The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (10 page)

The Chief rarely went out on the town without his heavy set bodyguard and his primary lieutenant. As per usual, he was also accompanied by one of his mia noi’s, little wife. The bodyguard sat off to the side, not privy to any conversations, while the lieutenant’s ‘little wife’ sat silently by his side.

Pao also noted Declan’s entrance. He motioned to a nearby table. Oum easily started up a chat with the girls as the Chief, his lieutenant, and Declan each pulled up a chair at the vacant table.

They stared at each other with heavy set eyes. Little sleep had been acquired over the previous days. Declan broke the ice.

“You paid a visit to my friend yesterday.”

Pao nodded. “Part of investigation,” he snapped. 

Power looked each in the eye. “Not any more. Ben Post is dead or at the very least severely mutilated.”

The Chief’s top assistant pursed his lips. “It is worse than that Declan.”

Declan scanned the Chief’s face for any trace of fear. Surprisingly he found that trace. “Rose.”

“I left her at her apartment in the afternoon and my men said she got on stage last night. That’s the last I saw of her. Buddha is my witness.”

He wanted to counsel his friend about the dangers of mixing business with pleasure. Better to stick with his wife and, in the Thai way, his ‘little wife.’ Seemingly reading his thoughts, Pao blurted, “Have you seen her Power?”

With a nod of the head Declan answered in the affirmative. “Indeed she is, well was, this month’s centerfold. I just came from the photo shoot.”

“Then you’ve been in contact with her,” The Chief exclaimed hopefully.

“No, sorry Chief, she’s fallen off the map. Last anyone saw of her was when she left with Ben and another girl from the club. Last anybody saw of each of them,” he added ruefully.

A bottle of the 2012 Two Paddocks Riesling was set on the table along with a plate of carpaccio with gorgonzola. They remained silent as the waiter returned with a pizza accompanied by osso buco, gnocchi, pansatti, and ravioli. The waiter began to serve the ladies. 

Pao let out a derisive laugh. “It is good to be a pampered woman. Let the man carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and reap the rewards.”

Job and Declan laughed in agreement. In a more serious tone Declan added: “Oum was followed earlier today. I’m not sure by whom as they kept their helmet on.”

Pao and Job shared a brief look. Job waved for the Chief’s bodyguard and whispered something in his ear. Pao patted Declan on the shoulder sympathetically. “Oum is Mia Yai, your first wife; I’ll make sure Poom keeps an eye out for her.”

Allowing the hulking minion to walk away, Job offered drily, “Well, at least we know where the dancer is. And part of Ben I might add.”

The Chief and Declan both shot him a stern glance.

Job swept out his hands and gave a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. “Not time to be polite. We are the suspects in the murders and Rose’s disappearance.”

The news hit his friend’s ears hard. Declan saw the Chief, his friend, and the crestfallen look that clung heavily to his face. The specter of Bangkok Man jumped into his thoughts. It all began to make sense. Bangkok had become wary of Chiang Mai’s increasing influence in Thailand. The powers that be in the city of angels had sent up a hatchet man to cut down some timber. Chief Pao was a mighty tree.

The Chief added somberly. “I just came out of the interrogation room. I was on the wrong side of the table.”

The Chief was many things. Shrewd, ruthless, an opportunist even, but he was also a straight shooter and certainly not a murderer. By Thai standards, he was one of the good guys.

“Clearly Rose made it to the club last night. You are in the clear there,” Declan offered in way of support. “And,” he continued, “Ben was never in your custody. I can attest to that.”

Job raised his hand cutting him off. “A message was on the Chief’s phone. It was Rose from at about two in the morning. She said, in Thai, ‘Now I at your apartment and wait for you. Come soon darling.’”

Declan looked at Pao who emphatically shook his head ‘no.’ “I play with her at Ben’s apartment and then in my hideaway apartment. That’s it!” He motioned to his bodyguard who sat hungrily digging into a plate of spaghetti. “Then he bring Rose to Foxy Lady.”

It was a lot to digest. “Bangkok Man is up here to stir up trouble,” Declan said caressing his unshaven jaw. He had forgotten his daily shave and it was beginning to annoy him.

“Sure! But why me,” Pao retorted angrily his fist pounding the table. “I’m not in bed with these Lan Na fanatics. You know that Declan. I have good relations with Bangkok.”

It was true. Chief Pao took great pleasure in following Declan’s uncovering of the scam being run out of King Mengrai University. He enjoyed seeing Thanat Jaisaen brought down a peg.

“Maybe it is not Bangkok Man that we should be afraid of,” Job stated.

“You might be right Job. Wasn’t it Thanat who gave a speech decrying the Loi Kroh? Didn’t he accuse the police of profiting from the sex trade?”

Pao nodded vigorously. “He gave the big speech in front of the Three King Monument. ‘Let the trash flow freely in the filthy swamps of Bangkok and Pattaya. In Chiang Mai let people see a land of virtue, prosperity, and opportunity.’”

Declan remembered well. Bartholomew Hartin had written a glowing article on Jaisaen’s public works and vision for Chiang Mai in the 21st century. ‘You’ll be out of a job soon Power,’ he had squawked with glee.

That was a pipedream Declan knew and not a vision he had taken seriously. But something was afoot. Times were changing. And he was involved. He was a reporter. Hot on the trail of a story. It was time to burrow further, the greater the danger the higher the reward.

“Look, I have a meeting with Thanat Jaisaen tomorrow. Let me see what I can dig up,” Declan offered trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“He won’t tell you anything of value,” Job replied dismissively.

“Of course not,” Declan shot back. “Not intentionally. A good reporter can see through the cracks. He’ll give up something. But I need something from you Chief.”

“What?” the suddenly despondent police kingpin replied.

The Chief had been put through a lot over the past few days. His authority had been challenged. He was no longer master in his own house. Declan considered that fact; just another case of life teaching a strong lesson.

“Tell me about Bangkok Man.” The request was simple and open-ended, the best way to get a subject to talk.

He ran his hands through his thick graying bushel of hair. He was sweating. “From what I can gather they believe Thanat is getting tricky with the books over at Mengrai University. They believe he is using the tax advantages of the university to fund his private businesses. Or, I suppose, to clean money.”

“That doesn’t quite square though,” Declan frowned. “This is Thailand. He could simply pay a top official in Bangkok and make that go away.”

The Chief raised his hands palm up. “That’s what I know. They saw Martin Gay as a way to get to Thanat. He’d cooperate or go to jail. Then Gay goes missing. You get called to the station. I’m sent to shake up Ben Post. Now I’m a suspect in a murder and abduction.” He downed his glass of wine dejectedly. A glint of light returned to his gaze. An imperceptible smile crept to the edge of his lips. “But I’m not done.”

Declan was glad to see a hint of fire return to his friend’s belly. Then he reminded himself. There were no friends here. Their bond amounted to a fragile alliance. Everybody was working on their own agenda. They were bound by mutual self-interest and it was a fact to always keep close to mind. When their interests no longer walked hand in hand the friend became the enemy. This was the law of the Chiang Mai jungle. A thought came to him. If the Chief wasn’t a Lan Na sympathizer, Bart Hartin was clearly in Thanat Jaisaen’s camp. An encouraging thought leapt into his thoughts. He had a foot in the door. It was all Declan Power needed.  

“Bangkok Man needs me,” he commented casually while rolling the linguini on his fork. “He needs a pair of eyes inside Thanat’s lair. I’ll be the Trojan Horse.”

Job and Pao both looked at him curiously.

“The Trojan Horse,” Declan repeated emphatically. His dinner guests maintained their uncomprehending gaze.

“You know, the Greek war with Troy. Homer for God’s sake.” He was still confronted by their blank stares. Finally, exasperated, Declan stated: “Brad Pitt, Troy, the movie.”

“Yes,” Pao exclaimed stabbing his fork in the air. Job too finally grabbed hold of Declan’s point. “Great movie and great idea Declan,” he added forcefully.

“And,” Declan continued, “This should focus Bangkok Man’s attention away from you Chief.”

The Chief nodded satisfied. “While you do that I’ll have Poom look after Oum at Best Bar. He’ll also stand guard outside your condo until this business is finished.” Declan returned a nod of gratitude.

Their self-interests firmly aligned, a bond rendered stronger, attention was returned to the dazzling array of food and their women.

The smell of the food and taste of the wine was enough to put their problems to the side for a while as the good things in life were set upon their table.

Martin Gay observed the stone door frame which held him captive. His mind was alive. A fresh batch of food had recently been placed in the cell and he could feel his body becoming fortified again. The more he ate the more famished he seemed to be. But, nonetheless, he could feel his facilities return. Gay turned to his friend.

“Shake out of it Ben!” he prodded gently. Again, no reply was forthcoming. “I understand our predicament looks dire mate but we’ve still got life so let’s put it to good use.”

Ben maintained his perpetually taciturn look. Gay returned his attention to the stone frame which held the rusted gate firm. He grabbed the vertical rods and shook the door violently. It was solidly shut. But there was some give in the frame. Hope was alive. He looked around for something to use as a tool. A discarded bone, the marrow sucked out, lay in the corner. Marty picked it up and wedged it in between the small space separating the door from the stone. He put his shoulder into the door while pushing down hard on the bone. There was movement, however slight. He pushed again. The bone suddenly broke in two with one end tumbling just outside the gate. He looked on the splintered limb frantically.

“Shit!” he shouted lowly trying to suppress his terror. He fell to his knees and tried to fit his arm underneath the gate’s heavily rusted doorsill. No luck, the fractured bone was just out of reach. He scrambled to find the other half. Martin brought it up to his mouth where he gashed it with his teeth again and again. Apparently there was more marrow to be had and he sucked it in thirstily. Satisfied, he began to rip the bone into smaller slices. Another thought raced into his mind. He felt the jagged edges of the shards which were now peeling off effortlessly. They were sharp. Weapon like. More hope.

He revisited his primary task. Using the thickest of the slices, he was able to negotiate the fractured limb back into the cave. He gathered his tools into his breast and retired to his dusty corner. He held up the sharp sinewy weapon triumphantly. “You see Ben,” he exclaimed in glee, “Don’t give up the ghost!”

Another night’s patrol of Chiang Mai’s red light district had provided the usual fare. Declan had been hesitant to leave Oum’s side but the Chief’s enforcer stood a sturdy guard against any mischief. Oum herself kept a low profile behind the bar. Declan also trained an eye for any suspicious behavior as he hopped from pub to pub. He was paranoid. Identifying a friend’s body part will have that type of effect. In any case, better paranoid than dead. The night was uneventful.

His first and last stop of the night was to Foxy Lady. No word had been heard from Rose since she left last night with Ben. Mamasan was, rightfully so, angry. Declan had explained the situation, less the gory details, to the go-go’s mother hen. Her anger understandably turned to fear. She had also heard the rumors of a madman, now labeled ‘Jack the Ripper’, roaming the seedy nightlife areas of the city.

Many of the girls tugged at his sleeve plying him for information. He mostly tried to allay their fears while at the same time listening to see if they could provide him with anything useful. They couldn’t. But Lemon, one of the establishment’s hottest piece of merchandise and a former centerfold, did provide something. “Declan, they get into very fancy limo car. A man, the limo man, open door and every people get in.”

“What about the man?” Declan prodded.

Lemon shook her shoulders. “Not know man.”

“How about his shoes? Did you see what he was wearing?”

She flashed the smile which had seduced many a man. “I not care about shoe. First I look at wallet then I look at this,” she laughed while squeezing Declan’s crotch.

He shared the laugh and motioned to the bartender to send Lemon a drink. Mamasan then saddled up to him with a grim countenance.   

Declan didn’t try to sugar coat it. Mamasan also had a business to run. The show went on. But she did secretly photo any man who took one of her girls out for the night.

The photos provided nothing of interest but he’d run them by the Chief and Job in the morning just in case. His temple began to throb.