CITY OF ANGELS – A Murder Story in 30 Chapters (part 8 + 9)

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. Today chapter 8 + 9.

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Chapter 8

When he finally made it back to his loft, J. felt burnt out and empty. He had to calm down the merry-go-round in his head and refuel. Despite his hands still slightly trembling, he accurately cut the tip of his cigar and carefully heated the head with a glowing cedar wood. Lighting a cigar is like wearing a hat, peeling a boiled egg, or making love. You either know how to do it or you don't. J. knew. It was said that God created whiskey to prevent the Irish from conquering the world, but he hadn't really succeeded, J. thought smugly, pouring himself a hefty bubble of a 21-year-old Bushmills Single Malt . Whether they had made a success of it, that was another story…

If anything, the whiskey softened the sharpness of the gnawing sense of loss and bitterness he felt. He urgently needed to get a few things right and for that he had feedback as soon as possible in the person of his partner in crime Kaew needed. J. had briefly briefed Kaew by telephone from the crime scene and ordered him to come as lightning to the office in the loft. Some twenty minutes later, after J. had freshened up, they looked at each other across the desk sullenly. Kaew was enjoying a portion of Som Tam, crunchy and especially very spicy papaya salad pieces. Not really hungry but just for the appetite. That was one of the pleasant privileges of being single: you could eat whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted..'Tell me what do you think ?' Kaew slurped thoughtfully on a Coke and occasionally burped discreetly with his mouth closed. He had heard J.'s story and seemed unfazed by Tanawat's untimely demise. That was, statistically speaking, an occupational hazard for sleuths and police informants.

'Well ?'

Kaew leaned back, scratched his hair once and said "I don't know J., really not… This case is getting more and more crazy. Are you sure there's a connection between our file and Tanawat's murder? '

'That can hardly be otherwise because I had never seen him so troubled as the day before yesterday. He must have hit a nerve somewhere that he should have left untouched…'

'Have you ever thought about your own safety in that case? Don't you think it's starting to get old? A murderer has personally invited you to come and admire his not so nice handiwork... And meanwhile the cops are also more than interested in your dealings.'

'You know, I've been used to the attention of the Hermandad in my person for years,' said J. “But what frustrates me is that there are so many loose ends in this case. Why was Tanawat acting so paranoid on the phone yesterday and why did he have to be removed? Why did three people die in Anuwat's villa? This blind and, in my view, senseless violence is absolutely out of proportion to the theft in itself. I have never experienced such a bizarre case. Moreover, it will be damned difficult to interpret the murder of Tanawat because he may have been a friend of mine, but in fact I knew very little about him. Again and again he shrouded himself in a haze of secrecy. Maybe he got off on it cloak & daggeratmosphere that he had created, but I don't even know where he lived, for example...'

'Is it up to us to interpret the murder of Tanawat? That sounds more like a job for the police to me.'

'The police… the police…” J. sounded piqued. 'Look, I don't doubt Maneewat's skills, but Tanawat met a terrible end because I sent him to investigate. I understand you ? No one else… Me. He was working for us. We owe it to ourselves to find out why and by whom he was killed. Don't you have a sense of honor in that big body of yours? '

To his chagrin, J. saw that his cigar had gone out during his monologue. While looking for matches, he addressed Kaew again: "What do you make of his last message? If it's a message at all… That J. must be referring to me and not Jesus Christ or J. Lo…”

Kaew apparently found this last comment very funny and J. was rewarded – to his growing irritation – with a radiant and ever-widening smile.  

'Maybe he wanted to make it clear that 838 is meant for me, but what the hell do those three fucking numbers mean…? In any case, they are an inseparable part of a message that, like a whirling old newspaper or scrap of paper, has stuck to the barbed wire of the rickety fence along the border between here and eternity. '

Kaew thought his way: "You missed your calling Boss, you should have gotten closer…'

'Yes, yes… just laugh,' growled J.

"Cynicism is the pinnacle of openness in a society of hypocrites," Kaew orated.

'Yes, fuck off…' J. cast an inquisitive look at De Bolle: ' And don't sit there staring so stupidly... It seems like you've seen an elephant in a pink tutu dancing on Sanam Luang... Get your brain working. You are not paid well for nothing…Unconsciously, J. hit the tabletop hard with his flat hand. 'What a letdown ! It is to get the ramble of it… What the fuck does 838 mean… A safe code, part of a telephone number, a house number? I really do not know…It irritated him beyond measure that his gray cells seemed to prefer sitting somewhere in a dimly lit waiting room reading a prim rose-colored women's magazine than going to work...

Kaew had never seen J. so frustrated. He had been pacing up and down his office for more than twenty minutes and now he was spinning around uselessly on his antique office chair. He hoped it didn't sag because Kaew vividly remembered how the thing had been full of woodworm when J bought it. Nervously, his boss sucked on his stink stick and drummed his fingers on the worktop until he suddenly made a decision and jumped up energetically from his office chair. 'Come on Pip! In the legs.. We go to Tanawat's office. Looking for a clue…'

Just before they left the loft, Kaew visibly hesitated. He froze as if someone had just asked him to jump over a giant chasm without a safety line.

'What is ?asked a concerned J.

'Shouldn't we take a taxi? Kaew tried.

'Are you honoured? ! The faculty is less than a kilometer from here and moreover, a little exercise never hurts Bolle…J. had been annoyed for years by the bizarre habit of most Thai people to do as little as possible with their feet. Even for the smallest journeys, the taxi, motorcycle taxi or tuk-tuk were invariably used.

Outside, they immediately merged into the bustling fabric of the city. The sun was now so high that it overexposed the colorful scenes. In the narrow alley one had to watch for the hordes of porters in sleeveless and faded white shirts pushing their handcarts to and from the Chinese warehouse across the street. On the main street, hawkers advertised their wares loudly, while old women, arguing fiercely, walked from stall to stall, hesitantly and especially with a very critical eye, examining the goods on offer. Cheerful construction workers on their rickety bamboo scaffolding shouted to each other in an Isan dialect that was unintelligible to J. A stray and especially noisy group of Chinese tourists tried to cross the street and risked their lives in the steady stream of loudly honking yellow-green or blue- pink cabs and the rickety, smelly clouds of exhaust fumes spewing out rust buckets of city buses that seemed to hang together only with a few hefty rivets.

When they arrived at the faculty building, it turned out they weren't the only ones who had had the bright idea to take a closer look here. Koh, one of Maneewat's sidekicks, saw them coming down the hall and shouted 'Hey Boss ! look who's there.. '

'No, but ! Our very own Laurel and Hardy' crowed the Superintendent, as he came to look around the corner. 'Why am I not surprised?' With a playfully amusing grin he asked J.: 'And, forget to erase traces? Or troubled by your conscience?  Although the latter would surprise me because of the number farang with a conscience in this city you can easily count on the fingers of one hand…”

'Yes, tell me what," muttered J.

He and Kaew could see over Maneewat's shoulder some of the massive havoc that had been wreaked in Tanawat's office. All the closets had been emptied and the detectives in the room were wading ankle-deep through the battered books and torn papers on the floor. Everything that remained of a brilliant academic career lay in complete chaos on the floor like garbage. The meager remnants of an intellectual legacy. It made J. a little sad.

'Apparently someone has been ahead of you and us' said J. as his eyes wandered curiously.

'You can certainly say that', the Chief Inspector replied gruffly. 'Any idea where Tanawat's diary and laptop are? '

'Probably in the wrong hands said J. without irony. Maneewat turned around with a shrug and one of his sidekicks immediately darted forward and barked at J. and Kaew to get out. His choice of words was in fact slightly more colorful, but it came down to the same thing.

Chapter 9.

Three hours of sleep. For Napoléon Buonaparte, two or three hours a night are said to have sufficed. Maybe that's why he'd become such a jerk… He had until 03.00 a.m. with Kaew. went through all possible scenarios but hadn't made any headway. J. didn't really feel OK to use an understatement. To make matters worse, the air conditioner in the bedroom had given up during the night and he woke up early that morning drenched in sweat. An ice-cold glass of Nam Som, orange juice and a meditative moment in his spacious walk-in shower where he had spread half a pack of Shokubutsu Extreme with charcoal and saké extract on his bark and the Dior Cologne pour Homme sprayed with a lavish hand afterwards had cheered him up and refreshed, but the haze in his head hadn't quite cleared yet.

There had to be a clue somewhere in this godforsaken city that could help him on the right track…. As if he had prayed for it, an Angel in the ravishing form of Anong suddenly appeared on his doorstep in the City of Angels, struggling to cope with the enthusiastic greetings of a rather pushy Sam. 'What a cutie,' it sounded 'Sooooo Cuuuuuuuute'...

'Off Sam! You really are by far the worst watchdog in all of Thailand,J. admonished his most faithful companion.

'A leprechaun told me there is a connection between a boring professor who was found murdered yesterday morning and a somewhat obscure antiques dealer from Chiang Mai who refuses to reveal the back of his tongue. she said.

'Oh yeah ?' J. sounded absent.

'How gloomy you look.'

'My usual morning stand', he said, while he tensely thought about how much he could and especially wanted to lose to Anong. 'That boring professor, as you so delicately describe him, was not only one of my best informants, but also a good comrade in a city where this species is rather a rarity….'

'Excuse me, but uncle is getting a little impatient, you know? Don't tell me your friend has anything to do with our case...'

'Who knows… And if it were… So What?'

'Come on,' she said irritated. 'Uncle counts on an extremely discreet handling of this file. He can miss the bells and whistles of a police investigation into the liquidation of a high-profile figure…'

'A pout really doesn't suit you,' said J. sarcastically. 'I can get that your uncle doesn't need this. Me neither to be honest, but things are the way they are. My assistant Kaew and I have been agonizing over the reasons for this murder until early this morning, but we haven't made any headway.' Frustration dripped from J.'s words. He couldn't help it but thoughts raced through his mind. With a hint of desperation he sighed: 'Why is life so complicated? Do you know it ? Usually when I investigate a case, it's mostly a matter of routine. From collecting bit by bit and of course also verifying boring information, most of which later turns out to be totally irrelevant… He turned to Anong who was looking at him with a skeptical look.

'Don't think I'm acting theatrically... Investigation is very often a matter of simply adding one to another. But sometimes this work resembles aimless toil and delivers – excuse me le moth– don't give a shit… Like now… I feel like I'm kicking around aimlessly. That, for lack of something to hold on to, I am slowly but surely drowning. There are simply no leads… Maybe you should throw a buoy before I drown…”

'Come on,' she said with a beaming smile, 'be happy that you are allowed to fret. Wasn't it Georges Bernanos who once posited that optimism is a false hope used by cowards and fools?'

'Huh… Have you read Bernanos?'

'Yes, Uncle thought I should get a broad, mainly European-oriented education and I've read just about all the French, British and German classics. I found Bernanos particularly interesting in his almost pamphleteering 'Les Grands Cimetières sous la lune'. But I honestly like some of the other writers of his generation better. If I had to choose, I would probably go for a Montherlant without much hesitation and definitely Céline… Unlike many of my girlfriends, I didn't have my diplomas bought…'

'Jeezes.. Unbelievable, you are the first Thai with whom I can raise a tree about Céline, that brilliant crook…' J. didn't want to admit it, but he was really impressed by Anong for the first time. He had assumed for too long that she was an empty-headed fashion doll, but now he was more than pleasantly surprised. Of course, the small problem remained that this file was stuck….

'I'll be the last to tell you the best way to do it. I hope you are aware of the danger posed by wolf stings and shotguns… In any case, it would be of little use to you if I just sat here muttering some soothing platitudes about how great you are doing…” J. could only confirm the latter with a nod of his head. There was an awkward silence and Anong realized that some distraction could help: You know what…? Let's have brunch and then we'll work our way through the file together again.' An invitation she knew J. wouldn't be able to resist.

More than half an hour and four lame jokes later, they were seated at a table for two in The Riverside Terrace of the Oriental Mandarin Hotel. The brunch not only stroked his taste buds, but also his ego. The envious glances of a number of Gentlemen of Stand had not escaped him when he gallantly strode through the imposing lobby of this legendary five-star hotel with Anong on his arm. He knew from the past that it was no easy task to get a good table at the Oriental, but one phone call from Anong, albeit with reference to his uncle, apparently sufficed.

J. had a special preference for this hotel in the heart of the Old Farang district. As well as being one of the city's most elegant and comfortable hotels, it was also the permanent home of some of his favorite writers such as John le Carré, W. Somerset Maugham and Ian Fleming when they visited the Thai capital. He remembered with a painful stab in his chest that it had been Tannawat of all people who had once told him how, in January 1888, Joseph Conrad, then just the Polish sailor Teodor Korzeniowski, as an officer in the British merchant navy, Seaman's Lodge was sent to the Siamese capital in Singapore to take command of the Otago, a rusty barque whose captain had died suddenly and most of the crew had been hospitalized with malaria. Until he found a fit crew and a pilot, he mostly passed the time in the Billiard room of the Oriental Hotel, the only really comfortable hotel that could be found in the Siamese capital in those days, which had first opened its doors in 1876. However, he did not stay or dine there because his salary of 14 pounds Sterling per month was just a little too modest for that. J. loved Conrad's works as Lord jim en Heart of Darkness with his masterful narrative style and highly imaginative anti-heroes. Not coincidentally, over brunch he turned the conversation to him and a few other authors who had preceded them here. In any case, he impressed Anong by reciting from memory the beautifully stylized description that Conrad in The Shadowline had penned as he sailed away across the Chao Phraya from the City of Angels: 'There it was, spread largely on both banks, the Oriental capital which has yet suffered no white conqueror. Here and there in the distance, above the crowded mob of low, brown roof ridges, towered great piles of masonry, king's palaces, temples, gorgeous and dilapidated crumbling under the vertical sunlight'…

She looked at him with a look that was a mixture of skepticism and wonder. 'I can't place you,' she said.

'You mean how someone with my formal and casual looks and my talents ended up in this kind of work?'

'Noshe laughed. 'I was thinking more in the direction of the barrel of contradictions that you seem to be. I've been told you like to play the hero, but you're very careful. You have all those muscles, but you still love to read piles of books. You are sarcastic and stubborn and make jokes about everything - not always successful - but deep down you seem vulnerable... '

"You know, Hemmingway once said that the best way to find out if someone can be trusted is to trust them…"  J. said, looking straight at her. She didn't look away but said:I can already try…'

Once back in the loft, cozy in the Chesterfield, they began to go through the whole thing again. Gradually but inevitably, over a few glasses of a peaty Lagavulin only a few years younger than Anong, a slightly erotic undertone had crept into their joint investigation. The salty smokiness of the whiskey had gone slightly to their heads, although the alcohol volume of 43% could also be to blame. A kind of sexy flirtation in which thinly disguised ambiguities, furtive glances and a few verbal caresses were the ingredients. J. was not averse to it, on the contrary, but their foreplay was suddenly rudely disturbed by Kaew who came rolling in remarkably cheerful. 'You will never believe what I found…'

'What ?snapped J., who didn't seem very thrilled by this sudden interruption.

'Nothing, absolutely nothing at all. And that's suspicious. Tanawat left no trace in the last 48 hours of his life. I'm telling you, whoever knocked him out was an exceptionally talented professional. '

'I could come up with that myself…” And with an exasperated, suspicious look towards Kaew'Have you checked all the tracks we've gone through together? '

'Sure enough, in university, as was to be expected, no one could teach me anything. Professor Tanawat was perfectly successful in keeping his double life a secret from employer and colleagues. The only family he had left is a brother who lives in Lamphun and who heard thunder in Cologne when I phoned him this morning and told him about his death. The police hadn't even bothered to contact him. ‘

"What suckers," grumbled J.

'I couldn't get any information about his brother either, because the last time he had spoken to him was four months ago.'

'So again nothing but dead ends… What the hell is going on here? That way we get nothing at all. ' Deception dripped from J.'s voice.

'Speaking of the cops.. I have another piece of news,” Kaew said, “A bomb threatens to explode. The colonel in whose district Tanawat was found apparently suffers from a sudden onset of territorial urges. Now that the case is being widely spread in the media, he wants to take the case to himself. A matter of being able to profile yourself. All the rumors I've heard indicate that he'll try to put a toad in the hive with your boyfriend Maneewat.'

'Well, that's a problem for them, not for us, the more they bother each other, the less time they have to deal with us,snapped J.

Both Kaew and Anong got the impression that J. no longer appreciated their company and, after exchanging a few meaningful glances, quickly made off with an excuse. J. was left alone in the loft with Sam squinting at him from under his bushy eyebrows.

'Are you also going to start?'

Sam felt the storm lingering, thought it his own and disappeared, tail between his legs, towards the roof terrace.

J. had the impression that he had ended up in a dead end. He did not get a foot on the ground in this case, could not find any concrete leads. He would never admit this, but Tanawat's sudden demise had not only been a cold shower that put a damper on his research, but had cut deeper than he let on. His new identity, the secrecy and his wanderlust had meant that he had hardly any real friends. If he thought about it carefully, the pro would have been one of the few people with whom he had developed a real relationship of trust over the years. He felt he had failed, not only as a second-rate sleuth, but especially as a friend. And only now did he realize how great his loss was. He would fucking miss him and that realization hurt….

Out of sheer frustration and perhaps even annoyance, J. went out in the evening. A restless mind with restless feet. It was a warm evening. So hot that steam seemed to be billowing from the rooftops. A kind of barely perceptible condensation that rose between and above the buildings, misting the glowing red sunset. A languid, hazy haze that had also slowly, thanks to his steady alcohol consumption, taken hold of J. He was a goddamn even in the seedy bars of Nana Plaza, the sweaty and smelly, harsh neon-lit armpit of the City of Angels , ended up where, much to his chagrin, he was viewed as one of many farang looking for cheap entertainment. When the bargirls heard his refusals in almost accentless Thai, they knew right away that he wasn't really interested boom boom. He had seen it dozens of times, even in his circle of friends: the uncertainty in their eyes, the indefinable yet dormant existential anguish, the alienation and the distrust that spread like a cancer. Again and again he saw how the loneliness of farang under the scorching tropical sun became a deadly disease that mutilated their minds and tormented them until they died, swept up in a swirling maelstrom of misplaced conceit and snivelling self-pity. When they began to sink, they desperately clung to every straw, even if it was a whore from Soi Cowboy or Pattaya… Fortunately, he had never become so distraught. Though it might have been, who knows, a few times in his wild years, edgy. But with age came wisdom. In the end, J. had consciously remained celibate, a sworn bachelor who, when things started to itch, could fall back on a few casual girlfriends in Chiang Mai. Marriage wasn't for him at all. He wholeheartedly agreed with his compatriot Oscar Wilde and regularly quoted him from the clock for education and entertainment: 'If we men married the women we deserved, things wouldn't look good for us '.

To be continued…..