The Backpacker by John Harris Page B

purple ink. I pulled it off and read it to myself.
    â€˜What’s it say John?’ I held it out and Dave took it from me. ‘ Hat Rin beach ,’ he read aloud, ‘ Tonight, 2 a.m. Will pick you up. Sir William. ’ He put the camera down and started dancing. ‘Sir William! Woo-hoo, way to go Johnny-boy!’
    SIX
    We spent the rest of the day sitting around: on the beach, in the restaurant, in my hut, discussing what was going to happen at two o’clock. I should say that Dave discussed it, because although I was curious about the message, I remained cautiously quiet, preferring instead to observe Dave as he ran around, unable to stop rabbiting. I thought he was on drugs or something, and to try to slow him down a little I rolled a joint.
    Unable to explain exactly what the note had meant when it said I’d be picked up, I think Dave assumed that, having been knighted by the Queen of England, ‘Sir William’ would meet us on the beach in a Rolls Royce. ‘Listen, man,’ he said, ‘these Thais are loaded, I’m telling ya. Your friend may have been just another poor backpacker in India but since then he’s made it big. BIG! ’
    I wasn’t convinced. I suppose it was possible that Rick had made a fortune from smuggling grass, but even that seemed a bit unlikely in such a short space of time. Another thing Dave assumed (though he didn’t say, I knew what he was thinking) was that Rick was some kind of elderly gent in a pinstriped suit; a character from a Graham Greene novel that spent his wealth living extravagantly in exotic locations. My video was broken so I was unable to show him that Rick looked more like a character from a Cheech and Chong film. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, if I had shown him a picture he would have said that Rick was an eccentric millionaire.
    â€˜Dave,’ I said quietly as we left my hut and walked onto the dark beach, ‘don’t get your hopes up too much.’
    A few people who hadn’t already gone to bed, too stoned to move probably, had fallen asleep on the sand. Some were still smoking, the red ember from the tips of their cigarettes hovering eerily above the dark sand.
    Dave smiled and patted my back. ‘Hey, it’s cool. Anyways, we’re having a good time ain’t we?
    I ignored the question and said, ‘What did you say to Suzy?’
    â€˜Told her that I was going out with you. Man, she knows the score. An’ if she don’t, well, she can’t come along anyway. You don’t take chicks with you on a night like tonight bro’.’ He paused for a moment, walking along the water’s edge in silence. ‘In any case,’ he continued, ‘it might be dangerous.’
    It hadn’t occurred to me. ‘Dangerous?’
    â€˜Could be a set-up. That freaky chick-a-doodle in that restaurant could be in on it. She definitely scares me.’
    â€˜No,’ I said confidently, ‘this is Rick’s handwriting. I told you, it matches the one he wrote in India perfectly.’
    He nodded agreement, and we walked in silence along the beach until we had reached about the halfway point. Dave looked at his watch. ‘Quarter to. Where d’you think we should wait? ’Bout here should do, I reckon,’ he said, putting a hand over his eyes. ‘Good clear view in both directions. Not much cover though.’
    â€˜Cover?’ I exclaimed. ‘What do you need cover for? Jesus, Dave, you’re not in the army now.’
    â€˜Only kidding. And it was the navy, not the army.’ He sat down. ‘Take a seat John, don’t look so obvious. Oh yeah, and get a new shirt.’
    I stayed standing. ‘What’s wrong with this one? It cost me a lot of money back in London. It’s the only shirt I have that isn’t permanently stained. I save this for taking girls out, they love it.’
    â€˜Maybe five years ago they did. You look like