The Grey Man by John Curtis Page B

couch waiting, checking my watch, and wondered if I was just being strung along. After about twenty minutes the mamasan poked her head through the doorway and said, ‘Sorry, you must leave now.’
    â€˜Why?’ I asked. I wondered if she'd had second thoughts about my illegal request.
    â€˜Police are coming.’
    â€˜How do you know?’ I asked.
    â€˜Friend of mine in police call me five minutes ago. They tell me they coming to raid me. Better you go now before they come, okay?’
    â€˜Yes, okay!’ Once my heart had stopped pounding I had to laugh as I walked briskly down a narrow street and was passed by a police car with flashing lights. For once I was grateful for police corruption in Thailand. Undeterred, I went back to the same brothel the next evening and found it closed, although the mamasan was sitting on a chair outside, an angry scowl on her face. Her expression brightened a little when she recognised me.
    â€˜Did the police close you down for good?’ I asked her.
    She shook her head. ‘Only three day, because king coming to visit. No good for business.’
    I looked up and down the street. Things did seem quiet; it appeared the cops wanted the sleaze driven underground for a while because of the planned royal visit to Chiang Mai. ‘I still want a girl.’
    The mamasan looked up at me for a moment and pursed her lips. ‘I can get.’
    â€˜Young, okay?’
    She nodded, then reached into her pocket for a mobile phone. She spoke to someone in rapid Thai that I found hard to follow, then ended the call. ‘You wait.’
    I agreed, and leaned against a wall. Less than ten minutes later a young man on a motorbike cruised up the street. There was a girl on the pillion seat. The man stopped the bike, but neither of them got off.
    â€˜You like?’ The mamasan gestured to the girl.
    Jesus Christ, this was like ordering a pizza and having it delivered. The girl was attractive, but she was certainly not underage. I shook my head and was asked to pay the driver 100 baht. It wasn't much, and I didn't want to alienate the mamasan, so I handed over the money.
    â€˜I want a young girl,’ I said to the mamasan, and held my hand palm down, quite low, to show her what I meant.
    A look of understanding dawned on her face again, but now I was less hopeful; I'd thought she knew what I meant last time. ‘You come with me. We walk.’
    I shrugged. I had nothing to lose. We walked side by side down a narrow alley off the main road and came to another, smaller street. The mamasan waved to a trio of young men lounging by some parked motorcycles and one of them strolled towards us. The woman told the young pimp I was looking for a small girl. Part of me was sickened by the smile on the man's face, but I also experienced a tingling in my spine that told me maybe, at last, I was getting somewhere.
    The pimp pulled out a mobile phone and keyed some buttons. He held it up to me and when I shaded the small screen from the glare of the streetlight I could see he was showing me pictures – of girls. He started to scroll through them. If I thought having a girl served up to me on a motorcycle was weird, this was bizarre. Still, at least I wouldn't waste time waiting for girls who were clearly of a legal age.
    â€˜That one,’ I said, stopping him when I saw the forced smile of a girl who looked out of place from the rest of the digital album of working girls whose faces, while still pretty, radiated an undeniable hardness.
    I ordered the girl, and five minutes later she turned up on the back of a bike. My heart sank. Her picture on the phone must have been a few years old; this girl, too, was definitely not underage. I shook my head and handed over another 100 baht. I was about to call it a night when the mamasan put a hand on my forearm. ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘There is somewhere else we can go, but it not good place.’
    â€˜That's okay,’ I