Authors: David Clarkson
Stealing Asia
STEALING ASIA
By
David
Clarkson
http://www.davidclarksonwriter.com
As always, this
book is dedicated to my Katie, without whom, I would never have taken up
writing in the first place.
Copyright
2013 by David Clarkson
Kindle
Edition
Cover Image/Design by David Clarkson
Copyright 2013 by David Clarkson
Also by David Clarkson
The Outback
Diamond Sky
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected
under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized
reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system without express written permission from the
author/publisher.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead, events or localities is purely
coincidental.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 1
Travelling is
supposed to be easy. People join the trail all the time. It is simply a matter
of bumping into them in the right place and at the right moment.
A hostel dorm
room, a crowded bar; anyplace can provide the backdrop to an unexpected
bringing together of kindred spirits. You could find a drinking buddy for the
night or make a lifelong friend. Who knows? The whole world is waiting for you
and all you have to do in return is simply show up. At least that is how it
should be. You see, sometimes the timing is just not quite there.
It was the third
time I had been to that particular bar. On both prior occasions I had been left
to drink alone. This was not by my choosing. I tried to start conversations
with people who I presumed to be of a similar age and in a similar situation,
but without success. The biggest problem seemed to be the language barrier. It
felt like I was the only English speaker in that part of town. Every person I
spoke to possessed a different native tongue and we would never progress past
the most basic of pleasantries. I put it down to luck. Unfortunately for me, it
was the wrong kind of luck.
There is, of
course, only so much disappointment a person can take. I was nearing the fill
of mine. By the time I had finished my first drink on that third night I could
already predict where the evening was heading. It got me to thinking that maybe
it was time for me to move on. Find a new city. Make a fresh start. I would do
whatever it took to break the cycle of loneliness.
With my mind
made up, I was all set to leave when I noticed her sitting in a booth over the
other side of the bar. That was the moment that changed everything. She was the
most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Not just in the superficial, lustful way
(although she certainly invoked that feeling too), but in the way that hooks
your mind, body and soul all at the same time. The best part was, like me, she
appeared to be on her own.
Normally, in
this kind of a situation I would be quick to go over and introduce myself.
Sometimes it is best to act before you have time to think. I have always found
there to be a fine line between what comes across as charm and what comes
across as smarm, with the more I improvise, the better, seeming to be the
general rule of thumb. On this occasion, however, I was apprehensive. I had
been alone for too long and it was affecting my confidence. Before even trying
I had already resigned myself to defeat.
I ordered
another beer to steady my nerves. To say I felt conflicted was an
understatement. Despite fearing that all I would likely gain from speaking to
her would be rejection and another dent in my self confidence, I could not
allow myself to leave without at least trying. What if she was just as lonely
as I was? What if she would actually be grateful of me making the effort to speak
to her? What if I stopped acting like such a loser and just went over there and
said hello?
In between each
sip of my beer I tried to steal a glance in her direction. There was still the
danger that we may not even understand one another. It had happened before. It
had happened too many times for me to even remember. The more I thought about
it, the more I realised that I had no idea what her nationality was. Her skin
was tanned, but was not everybody’s in this part of the world? She could have
been from the Mediterranean or Manchester for all I knew.
Whilst I
continued to stall, she finished her cocktail. There was an illustrated menu on
the bar and from this I was able to discern that her drink had been
non-alcoholic. It was a mixture of orange and cranberry, the colour of which
perfectly matched that of her hair (I don’t know if it quite counts as a
fetish, but I always did have a thing for redheads). She declined the barman’s
offer of a top-up and stood, presumably to leave. That was when our eyes met. This
was my one and only chance to try and make an impression on her.
Should I smile
or try to play it cool?
I had given
myself two perfectly valid options, but somehow managed to choose a third. I
let my nerves get the better of me and cast my gaze downwards, towards the
floor. This was the worst thing I could have done. I was three thousand miles
from home and all alone. I had the most beautiful girl I had ever seen looking
at me and I had nothing to lose. Yet there I was, staring at my feet. My big
fat ugly feet.
They say the
first thing a girl looks at in a man is his feet. I hoped this was not true.
The temperature had been in the high 30’s since I arrived in the country and it
rarely dropped much lower at night. I had long since discarded my trainers for
a pair of much more airy sandals and thanks to the Malay tradition of no
footwear indoors, I spent a lot of time barefoot. This had left me with Hobbit
feet; bloated, hairy and hideous.
Of course, now,
like then, I procrastinate. There was only so much time I could spend counting
my toes. With that in mind, I dared another sideways glance at the girl. She
was still looking at me, but not quite in the way I would have hoped. She
seemed intrigued rather than interested. A girl like her would no doubt be used
to guys staring at her, so to now have one going to such great lengths not to
look at her must have been a first.
I glanced back
to my feet then back to the girl. I do not need anybody to tell me how
ridiculous this was. It was starting to get embarrassing. If the window of
opportunity had ever been there, it was now surely closed. I was hopelessly out
of my league and it must have shown.
Why did this have to happen now
, I
thought,
whilst my confidence was so low?
As if sensing my
discomfort, her smile broke into a giggle. She then shifted her glance toward
the door before bringing it back to me. She repeated the action several times
whilst making her way to the exit.
She’s looking at
me. She’s looking at the door. She’s looking at me. She’s looking at the door.
Before leaving,
she offered me one last glance over her shoulder. Despite my earlier anxiety, I
sensed that she wanted me to follow. Or maybe, I just
hoped
that she
wanted me to follow. Either way, one thing was certain; I was going to follow.
It was not long
since I had arrived in South East Asia. Two, maybe even three weeks. It is hard
to keep track of time when you do not have a job.
Naturally, the
change of culture was a shock to the system. My trip began in Kuala Lumpur and
it was not long since the city had been home to the world’s tallest building. I
assumed that you could not get any more modern than supersized skyscrapers. It
seemed like the ideal place to make a staggered adjustment into an alien
society. I could not have been more wrong. Outside of the modern central
business district the city was a convoluted mess of clashing cultures all
struggling to find their place in the twenty-first century.
I did not stick
around the capital for long. Once I left my small inner-city windowless box of
a hotel room, I headed north, to the city of Georgetown on the island of
Penang. Sun, sand and sea cannot be too different whatever the culture and I
figured I would have no problem finding friends once I got to the coast. Again,
I was wrong. For some reason, luck was just not on my side.
Of course,
beating myself up was not going to make things any better. It was clear that
the only way my situation was going to improve was if I took direct action to
change it myself. I had to start taking chances and stop worrying about the
threat of failure. That was why I had to follow her.
With a fresh
sense of purpose, I quickly finished what was left of my drink and exited the
bar.
I stepped out
onto a poorly lit street. There were no streetlamps or electric storefronts,
just the occasional glow from a house window to provide illumination. Clumsily
parked cars lined each side of the road and an open drainage system ran
parallel to the pavement. A constant upward flow of steam marked this potential
hazard out to any passing pedestrian. It was typical Georgetown, really.
By this time the
girl was already ten or so metres ahead of me. Every so often she would glance
back over her shoulder. I could tell she was deliberately slowing down; waiting
for me to catch up with her. This afforded me time to rebuild my confidence
before the inevitable introduction. What neither of us realised was that I was
not the only person taking an interest.
The mugger had
been hiding behind a parked car. Rather than a simple snatch and run, he bundled
the girl into a side alley. The thief made his move with lightning speed, but
he also made one fundamental flaw. He had launched his cowardly assault in full
view of a witness. With my head light from beer and my hormones going wild for
the girl, it did not occur to me that I would be in danger too. I clenched my
fists and hurled myself down the alley to help.
The thug did not
flee when I caught up to them. He pushed the girl to the ground and turned to
engage me. Up close, I could see that he was shorter than I; maybe by as much
as three or four inches. The weight advantage was also in my favour. I am lean,
but athletic, whereas he appeared slight and skinny. I knew instantly that I
could take this guy.
Not
surprisingly, he was the one to throw the first punch. It was a clumsy and ill
timed attack. He overreached, which left him off balance and vulnerable as I
stepped to the side and intercepted his swing with a firmly delivered blow to
the gut, knocking the wind out of him. If not for the alcohol inside of me, I
doubt I could have pulled it off so successfully, but that hardly mattered.
This was the first time I had been in a fight since middle school and I was
happy to be riding my luck. I struck him again, across the face this time. He
was left dazed by the impact and as I rammed him up against the wall of the
alley, I could see nothing left apart from fear in his eyes. The fight was
clearly won, so I shoved him back into the road where he could run away like
the coward that he was.
The girl was still
on the floor, curled into a tight, protective ball. I offered my hand to help
her back onto her feet, which she took gratefully to pull herself up. As far as
I could tell, she did not appear to have any physical injury.
‘Are you okay?’
I asked.
She did not
answer. She merely raised her arm and pointed over my shoulder. I guessed at
once what this meant; the thug was not giving up like I had expected him to.
This did not worry me too much. I had bested him once and was fully confident
that I could do so again. I was still high on adrenaline and a part of me
actually looked forward to having a second go at giving this creep what he
deserved. Without hesitation, I turned to face him once more.
The sight facing
me wasn’t what I was expecting and my confidence dissipated as quickly as it
had appeared. The odds had changed considerably since our first scuffle and not
in my favour. This time I was afraid. Very afraid. The mugger was holding a gun
and he pointed it directly at us.
Instinctively, I
stepped in front of the girl. At that moment I would have gladly taken a bullet
to protect her. Even though we had never even spoken to one another, I felt
that keeping her away from harm was all that mattered. All of my memories
leading up to that moment had vanished along with any aspirations for what may
follow. Nothing existed anymore apart from the girl, myself and the gun. Deep
down, I knew it was the end.
I closed my
eyes.
An almost
deafening screech exploded into the air. This was followed by several much more
concise bangs. I assumed that I was being shot, but I felt no pain. In fact, I
did not feel anything. There was no impact. Nothing. This could mean only one
thing; the thief was not shooting at me. He was not shooting at the girl
either, because I could still feel her behind me, her breath warming the back
of my neck.
I opened my eyes
to see the gunman illuminated by a spotlight like a lone figure on a stage. He
was standing with his body turned at a ninety degree angle to myself, shooting
up into the street. This was when I realised that it was not a spotlight
shining on him, but car headlights.
The force of the
collision flipped the thief onto the bonnet where he rolled into the
windscreen, cracking it as easily, though certainly not as painfully as his
ribs. The vehicle then carried on without stopping until it got to the end of
the street, taking the mugger with it. Then, finally, the driver broke hard,
using the sudden reversal of momentum to jettison his unwelcome passenger onto
the tarmac before speeding away into the night.
The girl was now
standing alongside me, as surprised by the unfolding scene as I was.
‘Oh God, is he
dead?’ she asked.
This was the
first time I had heard her speak. Her accent was American. From my knowledge of
US television, I guessed from the West coast, California perhaps. Despite the
gravity of the question, her words had a laid-back feel to them. Images of
golden beaches and pot smoking surfers gathered around a campfire came to mind.
‘I don’t know,’
I replied. ‘Maybe we should call the police.’
‘No; we should
just go.’
I looked around
and saw that the street was both quiet and still. As far as I could tell, we
were the only witnesses. Cities in this part of the world were not like cities
back home. There was no CCTV in operation and it seemed like we could make a
clean break. Well, clean in the sense of not being caught at least. Until the
adrenaline wore off there was no way of knowing if my conscience would escape
quite so easily.
‘What about the
guy?’ I asked. ‘We can’t just leave him.’
‘Why not?’ she
replied, without giving his body a second look. ‘He was about to kill us. I’m a
long way from home and the last thing I want is to spend the night in a police
station. That guy made his choice and now he can suffer the consequences.’