The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (17 page)

“They’ve been clever in setting up a series of accounts, backed by dummy companies, which cannot be traced to Jaisaen. But yes, we believe he is behind the plot. I mean, really, he admits as much in the many speeches he is so fond of giving nowadays.”

Declan changed course. “But what happened this afternoon. You’re a spook. A very deadly spook I might add.”

“Any complaints?”

“Not a one. But I do have a question: Were you sent to Chiang Mai to take out Thanat Jaisaen?”

Pantrem laughed. “Good lord no! I said bring him to his knees, or at least bring him to his senses. We’d much rather have him on our side. But first I needed to dredge up as much as I possibly could on the man.”

“You want to work with a homicidal maniac?” Declan asked with disbelief.

“Well, the events of the past two days have put matters into a different light.”

“Which brings us to the present and what to do about it I suppose,” Declan murmured into his empty mug. The realization that Oum was either dead or staring straight into the abyss began to weigh heavy.

Sensing his thoughts, Pantrem stated: “Your girl is alive.”

“You sound so sure. I wish I shared your confidence.”

“If she was meant to be dead, a whore saloon owner, she’d have been splayed all over that pool table. This butcher uses death as a message.”

If crude, the reasoning was sound and buoyed his spirits ever so slightly. Declan looked at his watch. His meeting with Martin Gay’s mystery lady set for seven. It was a meeting that might well lead him to the butcher. He wouldn’t be late. There was no other choice but to trust Pantrem and, if today was any indication, he’d need a bodyguard. “We need to clean up Bangkok Man! I’ve got a date and you’re my chaperone.” 

As they rose from the table, Declan’s phone lit up. He peered down onto the screen. It read: Unidentified Caller. This was not unusual and, given the circumstances, it was a call he’d take.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Power, I haven’t much time so I’ll need you to listen closely.”

Declan held the phone tight. His heart was pounding at a furious rate but he knew the importance of keeping his cool. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Tomorrow you’ll cover the events at Mengrai University,” the voice replied. It was a man. The accent was non-distinct but appeared to be a native English speaker. “Simply do your job and cover this glorious event. Then, after our leader has given his speech, you’ll be allowed an audience with him to finish your interview. It is simple, one two, and then everything will become clear.”

“Ok,” Declan replied calmly. “I can do that. But I’m more interested in my lady. If she is returned to me unharmed you’ll get your story.”

“But of course. She’ll be delivered to you safe and sound tomorrow.”

“I need better than that friend. I’ll need assurances, direct contact, that Oum is safe and unharmed. Otherwise I’m your worst enemy.”

Declan could detect a slight snicker on the other end of the line. Even Phitak looked at him oddly. “Now is not the time to get aggressive Mr. Power. Your job is with the pen and mine, well, I’m not so different from your guardian angel Mr. Pantrem.  Still, my message has been sent. Wait just one moment and I’ll connect you to your girlfriend.”

The line went dead. Power looked pensively at his phone. Phitak looked around. He was on alert for an ambush. “Come on, let’s move,” he said grabbing Declan by the arm.

But Declan stood his ground. “No. I’m waiting to hear from Oum.”

Bangkok Man squeezed just a bit tighter. “Walk and chew gum at the same time mate. She’s alive. That’s the way I want to stay and a sitting target is a dead target.”

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬After a certain period of time, a person will adapt to the most onerous of conditions. The abhorrent smells become less so and the body adjusts to attain a modicum of comfort. Oum even found she was willing to engage in conversation with Martin Gay, the most wretched of her many ills.

“My wife and my daughter?” Martin Gay’s pleading tone almost brought Oum to pity him.

“They are in my village, safe, far from here. Declan took care of that.”

“Good good,” Martin said rubbing the unkempt growth that was morphing into a beard. A weight visibly seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. “Declan is very clever.”

Oum nodded in agreement. “He’ll come,” she replied revealing little emotion.

Footsteps could be heard approaching. Faintly at first but the crisp gait, military like, came ever closer stopping at their cell. A man, a foreigner, entered. Dressed in a stylish navy blue sports coat perfectly fitted over a gray turtle neck shirt, the man appeared out for a night on the town. He was a gentleman. His hair neatly trimmed and combed rendering his graying features a sense of sophistication. His night would not be spent in a tavern such as her beloved Best Bar. 

“Good evening,” the man said allowing a slight smile to appear on his chiseled face.

Oum glanced sideways at Martin Gay. The gate remained open and no guards had accompanied the gentleman. He seemed to read her thoughts. “Oh, I’m much sturdier than that gate Miss. In any case, I wish you no harm. On the contrary, I’d like connect you with Declan Power. So if you’d please smile for the camera I’ll be able to be on my way.”

This was good news. Whatever murderous drama she had been dragged into, it appeared her life, and Declan’s, had some value. There was hope, if only a glimmer. She stood up, smiled, and flashed the man the finger.

Declan waited while Pantrem surveyed the early evening traffic which was beginning to gather on Charoenrat Road and its river promenade. An eclectic group of local residents mingled with mostly European tourists enjoying a leisurely walk along the Ping River. Declan thought of the times he and Oum would pass the early evening hours away sitting on the banks of the river drinking cheap wine and downing heaps of Pad Thai. A lump took hold of his throat. The thought that those memories would exist only in the past tense started to take hold of his body. He fought to breath.

Phitak motioned for him to exit the restaurant. Declan didn’t want his weakness to betray him. He stood planted to the ground. His phone pulsated. A video message had arrived. He fumbled to open the image. There she was. Defiant. Proud. Alive. It was like an electric voltage careened through his body. He didn’t bother to suppress his relief.

“That’s my girl,” he shouted placing his phone in Phitak’s hand. Declan’s throat tightened and he quickly wiped away a tear.

Pantrem looked down and laughed. “You’re right. She’s a keeper.”

They decided to walk. It was only a mile or so and a short walk across the Nawarat Bridge. They strode silently each married to his thoughts. Oum was alive. That was all that mattered. It was enough for now to know they were still in the game Declan considered. Pantrem observed the multitude of couples breezily enjoying their lives. It was a pleasure he had not been able to enjoy. He lived in the shadows. The shadows, his mentor once observed, was a place reserved for single occupancy.

“I believe in God,” he offered flatly. Martin waited for a response. None was forthcoming. “I know you think me the Devil, but I got by the only way I knew.”

Oum got up, paced around her little nook, and spat. “You got by with a basket of lies.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him strangely. There was something serene about him. Despite his horrid condition, Martin Gay seemed at peace. This made her shudder more, for only a completely crazy person could find solace in this place. Then again, perhaps he truly had found God, whatever that fact meant. She walked to the gated door. It stood as he had claimed. The rusted iron gate hung only loosely attached to its frame. She gave it a shake. Flakes of rock tumbled down landing by her feet. The sun had set. She could feel it. A thought pounced on her brain, a sense of adrenaline overtaking her. “Tonight! It must be tonight. We’ll bring this gate down.”

“No.”

How could he be so calm? “What do you mean, ‘no,’ we can do this,” she exalted her voice reaching a frantic level.

“Declan will set us free. We must wait.”

“But how do you…”

Martin Gay held up his hand. “God has spoken to me.”

Oum buried her head in her hands. She could not fell the barrier alone. “You truly have gone mad you lying bastard.” 

More footsteps could be heard. This time the clattering was oafish. There appeared to be several people clamoring down the stone hallway. A sob could be heard mingling with the hoofish racket. Finally, arriving at the entrance, a guard opened the door. A lady and young girl were thrust roughly into the cell falling to the hard dank floor. The guard violently kicked the lady in the stomach transforming her sobs into shrieks of pain. A lady, young and glamorous, emerged from behind the burly guard and began to video the beating.

Oum bolted up in horror. “Rose,” she screamed in anguished surprised.

Upon recognition of her name Rose’s eyes lit up. Yet she remained silent. The camera was held steady in her hand as she recorded the assault. The look on her face did not try to conceal her pleasure. Oum could not believe what she saw. She sprung at the guard who continued his barrage of kicks on his defenseless victim. Her nails raked across his face. The guard turned his venomous attention to his attacker. “No,” Rose shouted icily. She shoved the camera into her purse and abruptly left the cell. The guard reluctantly followed suit. Oum knelt down to comfort the lady who remained motionless her body racked in pain.

The little girl broke into tears. “Mommy, mommy,” she cried. Oum brought her close. It was a girl she knew, the mother as well. The mystery of the Lan Na Ripper grew even deeper. Why were some allowed to live and others allowed to wallow in filth?

The trick of any good confidence man is to look rich. The wealthier looking the better. Nobody expects the fat cat to fleece you. Not illegally in any case. Wealth can be exhibited in a number of ways. Cars, clothes, boats, homes are each idiomatic symbols, trophies if you will, announcing the fact that I’m fat. But nothing advertises wealth more than broads. High society crystal champagne glass clinking dames speak big money. Martin Gay was a skilled con man.

Declan was used to being in the presence of eye popping jaw dropping beauty. It was his job. But there was something about this particular chick that sat across from him that made even his knees buckle. Looking like she just stepped out of a World War II noir film, this Thai Lauren Bacall lookalike wore her beauty with ease. It wasn’t the beauty that tossed him though. It was the fear. She did not bother to hide the dread which was bubbling forth. Beauty mixed with vulnerability. Declan Power was sitting across from a dangerous cocktail.

Her eyes nervously darted about. Declan took note of the room. There was only one way out. Well two if one included the river. He did. This was a high end nightclub set beside the Four Seasons Hotel. The place was just filling up. He allowed himself a slight smile. This joint may not be on his beat, but it wasn’t so much different. Older men, young women, the only difference was the bill. He’d wait for her to talk. It was her meeting. She held her tongue. Pensively folding and unfolding her napkin she seemed on the verge of taking a plunge herself. He decided to break the ice. “What’s your name?”

Finally she looked up. Her stare was magnetic. “You can call me Bell. Martin Gay told me to contact you.”

Her voice was slightly husky. The English perfect, but almost over-rehearsed, recently acquired. “And why do you need to contact me?”

“I told you, on the phone, I am in danger.”

“You told me you are afraid of Thanat Jaisaen. Why?”

“He is my uncle. Certain things have been set in motion. Dangerous things. And I need to get away from him, from here, as fast as possible.”

Declan noted her demeanor, slightly fidgeting in her seat, the eyes constantly scanning. “You didn’t answer the question.” He pushed hard keeping his tone sharp. There was more at stake than a blockbuster story.

She was dressed to dazzle, but he wasn’t falling into that trap. This bird would sing.

Her nose crinkled. “Why,” she said with disgust. “Men are always looking for reasons.” She slid her mobile phone across the table.

Declan picked it up. The phone was set to a streaming video. He looked closely at the drama that was unfolding. “Shit,” he said slowly.

“Bangkok, this minute.”

The video silently showed a city erupting in flames, cars being tossed over; the powder keg of open rebellion set off. He shot a glance over at Pantrem. Bangkok Man too had his eyes glued to his screen. He shot Declan a brusque glance, abruptly rose, waved off the waitress, and headed for the exit.

Declan retained his focus on Bell. “If you want to leave, just get over to the airport and hop on a jet. Why do you need me?” He sensed a trap. The ‘Mayor’ had fallen into a well constructed trap. The Chief and Job were being prepared for burial. And, if not for Phitak Pantrem, he’d be in a body bag as well. He thought of Oum. He never should have let her leave his side. Now she was in a trap, or worse. He needed to be sharp, alert, no false steps allowed.

“My Uncle took my passport and he controls my money,” Bell answered. “I’m trapped. But I have enough to make it worth your while.”