On Thailandblog you can read the pre-publication of the thriller 'City of Angels' which, as the title suggests, takes place entirely in Bangkok and was written by Lung Jan. We are approaching the end. Today chapter 26 + 27 +28.
Chapter 26
The confrontation was inevitable. J. knew he had to do this job alone. His confidence in the Thai police had never been very high, despite the efforts of individuals like Maneewat. He absolutely did not want to risk that the police would not do their job so that Narong would have a chance to deal with him in some way. After all, as long as J. lived he was a threat and the way in which Narong dealt with threats was now sufficiently known to him. Moreover, he couldn't possibly risk his true identity being revealed. There was still a price on his head in some West Belfast circles. And Irish never forgot. If they had to, they would cross half the globe barefoot to get their shit…
He'd made his way by motorcycle taxi to Klong Toey, the unglamorous neighborhood near the harbor - also known as the biggest slum in the city – have it brought. More than two kilometers before his goal, he dropped off and proceeded cautiously. You couldn't be too careful. He crossed a part of the capital where no other farang ventured, at least if he was in his right mind. Along the edge of the road among the largely abandoned and decaying sheds and warehouses, the obligate card players and other gamblers sat cross-legged among the rubbish. Scruffy women, bent over cooking pots on small gas burners, looked with half an eye at loudly clucking TVs that were connected to the electricity grid in some, always creative, way. Burmese illegal immigrants tried to forget their hunger. Men who bottle without blinking Lao Khao knocked back into a coma, half-naked children and laundry fluttering in clouds of dust. Yaa Baadealers and hookers on their way to work. And dogs everywhere, some more mangy than others. Nobody paid attention to him.
Hiding behind a broken-open container that may have been rusting away for a few years, J. observed Lung Nai's gray and clearly vacant two-story warehouse. He had first done a reconnaissance round of the building from a distance, cautiously. The two massive gates at the front and the rolling doors of the loading docks at the rear were not an option to get in. They were not only equipped with mega-sized locks, but also blocked with heavy cast-iron chains. His only hope was pinned on a small side door to the left, perhaps an old staff entrance. He studied the area and the apparently unlocked door through his USCamel 10 x 50 army binoculars for over fifteen minutes but could not detect the slightest movement. Even behind the large, dusty windows on the upper floors, everything remained dead silent.
J. moved, in his own mind, smoothly for his age, traversing the scruffy bushes at the edge of the muddy terrain, and cautiously but swiftly traversing the litter-strewn area around the building. Twenty yards from the side door, he pulled out his pistol and continued to load. It was time for a dance with the devil. Despite the heat, he shivered as he gripped the door handle. To his surprise he gave way and he carefully opened the door, pistol in his right hand. He had been mistaken: the storage building was much larger than it appeared from the outside. He needed more time than he originally thought. After an hour and a half of highly concentrated searching and tense nerves, he finally arrived in the enormous attic. This, like the other two floors, seemed to consist of an endless succession of spaces that housed a chaotic collection of rubbish. Everything was covered in dust and with every step J. took new clouds of dust rose. For more than half an hour he prowled about, his back beginning to ache from stooping and ducking cautiously, finding no one. Drops of sweat stung his eyes. He knew this was futile, but it seemed as if all the heat had deliberately concentrated just below the roof, just to tease him. Just as he was about to give up and go back to civilization, the light from his lantern fell on a rusty, but rather solid-looking door. A door, which, judging by the traces in the dust, had recently been used…
He stomped open the door and waited, weapon poised against the side wall, for more than three minutes. There was no sound. J. took a deep breath, threw himself in, threw himself to the ground and rolled on his axis. He was too slow to react to the shadow that fell on him and with a death blow caused his light to go out.
The first thing that distinguished J. was the smell of Old Spice aftershave.
"Here we are, face to face again." Blinking, J. looked up at Narong, standing over him, towering over him in a strangely distorted perspective that made him look colossal and terrifying.
'You really don't give up easily, do you Paljas ..?' J. had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He struggled to his knees and finally managed to stand up with the support of the half-open door. His legs felt like rubber, his ears were ringing and his head was throbbing as if thousands of goblins who had gone mad wanted to go outside at the same time. With something of amazement, he saw drops of blood pelting down on the dusty floor with great regularity from his rapidly swelling nose.
'And then something else,' said Narong, producing an unpleasant sound that J. eventually recognized as a chuckle.
'Why didn't you give up while you still could, you stupid son of a bitch? I warned you several times: the dumpster, the hail… but you, like a tough guy, just decided to ignore this. Maybe I should have cut the throat of that lame rotten dog of yours… I even promised on my soldier's word that I would spare your measly life and not betray you to your old comrades, but apparently you didn't care… Hey Poop ? ! '
'Why not ? I…A huge stallion against his chin abruptly broke off J.'s apology. Before he knew it, he felt himself fall again. A helpless victim of gravity. Not a second later, Narong had jumped on top of him and squeezed his throat mercilessly. J. felt his enormous strength and fury. It seemed to radiate from him like heat. When it turned black again before his eyes, he felt how the former soldier suddenly jumped up. A few seconds later he heard the ominous but oh-so-characteristic click of a gun continuing to load.
"I'm sorry, but I just thought you wanted to say something, you dirty wanker.' J.' His throat hurt too much and besides, he needed all his strength to pump oxygen into his equally aching lungs again. That's why it took him a while to lift his head. He thought he saw movement in the corner of his eye for a nanosecond, but he attributed this to the pain. He might pass out.. Good thing he was already on the floor… grinning at his own stupid joke despite everything… God, his jaw hurt…
Again he tried to get up. And again something banged hard against the side of his head. It took him a while to regain consciousness and he suddenly realized that he was on his knees. He was defeated. There was no way out. The same creeping terror that had occasionally, in a past life, seized him by the throat in the fields of Armagh or in the slums of Derry, now tried to break through again. But he had grown older, perhaps even wiser, and he was fighting it. He slowed his faltering breathing and tried to count the beats of his pounding heart. Do not panic. Not this time…
'So smart, this is where the adventure ends. At least for you. ' J. could hardly focus because of the pain. From his half-closed eyes, he watched as Narong approached and aimed his gun at him. He felt the dull thud before he heard the actual shot. The goddamned lunatic had hit him in the shoulder. The burning pain spread like hellfire over his upper body. Oh God, he's going to make me suffer a little more first… He wants to enjoy it as long as possible… What a sadist, flashed through his half-paralyzed brain. He tried to focus on the filthy ceiling above his throbbing head. Would this be the last thing he saw? J. turned away and closed his eyes. He realized that this moment, this unforeseen, unplanned, and unexpected moment, was all he had left in this life…
The expected shot boomed like the Big Bang, close to his ears. It took what he felt to be an eternity before he realized he was still alive. What…? How…? He stumbled to his feet, opened his eyes and saw Narong lying convulsed on his back with blood, dark red and in wide gushes gushing from his throat and a fine mist of blood drops from his wide open and rattling mouth sprayed.
'Backwards !' roared Maneewat, who was bent over the spastically moving Narong with a smoking revolver. J. took a few steps back with difficulty and in what he believed was no more than ten seconds, the entire Bangkok police force seemed to have descended on the building. He leaned against a dusty wall, breathing heavily, and for once he wasn't concerned about the stains on his good linen trousers. J. felt far from chicken. His whole body ached and the wound in his shoulder throbbed terribly. He was drenched in sweat but at the same time freezing cold and could barely focus when Maneewat asked him something. J.'s legs gave way and he had to sit down. There was no room for melodrama in the end. Just that tall police officer who stooped slowly and held out his hand the way you hold out your hand to a crying child who wants to comfort you. J. wanted to smile at him but he was tired, very tired… As he watched a nurse approach him in a daze, he felt a wave of acid welling up from his stomach. He puked with his head between his knees. His light slowly went out. Beautiful…
Chapter 27
It had been more than a week since the ultimate confrontation. J. needed time to heal his wounds. Maneewat had come to update him in the hospital where he had been for five days. As J. had figured out for himself in the meantime, Maneewat had put him under permanent surveillance as soon as he left the American embassy. The Supreme Court Justice had kept his word. From the moment he left for Klong Toey that morning, no less than four squads of experienced detectives had shadowed him unnoticed. Even the Americans, in a sudden fit of what could perhaps be interpreted as guilt, had provided a satellite to observe the whole operation closely. A heavily armed tactical support unit was available from early morning. It soon became clear from the data from the thermal detection equipment of a hastily summoned police helicopter that J. was not alone in the warehouse. The team that was on site received reinforcements from the support unit within the hour. After a short briefing on the spot, these police commandos, specially trained for these circumstances, followed Maneewat silently into the warehouse, where Narong was knocked out with one hit.
He died on the way to hospital. Apparently no one had attempted to resuscitate it… No trace of his two Cambodian accomplices had been found. Perhaps they had long been somewhere high and dry in their hiding place in the slums of Phnom Penh. Maneewat had no illusions. The chance that they would ever be caught by the collar was virtually nil. The police had guessed how big Narongs' gang had been and experience had taught them that they could not really count on the help of the Cambodian police.
When he believed that he had recovered sufficiently, J. discharged himself from the hospital, to the consternation of the attending physician. As in lawyers, Life had also taught him to have little faith in doctors. After the taxi dropped him off at the loft, he honestly didn't know who was wagging the happiest when he got home: Sam or Kaew… Both went to great lengths to make it as comfortable as possible for him. Something he could only confirm to his satisfaction.
Still, something gnawed. It hurt him that he had not heard anything from Anong during his recovery period. On the other hand, he realized that she might be in deep mourning for her patron. This didn't stop him from feeling uneasy and a little lost, although he would never admit the latter publicly.
Chapter 28
Dawn was less than half an hour old and was passing with steady certainty into a new day in the City of Angels. It seemed to be a beautiful day to fight the finish line, but J. had absolutely no intention of doing so. Somewhere in the fast-growing light was the widow of a man who until recently was considered by many to be very powerful and extremely dangerous. J. wasn't sure why he was on his way to her and just before he arrived at her home he thought that he might have come to hold her accountable. He had mourned the loss of Tanawat long enough. The cold rage that overcame him when he stood in front of the spacious villa in Dusit had abruptly ended his grief.
He was admitted unceremoniously into the villa by the lady of the house in person. Perhaps a replacement for the maid had not yet been found. Good domestic staff became scarce, especially if they run the risk of lead sickness, J. thought wryly… The brand new widow preceded him in silence and let him take a seat in the sitting area, where a new, albeit less spectacular, coffee table had now been installed.
J., who had never met Anong's aunt before, eyed her curiously. She gave the impression of being very cool and very distant. She seemed to be moving in a daze, and he had the firm impression that perhaps a handful of sedatives were to blame. The concern to look young had wrinkle-wrapped her. J. was not fooled. Neither the thick layer of make-up on the deathly pale stone-carved face that had accumulated in the lines of her no longer slender neck, nor the culturally refined facade could hide the cunning gangster sweetheart of nearly half a century ago.
'I've been expecting you…' Her voice was high, but not weak at all. 'I was convinced that you would come by one of these days. '
'And here I am…' it sounded grumpy.
'If you want money…'
'No…' J. struggled to control himself. 'No money. Absolutely not.' He looked straight into her small, very dark eyes. 'I need something from the liver. I had a long time in the hospital to think about what I wanted to say to you. We can't prosecute the dead, no matter how guilty they are, but... the living will have to answer in some way. All this has been the result of your husband's selfishness and his unbridled greed. I admit I was momentarily tempted by your husband's offer, but after Tanawat's murder this assignment suddenly became personal, very personal and I really didn't care about the pay anymore.' He paused to calm down. ' There is one thing your species fail to realize: You cannot buy everything… True wealth does not consist in having precious possessions but in having few needs.'
Anongs' aunt only responded with a slightly raised eyebrow. Disgusted, J. interpreted this as an expression of the same presumptuous and condescending cynicism that had ultimately killed her husband. He wondered if any of what he'd said had gotten through to her.
'That's all I wanted to say. I don't want your money, as far as I'm concerned, put it where the sun doesn't shine…. You may call me old-fashioned, but honor is still more important to me than financial gain. I know my priorities. Your husband's selfishness and self-interest have resulted in the death, the gruesome death of one of my few true friends and that loss can never be compensated…Never…'
Anong's aunt's face didn't flinch. She got up slowly and, as he expected, showed him the door. What he had not anticipated was the fact that she suddenly broke in the hall before he could leave the house. A dry sob welled up from her throat as she clawed at J.'s arm with a face twisted in a painful grimace. J. reacted shocked and with an abrupt gesture fended off her outstretched hand. He took a few steps away from her in bewilderment. As tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving a trail of smeared mascara, she yelled straight to his face: "Have you still not got it through Farang?! Narong was my brother…! Anong's father! ' She sobbed and when her teary eyes met J.'s, there was a distraught and at the same time hunted look in them.
'Uh…. What ?!' J. remained transfixed.
"That's hard, isn't it?" she sobbed.
An hour later, the broken and sobbing widow was still on her knees in the hall. In fits and starts she had told her bewildering family story to the dumbfounded J.. He felt like a complete idiot and barely knew how to pose. Just like Anuwat, she had moved from Isaan to Bangkok with her family at a young age and, penniless and with little prospects for the future in the diaspora, she bumped into this young and above all very ambitious gangster. Before she knew it she became his sweetheart. Her two-year older brother Aran Narong had meanwhile opted for security in the army and made a rapid career through his deployment in Vietnam and later Laos and Cambodia. She married the same year that her brother married Lamai. When Narong accepted an appointment Task Force 838 it didn't take long for his brother-in-law to persuade him to supplement his meager salary with a few lucrative deals in the border area. Narong got a taste for quick profits and over the next few years became a key figure in Anuwat's illegal operations. Operations, which quickly became so important that Anuwat moved from Bangkok and settled in the hills near Chong Om on the border. The two brothers-in-law amassed millions in less than ten years.
But as the saying goes, beautiful songs never last long. At some point, the senior CIA cadres got it Task Force 838 guiding them in the sense that something was not right, but as long as it did not jeopardize their own operations, they decided to turn a blind eye. However, the military staff in Bangkok was informed, as it should be according to the book, but they also decided not to really intervene. After all, a number of grasping generals also had butter on their heads and therefore people preferred to keep this jar covered. Us knows us, right? Narong got off with an official reprimand and, much to Anuwat's fury, decided to slow down and reduce his illegal activities. Lamai was now heavily pregnant and he no longer wanted to burden his future young family. Lamai's and the baby's happiness took precedence over everything. But his brother-in-law could hardly understand this.
Slowly but surely, a rift grew between the brothers-in-law. Anuwat no longer trusted Narong and vice versa. Not long after, one of his high-ranking friends at the Ministry of Justice gave him confidential information that showed that the Thai police were secretly preparing an operation against large-scale smuggling at the border. Things never got along well between the Thai police and the army and if one could trick the other, there was never a long delay.
Anuwat, who had shown strategic insight before, realized that he had to seize this opportunity not only to safeguard his own interests, but also to permanently sideline his increasingly obstructive brother-in-law. He decided to just leave Narong in the dark and hatched the perfidious plan that should prove fatal to both him and Lamai. And he immediately killed two birds with one stone. After all, part of this concept was that the baby had to be unharmed. The agents who ambushed Lamai had been given clear instructions. And so it happened. Anong was adopted by him. After all, his wife could not have children and was fond of her niece. As an added bonus, he also managed to get his hands on Narongs' safe. His brother-in-law had never trusted the banks and had rented a modest house in Chong Om in which he had installed a large safe, his nest egg. When Anuwat broke them open, he found 36 million Bath, an immense fortune in those days… This find enabled him, with some clever investments, to significantly expand his semi-legal business empire.
A stunned J. needed time to let all this sink in. He took a taxi back to his loft and absent-mindedly ate what he happened to find in the fridge. For a moment he thought about calling Kaew, but changed his mind as he held his finger off the speed dial. Kaew might, as usual, be sarcastic, and he really didn't need that right now. And so he took Sam for a long walk. This had often proved to be the best way to organize his thoughts and Sam was, as always, the best conversation partner: always ready to listen and never contradictory… The duo ignored the dense throngs of tourists around the palace and Sanaam Luang. They trotted and risked their lives across the ever-bustling Somdet Phra Pin Klao Road and turned into leafy Thanon Phra Athit just before the bridge until they reached the small park near the ancient Phra Sumen Fort. Here, in the shadow of the ornate Santichai Prakan pavilion, they sat for hours gazing at the Chao Phraya and the silhouette of the imposing bridge until the sun began to set. The three cans of Singha that J. had bought in a 7-Eleven along the way were long gone and in the distance, somewhere above Lat Phrao or Bang Khen, thunder rumbled ominously. When J. got up and took a few deep breaths of the evening air, he had made a decision. And a good thing too, because less than ten minutes later a terrible thunderstorm broke loose.
Tomorrow, the close…..