‘It’s on the back of the photograph,’ said Knight. He pulled out a thick wallet and flicked his thumbnail across a stack of 1,000-baht bills, counted out thirty and handed them to me. ‘This is on account,’ he said. ‘But money’s no object, I just want to know the truth, one way or another.’
I pocketed the cash and nodded over at the bodyguard. ‘Is Gung going with you?’
‘No, he’s looking after my house.’ I’d seen Knight’s house in one of the glossy magazines. It was in an expensive area of Sukhumvit, a mix of old Thai teak and white minimalist chic, full of modern Asian art and ancient Buddha figures looted from Burma.
‘Get Gung to call me when she leaves the house, and if you can get any details of what hotel she’s staying at, so much the better.’
‘Whatever you need,’ said Knight. He scribbled on the back of an embossed business card and handed it to me. ‘My private number is on there. Gung’s too.’
I shook his hand and headed out. The money was burning a hole in my pocket, I had several bills that were past their sell-by date and I owed my maid last month’s salary.
By Friday afternoon I was all set. Knight was on a three o’clock Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong so he left his house at just before midday, sitting in the back of a. large Mercedes. I was in a rental car, an inconspicuous Honda Civic, down the road. He didn’t see me. As a rule, guys in the back of big Mercs didn’t notice men in small Japanese cars.
Further down the road were three motorcycle taxis that I’d booked for the day. Two thousand baht each. They sat under the shade of an advertising hoarding promoting a shampoo that blackened, thickened and strengthened, all in one. The Thais love black hair and white skin and spend a fortune on products that promise either. The motorcycle riders had short-cropped hair and skin the colour of burnt mahogany, blackened from years ferrying passengers around the city under the unforgiving sun. They were smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and kept looking over towards the Honda, waiting for my signal. I’d lent them mobile phones so that they could stay in touch once we were on the lovely Miss Ying’s trail.
Following someone is a difficult business at the best of times, but in Bangkok it can be a nightmare. For a start, there’s the congestion. At rush hour many of the city’s major intersections hit gridlock. And the traffic lights can sometimes take up to fifteen minutes to change. So you might sit in slow-moving traffic for an hour or so, only to see your quarry skip through a light just as it changes to red. Even if you can keep up with your quarry, following them as they change lanes means taking your life into your hands because Bangkok traffic is the most unforgiving in the world. All pretence of politeness goes out of the window when a Thai gets behind the wheel of a car. That’s where the motorcycle taxi drivers come in handy. There are tens of thousands of them around the city, whizzing through the traffic, delivering officer workers to their desks, hookers to the go-go bars and students to their classrooms. They used to wear coloured vests denoting the soi they worked in, but the Government changed the regulations and made them all wear orange vests which makes using them as chasers even easier.
Using bikes doesn’t solve all your problems though because the city is crisscrossed with expressways and motorcycles and aren’t allowed to use them. Still, if it was easy, everyone would be doing it, right?
At one o’clock Gung called my mobile to say that Ying was packing a bag and that she’d asked him to go down to the carpark to make sure that her car airconditioner was running. It must be nice to have money, I said to Gung. I was going to ask him if he warmed the toilet seat for her as well as cooling her car but the boys in the Thahan Phran aren’t renowned for their sense of humour.
I waved over at the three motorcycle riders and they climbed onto their bikes. They were all under 100cc-small bikes that could nip in and out of the traffic. When a farang buys a bike he usually goes for a big Harley or a 1000cc Yamaha and sits there with all that power throbbing between his legs feeling like he’s lord of the jungle. But as soon as the traffic locks up the big bikes are locked up too and the farang sits there sweating like a pig and breathing in diesel fumes as the Thais on their little bikes whiz by. Big isn’t always best. That’s what I tell the girls anyway.
The BMW rolled out of the underground carpark and I let a couple of cars go before following her. Two of the bikes roared past her and then slowed a hundred yards or so ahead of her. If she was going to Pattaya she’d probably use the expressway which meant that I’d be following her most of the way on my own with the bikes making their way along the regular road. But at least once she was on the expressway I’d be able to hang back because I’d know where she was going. The bikes could pick her up at the Pattaya end. Easy peasy.
The BMW took a left turn and that had me frowning because that meant she was heading away from the expressway. The bikes kept her in sight so I dropped back. I lost her ten minutes later but after a phone call to one of the motorcycle riders I was back on track. They saw her park outside a restaurant. One of Knight’s restaurants. I left the rental a short walk from the restaurant.
I told the motorcycle boys to hang around while I went inside. On the ground floor there was a large circular bar with half a dozen customers, mainly expats. There were ten circular dining tables but the lunch crowd had gone and it was too early for the evening session. There was no sign of the lovely Ying.
I sat at the bar and ordered a Jack Daniels and waited. One JD became two and two became three and there was still no sign of her. The men’s room was upstairs so I grinned at the barman and said that I had to take a leak and headed up. There was a pool table and another dozen tables, but the place was empty. There was a small locked door leading up to the top floor and a note in Thai and English that said ‘Staff Only’.
It was getting late, too late to make it to Pattaya in time for a sales conference. I made a call to the company where Ying worked and in my very best Thai explained that my girlfriend was attending a sales conference in Pattaya and that she’d forgotten her make-up bag and that I wanted to get it to her but I didn’t know where the conference was being held. The conference was at the Ambassador Jomtien, a very helpful young switchboard girl explained, but that the conference finished at five so there was no need to get the bag to my girlfriend because she’d be back in Bangkok later tonight. I thanked her. So, I’d caught her out in one lie, and in my experience lies are like cockroaches. If you find one, there’ll be hundreds of others behind the skirting board. At least in the sort of places that I stay in.
I went back downstairs and paid my bill, then took a walk outside. There were lights up on the top floor so I figured that was where Ying was holed up. Next door to the restaurant was a ten-storey office block. Sitting on a deckchair at the entrance was a dark-skinned security guard in a uniform several sizes too big for him. I wandered over and started chatting to him in Laos. He was a nice guy, his wife was back in Udon Thani taking care of their five kids and he sent back most of his wages each month. Down the road from the office block I’d seen a street vendor selling a variety of fried insects, much loved by the people of Isaan. I asked him how he liked his grasshoppers and then went and bought him a bag of well-salted insects. I shared them with him as we talked. They taste a lot better than they sound, really. A bit like pork scratchings, it’s the crunch and the salt you’re aware of rather than a definite taste. Fried maggots are okay, too. I’ve never really had a problem eating insects. There’s no difference between a grasshopper and a prawn, really. So we shared the goodies and then I gave him a 500-baht note and asked him if he’d take me up the building stairwell so that I could take a look into the windows of the top floor of the restaurant. I spunhim a story about my girlfriend being inside with another farang but he was only interested in the money and he was more than happy to let me go upstairs on my own.