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decreaseSpanner the slack-jawed simpleton has timorously tailed the portly poofter, Jerry Tonnage, to charming Chantaburi.
“That guy a gem dealer?” I asked my driver.
“Probably.”
“Great,” I muttered. “What a waste of time.”
I couldn’t see very far into shop from the front window and settled myself in for a long wait. You never know, maybe he’d go for a quickie when he was done in there.
My driver started to get restless. “Maybe they be in there for long time Mr. Rich.”
“Yeah, maybe.” I couldn’t get any more footage of Jerry from there, and even if I could, it was obvious that he was in there talking business and not getting-it-on with the gem merchant nor anyone else. I had spied an interesting looking marketplace about a block away. “Well perhaps I should just play tourist for awhile. What’s the local food like?”
“Oh, Chantaburi food ver’ good!” my driver exclaimed with a thumbs up.
“Great. You hungry?”
“Yes, ver’ hungry.” And it was settled. We left the car parked there and walked to the marketplace. I was starting to lighten up with thoughts of delicious Thai food.
The market was kind of an open-air arrangement of tables and plastic chairs shared by several food stands and surrounded by grocers selling everything from live prawns to fresh durians. We concentrated on the food stands, all of which appeared to be mobile outfits, made in someone’s back yard out of old bicycles. Many had built-in heating devices, those that specialised in fried foods had a propane burner and wok. Others offering soups and curries had clever hot water heated cauldrons--the water in turn heated again by propane. Others were little more than shallow wicker baskets containing hot coals over which meat or eggs were roasted on wire grates.
The place was fucking awesome. The tantalising aroma of frying food wafted through the air. The vegetable sellers let you hold and inspect their wares and the musical chatter of buyers haggling in the sing-song Thai sounded like music.
I was fucking starving and I spied the dishes with hungry eyes. We finally settled on some fried rice with chicken and some wicked other shit they called phat thai.
The driver had a Thai newspaper with him that he read as we ate at one of the tables.
“Blow Torch Murderers did it again,” he commented.
“Yeah, I know,” I said as I discovered the paper list from the night before in my pocket.
“Newspaper say riot at murder scene last night.”
“Yeah…I know.” I unravelled the list and studied it again. Still the names haunted me, and I couldn’t help get the feeling that I should have known what they meant.
“Police use tear gas and beat people. Newspaper say. Hit reporter too!”
“Yeah, tear gas…hell, they opened fire with rubber bullets too.” Over the top of the crumpled piece of paper, the signs out front of the street’s rows of shop houses all lined up one after the other. Framed on the bottom by the list itself, and on top by a street vendor’s sun umbrella, I could see them one after the other…all similar…all selling the same products and services.
“How you know so much about murder scene last night? You Blow Torch Murderer or something?”
“That’s it!”
“Huh!” My driver’s eyes bulged out of his head. "You Blow Torch murderer!"
“No! The list! The list!” I shouted. “They’re gem shops! Bangkok gem shops! I’ve been to some of these! I followed Jerry to them my first day!”
“Oh. Good for you,” muttered my driver in slight confusion. “Anyway, newspaper say police are to blame for causing riot!”
“Yeah, I’d say so,” I muttered as my mind was torn between my revelation and the images of the night before.
“Newspaper say Chon Buri Provincial Police antagonised the crowd, then overreacted.”
“Chon Buri police? What are you talking about?”
“Newspaper say Chon Buri policeman hit people with clubs and their boss, Captain Sorkan, order them to fire tear gas and rubber bullet.”
“That’s not how it happened! Let me see that!” I gasped. I grabbed the newspaper from him. It was all in Thai but the large photo of the crowd accompanied by the inset file photo of my friend told the story.
“It true,” said my driver, “Newspaper say.”
“That’s bull shit. I was there. Somehow Lastradisomp has cut some deal with a reporter to use Sorkan as a scapegoat!”
My driver just looked at me with vacant eyes.
“Oh never mind,” I muttered. I was suddenly restless. “Damned it! What am I doing wasting my time down here? The case of a lifetime has come my way, and I’m treating it like it were just a passing interest! Come on…” I grabbed his arm to leave. “…to hell with Jerry Tonnage and his dirty little secrets, I gotta get back to Pattaya! I’ve only got a week and a half left, and I’m not going to waste it!”
Adventure of the Blue Carbuncles will continue next week.
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