One Night In Bangkok

"One night in Bangkok and the rough guys tumble."
- Chess, the Musical

The cacophony of sound whirls through my brain as I pad my way through the streets of Bangkok. People everywhere, wheeling wooden carts and selling their wares of cakes, vegetables, fake Rolex watches. The juveniles in seedy street cafes drink coffee out of greasy cups, talking and laughing amidst a cloud of cigarette smoke. The dark night does not stop the one-legged beggars from harassing them, getting money quickly when the disgusted patrons send them away. A ragged man playing with a knife, sitting on the curb stares at me, but I take no notice.

The crescent moon lays like a boat amongst a sea of stars. Their beauty hides an ominous truth. How many alien colonies will we have to fight against? The thought depresses me.

I feel like I'm in the car with Jack and Rose as they leave hand prints on the steamed up window. Sweat trickles down my temples, sending rivulets down my neck. I can hardly breathe and it's not just the humidity. Something's about to happen and I can hardly wait. I keep walking, my black clothing still showing in the dim light of the lamps.

I reach the bad side of town, where the stench of the open sewers attacks my nose and everywhere there are people like me. People wearing black, hunched over with their hands in their pockets, not wishing to be noticed. A pubescent boy pees onto a crumbling wall and a girl, his sister probably, waits with a toddler on her hip.

Bangkok is beautiful on the outside, but I come to this part of town to remind myself that everything has a rotten side. Scratch a little beneath the surface you'll see that everything, and everyone, is a little bestial. I've made a living on that knowledge alone.

The collar of my shirt is sticking to my neck and I know now that my pants are just too tight. A feeling of uneasiness comes over me, but I shake it off. I'm feeling the best I have in a long while, and nothing is going to stop me having a good time. None of this happiness shows on my face. Let people search before they find who I am. A pretty little oriental girl with almond shaped eyes slides up to me and asks,

"You want girl?"

Yeahbaby. I need girl. There is no way I'm going to make it through tonight without girl. Short of spraining my wrist jerking off in a dingy little alleyway. I look her up and down, seeing her carefully made up white face and her shiny red Chinese dress with the slits to her hips. Her hands are small and smooth, signs she is not a single mother. She gazes at me through her eyelashes, with her head slightly bowed. Her silky black hair hangs like a curtain from her head. What a find. A perfect porcelain doll. In the middle of all this filth.

I take her hand and she leads me through the people and through the muddy alleys to an old lady's house. The old lady obviously disapproves of the girl's career choice and doesn't stop jabbering and waving her arms. She looks at me as though I were an alien. Haven't she ever seen an American? The girl's little room is barely furnished; just a mattress and a small dresser. The yellow paint is peeling and the floor is rough. She takes both of my hands and kisses them. Damn, I love submissive Asian women.

I grab her roughly by the shoulders and pin her to the mattress, kissing and biting her neck so hard there should be bruises tomorrow morning. The darling doesn't even make a sound. The urge in me to take complete control over her, to show her that I'm the more powerful one, to exert my masculinity, takes over. I rip at her satin dress until she is completely naked. I appraise her slight body with the tiny breasts and she doesn't look at me. I could make you feel so damn fine, baby, I could make you scream the name of all the gods you know and I'll show you the gods you don't. But that's not what I'm here for. I'm about ready to burst. I straddle her, thinking I must have been a tiger in a past life, I love capturing and conquering so much. As I slam my body into her, not bothering about protection, I think of the friend I'm going to meet tonight. Someone who would never let me take over like this, never let me win. Someone who commands subservience and meekness from me, because it's the only way I can take control. To submit fully, is to manipulate his mind. And it's the hatred in his face, the way he despises me that I love the most. He has no fucking idea what he does to me, and I'll be damned if I let him know it. Let him think that I hate him too. Let him think that I'm inferior. That I'm not worth anything. It brings out the best in him.

I move faster and faster inside the body of this girl, barely taking notice of the pain in her face and the glistening of the tear in her eye. As I picture his face once again, my body erupts, and I relax. Bliss.

My bestial nature has surfaced and I am ashamed. The vacant expression on the girl's face wracks my heart and I am brought down from the heavenly ecstasy she had provided. I reach out, caress her now clammy face and run my fingers through her shiny hair. I hear myself murmur, "I'm sorry." But am I? I don't know.

I put my leather pants on again and pull out a wad of money. Enough to pay for her dress 30 times over. I tuck it under her pillow and leave her lying still, empty, alone.

I make my way to the centre of the city. He will be there, I know, because I planned it. That bastard smoker wants him out of the way for good, and I've got him here to play with. Should I tell him it's all my devious work he's in Bangkok away from the action? Or should I tell him I helped get him away from a planned assassination? Both are true, for once. Am I friend, or foe? Last time I saw him, I told him I was his friend. And I managed to kiss him. Fucked up look on his face was priceless.

But he's going to be here, and this is what I live for. That pure primal look in his eyes when he sees me. That quiver in his bottom lip. The way he lets go of his suppressed anger and need for domination to hit me, thinking that he's in control of the whole game. Maybe we'll play cat and mouse, and I'll probably let him catch me. See what he does. What I love the most is the way he lets his sadistic nature, his sexual perversion, take hold of him, taking pleasure in hurting me. His partner could never satisfy him. He is as repressed as the Dalai Lama in her presence. He needs me and I need him. I don't care that he doesn't know it.

The centre of the city is still alive at this time of night, all the scooters, buses and 3-wheeled taxis beeping their horns as if no one could hear them. I stand on the corner opposite the noodle bar, where he's supposed to meet his 'informant'. The tension is making me hungry and I buy a sticky rice cake, stuffing it into my mouth and getting it all over my fingers.

My trained eyes scan the area almost subconsciously, checking for suspicious people. A tiny girl of about seven stares at me with her black eyes and points me out to her friend. I must look like a freak with brown hair, green eyes and being a foot taller than everyone else is. Otherwise, everything else is normal. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise as I think of what's going to happen tonight. If it weren't so hot, I could have been in the comfort of my leather jacket. My gun had to be stuffed in my boot.

I prepare myself to be the wonderful cool, calm, collected, ever-sarcastic ratbastard that he knows so well. Usually I can do this with a mere blink, but tonight, well, tonight's kinda special. I drop the change I got from the cake-lady into the outstretched can of the girl who stared at me and I smile at her.

A man with brown hair settles into the low stool at the noodle bar. His trench coat looks extremely out of place in the heat. It's him. It must be him. And he's alone. My heartbeat quickens. He has his back to me and is ordering a bowl of noodles. The air seems to change. The blare of the horns trying to outdo each other wreak havoc on my brain as I try to come to a decision whether to cross the road and see him now.

I gulp.

A man wheeling an ice-cream cart looks at me and narrows his eyes. A kind old lady also turns to look at me. It's Bangkok. Everyone looks at me. Don't be paranoid. She jabbers something in Thai and they both, simultaneously, turn to look down the road to where a group of western people had gathered. Everything seems surreal. My eyes follow. There's something strange here. But nothing. It must be the humidity. I turn my head again to the noodle bar to see him turn his own head to look straight at me.

Fuck.

An evil grin forms on his face as I recognise someone I did not expect to see.

My brain races back to the group of westerners down the road.

Shit no.

I race down there at full speed. Everything around me is a blur, the faint street lights, the people, the smell. As I reach the group of people, I push my way through them to see...

No it can't be.

A tiny lady, with bright red hair kneels on the ground. She looks so out of place in this tainted world of darkness. Her head is bent over a man. A man sprawled across the roadside. A man with blood all over his chest. A man with brown hair and a trenchcoat.

Fuck.

They got him.

They followed me to Bangkok and got him.

They got him fifty metres from where I was supposed to meet him.

All those people staring, the whore... they were...

I led him straight to them.

I didn't even hear them because of the noise.

I couldn't save him this time.

I brought him here to keep him safe. I brought him here.

It's all my fault.

Oh my god. I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

You must believe me, I am so sorry.

The little lady raises her head and looks at me plaintively. I want to collapse. Her expression changes as she recognises me. I am so sorry. My head is moving at full speed. I'm sorry.

Everything has a bad side.

Where is the bastard who killed him?

Probably after me.

And I run.

Oops. I forgot to warn about character death. Oh well.