Stephen Leather - Bangkok Bob and the missing Mormon

Even at ten-thirty the road was busy so I headed for a concrete overbridge. It stank of urine but it was safer than trying to dodge the traffic. As I came down the stairs I saw the red light of a taxi for hire in the distance and I held out my hand.

The taxi slowed but before it reached me a large black SUV with darkened windows pulled up next to me. I figured the driver was dropping someone off so I walked to the rear, still waving at the taxi.

The front passenger door opened and a man got out. The door slammed shut and then someone grabbed my arm and swung me around.

I put my hands up to defend myself but my wrist was grabbed and my arm twisted up behind my back and before I could react I was thrown against the side of the car. The rear door on the far side of the car opened and slammed shut and a second man came around the back of the car. He was wearing a denim jacket, camouflage cargo pants and impenetrable wraparound sunglasses. It was Lek, from the kickboxing gym in Washington Square.

‘Someone wants to see you,’ said Lek.

‘Yeah, well someone can come around to my shop, any time he wants,’ I said.

The man who was holding me dragged me back so that Lek could open the door, then they both bundled me inside. As I fell onto the seat I felt something hard press against my side and I looked down to see a large shiny automatic. ‘Be quiet,’ he said.

‘I’ll be quiet, you be careful,’ I said. It was a. 45 and would blow a hole as big as baseball in my gut if he pulled the trigger.

The man on the pavement slammed the door and jogged around to get in the other side, boxing me in. It was Tam. Like his colleague, he was wearing dark glasses, even though it was late at night.

Gangster chic.

The driver stamped on the accelerator and the SUV sped off.

‘What’s this about, Lek?’ I asked.

‘Just keep quiet and you’ll know soon enough,’ he said.

We turned left on Asoke, the wide road that runs north-south across the city. Lek jabbed the gun in my ribs.

‘Get down on the floor,’ he said.

‘Why?’

He jabbed the gun, harder this time. ‘Just do it.’

‘If you don’t want me to see where I’m going, I’ll close my eyes,’ I said. ‘It’s no big deal.’

Tam grabbed me by the back of the neck and forced my head down behind the front seats. I could hardly breathe but he was strong so I went with the pressure and slid down onto my knees.

We drove for about twenty minutes with several turns and once I was pretty sure we doubled back. Whoever they were taking me to see didn’t want me to know where I was. That was a good sign, because if something bad was going to happen to me they wouldn’t care one way or the other.

We stopped twice which I figured was because we’d come to a red light, but the third time we stopped I heard a gate rattle back and then we drove slowly and made a left turn and the driver switched off the engine.

‘We’re here,’ said Tam, patting me on the shoulder. ‘You can sit up now.’

I did as I was told. We were parked next to a traditional Thai house made from old teak that gleamed in the moonlight. Tam opened the door and got out and Lek prodded me with the gun to let me know that I was to follow suit.

They took me up a flight of wooden stairs and Tam, knocked on a large door and pushed it open. Lek prodded me with the gun again, this time in the small of the back. It wouldn’t have been too difficult to have swung around and knocked the gun to the side and pushed him down the stairs but there were two of them and they were both trained kickboxers and besides I really wanted to know who was on the other side of the door.

‘Shoes,’ hissed Lek.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Take off your shoes.’

I sighed and did as I was told. Lek and Tam took theirs off, too, and we lined them up by the door.

The room was in near darkness, the only light coming from a small bulb mounted in what looked as if it had once been the axle of a buffalo cart. There was a man sitting in a teak planter’s chair. He was wearing dark clothing and had set the light up so that he was sitting in shadow.

Tam pointed at a wicker sofa and motioned for me to sit down. I did as I was told and looked around the room. There were two doors leading off to the left, both closed, and one to the right that was open and through which I could see a kitchen. An open stairway of thick teak planks led to the upper floor.

‘You are Bob Turtledove,’ said the man, in accented English. It was a statement rather than a question.

‘If I’m not, you’ve all been wasting your time,’ I answered. I was pretty sure that if they were going to do anything nasty to me they’d already have done it. The man wanted to talk, which was fine by me.

Lek tapped the gun against my leg as if he wanted to remind me that he was still holding it.

‘Please don’t try my patience,’ said the man, again in English.

‘Yes, I’m Bob Turtledove,’ I said in Thai. ‘Who are you?’

I wanted him to speak in Thai because then I’d have a pretty good idea of where he came from.

‘You’re not here to ask questions,’ he said. I couldn’t make out his face but he was tall for a Thai and had stretched out his long legs. ‘You went to see Marsh in hospital. Why?’

‘What business is that of yours?’ I asked, again in Thai.

Lek put the barrel of the gun against my forehead. I could feel sweat trickling down my back. I’ve never been happy at people pointing guns at me, especially loaded ones with the hammer cocked. I didn’t think that Lek intended to shoot me but his finger was on the trigger and guns sometimes went off unintentionally.

I knew that from experience.

‘No one will hear the gunshot, except for us,’ said the man, still in English. ‘And anyone who does hear will not care. Why did you go to see Marsh in the Bumrungrad?’

‘I’m looking for an American boy who has gone missing,’ I said. ‘His parents are worried. They thought that he might have been in the nightclub when it burned down.’ I switched to the Isarn dialect, which is close to Thai but has a lot in common with the language of neighbouring Laos.

The man settled back in his chair and I could feel him staring at me, trying to work out if I was telling the truth or not.

‘What is his name?’ asked the man, this time speaking in Isarn. ‘This missing boy?’

‘Jon Clare,’ I said.

‘And that is all you wanted from Marsh?’

I nodded. His accent sounded as if he was from the north of Isarn. Udon Thani, maybe. Which meant that it was probably Thongchai, Lek and Tam’s boss who had disappeared after the fire.

‘And why did you go to the kickboxing gym?’

‘Same reason.’

The man crossed his legs slowly. ‘You were at the Kube with the police.’

‘I was there when the police were there, yes.’

‘And you spoke to the Public Prosecutor.’

‘Khun Jintana. Yes.’

‘Did you think that Public Prosecutor might know where the boy is?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘So what did you talk about?’

‘I was just there to see the club,’ I said.

‘And it was a coincidence that one of the investigating officers and the Public Prosecutor were there?’

‘I went there to see a friend of mine who’s in the police,’ I said. ‘But I don’t see that that’s any business of yours.’ I leaned forward. ‘What are you so scared of, Khun Thongchai?’

He stiffened. ‘How do you know me?’ he asked.

‘You owned the Kube and these two work for you,’ I said. ‘What I don’t understand is why you’re here and not in Udon Thani.’

‘Because the police are looking for me and Udon Thani is the first place they’ll look,’ he said.