Dead Girl Beach (6 page)

At 4:15 that afternoon, Suma was panic-stricken. Her nerves were about to snap. She locked the cabin door and rushed across the stone walk out to the road. Wild puffs of air squeezed in and out of her lungs. She had overslept again and was racing frantically to get to work.

Last night, Bennie Zee's scissor-clipping voice had gone off on her, again. This time, it was for trying to crash his private party. The time before that was for mixing Russian vodka instead of Puerto Rican rum into a fat lady's cocktail. Like pieces of flint struck together, the sparks just seemed to fly whenever the two of them were around each other. One of these days, one of them would sustain serious injury if they kept going on like that, and the one getting injured wasn't going to be Bennie Zee.

Suma's cabin was a mile south of the city limits. The dense, tropical terrain of the Had Rin hills separated two beaches on the island's southern peninsula. Sunset Beach—Had Rin Nai Beach to local Thais—was on the island's west coast. Its companion, Sunrise Beach—Had Rin Nok Beach—was on the east coast. Sunrise was without question the more popular of the two beaches. A beautiful, idyllic place, it hosted the world-famous Full Moon Beach Party.

Hurrying along a path through the small, rocky foothills, Suma breathed hard. Her lungs felt raw and sore, like the lungs of a first-time jogger. She had a lot on her mind right now. Her life was forever in a state of chaos. There was Seabury and Bennie Zee to think about. Lawan—looming out there on the horizon—expected her to change, but she knew she had to stop. It wasn't good to act so serious all the time. She had to learn to relax.

Hadn't her therapist, Doctor Thongchai, suggested this very thing? Yes. Yes. Good old Doctor Thongchai. Short, thin legs churned under her as she hurried down the trail bordered by tall stands of white pine, and thick clusters of bamboo and tamarind that shut out the late afternoon sun. Wind blew hard inside the trees. It sent a strand of black hair into her eyes. She batted it back with small, slender fingers, capped by nails painted a sassy, coral color. As she raced on, she heard Seabury's voice rifling through her mind.
No, no. No way. I won't do it
.

She thought Seabury could have reacted better. Softer, less vigorous, and not used that belittling chuckle on her—the one that made her feel small and insecure. Her request for money—call it a long-term loan—wasn't even for her. It was for Arun.

Up ahead, a huge, white finger pointed back at her, carved into a wooden sign nailed to the trunk of a pine tree. It was a familiar landmark.
My friend. My quiet, gentle friend
, she said to herself and caught her breath. The sign posted on the tree said: Sunrise Beach ½ kilometer. The sign next to it was from the Koh Phangan Forest Ministry of Thailand. It warned hikers about dangerous sinkholes in the area. The white finger was a road sign that greeted her each day. It had become a friendly reminder that she reached the halfway point of her journey.

She smiled. Then, just as quickly, her mood changed. She found herself caught up in the heated fury of another argument raging inside her.
I know you. I know you, Suma
.

The wind kept blowing, and something crashed inside the trees. The sound sent birds winging high into the sky. Frustrated, she gulped puffs of air. As her lungs inflated, she began to feel tense and irritable, like her nerves were a metal cord about to snap. She knew what being bipolar meant. Doctor Thongchai had explained all of it to her at the hospital. Now, in a frantic moment, it brought her to the edge of yet another full-blown, emotional trauma.

She talked out loud to herself, she answered herself, and she kept arguing. A voice sprang out of nowhere—
Stop it. Stop it, Suma
.
You're only hurting yourself
—and shut down the argument. In a wild instant, she realized what she was doing. She was thinking too much. She was analyzing, probing, poking, and prying for answers that probably weren't there. In the end, she concluded she wasn't going crazy after all; she was merely hyperventilating and suffering from stress.

The wind blew harder. Branches shook. Leaves rattled inside the trees. Clouds of pine-needled grit swirled around her ankles and tore off into space. Walking faster, dressed in her red glitter mini and blue canvas shoes, Suma pressed on. Try as she might to remain optimistic, she felt her mood changing again only seconds later. Now, she was going back the other way, coming down off the mountain.
Oh, please. Not again, Suma
. Time seemed to fly by, and she was easily distracted. Some people always ran late, and unfortunately, she was one of them. The day was nearly over. Her night was just beginning, and the thought depressed her. She did all she could to keep from crying.

She walked from the coolness of the forest to where a vacant field full of thick, thorny brushes and tall grass greeted her. She crossed the field, and ten minutes later, her legs were killing her. Behind her, now in the western sky, the sun's celestial power baked the land. It sent birds winging from the sky for the shade and seclusion of tall, dark trees. Waves of heat shimmered off the ground. Each footstep brought her closer to the Riser Room. The thought sent a startled bird winging through her stomach. A sharp pain of fear and frustration pierced her heart.

I'm late. They'll complain, again.
She took another full stride when the smell hit her. Cat urine and dog feces wafted up at her.
Yuck!
She made a face and gagged as bile rose in her throat. The awful taste lodged on her tongue, and it mingled with the outside smells stuck in her nostrils. She held her breath. She cringed and kept going, taking long strides with her short, brown legs.

She checked her watch. She was one hour late. Friday evening, 5:00 p.m. She worried about losing her job, not knowing what to tell them. How to come up with a good excuse this time, when they knew she'd be lying. She had worked at the disco less than three weeks, and less than three weeks later, Lawan remained her only friend. Quiet, soft-spoken, and non-judgmental Lawan. She was always there to offer sisterly advice, not meaning to offend, but—damn it— she
did
offend with that pompous attitude and smug, little smile.
Don't always see the dark side, Suma. See something bright, okay?

The circuitous route she had taken from her shared rental shaved forty minutes off her trek to the bar. Lucky for that. Now, it brought her down to the highway. She reached the dark pavement. Cars, trucks, and motorcycles zoomed by. She waited for her turn to scoot across—a lull in the traffic. She raced to the other side. Hurrying, she angled toward a vacant lot. It nosed onto a deserted road, and the road ran parallel to the beach and off in the distance.

Increasing her pace, she went on thinking about her boss, Bennie Zhong-Boa a.k.a. The Black Duck, who had changed his name legally to Benny Zee. It was the same old tape churning inside her head in a vicious cycle of reruns. Zee was a small, dicey, Chinese figure criminally connected to the Hong Kong underworld. Zee, speaking to her in that raw, caustic, chain smoker's voice that eroded her confidence. Zee, going off on her regularly.

Was it her looks? She had a small, round face like Lawan's, but she wasn't as pretty. Still, people said they could have been twins, since they looked so much alike. She realized she wasn't the prettiest girl in the world, but she was far from being ugly. What was this all about, now? Zee talking behind her back. Zee criticizing her with that acid tongue and nasty, little smile. His audience—a bevy of slim, doting, thong-wearing bar hostesses—hung on every word. They talked. They concluded that she was moody, somehow disconnected, and not fit to work at a disco bar.

Lawan had told her, “They're talking about you, Suma. They said you won't last long here if you don't change.
”
She sauntered around puddles and crunched over small rock piles inside the lot as she headed across. White fences, leafy green trees, and orange-tiled roofs came into view. She kept going, mildly disturbed. She could handle the backstabbing. It was only words. They meant nothing. She knew the reason they talked. She didn't push hard enough to sell drinks to the tourist crowd.

Yeah, right
. The tourist crowd. She had the image stapled to her brain. How could she forget them? A rowdy bunch of fair-skinned, European males in their early twenties, around her age. They came in nightly, reeking of spicy food and stale beer from partying somewhere else. It was hard getting close. It was hard being cordial. With glazed eyes and red, bloated faces, they drank one after another, sandwiched in between a workforce of smiling, doting, and manipulative, young females.

The girls knew how to play them, how to lay on the charm. Under the bright, colored lights of a huge wrap-around bar that took up half the main floor, they partied with the bar crowd far into the night. Tepid tea disguised as lady drinks went for $5 a pop. The ladies guzzled them down one after another, shaking down the customers with ice cubes still frozen at the bottom of their empty cocktail glasses.
One more dink? One more dink for good time. Wah you tink? Huh, Mista?
Zee had programmed his girls to perform with the same hard, driving intensity that dominated his own self-absorbed, egocentric nature.

I hate that place. Hate it! Hate it! Hate it!
Suma screamed in her head as she hurried on. She reached the deserted side street and tramped on, getting close to the Riser Room. The bar received billing as the hottest disco club on Koh Phangan Island.

“Welcome. Welcome my bahr, Mista. Welcome.” Young girls, scantily clothed, lined up two rows deep on the sidewalk outside the bar every night, trying to attract new customers.

“Come in. Get it up fas' in Liza Loom. You see.” A little giggle, then, “We alway' good take care. How you know you never try, huh, Mista?”

Voices wafted through the hot, humid air, and a crowd came in every night, lured by the soft, titillating sound of female voices and promises of short-time sex. It was a very good system. It made sense to Bennie Zee. Suma was getting closer to the bar, now.
Surprise, Surprise,
she'd tell them, popping in through the front doors like a jack-in-the box.
Lawan won't be happy I'm late, but I'll tell her. Heck, I'll tell all of them. Better late than never. At least I didn't dump a shift.

She didn't know how well that would go over, but she didn't care—well, she did,
and
she didn't. She had so many things cluttering up her mind right now, and Seabury was at the top of the list.

Up ahead, less than a quarter mile away, the street intersected with a boulevard bordered by thick, leafy palms and tamarind trees, living comfortably side-by-side. Half a block away, on Sunrise Beach and in a cluster of other bars, was the Riser Roomas popular as ever. Motorcycles and cars whizzed by down the street. A young crowd clad in straw hats, shades, and bright beachwear walked along narrow sidewalks. They strolled past cafes, gift shops, hair salons, furniture stores, and internet coffee houses while heading for the bars and the nightlife down on the beach below.

As she swung into another full stride, she saw the car drive by. She saw it stop. Heard gears clang together. Heard them meshing in the drive shaft. Then, the car's back wheels began to spin, biting down hard on the pavement. Tires screeched. Laid rubber. Bits of rock and grit clanged off the undercarriage. Then, the car was backing up and moving down the street toward her. Someone lost…someone wanting directions, she guessed, as the car got closer. She was surprised when the back door flew open, shocked by the size of the man who jumped out after her. At a low trajectory, the sun exposed a granite face, a grim mouth. Light bounced off the gray, chiseled features in a sudden burst of brilliance.

Almost before she realized it, the man's huge paw swung over the top of her head and dropped lower. He had her by the throat now and was squeezing hard, choking her half to death. The loud, thumping sound of her heart tore out of her small, narrow chest. It rippled across the delicate fabric of her red glitter mini and tore off into space. At some point, the man's other hand flew up like a steel claw and clamped down over her mouth. She could barely breathe. For a wild instant, she was airborne, picked up completely off the ground, spun around, and slammed back down hard on her feet.

She caught her breath and looked up. Closer now, able to pick up the tattooed tear under his left eye. A look of malice flickered through the narrow slits of his wild, moss green eyes. She screamed. She turned and twisted. She tried to wrench free while his eyes stretched wide in fury and surprise. He shook her like a rag doll and slapped her hard—twice. Wrenching the back door of the car open, he flung her inside, jumped in behind her, and slammed the door.

Greta Langer sat up front behind the wheel. “Go. Go. Go,” the man shouted at her, like a marine engaged in combat. Greta stomped on the gas, and the car roared off. A few minutes later, she found a side street.

Inside the car, Suma screamed.

Parked at the other end of the street, a wheat-colored Camry was at the curb under the low, overhanging branches of a row of banyan trees. Bram Beckers, wearing a dark, porkpie hat pulled low over his eyes, sat behind the wheel with the air conditioner running. The car parked at the intersection of the highway that ran north and south through downtown Koh Phangan.

He grinned and checking his watch. With a watchful eye, he calculated the time at just over half-a-minute after she drove by that he turned right onto the highway. He drove in a northeasterly direction through town and followed at a safe distance behind.

For a while, the woman drove at a measured speed so as not to draw attention to the car. Suma pounded the side window with tiny fists, trying to signal someone, anyone—the woman selling orchids, the man behind the ox cart, the roadside vendor selling barbecued chicken—but no one heard or saw her as the car drove by. Her voice sprang out from a corner of the back seat.

“Who are you?” She shook her head and leaned close to the man. “What do you want?” She felt a rush of adrenaline. The lower part of her stomach churned. “There must be some mistake. I mean…I don't…”

The man with the tattooed tear stuck up a hand in front of her face and silenced her. She looked at him. She noticed how he was looking back at her. Smiling, with a sly, sensual expression. His eyes roamed all over her, moving up and down the red glitter mini pushed high above her knees. She tugged at the dress and sank back into the seat, feeling her skin crawl. The seat barely collapsed under her small body.

At the edge of town, the woman stopped for a signal light. A sign outside the window read:
Leaving Had Rin
. The man's finger pressed over his lips, warning her to keep quiet. The Honda Accord's powerful engine whispered softly under the huge hood. Traffic waited behind them.

The light changed, and the car began to move. They drove under the signal light and gradually increased speed. Greta drove at a measured speed. She wanted to avoid someone following her. She'd hug the coast and drive northwest as far as Baan Tai, then double back along Baan Khai Road. She would skirt past Laluna near the Venus Resort and ditch the car in a secluded spot back in the foothills off the road. They would take the short trek overland into Kontee and walk up the coast another two miles to their campsite at Dead Girl Beach. She had it all figured out.

The car drove on and on across dark, eroding pavement that narrowed and pot-holed in spots. Greta maneuvered between the chunks of broken asphalt and roared up the highway along the coast. Every now and then, a car whizzed by, going in the opposite direction. Bram Beckers kept a safe distance behind them.

After a while, Suma could no longer hold her silence. She shook her head and started to protest. “Honestly, I don't know who you are…or what you…”

The man's heavy hand crashed off the side of her face.
Bam!
She reeled back, dazed and stunned. Her head went one way and her body another. Hot, white light exploded behind her eyes, her ears rang, and the side of her face throbbed, hot as baked stone.

I can't believe he did that
, she thought,
I can't believe he hit me…that hard
.

The blow had loosened teeth. Her head ached. Suma pulled her dress down as far as she could and crawled back into a far corner. Her eyes misted. Tears began to flow.

After a while, she stopped crying. Gradually, her eyes caught sight of the door lock fused into the door panel next to her. She reached out without thinking, just reacting when she suddenly stopped. She shook her head and felt a chill knife through her body.

Just my luck
, she thought. Automatic. Locked tight. She gasped in horror and attempted to scream.
I can't get out. I'm completely at their mercy
.

The man stared up at Greta. “Dadgummit, how far before the turn off?” he asked. “We been drivin' it seems like forever.” It was hard not to notice an East Texas drawl.

“Don't ask, Parry. Don't start acting like you care.”

“I do. Ya'll just don't see it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You don't think so?”

“No, I don't…not one bit. So, don't start playing Mister Innocent with me.”

Greta screeched around a curve and straightened the car out. On Baan Khai Road and heading back toward Laluna, she inched along behind a delivery van for a quarter mile. At the bottom of the hill, she roared around the van and gave the delivery driver the finger as she zoomed by.

Minutes later, she eased a look over her shoulder. “Don't think.” Greta returned her attention to the road. “Every time you think, we end up completely screwed and not even kissed.” She flashed a foxy smile over the front seat. “So, don't think. Don't even bother. Let me do all the thinking, all the time.
Comprende
?”

“Well, you don't have to act so fuckin' mean.”

“Don't I?” She wheeled back at him.

“No, you don't.”

“Yes, I do, pervert. Why I married a loser like you, I'll never know.”

“I ain't no pervert, Greta.”

“Tell that to the cop whose palm I had to grease.” Greta held up her right hand. She rubbed her index finger against her thumb. “A lot of baht went into that dumb mistake you made, yesterday. You just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you? Sad, sad, sad…that's all I gotta say. Sad.” She steered into a curve and came out at the other end.

“FYI,” she went on, “the Forex exchange rate's not so bad right now, with 31.50 Thai baht to $1.00. Still, that extortionist cop—that dickhead with the red eyes and boozy, whiskey breath—do you know how much he wanted to fix things? Three grand. Three
fucking
grand. That's how much he wanted. He said he'd have to pay off the girl's family plus pocket a little for himself, or else you'd end up in the slammer. Forever. I should have left you there. That's what I should have done.”

“What cop?”

 “Have you been listening to anything I've said, or are you really that dumb?”

“I ain't dumb. Don't call me that.” He bared his teeth.

“The girl was sixteen, Parry.”

“So what? Ya'll weren't there…you never saw. The girl's a little P.T. That's all she is. Know what a P.T. is, Greta?”

She flashed an incredulous look, like she couldn't believe what just came out of his mouth. “No, let me take a guess. Let's see…maybe a Positive Thinker.”

“Wrong,” he said, with a straight face. “It means—”

 “I know what the hell it means.” She cut him off. “You don't have to tell me.”

Parry winced. “Well, she's the one who started in on me first. Paradin' that little jewel between her legs around, practically shovin' it in mah face.” He looked at his wife, annoyed. “What was I ‘sposed to do? Pluck my goddamn eyes out?”

Greta shook her head in disgust. Her long, bony face bristled. Her sun-damaged skin looked raw and wrinkled. As she leaned back in the seat, the nipples of her small, firm breasts dented the cloth of her blue spandex halter.

“She was sixteen, Parry. Sixteen. Like the daughter you never had. Thank Christ for that.”

Greta drove for another twenty minutes in silence. She passed through Laluna and skirted the Venus Resort. Then, she found a secluded spot back in the foothills off the road and parked the car. The back door swung open. Parry came out first, pulling Suma behind him. She was less combative now, realizing she was only a heartbeat away from Parry's next violent outrage.

In a sudden irony, she thought,
quick-tempered people and violence seem to fit like hand to glove.
She didn't think about her own temper, hiding somewhere just below the surface. Parry's stiff fingers lodged into her back. He prodded her along a path that led up a hill to a barbed wire fence. He split the wire open. Suma ducked under, and Greta followed her.

On the other side, they took a mountain path inland and soon arrived on top of a steep hill. They were on the northern peninsula, now—a few nautical miles up the coast from Sunrise Beach. At this late hour, Kontee Beach looked small and uninhabited down below. A mantle of twilight darkened the sky. At this elevation, the wind was cool and crisp. Suma looked straight down. The remoteness of the place scared her. The steep hill, the wild surf, and the wicked, white sand scarred with chunks of dark, volcanic rock scared her.

“We're not going there.” Greta pointed further north. “See that little lagoon further up the coast? That's your new home.” She laughed a little. “That's where we're going.”

The rugged coast hooked into a small, inlet cove two miles north of Kontee Beach. Then, all at once, it seemed to vanish into the sea. They'd started down the hill when Suma suddenly stopped, and her head jerked back. The man on the trail further down was watching her. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks, but no. There it was. That face—the face of an ancient Siam warrior. It was there, glowing on the dark, volcanic rock like a 3-D picture. It wasn't budging. It wasn't moving. Right there, down the hill in front of her.

The warrior's eyes were dark. He wore a black beard and a polished, metal helmet with something sharp and pointed coming out the top. The face began to move, like a motion picture screen. As she stared down, the warrior's lips began to move.

Shut the light off
.
Now!
He shouted.
Don't shine it on the water.

She reeled back. Her eyes squeezed shut then popped open.

“Light! What light?” Parry prodded her down the hill, but she refused to move. “I don't know what you're talking about.” She looked back and forth and all around. “Light. What light?”

She felt something move up beside her, and she felt a whisper of breath at her left ear. The tone of the voice changed. It was softer, creepier now as it spoke to her in a bone-chilling whisper.
Dead Girl Beach. Up ahead. All around. Beware
.
Beware,
the voice said.

“What?” Suma's face twisted in a mask of confusion. “What…what are you talking about?”

She stopped and looked around. No one was there. Only Greta and Parry. The steep hill. The sea below. Birds flying out over the water. Nothing else. She felt a moment of extreme panic where her chest heaved, and she couldn't catch her breath. A cold chill coursed through her. She started to shake; she started to shiver.

“What's the matter?” Greta asked.

Catching her breath, Suma turned around and looked up the hill at her. “Nothing,” she said.

Greta gave her a weird look and pointed down the hill. “Get moving.”

It had turned colder. In the west, the red dome of a setting sun was about to go under. Clouds strung out in purple bands along the horizon. Birds scavenged for food further out on the water. A cool breeze blew in from the ocean. It brought the smell of salt and seaweed the closer they got to the water.

On the beach, they turned right and tramped on in the approaching darkness. Greta had switched on a flashlight. She led the way up the beach, around lumps of coral, decomposing starfish, piles of rocks, and jagged boulders. Each step brought them closer to their destination.

Meanwhile, Bram Beckers had reached the crest of the hill overlooking Kontee Beach. He squatted down quickly, careful to avoid being seen from down below. The sound of loose joints and popping bone rushed up to greet him. The pain shot up the sides of his stubby legs and hit his stomach with the force of an electrical discharge.

 “Sonofabitch.” His teeth clenched. The cheeks of his white, fleshy face burst into a bright red color. He fought off the pain and straightened back up. A few minutes later, when he was sure that his quarry was far enough ahead of him, he made a slow, cautious descent down onto the beach.

There, he lit a cigarette and sent a stream of blue smoke back over his shoulder and waited. Ten minutes later, sure they were far enough ahead of him, he switched on a small flashlight and started out again, heading back to his left toward the edge of a tropical rainforest that ran parallel to the beach.

Grinning, he made his way back into the trees. He reached down inside his tan suit coat. The sleek, dark barreled Beretta Tomcat was there, housed inside his shoulder holster. He had plenty of time. Time was his ally now, and he would get what he came for.

Greta, Parry, and Suma arrived at the edge of the deserted lagoon twenty minutes later. At a makeshift campsite, Parry sprinkled kerosene over a woodpile and started a fire. It was now 6:55 p.m.

“Over here. Now!” Greta curled up a finger, and Suma came over. “You're lucky to be alive.” Suma stepped back as the woman towered over her. “I wanna know one thing, Lawan. Why'd you run out on me?”

Suma froze in her tracks.
Oh, my God. She thinks I'm Lawan
.