Colin Cotterill - The Coroner's lunch

“But by Tuesday, Siri had shared all his Vietnamese information with so many people that it didn’t make sense for them to single him out any more. There was only one case where Siri was sitting on evidence. Khen Nahlee had no idea who I was or that I was connected to that case. I’d been very discreet. As far as he was concerned, Siri was the only one who could put together a case against Kham. So I had to assume the impossible had happened. The professional assassin had failed, not once but twice.

“I’d been tracking him so long, seen the aftermath of his capabilities so many times, I had started to think like him. I knew how those two failures must have hurt his pride. I was surer than anything else in my life that he’d try again.”

“And the night of the That Luang Festival was the perfect time.”

“The Security Section guard had been recalled and there weren’t a lot of people around. I smuggled my men in-one by one, in case he was watching-and the rest you know.”

“The fly dropped neatly into the web. Where is he now?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. But with Kham no longer at his back, and Khen Nahlee out of action, it won’t be hard to dismantle the death squad. I guess that’s a bad sign.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been so efficient, I’ve done myself out of a job. I’m unemployed.”

“Nonsense. Consider yourself rehired. I’ve got a hundred jobs for a fellow of your cunning. Let’s finish this up and hide the bottle before our body gets here. We’ll pretend it was stolen.”

They’d just removed the last of the evidence when Siri and another man they didn’t recognize crossed the road. The doctor was carrying a plastic bag that clinked as he walked.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Surely it’s evening already.”

“Sorry I’m late. There was more muck to wash off him than I expected.” The apparent stranger stood beside him in a long-sleeved pink shirt, permanent-press slacks, and almost-new running shoes. His hair was washed, cut, and parted. His dark chocolate face was the only familiar thing about him.

“Good afternoon, Ambassador Rajid. How do you like your new self?” Crazy Rajid looked confused but moderately excited. Siri shook hands with his two friends.

“He passed his medical with flying colors. I was expecting all kinds of diseases. But apart from lice and a few friction wounds, he’s a glowing advertisement for eating out of trash cans and sleeping in sewers.”

“Perhaps we should try it ourselves.” Rajid started to walk away when the others sat cross-legged around the log as if it were a high table.

“Where are you going, Ambassador? Come and join us.” The Indian looked back, thought about it, then came to sit with them. He gave them a Rajid silent laugh to show he was happy. Civilai inspected the fine silk shirt.

“How did you find clothes to fit him?”

“I work in a morgue, Ai. Do you need to ask? Waste not….”

“How are your lungs?” Phosy asked.

“I just passed a medical that I had to administer myself.”

“Good for you. You were lucky.”

“Lucky is my middle name. And that reminds me. I went to visit an old witch I know-”

“A live one?”

“Most certainly. And she was so pleased to see me, she gave me a special discount on these.” From the plastic bag he produced three bottles of cherry-red liquid in oddly shaped bottles sealed with wax. “Which was just as well, as I see you’ve finished the good stuff without me. It’s plum rice wine.”

Civilai upturned one bottle and watched the alien sediment float to the top. “Phosy, under normal circumstances I’d tell you not to accept blood-red liquid in unmarked bottles from a coroner, but in this case I think we have no choice but to trust him. What do you say?”

“I say he takes the first glass and we give him ten minutes.”

Siri opened a bottle. Phosy laid out four jumbo-sized baguettes on the log, and Crazy Rajid sniffed and tasted his running shoes. While he was slicing through the bread, Civilai recalled an item of news that had landed briefly on his desk that day.

“I heard the funniest thing today. It appears the Taiwanese have canceled a logging contract they had with the Lao Military Council.”

“No!” Siri blushed.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Me? ’Course not. I don’t hear about anything before you do. But-”

“Here we go.”

“No, it’s just that I hear the Chinese are a very superstitious people. I imagine if they knew about the massive displacement of spirits in Khamuan, they’d be concerned that the timber might be…well, cursed in some way.”

“Especially if they had a little spiritual demonstration. And how do you think those Taiwanese could have heard of the spirit displacement in faraway Khamuan?”

Siri shook his head. “Beats me.”

“H’mm. Not much does, I’ll bet.” Phosy laughed.

At last, all the guests were in attendance and ready for the wake toast. It was mercifully short. They stood and raised their glasses. Civilai coughed and spoke in his most somber Party voice.

“Gentlemen of the Dead Coroner’s Lunch. We’re gathered here today in honor of a loyal and sadly departed loved one.”

“Hear, hear.”

“Shut up, Siri. Although he lived much of his life as a fool, he died, without question, a hero.”

“Three times,” Phosy added.

“Three times. Dr. Siri Paiboun, coroner, scholar, witch doctor. We salute you. Good luck.”

“Good luck.”

“Good luck.”

“…good luck.”

They all turned in amazement to look at Rajid.

“You talk?”

“Sometimes.”

Lunch stretched until five. Rajid’s new clothes were piled neatly on the riverbank, but he wasn’t anywhere near them. The others finally stood and said their farewells. Civilai had to be home for a family get-together. The other two didn’t have families to get together with, so Phosy asked Siri if he’d like to have a drink somewhere else.

“Um. Afraid I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“I have an…appointment this evening.”

Civilai yelped and danced up and down. Rock lizards fled for cover. “Would this ‘appointment’ be with a stunning bakery gal, by any chance?”

“It’s only dinner.”

“And the Tet Offensive was only a skirmish. I hope you remember where everything goes.”

“Don’t be so vulgar. It’s dinner. In fact, I’m a bit nervous.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll lead.”

Phosy went to the briefcase that had been sitting at his side all through lunch, and pulled out a thick file that virtually filled it.

“In that case, I’d better give you this now.”

“What is it?”

“It’s you.”

“Me?”

“We found all the confidential files Comrade K and his gang had been keeping on the senior members. We weren’t too sure what to do with them. Your judge suggested we should give them back. Let you decide. He said ‘Socialism is a great cosmos, but trust is the atmosphere that holds the stars together.’”

“Even with the motto, it appears Judge Haeng is developing some common sense,” Siri said.

“I don’t think I get it,” Phosy said.

“Nobody ever does. Can I borrow your briefcase? I don’t want a hernia on top of everything else.”

Siri was living temporarily at a guest house not far from the Anusawari Arch. It was nicely landscaped and friendly, and he wouldn’t have minded staying there forever. But as a reward for his heroics, his name was elevated on the housing list: in a month, he’d have his own place. He wouldn’t have to share a door, or a hallway, or a bathroom. It sounded lonely.