Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson by Stephen Leather, Warren Olson Page B
Authors: Stephen Leather, Warren Olson
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to know what I did. That’s all. I want a chance to put it right.’
I knew what was coming next. He was going to tell me that he loved her, and I didn’t want to hear that so I just took the money and said that I’d go looking for her.
Unlike most Bangkok expats, my favourite hangout wasn’t a trendy nightclub or even a go-go bar. I preferred to spend my late-night drinking hours on a small plastic stool at a table on the corner of Sukhumvit Soi 13, strategically located between Soi Nana and Soi Cowboy. Khun Moi and her family have sold beer and Sangthip whisky on the corner for more than thirty years. Her relatives run the nearby barbecued chicken stall and the corner motorcycle taxi rank where I could always be sure to find temporary assistants when I needed them. Khun Moi’s business was a stone’s throw from Thermae and is a favourite haunt of streetwalkers. I used to have a stack of twenty-baht notes in my top pocket to help out any down-at-heel girls to buy some spicy somtam or to get the last bus home. So I already had my network of informants in place; all I had to do was to sit on the corner and show Dang’s photograph around. I was only halfway through my second glass of Sangthip by the time I had two of Dang’s friends at my table. They helped me work my way through the bottle as they told me Dang’s story.
It was yet another story that I’d heard a hundred times before. Much as she appreciated his money, Dang had soon become bored living with Bob. She was stuck in the apartment 24/7. Like most expats, Bob worked hard and long and when he got back to the apartment he was in no mood to go out and party. He wanted to stay in and watch TV, while Dang wanted to go out and hit the city’s nightclubs. And by all accounts, Bob had become lax in the sexual area. Dang was bored, pure and simple. But she still needed money. She wanted to build a big house upcountry and one day she wanted to live there with her daughter. Bob was an okay bet short-term, but she felt as if she was in prison. She spoke to a friend—not one of the girls sharing my whisky—who suggested that she go to Macau. Thai girls could make big money in Macau’s massage parlours and bars, far more than was on offer in Thailand. The friend recommended an agent who promised to arrange a job for her if she gave him 10,000 baht. She also needed a new passport under a different name because as a convicted drug user she couldn’t leave the country. That meant more money. Dang used Bob’s second 40,000-baht ‘salary’ to fund her move to Macau.
I phoned Bob the next day and gave him the bad news. I made it sound as if she’d been ‘lured’ to Macau because I wanted him to at least retain some of his self-esteem, but I did make it clear that she’d become bored with life as a housewife. I thought Bob would just accept what I’d told him and that he’d move on with his life. The last thing I expected was that he’d want me to continue with the case but that’s what he said. He wanted me to go to Macau to talk to Dang. He wanted me to tell her that he’d marry her, and that he’d take Dang and her daughter to America. I figured he was crazy. Dang had already demonstrated that she didn’t love him. She’d turned down an easy life with Bob to work as a prostitute in Macau. Sending me after her would be throwing good money after bad. But before I could say that, he offered me 10,000 baht a day plus expenses. Rule number one of the private-eye business: the client is always right. Even when he was wrong. The following day I was on an Air Macau flight. I explained that I might be on a fool’s errand but Bob said he’d be happy enough just to talk to her on the phone. If she told him that it was truly over between them, he’d accept it. Ten thousand baht a day to arrange a phone call. Easy money. Plus I get a free holiday in Macau. If nothing else I’d get a few hours in one of the casinos.
Most of the Thai working girls hang out in
I knew what was coming next. He was going to tell me that he loved her, and I didn’t want to hear that so I just took the money and said that I’d go looking for her.
Unlike most Bangkok expats, my favourite hangout wasn’t a trendy nightclub or even a go-go bar. I preferred to spend my late-night drinking hours on a small plastic stool at a table on the corner of Sukhumvit Soi 13, strategically located between Soi Nana and Soi Cowboy. Khun Moi and her family have sold beer and Sangthip whisky on the corner for more than thirty years. Her relatives run the nearby barbecued chicken stall and the corner motorcycle taxi rank where I could always be sure to find temporary assistants when I needed them. Khun Moi’s business was a stone’s throw from Thermae and is a favourite haunt of streetwalkers. I used to have a stack of twenty-baht notes in my top pocket to help out any down-at-heel girls to buy some spicy somtam or to get the last bus home. So I already had my network of informants in place; all I had to do was to sit on the corner and show Dang’s photograph around. I was only halfway through my second glass of Sangthip by the time I had two of Dang’s friends at my table. They helped me work my way through the bottle as they told me Dang’s story.
It was yet another story that I’d heard a hundred times before. Much as she appreciated his money, Dang had soon become bored living with Bob. She was stuck in the apartment 24/7. Like most expats, Bob worked hard and long and when he got back to the apartment he was in no mood to go out and party. He wanted to stay in and watch TV, while Dang wanted to go out and hit the city’s nightclubs. And by all accounts, Bob had become lax in the sexual area. Dang was bored, pure and simple. But she still needed money. She wanted to build a big house upcountry and one day she wanted to live there with her daughter. Bob was an okay bet short-term, but she felt as if she was in prison. She spoke to a friend—not one of the girls sharing my whisky—who suggested that she go to Macau. Thai girls could make big money in Macau’s massage parlours and bars, far more than was on offer in Thailand. The friend recommended an agent who promised to arrange a job for her if she gave him 10,000 baht. She also needed a new passport under a different name because as a convicted drug user she couldn’t leave the country. That meant more money. Dang used Bob’s second 40,000-baht ‘salary’ to fund her move to Macau.
I phoned Bob the next day and gave him the bad news. I made it sound as if she’d been ‘lured’ to Macau because I wanted him to at least retain some of his self-esteem, but I did make it clear that she’d become bored with life as a housewife. I thought Bob would just accept what I’d told him and that he’d move on with his life. The last thing I expected was that he’d want me to continue with the case but that’s what he said. He wanted me to go to Macau to talk to Dang. He wanted me to tell her that he’d marry her, and that he’d take Dang and her daughter to America. I figured he was crazy. Dang had already demonstrated that she didn’t love him. She’d turned down an easy life with Bob to work as a prostitute in Macau. Sending me after her would be throwing good money after bad. But before I could say that, he offered me 10,000 baht a day plus expenses. Rule number one of the private-eye business: the client is always right. Even when he was wrong. The following day I was on an Air Macau flight. I explained that I might be on a fool’s errand but Bob said he’d be happy enough just to talk to her on the phone. If she told him that it was truly over between them, he’d accept it. Ten thousand baht a day to arrange a phone call. Easy money. Plus I get a free holiday in Macau. If nothing else I’d get a few hours in one of the casinos.
Most of the Thai working girls hang out in
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