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Authors: Colin Cotterill
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between retirement and execution. A man that close to dying a traitor had to have ghosts. She hoped he’d come back to see her someday.
She turned and waved to the armed guards opposite her shop. Phosy had posted a watch on her, on all of them. There was another man at the back of the shop and one more would accompany Dtui back to the police compound. Daeng doubted it would do any good in the face of a serious attack but she admitted there was a good feel to having someone watch her back.
“I’ll bring you boys some hot soup,” she said and walked slowly back to the shop.
6
A MUGGING IN THE OTHERWORLD
I t was an alleyway dimly lit by slightly bent street lamps that had barely enough strength to turn the black night grey. The paving stones beneath his feet were ill matching, some rising abruptly from the sidewalk. Dr Siri wore sandals but his footsteps clopped like horseshoes on the stones. Chalked roughly all around were the outlines of murder-scene bodies, deformed and chilling. He was walking fast, stumbling, wheezing from the pressure on his old lungs. The walls on either side of him reached so high he could see no summit. He looked back, stumbled again. He could sense his own fear like something living and moving between the layers of his skin. He passed a dark doorway, four legs and the end of a baseball bat all that was visible, the upper torsos drowned in a shadow as black as misery.
“Well, what do we have here, Danny?” a deep voice groaned from the darkness, Lao but with a New York accent. Siri hurried past and the two figures stepped out of the shadow and fell into step behind him.
A second voice: “Looks like a Red gook to me.”
“Me too. What do you think you’re doing here, Red gook?”
Siri didn’t dare answer or look back. He quickened his pace but his pursuers stayed with him.
“Shit, man, are you lost.”
“He’s looking for a girl, ain’t you, commie gook? That’s whatcha doing in our neighbourhood.”
“Is that right, commie?” Siri heard the slap of a baseball bat into a palm. A spitting noise. But up ahead he could see the gaudy neon of a nightclub. There were people milling around in front of it only eighty yards away. If only…He reached for the amulet beneath his shirt.
“Hell! That ain’t gonna do you no good, old man.”
“You’re gonna need something bigger’n that to get past us, gook.”
“You know, Danny boy? I’d say this little guy’s making his way to the Pheasant.”
The name above the nightclub door was visible now through the glare: the Silver Pheasant. It flashed thousands of coloured lightbulbs. Siri heard music. Some kind of jazz. He believed it was possible now. All he needed to do was cross the – but they were on him. They grabbed his arms and yanked him onto his back. They stood over him, one with a baseball bat held above his head. Siri could see them now, angry, menacing. They wore blue jeans and boots and were twice his size. Still alive, they would have been even bigger. But all that remained of them now was grey skeletons with enormous eyeless skulls, their clenched fists like knots of ginseng.
“They play baseball back in Commie Land, gook?”
And the bat came crashing down.
Siri gasped and his head wrenched to one side to avoid the blow. And he smelled stew and death. And suddenly there was no dark street or skeletons in blue jeans. Just a room with split bamboo walls and light streaming in through gaps in a thatched roof in need of repair. He was lying on a bamboo platform above a dirt floor where a fine white long-haired dog sat staring at him. Small black pigs grunted and scurried around aimlessly. Siri was damp with sweat but not harmed. He’d been dressed in a quilted military topcoat against the cold. He felt drowsy and a little nauseous, which he attributed to some form of sedative. All around him was that unmistakable smell he knew so well from the morgue.
He got carefully to his feet and stepped down onto the
She turned and waved to the armed guards opposite her shop. Phosy had posted a watch on her, on all of them. There was another man at the back of the shop and one more would accompany Dtui back to the police compound. Daeng doubted it would do any good in the face of a serious attack but she admitted there was a good feel to having someone watch her back.
“I’ll bring you boys some hot soup,” she said and walked slowly back to the shop.
6
A MUGGING IN THE OTHERWORLD
I t was an alleyway dimly lit by slightly bent street lamps that had barely enough strength to turn the black night grey. The paving stones beneath his feet were ill matching, some rising abruptly from the sidewalk. Dr Siri wore sandals but his footsteps clopped like horseshoes on the stones. Chalked roughly all around were the outlines of murder-scene bodies, deformed and chilling. He was walking fast, stumbling, wheezing from the pressure on his old lungs. The walls on either side of him reached so high he could see no summit. He looked back, stumbled again. He could sense his own fear like something living and moving between the layers of his skin. He passed a dark doorway, four legs and the end of a baseball bat all that was visible, the upper torsos drowned in a shadow as black as misery.
“Well, what do we have here, Danny?” a deep voice groaned from the darkness, Lao but with a New York accent. Siri hurried past and the two figures stepped out of the shadow and fell into step behind him.
A second voice: “Looks like a Red gook to me.”
“Me too. What do you think you’re doing here, Red gook?”
Siri didn’t dare answer or look back. He quickened his pace but his pursuers stayed with him.
“Shit, man, are you lost.”
“He’s looking for a girl, ain’t you, commie gook? That’s whatcha doing in our neighbourhood.”
“Is that right, commie?” Siri heard the slap of a baseball bat into a palm. A spitting noise. But up ahead he could see the gaudy neon of a nightclub. There were people milling around in front of it only eighty yards away. If only…He reached for the amulet beneath his shirt.
“Hell! That ain’t gonna do you no good, old man.”
“You’re gonna need something bigger’n that to get past us, gook.”
“You know, Danny boy? I’d say this little guy’s making his way to the Pheasant.”
The name above the nightclub door was visible now through the glare: the Silver Pheasant. It flashed thousands of coloured lightbulbs. Siri heard music. Some kind of jazz. He believed it was possible now. All he needed to do was cross the – but they were on him. They grabbed his arms and yanked him onto his back. They stood over him, one with a baseball bat held above his head. Siri could see them now, angry, menacing. They wore blue jeans and boots and were twice his size. Still alive, they would have been even bigger. But all that remained of them now was grey skeletons with enormous eyeless skulls, their clenched fists like knots of ginseng.
“They play baseball back in Commie Land, gook?”
And the bat came crashing down.
Siri gasped and his head wrenched to one side to avoid the blow. And he smelled stew and death. And suddenly there was no dark street or skeletons in blue jeans. Just a room with split bamboo walls and light streaming in through gaps in a thatched roof in need of repair. He was lying on a bamboo platform above a dirt floor where a fine white long-haired dog sat staring at him. Small black pigs grunted and scurried around aimlessly. Siri was damp with sweat but not harmed. He’d been dressed in a quilted military topcoat against the cold. He felt drowsy and a little nauseous, which he attributed to some form of sedative. All around him was that unmistakable smell he knew so well from the morgue.
He got carefully to his feet and stepped down onto the
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