attempt proved successful. In fact, David had departed the Kingdom before he was even missed.
Into “The Crocodile” Via “The Lizard”
I sat on a bench in the holding area in front of a worn wooden desk while a sweaty, overweight guard carried out a cursory, unrewarding search of my bag, ogling and pawing my money. He handed my bag back and did the usual tedious paperwork his job required. As I pretended not to understand any questions asked of me in Thai, he slowly slogged through his intake processing duties. Sometimes he would stop to wipe sweat or verify certain points, using his poor, broken English. It seemed like I was sitting there for a week.
No sooner than we were finished I was hustled onto a barred and screened prison bus with thirty others heading for my new home at Klong Prem Central Prison. As the bus pulled away, I could see my friend Damrong standing on the sidewalk past the exit. He looked like he was trying not to cry. I smiled and waved.
Also on the bus were two Americans who were case partners, one a fat dork and the other a skinny dork. They were being held on drug charges for buying a bag of heroin at the Ambassador Hotel in a sting setup and were fighting their case. This was their fourth trip to court in the last year. It turned out that they were members of some fake Hare Krishna cult that used their costumes to smuggle drugs. They would eventually lose their case and be sentenced to life.
We got into a conversation while on the bus. The skinny one said that the guards would take my bag, cut my pants legs off and put chains on my legs (like those on his legs) when we arrived at Bumbat, the drug-case remand section of the prison. The fat one suggested that if I had any dope, I should let them take it in for me since they knew the ropes. I told them both to get away from me and stay away. I don’t recall ever speaking with those two goofy bastards again. I dug into my bag for my nose spray.
The bus turned into the main prison entrance drive shortly before dark. One Thai prisoner pointed at the tall, gaping, double-door steel gate that was the main entrance of the Lard Yao section of the prison and said, “ Pak jerakay” (mouth of the crocodile).
We turned left just before the mouth of the crocodile and went about half a click to the northeast corner, then took a right turn and another half a click halfway along the eastern wall. A moat ran parallel to the road which ran around the whole prison wall. The same prisoner pointed at the smaller entrance when it appeared and said, “ Pak hiia” (mouth of the lizard). The remand section for narcotics cases, this was Bumbat.
The bus drove into the mouth of the lizard and the double doors closed behind. Clambering off the bus, most of the others were wearing heavy leg chains except for the new detainees wearing long pants and clutching small bags. I was clutching mine like it was a beautiful lover whom I soon would part with.
The chain-wearing prisoners were shuffled inside first. The new prisoners, about a dozen, were directed to stand before a dimly lit, open-fronted office. There in the profound beauty of the gathering dusk of a Siamese evening, the kind of dusk that used to titillate me with the exotic promise the Bangkok night held for the adventurous, I tried not to caress my bag too obviously.
At the far end of the office, at the last of the desks lit by a small lamp, sat an officer overseeing the new prisoners’ intake process that was taking place on the concrete lane just outside the front of his office. Under the direction of two guards, a large Thai prisoner-aide instructed all to strip. He began grabbing the bags and court papers of the other prisoners, then handed them to the guards. At that point, I looked to the ranking officer at the back of the office while holding up my bag as if offering it to him. He snapped an order to one of the guards and I was sent into the office to speak with the #2 Bumbat Vice Warden.
On the way
Into “The Crocodile” Via “The Lizard”
I sat on a bench in the holding area in front of a worn wooden desk while a sweaty, overweight guard carried out a cursory, unrewarding search of my bag, ogling and pawing my money. He handed my bag back and did the usual tedious paperwork his job required. As I pretended not to understand any questions asked of me in Thai, he slowly slogged through his intake processing duties. Sometimes he would stop to wipe sweat or verify certain points, using his poor, broken English. It seemed like I was sitting there for a week.
No sooner than we were finished I was hustled onto a barred and screened prison bus with thirty others heading for my new home at Klong Prem Central Prison. As the bus pulled away, I could see my friend Damrong standing on the sidewalk past the exit. He looked like he was trying not to cry. I smiled and waved.
Also on the bus were two Americans who were case partners, one a fat dork and the other a skinny dork. They were being held on drug charges for buying a bag of heroin at the Ambassador Hotel in a sting setup and were fighting their case. This was their fourth trip to court in the last year. It turned out that they were members of some fake Hare Krishna cult that used their costumes to smuggle drugs. They would eventually lose their case and be sentenced to life.
We got into a conversation while on the bus. The skinny one said that the guards would take my bag, cut my pants legs off and put chains on my legs (like those on his legs) when we arrived at Bumbat, the drug-case remand section of the prison. The fat one suggested that if I had any dope, I should let them take it in for me since they knew the ropes. I told them both to get away from me and stay away. I don’t recall ever speaking with those two goofy bastards again. I dug into my bag for my nose spray.
The bus turned into the main prison entrance drive shortly before dark. One Thai prisoner pointed at the tall, gaping, double-door steel gate that was the main entrance of the Lard Yao section of the prison and said, “ Pak jerakay” (mouth of the crocodile).
We turned left just before the mouth of the crocodile and went about half a click to the northeast corner, then took a right turn and another half a click halfway along the eastern wall. A moat ran parallel to the road which ran around the whole prison wall. The same prisoner pointed at the smaller entrance when it appeared and said, “ Pak hiia” (mouth of the lizard). The remand section for narcotics cases, this was Bumbat.
The bus drove into the mouth of the lizard and the double doors closed behind. Clambering off the bus, most of the others were wearing heavy leg chains except for the new detainees wearing long pants and clutching small bags. I was clutching mine like it was a beautiful lover whom I soon would part with.
The chain-wearing prisoners were shuffled inside first. The new prisoners, about a dozen, were directed to stand before a dimly lit, open-fronted office. There in the profound beauty of the gathering dusk of a Siamese evening, the kind of dusk that used to titillate me with the exotic promise the Bangkok night held for the adventurous, I tried not to caress my bag too obviously.
At the far end of the office, at the last of the desks lit by a small lamp, sat an officer overseeing the new prisoners’ intake process that was taking place on the concrete lane just outside the front of his office. Under the direction of two guards, a large Thai prisoner-aide instructed all to strip. He began grabbing the bags and court papers of the other prisoners, then handed them to the guards. At that point, I looked to the ranking officer at the back of the office while holding up my bag as if offering it to him. He snapped an order to one of the guards and I was sent into the office to speak with the #2 Bumbat Vice Warden.
On the way
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