Bangkok Shadows by Stephen Shaiken

Author:Stephen Shaiken
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi
Publisher: Stephen Shaiken
Published: 2018-04-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter SIXTEEN

I was enjoying “Paraphernalia,” my favorite cut on my most beloved Miles Davis album, “Miles in the Sky”, recorded in 1968. Miles on trumpet, Wayne Shorter on tenor sax, Herbie Hancock on piano, Ron Carter on bass, George Benson on electric guitar. Miles had made the full transition from bebop to jazz-rock fusion, which disappointed some fans but delights me. My mind became lost in the music and I momentarily forgot the sudden turmoil in my life. The cut followed up with “Country Son”, my second favorite track, and when that number ended, it was time to start working.

Panchen’s words sounded in my mind once the cocoon of the music had lifted.

“I have never lost a client to death and don’t intend to start now. And that extends to people who pay the client’s fees,” the lawyer had said. “Call me when you have time,” he had urged.

I dialed his office and identified myself and his secretary remembered me as Noi’s American lawyer. I told her that Panchen had asked me to call him to discuss Ms. Noi’s case. She put me on hold and then informed me that Khun Panchen had not come to the office that morning. When asked if he had called in ill she told me that they had not heard from him that day. After being pressed she said me that he did not have any court appearances or meetings on his calendar.

“Khun Panchen always tells where he will be,” she said.

Something did not seem right. In fact it seemed quite wrong. Panchen spots me on the street, supposedly a coincidence, and the next morning he fails to show up at the office with no explanation. Every cell in my body knew something was amiss.

I thanked her, made sure she had my number, and told her to call me when Panchen was available. She promised she would.

#

Oliver answered my call less than a minute later. He said he would get me Panchen’s home address and put it on the tab.

Ten minutes later he texted me Panchen’s home address. The attorney lived in Sathorn, near Lumpini Park in what Oliver described as a luxury high-rise. The apartment was on the twentieth floor.

“Good security, so use your brains,” Oliver advised in the text.

After a shower and a shave, I put on my lightweight grey suit, white shirt and tie and slipped my feet into fancy Italian leather loafers, which looked as new as the day they were purchased several years ago. My prayer that it not be one of the worst steaming hot and humid Bangkok days was answered. It was only a normal Bangkok day, hot and humid but not quite life threatening to a farang in a suit and tie.

Oliver was right, the high rise implied luxury.Sweeping curved driveway, high glass lobby windows, lots of polished brass and marble everywhere.

The uniformed guard at the lobby desk called Panchen to announce my arrival. He told me there was no answer but he could take a message.

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