A Sign Of Refrain?

NAKED SHOULDER MUSCLES twinged as Jeff stared into the dark night ahead. He peered up at the stars, no answer bounced down at his balcony. He grunted and studied the full moon, but still no response from the heavens. His girlfriend lay dead behind him. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.

He jumped across her body and hopped to the bedroom. ‘Where did she put my clean clothes?’ He opened drawer after drawer. ‘At last,’ he grunted. Clean boxers, and fresh Levis, both pulled out and sniffed at. Then a pristine white shirt dangled in front of his nose.

Earlier that evening they had stuffed themselves with “Cotton Fish”, Jeff and Taw’s favourite dish, beer flowed, and they were celebrating. Taw’s doctor had given her the news she had hoped for. Jeff’s punch had not harmed the baby. 

‘This is my last beer until the baby is born,’ Taw said. They clinked glasses and ordered more. ‘And please promise you’ll never harm me again,’ she looked eye to eye with him. Jeff smiled.

Jeff kicked his vintage Triumph over, and with a burst of exhaust, it started. ‘God, I love this machine.’ He jumped on and began cruising the bar streets. 

‘Hey, handsome man, let me test your engine.’

‘You can throb next to my thigh.’

He had heard it all before, Pattaya, Chiang Mai, Phuket and Samui. Hua Hin was no different. Lively towns were running out of places welcoming to Jeff. Plus he needed a new place to stay. 

‘Maybe I shouldn’t take a girl from here?’ He shook his head as he cruised the “Bar Soi”. The staff snubbed him as “a know-all falang” as their smiles disappeared. 

‘What about the next village along the coast?’ The Triumph roared as it turned to the beach road, purring its way to a stand-alone bar/restaurant. The car park was full. 

‘No tourists, great, the customers must be expats.’

The Lamia Pub greeted him with the thump of eighties music and a slender Thai server. 

‘Beer?’

‘Yeah, a Leo, please.’

The ice-cold bottle arrived in seconds along with a less than icy grin. ‘New in town?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, been in Thailand a while, but first time here,’ he answered. ‘How about you?’

‘Not my first time here, haha, born, bred and bored.’

‘Really? Fancy a change?’

‘Before you get any ideas, I’m not a bar girl. Not available to you or anyone else.’

‘No, I didn’t imagine so,’ Jeff smirked.

‘Don’t look at me like that. My Dad owns the place, I run it for him. Cook, clean and wash the preferable bottles.’

‘Excuse me for asking, but where did you learn your English?’

‘My Dad is English.’ She stalked off to serve another table.

Jeff swigged the brew and signalled for another.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Why? You wanna ask me out?’ she snorted again and skipped behind the bar.

Jeff pulled a bar stool and sat facing her. ‘You are very different to most girls I’ve seen working the bars.’

‘Yeah, well most of them don’t have crippled fathers to look after when they close up. All I want to do, is make a profit, tidy up and deal with my old man.’

‘Would you like to change all that?’

‘What are you offering? Marriage? Get real.’

Jeff paid his bill and motored back to his cleaning job.

He leaned on the balcony with two things on his mind, ‘What does Lamia mean? Where did they get a name like that? I must look it up in the Thai/English dictionary and also I must decide the best way to dispose of Taw’s remains. Same as all the others, I guess.’ He clapped and got his cleaver out.

His butchering skills shone, as fat, offal and bones found their way into plastic bags. The local strays loved him as he cruised the beach road emptying his collection of sacks onto the sand.

The condo’s ceramic tiles were easy to mop, he gave the cracks a double wash down. Fingerprints? No, never, he wore gloves. Clapping his hands, ‘Great job, even Taw would have been impressed. Why did you ever need a partner?’ he laughed, then considered his next move.

‘Hey, whatever your name is, is your business for sale?’ His smile brightened the mid-morning cleanup before the restaurant started serving lunch.

‘If you are here to be serious, my name is Duangkamol, or Mol for short. I would love to sell up and get out of here, but I doubt if you or anyone would convince my Dad to move, secondly, you wouldn’t offer enough to pay our medical bills.’

‘How about I talk to him?’

‘He’s upstairs sick, and in no shape to negotiate with you or anyone else. Talk to me or no one.’

‘Don’t you think a man-to-man chat may work better?’

‘No. Are you ordering lunch?’

‘Yeah, I’ll have a beef sandwich. Imported beef please.’

‘We have the best meat Thailand can offer, not imported, sorry.’

‘That’s why you need me to run the place. I’ll have a curry, then.’

Mol went to the kitchen to prepare a green chicken curry.

Jeff slipped upstairs to meet the “real” owner, Mol’s father. The room was dark and cool, the bed was cloaked with hospital-quality curtains. The sound of oxygen puffing and the occasional clicking of medical equipment could be heard but not seen.

‘Sorry to disturb you. I have a deal to offer you.’

There was no answer.

‘There is no rush, and as a sign of refrain, please take your time before deciding. I want your business and your daughter to work for me. I will pay your debts and give her a fair wage. What do you say?’

Again no reply.

Jeff moved towards the curtains and hunted the opening.

‘What!’ Jeff screamed. Laying before him was a shrivelled waste of a man, eyes shut, gasping for the occasional breath. His chest was open and his heart was still but for the odd twitch.

Jeff turned as a Taser was pushed into him. He collapsed in a heap.

An hour later he stirred, arms and feet clamped under his body. His eyes opened to be peering at Mol’s father’s arm hanging loose.

‘I’ve eaten your curry, it didn’t look like you wanted it. Very tasty it was too,’ said Mol.

‘Let me up, I want to go,’ said Jeff.

‘No, sorry that’s not going to happen. I followed home last night, and was impressed how you disposed of your friend.’

‘I like to feed the poor starving dogs with raw meat from the butcher.’

‘Please don’t lie to me. As you can see, my Dad needs some new organs. The hospital won’t do it. He is beyond help they say. So, I’m going to perform the operations.’

The END