Adventure of the Blue Carbuncles 3

By : Jim Blossom
Views : 366

On his first night in Thailland—a night dripping with intrigue—our mucus-minded hero is in Pattaya, the sinus cavity of S.E. Asia, having a beer at the Ugly Parrot. His new friend, Captain Sorkan, is explaining how a snotty rival from Bangkok is trying to keep Sorkan off the slimy trail of the Blow-Torch Murderers, meanwhile bargirl-Lek is trying make our booger-brained hero blow his love-snot into her gob.

“All over the case, ‘ee is!” exclaimed the barman, “That smarmy bastard’s so greedy for the spotlight, he closed the murder scenes off and is stoppin’ everyone, includin’ tha’ Captain ‘ere, from enterin’. Only tha’ fat lil’ bastard ‘imself and his staff have been permitted access!”

“William...” chided Sorkan.

“Well why do you always defend ‘im?”

“Can he do that?” I cried.

“Tell ‘im Captain,” pressed the barman.

“His political connections have made him a powerful man.” He hung his head in obvious disappointment. “Nevertheless I gleaned what I could from the written report of the first murder before Lastradisomp had them locked away for fear of unauthorised media leaks.”

“Tha’ fool jus’ noticed the interest you’d taken in the case and didn’t want to be upstaged again,” muttered the barman as he drifted down the bar away from us.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“The first victim’s name was Balaem. Mr. Timsook Balaem. And Mr. Spanner, his residence contained such a collection of puzzles, it were like a feast for my powers of deduction! How I wish I could have seen it with mine own eyes!”

Wow, I thought, Sorkan can make words sound so cool. Talking like Sherlock Holmes looked like fun so I rubbed my chin thoughtfully and gave it a try. “Hmmm,” I mused trying to remember one of those cool medieval words Sherlock Holmes used, “Singular. Totally singular I declare.”

Sorkan cocked an eye-brow and gave me a funny look. He was impressed. I could tell. So I continued, “What of this man, the victim, this singular Mr. Balaem?”

“Well...” Sorkan began slowly, hesitantly, like he was a bit taken aback by my obvious mastery, “...he was not a mentally powerful man. But neither was he one who accepted his mediocrity with resignation. No. Mr. Balaem had dreams of something greater for himself than the life of a mere customs officer. His desk was littered with...ah...‘get-rich-quick-schemes’ I believe is the right term. Network sales, lottery systems, and such. It was evident that, had he lived in your country, poor Mr. Balaem would have been easy prey for every Amway salesman and pyramid scam going.” He chuckled dryly.

“I know the type,” I said with a grim smile, “Long on ambition but short on calming cents, I’m afraid.”

“Ah...yeah. Precisely. And it’s all the more tragic when the victim has precious little money to lose. For customs officers you see, make as little as I. And, like myself, rely on being able to apply their position to seamier ends than what was intended.” He frowned at this and the shame in his eyes made him look a little sad.

“Do you think that his tenancy for enterprise had something to do with his death?” I asked quickly.

“His what?”

“You know, his tenancies.”

“I think he owned.”

“That’s right, you know, his big dreams.” Poor Captain Sorkan, I thought, I’ll have to remember to dumb things down for him.

“Big dreams. Yes, I understand,” said Sorkin. I was rewarded immediate as an enthusiastic gleam returned to his piercing green eyes. “Perhaps, my friend, perhapsss,” he hissed thoughtfully as he sipped his vodka, “But so strange are the road signs, that I can’t make anything of the map, so to speak. For there was an envelope found, still sealed and bearing Mr. Balaem’s name. And inside was neatly placed one hundred thousand baht in cash.”

“Extraordinary!” I’m sure Sherlock holmes would have said something like that. Yeah. My face was that of an eager schoolboy. “Absolutely extraordinary!” I cried. Sorkan flashed me an expectant eye and silence began to settle on me. “So, ahh...a hundred thousand baht...ahh...is that a lot?”

“Absolutely.”

“What do you make of it, then?” I rubbed my chin again.

“Oh, it’s a bribe, that’s to be sure. But for what, must remain a mystery to me as I was barred from actually viewing it myself.”

“Lastradisomp’s small-minded jealousies,” piped the barman from down the bar.

“Fools!” I muttered, and Sorkan smiled at me.

“But I did get a second hand description from a lieutenant who spoke to me outside.”

“Some poncy lil’ puke actin’ all high handed like—makin’ ‘im beg for information—in order to shame tha’ good captain ‘ere.”

Sorkan gulped his vodka in anger and frustration, and it seemed to me just then that, as detectives, our love of solving a case was like a drunk’s love of booze.

“Let me buy you a drink Captain Sorkan. I want to hear more.”

“Thank you, Mr. Spanner,” hissed the Captain, “the tang of disgrace is less bitter with each one.”

He tapped his glass to my bottle and drained it gratefully as the barman reached for the vodka.

“The envelope, this lieutenant told me, was marked with a series of numbers. He either couldn’t (or wouldn’t) tell me exactly what they were, but by the way he described them I suspect they represented a date, a container number, and possibly a crate number—no doubt, by means of instructing the victim when and how to find certain items in a shipment.”

“You suspect smugglers then?”

“That’s what it appears, Mr. Spanner.”

“So you figure Balaem and the other victim were being paid to see that certain crates avoided customs inspection on their arrival?” I suggested.

“Ah, ...something like that. Yes. But what exactly, I cannot say for certain.”

“Was there anything else written on it?”

“Yes. One word, the significance of which perplexes me so, that at the time, I suffered with great anguish that perhaps the fool had passed it along to me incorrectly.” He wet his lips with a reptilian flick of his tongue. “Gouda,” he said flatly.

“Gouda? Isn’t that a kind of wine?”

“Cheese actually. But I don’t really think that it referred to consumables.”

“Ha, cheese!” I laughed. The idea that cheese was at the centre of all this shit was kind of funny.

“Perhaps,” he sighed, as though with disappointment. Silence fell between us as I tried to make sense of it all.

“Two men dead over the illegal import of cheese!” I blathered. “I don’t believe it.”

“Neither do I, Mr. Spanner, neither do I.” He finished with a hiss and a sly grin that curled the corners of his thin lips. “But Chief Inspector Lastradisomp would disagree. For the last week he’s conducted full searches of every shipment containing cheese and dairy products that has entered . He has container-ship captains and dairy-men from California to hopping mad!” And with that, Captain Sorkan allowed himself an open chuckle that I couldn’t resist falling in with.

“What do you make of it all, then?” I asked.

“Well,” he hissed, “As the vast majority of the evidence has been denied to me, there is but little to base speculation on, however a handful of facts seem amply clear. First the motive: (Although I regret that my theories are a bit vague at the moment.) The murders are being performed by two or more people, as applying a torch to the face of a struggling man is definitely not something accomplished by one person. These brutes would appear to have a number of customs officers in their nefarious employ. I’m afraid Mr. Spanner, this is not so very unusual in Thailand, for the salary of a customs officer is as pitiful as mine own...” His eyes grew heavy. “...forcing them to...well...”

“It’s okay, I understand,” I assured Sorkan, after all, is stealing cheese to feed your family really a crime?

“Thank you Mr. Spanner. Shame, born of necessity or not, is not something easy to live with.”

I nodded understandingly.

“Nevertheless, these customs officers must have been retained to use their position to commit some illegal act for the murderers, or perhaps to over-look certain things. Each of the victims were either in the act of double crossing the murderers or threatening to. Killing them in the most horrific way possible was intended to send a message to the other customs men in the ring, to stay in line or else meet the same gruesome fate. For with this second killing, a distinct pattern of brutality has been laid out for them to ponder over instead of planning treachery.”

“Yes, I see!” I didn’t actually, but I didn’t want to look stupid either.

“Secondly, the means. The killing was done with a propane soldering torch that had been in the possession of the first victim, Mr. Balaem, and so happened to be there handy at the time of the first murder. It was probably only after, when the sensational media coverage made the cause of death so notorious, did they decide to use it again in the second murder.”

“Of course!”

“My reasoning for why the torch was in the possession of Mr. Balaem leads me to the final conclusion I have drawn from this case, and this one is truly puzzling: Mr. Balaem was desperately trying to heat something in the hours and days leading up to his death. First he used the propane soldering torch, then the acetylene blow torch, and finally a small pottery kiln.”

“Really!” I exclaimed. “All these items were found at the scene?” It was all so puzzling to me. It wasn’t that hard to melt cheese, was it?

“Yes, and although they were noted by Lastradisomp and his men, they failed to grasp the desperate circumstances surrounding them.” He smiled fiendishly. “For although I was locked out of the crime scene that night, my instincts would not let me rest—as you have witnessed, often I am forced to dull them with alcohol.” We shared a chuckle. “But no amount of drink would deter the blood hound in me that night, not when the trail was so fresh! I undertook a lengthy investigation of the neighbourhood surrounding poor Mr. Balaem’s home.

“Through much deceit of which I am not proud, and some small cunning of which I am, I discovered a welder, whose torches had gone missing the day before the murder and a potter who’s kiln had likewise disappeared the very morning of the crime.”

I was fuckin’ blown away, this was a real-life murder case! I thought to ask him how the Bangkok police had reacted to this, but the sly grin on his face told me that he’d kept it to himself.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, having read my thoughts as easily as he might read those squiggly headlines, “Lastradisomp will eventually find out. Even he is not so...misled, as to not uncover those facts eventually. In the mean time, it’s something for me to chew on.” He quietly returned to studying his glass of vodka.

He’s withholding evidence! The thought hit me like a boot to a sack of shit. The son-of-a-bitch is withholding evidence! The words filled me with enthusiasm. It could only mean that he was planning to pursue the case on his own! But why is he telling me?

“I was planning to search through customs logs actually, tomorrow night.”

And with that, it became clear: he was offering a partnership. But why? For a moment I figured it was because he was as thrilled as I was to find a fellow-enthusiast but then I realised that if he was half the detective I figured he was, he could probably recognise the talent in me and needed my expertise to help him. Right?

But technically he was breaking the law. So would I be in shit too if I went along with him? But ah, fuck it. I was a foreigner; certainly the Thai authorities would go easy on foreigners. Right? This, was a case worthy of a great detective like me and I, as much as he, wanted to get to the bottom of it!

“I wonder if you’d mind me tagging along tomorrow?” I said nervously, the words barely slipping out.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said. And just like that we was partners! We exchanged grins as he paid his bar-tab. “I’ll see you here tomorrow night then.” And he left.

I was blown away. I sat there like a fucking mental patient trying to grasp it all. No, I’m serious, I musta looked like a fuckin retard. Blow-torches, payoffs, car chases! My heart. was thumping like crazy Adventure, mystery,...

“You want go wit’ me?”

“Say what?” I was jerked back to reality by the words from the girl whose gentle touch had worked it’s way from my neck down to my lower back.

“You vera’ strong,” she said as her hands reached around my torso to envelope me. Her warmth pressed against my back.

I was thankful; her second sentence didn’t require an answer. I feared she might press the issue. I don’t know what I was afraid of then. I mean, she was gorgeous! A girl I’d be proud to have on my arm back home. It was just a little sudden I guess. Thankfully, the barman came to my rescue.

“That Captain Sorkan,” said the barman, “ ‘ee’s a corker, that one. I don’t normally take a close likin’ to Thais...I mean tha’ girls are all right an’ all.” He gestured casually to Lek who was wrapped around me like a pretty towel. “But that Captain Sorkan is tha’ bloody salt, init’ he?”

That sounded complimentary but I wasn’t sure. I remained silent.

“But that smarmy little bastard Lastradisomp, let me tell ya about ‘im! He went ta school with tha captain at a fancy university up in Bangkok. Criminology...‘copper-school’ like. Lastradisomp was just a mediocre student at best; getting by mostly by exploiting the work of others. Tha’ Captain on the other hand, was brilliant; a real prodigy like. Trouble is, Lastradisomp’s family is like on the fringes of tha’ bleedin’ nobility ‘ere! His father is a bloody general in tha’ damned army an’ ‘is uncle is chief of bloody security at one of tha’ royal palaces up there is Bangkok!”

“What about Sorkan?” I asked. “He must have got his smarts from somewhere?”

“Well that’s just it init’ it? Story goes his dad’s just a bloody shopkeeper. Family barely ‘ad enough money ta’ let ‘im finish his grade-school let alone university. But ‘is dad kept ‘im in school, though he sorely needed his son to help in the shop, and don’t ya know it, tha’ clever lil’ bastard earns ‘imself a damned scholarship to the most prestigious school in Bangkok!

“Wow!”

“Yeah. Well it’s jus like back home init’ it? The real cracker-jacks always come from the humblest stock.

“His dad was a real honourable man. A little too honest for a shopkeeper ‘ere—tha’ shop never did well—but ‘ee had a reputation for bein’ a real straight shooter like. That’s why takin’ back-handers for insurance paperwork an’ tha’ like is so hard for tha’ Captain. It shames him. But what else is ‘ee going to do? His ol’ dad worked ‘imself into a grave years ago an’ that business with tha’ Royal Bursary landed the Captain in the most wretched, over worked, under funded force in the country. Your bar-tab’s more than his bleedin’ salary!”

“Royal Bursary?”

“Yeah. Lastradisomp, see, had a shot at this annual scholarship they award. They send one student to Stanford University over in there. It’s supposed ta go to the best student like. But tha’ way ol’ Lastradisomp used ta take credit for other people’s work—an’ tha’ pull his family ‘ad with the university’s board of directors—he actually had a shot at it! Trouble is, the best student of course was Sorkan! For the only time in tha’ good Captain’s life, fairness prevailed and he won.”

“Sorkan went to Stanford?”

“Aye mate, ‘ee did. But that one small success has proven to be his downfall. Jealousy can consume a mind as small and petty as Lastradisomp’s. While the Captain was away studying in , that damned Lastradiaomp set about poisoning the police establishment against him. (A group, which consisted to a large part of Lastradisomp’s own relatives). By the time the Captain returned, his once promising career prospects had disappeared. Lastradisomp of course, what with his family connections, got a senior posting to the distinguished Bangkok National Bureau of Police. He was the one who condemned tha’ Captain to his present station. ‘An tha’ bastard comes down ‘ere whenever there’s a big case an’ rubs his nose in it! Relegates Sorkan to filling out forms for his outfit!” The barman drifted away shaking his head and muttering.

This gave Lek the opportunity to slide around in front and slip her body between my knees like a cat. I gazed into her pretty almond eyes and the frustration I felt for Captain Sorkan melted away. She was beautiful. I was stupid. That deep seeded uneasiness crept up again.

“I’ll be by here tomorrow,” I said, like an awkward schoolboy too nervous to straight out and ask the girl he fancies out on a date. “Do you think...ah...you might stop by?” It never occurred to me that her and all those girls at the door worked there.

She nodded enthusiastically and her pouty lips curled into a promising smile.

“Great. I’ll see you here then?” I said like an idiot.

She nodded again and squeezed me warmly. Her lips brushed my cheek and I swooned. “I want go wit’ you,” she whispered in my ear. Her warm breath tickled.

Panic! I slapped some money down for my bar-tab and fell backward off the barstool and out of her embrace. I was spooked. I don’t know why...she just kind of caught me off guard again.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you,” I blathered. (What an idiot.) She just giggled at me.

I left and went straight to bed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next day, thankfully, Jerry Tonnage slept in.

Periodically checking the telescope I had trained on his room, I languished in my squeaky hotel bed and stared up at the hypnotic spin of the ceiling fan. I could detect a hint of Lek’s perfume still on my clothes and I wondered what it would have been like to wake up with her next to me. With this thought, I could feel a case of morning glory coming on. But then the cynic in me insisted on wondering whether Lek had woken up in that very bed once or twice before...with somebody else’s morning glory poking her in the side. Then everything collapsed.

Adventure of the Blue Carbuncles will continue next week (week of 20/3/06)

jim_blossom2001@yahoo.com

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