Hi everyone. It's been a while, in fact it's been just over one year since I wrote a story. Well, here's one for you. Darker than most, and definitely has adult themes. Since it's about 3500 words, I'll break it on two for easier reading. As always, I will appreciate any comments.
Brevity
Wipada wiped the inside of his Glock 36 slide and receiver clean with a soft cloth and looked over at his partner Noon. Quicker, but less meticulous than Wipada, Noon had already reassembled his matching Glock. He wiped a smudge on the slide with his shirt sleeve and then pulled out the magazine and pulled back the slide, listening to the familiar clicking sounds. With smooth, rapid motions, he pushed six Black Talon cartridges , one after another, into the top of the magazine, snapped it back into the grip, and pulled back and released the slide. Wipada repeated the actions of his partner, but he pressed the shiny silver cartridges with the black bullet more slowly, almost lovingly, into the magazine. He smiled to himself - he knew he would need only one of the cartridges.
Dusk was falling on Bangkok, and with it the dust and grime that hovered in the heat and glare of the sky all day settled to street level, adding to the heaviness and toxicity of the traffic fumes. Inside the small, dim hotel room off Sukhmumvit Soi 42 the tracking device blinked a deep blue color. Noon examined it. The target was still at home, in his apartment eight blocks away. He glanced at his watch and motioned to Wipada. His partner looked down at his own watch and nodded. They had shadowed the target for two weeks. His evening routine was regular. He would be departing his apartment on his motorbike in another 30 minutes, headed west toward the Phra Khanong riverfront.
“I wish I could see you sooner, sweetheart, but I just can’t. I can’t take another furlough until May.”
“I know. Yes, I know that. But I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, sweetheart. I think about you every day.”
“I don’t want to be here without you. I am a single lady, all alone.”
Tui wiped the sweat from his forehead, folded his step ladder up against the wall, and pressed the “on” button on the remote control. The cool air from the newly installed wall air conditioner blew frigid air down upon his head. He glanced about the room. A king-size bed took up most of the space, partially blocking the door. The dark wood of the make-up vanity next to the bed was sprinkled heavily with talcum powder. A bristle hairbrush, a small bottle of coconut oil, two tubes of lipstick, a vial of blood-colored fingernail polish, several Emory boards and a mascara brush were scattered carelessly across the surface of the table. He picked up the hairbrush and pulled out several fine, long, black strands of hair, fondling them between his fingers. He looked above the dark wooden wardrobe to see a brass, pot-bellied Buddha smiling back at him. On one side of the Buddha was placed an eight-by-ten photograph of King Bhumibol Adulyadej; on the other side was placed an eight-by-ten photograph of a smiling couple at a restaurant. Tui recognized the woman in the photograph as the woman of the house who hired him to install the air-conditioner. The man in the photograph was a foreigner, a farang. Tui grunted.
“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry now. The months will go by faster than you think.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I just feel so all alone.”
“Well, you just remember. You are here in my heart, and I am there with you in your heart. You see? So you’re not alone after all.”
“But it’s not the same. It’s not the same. When you are here, I feel happy - and safe. When you are gone…”
Lamai turned the corner on her motor-scooter and cast a nervous glance down the pot-holed alley toward her tiny home. At five o’clock in the afternoon, the relentless sun had begun to wane in the western sky over the Chatuchack District of Bangkok. As she pulled up to her iron gate, Lamai glanced again behind the banana trees in front of her next door neighbor’s home and at the scrub trees in the vacant lot across the alley. Reassured that no one was lying in wait for her, she dismounted, turned her key in the padlock, and slid the gate open on its rollers. She pushed the motor-scooter inside and quickly closed the padlock behind her. She looked once more up and down the alley before unlocking the front door to her house.
Twenty-three-year-old Lamai had moved to Bangkok two years ago in an effort to remove herself from the dismal life that was her destiny in her home village near the tiny town of Roi Et in eastern Thailand. She had disgraced her family by becoming pregnant while unmarried at the age of 20. When the baby died at childbirth, there was nothing left for Lamai. She decided to move to the city where she could begin life anew. Knowing her soft, vulnerable nature, her friends told her she would never survive the rough and rowdy haunts of Bangkok and urged her instead to set herself up in Udon Thani or Khon Kaen or one of the other towns in the East.
Jared Williams logged out of his online banking website, and logged in to his e-mail account. He typed, “Warner, I just transferred the final installment. I can’t thank you enough for your assistance in all of this.” He wondered if he should say more, but decided that Warner would appreciate brevity as the more prudent course. He hit the “send” button.
Jared sat back in his chair and put his hand up to his mouth. He recalled that he and Warner had served together at Kadena Airbase on Okinawa back when Jared was still a First Lieutenant. Jared was the intellectual, quiet and introverted; Warner was what he himself called “a man of action,” gregarious, and inclined toward adventure. It may have been their difference in temperament that allowed their friendship to flourish. Over the years, they had maintained contact by e-mail and occasional phone calls. Last May, when Jared took his R&R in Thailand, he called Warner, who was now assigned there in counter-intelligence.
Over lunch at the Seafood Market off Sukhumvit 24, Jared knew better than to ask Warner about the details of his assignment. It was Warner who volunteered that he worked closely with the Thai police. And he made an offhand remark that stuck in Jared’s mind - “The Thai police and the Thai mafia are one and the same,” he laughed. “Let’s say you need something done here. If the police can’t do it officially, then you can go talk with them after hours. It will get done. It might cost you some money, but it will get done.”
Noon and Wipada holstered their guns, put on their light leather jackets, and slid silently out the door, leaving it open, and the room completely empty behind them. Once on the street and perched on their motorbikes, they tied purple bandanas around their neck, covering their mouth and nose. As they accelerated down the alley and turned onto the main road, they blended in with the thousands of other motorbikes, automobiles, and tuk-tuks that crowded the streets, horns blaring and exhaust sputtering.
They waited in the shadows a block from the target’s apartment building. They would appear calm and nonchalant to any casual onlooker, but adrenaline was surging in their veins. Noon cast his eyes nervously up and down the alley every half-minute. Wipada was cooler. He did not take his eyes off the apartment building’s garage gate. There! Movement! Wipada was sure it was the target even without checking the tracking device. He was heavy, but not overweight, with an arrogance, and an ugliness, and a dirtiness about him that was unmistakable even a full block away. He turned out of the garage and headed away from the two partners. They waited five seconds, then started their engines and followed five hundred feet behind.
“You are easy to love, sweetheart. But why are you crying so much? Is something else going on? It’s okay, sweetheart. You can tell me anything.”
“You are so sweet for me.”
“I never heard you cry so much before. Come on, sweetheart. Tell me what is on your mind.”
The woman skipped into the room, smiling, happy and carefree. She wore cut-off jeans and a loose, white t-shirt. “Finished already?” she asked. “Oh, that’s just what I need,” she said, clapping her hands in girlish merriment. She stood next to Tui and let the rush of cool air blow her long hair in disordered, velvety streams. “It gets so hot in here at night.”
Tui looked into her face. She was astonishingly beautiful. His eyes dropped lower. Her nipples were clearly visible through her t-shirt. He felt a warmth course through him despite the air conditioning. She’s come in to check on me three times already, he thought to himself. And now this. It’s clear that she wants me. It’s obvious.
The woman closed her eyes and turned her face into the current of cool air. Tui was once again struck by her beauty, the curve of her neck, the fullness of her lips, the arch of her brow, and the suppleness of her body. Her lips parted slightly and curled into a smile. The warmth that Tui felt intensified.
When the woman opened her eyes, they met those of Tui, and she felt an icy chill. He was taller than most Thai men, and heavier. He appeared to be in his mid-to late 40s. She had not paid much attention to him when she let him into her house before - after all, he was just a handy-man - but now she noticed a dirtiness and an ugliness about him. The look on his face was repulsive, and the expression in his eyes was frightening. She suddenly became aware of herself and her own sexuality. She quickly grabbed a thin red sweater that had been lying on the bed and pulled it on over her t-shirt.
To be continued...
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