Due Out This Week - Final Closure - Robert Bell's New Thriller

Paul Swift wandered down to his usual Sunday watering hole.  He always enjoyed a pre-lunch margarita at Acapulco, a treat he looked forwards to all week as he had decided Sundays and special occasions only.  It was a small bar, open onto the soi, but they knew how to mix a mean margarita.  If he was feeling peckish, he’d order their spring rolls, but he usually saved himself for a Sunday lunch.  When he had visited on holiday he was a daily visitor and never missed the spring rolls.

Not today though, he wanted to gorge on a proper Sunday lunch.  He knew Acapulco would be quiet, most people still recovering from their Saturday night and that he would get a seat overlooking the soi.  He’d also get to read the bar’s copy of the Bangkok Post.  It wasn’t the same if he couldn’t watch life go by, and catch up on the world news, from a Thai viewpoint.

Even better, on a Sunday he was usually first to the paper.  It was still in a neat, pristine condition.  No one had been at it, attempted the crossword, got the pages in the wrong order.  He hated it when someone had started the crossword.  Not that he ever did them, but it made the paper feel old and used.

The soi was just waking up after a busy Saturday night.  It was more likely that he’d see a group of Japanese or Chinese tourists heading for a speedboat, than any of the guys that he saw in the bars at night.  Thankfully, it was too early for most of them, they rarely surfaced before three.

Just as well, some would want to talk and relate the story of their conquest from the previous evening, or moan about their failure.  Not something Paul enjoyed.  Some considered Paul a friend; Paul saw them as fellow travelers who happened to enjoy the scene in the same bars.  He wouldn’t count any of them friends.  He liked to keep his own company, at least where fellow Farang were concerned.

Paul was four weeks into his trial of living in Thailand.  When it had been a week’s holiday, it was different.  Now he was here six months, deciding whether he could live in Thailand permanently.  The last thing he wanted, was to be latched on to by expats in need of friends, or money.  In time, maybe;  friends anyway.  For now, he had a few acquaintances, people he’d share a drink with, but nothing more.

He took a seat at the front, ordered his usual and sat watching the scene.  Most of the beer bars were just opening.  Staff were cleaning the go-go bars and there were girls, who’d just woken from their sleep upstairs, or maybe on their way back from a night with a customer, buying food at the street stalls.  The hairdressers shops were empty.  They’d fill up later with girls, and boys, on their way to work.  Paul took the scene in.

Seeing the girls buying food made him peckish and he thought about where he would get his brunch.  The Black Horse opposite had a Sunday buffet, or he could go to Grant’s for roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, but that would require a motorbike taxi, and he could do that any day, if he felt like it.  There were limits to how far he would walk in the midday heat.  His hotel to Acapulco was about it.  Grant’s was a few sois too far.  He considered ordering some spring rolls, but decided he’d save himself for lunch.  He might treat himself during the week.  He was trying to keep to a strict budget, but sometimes he felt he deserved a reward.  So far, he wasn’t too much over, but it was early days.

His drink arrived, freshly made of course. unlike most bars who bought it prepacked.  He looked down the soi and saw Jeng park his motorbike.  No helmet of course, it would spoil his hair.

Jeng was one of the guys at ‘Run Coyote Run’.  It was only a small bar, but it was cozy.  Paul visited the bigger show bars sometimes, but he liked ‘Run Coyote Run’.  They did a couple of short shows, the usual fare.  For Paul, it was a nice bar to sit in, admire the dancers and have a drink.  On holiday he would have been there every night, and taken a boy, but now he restricted himself to a few nights a week.  Knowing Jeng helped. 

He’d known Jeng about a year.  The first time he’d offed Jeng for three nights, attracted by what was on display during the show.  That was when he worked in Pattayaland, and revealed a lot more.  He enjoyed Jeng’s company and had always made contact when he had visited on holiday.  Now he was trying to become a resident he would sometimes want company on the beach, or at the cinema.  He’d rather Jeng than a fellow Farang.  Jeng was happy to just sit there and relax.  Farangs wanted to talk.

If Jeng wasn’t busy, he often sat with Paul in the bar without there being the implied pressure of an off, or tip, at the end.  The other boys kept away, unless Paul invited them over, he assumed Jeng has told them hands off.  It suited Paul, who was happy to share his open bottle of whisky with Jeng.

Sometimes they’d spend the afternoon at the hotel, or Paul would invite him to eat before work.    If there was a boy Paul was interested in, Jeng would always tell him about them, which avoided disappointment later.  Admittedly, sometimes in far too graphic detail for Paul’s liking.  Jeng had moved there when Run had opened and considered himself the senior boy and made it his business to know everything about the others.

Jeng said it suited him as well, particularly if he didn’t really want an off.  It seemed that the manager, Run, didn’t mind, but then Paul was a good, regular customer, even if, unlike on his holidays, he didn’t spend every night in the bars, or buy a fresh bottle of whisky each night.

In fact, Jeng liked Paul.  He wasn’t ‘old’ like most of the regulars.  And he didn’t spend the night pawing him, or trying to get inside his pants.  Jeng was bored with the bar, but his girlfriend was making four times what he did on Walking Street, at least, so there was no option of moving.  And Jeng did not have any other skills.  In time maybe they could return home and do something.  For now they both made money using the assets they had been provided by their parents.

And for a Farang, Paul was quite handsome, even Jeng’s girlfriend, Joom, had said so when Jeng had shown her some photos from the beach.  She didn’t normally like hairy chests, but Paul obviously looked after his body.  And from what Jeng said he had a nice large cock, larger than Jeng anyway.  Not that Jeng was small.  Pity Paul was strictly gay, she had thought.  She told Jeng to take care of Paul, even if he didn’t tip.  If he was doing that he wouldn’t be straying with girls from the bars in his soi.

Jeng walked over to Paul with a big grin on his face, with any luck he had a free meal.  “Hi, what you do?”

“I’m relaxing, having a drink, then eating.  What about you?  Customer last night?”

“No customer, no money!”

Paul knew the game.  He didn’t begrudge a few of the guys, especially Jeng, as long as he got value for money.  He made a decision.  “What you do today?  Why you here, if you have no money?”

“Girlfriend me go away holiday with customer.  Not want stay home, so I drive here.  Think maybe I find customer.  I know you come here Sunday.  You want massage?”

“No massage!  You want eat?  And no tip!”

“Yes.”  Jeng was happy to sit.  He was bored at home, and his friends had customers.  And food was on offer, which is what he had hoped.

“Okay, a drink here, and then we’ll go eat.  Afterwards you can come to my hotel and relax.  I didn’t go out last night.”

Jeng knew what relax meant.  His girlfriend was busy and there was a movie on TV he wanted to watch.  Paul never minded if he watched Thai television as long as he did so naked.  The hotel had cable, which he didn’t at home.  Paul was normally on his computer anyway, once they had had sex.

Jeng took a stool opposite Paul and the beer he had ordered arrived.  An agreement made.  Paul returned to surveying the soi.

A large Farang entered the soi.  Paul guessed his t-shirt must be at least 5XL.  He had two young girls in tow, they looked about eighteen to Paul, not that he was a good judge.  Boys he could guess pretty accurately, or so he thought.  The girls didn’t look too happy, but Paul guessed they were recovering from a night being squashed in bed with, or by, the Farang.

There was something about the Farang, a familiarity that he couldn’t place.  The Farang took a seat in the Black Horse and went to help himself from the buffet.  Paul guessed he was one of those who could clear the ‘all you can eat’ buffet on his own.  The sort the owners didn’t like.

The Farang was bugging Paul, the more he looked, the more he was sure he knew him, but from where?  If the Farang had noticed him, there had not been any indication that he recognized Paul.  Maybe it was some distant recollection.  Paul was curious.  He was sure he wasn’t one of the guys he saw in the bars, he’d remember someone that size.  He hated it when he couldn’t put a name to a face.  He knew the Black Horse did decent Thai food for Jeng, and decided on the buffet.  He’d only need a snack in the evening.

He finished his drink and told Jeng they were eating at the bar opposite.  He carefully chose a seat where he could see the Farang, but not too close, or too obvious.  He wasn’t sure what, but something told Paul not to approach him.

As Paul went to the buffet to take his first plate, he overheard the Farang on his phone.  He was obviously agitated and speaking German.  Was he a face from his time in Germany?  If so, then it was definitely better if he didn’t make an approach, there had been some unsavory characters, to be polite.  Maybe eating at the same bar was a mistake.

Paul returned to his seat, his plate laden with roast beef, pork, chicken, and a pile of roast potatoes, all covered in a thick dark gravy.  The vegetables at these buffets were always stewed to death, and tasteless.  He never went for the soup; it would only have filled him up before the main course, but, of course, that was the owners idea.  At least the Yorkshire puddings looked good, time would tell.

As he ate, he racked his brain, going through names and faces from Germany.  Definitely no one who worked with him at Loewe Finanz.  Maybe one of the brokers they had investigated.  He went through names, but nothing.  Maybe it was someone from one of the other audits.  Austria or Switzerland?

“You ok?  You not talk.”  It was Jeng.

“Sorry, something on my mind.  How’s the food?”  He’d only just noticed Jeng had gone for the buffet as well.  His plate laden with meat, rice and vegetables, all dowsed liberally with chili sauce.

“Good.  Can I have another beer?”

“Yes, and order me one.”

Paul was sure that Andy would remember the Farang’s name, if indeed they did know him.  The more Paul thought about it, the more he knew that it was probably a bad idea if he was recognized.  But his curiosity had been awakened.

When Jeng went to get more rice, Paul took the opportunity to take a picture of him at the buffet with his phone.  The Farang had gone to refill his plate at the same time and Paul managed to get him in shot.  He’d email Andy later.