Bangkok Noir

The two latte-brown uniformed officers were seated in front of the stage on an itchy grass mat staring at Samart, who sat cross-legged and apparently comatose on a flat cushion facing them. He was surrounded by porcelain animals, pickled reptiles gazing drowsily from glass containers, coloured vials and bottles and skulls of all sizes, animal and human. The hut’s curtain was drawn, and a small fish tank lamp illuminated Samart from below, casting a campfire shadow that bent all his features upward. His red, up-all-night eyes stared dully into space. It was an image that had impressed many but obviously wasn’t having a positive effect on today’s audience.

“How long are we supposed to sit here like mutton?” the Colonel asked. He was in his forties, sturdy, and his looks were as ugly as his manners.

“He’ll come out of it soon, sir,” his captain told him. Captain Pairot was a skinny version of the Colonel but with skin as loose as lettuce. Given the common Thai propensity to subscribe heavily to police corruption, he’d no doubt fill it out soon enough.

“His soul will become aware of our presence here on earth and leave the Otherworld to join us,” he said.

“Is that right? Take long, will it?”

“Could be half an hour.”

“Hmm, sorry, I can’t wait that long.”

The Colonel unholstered his pistol, aimed and shot the head off a plaster giraffe. The bullet passed through the bamboo wall and probably wounded one of the stray dogs that loitered in the lane outside. Teacher Wong didn’t appear to care, or flinch or blink. The Colonel leveled the weapon at Samart’s head and started counting down from five. The shaman was out of his trance at three-and-a-half.

“Ah, officers,” he said. “Have I kept you waiting long?”

“Yes,” grunted the Colonel, reholstering his gun.

“Teacher Wong,” said the Captain respectfully. “This is Colonel Thongfa, head of the Chiang Mai crime suppression division. I mentioned to you he’d be dropping by to see you today. He read about your successes: the missing girl, the drug stash. If he’s impressed, perhaps—”

“There’s no perhaps on the table here,” the Colonel cut in. “For some reason I can’t work out, we’ve been given a tub of money for mumbo jumbo psychic consultations. I want nothing to do with it, but I’m under orders. I’m not handing over a single baht unless I’m certain whoever we hire isn’t a crook. That could take some time, considering you’re all thieves and charlatans. Am I right?”

Samart nodded. “So I hear,” he said.

“So, it’s down to you to prove your worth.”

Samart smiled and adjusted the large yellow chrysanthemum tucked behind his ear.

“Then perhaps you’d be better looking elsewhere,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m not in need of money.”

“That’s not what I heard,” said the Colonel.

“And what have you heard, sir?”

“That you peck out a living selling lucky amulets. That you do the odd exorcism and purportedly put clients in touch with their departed loved ones in exchange for food. Doesn’t sound like much of a business to me. If you were any good, you’d be rolling in cash. Horse races. Casinos. You could take ’em all. Seems to me you’re small fry, Samart, and probably a fraud. You’ve managed to bamboozle Captain Pairot here and a couple of the other idiots at your local station, but I’m not that green. I’ll give you one shot. You’ve got five minutes to show me what you can do.”

“Then I won’t waste your time, Colonel.”

“Meaning what?”

“I don’t have any party tricks for you. I use my gifts for good, not for personal gain. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

The Colonel huffed, fingered his gun, got stiffly to his feet and walked to the door without another word. Captain Pairot shook his head and followed him. The policemen were outside the doorway, putting on their shoes, when Samart called out, “Oh, Pairot. I was sorry to hear about Constable Chalerm. He was a good man.”

Pairot looked back briefly at Samart before both officers disappeared into the thick vegetation that surrounded the cabin, seperating it from the new 7-Eleven next door. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t know what the shaman was talking about. Samart smiled and stretched his aching spine. Cross-legged was never his favourite position. He preferred flat on his back on a mattress. He needed a beer, but he knew the cops would be back sooner or later.

It was sooner.

No more than five minutes had passed before the two officers reappeared in the doorway.

“How did you know?” Colonel Thongfa asked.

“What’s that, Colonel?”

“The shooting.”

“Somebody got shot?”

Captain Pairot stepped into the room.

“It just this minute came over the police radio in the car. Officer Chalerm stopped a pickup truck out on the Lampang road. Couple of witnesses saw the driver pull a gun, shoot him at point blank range and flee the scene.”

“Metallic blue Toyota,” said Samart.

“That’s right.”

“It only happened half an hour ago,” said the Colonel, walking into the room without bothering with his shoes. “You couldn’t possibly…”

“Lucky guess, then,” smiled Samart.