Bangkok Express : First Bangkok Book in Joe Dylan Series. by James Newman

Author:James Newman [Newman, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B010PQPL3O
Publisher: SPANKING PULP PRESS
Published: 2015-06-28T12:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

“MAN, YOU look like you could use a drink,” Joe looked at the man’s scuffed lizard-skin shoes, his black pin-striped trousers, his creased business shirt, and his neck-tie decorated with beer and curry stains. Hale looked like a man who had nowhere to go and was in a desperate hurry to get there. His grey eyes were friendly lamps below short hair matted slightly with sweat. His smile was warm. Heat was the last thing Joe needed. He needed a break.

“You should see the other guy,” Joe smiled.

“Stand up, mate. Best foot forward. You like my shoes? Monitor lizard. Five thousand baht a pair on soi three.” The man crouched down to Joe’s level and breathed a cloud of alcoholic fumes. “Look mate, you may not want my help, you can tell me to bugger off if you like, but when I see a fellow country man in trouble it’s my duty to take him for a beer and bathe in the glory of his misfortune. I’m a man just like you, but my shoes are better. What do you say?”

“I say you’re a bastard and the cobbler saw you coming. But I like you, help me up.”

“Good. My name’s Hale.” Hale offered a hand. Joe grabbed it and pulled himself vertical.

“Pleased to meet you,” Joe stood up and brushed himself down. His pride hurt more than the swollen eye and the grazed shoulder did. Fate was a cruel bitch but she threw him the strangest crumbs from time to time. Fate was the only woman that Joe had known for the last eighty-eight days. She was a bitch but she was his bitch. She was all he had.

“I know a lovely little place not far from here,” Hale said, “A high class joint. Beds instead of chairs. You look like you could use a rest, mate, if you don’t mind me saying. You look like a geezer that fell into a barrel of tits and came up sucking his thumb. You know what I mean?”

“Sure. Lead the way, Jimmy.”

“No one calls me that.”

The mouth of the soi. Across Sukhumvit. Streets, broken pavements, trash, rats, whores, dirty underwear, paperback novels, reading glasses, cross-bows, vibrating dildos, angry birds, drugs, robotic toys, perfumes, sex, dreams. The river of humanity was flowing. Yes, it flowed. Down, down, down, The tide went only one way. Down. Sukhumvit road. The zone. Reservoirs of pleasure. Carnal canals. Lakes of longing, seas of sin, oceans of desire. Down it went. The tide was uncontrollable. African hookers and Isaan whores washed-up on the kerbs. A caravan of drunken Arabs swayed ahead of them. Joe’s legs were like blocks of wood. Shit. The steps were fading fast. Just one, anyone, would do. Step one. They found themselves outside the bed supper-club. Two. Hale stopped at the foot of the stairs to the club. Three. Joe looked at his alcohol ravaged face. “Need to have a smoke before we go in,” Hale said and lit up a Benson and Hedges. He blew out the smoke across the street.

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