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?

The Case of the Beetroot Gris

Tuesday the 22^nd of November

In the midst’s of a mid morning knap my phone rang “Hey Will. Bit of a weird one; could you go to the market and get me a beetroot? I need it for an experiment and the school can’t get hold of one”. It was Carolyn – was she spying on my dreams? I pulled myself out of bed and found my clothes. I needed help on this task so by chance I phoned an old friend.

“Roger? Something’s come up… I need your help”

“No problem old sheaf, what’s the two’s and four’s, you know I’ve been finding it rather silly…”

Roger was literally an ‘old’ friend – 87 years. He was eccentric and suffered with all kinds of age related illnesses but made for a loyal and experienced ally – someone I could trust. He was typical old English, proud of his heritage and couldn’t help but speak to a willing ear. He came to Thailand 40 years ago to marry a Thai woman half his age, he did, but she died in suspicious circumstances; he vowed never to love again. I met him a month after I came here in a local bar. We bonded.

 “… So? In a pickle? A tight spot? What’s arousing the senses Willy? Dragon at Kingerlerth Hill?... Swamp tiger attacked by a small gull?... Get it, got it?”

“Roger, listen, I need a beetroot”

“Well why didn’t you say so. A red beet, table beet, garden beet, the beet. Damn, high in sodium, potassium, vitamin C and betaine - which as we know helps with the old ticker – who isn’t ready and willing for the lustful lingers of a beetroot? Get it, got it?”

“Okay, any knowledge on where to find one?”

“Damn ramble wit and tooth, where to find a beet? You know, my old Maam had an acre of beetroot farmed 10 miles west of Stonehenge – illegally of course – back in the 30’s. I came quite the fanatic; pickled, chopped, diced, sliced or raw I was rarely seen without one. Reminds me of the time I was …”

“Roger!” I interrupted “Where do I find one?”

“I tell you what, come over here to my humble shack, I’ll entertain your plight. I bid you a fair route. Get it, got it?”

He hung up. I wasn’t aware of Roger’s fascination but it appears fate has dealt another hand, in fact a beetroot enthusiast could well prove useful so I darted over to Rogers and knocked the door. ‘Hello, Roger? It’s Will’. There was no answer. I opened and cautiously tiptoed in. I was stopped

“William! Knock will you”

“I did! You didn’t answer”

“Enough of that. Manners go a long way young man”. There was no arguing with him, he was never wrong. “Damn, even my children knock!”

“I didn’t know you had children Roger”

“I do, yes, 10 in fact.” He didn’t.

“Anyway, for what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Beetroot?”

“Ah yes, beetroot. You know my father carried a dried beet ‘round his neck for the last 13 years of his life. Gosh, damn… I would always ask ‘ father, why do you wear that?’ he would pull it from his sweater and recite a very detailed story… It saved his life you know, but ultimately it was the death of him. Get it, got it?”

It was clear Roger was losing it. He’d always been fond of telling tales but lately he was delirious and I was beginning to suspect his claims as nonsense. He called me into his living room and we both made ourselves comfortable. I was offered and accepted a drink. His house was typical Thai. Clean, marbled and decorated with a mixture of odd traditional elephant junk and sheik boldness. We talked, or I was talked too for a while as he discussed the markets near by and the possibility of Beetroots being there. It was concluded that the market behind Tesco Lotus on highway 36 was my best bet. I started the process of excusing myself when I noticed Roger had stopped talking mid sentence, it was unlike him. I admit I had tuned out a while ago but silence was a different noise altogether. I approached him. He had no pulse. Roger was dead.

What the fuck! Why can’t I just have a normal day? Why can’t a beetroot hunt be a simple search for a beetroot? Why has my friend died on me? WHY? A flurry of thoughts crept through my mind, what should I do?

I’d never seen a dead body before but it was kind of reassuring, peaceful even. I was curious to how he had died. It’s weird for a man to talk himself to death isn’t it? No matter of the oddity I was not a medic and whilst I am qualified to make a determined guess the cause was not clear, but I examined the body in case of any obvious signs. It was then that I found the dried beetroot hung from a chain around his neck.

Had Roger not made reference to his fathers adornment I may have left then and phoned the police, but my detective senses were going crazy. Roger told me about his fathers dried beet for a reason, he probably told me the reason but I stopped listening. I pulled the beetroot from him and tucked it into my pocket. As I did this there was a knock at the door. I was now in a silly situation, how am I to react? For whatever reason I decided to come clean, answer the door and explain to whoever what had happened. I’m honest.

It was a woman, Thai. Her age was hard to tell as I had to study her movements but I suspected her to be over 37. To my surprise she spoke perfect English. “Oh, Hello, Is Roger there?” It was then the single worst circumstance I have ever found myself in. “I’m really sorry. Um… Roger’s dead…” I looked down. I didn’t know who this woman was or what her relationship was to him but her reaction was one that I didn’t expect no matter her status. “Dead? Already?” She pushed passed and looked for the body.

For whatever reason I became protective of Roger. “Hey, wow, what’s going on? Who are you?” The lady didn’t listen, she was determined. I followed her into the room where he lay. I was sombre, she was on a mission. She bent over him and instinctively checked for vital signs then started to unbutton his shirt. She began to mumble “where the fuck is it?”. I interrupted “what are you looking for?”

“Never mind.” She turned and hurried to his bedroom, she knew her way around. I figured it best not to get in her way, I was still a bit shocked by it all. After a few minutes she came  back into the living room, defeated. “I don’t understand” she sobbed. “I’m sorry but who are you?” I said sternly. “Oh, sorry… I’m Roger’s daughter… Felicia.” She slumped and held her head in her hands. Was she upset about her father’s death or the fact she couldn’t find what she was looking for? I didn’t know.

“Daughter! I didn’t think Roger had any children.” I remembered.

“I’m one of 10 but the only one alive.” She replied. This shocked me. Roger had always insisted he had no children yet today he made claim to 10 and this woman - seemingly his daughter – was confirming this. My mind was going crazy, I needed to take a step back and let the events sink in. I excused myself and made haste for the balcony. There I was afforded a few minutes to think. Until -

“So…are you Will?” This woman knew my name.

“Yeah, how did you know that?”

“My father often talked about you. Claimed you as honest - a good man. He said I’d meet you. I hoped not like this.” She was soft-spoken, reassuring, and compassionate, everything I hate in a woman who has just found out her dad is dead.

“I’m sorry, I’m still a bit shocked by all of this. Roger dying! You turning up! How can you be so calm? He’s just died!”

“Listen, Will, I’m going  to be honest with you. My father said I could trust you and that you should be treated as a member of the family…”

“ok?” Hesitantly.

“Now, it may shock you but my father was due to die today. I knew this and so did he. I was told to turn up here at the time I did and I was told, by him, to retrieve his Gris”

“His what?”

“His Gris. Did he not mention it to you?”

“No”

“Well, his Gris is most important. It has been in his family for generations, it, it, it controls things…” Her eyes filled with mystical wonderment. She was fucking nuts.

“Listen, I don’t think I should be here, with all due respect and condolence, can I just go home?” Deep down I wanted to see how this complication unravelled but this woman freaked me out, I assumed myself better out of there.

“Yes, you can leave, of course… however, it is no coincidence you’re here. My father wanted you to be a part of this.” I agreed as much. Roger definitely figured me in this, whatever this was. I was torn, I’d have to be shrewd with a clear mind to stand a chance of solving anything and I was neither at that moment. I pondered and eventually agreed that I go home and have a shower before we rendezvous’.

I was glad to get home, it was still early in the day but so much had occurred. I took the longest shower I could and tried to free my mind as much as possible. I found some fresh clothes, left Roger’s dried beet at home and made my way to meet with Felicia (weird name).

We met at a small café in the village and she was much the same, calm and in control. My head was more with it so I began to ask some questions. “So what is a Gris?”

“A Gris is an adornment worn around the neck of the Bokor… A Bokor is a sorcerer in control of the Ro-Langs and the Ro-Langs are controlled using the Gris…” It took her twelve times to explain so I was at the point of understanding. It was Voodoo, a mixture of African, Haitian and Tibetan Voodoo. How the shit had I stumbled across this? The Gris is a dried fruit or vegetable hung around the neck harnessing the power to control the Ro-Langs, which literally translated means ‘a risen corpse’,  and Roger was the Bokor in control!

I have a logical brain, it thinks using knowledge and experience and in my experience Felicia was fucking insane, no matter how convincing her tone. However my duty was to get to the bottom of this pickle and I was in a potential position of trust. Lets play along.

“Wow, so Roger’s Gris, did you find it? I bet it’s well powerful!” Maybe a bit too sarcastic? She didn’t notice.

“I can’t find it! He said he’s be wearing it! HE SAID HE’D BE WEARING IT!”

“Ok, calm down, it’s alright, It’ll be around.”

“This isn’t a game Will” her tone loosening for the first time “There are 10 Ro-Langs at my house and no Gris! Do you understand what that means?”

“Your house is gonna be wrecked?”

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE!”

“Ok, sorry… What does it mean?”

“They will cease to exist! They feed from the Bokor but there is no Bokor without a Gris... I will lose my family.” Felicia began to cry, maybe it was all getting to her. I really didn’t know what to make of this. It was clear she believed what she was saying and I was starting to. “Why not make a new Gris?” I offered. “But this Gris has been in the family for years” she countered “is it impossible to make a new Gris?”

“No… The Ro-Langs may react differently but as long as the correct powders are added I see no reason why not… YES! Will you’re a genius, my father was right, you’re one of us!” We rushed to her car and headed for her home. She filled me in on the process of making and blessing a new Gris, ‘it would take two days to complete’ just enough time before the Ro-Langs suffered. I didn’t know what to expect approaching her home. What were the Ro-Langs? Were they literally corpses? I was soon to find out.

We entered and I was greeted with a room full of what can only be described as zombies. ZOMBIES. Ten of them, all stood mindlessly paying attention to nothing. They saw me, uniformly turned and wiggled their tongues! “lelelellalalllalwala”.  They weren’t covered in blood  and missing limbs as we’re taught to expect, in fact they were clean, but the body movement and noise was exactly similar.

“So this is the family… my brothers and sisters, and this… is mother.” Felicia introduced. The things I’ve seen in my life did not prepare me for this. A room full of happy zombies. My brain readied my body to defend itself but Felicia assured me they wouldn’t be dangerous  unless the Gris was not completed. Still it was a sight that will haunt me for the rest of days, no matter how ‘happy’ they were.

I was taken to a room with no the Ro-Langs and breathed a sigh of relief. “Are they your siblings? Rogers children and wife?” I had to ask. “Yes. It’s a process that’s has been passed down through the generations in our family. The father would be the Bokor and the eldest child would wait in heir. All other children would be made into Ro-Langs and later the spouse…”

“Why?” I was astonished.

“A healthy Ro-Langs can live twice as long as us. Five of my siblings in there are actually my uncle’s and aunts, see how long they’ve survived? I sometimes wish I wasn’t the first born.”

“Why not just let them live a normal life?”

“It’s tradition Will. Father said you understood.” I was slipping out of my trust worthy character, I needed to concentrate.

“I do understand, it’s tradition, of course.”

“My father felt his time had ended as Bokor so he started the ending process”

“The ending process?”

“Yes, as Bokor you have no tolerance of salt, so he simply over ate salt for a month…”

“I see…”

“This is now my opportunity to be Bokor and…”

“What?”

“I need children to continue the tradition… My father, he… he… “

“WHAT?”

“He saw you as the ideal man to continue the tradition with”

This revelation was nothing compared to what my eyes had seen today, it barely registered, I simply played along whilst I finalised my head plan. “Wow, ME?” Felicia’s eyes were filled with that same silly glare she shone earlier. I mean don’t get me wrong she was pretty and I admired her poise and purpose but she also conspires to trap and zombie family members because of ‘tradition’. I’m no psychologist but I think she has dependency issues. And just how the fuck does one zombie someone? I asked.

“How the fuck does one Zombie someone?”

“Zombie’s? they are not zombies! They are Ro-Langs.”

“Sorry, how do I Ro-Lang someone?”

She spouted some mystical bull nosh about summoning the gods of so and so but I could see through it like a bad trick. Whilst giving her demonstration she alluded to two powders. The first a powder included tetrodotoxin (a powerful and sometimes fatal neurotoxin from a puffer fish), the second powder consists of dissociative drugs such as datura. The powders combined would induce a death like state meaning the Ro-Langs would not be able to bend and only communicate by wagging their tongues leaving them entirely subjected to the Bokor and his Gris. Felicia believed the powers from the Gris and worship were needed but it was clear the ‘powers’ stemmed from the powders, logic told me so.

I was struggling with Roger’s involvement in this. Probability suggested he was what Felicia said but I think he wanted out, that’s why he invited me round and that’s why he told me about his father and the Gris. He didn’t want me to carry on the tradition with his daughter, he wanted me to end it.  In my head, this needed stopping. Now.

Felicia was still talking about the wonders of her duty when I punched her square in the face, not as hard as I’d hoped, the fact she was a woman meant my natural follow through was restrained. She held her nose, I could see she was in shock, ‘what’s going on?’. I didn’t hesitate, I punched her again, this time in the mouth, her two front teeth fell to the floor shortly before she did… I straddled her and started punching, left and right, left and right as hard as I could until she struggled no more. She was still alive but unconscious. I got up and found the powder that held the neurotoxin from the puffer fish, I emptied it onto her wounds, she was to be dead in minutes.

I went for home and rang the police from a pay phone to leave an anonymous tip as to the whereabouts of 10 very sick people, I don’t know how they faired. I’m not sure if I care.

I arrived at my house just before 5pm. Carolyn greeted me with her lovely natural smile and Astrid peeled herself away from the telly to run at me screaming ”DADDY”. All was very normal, the evening progressed, Astrid went to bed and we settled down.

“Oh did you get me a beetroot love, I need it for tomorrow first thing?” I winced, ‘shit’. I’d forgot. I told her I couldn’t find one.

“For fucks sake Will. What do you actually do? I asked for one simple thing, a favour, why can’t you do that? You are useless!” I was a bit taken aback. She must be approaching blob time. It was ok, I remembered I still had Roger’s Gris.

“Listen, I couldn’t find one anywhere but I found this” I produced Roger’s beetroot, still with chain attached, it held much more significance now and upon a study I found it beautiful, almost mesmerising. Carolyn snatched it from me. Looked at it and said…

“What the fuck am I meant to do with that?”

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

The case of the terrible twos

Monday the 7th of November

I understandably haven’t been allowed out of Carolyn’s sight since the case of the waving guard. The past week has been mainly me massaging her feet and grovelling which, has tamed her temper a little. Today I was afforded a trip to the shops on one proviso; I take Astrid.

This is no problem. Since arriving in Thailand I have taken great pride in spending more time with her, she is at the exciting age where everyday she seems to attain more skills and words, however, her new lust for enlightenment does come with a trying side; most parents refer to it as the terrible twos, I call it ‘the twat year’.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not calling my daughter a twat, just that sometimes she can act a bit twatty. For example this morning, after her not eating her breakfast and refusing to wear her school shoes we were late for school. We set off and were making good time, she then says, “Daddy… today is Tuesday” to which I say, “No darling today is Monday” she says “Wednesday?” I say “No darling, Monday” she screams “TUESDAY… TUESDAY… WEDNESDAY. TUEDAY!!” she then began to roll on the floor continuing to yell Tuesday, or Wednesday. It took me 35 minutes to calm her down and get her to school, even handing her over to the teachers she was sobbing Tuesday, or Wednesday. I think that’s a bit twatty.

In England I was told Astrid’s actions are borne of her parenting and seeing as I’m her Dad I feel a great responsibility in halting ‘the twat year’. I can no longer excuse her actions because of the ‘terrible two’s’, do they even exist or are we just being mugged over by clever kids? Either way with time on my hands and my detective status nullified by my wife today I decided to investigate the causes of this phenomenon.

I picked Astrid up from school at 1:30pm. She was cheerful and chatty. “How was your day?” I asked, “I did painting and played with my friends and singing and playing with my friends…” she talked most of the walk home, mainly repeating herself. Once we got back to our house I told her we were destined for the shop which Astrid loves, she carries her own basket and fills it with all sorts of odd Thai confectioneries, most of which I have to put back. We got dressed and headed out in the car. Lately Astrid has taken to rapping whilst I drive, something that can be equally endearing and annoying, based largely on the content she spits. Today was again a decent mixture of brilliance and pain but my mind was on other things.

All morning I had been racking my brain thinking of ways to accommodate the ‘two’s problem’. Solutions offered on the net cured only part of the ordeal and most insisted on remaining patient as it is only ‘a phase’. I couldn’t afford to wait, my covenant doesn’t allow for ‘everything will be fine in time’, a problem needed fixing… The answer was inevitably simple. To understand her I needed to heed at her pace, be a child with her, see things through her eyes, be a companion, a friend and do everything she says… It made for an incredible day. 

Once we arrived at the shops I decided to start my technique. I wouldn’t ask Astrid what she wanted to do or force her into a choice, I would simply follow her and do as she said. It took 15 minutes to get from the car park to the shop entrance, it should have taken 1. She studied certain car badges, “Daddy, this your car?”

“Nope” I’d reply

“This your car?”

“Nope”

“This your car? Robot at my party”. She began making robot noises and moving like a robot. I joined her. It lasted until she spotted toys in the entrance of the supermarket.

“Daddy, get my toys”, she hurriedly said as she rushed towards the store. Following, I was surprised by her awareness of other cars and the threat they posed - I didn’t have to intervene once as she dodged the obstacles to the toy department safely. We played with probably every toy in there for about an hour until she wanted to go elsewhere.  We briefly entertained the idea of actually shopping for groceries and things needed but settled for ice cream instead.

“Daddy I want to see flipping big golden Buddha?” asked Astrid once she had finished her ice cream. True to my word we moved on; it took a further 20 minutes to get back to the car due to various distractions, my favourite of which was Astrid talking to a small Thai boy about robots at her party which in turn lead to the three of us making robot noises and moves. The parents of the small boy were most confused but felt compelled to join in also. So the five of us just danced and made robot noises for a while.

The ‘flipping big golden Buddha’ Astrid made reference to is a landmark and tourist attraction just outside Pattaya. The Thais chopped a mountain in half and lazered a gold outline of Buddha -  it’s quite a bizarre spectacle but one of Astrid’s favourite places. Upon arrival she sang loud songs about Buddha and couldn’t wait to get out and make haste to the viewing field. I didn’t stop her. Watching as she made determined strides I realised that I was happy, really happy. A normal day with Astrid has about nine warnings before school – ‘put that soap down, NO, not that one, please sit down so I can put your socks on, SHOES, You’ve already had a yogurt, go to the toilet please, just have a piss!’ – today was simple, yes, going at her pace was neither convenient or productive but I was yet to regret failing to warn her about any of her actions; she was behaving amicably.

I figured I had solved parenting, solved ‘the twat year’. It was easy. Go at their pace, guide them without forcing situations, teach them morals in a way they understood, be a friend. I had learnt something from her today, this was a breakthrough and I was buoyed by its brilliance.

“Flipping Golden big Buddha Daddy… get my up?” she wanted me to get her to the top of the mountain. It was impossible, there were no steps or easy pathways and I had no climbing harnesses. I took her as far as civilians were allowed. “Golden Buddha, reach, reaccchhh”. Her arms stretched out, she pleaded with me to take her further. Who am I? - Mega Dad. What do I do? - I get it done.

I held Astrid as tight as I could and she clung on equally, I began to climb. It wasn’t easy, certainly with Astrid in tow, but I soon found my groove and before I knew it we were 200ft up – about half way. During the ascent Astrid sang songs of joy and I accompanied her when I could. Her face was the portrait of exuberance, a smile barely leaving her lips, a silence never fetching her lungs, we were one; father and daughter climbing the Buddha mountain.

As the sun went down we graced the summit and it was beautiful. Astrid was placid and as appreciative of the beauty as a sensitive teen. I on the other hand was knackered. The peak was kind and had a small shelf we could rest safely and I sat down to try and recover some energy- the view helped. We could see for miles around, the unique light omitted from a sunset illuminated the picture perfectly; it was stunning. We were in a stupor.

“Look Daddy, there’s Mummy.”

“Huh – What? Mummy?” I snapped from my trance. It was unlikely - however good Astrid’s eyesight was – the school was 30 miles from Buddha Mountain, but, it is my role to play along so I didn’t question her.

“Look, down there, Daddy, its Mummy, Daddy, down there, look!”

“Oh yeah, we’re so high” I’d play along.

Then, interrupting our tranquil scene was a familiar but exaggerated sound, the noise of helicopter rotors. This was exciting, as Astrid loves all things fly.

“Look Astrid, a helicopter!” lost in the clatter but yelled all the same. Astrid of course had spotted it and was turning in an animated flurry making certain I too was enjoying the scene. I didn’t dawn on me why it was so close to the mountain until the searchlight turned to us and fixed. I looked down and swarms of people, trucks and reporters had gathered in the car park. Where they there because of us? Oh.

I began to shout a plea of reassurance and innocence but it was no use, the chopper was too close and the rotors sucked up my voice. A search light from the ground then positioned itself on us from the right and soon after another from the left.  Shortly after a male voice overcame the chopper racket via a megaphone. It was in Thai and although my Thai has come on it isn’t yet good,  therefore the voice may as well have been talking duck. I needed to tell them everything was okay so I began to signal for the chopper to leave, after a while and a command from the megaphone man the chopper left – Astrid had fallen asleep. I began my plea.

The rest of the story I shall tell from the view of others as it makes more sense

Carolyn first heard of my ascent when a Thai member of staff ran into her classroom and breathlessly broke “Your husband, huh, huh, he’s on news, Buddha Mountain, he’s got hostage, climbing Buddha Mountain!” Carolyn found a TV set and tuned in. Sure enough there I was climbing the Mountain clutching on to Astrid. Carolyn as expected flung into action, burrowed the neighbours’ car and headed directly for us. She says she was petrified, “What the fuck is he doing? I’m gonna kill him” she screamed as she thumped everything.

Meanwhile whilst I was ignorantly ascending, a frenzy of activity was gathering in the car park below. Press arrived within minutes and began to tout the story as a hostage situation, as Carolyn saw. Soon they twisted it into a Terrorist attack recalling Taliban’s actions in Jordan. The army were called in, choppers were dispatched and a negotiator sent for. How I didn’t notice any of this I don’t know, I was concentrating on not dropping Astrid I suppose.

Carolyn arrived and bustled her way through the barricades to the negotiator, Thai authorities are scared of angry Western woman. She tried to explain I was her husband and it must be some kind of misunderstanding but it was no use. The negotiator didn’t speak much English and Carolyn’s Thai is worse than mine. When they noticed I was waving the chopper away they gave the order for it to leave and waited for me to speak. I gave my plea but it fell on deaf ears. Carolyn said she could just about make me out but the negotiator wouldn’t understand me if I was stood next to him let alone 400ft up a mountain, so he asked if anyone could translate. A young spunky reporter eager for a big scoop stepped up. He boasted of his three years at Sheffield University and was then given the Megaphone. He began:

“What your demands please?”

 I was able to hear him but they struggled to hear my replies and the reporter eager to encourage mayhem filled in the blanks. I will recite the negotiations here with what I actually said without brackets and what the reporter translated with brackets.

TRANSLATOR: “Your demands please?”

ME: “I have no demands!”

(I have plans)

TRANSLATOR: “Okay, what are your plans?”

ME: “I’m just going at my daughters pace today”

(I just need a Boeing to race away)

TRANSLATOR: “Jet is on its way, just give us girl”

ME: “I don’t know what your on about, this is my daughter”

(I could go by boat but I don’t like water)

TRANSLATOR: “Just stay calm, stay calm. Hand over girl and you get what you want”

ME: “I don’t want anything, THIS IS A MISUNDERSTANDING!”

(I’ll blow up everything, I’ll BLOW UP EVERYTHING!)

TRANSLATOR: “No, NO. We get jet, be calm. We on your side”

ME: “Its fine mate I don’t need a jet, this is my daughter, we fancied a climb”

(It’s my assignment; seize a jet, put you to slaughter, the perfect crime)

TRANSLATOR: “Please tell us what you want, why do this?”

ME: “I don’t understand…?”

(I only like dry land)

TRANSLATOR: “Ok, no boat, understood”

ME:  “Astrid! She wanted to climb up here, I am not a terrorist!”

(That’s it! We want to die up here. I am Scott the terrorist!)

TRANSLATOR: “NO, Scott, NO! Put girl down, nobody needs to die!”

ME: “Its alright! Nobody will die and we are safe. Who is SCOTT?”

(It happens tonight! Everybody will die for their faith. I AM SCOTT!)

Carolyn was on the ground trying to make sense of what was happening, she couldn’t quite hear me and was shocked by what the reporter was translating. Luckily at that point she remembered we both had a phone so she rang. “What the fucks are you saying to him! You’re not a terrorist, stop telling people your going to blow them up and leave on a jet plane. You’re going to get shot!” she screamed, confused. I myself was a bit taken aback “Oh um, Love, to be honest I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I got to the top and everybody started going mental”. I managed to calm her down and explain my situation and she explained to me what was being said on the ground.

Meanwhile the police snipers had taken aim and awaited orders to fire whilst a team  were dispatched to climb the other side of the mountain and snatch Astrid. I was obviously unaware of this but Carolyn could see the snipers and climbers, she knew I didn’t have long. She rushed and found the police chief. “Chief I have him on the phone, it’s a misunderstanding, talk to him!!” she panted. This saved my life.

“Who are you?” He spoke English thank God.

“I’m his wife, he’s on the phone, speak to him!” She handed him the phone and we spoke. He was angry but I was calm and reassured him of my innocence. I convinced him well enough so that the snipers didn’t fire and the climbers  even helped us down but he still  insisted I would be brought to justice for desecrating a sacred Buddha, he was ‘horrified by my actions’.

I was taken straight to the police station and interviewed. I told them the story I have told you - it didn’t wash, they were pissed, and now three or four more officers began to make threats. I was scared, were they actually going to beat me? Prosecute me? Put me in prison? Then as if a switch had been flicked the mood turned, I was free to go.

Carolyn had remembered a chat she had with a local a few nights before when she was told that if she was in trouble - money talked. She offered a bribe of 10,000 baht, which wasn’t acknowledged. She went higher and higher and reached 50,000 when the officers began to take note. That was all we had in the bank and she couldn’t go any higher but they wanted more. We were stumped. She then recalled something I had told her a month previous, “Thai’s just love plastic bags, more than anything!” Since we arrived we have kept every bag out of habit. In England you are told to recycle and scrimp but here they double bag for a hairclip! We have a cupboard at home filled with around 10,000 of all varieties. Out of desperation Carolyn offered the bags. They snapped it up. 50,000 baht plus 10,000 plastic bags confirmed my release.

Job done. I was free, I’d figured out parenting and became a minor celebrity (albeit a terrorist celebrity). Carolyn however didn’t see the positives as clearly as I.“You were only meant to go to the shop! What is wrong with you?!” I could only shrug and agree.

Case of the ‘terrible twos’ – Solved.   

Tale of the waving guard

Tuesday November the 1^st

Isn’t it strange that sometimes the most normal of actions can lead to the most absurd of outcomes. As I write this I am still unsure of my future but more certain than ever that I am just as strong and determined for the truth as I always have been, even if today was a bit of a pickle.

I will start from the beginning.

Waking today was normal - routine was sharp and with my house chores done I set about doing the weekly shop. Carolyn is ill at the moment and today she snuggled in bed absent from school. I told her my plans and she requested as many head ache pills and cough sweets as I could find. Off I went.

The normal action I mentioned above was that of a security guard working at the school. Now, I must explain that the school employ a security team of quite a few. There are four main entrance gates patrolled by one or two guards at a time with a roaming team of ten to fifteen taking care of the grounds. The place is well-guarded -whether any of them would know what to do in the case of any emergency is up for debate, I personally don’t want to find out. No. Any way, the back entrance I usually seize is taken care of by the same set of three men at different times. The guard in question of the normal action is the morning guy.

Since I’ve been here the school guards have taken great pride in saluting me. I don’t know why -  Thai’s traditionally greet people with a wai (hands together under the nose and a bow of the head exaggerated depending on status), but although the entire team is Thai they choose to salute everybody. No matter where I am if a guard spots me he/she will stop; place feet together, stand as if a broom handle has finally been inserted and put a hell of a lot of effort into a full-fingered salute. At first I was confused and thought maybe they were poking fun but I’ve since been told they are instructed to do that to make us feel - I don’t know – better.

I have grown fond of the salute, I enjoy mirroring their effort, and I think they appreciate that. However, in the last few weeks I have noticed one guard – the morning guy at the back entrance – has stopped saluting. At first I was happy with it, yeah, one guy, had enough of empty gestures, sticking it to the man, but recently it’s seemed out of place. Other guards still insist on 100% effort, is it fair that he doesn’t even bother? Something wasn’t quite right.

I don’t know whether it was the confidence from my recent quests or the four bottles of iced coffee I’d had with breakfast but today I followed the guard once his  shift ended. I had a few questions I needed to ask and he had a few answers I needed to hear (about what and what, I didn’t know, but my hunch needed dehunching).

His shift ended at 1pm, I knew this as my curiosity had stalked him for the last week. I had done the weekly shop and told Carolyn of my afternoon strategy. I always let her know my whereabouts in case events evolve beyond my control, she is very capable when calming a seemingly silly situation. I need that.

He left just after 1 o’clock on his moped, I followed keeping a fair distance. Tailing a suspect is difficult, tailing a suspect in Thailand is a different cow all together. Driving through a red light, undertaking, going the wrong way down a one way street, not wearing a seat belt, having passengers in the pick –up, having more than two on a motorbike, reversing up a dual carriageway and driving without a licence are all illegal and completely ignored here...  You need to be skilled at fitting into the scenery, blending with other vehicles, which in its self is hard as they are often used as tools of death. Weaving, maintaining balance, cuffed by potholes and sliding on the sand, yes, keeping wits and watch on a fugitive in Thailand can be a torturous affair.

We arrived (alive) at Beach Road via a few stops about 40 minutes past 1pm. It wasn’t obvious that he’d noticed my pursuit so I assumed he wasn’t aware of my voyeuristic presence. He greeted few peers on his way into what I would call a seedy bar. I’ve wiped the name from my memory but I’m sure it was called ‘The Slit Joint’ or something related.

I had to follow but before entering I hesitated. ‘ I can’t just waltz in there, that would blow my cover’... A plan grew. I had to utilise my strengths and I had to do it quick, the heat was cooling and I had no intention of letting him grease through my fingers. My experience in disguises made my decision easy, I needed to be an Italian Argentinean, fast.

Many people go overboard applying their camouflage where as I venture to the convenient. Why spend hours bleaching my skin, backcombing my hair, implanting breasts, shaving my eyebrows, piercing my ears, wearing a fake nose or swapping my fingernails when I could just put on an impeccable accent, squint my eyes and slant the corners of my mouth?

I entered ‘The Slit Joint’. The blacked out windows hid a sordid picture of twenty or so scarcely dressed women bopping to a beat so loud it nullified the tune. The girls were in the centre on a stage dancing around poles whilst a continuous seating area around the edge sat smatterings of old Western and Indian men groping ladies a third their age. This was no time for pleasure, I was here with a task and whilst the full extent of my mission wasn’t clear I was in disguise and had to consider what Diego (my Italian Argentinean alter-ego) would do. Turned out he loved it.

I conceived Diego three years back when stuck for work. I was on the dole and the pressure to find a job was hot. I wanted my next vocation to be something I would enjoy so I set about figuring out what would be perfect for me. Private Investigator. I have a way with accents and upon my interview for the role I decided to create an alter ego. The plan was to convince them of Diego’s credentials and then to reveal my true self at the end. I was sure this tactic would work, it did, a bit too well. Turned out they were impressed with Diego but didn’t see where I’d fit in.

Today Diego had evolved, so much so that once the transformation took place I was not in control of his thoughts or actions, he ran the show and he did that convincingly.

“Wha you wanna drink?” said the lady as Diego sat down and studied his surroundings.

“I tell you a what, why donta you get me a drink of bier, colda bier from your fridge, damn woman don’t make me a beg,” Diego slurred as he winked and brushed the ladies hand. The joint was surprisingly busy for the time of day but still, making a mental note of all the beings present proved no problem. To the left were two 60 year old plus Westerners (probably Russian) sat with four girls, opposite, five middle aged Indian men surrounded one poor women and to the right grouped the bar staff (all female) and the girls not dancing. On the stage the dancing girls did their best to attract the attention of the Russians as that was were the money was. No sign of the guard. Maybe he was in the toilet, patience was key.

“Thank you my a love, you do a your job a well, maybe too well.” Diego murmured as the lady passed him his beer. She sat beside him placing her hand on his leg, gently stroking getting closer to the groin as time went by.

“You stroka my leg like you tame the anaconda no? Damn, woman, you make my blooda boil and my crotch a poky.” He grabbed her face to look deep in her dark eyes, grew closer and in a midst of wild lust he whispered into her ear “Where is the man who came in before me?”

“You sexy man, I bang bang, big discount for you.”

“Damn woman don’t a you understanda? This man has a secrets, Where is he?” Diego pushed her head away, frustrated, where had he gone?

“Biiiig discount… You sexy, like bang bang?” The woman gabbed his hand and placed it on her chest and thrust her hips to his, Diego had no interest in this woman, his goal was the guard. It was clear she knew nothing.

“Listen a lady, I am not here for youra bang bang, please leave me with my, uh, how you say? Drink?” The lady smiled. “You very sexy man. Maybe I pay you?” Again Diego protested and refused, she left.

Something was a miss so Diego casually strolled the joint and looked for clues. He checked the toilets and even had a look in the rooms used for ‘extras’, there was no sign of him and after an hour of beers and sexual advances Diego had ran out of ideas. Aided by alcohol he decided to relax, this was after all his scene, maybe the guard would show up?

I’m ashamed to say Diego went wild, I can take no responsibility for what he did. The advances were no longer refused and he encouraged women with drinks and tips all perfectly lined with his Italian silver tongue. The reasons for being there were now distant, silly even, and Diego afforded himself a chuckle. “I’m here because that guard waved rather than saluted! I followed him because of a stupid WAVE! Ha, I’m a losing it!” By this time nine women, all performing acts of unspeakable delight, surrounded him, but Diego wanted what he didn’t have.

Sitting opposite a lady more elegant than the rest, taller and with larger breasts had smugly refused his advances all day, which in itself was odd. It was clear she was an experienced lady of the night and Diego knew he had his work cut out. He excused himself from his congregation and approached the mysterious lady.  Diego was a charmer, he was cheeky but courteous, always respected his surroundings whilst pulling out incredible wit. Girls fell at his feet, especially when they were prostitutes, but this woman was different. Did she have another client in waiting or did she simply not fancy a night with Diego?

“Well, I a noticed you a find it hard to a talk.” Diego said as he sat close next to her. She starred ahead, barely acknowledging him.

“That’s ok, I understand, it’s a tough to talk to a me, I’m sexy and a suave, you struggle, all girls do at first.” Still no response. Undeterred Diego grabbed her hand and angled his head so she had a face full of him.  “All the girls I a want to pay for the sex, I choose a youa. Why prick a needles in my heart? Why douse a my soul with a youra thunderous stare? We are a natural beings in the midst’s of love, lets a consolidate our existence.”

The lady contemplated and for the first time they shared a glance. Gripping his hand she whispered “I no sex with you!” It was like a weight lifted off her chest. “Oh I love youra voice, experienced and deep like the radio presenter. Oh woman, lovely lady of a my lustful dreams, share a my fury, bed with me” he pleaded. The lady gripped his hands firmly “ouch!” moaned Diego as he noticed the grip tightened. “You understand, no sex, but, I do…” She then made what is only known as a blowjob gesture. Before Diego could thumb up or down the lady had unzipped his shorts and began the process in full view of everybody. Diego paid no mind, he’d wanted this woman and a few spectators weren’t about to put him off. “My oh my, this is a fantastic, oh, your hands, a make my Willy look a small!”

“I have big hands” the lady muffled.

Few minutes later the transaction was done. Diego paid for his moment and set about leaving and heading home. He said goodbye to the ladies who had hosted his stay so well and reserved his longest farewell for the lady with the magic touch. As leaving the door he turned to her and waved, she returned the gesture. It stopped Diego in his tracks and he didn’t know why. He thought nothing of it and headed home.

I transformed back to myself. I was angry with Diego for what he had done but understanding all the same. Diego was single and sometimes that’s the price you pay for creating such a convincing alter ego.

To get home I decided to take the back roads, it had far less traffic and gave me a bit of time to think about the events of the day and what I was going to say to Carolyn. I got to the school and was greeted with the opening of the gate and a familiar salute. Damn. It started to make sense. A wave of clarity came over me. I stopped my bike, got off and let it fall to the floor. Sat, slumped I wondered if my clarity was ill conceived. No, it wasn’t !

Steps to the truth

One thing I have learnt in my years as an investigator is to accept probability. Today, maybe because of distractions in the bar detective work wasn’t my primary goal. I saw the guard go in, I didn’t see him come out and when I investigated I saw no route of escape or reason for it. Now, this means the guard was probably still there, probably.

I walked through my door at 7pm. Carolyn greeted me with her usual hug and kiss.

“How was today? Did you find the guard?”

“Sort of.” I said hesitantly. Carolyn knew instantly something wasn’t right.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” She offered her hand. I seized and inhaled a deep lungs worth of air.

“The guard gave me a blowie, well, not me, Diego, he, got, the..... blowie.”

“WHAT! Who’s Diego? What? What’s going on? Why? Who? Why?”

“Well, remember when I didn’t get that job because I pretended to be someone else? Well, I pretended to be him again to aid me in my case and he went completely out of control - before I knew it I was being serviced by what Diego thought was a lady but it turned out to be the guard, I think, yes, it was definitely the guard, her wave, it was the same, as you know, the guards wave, and the guard is a man, but also a convincing woman, very convincing, so I was, you know? Mouth raped by a lady boy?”

My hurried plea did nothing to calm the mood, Carolyn was beside herself with anger and my attempts at explaining the sticky mess were met with ground shuddering “FUCK OFF’s!”. Huh. Maybe I had taken my work too seriously, gone too far. Maybe this case was one where I was the whipping boy, the laughing stock, and an inexperienced rookie at the wrong end of a giggle. Carolyn certainly isn’t going to forgive me up any time soon, and who can blame her?

But I’m buoyant. Yes, by default I received a bit of lady boy loving but I’m a detective, I’ve taken one for ‘team justice’ and although this particular case will not go down as a fine piece of subtle investigation, it will be my greatest lesson ever learnt… Wont it?

Case of the waving guard – solved.

Shakespeare Tourettes

Sunday October 30th

The case of the missing cat peeled any hesitancy left in my mind. I pursue an eagerness for truth and a fulfilment of justice with bald bastard transparency. So far my time in Thailand has aided my call for guidance, I am free, I am here, I am willing to help and willing to solve.

Waking this morning was an ordeal as my sleep had been three short drunken hours. Still my responsibility outweighed any lingering thoughts of fun and Astrid did get her morning swim. The pool proved refreshing and to play with my daughter is a pleasure that can brighten the dirtiest of hangovers.

It was about 1 o’clock and I was just making thoughts of a sneaky afternoon nap. Carolyn and Astrid were playing hard and I felt my morning swim had earned me enough points to doze off uninterrupted for about 25 minutes. ‘I’ll give that a go’ I eagerly considered. Phone rings just as I’m about to drift off.

“Will, it’s Bob”. Bob was a Canadian war veteran (I assume) who moved to Thailand a few years ago. He had a Thai wife with which he ran his rental business and I have a truck and a moped rented from him at the moment.

“Bob…. How’s it going?”

“Good, listen, I need the truck, I need to tax it.” I knew this, He rang a month ago and told me the same thing but he never pursued it, just rang and told me he needed to do it. Today was obviously the day to tax.

“Cool, well when can we get that done?”

“I’m outside your school now!”

 I told him I’d be a minute. I liked Bob; he seemed a good man, spontaneous, in it for the right reasons, laid back and never too afraid to thrust a threat if needed.

Taxing took no more than 20 minutes and that is quick considering the Thai people love to take their time and fill in as many forms as are possible. Bob asked my plans for the afternoon. Being the ever adventurous man I pride myself on I replied by yawning “sleep”.

“Well, if you fancy it me and few of my buddies go to this open mic afternoon in East Pattaya just off the railway. It’s the only damn place I can find with any decent music.”

The music in Pattaya is horrible. There is plenty of it; most bars entertain but mainly with an out of tune Thai murdering an already hated song.  I’ve been here for almost three months and whilst my nights have been among the finest experienced, music has never attributed to that. So naturally I was intrigued, I knew Bob liked his music and judging by the posters (Pink Floyd, Clash, Jimi Hendrix) on his wall at his home, maybe this open mic gig wouldn’t be bad, fill my musical void? He gave me directions and times and I told him I might be there.

I was going. It started at 4pm so I had a few hours to knap, shower and prepare (with liquor). Upon hearing my plans Carolyn accepted my plea for her company and the three of us (Astrid included) set off to attend an open mic afternoon. What might we expect?

The room was dark, big and full of peeps. We arrived as a western man sat mid stage on a stool picking away at some ballad. I didn’t know the song but the 100 strong people in attendance didn’t make a sound and were obviously appreciative. I liked the atmosphere, in my experience it is so hard to find a venue and fill it with people who are there to enjoy the music rather than their own voices. The man continued to play, each song as well received as the previous. He was good. When he finished he spoke and introduced the night as compare. His name was Richard, I later got talking to him and he told me the origins of the event, borne from the same frustrations many music lovers may have living in Pattaya.

The afternoon progressed nicely, after Richard a poet held some pretentious readings, then a Thai comedian had a go. “They foun dead Israeli man in hotel room…… They suspect hummuside” was his funniest joke. He was followed by a band, then another band, then man with a guitar, then another poet, then a solo artist with a backing track, then a viola player, then boogie wodge on a piano. Diverse enough but I was still feeling more could be done and the alcohol had started to convince me I was the man for the job. I had put my name down at the start and had plans to either cover a classic and get the crowd going or do a funny song and hope they get the humour.

It was my time. “Can we have Milk on the stage please?” I was comfortable calling myself Milk at this point, which, means I was hammered. I took to the stage still unsure of what was best for the event. I wanted to present myself in a good light but had an unsurpassed urge to mess things up a bit. The performers had been so clinical and the audience so receptive, I/the beer wanted anarchy.

I started with a song of my own called ‘Husky Idea’; it is a favourite of Astrid’s and a nice little ditty but neither funny or that good to be honest. Still the crowd were happy with what was performed and greeted the ending as they had with all the previous acts – warmly. I didn’t want warm, warm frustrated me, and damn near pissed me off. I wanted boiling fucking hot, or freezing shitting cold, I wanted an extreme. After the generous applause calmed down I addressed the spectators.

“Ok, Ok, bit over the top eh?” Small chuckle. ”Right I’m thinking no matter what I do you guys will like it so I’m in the unusual position of considering what’s the best for me.” I deliberated. “Pssst, you.” Aiming the pssst at a drummer in one of the previous bands. “Do you mind coming up here and playing some beats?” before he could answer I introduced him to the crowd. He was clapped on stage giving me evils all the way to the kit. “Okay, drums, can you hit me with just a simple 4/4 hip hop Kinda funky thump?” It didn’t matter what beat he played I just wanted him to start, bide me a bit of time whilst I figured out what I was going to do. Surprisingly his beat was exactly what I had in my head, I filled it with a small guitar lick, and it was funk.

After a few bars I had to commit to something, sing or speak but my mind was blank. Then like a tide of certainty a flash of the unconscious burst through to spare my blushes. I have recently been studying literature, primarily Shakespeare and having been through his works with a fine comb my mind sought to regurgitate its finest parts. Brilliant. To the audience I beamed clearly.

“Thank you everybody, fantastic audience. I’m MC Shakesalot and this my band.” I allowed for a few more bars, then, began to rap with perfect clarity.

“Uh, uh, O, throw away the worser part of it, and live the purer with the other half. Good night: but go not to mine uncle’s bed; assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster custom, who all sense doth eat, of habbits evil, is angel yet in this,-- That to the use of actions fair and good he likewise gives a frock or livery that aptly is mother fucking put on, uh.”

The audience were perplexed but tapping their feet. I could see Carolyn was clearly enjoying herself holding Astrid aloft. I then took advantage of another blast of inspiration.

“I would like to introduce my wife Carolyn, AKA Sue-tube. Sue-tube, get up here.” By this time Carolyn was as hammered as I and held no hesitation in joining me. I must tell you that Carolyn is an experienced performer and if you haven’t heard her sing before then let it be known she is good. Taking to the stage she grabbed the mic and belted straight in with a beautiful tune that complemented the guitar lick and beat. The lyrics varied but the general point of chorus was “You think you know Shakespeare, then let it be rapped in here.”

We were set. Astrid front row, Mother chorus, Father Rap master. We continued.

“ You dig Hamlet huh? There’s plenty more where that shit came from, huh, huh. Y’all wanna hear a little bit of A.M.S.N.D? Yeah? Yo, yo, check Lysander. I am my Lord, as well deriv’d as he, crinkled cut Golden Wonder, As well possess’d in my tight knight, love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d, if not with curdled rose fanny vintage, which is more than all these binocular bicep boasts can be, I am belov’d of that beauteous whore Hermia; uh, uh bring it in!”

Carolyn “T’was my Lord”

I “Is’t fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood; discharge, ass, and, to speak troth, I have forgotten our way; we’ll rest the fuck up, Hermia, shit, if you think it good, then tarry for the comfort of the mother fucking day.”

Carolyn “T’was my Lord”

I “O, take the sense, ripped Anglo dirt, sweet of my shit innocence; wrinkled spurge; Love makes the meaning in loves back passage, conference. I mean that my heart unto yours is knit like the egg suffering throat dancer.”

It got worse, my mind recalled fewer passages and my mouth replaced them with cuss words. The more I forgot, the more I swore. Shakespeare Tourettes. I managed to destroy parts from Hamlet, A Midsummer Nights Dream, Macbeth, The Tempest, As You Like It and The Taming of the Shrew, by which time the drummer had stopped due to sheer confusion. We lasted 15 minutes with him then dragged ourselves to a resolution once it was just the wife and I. On the whole the audience were baffled but a small smattering of younger people acted a little differently. They cheered enthusiastically and clapped generously, I gave them a knowing nod as we were ushered off stage. I think they liked it.

As it turned out we were asked back next week.

“Certainly something different and that’s why I started this.” Said Richard. “I mean, try not to be as drunk as that again, you scared a few of my regulars but by all means come back and give it a go.”

‘Give it a go!?’ Patronising sod! We just opened the genre ‘Shakespeare Tourettes’ to a world clearly in need of it. “Give it a go, pffft!’ I don’t think we’ll go back. As nice as it was to hear people play and to perform ourselves, my urge to mess things up and be the centre of attention doesn’t allow me to enjoy it. Maybe one day I’ll be able to sit and take pleasure from others and their unique skills but at the moment unless I’m bowled over my inclination is to do the bowling. Damn. Home and sleep followed.

Another fine day in Thailand and the case of the missing genre - solved.