You Are Every Season - Book 2

Thirteen

One stormy night, some weeks previously...

A small red car with a broken headlight pulled up to park behind ranks of paint-faded songthaews and weary looking tuk tuks.It's driver sighed heavily as he switched off the engine. What a night to be driving in such districts - the road was sure to flood within a couple of hours. But when you're hired for a job by such a powerful client, a certain amount of 'dirty work' is always expected to be involved - and this work was urgent.

Stepping out of the car on tiptoes in an attempt to avoid the grimy, pooling puddles on the potholed road, the man looked again at the address in his hand.

A laundrette of all places. Would it even be in business still? One glance at the street told that many shops in the area had slumped into closure in recent years. A time of decline in this once-proud old neighbourhood. Those days were a long time gone.

So - somewhat apprehensively - the man set off to commence his search. There was a job to be done.

//

"Are you 100% sure you are prepared to go on record with the claim that he's a sex worker? My client will not take it lightly if you pull out last minute with some attack of guilt...we will be asking you to put your signature on legal documents. You do understand that, chai mai?"

The conversation between two standing men was taking place amidst rows of battered old washing machines in a room with walls of sad, broken tiles - there was nowhere to sit. The launderette was indeed open, but barely: Only four machines of the twenty were still functional.

"Chai, I understand" replied the second man, eyes tinged yellow from years of heavy drinking. "Hell, I have no loyalty to him or any of those kids. That woman made their bed years ago with her stupid, selfish choices".

He had once been a much better man, really a decent man, but years of debt, failure and hardship had left only a bitter shell behind.

"So, when exactly will I be compensated by your client for my 'help' in this matter?", he went on, and there was indeed eager greed - but also pitiful desperation - in his eyes now.

"Well, I will take your statement today and we will sign the legal documents. That allows my client to go ahead and release the story and you will be paid 50% of your compensation fee at that juncture. Then once the story has been sufficiently amplified by the media, you will attend my office to be interviewed, after which you will receive the remaining balance".

The deal was struck then and there in the laundrette. Paperwork signed, a false tale agreed upon and defamation plotted.

It was an earlier, unseen, link in the chain that led down the path towards Mew Suppasit and Gulf Kanawut clinging to one another on a hospital bed, preparing to face the world.

And as the first man prepared to depart with his briefcase now ominously full, he turned to the second from to doorway with a final, vital, question...

"I almost forgot, can you give me your birth name? It said in my project file that you legally changed it to avoid insolvency some years back. What was your family name back when you knew him?"

"It was Somchai, Somchai Traipipattanapong"