The Chiang Mai Chronicle: A Declan Power Mystery (3 page)

“What the hell do you want!” he said in a wavering voice.

The Chief’s eyes had yet to leave Rose. He barked some orders to his second in command. Ben understood Thai well. “Question this one! You’ll know if he is lying. If he is, roll him down to the station. I’ll question the girl.”

The Chief then leisurely walked over to Rose and whispered something quietly. Rose giggled. She bounced off the couch, grabbed the Chief’s hand, and led him into Ben’s bedroom.   

Ben could only quietly rage.

The interrogation was torture. Not of the physical nature but rather it was a mental ordeal. In all fairness, the crisply uniformed lieutenant was polite and got right to the point.

“Do you know the whereabouts of Martin Gay?” His English was trained, articulate even. But Ben wasn’t paying attention to that. The romp in the bedroom was just getting started.

“Marty Gay!” Ben snorted. “No.” 

“Look at me,” his interrogator said with a snap of the fingers. “Gay’s chopper is in your carpark is it not,” he continued in the form of a statement.

Ben began to worry. What kind of pickle was Marty in? Only a few days ago Gay had come to his apartment looking for help. ‘Look Ben, I’ve got to sort some things out.’ He should have just told Gay to hit the road.

“Yeah, that’s his bike. He dropped it off here a few days ago, said he had to sort some stuff out.” Was that slapping he heard? That’s exactly what it was, hand meeting ass. And did Rose have to enjoy it so much?

The second in command nodded towards the door. “The Chief likes his fun,” he said with a smirk. “Ok, so Martin Gay leaves a high end chopper with you to drive around the city.” His voice carried a heavy dose of skepticism. “What did he have to sort out?”

“I don’t know mate,” Ben replied truthfully. More slapping and moaning. Shit! A full on orgasm!

A card was handed to him. Ben looked at it absently. “You’ll contact me directly if Martin Gay reappears.” It wasn’t a request. “The keys please.”

“What,” Ben replied distractedly.

“The keys to the Kawasaki please,” the lieutenant snapped.

If his day could get worse, that was it. One hundred thousand cash money to Gay in exchange for a two hundred and fifty thousand baht bike. ‘What can go wrong?’ he heard Marty’s voice clanging in his head.

He wanted to protest. Another slap. Another orgasm. A satisfied giggle. Screw it! He went over to his kitchen table and tossed the keys into number two’s lap.

The bedroom door opened and Rose bounced out. She was brightly dressed in a yellow and blue polka dot summer dress. The dress Ben had bought for her last night. The Chief, a smug satisfied smile on his face, leaned into his underling’s shoulder. Ben couldn’t overhear. The Chief nodded, looked over at Ben, frowned, and walked out the door. Rose followed. 

“Bye Ben! I’ll see you tonight? At Foxy ok?”

“Yeah yeah,” he said waving his finger at the bulky brown shirt’s back.

The door closed. The Kawasaki roared. Ben Post opened his liquor cabinet.

Declan bounded up the stairs to his fourth floor condo. In an effort to shed some pounds, he had foresworn the elevator. He usually began to labor after the second floor but not today. His mind was racing. Martin Gay, the gift that kept on giving. He’d need to contact the Chief. His call had gone unanswered.

Oum was waiting for him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, a concerned look on her face. Declan didn’t notice. He hopped on the futon and began to undress.

“C’mon my bundle of love, give big daddy some afternoon delight!”

This was their ritual. Meet in the afternoon for a ride on the futon followed by a nice lunch. He noticed her look of consternation.

“Declan we need to talk.”

Those were the dreaded five words.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Ok baby, what’s the matter.”

“I talk with Nam today.”

He knew at least ten ladies going by that name. “Ok,” he replied unsuccessfully trying to show some interest.

She motioned for him to join her at the table. His shoulders sagged. He patted the futon’s cushion. Oum shook her head ‘no.’ She meant it.

He reluctantly shuffled to her side. “And what trouble did Nam drop in your lap? We’ve got the wedding to think about Oum. We can’t be lending out any more money.”

Declan softened and wrapped his arms around her. She was always there to help a friend in distress.

“Nam, Marty’s wife.”

His ears jumped. Martin Gay’s wife was in no need of money. She was fat. Thoughts of the futon faded. “I was called down to police headquarters this morning baby.”

“Why?” Oum asked.

“A man, a Bangkok man, questioned me about Martin Gay.”

Her eyes opened wide. She reached into her purse and produced the envelope Nam had given her. She slid it across the table. Declan recognized it for what it was. He was paid in the same fashion down at headquarters. Only this was fatter. He picked it up and held it in his hands. He didn’t need to open it. “There’s one hundred large in here Pilsbury Dough girl.”

Oum nodded. “Doc Martin leave it with Nam. He say to give it to you if have problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“She say government man come to see Marty. Next day he go to meeting and he never come back. Nam want you to find her husband. She say Marty say you are the true friend and you will take care sure.”

Declan flipped the envelope from hand to hand. Martin Gay was a con-artist, a good one. That was beyond a doubt. But what was the con?  He continued to toss the envelope in the air. The smart move was to give it back. Getting in bed with Martin Gay meant trouble. The envelope fell to the floor with a thud. He picked it up. It was fat. Everybody was getting fat.

His mind traced back to the last he had heard from Marty. The time he didn’t mention to Bangkok Man. It was at Best Bar, Oum’s pride and joy. In came ‘Doc’ Martin. He was off the wagon and all lathered up. Declan thought they would finally come to blows. But his former friend had a different way to rub his nose in the dirt. Marty hopped on the bar and gleefully rang the bell. Not once but twice. He grabbed the microphone. “Sold the company! Made a shitload of dough! So go fuck yourself Declan Power.” Before exiting the pub a hero, he ambled up to Declan, spit in his face, and tossed a roll of bills into his lap.

Declan had blown up Martin Gay’s TEFL scam, torpedoed his reputation, all on the front page. But there he was, walking around all puffed up, walking around fat. Declan Power slammed the envelope on the table. He had an idea.  

He took Oum’s cherubic face gently in his meaty palms. “Baby, here’s what we’re going to do.”

The beginning of a story, a truly juicy tale, was like the beginning of a relationship. It was exhilarating. Still there was an element of danger, turf never travelled. The bird would take flight with one wrong move. Trust needed to be built. Declan took a long drag off his Marlboro. He had promised Oum he would quit, but now he was on the chase, a story to be romanced, to be tracked down. The sticks would be cast away later.

He could sit on his balcony, gaze up at the famed mountain monastery of Doi Suthep, and formulate a story in his head. A Jack and Coke cast his mind towards the scent. It was time to game-plan. He’d meet the ‘Mayor’ tonight. Martin Gay had gone missing. If he was hunkered down in Chiang Mai most likely the ‘Mayor’ would know about it. The how was anybody’s guess. But this man held the pulse of Chiang Mai in his palm. That was step one.

The Chief had finally contacted him via sms. ‘Tomorrow, 19:00, meet at Pom Pui, bring wife.’ It was a strange message. The chase was off to a good start. Strange is good when dealing with a potentially hot story. The odder the details meant a hotter account. And something truly odd was going on at the station. That was step two.

Ben Post was another matter. He shook his head, drunk by mid-afternoon. Ben was his best friend in the city. He could trust Ben with just about anything. But his tale was becoming too much like the flotsam and jetsam which make up the majority of the Chiang Mai farang scene: too much booze, too many dames, not enough honest labor. It was a dangerous cocktail. He’d meet up with him at Foxy Lady later that night.

He took the World TEFL Center envelope into his hands. It was thick, a healthy stack of cash. Declan was getting paid. ‘But for what?’ Martin Gay was a skilled conman, a pro’s pro. Declan knew the type. South Boston was littered with the artist of the scam. Some big, some small, but they all had one thing in common: a sharp eye for detail. ‘Doc Martin’ was big. His con, at its height, was netting him in the neighborhood of 10,000 U.S. per month. ‘That’s a nice neighborhood,’ Declan whistled. Martin Gay knew detail.

He walked over to the little safe they kept in the corner of their bedroom. He deposited the cash inside. His payment was secured. There was only one conclusion to draw. Declan Power was being paid to write a story. It was the only thing he could do with any competence, a fact known only too well to Martin Gay. He slapped his hands with determination. “Ok, Martin! You’ll get your story. How it helps you is anybody’s guess.”

Chapter 2

Loi Kroh. Chiang Mai’s red light district, Declan Power’s beat. He thought wryly about the meaning of the famous soi’s name. Loi Kroh: 'wash your bad luck away.' For Declan this indeed had been the case. But for many the opposite effect was true. Loi Kroh was not the place for the naïve. For the soi girls, the vixens who gleefully shouted ‘welcome, welcome’ from beneath the neon signs, they were dinner. The naïve buttered Declan’s bread too.  Legend has it that the regal founder of Chiang Mai, King Mengrai, listened to his priests who foretold of the spirits of the hills, spirits that bore evil intent, were held in check before the entrance to Loi Kroh from the river. It is widely believed they still wait. Patient devils, they sit biding their time for an equally menacing spirit to unlock the gate.

And, Declan reckoned, they would most likely feel right at home amongst the broken concrete, street dogs, squid on a stick and its pungent aroma, underage girls hawking flowers, fortune tellers, and the string of beer bars offering a sexy short term future.

Loi Kroh, to Declan, was not unlike a carnival. You take a risk. Some come out with a stuffed bear. Others, most probably, come out fleeced. Whatever the case, it was not an experience to be forgotten. Once inside, Loi Kroh exerted a strong pull. There were two options. Either take the risk or stay as far away as possible. Declan had taken the risk. He had walked away the stuffed bear.

Oum gave him a deep kiss as she entered Best Bar. It was another of their small daily rituals. An intimate moment, a quiet drink, and then she sent him on his way. Two nights a week he dedicated to finding out the latest gossip, newest girls, and best interview subjects the naughty street had to offer. Tonight he had a tight schedule however. A meeting with the ‘Mayor’ at Stairway To Heaven had been arranged. After that he had promised to meet Ben at Foxy Lady. He grimaced at the thought. Ben was losing the plot. Declan recognized all the symptoms.

Anyway, he was on a story. No time for social work and, in any case, there was no way to help a ‘farang’ falling over the edge.  That was one of the first rules the ‘Mayor’ had taught him. “Lend a hand and prepare to be taken round the bend.” Good advice.

Declan wasn’t sure of the his friend’s fiduciary interest in the establishment, but the ‘Mayor’ had been occupying the same upstairs seat at Stairway To Heaven for as long as Declan had been in the city. If you needed an apartment, you talked to the ‘Mayor.’ If you needed to ditch a too clingy bar-girl, had money problems, needed a teaching gig, wanted a looker hooker to take down to the islands for a three day drunk and bang, you walked up the dilapidated stairs, took a seat, bought the man a drink, and your problems would be quickly addressed. The ‘Mayor’ didn’t have friends, he had clients. But maybe, Declan considered, he and the Mayor had become friends. Not socially. But they rubbed each other’s backs professionally.

Declan was greeted by his friend’s lady. Mama Joy, one of the original mamasans of Loi Kroh district and a true pro. She and the Mayor shared a unique yet loving and caring relationship. He wasn’t sure which one would pass first, they were both blessed with amazingly strong constitutions, but he did know they would share that moment in clenched hands.

“Deek, Deek,” she greeted him in her brightly rouged face. “I have lady for you Deek! She freshy, good for centerfold!”

“Great,” Declan answered with interest. He may be on a story to track down Martin Gay, but he still needed to butter his bread. He looked up at the stage. The girls were enthusiastically grinding to AC/DC’s Hells Bells. The bartender slid him his customary Beer Laos. He scanned the stage. Numbers one through ten were all familiar.

“Where Mama?” he asked somewhat confused.

“Upstairs, talk with Mayor.” 

Declan smiled. Mama Joy laughed. “Why not!” she exclaimed.

“Why not indeed,” he replied. He started for the infamous spiral staircase which led to “Heaven.”

“Declan Power,” he heard yelled from the other end of the stage.

Declan peered down through the strobe lit smoke which hung mischievously over the bar. The bartender came over with a shot of Hennessey. He raised his glass to his unknown benefactor who let out a boisterous Aussie yell: “Thanks for the tip on May mate! She’s done right good by me she has.”