speeding a strange and savage trip

from http://www.out-east.com


Chapter One


The screaming in my head wouldn't go away. A mad mixture of traffic
noise, echoes of my boss's complaining whine and the unruly wail of
the two-stroke engine down below my knees. Bangkok traffic at a
standstill. Fuming cagers going berserk on their horns, puffed up faces
about to explode into rage.
I took the Yamaha TZM150 along the pavement. Ped's going crazy as I
stared them down and used the wail of the degutted exhaust to clear a
path. The front end flipped up a little as I hammered the throttle, a
group of school kids scattered but smiling rather than scowling. Nearly
took out the legs of a emaciated beggar who looked frightened out his
tiny mind by the sudden, screaming appearance of a motorcycle into his
limited world.
Silom for a short stretch, going the wrong way against the traffic.
Taxi and bus drivers out for my guts, but I floated like a butterfly,
took the bike around their flanks and exited the maelstrom for the home
stretch to the company office in Soi 10.
Somgrai was outside, as usual his tuned Honda in pieces on the
pavement. A couple of far gone whores loitered nearby, not yet twenty
but so out of it they might as well have been pensioners for all the
joy they offered - having spent their youth in Chinese brothels where
they were serviced by ten or so men every day. Somgrai never seemed to
do any work but was kept on as an enforcer for the boss, the kind of
malevolent presence that gave me pangs of remorse and fear even when I
was completely innocent of any wrongdoing.
'Bossy, wants to see you, boy.' His leer indicated the time I'd
sneaked a look at one of the packages I'd delivered might be about to
catch up with me. Being only half Thai, and looking almost totally
farang, I was the obvious scapegoat if anything went wrong - one of the
major reasons for employing me as it was assumed that I had no face to
lose. Having been educated in the States didn't help, my Thai
laughable even by the standards of short-stay tourists.
The outer office was tiny, packed with sweaty, farting bodies of fellow
motorcycle messengers who tried to ignore my existence on the planet
earth, viewing me with deep suspicion as all foreigners were supposed
to have more money than sense. The boss's deputy a wheelchair bound
lunatic, permanently high on drugs and embittered from the time he'd
been crippled by a taxi. A pile of hard-core porn mag's kept him
amused when business went quiet.
'Where the f..k you been, farang. Could've gone across Thailand the
time you take. His Highness wants to see you, like yesterday.'
Another leer. What was with these people? The rumour was that the boss
was some kind of transvestite, been caught in the act, bent over his
desk with Somgrai doing the business. But the guy who'd seen it had
disappeared the next day, fueling the rumours but never confirming
them.
It was hard to believe. The boss looked like a throwback to the apes,
built like a sumo wrestler; excessive hair sprouted out of ears, nose
and throat... if he didn't shave three times a days he'd turn into
a werewolf. He looked as feminine as a Russian shot-putter. A weird
mixture of Thai, Malay and Filipino blood, judging by the overwhelming
effect of the ugliness the latter in dominance.
'Ah, Marky, how you getting on? Been here three weeks already have
we?'
I tried to look enthusiastic without appearing foolish. The boss had
the kind of temper on him that would get him a job as the head of a
deprived state run school somewhere on the marginal borders, where it
was hard to tell if the kids were Thai or Cambodian.
'Must say, your times aren't good. Some of our learners get across
town faster. I can't get in contact with that company you mentioned,
where you worked before. All sounds like a load of go-hok to me.'
'I want to live a long time.'
'That's no good. Gotta live for the moment. Go for it! No sense
holding back. I was in your position once but I was top dog. Fastest
guy across town. A cager got in my way he'd end up dropping a load.
Know what I mean?'
The truth was I'd told a pack of lies to get the job and didn't
know whether I was coming or going but it wouldn't do me any good to
admit that.
'I'll try to speed things up a bit, but it's a matter of wanting
to make it into my twenties without ending up in a wheelchair or on a
life support machine. Bangkok traffic defines the meaning of the word
bad!'
'You can't think like that, buddy. You think like that you'll end
up a basketcase. Look, last week you only made 2000 baht - I used to
make that in a day!'
'You sure, I thought I'd done 4000 baht, minimum.'
'Well, there are some deductions. You have to pay for the privilege
of a job in Thailand... You want to make some serious money, we can
work something out.'
All through the conversation he'd been fingering his crotch as if
trying to find something there or as if he was in the throes of
fighting off some disease. The rumours crept back into my mind.
'Er...'
'Well, it's all a matter of risk and reward. No need for you to
know the details - that could be dangerous for you. Let's just say I
need someone with discretion who isn't part of the crowd here. You
don't mix well. I can understand that being half farang. They're a
bunch of wankers out there. What I'm saying is from time to time
there are some packages I need picked up and delivered off the record.
2500 baht a throw for you, cash in hand. What do you say?'
'Well, it's not drugs is it?'
'I told you not to ask any questions, didn't I, you stupid little
prick? Look, you're either in or out. And if you're out then
you're out. Well, your record here isn't much cop. Somgrai will
want to put you to rights. Understand?'
'Okay, let's do it.'
'Good. Come over to my place tonight and we'll get you started.'
He passed me a slip of paper with a Sukhumvit address and tapped my
hand with clammy fingers that should've belonged to a corpse.
'Eight o'clock'll be fine. Be on time, I don't like people who
don't come on time. Know what I mean? I can see you're my kind of
man!'
'Er, I'll be there. Will you want me on the bike?'
'Course, I'll bloody well want you on the bike. Ain't f...king
cocktail time for you, boy. Not yet. Go do some work now and don't
f..k up again!'
The deputy was drooling over a photograph of a white woman being taken
simultaneously by three Cambodians, straining at the sheer size of
them...
'Hell, boy, I had a cock left I'd be in there like a shot. You know
what the bastard got who run me down? 2000 baht fine! Just as well
I've got connections in the Mafia, had the bastard kneecapped and
castrated. He's the same as me now, another no-f..king-hoper...'
Followed by a mad cackle that ended with the injunction to get over to
Ratchadam for a single pick-up, delivery in New Road. Which meant
pretty shit money as the only way to turn a buck was multiple pick-ups
and drops. The last guy in had to suffer all the bad jobs. At least I
wasn't on trainee rates. Yet! The other messengers snickered with
relief.
The TZM was looking like a war victim rather than an 18 month old
motorcycle. I was bone weary from a day's work, with neither the
energy nor inclination to look after it. Still, the 150cc single
cylinder motor was one of the toughest in the business. And in Bangkok
fast enough to make even the police look damn silly.
I breezed across Bangkok on the back of maybe getting ahead of the
game, thanks to the boss's offer. For sure he was into some kind of
weird shit, but who wasn't, these days? My euphoria was suddenly
shattered by some cager cutting his bus-sized Volvo estate into my
path. I hit the brakes and gears, swerved out of the collision course
without really thinking about it. An old hand at the survival game at a
mere nineteen years old, living on the edge where nothing but pure
instinct ruled.
The cage careered off down the road for ten yards before squealing to a
stop, entombed in more traffic. I went along his side at about 20mph,
running a screwdriver the length of the cage and grabbing the bars just
in time to hold the bike steady as it tore his mirror out of its
mounting. Came out with a bang like a shotgun going off. That noise
always made me smile because I just knew the driver had jumped out of
his clothes.
Before the cager could extract himself I was a half of a kilometre down
the road, laughing like a madman. Even if he clocked my numberplate
I'd never registered the bike in my own name. The only viable revenge
was to stick a gun out of his window and blow me away. Given the
jerk's auto he might even have the connections to pull it off without
suffering any kind of police retribution.
It was hard to believe that Racthadam Road was still in recession. I
barged my way through the ped's and squealed the back tyre as I
skidded to a stop outside a small office block. Nothing like a bit of
noise, as if the machine's about to go out of control, to get the
civilians all squeamish.
'Hey,whitey, you watch where you put that machine. This ain't no
GP!'
I ignored the guy - some American black GI doing the shops and probably
pissed because the Thai women wouldn't have anything to do with him -
despite the fact that he looked like he was high on crack-cocaine and
twice my size. Once in the building, I was kneecapped into ecstasy by
the sight of the receptionist... some Bangkok high-society frail with
cheekbones that cut ice and lips bruised with lust. Her eyes were all
cold fury; my lacerated leather jacket added up to zilch status, my
entranced stare more an insult than a compliment. It didn't stop me
smiling like I'd won the lottery.
'Er, come to pick up a parcel from Dobbermanley...'
'No, Dobbley. Wait, not ready.'
'You ever go on a motorcycle?'
'What?'
'What I'm saying is that if you've never been on a motorcycle I
could take you out on mine. Kind of fantastic fun? Sanulk!'
I tried to keep the leer out of my voice and my smile, but it was hard
going.
'You crazy.'
'Sure, sure, but the thing is you've blown my mind away and I
couldn't leave without trying.'
'Impossible!'
'Nothing's impossible. Where you from anyway?'
'Not talk. Go sit and wait.'
'Look, I'm only trying to be friendly.'
'Not want. I only talk for work.'
'Jesus, what kind of shit is that...'
The next thing I knew was some jerk grabbing me by the collar of my
jacket and throwing me across the room with enormous violence. I'd
come off motorcycles enough times to know how to take a fall and bounce
back on to my feet ready for more.
The guy was short but broad, planted on feet widely spaced. Hair
cropped so sparse he seemed a dead ringer for ex-army. Looked like
he'd withstand a nuclear blast. I picked up my helmet, appearing like
I'd given up, suddenly coming up fast, flicking the thing at his
head. Inspired by those old Kung-fu movies they keep showing. As he
reared backwards under the onslaught, I charged his body. Off balance
from the lid cracking into his face, by the time I reached him, he was
flailing against the wall and I had all the time in the world to pump
my knee into his groin. Die baby, die.
I picked my helmet up and decided to get out before the hooligan
recovered.
'You wanna ride, babe?'
The sudden adrenaline rush making me try once more, but she'd turned
into an ice maiden and the thug was stirring on the floor. They were
welcome to each other.
Outside, some kids were perched on the bike, making like racing
stars... I screamed at them and they scattered; doubtless if I'd hung
around for a few moments a pack of social workers would've accused me
of child abuse, Asian children revered as little gods rather than pains
in the arse. Kicked the bike into life, played with the throttle until
the windows of the building threatened to shatter and skittered off the
pavement into the traffic as if I didn't have a care in the world,
though I'd messed up another job and would have to avoid that area
for a little while. No great loss.
The traffic was impossible, five o'clock shadow across the city.
Noise, smog and the odour of the brain dead but there was the narrowest
of conduits between the stalled coffins and I took it as fast as I
dared. Go too slow, some other biker would back end me, brain too fried
by excessive speed; motorcycling and amphetamine both. I squirmed in
the seat, making minute, high speed changes in direction to navigate
through the protuberances poking off the cages, although it was
sometimes fun to leave a trail of mirrors, door handles and aerials in
my wake.
Home was a cold water flat just off Rama IV, not far from the Klong
Toey market. A five storey edifice, only twenty years old but fast
fading and cracking up, the foundations subsiding and the excessive
heat of the day running so deep into the concrete that it changed its
molecular structure for the worse. A pokey little room right up under
the roof but with its own toilet and shower; only 3000 baht a month.
The Yamaha sat in a bike bay conveniently opposite, secured with three
locks and an extra loud alarm system... I kept a couple of bricks to
hurl out of my window if I caught someone tampering with the machine.
I kept leering at my female neighbours, young and old alike, but it was
difficult to overcome the language barrier even when they blew half my
mind away with huge smiles. I think I pissed the neighbours off the
time I came home drunk out of my mind, spent the night screaming and
being sick; the first I knew of it, a huge pile of vomit in the
washbasin when I staggered out of bed the next morning.
from http://www.out-east.com

 

<Huge big snip>

Would it not be slightly better if this junk had a slight grain of truth
to it?

 

gazzafield composed the following ...

Would it not be slightly better if you'd not re-posted the junks URL ..

 

Probably, but I thought he needed the advertising. Happy now? Thought
not.

 

gazzafield composed the following ...

au contraire, me is a very happy bunny

 

nice to see Culler stills brings out the best in people...

 

In

<snip>

As per UKRM please just **** off with this shite!

killfile

*plonk*

bye



--
Steve Parry

http://www.gwynfryn.co.uk

http://www.arrivedeprived.org.uk/

K100RS SE
F650
(not forgetting the SK90PY)

 

[snip]

School must've broken up early, innit.

--
Austin Shackles. www.ddol-las.fsnet.co.uk my opinions are just that
"The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twittering
from the strawbuilt shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing
horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed."
Thomas Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.

 

don't want me to post chpt 2 then?

 

school gals, I'll have some mate...

 

And he's using excite.com as well. Dear God.

 

sad us as sad does, Charlie

 

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