Maier had an hour to kill until Tep’s boat would pick him up. Enough time to get a haircut. He passed the Angkor Hotel and walked up the hill to the two small huts.
Mee and Ow sat in the shade of a mango tree and were doing their make-up. Both of them wore gloves that reached all the way up to their elbows, to keep the tropical sun off their skins. They looked at Maier with the curiosity reserved for a passing dog. It was too early for professional enthusiasm.
The huts stood a hundred metres above the Angkor Hotel on a lightly forested hillside. They looked ready to be torn down. The bamboo walls had fist-sized holes and the sheet metal roofs had rusted through in places. General Tep hadn’t invested much in the less than salubrious village whorehouse.
Maier passed the women, nodded and
