Read Online Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson by Stephen Leather, Warren Olson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Leather, Warren Olson
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…’ He left the sentence unfinished, but I knew what he meant. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. And while he didn’t want the lovely Ying doing the dirty with another guy, having her in bed with another girl every now and again wasn’t the end of the earth. Plus, if ever he decided the time had come to part company, the tape would make the split a hell of a lot easier.
‘The drugs are a bit of a worry,’ I said. If she ever got picked up by the cops while he was with her and they found yah ba, he’d be looking at prison time too.
‘I know about the yah ba,’ he said. ‘Never in the house and never in the car. She promised.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ I said. I wasn’t sure that I’d take the word of a girl who clearly had only a passing relationship with the truth, but Greig Knight was the client and the client is always right. Except, of course, when he’s wrong.
Knight took out his bulging wallet and took out a handful of 1,000-baht bills. He gave them to me with a rueful smile and then used the remote to rewind the tape.
Gung showed me out, his face still impassive. But as he closed the door, he winked at me.
A few months later I was in my dentist’s waiting room and I picked up one of the glossy magazines. There was a photoshoot of the opening of Greig Knight’s latest restaurant. At the top of the page was a picture of the man himself, grinning like a man possessed, one arm around the shoulders of the lovely Ying, the other around the waist of Ying’s girlfriend. I stopped watching the video after that. The fun had gone out of it.
THE CASE OF THE WAYWARD WIFE
One of my first jobs as a private eye was to check up on a girl called Fai, a rescued bargirl who was now living a life of luxury on the back of a guy called Arthur. Arthur had met Fai in a Nana Plaza bar and had decided that she was the love of his life. He worked in an oil refinery in Rayong, a couple of hours’ drive from Bangkok, and he wasn’t short of a bob or two. He paid her family a decent sin sot, or dowry, moved her into his spacious apartment on the outskirts of Rayong, paid her a monthly allowance that was more than I earned in a good month, and kept her on a long rein. Every now and again he had to pop over to his firm’s head office in Singapore and while he was away Fai would go to Bangkok to see her family. All was well until one of his friends said that he’d seen Fai on Sukhumvit Road, eating at a street stall close to the Thermae.
Arthur was enough of an old Bangkok hand to hear alarm bells at the mention of the Thermae. It’s a Bangkok institution, a late night hang out frequented by freelancers, or Pay For Play girls as I call them, and expats who baulk at paying barfines. There’s always a mixed bag at the Thermae: former bargirls who are past their prime; young girls just down from the countryside who don’t speak enough English to work in the farang bars; office girls who are struggling to pay their rent. The going rate for a short time with a Thermae Pay For Play girl would be about half what it would cost at Soi Cowboy or Nana Plaza. The expats are a mixed bunch too but generally they are at the scummier end of the market, prowling around like tigers hunting for fresh meat. If Fai was hanging around the Thermae, it wasn’t for the bar snacks.
He got in touch with me and asked if I’d keep an eye on her next time he went to Singapore. She normally drove her motorbike to the bus station and took the bus into Bangkok. He paid me a three-day retainer and agreed to put me up in a decent hotel in Rayong for one night and pay for a rental car. I’d stick out too much if I went on the bus with her, so the car was a necessity. I asked him for details of the family members that she went to see in Bangkok, but he didn’t know their names or their addresses. He seemed a trusting chap, and in my experience, trusting chaps in Thailand are lambs to the slaughter. I was looking forward to
‘The drugs are a bit of a worry,’ I said. If she ever got picked up by the cops while he was with her and they found yah ba, he’d be looking at prison time too.
‘I know about the yah ba,’ he said. ‘Never in the house and never in the car. She promised.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ I said. I wasn’t sure that I’d take the word of a girl who clearly had only a passing relationship with the truth, but Greig Knight was the client and the client is always right. Except, of course, when he’s wrong.
Knight took out his bulging wallet and took out a handful of 1,000-baht bills. He gave them to me with a rueful smile and then used the remote to rewind the tape.
Gung showed me out, his face still impassive. But as he closed the door, he winked at me.
A few months later I was in my dentist’s waiting room and I picked up one of the glossy magazines. There was a photoshoot of the opening of Greig Knight’s latest restaurant. At the top of the page was a picture of the man himself, grinning like a man possessed, one arm around the shoulders of the lovely Ying, the other around the waist of Ying’s girlfriend. I stopped watching the video after that. The fun had gone out of it.
THE CASE OF THE WAYWARD WIFE
One of my first jobs as a private eye was to check up on a girl called Fai, a rescued bargirl who was now living a life of luxury on the back of a guy called Arthur. Arthur had met Fai in a Nana Plaza bar and had decided that she was the love of his life. He worked in an oil refinery in Rayong, a couple of hours’ drive from Bangkok, and he wasn’t short of a bob or two. He paid her family a decent sin sot, or dowry, moved her into his spacious apartment on the outskirts of Rayong, paid her a monthly allowance that was more than I earned in a good month, and kept her on a long rein. Every now and again he had to pop over to his firm’s head office in Singapore and while he was away Fai would go to Bangkok to see her family. All was well until one of his friends said that he’d seen Fai on Sukhumvit Road, eating at a street stall close to the Thermae.
Arthur was enough of an old Bangkok hand to hear alarm bells at the mention of the Thermae. It’s a Bangkok institution, a late night hang out frequented by freelancers, or Pay For Play girls as I call them, and expats who baulk at paying barfines. There’s always a mixed bag at the Thermae: former bargirls who are past their prime; young girls just down from the countryside who don’t speak enough English to work in the farang bars; office girls who are struggling to pay their rent. The going rate for a short time with a Thermae Pay For Play girl would be about half what it would cost at Soi Cowboy or Nana Plaza. The expats are a mixed bunch too but generally they are at the scummier end of the market, prowling around like tigers hunting for fresh meat. If Fai was hanging around the Thermae, it wasn’t for the bar snacks.
He got in touch with me and asked if I’d keep an eye on her next time he went to Singapore. She normally drove her motorbike to the bus station and took the bus into Bangkok. He paid me a three-day retainer and agreed to put me up in a decent hotel in Rayong for one night and pay for a rental car. I’d stick out too much if I went on the bus with her, so the car was a necessity. I asked him for details of the family members that she went to see in Bangkok, but he didn’t know their names or their addresses. He seemed a trusting chap, and in my experience, trusting chaps in Thailand are lambs to the slaughter. I was looking forward to
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