Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson Read Free Page B

you’ll lose your Dutch citizenship.’
    There was a dull thud and I took a quick look into he room just in case she’s beaten him over the head with a blunt object but she was the one on the floor, slumped down next to the bed, her hands over her face, sobbing her heart out.
    He waddled over to a dressing table and grabbed her handbag. He pulled out a Dutch passport and ripped it into several places, went over to the toilet and flushed away the pieces. Then he threw the handbag into the toilet for good measure.
    ‘Please, darling …’ sobbed the girl.
    The client sneered at her and walked out of the room, his ham-sized hands clenched into fists. I followed him back to the lift. I saw the waiter in the stairwell, anxiously looking in our direction, his hands clutching the towel around his waist. I waved for him to keep out of the way.
    The lift doors opened and we rode down. ‘Bitch,’ said the client, venomously. His face was bathed in sweat and there were damp patches under the arms of his jacket.
    I said nothing. I could see his point, but I figured that of the two of them, he’d lost the most. She’d lost a sugar daddy, but then she wouldn’t have to satisfy the sexual urges of a man big enough to crush her if he rolled over in his sleep. And a girl as pretty as her wouldn’t have to look too hard to find another husband. He’d lost a beautiful young gold-digger but now he’d have to sleep with nothing more than his right hand for company. Swings and roundabouts? I didn’t think so. If ever there was a Pyrhic victory, this was it.
    We walked out of the block and over to the Mercedes. ‘I don’t need you any more,’ he wheezed. ‘I can take care of myself at the airport. Thank you. For everything.’ He handed me a fistful of euros which I guessed was my cab fare home.
    I opened the rear door of the Mercedes and he hauled himself slowly into the back. The suspension groaned in protest. I closed the door behind him and the car moved away from the kerb. I got one last look at the client as the car drove off. There were tears streaming down his fleshy cheeks.

THE CASE OF THE CHRISTIAN CONMAN
    Khun Bua was a lovely woman, a decent middle-class Thai lady who kept dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief as she told me her story. She was my first real client. I’d done a few bargirl investigations for friends but Khun Men was to be my first paying customer. She’d read my one and only advertisement in a tourist magazine that was delivered free to Bangkok hotels. I was surprised to be contacted by a Thai because the advert was aimed at tourists and visitors. I’d assumed that any Thai would prefer to deal with a Thai detective. But as Khun Bua told me her story as we sat together in a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet close to her home, it became clear why she wanted a farang.
    She had a copy of the magazine with her. Not the one that contained my advert, hers was from almost a year earlier. It was open at a page with an article about a Thai marriage agency. There was a photograph of a man in religious attire conducting a marriage ceremony between a middle-aged farang and a young Thai girl.
    As I read the article, Khun Bua sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. She was wearing a small gold crucifix around her neck. It was unusual for a Thai to be Christian. Thailand is a Buddhist country and Christians are a small minority. The man in the picture was the Reverend Marcus Armitage, and he had founded the Canadian–Thai Christian Dating Agency with the aim of finding wives for good Christian men back in Canada.
    Between sniffles, Khun Bua explained that she worked for the magazine. A friend of hers, a wealthy politician’s wife, had put up the money for the publishing venture, but Khun Bua had been hired to do most of the work. She sold advertising space, wrote many of the articles, liaised with the printers and arranged to have the magazines delivered to the city’s hotels. Khun Bua had never married and had