Bangkok Noir

But no, something had changed. It had happened while I was watching the videos in the food court. I had the feeling I had become a cell phone recording an incident that had happened or was about to happen, but the color and sound quality were not as good as either a Nokia or a Samsung. The light was too bright, the sounds muffled. Bangkok hustled by, in all its chaos and color, but I was missing a key ingredient. People on the street knew something I didn’t. Maybe Kaew’s killing, although he was a person of no importance, really did have some importance.

It was time to call Evelyn Xu. She’s beautiful, goes to all the parties and is infinitely savvy about the city and full of good gossip. Why didn’t I think of her before? But first I needed to get off the street and sit down. It wasn’t long, of course, before I found a Starbucks, which was perfect because in its bland international chicness, it erased Bangkok for a moment. In here there were no gangs, no mysterious money, no Kaews or Nops. Just tall or grande.

“Evelyn, what do you know about the murder that happened last week on the Skytrain?” I asked. “You mean Kaew?” she replied. I was shocked that she was familiar with the name. How did Evelyn know about it? “Everyone knows about Kaew,” she said dismissively. In that case, did she know the name of the suspect? “Well, you hear stories. But it’s useless to even think about it,” she replied. “Anyway, there’s going to be the most incredible party this weekend. The top ten Japanese fashion brands are doing a joint event, spread over ten penthouses across the city. You really should go.”

“Wait a minute.” There seemed no sense to all this mystification if everyone already knew about Kaew. “Can’t you help me at all?” At this point Evelyn drew a breath and said simply: “Just talk to the people you know. And then you’ll know.”

My heart turned to ice. It was exactly what Nop had told me.

“Even if you don’t want to go round to all the penthouses,” she burbled, “come along with me and we can see the top three.”

“Okay, thanks, Evelyn.”

It was now three in the afternoon. The most dreadful time of day in Bangkok. In other parts of the world, the stroke of midnight would be the witching hour, the moment when ghastly things happen. Here, it’s 3:00 p.m.