Inappropriate Solvings No.1 - Flick Comb to Flick Knife in 16 Easy Steps

I don't just solve crimes or tales with seemingly impossible outcomes, no, I solve problems too. You see, I do charity work at a home for under privileged Thai children and a few of them are just getting to that age where carrying a 'stabber' is a must. They come to me each day and say 'Mr Milk, friends knives have, we start carry them also?' I have so far successfully deterred them from the acquisition and use of a real knife but I know my wisdom will not influence them much longer, they need more.

'Are you young gents aware of flick combs?'

'No Mr Milk, what flick combs?'

'I happen to have one here.' 

I pulled out my flick comb and pressed the button. 'Oooooh'. Then passed it through my wavy locks. The lads were impressed with the action but not as overawed by the fact the blade was a comb. After a brief examination one of the boys stated

'But people know it comb. That not cool.'

He had a point. I thought for a while.

'Ok... You kids don't want to hurt anybody with your knives right?'

'Right'

You just want to look cool?

'Right. Cool, like friend.'

'Ok... I have an idea. How about I make these flick combs look like real knives? The best of both worlds; You get d'street cred you're looking for and nobody gets hurt, because they used to be flick combs.'

'Mr Milk, that brilliant idea! YAY!'

********

Below is my step by step guide of how to turn an innocent flick comb into an harmless 'stabber', thus, fooling your peers and their pressuring ways.

STEP 1

I have gathered three flick combs and aligned them on a table. I study them for a short while before moving on. 

                        

                                                              STEP 2


                                                         To the left is some sort of white Thai clay.
                                                         I'm mixing it in a small cup with a tea spoon.
                                                         It's a mixture.

STEP 3

There it is. Being mixed.

STEP 4


This is the consistency you should be looking for;
Gloopy is how I'd describe it. Make it Gloopy kids.

STEP 5

Below and above are examples of what I'm doing with regards to the comb. To give a life like feel I have filed an angle into the end, replicating a blade. Be careful not to get too carried away with the sharpness kids, we don't want to accidentally stab one another with our 'harmless knives' now do we?

STEP 6

With the combs all prepared and knife like I scoop some of the
white Thai clay gloop up with a piece of plastic.

STEP 7

Using the piece of plastic as a 'spreader' I distribute the 'gloop' as to cover the teeth of the comb evenly.

STEP 8

I wait............. For a while............... It has to dry................... The 'gloop' has to dry.....

STEP 9

Once the 'gloop' is dry I sand off the excess growths and prepare the 'blade' for the final
and most difficult of tasks - 'Foiling'. Make note that the more preparation you put in,
the easier the finishing will inevitably be. I put in a lot of work.

STEP 10

Make sure the foil is reflective and ready.

STEP 11

Mark the shape of the blade against the back of the sticky foil.
Then, using scissors cut what you've marked.

Warning - Scissors are dangerous and no matter what you've heard they will kill you if you are not careful.
Scissors should only be used under strict supervision of
an adult or old human.

STEP 12

Peeeeeel the sticky foil from its backing. If all has gone to plan your 'peeling' should be
a little larger but the same shape as the 'blade'.

STEP 13

Wrap the excess foil around the edges of the blade as smoothly as
you can. Above is wrapped, below isn't.

STEP 14

Make sure to wrap the foil around the whole blade, keeping creases in the foil to a minimum by being careful... From the above shot you can see how I've achieved a very life like knife,
that's because I was careful.

STEP 15

Below it is clear that my eagerness to create has left quite a mess and that's ok but I have to clean it up. Remember kids, a clean house is a happy house...

...There we go.

STEP 16

Wield your blade, scare your cousins, impress your friends. You are now the proud owner of what looks and acts like a 4 inch flick knife but is actually completely harmless and most importantly, incredibly cool...

...Enjoy kids.

Alan Nicholls' Bike Problems

Sunday the 1^st of April 2012

Driving here is a shit, your life is in danger from the moment you decide to use your car or bike, be it needing something from the shop or taking the kids to school, you are in danger; you will die, eventually. Thailand has one of the worst road safety records in the world, and has five times as many deaths on the road as the U.K even though the amount of people and vehicles are comparable. There are many factors and reasons for the poor safety records and high death rates but ultimately it comes down to two things. Firstly - The driving test is silly. You either drive around an under made course in a field for 30 minutes or pay a thousand baht and bypass the whole thing altogether. Secondly – The laws, whilst extremely harsh if enforced are generally pushed to one side when enough money is offered, meaning drink driving is common and you’re free to mow down as many people as possible.

Due to this I have seen incredible things. Dead bodies, mutilated corpses, crumpled lorries, destroyed buildings, all of which should be reserved for the minds of war battered veterans, not innocent detectives like myself. Hatefully time has built a resistance to the witnessed carnage and it has become a relatively normal sight to see these horrific things and drive past sparing only a momentary glance. In England, witnessing the changing of a tyre on the side of the road would cause a 3-mile tailback and weeks of guilt – ‘I should have helped her, did she have a wrench? I had a wrench. Oh God.’ Here, you’d need a bus full of dead children just to slow traffic, even then, lanes are open and the cars flow just fine.

Nothing however was more horrible or confusing than what I think I witnessed last week. A man fell off his moped at high speed. It wasn’t the most gruesome thing I had ever viewed but was the first incident that I actually had seen happen, and it was also kind of my fault. I think.

You see I was working on a case for my friend – Alan Nicholls. He borrowed a bike but it was stolen from outside his house in the middle of the Wednesday night. He rang me Friday to ask for my assistance, I asked for the details of the bike – Honda Click – Grey – Automatic – 125cc – 3 years old. He told me his theories as to the whereabouts and also mentioned the owner wanted 60,000 Baht (£1,200) if he couldn’t return it, a hefty price no matter the circumstance. I assured him I’d do my best and set out with all the usual and expected enthusiasm when attempting to find a small bike in a big city.

I started at his house. He lives by Lake Mabprachan which is a large reservoir on the East side of Pattaya, a nice quiet area reserved for wealthy expats littered with nice restaurants and a smattering of bars. The community is close, I regularly dine and drink there and have become acquainted with a lot of the locals.

Alan’s house is secluded from the lake, in a small resort of five homes. He told me he had left the bike outside the gates, on the public road - fool. I couldn’t make out any signs of crime. Two men can easily lift a moped so I suspected the thief’s simply heaved it on to the back of a truck and off they set. A good business venture, aside from the risk of being caught. I could see nothing obvious to go on so I asked around the neighbours, they were asleep and no one heard a thing. Damn. I decided to find the owner of the bike, Toine, I knew him only by name so I enquired with a few pals as to the whereabouts of his house, they pointed me in the right direction – thank God.

Toine had just come back from cycling when I pulled up. He lived about two km from Alan in a lovely 5 star resort; clearly, he was a wealthy, sweaty, Norwegian. I was invited in and offered a protein shake, I normally wouldn’t hesitate to say no but recently I’ve been intrigued as to their merit, ‘Thank you.’ This, unbeknown to me, or Toine, was a big mistake. You see the protein shake he made up was in awful fact made with not protein powder but mushroom powder, magic mushroom. A friend saw humour in giving Toine the mixture claiming it to be the hidden secret in easy fitness and recovery, this was his first use of it, and mine.

He wasn’t happy about the bike, I could sense that, but he remained calm and polite and gave me all the information I needed. His point was fair, Alan had lost his bike and he wanted either the moped or the money he paid for it back. I finished my shake, which was earthy but nice, and made my excuses.

I had no leads and fewer hunches. It was almost midday and with the case drying up I began to think about collecting Astrid. I got in my car and started to head back to the school.  

The drive around the Lake is one of life’s nicer drives, something about the clean surround of water seems to calm everybody and encourage a snails pace approach to moving, which, in amongst the mad dash of the city centre is a welcome nice. My thoughts were on no more than what I should do with Astrid in the afternoon and how I could manipulate the kitchen staff to adjust the lunch menu to anything cheese.  Suddenly a grey moped overtook me, going at some speed, at least 20kmph quicker than my car. I would normally have thought nothing of it and carried on with my scenic daydream but it was grey and I was sure it was a Honda Click. I pursued.

The turbo lag meant my truck took a while to catch up, but it did, and on closer inspection, yes, the bike was grey, it was a Honda click and I began to feel my heart pump at the prospect of a chase. I pulled alongside and gestured for the man to pull over. We were going at 100kmph at this point, he didn’t acknowledge my attempts, I wound down the window, beeped my horn, he didn’t respond. He then accelerated and went ahead. I decided to let him move on and simply tail him. My heart was beating faster and faster, why wouldn’t he stop?

He must have been travelling at 120kmph as the bike planed over a sand-patch in the road, I could see the Honda’s back end slipping away, he must have felt it but even at 40kmph keeping control would have required great skill; he tried to correct it but the sand was in restrain and the rear end continued to slide from underneath him - he inevitably fell and rolled quite a distance at quite a speed. He was wearing only shorts, t-shirt, flip-flops and no helmet, needless to say he was in a bad way.

I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop just before him. I threw open my door and rushed over not knowing what to think, he was immobile, if not dead almost certainly critical. What should I do? I tentatively poked him, I was half expecting a response or someone else to come along and help but it seemed I was on my own. He was covered in blood, a few of his bones looked to be broken, his face almost undeterminable. Fuck. Was that my fault? I began to pace, I was sweating, heart beating faster and faster. I checked his pulse, could I feel one? Was that his beat or mine? My mind was fuzzy, colours were brighter and darker, noises louder and quieter, ‘WHERE IS EVERYONE?’ I screamed that. My mind could find no clarity, I was stuck.

Sitting down offered nothing, I was soon to my feet again. As much as I tried to hatch a plan my mind got distracted. You’re meant to become full of adrenaline and focus in situations like these but I couldn’t help but stare at his limbs, were they moving? Was his blood changing colour? I was freaking out. I needed to get him off the road. He was no good to anybody on the road.

I managed to pick him up by his legs and drag him, it left a mesmerising trail of multi-coloured blood – I was transfixed - the shades, the tints, the blush - before I knew it I was writing my name on the road, he was my brush and his blood loss was my paint. Why was I doing that? By the time I got him to the pick-up I was laughing. It was funny, I was sure of it, but now wasn’t the time for humour. I calmed myself and tried to focus. He was heavy but he went into the back of the truck just fine.

I wasn’t aware but my gait had become quite strange, it was difficult to walk upright so I had subconsciously formed an almost limbo stance and moved with that. It took a while to assess the bike, I had to bend backwards in a crab like form just to catch sight of it and when I did my right eye was in soft focus and my left, whilst having perfect vision, could only intake snapshots – a camera if you will. Hmm. I couldn’t lift the moped into the car, I did however notice it had an aura, as, did everything. I could use its aura to follow the car and myself, but where was I going? And how could I harness its power? I had an idea.

I dragged the Honda behind the truck using some steel wire I had found, certain the bike’s aura would keep it on two wheels if I stuck to exactly 46kmph; it didn’t. I had completed 3 laps of the lake, people noticed I was dragging a Honda Click behind at a slow pace but thankfully didn’t see the potentially dead man in the pick up, I think I had closed the lid. ‘HE’S NOT DEAD, I FELT HIS PULSE’ I sang to the tune of 9-5 by Dolly Parton. I realised I needed a plan, ‘I can’t just drive a critically ill man around a lake all day, what’s that going to solve? APART FROM THE EUROZONE DEBT CRISIS!’ I decided to take the bike back to Alan Nicholls’ house, share with Alan the good news.

No one was home, I gave him a call and in my best Norwich accent I let him know that ‘The Eagle has landed’ and he should ‘bring pink Brie’ and then I hung up. Alan’s house has a fantastic outside area complete with a sofa, fridge, sink and even a toaster. Today it looked lovely, cosy even. I retrieved my near corpse from the back of the truck and set him down upon the outside sofa to await Alan’s arrival.

‘We should play cards.’ Did I say that or did he? Either way, one of us was right, we should play cards.

I was unaware at the time but the mushroom shake I had mistakenly consumed earlier was working its magic well and truly at this point and had been for the past few hours. All logic and morals had slipped, my mind was in a dream like state and anything was game.

I looked for cards but something caught my eye. It was the body’s blood, his ever-changing blood. ‘Christ Nigel… That is that your name, right?’ Nigel nodded ‘You’re covered in blood, we best clean you up son.’ I went to the sink, my walk had settled, found a bowl with a cloth and began to clean Nigel. We sang Beyonce as I wiped his face. ‘That’s better.’ I burst into laughter, and so I presume did Nigel.

“WHAT’S ALL THIS?”

Through my laugh produced tears I could see Alan’s outline. He had slipped in, unnoticed.

“Alan, you’re home, thank God. Listen, great news.” Alan looked confused. “Did you not get my message?” He didn’t say anything. Was I actually talking? I doubt I was. “Sorry, I’m trying to talk but, I can’t. Am I talking now?”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”

“Whoa. Alan, I’m trying to explain but… Don’t you just hate the word try? Jeez, why is everybody trying? Why isn’t everybody doing? Fuck, Nigel knows, Alan, Nigel, Nigel, Alan.” I introduced them.

“Will. Seriously. WHO. THE. FUCK. IS. THAT. AND. WHAT. THE. FUCK. IS. GOING. ON?”

“Nigel, Alan. This is Nigel. Am I talking? Have I gone quiet again?” Alan actually growled.

I needed to calm the situation down. I decided to whisper.

“Alan, I’ve found the bike.”

“WHAT!”

I beckoned Alan closer with my hand. He came, this time I whispered to his ear “Alan, I have found the bike.”

He pulled away with a smile on his face, was he happy? Had I saved his temper? No, it was a sarcastic smile.

“Oh, you found the bike, you found the bike? That one? The one attached to the back of your truck,” he pointed to the Honda, it looked a bit more battered than I remembered, and a little less grey. Still, I was proud. “Yes, there it is Alan. HONDA CLICK.” I yelled.

“There are a few problems Will.”

“Oh”

“Well, yes. Firstly, the bike is battered and beyond repair, secondly you appear to have brought a DEAD man to my house to play cards and thirdly… THAT’S NOT THE FUCKING BIKE THAT WAS STOLEN!”

“ARE YOU SURE?” I don’t know why I screamed.

I was sceptical but Alan was focused, focused and angry. He let rip…

“THIS IS ONE HELL OF A FUCKING MESS WILL. I MEAN SERIOUSLY, I CAN’T SEE WHY YOU’VE DONE THIS, WHY?....” He continued, I struggled to listen, I couldn’t, I mean I got the gist, he wasn’t sure I’d found the bike, fine, but no need to go nuts I figured. Then the inevitable happened, well…

He was foaming furious chants that I wasn’t paying attention to when I noticed something that maybe I was looking for. Alan Nicholls had a blowhole and it was spouting like a geyser. The outside area was drenched. Was he aware?

“Alan.”

“ALAN!”

“YOU’RE SPURTING ALAN. YOU’RE SPURTING!”

He paid no attention, why would he? He’s a super hero with a blowhole, he had no time to listen to me. I stood up to get a closer look, Alan’s words were meaningless, he could sense it so he turned his neck and squirted vast amounts of release at me, so much so that I was sodden and blown back to my seat.

“Quite a weapon.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT?!” As if priming himself for a large poo he squatted, clenched his fists and pushed like a woman giving birth. The water exited the back of his neck at the rate of a fire hose warning off protesters, the roof damn near came off! He was serious, did he want me to leave? The fear began to set in. I closed my eyes, put my fingers in my ears and hummed the tune of ‘happy birthday’. I wanted a safe place.

My fear triggered Alan to calm down. Eventually his geyser stopped, he knelt down and placed a hand on my knee and encouraged me to look him in eye. ‘You have aquatic eyes Alan.’ I noticed.

“Seriously Will, what’s going on? Are you ok?” His voice was whaleesque, peaceful, I couldn’t answer, he wouldn’t understand, I was keeping it together just enough to  encourage him to speak more, sooth more. It felt like he had eight arms caressing me, I was relaxed.

“Octopi Alan.” I whispered. I think he wanted a kiss, I gave him a kiss, not a passionate one, more a comforting thank you snog. He pulled away. “What are you doing Will?” Again I couldn’t answer, what if I’d misread the situation?

A light bulb went off above Alan’s head, I saw it. He rose to his feet quickly and groaned as he palmed his face. He wandered in circles hushing the word “Shit.” Eventually he turned to me and asked me a question, he had to re-ask it, loudly and slowly, as I was in a trance and making bubble animals with my saliva.

“DID YOU GO TO TOINE’S TODAY? DID YOU DRINK A PROTEIN SHAKE?”

I nodded, I was certain I had.

“OH SHIT!”

 Turns out Alan was the one who gave Toine the ‘protein powder’. Knowing Toine’s obsession with fitness Alan hatched a plan to mildly drug him in an attempt to renegotiate the cost of the bike if he couldn’t retrieve it, thinking the magic mushrooms would ease his pricey demands, he planned to ring him later that evening. As it happened Toine had put five times the amount of substance that Alan had banked on into our shakes, we were beyond comprehensible. Whilst not having gone to the extremes of taking a dead body around to play with I’m assured Toine had an equally hallucinogenic afternoon and evening.

This was Alan’s mess now and he knew it. He put a plan into action and moved quickly to hide evidence. I was clearly a hindrance so he gave me lift home once things were a little more clean. His blowhole didn’t stop the entire trip. I didn’t know weather to tell him, he clearly knew, I decided not to. Once back at the school he said nothing as he opened my door and ushered me out. My right foot was now a ducks paddle so walking had become a bit odd again, but fine. He left, his car was filled to the brim with his blowhole extract, I prayed for his safety, driving is hard enough without all that liquid sloshing around, causing instability.

I finally made it to my door about 25 minutes after being dropped off, having to find a suitable way of walking with a ducks paddle is harder than you’d imagine, ducks are a different species, we’re not meant to share limbs, I know that now. I cannot remember the rest of the evening. I awoke the next morning at the foot of my bed sober, and with the horrible memories I’ve told you here. Apparently, when I got home I was convinced for two hours that Carolyn was the Honda Click I’d been looking for. I kept trying to lift her outside and was most confused when she moved and talked. ‘Walking, talking bike. Come here. You’re not getting away from me that easily.’

I’m not sure what was real, Alan refuses to talk about it, and I don’t blame him. But I’ll tell you one thing: If you look closely at the back of his neck, if he lets you, you’ll see it, clear as day, a small blowhole.

Another fine day in Thailand and the case concerning all kinds of Alan’s Shake - Solved

Russia, Ray and BMW

Tuesday February the 23rd

The majority of men go to Pattaya with one thing on their mind, a cheap thrill. Sex is more accessible here than anywhere else on earth as every bar (and there is plenty) has ways and means of getting you shagged, if you so wish. I love a night out in Pattaya; however, I am a happily married man with no intentions of that sordid behaviour, so over time I have evolved activities to keep my mind focused and thoughts pure. Recently my favourite pastime has been to compile ‘The Jobshite Files.’

Many years of solving pretty serious crimes has left me very adept to sifting though people’s fibs. A while back it became clear that most men in Pattaya lied, hysterically, about their work.

You see Pattaya is where men come to retire or start a new life; in most cases starting afresh appears to mean altering the old vocation. Many men just exaggerate their position, i.e. a Postman becomes a Regional Post Master or a Checkout Supervisor at Tesco becomes a Checkout Supervisor at Waitrose, no harm done. But, often and most excitedly I hear some quite baffling proclamations and am told secrets so unbelievable I start to believe them. It didn’t take long for my meeting with these men to become a mild and later obsessive hobby.

I rank their lies from one to five, one being a slight exaggeration and five being a complete fabrication. In general my findings show the average to rank as two, which is fine, I’m happy when I meet a two. It’s ok. However, the holy grail and most revered of all ‘The Jobshite File’ encounters is a five, a lie so incredible you spit your drink in their face whilst they tell you it. It’s the reason I started speaking to old men.

This tale here is a recollection of my only ‘five’ encounter to date. Oddly, I didn’t meet him in Pattaya, I met him last week whilst the family and I took advantage of our half term and made haste to Koh Chang; he was from Pattaya as well but like us merely holidaying on the island. His name was Ray. Picturing him isn’t difficult. He was 63, small, slim, few teeth, curved chin, deep set eyes behind thin rimmed glasses, dyed brown hair and an infectious smile; a relatively typical expat but with definitive character. He was charming.

This is my version of our meeting…

I dined with my family at a restaurant on Kai Bae beach and arrived back at the resort bar at 9pm. After a day of drive, sun lounging and feast I intended to have one drink and follow Carolyn and Astrid to my room; that was until a bouncy creak of a voice addressed me from the opposite end of the bar.

“You’re next door to me you are.” The accent was West Country but with evidence of posh, authority and wheeze. I didn’t pay him much mind as I was tired but politely I acknowledged his statement.

“8 or 10?” Slurping my first taste of the bars draught.

“Room number 10 we’re in, always stay in room 10 us.”

Silence and sipping followed. I could feel him looking at me, waiting his chance to pounce on my openness. I didn’t give him eye contact, as that would be silly; I just stared into my drink hoping it would finish. I couldn’t be arsed to start a conversation with this man no matter how eager he was, and he was eager…

“Where you from then?”

I took a deep breath, I’ve been asked this question more than any other in the last six months, recently I’ve felt obliged to make a country up, but tonight I didn’t have the patience to sit through an inquiry or give an explanation.

“England”

My reply was sharp but he didn’t pick up on the hint, just his beer, and made his way to the stool next to me. If I had a bag I’d have made a point of putting it there.

“England you say, well then sir, very good to meet you. Swindon, I’m from. I was scared you were Russian! Ha. I sing a mean Elvis…” He sat down, I forced a smile. I obviously had to change tact; he wasn’t leaving me, not soon.  “But Neil Diamond, now that’s my kinda music, I loves Neil Diamond.”

It became clear I had to engage in a conversation, which was not a huge disaster, normally socialising would be my main aim but tonight I just wanted a rare quiet drink. It was not to be. With a sigh I took the initiative.

“My name’s Will. Yours?” I offered a hand; he grasped it and didn’t let go.

“Oh, Lovely to meet you Will. Glad to see a fellow Englishman here. You know they’ve changed the Koh Chang TV channel to Russian? Russian!” he didn’t tell me his name.

“Well I suppose more Russians come here than anybody else.” I offered.

“Fair point Will, but still. Who speaks Russian?”

“I speak Russian.” I lied, easing into the fun of a crackpot conversation.

“I’ll let you into a little secret Will.”

“What?”

“So do I!”

I burst into laughter shortly before he did. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a hardship.

“So what is your name?”

“Oh, sorry Will, it’s Ray, Ray from Swindon.”

The resort bar was lovely. It was small but the lighting and décor really exaggerated a welcoming feel. Fairy lights littered the intruding trees and hanging baskets of exotic flowers gave the place a colourful lift amongst the natural wooden tables and chairs. It had a stage, empty, but a mic stand was in place for who I later knew to be the resident singer - Lek. At this time Ray and I were the only people in the bar…

“It’ll get busy in a minute, just you wait.”

Ray was right, a 60-year-old Thai hippie with round-rimmed John Lennon specs arrived on his bicycle with guitar in tow, he set up his gear and within one strum a couple more people arrived followed by a few more and a few more. Fairly soon the bar had a healthy crowd of nations clapping, singing and whistling along to Lek’s surprising talent.

Three beers in and I was no longer being polite, Ray was the tour de force of chat, his enthusiasm and genuine humour truly made the best come out of me. We discussed all kind of matters and soon I was preparing to ask him the question – ‘What do you do for work?’ First I had to know a bit more

“So are you married Ray?”

“Married? I’m a veteran. I had three English wives and they’ve all gone on to become hugely successful without me… Ha. I’ll tell you one thing though Will…”

“What.”

“I must be the only man to have made money from all three divorces… Well they cheated on me didn’t they.”

“Much money?”

“Not too bad, enough to get rid of their grimy memories… But I’ve got a Thai wife now.”

“Lovely.”

“She is Will, She is. We’ve been married 7 years.”

“Is she here?”

“Oh yes, she’s in the room, she can’t speak much English so prefers to stay in when I’m socialising.”

“I’d love to meet her.”

“Do you like my car?” A bit random.

“Which one is it?”

“That one” he pointed to a large, fairly new, blue, seven seated BMW in the resort’s car park. It was nice.

“Yeah It’s lovely Ray, is it yours or are you renting?”

“Just renting, I normally have something a bit smaller… Oooh Will, You’ll like this. Snakes – do you know your snakes?”

“Not really.”

“ Well, today I saw, and handled a wild Malayan Pit Viper – very dangerous.”

“What do you mean handled?”

“I mean I saw a Malayan Pit Viper and picked it up… Studied its movements, whilst captured.”

 “Ray, you’re nuts!” This was brilliant. “So how dangerous is a Malayan Pit Viper?”

“Well, they’re known as a ‘lazy snake’ as they don’t move if they sense you coming, they just lay there. Now, this does not mean they are lazy, it just means they don’t give a shit. They will attack you. We call them ‘Finger Rotters’, if they get one of your fingers, it’s got to go, so I’m always careful when I see one in the wild.”

“And you actually picked it up?”

“If I see a snake I pick it up.”

I looked at Ray and had to admit I was impressed. He was one of the most limp men I had ever met yet he still had the balls to think I’d believe he charmed snakes. If a snake came into that bar I was certain he’d be standing on the stools, waiting for a brave man to come to the rescue like the rest of us. Now was the time to ask about his job.

“So, Ray, is that what you do for work – Charm snakes?”

“I wish I could work with snakes, but no, that’s just a hobby. For work I’m Head of Security for BMW.”

I spat my drink into his face.

If I had to describe my vision of the exact opposite of a Head of Security I would describe Ray. I am fortunate enough to know two Heads of different types of security companies and both are former special service veterans with glittering careers and mounds of models for bravery and victory. Ray, for all his charm, didn’t fit into that mould.

“Seriously, you’re head of BMW’s Security?” I was laughing, Ray was wiping my beer from his brow.

“Keep it down Will I don’t want everyone knowing… Besides my being here isn’t completely pleasure…”

“What do you mean? Are you on some sort of mission? Please be on a mission Ray.”

“Listen Will, be quiet.” He came in close “Yes, I’m on a mission but you need to keep it down. This place, drinking with you, it’s part of the mission.”

I played along, not believing a word he said. 

“This is brilliant. Can I assist in any way Ray?”

“You’re already assisting.” Ray’s voice had become more serious and his stare more convincing. He leaned in again and told me, in a whisper, his intentions and my part.

“BMW doesn’t do good business in Asia, Thailand especially. They’ve tried all sorts of marketing campaigns and model changes but the cars just do not sell. If Asia began to sell BMW’s at the rate they sell throughout Europe BMW would be one of the worlds largest and most successful companies… 6 years ago my team noticed a relation in unsuccessful trade and holidaying Russians. We investigated and found it was more than a coincidence, you see BMW’s fail to sell in Russia as well, but, we know why; the poor relationship between Germany and Russia and a long standing dispute over taste, and the Russians lack of, we accept that. But what we’ve also found is cells of Russians polluting the Asian car markets with BMW smear campaigns. We call them Speedo Cells”

“Ray you’re fucking mental.”

“Shut up and listen. I’ve chosen you as my decoy, you are a part of this now…” He took a sip from his beer, I mirrored. “… Those 6 men sat at that table, they’re Russian yes?”

“Um yeah, I think so…”

“Well they’re also the very reason I’m here. 4 of them were part of the very first Speedo Cell, the other two are new but equally as involved.”

“They look like normal Russians Ray.”

“And I look like a harmless drunk.”

“Fair.”

“I normally have teeth”

“OK.”

“Now in a minute I’m going to be asked on stage to join Lek in singing a couple of Elvis numbers. These Russians go nuts for Elvis. I’m counting on them dancing.”

“Sure.”

“And when they do, I want you to unzip this bag and throw it in the middle of them.”

Now I must explain at this point that although Ray’s demeanour and persuasion had visibly changed I was still certain he was fool. Another notch on the ‘Jobshite File’ bedpost. Little did I realise it was I being played.

“And now join by special frien’… Mr Ray… Woo.”

The audience, including the ‘Speedo Cell’ cheered frantically. Ray turned to me and with his most serious face demanded that I “Wait until they stand to dance then throw the bag discretely amongst them”. He remade his naïve grin and blissfully headed for the stage.

I didn’t know what to think. Ray being asked on stage was a bit of a surprise as I figured all of his stories of singing, snake charming and ‘Speedo Cells’ were lies. The audiences reaction was also a shock, he had obviously performed here before – and when he did start singing (Blue Suede Shoes) the audience went nuts, none more so than the Russians. Within half a verse they were on their feet – that was my cue.

Cue for what? I knew I had to throw his bag between them but why? Everything had happened so quickly. Two minutes earlier I had been building Ray up for his horrendous anti-truth, now I had been given a task to stop a Russian BMW terrorist group… And what is in this bag?

I casually unzipped and sneaked a peak. At first I couldn’t quite make it out so I had a rummage, my hand wasn’t in there for long, the thing moved, my brain clicked. Fuck! I was in disbelief. I looked around to see if anybody could tell me I was white. They couldn’t, Ray had captivated everyone. I decided to take another look, to be sure. I opened it again, slowly this time. I couldn’t decipher the object with my eyes but my mind did a good job of filling in the blanks. Then, it pounced, launched itself from the bag towards my peering face. Considering the alcohol I had consumed my reactions were surprisingly fast, I frantically fumbled/threw the sack away from me as I recoiled in horror. The music had masked the commotion and yelps.

The bag landed about two feet outside the ‘Speedo Cell’s dance circle but the snake had made haste and slithered towards the action. I could only presume it was the Malayan Pit Viper Ray had slighted towards earlier and his intention was for me to throw the snake between them. Well, I’m not sure if my unconventional way of doing so was in Rays plans but the snake was, seemingly, in place. What next?

Well, as was noted the Malayan Pit Viper is a vicious little reptile and it didn’t take long for it to sink its poisonous bastard fangs into one of the Russians legs. No music could hide his screams. It took a while for people to realise his shrieks were anything other than appreciation but when he hit the floor everybody knew something was wrong. The music stopped. One of the other Russians screamed,

“SNAKE!”

Ray sprung into action. He leapt from the stage landing almost directly over the serpent. Without hesitation he bent down, grabbed the head with one hand and the tail with the other, held it aloft and screamed a strain as he pulled the snake apart and discarded the parts onto the road without a tinge of remorse. He turned, inspected the victim’s wound and began to speak to his friends in Russian. I don’t know what he said but it was clear who was in charge. He rose from his squat with the Russian in his arms and made his way to his car. As he passed he gave me a knowing wink, as if to say well done and thanks. All six of the ‘Speedo Cell’ got into Rays car and off they sped.

The mood of the bar was a sombre one. Lek didn’t play again and most people, after making sure there was nothing that could be done, left. The bargirls were confused. Being native they obviously knew that a snake wouldn’t normally slither onto a banging dance floor and attack but they accepted it. I finished my beer and made my way to the room knowing the truth and the fact that it was far weirder than a snake doing something out of character.

I slept well but was woken early by a knock on the door. It was Ray. He had teeth! I had so many questions to ask him but he didn’t have time to humour me.

“Hey, just to say thanks for last night. I’ve got to go now, a speedboat is waiting but I’ll always be thankful for what you did. Oh and this is my Wife - Nai.” And with that he went.

I have no idea what happened to the Russians but if I ever want to get 6 of them into my car, for whatever reason, then I have a fair idea how.

… … … … …

I have now retired the “Jobshite Files’. Firstly because I can never better my evening with Ray but mainly because the ‘Files’ are bullshit. Who knows, maybe Bill from Kentucky did work at Area 51, or, Jose from Sweden did help N.A.S.A design the Space Shuttle? Who knows? All I know is that I would have bet all of my, my families and close friends possessions that Ray was a stinking fibber and what happens? Well, he seemingly told no lies – He spoke Russian, he had a Thai wife, he handled snakes, he sang a mean Elvis and I no longer have reason to doubt he is the head of security for BMW. He played me, and although I do not feel violated I do feel like the fool.

Another fine day in Thailand and the case of Ray – Solved.

The Case Of Leonardo DiCaprio's Terracotta Toddlers

1st January 2012

I killed a woman the last time I donned my curious cap and however much I believe she was deserved of her fate I do tinge remorse and that guilt has stifled my instincts. However, an encounter during my Christmas holidays has offered me the perfect story with a hint of strange. I will start at the start.

We began our time away in Ao Nang, Krabi. A beautiful area with just about everything I could want from scenery. We spent five days there including Christmas, met a few people, drank merrily and enjoyed our hotel through hindsight. After five days we moved on…

To Koh Lanta, which, at 38km long and 8km wide is one of the largest Islands in Thailand. Our accommodation is touted as a beach bungalow but in reality is a shed near a beach. We arrived after a hot 3 hour-long minibus ride that tested my temper almost more than anything had in my life. I was angry at plants, bananas, skirts, shades, chess, buttons, colours, skin, drink, wheels, eggs, balls, phones, knees, slippers, poodles, paddles, carrots, cows, foam, Jesus and just about everything else on Earth. Carolyn sensed my rage and in her ever giving and understanding nature offered that I take a walk and calm down for a few hours. ‘Fuck off!’ I said appreciatively.

I walked into the busiest part of the island, Ban Saladan, which was about 2km away, and set about moaning. I moaned at and offended tuk tuk drivers, tour pushers, Russians, coffee sellers and waitresses all without provocation. If my mass wasn’t so significant I fear my anger could have lead to a commotion, even a fistfight, but my mass was clear and the locals saw it intelligent to avoid my wary tones.

God I was angry, possibly more so than ever before, still, I couldn’t let it continue; I’d had my fun but It’s not natural for me to be mad so I calmed myself down and set about making it up to the poor people who tasted my fury. I had an espresso at the coffee sellers place. It was nice, he then tried to organise a luxury-chartered yacht for me the next day, and I politely declined. I searched for the waitress and gave her a tip and offered an apology. I found the tour pushers and booked yet another elephant trek (they’re boring) and then looked for the Russians so I could insult them some more. I hate Russians.

I really offended the tuk tuk driver. He offered me a lift and I flicked him the bird, called him a ‘fucking stink eagle’ and told him he was ‘lazy and should walk once in a while’. That was probably my low point. Now, in my normal frame of mind I figured I owed him.

‘Look, I am sorry.’ I offered. His reply was in good English ‘Why you call me fucking stink eagle?’ He was upset. ‘I’m sorry.’ I said again.

‘I just do job, this is good job, why you rude?’

‘I am sorry.’ I said again, and a few more times. It took a while for the tension to ease. He wasn’t happy but I made a point of not leaving until I felt he had accepted my apology.

‘I feel bad. I want to make it up to you.’ I said ‘Can you take me somewhere? I’ll pay you double for the trouble.’

‘Get in.’ He grumbled.

I asked him to take me to a bar near my accommodation; it was a 10-minute journey, for which I gave him 500 baht (five times too much). During the journey I could tell he still wasn’t happy, he needed more. I probed.

He told me how he works every day of high season and earns little more than a 1,000 baht a day, of which, he gives half to the company he works for. So on a good day he earns the equivalent of £10, which I think he is happy with. I felt for him as he smiled whilst telling me how he longed for a night with his wife. I wanted to help him. I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

At first he didn’t understand me.

‘What? No. This is my tuk tuk. MY JOB.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I will work the rest of the day for you and give you 2,000 baht, which, will more than cover your earnings.’

‘No, you steal my tuk tuk.’ He said unconvinced.

‘Look here’s my passport. Give that back to me tomorrow when I return the tuk tuk. I trust you, do you trust me?’ I pleaded. He still wasn’t sure but eventually his longing for a night with his wife outweighed the potential downfalls of my plan. I took him back to his home and set about my nights work.

Tuk tuk’s are seriously difficult to control, especially with customers in tow. Steering is minimal; to turn left I had to speed up and to turn right I had to slow down. It took a while to get accustomed but after a few ‘pick up’s’ and ‘drop offs’ I was confident and began to enjoy myself. The Islands roads were in good condition and the customers didn’t veer from the main road so I didn’t get lost until night fell.

I take no pleasure in blowing my own trumpet but I was good and taxiing! It just came naturally, I am part of the road, although my knowledge of the Island or the resorts on the Island was minimal my rapport building was brilliant and often papered over the small cracks concerning destination and time. I was doing well with the takings also, by 17:00 I had made 940 baht and still had the rush to come. I was at ease.

I picked up the next customer in exactly the same way I had gathered up the others but something was different about this man. His clothes were just a bit nicer and his hair a little more kept.

‘Hey there! Where to, my friend?’ This was my introduction. The customer, like most took a double take because I was Western rather than Thai.

‘Oh hey, um, just drive, I’ll direct you.’ He said in a broad American accent as he slouched into his seat and motioned for me to step on it, I obliged. Something was strange with this man; he hid his head from onlookers and didn’t seem wholly comfortable with riding on a tuk tuk. I decided to build some rapport.

‘So, you on holiday or do you live here?’

‘Um, oh, yeah, vacation.’ Still he was occupied with what was going on behind or to the side of us. He was distracted. I needed to step up.

‘Vacation hey. Well, what a place. I only arrived today and I love it. What part of America are you from?’

‘Seriously man, lets just get me home. OK?’ He wasn’t biting. I tried once more.

‘Do you not find it weird that I’m driving a tuk tuk? It’s a funny story actually…’

‘It is weird. Look, I’ve been talking to people I don’t want to talk to all day. Just get me back… Hang on, stop at this 7 – 11, I need some smokes.’ I stopped, he got out. What a strange man, on holiday and no time for a little engagement with some excellent rapport. I figured he got into a little trouble in town and was watching his back, that was, until he exited the shop and I got a first real look at his face.

Fuck. My heart began to pop out my chest. That’s Leonardo DiCaprio. My first night in public transport and I pick up Leonardo DiCaprio!

He stopped outside the shop briefly to light his cigarette. I thought for a minute as he looked around that he had forgotten about me, then, his movement changed, he rushed back towards my tuk tuk, something had startled him and it wasn’t long before I noticed it too. A group of 15 or so girls falling over each other as they raced down the street for a sniff of my customer. I needed to protect him.

‘Quick, get in!’ Igniting the engine I accelerated so hard the tuk tuk pulled a brief and intentional wheelie. Cool. I pushed through the gears and before long we had lost the girls and found quiet road. My customer’s body language changed, he was relieved and I could feel he sensed the harassment or chance thereof, had gone. I thought this the perfect time for a spot of light rapport, but struggled. A few strained minutes of silence passed as I mulled over the coolest thing to say, then, surprisingly he said.

‘Shit man, those girls… Those fucking girls… Thanks by the way…’ He smiled. Then laughed. I joined in.

His barrier was down, I could begin my rapport but it was a different ball game now. He’s Leonardo DiCaprio, what the fuck do you say to Leonard DiCaprio? It had to be cool, but what’s cool? Is winking still cool? Thumbs up? Are a thumbs up and a wink cool? Shit, I didn’t know. One thing that did occur to me though was to not admit to knowing who he was. Seemingly he didn’t like or trust his fans and not knowing him made me cooler, surely? 

‘So, why the screaming’s girls?’ I had to stop myself calling him Leo.

He answered by swerving the obvious and seemed keen not to tell me of his fame or the real reason for the ‘girls’ following him. He then asked me my name.

‘Will.’ I replied. Then, form of habit forced me to enquire as to his. I was expecting Leonardo or Leo but he called himself ‘Jack’. Weird. I took a look at him. ‘Jack?’ I repeated. ‘Yeah, Jack.’

‘Well, nice to meet you Jack.’ He clearly didn’t want me to know who he was; in fact, he seemed buoyed by my acceptance of his alias and began to chat more. I spoke at a minimum for fear of coming across un-cool, which, I wasn’t ready to be. I put my thumbs up, nodded and winked, he made all the chat.

He talked of his holiday and how his buddy Jim had ditched him the day before. He didn’t give exact reasons for his friends’ exodus but did hint at a bust up over some ‘lost toast’. I didn’t understand but nodded and winked all the same. We had been travelling for about 15 minutes and his chatter had not ceased. The less I talked the more he did, like a man who had just discovered talking. It began to annoy me if I’m honest. He kept putting my name at the end of every sentence, I couldn’t think why.

We neared his accommodation as he took me up a very country road. I couldn’t make out much as it was dark and the light on the tuk tuk was maybe one candle strong but it was terribly bumpy and uncomfortable. Leo encouraged me greatly.

‘Just up here Will. On the left Will, you can do it Will. Take care Will.’ Constantly.

At points he held my shoulder, came closer and whispered ‘On the left Will.’ It was an odd situation I found myself in but soon enough we had reached his place. It was everything you would expect; big, neutral, modern, well lit, good balance of glass and wall. It was very nice. I tried to excuse myself and offer a goodbye as I understood our acquaintance to be finished but Leo had other ideas.

‘Will. Do you like chess? Y’know chess Will? Do you like it? Will?’ Was he asking me in for a game of chess? ‘Sure, chess is fun.’ I replied, hinting sarcasm. He grew excited, jumped out of the tuk tuk and began to circle it, wildly waving his hands. ‘Well guess what Will?’ almost shouting ‘I’ve got a chessboard. I’VE GOT A CHESSBOARD!! Oh Will you’re gonna love it, y’know Will, come on, LETS GO.’ He ran into his house, laughing and jumping. He expected me to follow, so I did. Oh well. I’ve done stranger things than play chess with Leonardo DiCaprio, haven’t I?

The inside of his house was again as expected, luxurious. He led me through the entrance hall, which, was massive, into an even larger room. He stood in the centre, turned and gave me a knowing glance. ‘You like chess Will?’ his words echoed around the room ‘How’s this for a fucking chessboard?’ He raised his arms and awaited my response. I didn’t get it. There was little in the room other than a chandelier and two rows of terracotta warriors backed up against opposite walls. No chessboard in sight. ‘What’s up Will? What? You can’t see it? Think big Will!’ THINK BIG!’… A moment, then I realised. The floor was a large chequered marble tile sequence and the warriors either side of me weren’t merely decorative, they were the chess pieces. I was stood on the chessboard. A life-sized chessboard. ‘Fuck!’. 

“Pretty cool eh? I got the idea form that Wizard Potter shit. I love chess. Here, let me show you how it works Will.’ He took me to the side of the room, off the tiled floor, pressed a button on the wall and a game station including two chairs rose from the ground. ‘Take a seat..’ I did. The game station had a monitor covering several angles of the ‘board’ and a futuristic pad, which, controlled the movements of the ‘pieces’. It was amazing. Leo gave a demo. The terracotta warriors moved to the designated spot seamlessly. ‘How do they do that?’ I asked. 

‘This is the genius part. I got all the warriors imported from China and had engineers, professors, technicians all working round the clock trying to figure out how to make these heavy bastards move without braking. It was impossible, a few were damaged, a few destroyed, we almost gave up… Then…’ He looked at me with his most familiar movie glare. ‘ We had our eureka moment. We hollowed out the centre of the warriors and trained children to move them from the inside. It was genius. No need for expensive technology just a few willing children, we got them from China as well. Yep. Life sized chess would not be possible without those kids.’

He was a great actor, I almost agreed that life sized chess was so important that to enslave children to preserve its existence was ok! But of course it wasn’t ok, I had to stop it.

‘Wow.’ Was all I could muster. Then silence. Leo looked at me with that same undeterred expression, confirming his story, until his grin cracked through…

‘Will, you dick! Children don’t control them, Fuck, its magnets, MAGNETS WILL! Jeez you English are fucking gullible… Shall we play?’ We played, it was amazing. I was a bit embarrassed but mainly relieved that slave kids were not used so I focused on kicking Leonardo’s arse. I didn’t, he was highly trained, every time I honed in oh his Terracotta King he gave me the slip, almost as if it was planned. Damn. Still, it was the best game I have ever played. I never grew bored of the warriors moving, it was both otherworldly and exactly real.

After his third straight victory Leo offered me a strange alternative to life sized chess. ‘Will? Can I draw you? Can I? Come on, you’ll love it, I’m an excellent drawer, come on Will.’ In any normal circumstance I’m sure I’d be sceptical. Being drawn is no way near as cool as playing big chess and a man offering is almost a no go, but this evening was strange and I was curious as to how it may unfold. ‘Sure.’ I agreed.

Leo led me to the only exit of the chess room. As I left I turned to take in a final glance at the madness. It was then that I noticed a small panel open slowly on the back of one of the warriors. I shook my head to shake the scene from my eyes but the panel was still moving when I regained my focus. It then slammed shut, as if it shouldn’t be opening. Holy bollock. Was he initially telling the truth? A double bluff? There are children in the warriors?

‘Leo. LEO. Wait up.’ He waited. ‘Look, I think I’ve just seen a child in the terracotta warriors, they are operated by kids aren’t they?’ Leo’s expression changed. ‘So… You do know who I am? I thought you were different Will. I thought I’d found a new friend but your all the fucking same aren’t you. Who do you work for?’ Oh yeah, shit, he didn’t know I knew who he was. Still, that’s not the major issue, child slaves are pretty damning no matter the talent of the actor. ‘Of course I know who you are, you’re one of the most famous men on earth and I’m not a recluse. I don’t work for anyone, apart from the tuk tuk company at the moment, but that’s temporary. Anyway, that’s not the point, the point is that you enslave kids for a game of chess. Why?!’

Leo giggled. He didn’t take my question seriously. ‘Go and tell your big boss what I do, go on Will, if that is your real name, go fuck yourself!’ He wasn’t interested anymore, his paranoia had clearly taken hold of him but I needed to know if he did enslave kids, I pressed. ‘Leo. I just saw something inside those warriors, was it a child?’ He paused, and placed the tips of his fingers together under his nose and began with the famous vacant stare. ‘You’ve got a cheek Will. Y’know. I offer you my hospitality and you’

‘LEO, stop with the ballshit.’ I interrupted. ‘What’s going on here?’ I pressed again.

‘What’s going on? You’re accusing me of shit I can’t even comprehend. Do you know I give $40million a year to charities over the world?’

‘Leo, I don’t care what you give, I care about small children living in clay statues. What’s going on?’

‘Stop calling me Leo, my name is Jack.’

‘What.’

‘And you are Rose.’

‘WHAT!’

‘We are Jack and Rose Dawson, current residence, the Titanic, and I will draw you Rose, I will. I’m going to draw you naked and you’re going to leave your rich but bastard fiancé for me. You can do it Rose.’

‘What the fuck are you on about?’ He had lost it, or had he? His acting was so good I didn’t know what to think.

‘Come on Rose, let’s go to a real party.’

‘Seriously, Leonardo. What is going on?’

‘Oh, I’ll tell you Rose, you’re going to grow old and have lots and lots of babies Rose. You are not dying Rose, not tonight.’ He came close and even though it was obvious he was insane and I should be afraid, I couldn’t help but be transfixed by his acting. He then reached for a switch on the wall, pressed it and a small section of floor beneath him gave way and he fell down what I can only assume was an escape passage/safety room. He had acted his way out of my interrogation.

I began to search the house to see if I could find him or any evidence of the mistreating of children. I found nothing. I heard a car speed away from his drive whilst I was in the kitchen, I presume that was he. Still, I had to try and get to the bottom of the kids in the terracotta warriors, but, there was nothing in it. The warriors were empty and whilst they did have opening panels on the back of them, the inside was too small to house a cat let alone a child. Was it a triple bluff? Had my eyes deceived me? Maybe magnets do control them. I didn’t know then and recalling it now makes less sense still. I don’t know. I never will. Leo’s actions were that of a guilty man but it was clear his years of method acting had severely diminished his take on reality. Still, It was pretty cool to meet him. Even If I now question my own sanity, more.

So, I went home upon my tuk tuk a confused man. Again. I told Carolyn of my day and she only really seemed interested in what Leonardo DiCaprio was wearing and the length of his hair. Stupid women.

Another fine day in Thailand and The case of the Terracotta Toddlers – Solved?