Stephen Leather - Bangkok Bob and the missing Mormon

‘And he pays his taxes?’

Big Ron’s sausage-like fingers played across the abacus. Tap, tap, tap. Tap tap tap tap. He studied the ebony balls. ‘To the baht,’ he said. He frowned. ‘There’s something not right about this,’ he said.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘No one pays this much tax unless they have to,’ he said. ‘Every businessman in Thailand has two sets of books, one for the taxman and one showing how much money he’s really making. This guy’s taking the piss. If he paid ten per cent of what he’s paying the taxman would still be grateful.’ He scratched his chins and studied the print-out. ‘Okay, let’s look at this another way,’ he said. His fingers rattled the shiny black balls. ‘Total income two hundred and fifty six million baht.’

Tap, tap, tap.

‘How much do the students pay? Per hour?’

‘A hundred baht.’

Tap, tap, tap. Tap tap.

‘Three hundred and sixty five days a year,’ he said. ‘Forget all the public holidays, royal birthdays and the like.’

Tap, tap, tap. Tap.

How many hours a day is he open for business?’

‘From seven in the morning until nine at night.’

‘Fourteen hours a day.’

I nodded but he wasn’t looking at me.

Tap, tap, tap, tap. His forehead creased into a deep frown. ‘How many classrooms?’

‘Eight,’ I said.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap tap.

Big Ron sat back and grinned. ‘Sixty-two,’ he said.

‘What’s that, the answer to life, the universe and everything?’

‘It’s the number of people in each classroom. Sixty-two. Sixty-two pupils, every hour for fourteen hours a day, for three hundred and sixty five days a year. That’s the only way you get a turnover of two hundred and fifty six million baht.’

‘But there’s only a dozen chairs in each room.’

‘Five to a chair, then? Be like the black hole of Calcutta. Standing room only.’

I shook my head. ‘None of the rooms I saw were close to capacity. I saw fifty pupils at most when I was there.’

‘There you go then.’ Big Ron’s grin widened.

‘What?’ I didn’t get it.

‘It’s not about teaching English. It’s about laundry.’

I still didn’t get it.

The school that Kai attended was in Soi 15, not far from one of the city’s busiest red light areas, Soi Cowboy. Over the years the city’s hookers and transsexuals had spread out from Nana Plaza in Soi 4 and Soi Cowboy in Soi 23 and now most of the lower reaches of Sukhumvit Road were fair game for the city’s purveyors of vice. Every now and again the police would go on the offensive and for a few weeks the streets would be clear but like cockroaches the hookers always returned.

The school was far enough from the main road to be untouched by the drug-dealing and hooking fraternity but even so I didn’t think it would be a good idea to loiter outside a school where more than half the pupils were girls. There were a couple of noodle stalls on the pavement about a hundred feet from the main entrance so I took a seat with a good view of the gate and ordered a bowl of red pork and noodle soup, which as it turned out wasn’t half bad. I was half way through it when I saw Kai. She was wearing a short black skirt, a white shirt that was so tight the buttons were straining at the material, and black Gucci heels. To go with the Gucci bag on her shoulder.

How did I know the shoes were Gucci?

Because my wife has a pair of the very same shoes. And they were very expensive. I know because I bought them.

Kai was nodding her head strangely but as she got closer I saw that she was listening to an iPod. I stood up and smiled but she didn’t see me until she was almost in front of me, then her mouth opened in surprise showing perfect white teeth with pink braces. I saw the panic in her eyes so I smiled again and held up my hand in greeting.

‘Miss Kai,’ I said, ‘how are you today?’

She didn’t hear me and she frowned as she took out her earphones.

I repeated what I’d said, and smiled again.

She frowned, not recognising me at first, then realisation dawned. ‘Khun Bob,’ she said. ‘You’re not a teacher here as well are you?’

‘No, I’m happy enough where I am,’ I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie but it was close. ‘Would you like a Coke?’

She looked at her watch. It was slim, gold and obviously expensive. ‘I have an appointment,’ she said. She looked up and down the road, and then back to me. She smiled again, showing me a flash of her braces.

‘I wanted to ask you about Tukkata,’ I said. ‘She goes to your school, doesn’t she?’

Kai nodded.

‘Was she at school today?’ I asked.

‘I didn’t see her,’ she said. ‘But we’re not in the same class.’ She giggled. ‘We’re not in the same year.’

‘Do you know when she was last at school?’

Kai ran a hand through her shampoo-commercial hair. ‘Is she in trouble?’

‘No, I wanted to talk to her about Khun Jon. I thought she might know where he is.’

‘Why?’ she asked, which was a good question.

I didn’t like lying to a kid who thought I was a teacher, but telling her why I was trying to find Jon Junior would be way too complicated. And would involve me explaining why an antiques dealer had been trying to teach English.

‘I found some personal stuff in his locker,’ I said. ‘I wanted to send it to him.’

She pouted and looked at her watch again.

‘When was she last at school?’ I asked.

Kai shrugged. ‘A week ago, maybe. Like I said, we’re not in the same class so I don’t always see her. I’m year nine, she’s year twelve.’

‘You’re only fifteen?’ In her designer shoes and carrying her Gucci bag she looked older, but now I was looking carefully at her unblemished skin and slim figure I realised that she was just a kid. And that Tukkata wasn’t much older.

‘Do you think Tukkata might know where Jon is?’ I asked.

‘Perhaps,’ she said. She frowned and ran a hand through her hair. Her nails were a deep red, the colour of blood. ‘I think he might be a janitor now.’

‘A janitor? Why would you think that?’

‘The last time I saw him, he was talking on the phone. He said something about working in a boiler room.’

A top-of-the-range black BMW came down the road towards the school. Kai stiffened when she saw it and clutched her bag to her chest. ‘I have to go,’ she said.

I figured it was probably her father, come to collect his darling daughter. I wanted to ask her more about the boiler room but she was already walking towards the car. ‘Hey, Kai, wait,’ I said. I took a pen from my pocket and scribbled down my cellphone number on an old Emporium receipt. I gave her the piece of paper. ‘If you see Tukkata, get her to give me a call.’

She took the number and as she drew level with the car, the back door opened. I caught a glimpse of a large Thai man in a suit and then she got in and the door closed.

As the car drove by all I could see was my own reflection in the tinted windows. Then it was gone.

A janitor?

That didn’t make any sense.

But a boiler room. That definitely did.

People come to live in Thailand for a host of reasons. Retired people come for the climate and the relatively low cost of living, men come because it’s easier for them to get a girlfriend even if more often than not have to pay by the hour, others come because they’re fed up with what has happened to their own countries and hope that they’ll have better lives in the Land of Smiles. There are Vietnam vets living around Washington Square who never wanted to go back to the States after their tours were over, and criminals in Pattaya who would be arrested if they ever set foot in their own countries. But almost everyone is in Thailand by choice. They want to be there.