later."

Nigel hurried back to Harvey. "Sorry about that. Where was I?"

"You were about to tell us about the two girls."

"That's right, but I better tell you why we're looking for them, first."

"That works for me."

"Then let me begin...."

'Who Wants To Live Forever' was playing on the jukebox. Harvey was on his third whisky, Nigel and Pang were drinking Chang and Bo was sipping on a diet Coke through a straw.

"....And that's how Mike ended up in prison."

"It sounds like a well organised scam."

"So, what can you do for me?"

"Normally this would be a simple pay-off case, but since Michael has refused to pay, it's become complicated. If it does go to trial and becomes a matter of public record, it will be more difficult to bury the paperwork and buy him out. His twelve days are almost up and if he hasn't paid by then, they have three choices: charge him, release him or extend the case for another twelve days."

"I just had a call from my lawyer and can confirm that the court date has been postponed."

"Maybe they want to settle. Could we?"

"I'd like to, but Michael isn't keen."

"Normally with the conditions of the prisons here, they can't wait to get out. People die all the time. Doesn't he want out?"

"Of course he does. He just doesn't want to plead guilty to a crime he didn't commit."

"Is he worried about a record?"

"...Amongst other things."

"I could make that go away, I know a guy..."

"He will not plead guilty. We still have twelve days to find these girls. That's where you would come in."

"If we find either of these girls, what makes you think they'll cooperate?"

"I'll talk to them," Nigel winked at Pang.

"Even if they agreed to drop the charges, the police captain would lose face."

"What does that mean?"

"It's like the worst kind of embarrassment."

"I'm not concerned with that."

Harvey's eyes betrayed a flicker of fear as he glanced at Bo. "I think I should meet Nincotte and see if we can still buy Michael out."

"Mike doesn't want to pay! I only need you to find these girls. I'll handle the rest. Will you help us?"

"Okay, I'll see what we can find, but please urge Michael to reconsider settling."

"I'll try. How much is your fee?"

Harvey pulled the creases up on his trousers. "Ten thousand a day and nothing is guaranteed."

"That's fine."

Harvey sat back, content. Bo followed with her eyes as Nigel reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope of cash and laid it on the table.

"So, we're looking for Tee who's a friend of Puku who's a friend of Mia and the only girl who we don't have a picture of?"

"That's right, but we do know where she works."

Nigel handed over the card. Harvey read it and handed his card to Nigel. "I'll keep you informed and from now on, please leave all the investigating to us."

Nigel nodded. "I could use the break."

Harvey took the cash, rose then left with Bo."

Nigel paid the bill, said goodnight to Pang then returned to his room.

He entered his suite with an expression of relief, kicked off his shoes, picked up the phone and called home. "Hello? Doris?"

He could hear breathing, waited then coughed. "It's bloody hot here. I'm working with a Thai guy called Pang and a lawyer called Pamon. It's a crazy place Bangkok, but I like it. I love the food. It's a little spicy, but you get used to it and the people are so friendly. I'm staying in Stan's suite. It's better without Stan...Doris?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I don't know what came over me. I'd like to blame the meds, but I'm not sure that I can. I was mad at Stan then mad at you for trying to manage me.... Are you there?"

He heard her sniff. He was meant to hear it.

"Michael's alone and afraid. I'm all he's got and I'm scared too. The great lawyer I'm supposed to be counts for nothing out here. I need your support. I need your forgiveness.....Doris?"

A soft voice whispered, "I'm here."

He was about to reply when a rippling pain ripped through his body. The blood from his face drained as his veiny hand clutched the excruciating pain of his chest. He dropped the phone and cried with the last breath he had left. "Help!"

"Nigel!" Doris yelled, but it was too late....he was gone....

TWENTY

IT WAS raining heavily as Harvey's BMW crawled through Bangkok traffic and Bo was looking pissed.

"Why we take this job?"

"It's been quiet with all these protests going on. We need the money. I think we just poke around a bit. Don't worry, we won't make any waves."

She raised her lower lip. "Hope so."

"What do you think of Nigel?"

"Looks kind, think have good heart."

"Rape isn't regarded as a big crime here, is it?"

"Big, but still happen, usually with young girl. People pay family, then problem go away."

They pulled into the car park at the Evita. Harvey climbed out, dashed inside to escape the downpour as Bo ran after him skipping over puddles.

Once inside, they brushed off the rain and were met by a guy wearing round glasses and a red suit.

"Khun Harvey. It's been a while."

"Hello, Mr Anan, how are you?"

"Good."

"I'm here about a girl."

"Most men are."

"Not like that. I just want to talk."

"They have sex-lines for that."

"I'm on a case. You have a girl here called Tee?"

"Sure, I know Tee."

"I need to talk to her for a few minutes."

"The girls are not paid for talking."

Harvey reached into his wallet, slipped out a purple five and handed it over. Anan took it and hid it in a pocket. "Would you like to use my office?"

"That would be fine."

"It's open. Make yourself at home. I'll send her in."

"Thank you."

The manager walked away. Harvey steered Bo to the office.

There was a dusty desk, some files on a shelf and a window in the corner. The air smelled stale and the temperature was warm. Harvey flicked on the A/C then took a look at the books while Bo pulled out her phone.

Bo had parked herself on a chair and was playing Diamond Dash while Harvey was flicking through a magazine featuring amulets.

A young girl appeared at the doorway and looked in. Harvey smiled. "Come in, Tee. Take a seat."

She had long, brown hair and wore a red gown with the number ten attached above her hip bone.

"What you want?" she asked as she walked in.

Harvey perched on the corner of the desk, took out his phone and showed her a picture of Puku.

"Is this a friend of yours?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Where is she? When you last see her?"

"About two week ago, she works at Angel."

"Not anymore."

"Then I not know."

"She doesn't come here?"

Tee shook her head. Harvey flicked through the images on his phone and showed the picture of Mia. Tee reacted with surprise.

"You know her?"

She paused. Bo shouted - Tee jumped.

"Yes I know Mia, she sister of Puku."

"When did you last see her?"

"Not see her for long time."

"What about Puku? When did you see her last?"

"Not see for long time."

"You have Mia's number?"

"Have in locker."

"Then go get it. We can wait."

She ducked out of the office and hurried to her locker. Once she arrived, she slipped out of her dress, pulled off a wig and fake eyelashes and stuffed them into a bag. Climbing into her casual clothes, she stepped out of an emergency exit and was rushing away when she was taken a hold of, pushed up against a wall, spun round and pinned back by a sharp knife at her throat.

"Leaving so soon?"

Tee was speechless. They were alone. Bo spoke quickly as she pressed the blade firmly against Tee's throat. "You try to run away from me?"

Tee trembled. "You're hurting me."

Bo took out her mobile and called Harvey. "We're outside. I tell you she not come back."

She hung up, slipped the phone into her back pocket then delivered a sharp slap to Tee's face.

"What are you not telling me?"

Tee started to cry. Bo slapped her again.

"Okay, I tell. Stop hurting me and I'll talk."

"I'm listening."

"Puku in trouble with a man called Nawirat. He loaned her thirty thousand and was going to kill her if she didn't pay. She used her sister Mia to trick farang to get money, but he not pay."

Harvey appeared, a little out of breath. Bo still had Tee pinned to the wall.

"What happened to you?"

"I just walked around the building. You didn't say where outside. What's happening?"

"She owe thirty thousand to some guy."

"Let her go."

Bo released her, snatched her bag and searched it. She found her phone and opened up her contacts.

"What you want me to do?" Tee asked Harvey.

"Call Puku now."

"I not have number, she throw away phone."

Bo looked over at Harvey and nodded.

"Where does Puku live? "Where's Mia?"

"Puku moves around. Mia stays with her."

"You're not telling us much, Tee."

"When she call me, I give her message, call you."

"Good. Bo will put my number in your phone."

"She scared, have men chase her."

"I'll take care of that."

"What you do?"

"Go back to work. When she calls, tell her that we've paid off her debt and that she should call me."

"Alright, I do." Tee rushed away.

"I expect to hear from you soon!"

Bo frowned at Harvey. "Why you always so nice?"

"You never heard of good cop, bad cop?"

"No, in Thai have only bad cop."

TWENTY-ONE

PANG WAS wandering along the hospital corridors with a bulky box under his arm. He arrived at Stan's room, strolled in and was surprised at what he saw.

Stan's masseuse, Aey, from before was leaning over him, her hand moving rapidly under the sheets. Pang didn't leave and Aey didn't stop. Pang started to unpack the box as Stan reached down and placed his hand on Aey's arm. "We'll finish this next time."

He paid her; she picked up her oils and walked out. Stan straightened himself out under the sheets then looked over at Pang. "Don't you ever knock?"

Pang apologised then continued to unpack.

"Is it a good one?"

Pang nodded and after switching channels, a blue screen appeared with the letters Teac DVD in white.

"Who the hell is Teac?"

Pang handed over the remote as Stan looked around. "Where are the films?"

Stan lay there restless and disappointed. "Can you buy me some films?"

"Sorry I forget."

Two nurses burst in wheeling in another bed.

"Am I expecting company?"

They parked it next to Stan, locked the wheels and straightened the sheets.

"I didn't sign up for a roommate."

They didn't reply. Pang shuffled towards the door and escaped.

"Thank you!" Stan yelled.

TWENTY-TWO

I FOLLOWED 'Bald Guard' to the meeting room and found a middle-aged man sitting on the other side of the mesh. I took the phone. "Hello?"

"My name's Harvey. I'm the PI."

"I didn't know we'd hired one. Nigel sent you?"

"...He doesn't know I'm here."

"How could he not know?"

"He was taken to hospital."

"Hospital! Why - what happened?"

"He had an anxiety attack."

"Was it serious?"

"Did you know he had a heart condition?"

I nodded. "Is he all right?"

"Well, he's still alive."

"You can't die from an anxiety attack," I added, trying to ease a little guilt that had already settled.

"You can die from an anxiety attack if you already have a heart condition," Harvey explained.

"What do you think caused it?"

"Who knows, but he's old, it's hot...."

"I never wanted him to come here."

"I'm sure, but he did and he's in a bad way. I don't know how much longer he can go on running around in all this heat. He's staying with his son at the same hospital. It was your father who called me. Don't you think it's time you end this stress you're causing everyone?"

I never thought I could feel worse than how I'd felt the first time I was brought here....I was wrong.

"Michael?"

"Alright I'll take the deal."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I'll take the deal."

"You'll plead guilty?"

I nodded as a smile widened Harvey's face.

"You're doing the right thing. How you've lasted so long has surprised me; most farangs would've caved, then paid and gone home by now."

"Get me the papers."

"It might not be that easy. Once a case goes so far and procedures have been followed, it becomes more difficult to pay your way out; too much paperwork to disappear."

"Please make it happen. I'll do anything."

"Tell me about Nincotte."

I couldn't concentrate. I thought about Nigel lying in hospital, far from home. How he'd come all the way here to save me and now lay in a hospital bed next to my father. Guilt riddled me but then the image of Nincotte entered my mind and I was overcome with anger. I raised my eyes to the PI's, tightened my grip and held the phone like I wanted to strangle it. "What do you want to know?"

TWENTY-THREE

BO WAS driving, hopping from lane to lane and listening to Harvey on the phone. He finished his call and noticed her amused look. "What?"

"...Nothing."

"I have the address."

"I think bad idea to go."

"Don't worry, we'll be careful."

"We better be."

"I'm always careful."

"One time you come back with lipstick on shirt."

"That's a different kind of careful."

"And then next day you have coleslaw on lip."

"Cold sore. I told you it was from a dirty glass."

"It's funny you have after night out at Nana."

Harvey tore off a piece of paper from his pad and handed it to her.

"You want talk another topic now?"

"I'm just giving you the address."

"...Writing not good."

"I've just written it in the car."

"So you say my driving not good?"

"Your driving is fine. Can you get us there?"

"Can and after I want fish and chip."

"I told you, its fish and chips. There is more than one chip. Don't you want to speak better English?"

"My English better than your Thai."

"That's debatable. Next you're going to say you drive better than me, too."

"I do."

Bo took a few more turns, drove a while longer and they eventually arrived at a small restaurant.

"Is this it?"

"Think so. What we do?"

"We go in."

Harvey and Bo were sitting at a table drinking espressos in a smoky, downtown restaurant. It was a small place, smelled of smoke and had old-fashioned lighting and black leather booths.

A skinny man with stubble shuffled over as if he couldn't lift his legs. He stood over Harvey, lit up a cigarette, took a drag, held in the smoke then let it seep from his lips. "Mr Nawirat will see you now."

They followed 'Smokey' up some stairs, through a passageway and into a back office. Harvey sniffed and recognized the smell of Japanese weed then saw a short man smoking it from behind a desk. He had mottled wrinkled skin and sat with eyelids drooped and shoulders stooped. Power and confidence emanated from his face.

"Thank you for seeing us."

"Sit," Nawirat grunted. He was dressed in a white shirt and wore chunky gold jewellery on both hands.

Harvey and Bo took a seat while 'Smokey' stood at the door puffing away.

"Speak," Nawirat said through thin, pursed lips.

Harvey explained Puku's predicament. Nawirat seemed to listen, yet appeared distracted.

When Harvey finished, Nawirat glanced up and squinted his eyes. "I've heard of you. You are some sort of PI?"

"Yes, I am Harvey Gould, PI."

"It can be a dangerous job, being a PI."

"Not really—"

"Not a question. Who owes me money?"

Harvey took out his phone and showed the picture of Puku. "This girl does."

"Yes, she owes me seventy thousand baht."

"I was told thirty."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

Harvey shook his head. "Of course not."

"Liar liar, your pants are on fire."

"Excuse me?"

"That was Al Pacino. You don't know him."

"Yes of course."

"What do you want, PI?"

Harvey took out an envelope and counted some money out on the desk. "I want to pay off Puku's debt. Here's fifty. I'll bring you the rest shortly."

Nawirat scooped up the money, locked it in a desk then glanced up at Bo. "Is she with you?"

Harvey nodded.

"She has a pretty face and a fit body. I could sell her, make good money."

Bo reached down for a throwing knife - Harvey stopped her. "She's not for sale."

"Then we're done here."

TWENTY-FOUR

NIGEL WOKE to the distinct smell of antiseptic. He was lying in a hospital bed next to his son.

"How are you feeling?"

Nigel frowned. "Is there only one damn hospital in Bangkok?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm still alive."

"I was wrong to involve you."

"It was my choice to come here."

"I want you to go home. I'll fly out another guy."

"You won't, and we have a PI on the case now."

"I know. I saw his name on your phone and called him. How much is he costing me?"

Nigel started to sit up.

"Take it easy. Tell me what's going on."

"All right I will. Harvey the PI is looking for a girl called Tee. She knows Mia, who set Mike up."

"What about Puku? Who is she?"

"Puku is Mia's sister."

"So, we've got to find Tee to find Puku to find Mia. Let's hope we don't have to find anyone else."

"You're surprisingly sharp today, Stan."

"Just trying to keep up. Why are you so tense?"

"You're the one who was supposed to be doing all this running around, not me."

"You can't possibly make me feel any guiltier than I already do. I came here to bring Mike home. I speak to his mother every night and just want to give her some good news. She lies awake every morning waiting for my call. I've been here for over a week and I haven't even seen Mike yet."

"And whose fault is that?"

They were still bickering when Harvey walked in, smiled then faced Nigel. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be fine....Stan, this is Harvey. Harvey, Stan."

"We spoke earlier," Stan smiled.

"Where are we on finding the girls?" Nigel asked.

Harvey pulled up a chair. "I met with Tee and she'll speak to Puku, who will speak to Mia."

"Sounds complicated," added Stan.

"Yes it is. According to Tee, Puku owed some money to a Japanese man called Nawirat. Puku went to Nincotte and they used Mia to set up Michael. As we know, Michael was refusing to pay, which left Puku out of pocket and in hiding. To cut a long story short, we've now paid off some of Puku's debt, so hopefully she'll come forward."

The veins in Nigel's forehead pulsed. "Did you say Mike was refusing to pay, meaning now he will pay? How would you know that?"

"I went to see him."

"What possessed you to do that?"

Nigel turned to Stan. "Was that your idea?

Stan shook his head. Nigel glared at Harvey. "We didn't ask you to do that."

"Lighten up Dad. I'm sure he only had Mike's best interests at heart."

Harvey nodded a thank you, but still sat in front of Nigel, his demeanour that of a scolded school boy.

"How's he doing?" Stan asked.

"Not so bad considering the circumstances, but he was concerned about his grandfather's health."

"You told him about that!" Nigel bellowed. "Don't you think he's under enough stress already?"

"I'm sorry. He asked why you weren't there and it slipped out."

"Dad. You're forgetting that Mike has agreed to let us pay. I think Harvey's done a bloody good job."

"It's not what Mike would have wanted, you know that," said Nigel doggedly.

"What about his family?" Stan added. "What about his mum? She's talking about coming here."

"What do you want, Stan?" Nigel asked.

"I want Mike out, now, today. I don't care how." Stan turned to Harvey. "Do whatever you need to do to finish this and get him out."

Harvey nodded. Nigel turned away.

"So what's next?" Stan asked the PI.

"I have a meeting with Nincotte later today, but I can't be sure how far along this has gone, or how he'll react. I have no experience dealing with such people, but my contact at the station has confirmed that Nincotte could still make this all go away."

Stan was hopeful. "That's great, right Dad?"

"This could still work out for us," Harvey added, "but I must warn you, the payment could be higher."

"...Whatever it takes. In my briefcase under the bed is a hundred thousand in a jiffy bag. Take it all and settle this."

Harvey slid out the case, opened it and took out the jiffy bag. He nodded his thanks to Stan then glanced over at Nigel for forgiveness. He didn't get it.

"Well done, Harvey," Stan smiled.

"Thank you. I'll keep you both informed."

TWENTY-FIVE

HARVEY AND BO arrived at an old police building off Makasan. "Not like it here - not like police."

"I know you don't. We won't be here long."

Arriving at Nincotte's office, Harvey was shown in by an older lady as Bo hung around in the hall. He produced the jiffy bag of cash, opened it, pulled out a neat pile of thousands and laid it on the desk. "That's a hundred thousand as we discussed."

"I'm afraid it's now a little bit more. A lot of paperwork has already been processed. We have substantial evidence against Michael Walker. It will be difficult to brush it all under the carpet."

"How much will it take?"

"Two hundred thousand should cover it."

"I get the money, you can guarantee his release?"

"You have my word."

"When?"

"Soon. Give me your card and I'll call you."

Harvey handed him his card, then pointed at the cash. "You'll take that as a down payment?"

"Alright, but please hurry with the rest."

Nincotte stood, indicating that the meeting was over then saw Harvey out into the hall. His eyes met with Bo's. She didn't smile, neither did he and Harvey didn't offer introductions. He took Bo by the arm and marched her out. She skipped alongside him to keep up. "Everything okay, boss?"

"We just made a payment on Michael's freedom."

"We did?"

"Yes. Keep walking."

TWENTY-SIX

SOMEBODY WAS howling like a hungry hound in the room two doors down and it wasn't helping with the tension between them. Nigel lifted up his blanket slightly and Stan's nostrils started to twinge.

"That's a bit fruity," smelled Stan. He sat up, "Is this how it's going to be now?"

"You were always for taking the easy way out."

"No, Dad. Listen to me, this is Michael. I won't take a chance on his life."

"So Nincotte will continue to scam innocent guys coming into this country?"

"This is not our fight dad. It's not our country."

"You're making decisions again without my say-so, Stan. And Harvey....don't get me started on him."

"He was only doing what he thought was right. You should have done the same when you arrived. Why did you give him a choice?"

"At least I made it to see him. I wasn't blind drunk, then hit by a Tic Tac."

Nigel struggled out of bed and began to dress.

"Where are you going?"

"I have an appointment with Pamon."

"Who's Pamon?"

"The lawyer, Stan. Try to keep up."

"You can't leave."

Nigel gave Stan a sideways look as he strapped on his watch. "The case is over, isn't it?"

"You can't just walk out, not like this. What are you so mad about?"

"Mike stood by his principles and is doing time to prove a point - yet you just pay his way out."

"This is not about what is right and wrong. This is family, and I have failed him by being stuck in here."

"You've failed him, not me."

"Thank you for reminding me."

"Have you done anything remotely useful Stan, since you've been here?"

"I've been keeping our ladies informed."

"That's something." Nigel frowned.

"I want to make this right, whatever the cost."

"You do, do you?"

"I thought you of all people would understand."

"You do whatever you have to Stan, you always did and you always will."

Nigel was on the point of storming out when Stan blocked his path with a crutch.

"Wait a minute, will you? At least have a doctor give you the all clear."

"I'm fine."

Stan's phone vibrated. He took it out and read a text. "Harvey's on his way. He said it all went to plan. Don't you want to speak to him?"

Nigel shook his head, kicked away the crutch and strolled out of the door.

TWENTY-SEVEN

HARVEY WAS quiet as he drove back with Bo.

"You look sad. What wrong?"

"I was just thinking about Nigel Walker.

"Think what?"

"He's upset with me because I went to see Michael without his permission."

"But you do good thing."

"I thought so and Stan's okay with it, but it was Nigel Walker who hired me, not Stan."

"What we do?"

"We stick to the plan. We pay the rest of the money to Nincotte and get Michael out."

"Good plan."

"Hopefully his grandfather will be happy when he sees his grandson on the outside."

"Of course he be happy."

"It's never that simple Bo. The client decided which path to take but I didn't listen."

"You never listen. You do what you want."

"I wasn't thrilled at the prospect of going after a police captain, but I didn't say no."

"Nincotte bad guy. Have people disappear who stand up to him."

"How do you know all this?"

"Working on the street, see and hear things."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You not ask."

"Let's get out of this as soon as we can."

"I think good."

"Did we hear back from Puku yet?"

Bo shook her head.

TWENTY-EIGHT

IT WAS later in the day. Nigel was sat facing Pamon. The Thai lawyer gathered up some paperwork and slid it into an envelope.

"I have to admit, Mr Walker, this digging you had me do could be quite dangerous. Even though it is a part of public record, if Nincotte came to hear of us looking through these files—"

"Why is everybody so afraid of this guy?" Nigel interrupted. Pamon didn't reply.

"I'm glad this is over. I'll have your fee ready for tomorrow," Nigel said, changing the subject.

"Thank you. I'm very happy things worked out."

Nigel reached over to take the brown envelope but Pamon anchored it to the desk. "You won't be needing this after all."

"If it's all the same, I'll still take a look."

"It's in Thai."

"I'll have Pang translate."

"It's quite an important set of documents."

Nigel tugged at the envelope. The lawyer kept a firm hold. Nigel shook his head. "You don't need to tell me about important documents. I've dealt with them all my life."

"Very well Mr Walker."

Pamon released it. Nigel scooped it up.

"Please shred it after you're done."

"Of course and thanks again."

Nigel left the office with the envelope in his hand.

TWENTY-NINE

STAN WAS in bed reading a black and white copy of the Daily Mail when Harvey and Bo walked in.

"How did it go?"

"Well, but regretfully we need to pay more."

"What happened to the first hundred?"

"He took it as a down-payment."

"How much more does he want?"

"Another hundred thousand."

"So one more stash of cash and Mike's out?"

"He gave me his word."

"I'm not sure if that means much, but I'll play along."

"I think it's worth the risk."

"Why don't you go for a coffee? It'll take a short while to get it."

"We still need to pay the rest of Puku's debt."

"Do we still need to do that? I mean now that we're dealing directly with Nincotte."

"I gave her my word but if you'd prefer I can pay out of my fee."

"...No, never mind."

He reached under the bed, pulled out a case, opened it and handed over what he had left.

THIRTY

NIGEL WAS in his suite, flicking through Nincotte's file but he couldn't read a word. He was about to call Pang, when his hotel phone rang.

"Aren't you taking my calls now?" Stan asked, "I've been calling your mobile."

"I switched it off."

"I need another hundred thousand."

"Where's the other hundred thousand?"

"He took it as a down payment. He wants another hundred."

"Greedy bastard! You see this is what I'm talking about. You know that he's going to do this again until someone has the balls to stop him."

"I know and I agree with you and respect Mike for what he did, but his mum wants him home."

"So if you pay a hundred more, Michael's out?"

"He gave his word."

"....As if that means anything."

"We have to try...Will you bring the money?"

"Of course I will. You only had to ask."

"When? Harvey's waiting."

"I'll go now." Nigel hung up.

He returned the papers to their folder, picked up his wallet and key card and left the suite.

He was walking to the elevator when he noticed a maid he hadn't seen before. Her uniform looked tight and her hair seemed tatty. He smiled as he passed – she didn't smile back.

He took a taxi and arrived at the hospital with a jiffy bag of cash. "So where's Harvey?"

"He'll be back soon."

Nigel pulled up a chair and smiled.

"You're in a better mood."

"I've had a little time to think things over."

"And where did you arrive with your thoughts?"

"That perhaps you were right."

"Thanks and don't worry about the money. I'll settle everything when we get home."

"Did I ever mention the money?"

"No but I know it all adds up."

Stan handed Nigel a company credit card.

"At least this can cover the hotel and your driver with this. The pin is 1969."

Nigel slid the card into his wallet. "Well Stan, I have some papers to shred."

"What papers?"

"It doesn't matter. You were right, this isn't our place."

Stan looked affectionately at his father.

"Thanks for everything you've done, Dad."

"You can thank me down the pub."

THIRTY-ONE

HARVEY AND Bo were on their way back to Stan, when the mission impossible theme tune rang out. Harvey hung his phone on the 'hands free' unit.

"Hello? Mr Harvey? This is Tee."

Harvey was surprised, "Hi Tee."

"Puku call me. She happy you pay her debt."

"She's welcome," but she should know that it was Michael's family that paid, not me."

"She want to meet you."

"That's sweet, but really not necessary."

"She has information about Mia."

"I don't think we need her anymore."

"She said she wait you on fourth floor of car park, Waterford Diamond, Sukhumvit 30, one hour. She want to see you. She feel bad about what she did."

Harvey glanced at Bo. She was signalling that they should go.

"Alright then, Tee. I'll see her."

"Thank you, I tell her you come."

Harvey hung up. "Why are we going?"

"Good thing to do. You feel better later."

"Well, I'll certainly look forward to that."

"You make funny of me?"

"...Just a little."

About thirty minutes later, Harvey and Bo arrived at the Waterford Diamond car park and stopped at the security gate. Harvey smiled and was waved in with a military-style salute from a short Thai man with a friendly grin. They drove up to the fourth floor and waited.

Bo looked around. "...Car park quiet."

"It's the middle of the day."

"....Strange place to meet someone."

"What time is it? Are we late?"

"Not late, she say one hour."

"Yes, not the most punctual people, Thais."

"Have much traffic."

"We drove. Is this the fourth floor?"

Bo opened the car door. "I go check?"

"...If you want."

"You not come with me? Have romantic walk?"

"...A romantic walk in a car park?"

"I go by myself then."

Harvey watched her slide out and admired her pert bottom. She caught him looking. "You still like?"

"Of course I still like."

Once she was out of sight, his phone rang.

"Hello?" Harvey laughed then put his phone on speaker.

"You still love me?"

"You went around the corner to ask me that?"

"Can't do?"

"Sure you can, it's just, hold on, I'm getting another call."

THIRTY-TWO

NIGEL RETURNED to his suite, flopped down on the sofa and picked up the phone. He dialled 9 and called home. "Sorry I didn't call sooner. I woke up this morning in hospital next to Stan."

"How's Michael?"

"He's hanging in."

"How are you?"

"I feel fine. It was just an anxiety attack."

"When are you coming home?"

"When Mike is out. I knew I couldn't rely on Stan."

"What was Michael doing sketching prostitutes?"

"It's his art. I've never seen him sketch so well."

"I really hope it's all worth it."

Nigel glanced around the suite. "Hang on hon."

"You okay?"

"Something is missing. I'll call you back."

Nigel hung up, rose, checked the safe then looked around the room. He rushed out of the suite, found a maid and started questioning her. She didn't understand a word. He gave up, took the lift to the lobby and rushed over to the receptionist.

"I need to see all the maids from my floor."

A senior-looking staff member stepped over. "Can I help you?"

"An important document has been taken from my room. I left it on my desk."

"Your room number, please?"

"Suite 1918."

"One moment, sah."

Nigel took out his phone and speed-dialled Pang.

THIRTY-THREE

HARVEY WAS nodding his head and singing along to the chorus of Survivor by Destiny's Child. It was blasting out from the car stereo, when the whole car park level shook, then filled with the sound of a roaring motorbike. Harvey looked over his shoulder and saw a huge 500CC heading in his direction. He turned down the radio and watched as the motorcyclist rode up to his car and fired a round from his Beretta automatic pistol. The bullets pounded like hailstones into the body of Harvey's BMW. Harvey dove to the back-seat, ducked down and prayed.

The gunman stopped shooting, stepped off the bike and removed his helmet. He walked over to the car, glanced down at his target and could see the blood gushing out from his mid-riff. He took a revolver from the inside of his jacket, aimed at Harvey's head and held his finger on the trigger. He was about to shoot when something sliced deep into the side of his neck. Blood began to spurt out and excruciating pain caused him to fall to his knees.

Though some distance away, Bo had heard the shots, sprinted into range and thrown a knife at the assassin. She stepped over to the Thai who was kneeling before her, nursing his wound. She picked up his helmet from the floor and swung it at his head like a bowling ball - strike! He went down. He dropped the gun and lay on his back. Bo retrieved the revolver, stepped over to him and stamped down hard on his left leg. He began to scream. Bo leaned over him and placed the revolver into his mouth, muffling his screams.

"Who sent you?"

He didn't answer.

She pulled out the gun, lowered it to his right leg and shot, resulting in an agonising scream. Then, thrusting the weapon deep into his crotch, she glared aggressively into his eyes, "I won't ask again!"

He lay there helpless, blood seeping from his wounds. His scared eyes and screams were a testament to his pain as he released his last breath and whispered. "Nincotte."

Harvey flinched while another three shots were fired. Bo dropped the smoking gun, retrieved her knife and rushed over. Blood was running onto the back seat. She threw herself into the driver's seat and screeched away from the scene. Her eyes flicked up at the rear-view; she was distressed to see Harvey in so much pain.

He screamed as he was thrown from side to side of the back seat and clutched onto his wounds as he felt his life ebbing away. Bo glanced back at his deathly pale complexion and saw that his eyes were now closed. She took a deep breath and shouted louder than she had ever shouted before, "Harvey!!!"

THIRTY-FOUR

NIGEL WAS back in his suite when Pang rushed in.

"Where is it, Pang? What did she say?"

"Sorry Mr Nigel, I not have it."

"Who did you speak to?"

"I spoke to the manager."

"What about housekeeping?"

"We saw the manager of housekeeping. She not know the maid who come to room."

"Did you check the log?...Like I suggested."

"We check."

"And?"

"Have new maid come to your room."

"Who is she?"

"She from agency. That why you not know her."

"Do they usually take maids from agencies?"

"I not know. You want me ask?"

"No, never mind."

Nigel continued to search the room.

"What you want we do now, Mr Nigel?"

"Can you go check with security? They may have her on camera."

Pang stepped out. Nigel stopped searching and stood staring out the window.

THIRTY-FIVE

HARVEY'S BATTERED BMW screeched into the hospital entrance – almost hit an old man crossing the road. Bo climbed out, ran to the entrance and stormed in. "Help!"

Two hospital staff followed her out, rushed to the car and reached into the back.

"What happened?" The taller of the two asked.

"He was shot."

Another two men arrived with a stretcher, extended its folded legs and helped to pull Harvey from the car. The four of them lowered him onto the stretcher and wheeled him away. Bo hurried alongside, holding his hand.

"I have to go now, but I'll be back." Harvey didn't reply. She let go, stepped back and watched him being wheeled away. Then, reaching for her phone, she flicked through her contacts and dialled a number with a shaky hand. A voice at the other end of the line answered. "Hello?"

She caught her breath. "Harvey's been shot."

THIRTY-SIX

NIGEL STOOD staring at out of the window as he hung up the phone. All was quiet – all was still.

He turned in a rage and threw his mobile against the wall - it cracked but didn't break. He stepped over to the conference table, took a grip then hurled it over. He picked up a chair, threw it to the window; it bounced back - almost hit him, the window didn't break and neither did the chair.

He pulled the TV from its place and pushed it to the floor. It fell; the cord stretched and held the screen from reaching the floor. He was about to pull over a bookcase when Pang walked in. He was shocked to see the state of the suite and the rage on Nigel's face. "Mr Nigel? What wrong?"

Nigel faced Pang red-faced and out of breath "Harvey's been shot."

"Is he alive?"

"He's alive."

"What you want to do?"

Nigel bit his bottom lip and squinted his eyes.

"If Nincotte wants a war, we'll give him a fucking war."

"Where you want to go?"

"....To the police station, Pang....."

TO BE CONTINUED....

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