Part V – Conclusion from Storyteller – Courtney Webb 

#

That night Bill and Sam pulled into the dirt lot at the complex at the edge of town. Mr. Sing had given Bill directions and they got there without incident. Both men went in and were greeted by Mr. Sing who invited them to his office.

One of Sing’s bodyguards tried to pat them down and Bill put up a very large hand. “Back off buddy if you don’t want me to break something.”

Mr. Sing waved his hand and the guard backed away. “You have the money?”

“You have the kid?”

“Good faith, gentlemen. Good faith.” Mr. Sing smiled.

“Right, bring him up here now or there is no deal.” Sam wasn’t smiling.

“Certainly, certainly. Can I offer you men something to drink while we wait?” They both shook their heads no at the same time.

“Well, you can at least sit down for a moment.” Sing spoke to the guard in Thai and the guy disappeared.

Sam sat down. Bill took a position in the corner facing the door, arms folded across his chest.

“So, how long you been running this scam, Mr. Sing?” Sam inquired lightly. “This entrapping stupid young American kids in your….” he waved his hand around the room. “Whatever you call this thing you’re running.”

A young Thai girl came in and placed tea in front of Sing. He offered it again to Sam who again shook his head.

Sing poured himself some tea. “Americans, Danish, German, French. We don’t discriminate here, Mr. Sam. Whoever, we don’t care. The operative words are young and dumb as I think you put it.”

“Well, however you put it, someone should close you down.”

“And who would that be, Mr. Sam? The government? No, no. They are too busy with their own cover ups to worry about a little small-time operator like me. Plus,” he sipped his tea and smiled, “they love the taxes I pay them to do business.”

Sam grunted and shook his head.

The door opened, and the hefty guard came in pushing a much skinnier Peter in front of him.

“Ah, here we are. Peter, how are you?” Sing smiled affably.

Peter glared at him.

Sam waved to Peter. “Go stand over there,” he motioned at Bill.

“Now in case there are any problems,” Sam pulled the gun out from the back of his pants. “I have brought my friends Smith and Wesson to the party.” He put the gun on his lap.

“No need, Mr. Sam. No need.” He laughed waving his hands in front of himself. We are not savages here like your wild west. No, no. Just the money and everyone is free to go.”

“Fine, and I want that slip back too.”

“Certainly, certainly.”

Sam pulled up his shirt and unzipped the money belt. He counted out ten one thousand-dollar bills. Mr. Sing reached in his drawer.

“Slowly, Sing. Very slowly.”

Sing put up his hands again in mock horror. “Just the slip, Mr. Sam.”

“I’m waiting.”

Sing pulled out a small metal box, opened it and pawed through the contents a moment. He pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Sam.

“So, there you go. All done.”

Sam nodded curtly and said, “You can have your guy back away from the door now.”

Sing gestured with his head and the guard moved over to Sing’s desk.

“Out the door, boys,” Sam was curt. He walked backwards to the door, went out and closed it behind him. There was a chair next to the door. He leaned it against the door and shoved it under the door handled. “Let’s go!”

Bill grabbed Peter’s skinny arm and the three hustled out of the casino as fast as they could go.

Jumping into the jeep, Bill started it, backed up, did a quick 3-point turn and splayed gravel bits around in an arc as he peeled out of the dirt lot. He hit 60 mph in a nano-second and didn’t slow down for five miles. Sunlight flickering through tall banana leaves as they zoomed by. The lush green was dotted with riots of color and the warm, moist air blew through Sam’s hair as they raced on. He kept one hand on his gun and the other on the roll bar. Glancing back, it looked like they were alone on the old dirt road.

Back at the hotel Sam had Peter call his mother. He could hear sobbing on the other end. Taking the phone away from Peter he said “We’ll fly out tomorrow morning, Phyllis. We’ll see you in the evening sometime.” She was still sobbing when he hung up.

Sam was sitting back in Phyllis’s kitchen having a cup of coffee. It was late, and he was bone tired. He had packed Peter off to bed where the young man had fallen exhausted without argument.

“He’ll have to go to rehab, Phyllis, no question.”

“Rehab?” Phyllis seemed shocked. “But surely this was just a mistake. A foolish mistake like what young people do sometimes…”

“No, Phyllis. Your kid is a to the bone addict.”

“Addict! What kind of addict?”

“You name it. He’s got it. Drugs, alcohol, gambling, maybe sex.”

Phyllis was shaking her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Darling.” He bent over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Got to go. I’m trashed.”

She led him out to the front door.

“Thank you, Sam., I don’t know what….”

“It’s okay. Happy to help. But remember what I said. Next time, I might be…. busy.”

Phyllis gave a little nod as he went out the door.

#

Sam drove over to Kristie’s to give her the news.

“Kid’s a complete junkie.”

Kristie frowned and shook her head.

“So, that’s taken care of and I need sleep.” Sam yawned.

“Thanks, Sam. I love you.”

“I love you too, Darling. But I wish you didn’t have so many friends with problems.”

Kristie laughed and kissed his cheek.

The End

 

 

Thailand – by Courtney Webb

(Previously, Peter Farringwell got himself to Thailand with some funds from his dad. He made fast drinking friends with some co-workers and ended up, alone, at a gambling establishment. With the help of some scotch and a few lines of coke, he has managed to run up a hefty bill. He is now a ‘guest’ of the casino while someone comes up with the money.)

#

Kristie was puttering around in her garden when she got the hysterical phone call from Phyllis.

“Slow down, Phyllis. I can’t understand you.” She listened attentively, frowning. “It’s alright, Phyllis. Don’t cry. I’ll get Sam and we will be over.”

She called Sam on her cell. “Hon, Could you meet me at Phyllis’s pronto?”

“Whatever you say.”

Sam and Kristie were in Phyllis’s kitchen and she was roaming around looking distracted. She had on a mismatched shirt and pair of shorts. That and her shoes didn’t match. Kristie knew it was bad.

“And this man called me, I don’t know who he is, and he told me they had Peter. I said I didn’t believe him and then they got Peter on the phone and he talked to me and…” At this point she started sobbing. Kristie put an arm around her shoulder.

“Just get it out, Phyllis,” Sam said calmly. He was sitting on a stool and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“He owes them money, gambling or something. Ten thousand dollars! They aren’t going to let him go until they get paid and then the man…laughed and…”

Sam said to Kristie. “You want to make her some tea? With honey.”

Kristie went to put on the kettle. Sam turned back to Phyllis.

“And what, Phyllis?” Sam asked.

“And, and…they wouldn’t hurt him too much if they got it soon,” she finished in a whisper and grabbed a napkin for her eyes.

Sam glanced at Kristie. She reached into the cupboard and got cups and tea.

“Do you believe them, Phyllis?”

Phyllis nodded dumbly, eyes down, holding the counter for support.

“Just sit down, Darling and we’ll decide what to do,” Sam spoke calmly.

Phyllis sat on one of the bar stools and tried to compose herself.

Sam asked, “Do you have the money?”

“I can get it,” she answered in a low voice.

Kristie asked “How did he get over there, Phyllis? I thought you told him no.”

“His father. His father gave him the money.” This brought on a fresh batch of tears. “That idiot!”

“Okay, Phyllis. It’s a little late for that. We need to think.” Sam looked at Kristie. “Phyllis, you need to call your ex and get him involved in this. He’s the one that gave the boy the money. Then, someone needs to go and get your son.”

Kristie looked at Sam in a dazed way. “Sam?”

Sam nodded. “I’ll go.”

Sam called an international phone number.

“Hey, Bill. It’s Sam Reynolds.”

“Yeah, Sam. Long time buddy.”

“Yeah, me too. Listen, I need a little favor.”

“You’ll get paid, you old dog. I need you to get me a little present. I’ll pick it up in Thailand after I get through customs.”

“Present? You know, our favorite kind.”
“You’ll meet me? What a pal. Yeah, here’s when I get in….”

Two days later Sam got off the plane at Suvarnabhumi airport. Stepping off the plane he was immediately encased in warm, moist air. There was a soft flowery scent on the breeze and the sound of cicadas humming. Vivid green plant life surrounded the airport. He went through customs in the super luxe airport and went out to meet his friend Bill.

Pretty, he thought to himself. Too bad it’s such a crime infested…

“Sam!”

He saw a long tan arm waving. His buddy at 6’4” was hard to miss.

“Bill!”

They gave each other hugs. “Too long buddy.”

“Don’t you know it. Did you get it?”

“In the jeep per your request.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

The two men went out to the jeep and drove away from the airport. When they were far from traffic, Bill pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. He pulled a cardboard box out from under his seat. Sam opened it. A Smith and Wesson 45 sat inside packed around with rags. A back-up of extra bullets was next to it.

“Is it clean?” Sam asked.

“Is it clean? Ha! This is Bangkok, Asshole. What do you think?”

Sam shrugged.

“Okay, let’s get you to the hotel and we’ll talk. Then we’ll get some dinner.”

“When do you want to hit the road and do this thing?”

“ASAP. These people are getting impatient and I don’t trust them as far as I can throw a cat.”

Bill nodded and drove back into traffic.

 Continued in Part V

 

 

                       Thailand by Courtney Webb

Peviously – Peter did get to Thailand, care of his father and made fast friends with the partiers in his group.)

The next few weeks Peter and the guys went out night after night. Finally, James, the third one of their group, called off.

“Can’t do it guy. Got to get some sleep. You go.”

“Wus,” Peter said to him. He and Danny would go. In fact, Danny had said he had someplace special for them to go tonight. Something a little different.

That evening Danny and Peter were on Danny’s little scooter and headed out of town.

“So, what’s this place again?” Peter shouted in Danny’s ear over the sounds of heavy traffic.

“They do a little gambling and have the best girls.” Danny shouted back and nodded.

After about twenty minutes, they ended up at a private house on the edge of Bangkok, somewhere they had not been before.

“Just wait, buddy, you’ll love this place.” The two hustled inside. There was a busy crowd of people around the gaming tables: poker, black jack, roulette. Danny headed for the blackjack table and Peter followed him. Scantily dressed waitresses carried drinks through the crowd.

Peter was drinking scotch. He was even winning at the tables. This was heaven!

Two Thai girls sidled up to him to watch him play.

“Hey, big guy. Want a little more action?” One girl winked at him. She was dressed in a long skin-tight gown that showed off all her curves. She smiled, and her big brown eyes glittered at him seductively. After three scotches, Peter was feeling great.

“What kind of action?”

“All the really big players are in the back room and they also have,” she whispered in his ear, “special condiments.” She winked again and took his arm.

The words were magic to his ears. Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and they went to a hanging on the wall. The girl pushed aside the cloth hanging which covered a door and went in. Eagerly, he followed.

The atmosphere changed slightly. There was still the cigarette smoke hanging in the air, but the room was quieter, more serious. There were mostly Asian men sitting around two large round tables. There was a bar in the corner and the girl led him over there and snapped her fingers at the waiter. She spoke to him in some language Peter didn’t recognize. The man brought over a small mirror with lines of white powder already set up.

“Just for you my darling.” The girl gestured at the mirror for Peter.

He immediately inhaled two lines. “Now,” the girl gestured to the tables, “You can play with the big boys.”

Peter patted his pockets. Surprisingly, he had won two hundred dollars at the blackjack table. He felt like he was on a streak, invincible.

“Scotch, Mr. Peter?” The girl asked him sweetly. He nodded and went to sit down. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby.

For the first hour, Peter won and drank steadily. He considered himself a good poker player and had won enough in college to keep himself in beer and cigarettes. He had also studied the game from a scientific point of view, so he felt confident.

As the evening wore on and he got blurrier and began to lose. First a little, then a lot. He kept playing, trying to win it back. Finally, it all got lost in a haze.

Next day, Peter woke up with the worst hangover he had ever had. Son of a bitch! He grabbed his head with his hands and pressed his palms into his eyes to slow down the thudding. Looking up, there was a pitcher of water next to his bed and a glass. He sloshed water into the glass and downed three glasses before he even looked around. Where was he? Back at the compound? He didn’t remember driving back. But, whatever, that was nothing new. Maybe Danny came and got him and stuck him in another room. He got up, head swimming and went to the door and tried to open it. Locked. What the hell? He kept trying the door with no success.

“Hello, hello. Hey, somebody, come open this door!” He was yelling now, a sense of panic starting in his gut.

He heard a shuffling sound outside, a key turned in the lock and the door opened. A fat little Asian man in a dark suit walked in.

Peter backed up in amazement. Who the hell?

“Morning, Mr. Peter. Hope you are well. How is your head?”

“Hurts like hell. Who are you?” Peter demanded.

“Ah, I am Mr. Sing, Mr. Peter and I own this establishment.” The little man waved an arm proudly around the room.

“Why am I here?” Peter put his hands on his hips, outraged.

“Why, Mr. Peter, actually, you owe me some money.”

“What!” Peter yelled and regretted it, the sound of his own voice made his head hurt worse.

“Yes, a little sum.” Mr. Sing reached into his pocket and pulled out a little white slip of paper. “I believe this is your signature.”

Peter peered at the paper. It was his signature, sloppy for sure, but it was his writing. He knew enough not to admit anything.

“So, what?”

“So, Mr. Peter, you owe me the sum of $10,000 American.”

“What!” Peter was shouting again.

“Yes, ten thousand of your American greenbacks. Do you have that with you?”

Peter was mouthing words, but nothing came out.

“Of course not, that’s what I thought. Shouldn’t gamble, Mr. Peter if you don’t have the money to do so.”

“The compound. I can call the compound.” Peter’s words were tumbling over each other.

“The Christian Ministry Compound?” Mr. Sing laughed. “Oh, Peter, you are so funny. They don’t have any money. No, no. You will need to call your parents for the money. Your parents in California.”

Peter was staring in shock at the man. How did the man know he had parents and they were in California?

“No, I’m not doing it.” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Tisk, tisk. Peter, no need to get difficult. You will do that, and you will remain our guest until you do so.” Mr. Sing started to walk to the door.

“Hey, you can’t hold me here!”

“Oh, but we already have, Sir. We already have.” Mr. Sing opened the door and before Peter could make a move, a very large guard moved into the room and blocked his exit.

“Mai Ling will be in to bring you aspirin and breakfast. When you are ready to make that phone call, you just tell her,” Mr. Sing said over his shoulder as he walked away.

The guard waited until Mr. Sing had left, then with a smile he went out, closed the door and locked it.

Peter slumped on his bed. He felt like crying. There was a little round pot in the corner. He threw up in the pot instead.

 

Continued in Part IV