Detective Maier Mysteries Collection

6. Self-Defense

Pete’s hair looked more fiercely red in bright, merciless daylight than it had in the damp flickers of the Cambodian night. It didn’t look natural. The Englishman was just devouring his very English breakfast at the Pink Turtle, a pavement restaurant on Sisowath Quay – scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, baked beans, toast and grilled tomatoes, all of it swimming in a half centimetre of fat.

Despite the previous evening’s shooting and a royal hangover, the dive shop owner was in a good mood. A can of Angkor Beer sat sweating next to his delectable culinary choice.

“So, this French guy walks into a bank the other day. The newest bank in town. Just opened. Air-con and all. And he walks up to the cashier and pulls out a shooter. There are three security guys in this bank, armed with pump actions. But they don’t know what to do, they’re so f*****g surprised. A barang robbing a bank? How mad is that? But then the French geezer makes a mistake. As the cashier hands him a bag full of dollars, he puts his gun down on the counter. He just lost it for a sec. That’s when they jump him. It’s just too easy. f*****g prick’s in jail, looking at twenty. Had gambling debts and they threatened to cut his girl’s throat, only she was in on it. Great Scambodian fairy tale, so f*****g typical.”

barangCarissa ordered two coffees. Pete was on a roll.

“The dive business is going good, mate, it really is. We have great dive sites a half hour away by long-tail boat. Our customers get to see turtles and reef sharks, and there’s plenty of titan trigger fish and large barracuda out there. As long as they don’t overdo the dynamite. But I’m an optimist. We’re searching for new dive spots all the time. There are hundreds of wrecks. And every year, more and more tourists come here. The first real beach resort just opened. That’s Tep’s of course.”

“And what else does Tep do?” Maier asked, his eyes recovering behind a pair of mirror shades.

Pete shrugged his narrow shoulders, “Yeah, I agree, mate, that didn’t look too cool last night. It was well ugly. But luckily, this kind of thing doesn’t happen too often. Almost never.”

The Englishman must have noticed a shadow of doubt cross Maier’s face, “It was virtually self-defense.”

Maier smiled, “Virtually.”

Carissa laughed throatily, “The boy shot the bald guy in the back, Pete. Only in Cambodia is this called self-defense, and only if you know the right people and have sacks full of cash.”

“You were always very principled, babe. You know exactly how things stand and fall here. In a small dump like Kep everyone knows and respects the boss. Otherwise you can’t run a business or do anything. In Cambodia, you need good connections and a strong will to live.”

Carissa, resigned boredom painted across her face, shrugged lazily.

“Always the same excuses. And you screw the taxi girls because you are really humane employers who believe in equal opportunities and don’t want to see them exploited by Gap in the garment factories.”

Pete stopped concentrating on his beans and winked at Maier, “Some get bitter as they get older. Others realise what they’ve missed. Life’s a short and meaningless trip crammed with suffering and emptiness. I knew that when I was five years old. You don’t need the Buddha to realise that. I think it’s best to fish for as much money and p***y as possible. Come on, babe, Carissa, you’re not so different.”

The journalist rolled her eyes in silence and lit a crinkled joint she had fished out of her handbag. How quickly you got used to the small rituals of friends, Maier thought.

“Does Tep have enough connections upstairs in the government to suppress the incident in the Heart?”

“Yeah, he does. He’s got old mates in government. The bald playboy in the Armani suit went mad on drugs and shot himself. There are witnesses who swear he took a bunch of pills before he pulled his gun, put it to his chest and pulled the trigger. Over and over, apparently. That ketamine is strong.”

“Then I don’t have a real story. Just a suicide on drugs won’t do.” Carissa complained.

The Englishman grinned at her.

“No, you don’t, unless you want a shed load of trouble.”

“So, what else does your influential friend do?”

“Tep’s a businessman. He knows he can’t be too greedy. He needs us foreigners as much as we need him. And unfortunately, the country also needs can-do guys like Tep. Together we create employment opportunities. And not just for taxi girls, as Carissa likes to think.”

“This doesn’t really answer my question.”

“You’re a pretty curious type, Maier. Normally the krauts are a bit more reticent.”

Maier let the remark pass, almost.

“Before I invest anything here, I want to know how much disappears in the quicksand. And that did not look too good last night. I have read good things about Kep, but I have also heard good things about Koh Samui.”

Pete relaxed, pushed his plate away, lit an Ara and laughed drily. “Maier. Don’t be so German, so pessimistic. Come down to the coast and meet my partner, Rolf. He’s just as much a true human being as you two, and still, he’s happy. And anyway, people shoot each other on Samui all the time. Every month, people go AWOL and are found later, half-eaten and drifting in the Gulf. I know, cause most of them are countrymen of mine. That’s how it is in these parts. That’s why we’re here and not at home.”

Pete beamed at his breakfast companions.

“But in contrast to the overcrowded, unfriendly beaches in Thailand, Kep is stunningly beautiful and quiet, just totally f*****g idyllic. We have a few hours of electricity a day, no traffic, no disco, no Internet. And on top of that, Kep has plenty of traces of this country’s sad history, something you Germans usually go for, no?”

Maier had gotten tired of the Englishman’s jokes and had withdrawn into himself. “Two world wars and one world cup” appeared to define Pete’s idea of Germans. He was hardly unique. Southeast Asia was a favourite destination for the UK’s piratical and lawless w*********h underclass.

But the little red-haired, wrinkled man hadn’t finished, “Just one thing, mate, a friendly piece of advice. People who get too curious about how things work in Cambodia, people who ask too many questions, are in danger of giving the impression that they might not be around for the reasons they say they are. If Tep gets this impression, it can have really heavy consequences. It’s better to let life roll along at its natural pace down there and to roll with it. That way, most questions will be answered anyway. I’m sure you understand me.”

“I must be lucky then that I let life roll at its natural pace last night.” Maier laughed.

Pete reached across the table and slapped Maier’s shoulder like an old friend. “You’re a fun guy to be around, Maier. That’s why my advice comes flowing your way. Our community down there in Kep is so small that every newcomer is looked at, like under a magnifying glass. It’s just a local reflex. We don’t mean anything by it. And anyway, you come with the best of references.”

Maier looked across at Carissa. Was this skinny little Englishman threatening him or was it all just talk? Maier didn’t want to fall in love with his old colleague again, but now he was worried and that was never a good sign. The detective rarely worried. Worries made life, this short and meaningless journey of suffering and emptiness, more complicated. The Buddha had been right about most things.

But Maier had no time to philosophise. The young waitress of the Pink Turtle appeared with a tray, loaded with three whiskeys, on the rocks.

Just like the freebooter he was, Pete had remembered the most important thing of all.

“I know, Maier, you don’t like drinking beer. It makes you very likeable somehow. Let’s drink Jack Daniels to the man who doesn’t like beer! Cheers.”

Maier didn’t like whiskey much either but he lifted his glass. He was on duty.