Read Online Bangkok Haunts by John Burdett - Free Book Online Page B

everything about him except for his name.” Turning to me, Lek says, “He’s very big in advertising, practically runs the industry here. He’s in his midforties and wears tons of gold. Keeps very fit, prefers
katoey
s to women but hates regular gays. Always uses a condom. Right?”
    Pi-Oon seems genuinely put out. The palm presses the cheek again with the head on one side. “Oh my, did I really say
all that
?” Proudly: “It’s true he’s incredibly rich.” He giggles and makes Lek smile despite himself. “
Very
well endowed. On the first night I said, darling, there’s nothing for it, I’m going to have to charge you by the
inch.
Of course he loved that.
Laugh?
We have
such
a great time together, we’re even thinking about marriage, maybe in Canada where it’s legal. He’s a tiger in bed but gentle as a lamb the rest of the time. I’m sure he didn’t know it was a real snuff movie.”
    “Course he did,” from Lek.
    Stoned, Pi-Oon turns gray. “D’you think so? Oh my, I’m
sure
he didn’t have
anything
to do with it. Some rich buddy of his must have loaned it to him, someone
straight,
you know, because let’s face it, straight sex can be very very weird these days, what
women
will do with their bodies—well, I don’t need to tell you, you’re all cops.”
    “Tell us his name, or we’ll whip you to within an inch of your life,” Lek says, looking firm.
    “Promise?”
    Now both
katoey
s have collapsed with laughter, and I’m scratching my jaw, feeling out of place. When Pi-Oon has recovered, he says, “Would you two honor my humble home by smoking some export-quality stuff with me? My man gave it to me, and you know what they say about money? It attracts the best.”
    “I don’t smoke,” Lek says. “But
he
does.”
    “Do you, darling?” Pi-Oon says, looking at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the cops.” More giggles.
    Naturally I refuse, but while Pi-Oon is getting his kit out from a box in the corner of the hut, Lek whispers to me that his friend is even more loose-tongued on grass than he is on alcohol. If someone doesn’t smoke with him, though, he’ll get self-conscious. I am also amazed to see Pi-Oon produce a homemade vaporizer, using a soldering iron stuck into the top of a large bell jar from which a long transparent tube emerges.
    “I’m
very
health conscious,” Pi-Oon explains. “My father was a chain-smoker, and I had to watch him die, poor lamb. I said to myself, Pi-Oon, you’re never going to smoke
anything
in your life,
ever
again, but they say the vaporizer is totally safe. I got the instructions on how to make it from the Internet.”
    He plugs the soldering iron into a socket, and within seconds a little wire basket of marijuana has started fuming inside the jar. Pi-Oon takes a couple of tokes, offers it to Lek, who refuses, and passes it to me. I have never used a vaporizer before and simply suck as if it were a joint, taking it all down as far as the esophagus and beyond. There is very little odor or taste, so I think it cannot be very strong and is maybe not exactly export quality as Pi-Oon insists, so I take a couple more tokes, which amazes Pi-Oon. “Wow!
Well,
you’re a real smoker, I can tell. Frankly, any one of those puffs would have been enough for me.” He takes a surprisingly modest toke himself, before passing it back. To be honest, I’m a little frustrated that the stuff doesn’t seem to have much effect, so I suck up a few more bottles of fumes, then sag against the wall. I know that I’ve misjudged the strength of the product when the guy in the mural starts to play the saxophone and I can hear one of the riffs from
Blade Runner.
    “Paul,” I hear myself saying in English, “I’m so impressed with your decision to reject the materialism of contemporary culture in favor of a more spiritual lifestyle.” Lek giggles while Gauguin seems to be giving me a perplexed look. “But tell me, how do you make them move?” It’s true, the