9. Dog Lover
746 Words
The policeman was in his mid-fifties. Maier was standing on the first floor of a dilapidated villa when he saw him approach on a small motorcycle. He was fat and every time he drove through a pothole, the rusty vehicle beneath him bounced him around like a balloon. An old German Shepherd ran behind in his wake.
The ruined villa stood on oddly angled concrete pillars, had round windows and a spiral staircase with aspirations that extended beyond the first floor. The building, which lingered in the centre of a long-abandoned palm orchard, looked like an unlikely prop from a war movie.
The policeman, now stationary and sweating heavily, waved up to Maier. He took his cap off to wipe his broad forehead and, and, with these few gestures, he managed to convey the impression of an officer who’d not worked this hard in a long time. Maier jumped down the broken stairs and met the man halfway.
The handshake was almost wet, like his eyes. The man sweated so hard that he seemed to cry permanently. He also chewed betel – periodically, he spat huge blood-red gobs of juice onto the floor. A well-oiled side-arm hung from his belt. Otherwise, this cop looked scruffy.
The dog had caught up and sniffed his way around Maier. Maier liked dogs and the policeman’s companion quickly lost interest.
“Police dog. Very good dog.”
The policeman patted the head of the exhausted animal. People in Cambodia rarely showed this much affection to their domestic animals.
“Soksabai.”
“Do you want to buy this house?”
His English was not bad, nor was it very clear.
“I am just looking around.”
“This property for sale. But you go quick. Prices go up every year. Fifty percent.”
The officer of the law swayed back and forth in front of Maier and for a second it looked as if he was about to embrace the German detective. The two men stood, silently facing each other. The cop looked at Maier with crying eyes.
“Where you from?” he managed after a while.
“From Germany.”
“Germany is rich country.”
It sounded like “I want to f**k you”.
Maier let the statement stand.
“My name Inspector Viengsra.”
“My name is Maier.”
Inspector Viengsra pulled a small red pill from his breast pocket and pushed it into his mouth. His teeth were almost completely black, perhaps that’s why he didn’t smile much.
“Yaba?” Maier asked innocently.
The policeman nodded gently and grinned, without showing teeth.
“You’re friend of Mr. Rolf?”
“No.”
The inspector pulled a face and then pulled Maier onto a broken stone bench in the shadow of an old mango tree.
“If you want to buy land in Kep, you need friend. No friend, no land. Very difficult. Many people not honest, many document not right.”
Maier shook his head in shock.
The public servant nodded solemnly and, wincing and with some difficulty, pulled a document from his hip pocket.
“Here you see. This is real. For this beautiful house.”
Maier turned around. The ruin which he had just wandered through was about to collapse. The armed real estate man next to him was going the same way.
“Just fifty thousand dollars. Good price. The barang buy. We build Kampuchea again. Every year more.”
barang“I will think about it.”
The policeman leaned over a little too far towards Maier. “And be careful if you see the beautiful woman with the cut on her face.”
Maier nodded respectfully.
“I fight many years. I fight Khmer Rouge. I fight many battle and massacre.”
Maier sat, waiting for more.
“Death is a lady, monsieur, I tell you. Every time I fight the enemy, I see the woman. Death is a lady. Every time she come, we all know, someone die. But you never know who goes with the lady. Sometime the enemy, sometime my friend. Maybe me next time.”
The policeman yawned and scratched his balls.
“Why is the woman with the scar so dangerous? The war is over now.”
Maier was not going to get an answer. Despite his intake of amphetamines, Cambodia’s finest had fallen asleep on the broken bench.
Maier left quietly. The dog didn’t budge.
Police dog.
Nice dog.
- Writer
