“Yes. In our village. Now we both thirty-two.”

“Didn’t Gary understand that history when you explained it

to him?”

“No, he jealous. He want I want him only. I love Gary. He

Buddhist. He love the Buddha. I teach him. I teach him pray. I

teach him meditate. I teach him make merit. I love Gary, but

Gary no understand Thai.”

“Thais are not so sexually possessive, I guess, as farangs

tend to be.”

“Possess? Possess just house, motorbike. No possess for

sex. Sex for pleasure. Sex for fun. Like food. Like air.”

“Sanuk.”

“Yes, sanuk. But I love Gary. I am sad.”

THE 38 MILLION DOLLAR SMILE 83

“Is it possible,” I said, “that Gary was upset about

something else, and that affected how he reacted to Werner and

your other somewhat-numerous revelations?”

“I don’t think so,” Mango said.

As he spoke, I was working hard now to concentrate on

what he was saying, as the two men in the next cubicle were

getting up a nice head of steam. It was plainly a Thai and a

farang, because one of them was making little cries of oh-oh-oh

— the farang — and the other one was uttering little squeals of

oi-oi-oi — the Thai.

Mango seemed unaware of any of this. It was just another

feature of the Bangkok atmosphere, like the aroma of jasmine.

He went on. “Gary not angry at other people, just me. Gary

happy then. He rich, he say, and he get more rich, and then he

make big merit. Gary so happy. But after I go, something

happen. He not happy. I hear this from Kawee. Gary leave, he

hide.”

“He was going to become more rich?”

Mango thought about this. His towel had shifted a bit, and

now another of his numerous excellent attributes was dimly

visible. That and the oh-oh-oh-oi-oi-oi racket next door weren’t making my job any easier at what plainly was about to become a

critical juncture in the investigation.

Mango said, “Big investment.”

“Investment in what?’

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t talk about it at all?”

“No.”

“How do you know it was an investment?”

“He say he go bank, get money for big investment. Make

rich, make merit.”

“What was the merit he was going to make?”

“No say. But for the Buddha. For the Dharma. For the

Sangha.”

84 Richard Stevenson

“The Sangha. That’s the monkhood? Was he going to give

money to the monks? To a monk?”

“No monk, maybe. Maybe seer. Gary go to seer. Gary like

seer. Seer tell Gary many things. He say Gary see blood. Gary

people hurt. Then he say Gary make big merit, no blood, no

hurt. Make bad luck good luck.”

“Do you know who the seer was, Mango? Do you know his

name and where he is?”

“Yes, he is soothsayer Khunathip Chantanapim, and he here

in Bangkok.”

I said, “Now we’re getting somewhere,” just as one of the

chaps in the next cubicle got somewhere too.

§ § § § §

Timmy and Sawee were not by the pool when I came

downstairs, so Mango and I stepped into the nearby multi-

tenanted labyrinthine steam room for a refreshing bout of

heatstroke. Both of us had been feeling a certain amount of

tension following our conversation about Griswold, though

when we emerged from the busy steam room and headed for

the cold showers some minutes later, much of that tension had

been dissipated.

Mango told me how to reach him if I needed to talk to him

again, and he gave a fairly detailed description of the two men

who had threatened him two months earlier and roughed him

up when he insisted that he had no idea where Griswold was.

One of the two goons sounded like Yai, the motorcycle assault

artist. Mango said he wished I — or somebody — could do

something about these two. He needed some more foreign

“friends” to keep his Chonburi house fund going, and keeping

such a low profile was crimping his style in that regard.

Timmy reappeared a while later at poolside. “Where’s

Kawee?” I asked. “Is he okay?”

“Oh sure. He’s in the shower, I think.”

I told Timmy about my productive talk with Mango and

about the news of the soothsayer who apparently talked

THE 38 MILLION DOLLAR SMILE 85

Griswold into some major Buddhist merit-making venture,

probably involving a large amount of cash.

“Wow, this is the breakthrough you needed.”

“I think so.”

“Great,” Timmy said, looking pleased but a little distracted.

“So. Are you having fun? No drive-by shootings? Plenty of

smiles.”

“You got it.”

“But nothing worth mentioning?”

“Well. I guess I should tell you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well. It’s this. I just spent a lovely hour and a half in a

cubicle with Kawee.” He actually smirked, something I wasn’t

sure I had ever seen him do.

“Kawee? ”

More smirk, though faintly cracked this time.

“You and little katoey Kawee?”

“It was his idea. But it didn’t take much coaxing, and I’m

happy I did it because he’s really quite delightful.”

“Timothy. Don’t your tastes generally run to — how shall I

put it? — men a bit more butch?”

“Yes, obviously. But in the semidarkness that sweet lad is

plenty butch enough, believe you me. Anyway, he’s just so…so

nice.”

“I’m…I’m be-dazed.”

“Anyway, while he’s a katoey, he’s not transgendered in the

full, clinical sense. He plans, for example, on keeping his dick.

He’s totally happy with it. As well he might be. Anyway, we

didn’t do much. Basically we just cuddled and chatted and then

enjoyed some pleasant mutual slow self-abuse. He wanted to

fuck me. He had four condoms — four, mind you! — stuffed inside his towel. But even with the condoms, that seemed to go

well beyond our ground rules on these matters.”

86 Richard Stevenson

“I would say, yes, getting pounded up the butt by a well-

hung Thai lady-boy is well outside our agreed-upon

parameters.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind. I just assumed that once you and

Mango got into a cubicle, nature would run its merry course.”

“Timothy, why would you assume such a thing? On those

exceedingly rare occasions when I do anything like that at all I never mix work in with it. Well, once I did and regretted it, as you well know. Really. I’m…I don’t know quite what to say.”

“So you and Mango didn’t do it?”

“Of course not!”

“Weren’t you in the steam room just now? I thought I saw

you both come out.”

“Yes, but we didn’t do anything together. Give me some

credit.”

“Anyway, I’m just doing what you always say. It’s the Henry

James dictum. When in Venice, one must always try the squid in

its own ink.”

“Oh, that. I forgot. I hope Kawee wasn’t too squidlike.”

“Not too. Just enough.”

“Well, you do seem to be adjusting to Thai customs and

mores nicely. I suppose I should be grateful after all your

ambivalence and fretting about coming here.”

“The only question in my mind is, why didn’t we come to Thailand sooner? Don, I have to say, now I do see what the

attraction is. The Thais are just so comfortable being who and

what they are, and so totally laid-back about life’s simplest

pleasures — tasty food, sunshine, flowers and trees, affectionate and playful sex. I see why people come here and…well, fall in

love with this gosh-darn place!”

So. What was this going to mean? And he hadn’t even seen

the reclining Buddhas yet.

“Look,” I said, “I’m glad you’ve come around. Both the

Thai Ministry of Tourism and I are pleased. But I’ve got work

to do. For one thing, I have to go get my phone and call Rufus