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business number, or wrote to my mailing address, they would receive a reply.
    The pint was cold and crisp and at thirty-five baht, it was probably the cheapest I’d get anywhere. ‘Out from the old country?’ one of the pair leaning on the bar asked me.
    â€˜Via Hong Kong and Ho Chi Minh,’ I replied. I didn’t want to get the usual bullshit of, ‘You’ll notice a huge difference. Must show you around. Christ, you’ll have to try the women.’ Getting the word around that I was an old hand in these parts would cut a lot of the crap. ‘Dan Swann,’ I said sticking out my hand. ‘Karvonics Security Systems.’ The other pair shook with damp, limp hands. Peter Something, trade development. Graham Something, embassy underling. We talked football and beer for a few minutes before two teenage Thai girls entered the club to be signed in by the Somethings. That was my cue to get a refill and wander out towards the patio and the pool.
    I pushed out through the swing doors only to be hit by a blast of stifling, thick crud. ‘Welcome home,’ I muttered as I checked out the surroundings. The patio revealed itself as being quite large. A chest-high green-tiled balustrade separated it from the street below. The pool was a three-quarter-size affair and took up half the space. Loungers, patio chairs and tables scattered amongst the potted palms gave the illusion of a resort setting. Low garden lights were on. It was almost pleasant, but for the lack of clean oxygen. Closer to the bar entrance where I was standing were half a dozen hardwood tables and chairs. Those who had gravitated out from the bar to take in the evening pollution populated several of them.
    Four European girls who occupied one of the tables were giving me a very frank assessment.
    I gave them a collective smile, turned on my heel and re-entered the air-conditioned comfort of the club. I had no sooner slid into a vacant booth than the patio doors swung open and the four girls trooped in. No, I didn’t mind if they joined me.

6
    Christ, what a headache! I crawled out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. I didn’t recognise the guy who was blinking back at me from the mirror. I sluiced water over my face and fumbled for the magic hangover tablets I’d picked up down at CDS. They were a uniquely Thai concoction and they worked. I decided I would take a suitcase full of them back to the UK with me. If I ever got back there!
    I swallowed two of the capsules then turned to the toilet to empty my tortured bladder. There were what looked suspiciously like teeth marks on my right thigh, and a purplish bruise on my belly. It was about then that my memory started to return. I’d been a lucky bad boy.
    When I returned to the bedroom I realised there was a shape under the sheets and a tousled crop of red hair on one of the pillows. There were also two used condoms lying on the tiles by my side of the bed. I bent over to pick them up and almost met the bloody tiles headfirst. I carried the rubbers back to the bathroom and flushed them. At least I’d been careful, even if I didn’t remember much about what had gone on.
    I started back for the bedroom as a series of flashbacks hit me. There had been a lot of laughing and drinking, the four girls and I. A meal somewhere, four thinning down to three, then two in a bar somewhere, then there was me and one other stumbling along a street and falling into a lift. The one had been the redhead. All my befuddled memory could throw back at me were flashes of Red and I lost in a jumble of arms, legs, lips, hips and other bits and pieces.
    There was clothing all over the floor, both male and female. A sheer, black G-string was hanging from the wall-mounted lamp above the bed. A black bra of the same material had landed on the side table. I let the shape in the bed be and pulled on a pair of boxers. I found my cigarettes and lighter on the table under the bra and