Shrimp stared hard at them. From Summer’s description of them, these looked to be the men who had beaten her up and trashed the bar. Shrimp followed the van for a bit as it carried on towards a brand new Thai boxing stadium that he could see at the end of the beach. Once he was certain it was the right people, he turned right and walked along past a salsa bar where a few lads were enjoying a hair of the dog, and past the police immigration department. It seemed to have been made of sterner stuff than anything else along the beach, and had needed very little repair after the tsunami. He came to Patong Beach Road and followed it up and off to the left where it branched out. He’d already passed two Indian tailors, who seemed to be able to survive any world disaster. Shrimp had already spent all his money with them, buying a bespoke suit in three different styles. The only bar on the lane that he could see had an open front and heavy wooden stools. An old wooden carved Cherokee Indian stood outside.

A young Thai waitress in a very short version of the traditional leather-beaded dress, a string of white shells around her neck, stepped out and greeted him with an open arm and a bow. He looked at the name above the door. Wampums.

‘Sawat di kha.’ She bowed. ‘Please come inside, sir.’

Shrimp looked at his guide book. ‘I was looking for a bar named Summer’s. It was supposed to be up here.’

The girl looked like she either hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood—he didn’t know which.

‘Summer’s,’ Shrimp repeated, taking a step closer inside the entrance to the bar.

‘Sorry, not here now.’

‘But this used to be Summer’s bar before the tsunami?’

The girl looked nervous and gave another plastic laugh, but she didn’t answer.

‘That’s okay. I’ll come in anyway,’ said Shrimp.

The waitress stood back to allow him to enter, bowing as he passed. Ahead was a carved bar with totem poles as struts. The barman was a young Thai. He was in the process of trying to grow a moustache but it just wasn’t happening. He had an explosion of acne over his forehead that had formed into crop circles.

Shrimp sat at the wooden bar and read the barman’s name badge.

‘Hi…Lamon. How ya doin’?’ Lamon didn’t answer. ‘Diet Coke please.’

Whilst the barman fixed Shrimp’s drink, Shrimp picked up a pen from the other side of the bar and wrote ‘SUMMERS?’ in large letters on a barmat. Lamon walked over, Coke in hand, and went to put the glass down on the mat. Then he read what Shrimp had written. Lamon scrutinised the mat and quickly pushed it back across the bar towards Shrimp. ‘This bar is Wampums.’

‘This…’ Shrimp tapped his finger on the bar. ‘This used to be Summer’s bar?’

The barman shrugged. Shrimp was feeling irritated now. ‘Seems to be a problem with getting information here,’ he said. As he did so, he saw Lamon’s eyes focus on something behind Shrimp’s shoulder. Shrimp realised he wasn’t alone. A voice came from behind.

‘What information you need?’

Shrimp turned to see two men stood close behind him. He recognised them from the Thai boxing van. One was the boxer, El Supremo, the other was the man with the loudhailer. El Supremo had obviously taken a few less blows to the head than the other man, but he’d evidently not worn a mouthguard and had had to have most of his teeth replaced with gold ones. Coach clearly hadn’t been able to afford it, so he tried not to smile. Shrimp swivelled around to face them.

‘I am on holiday here. I was told to look up Summer’s bar. I was told it was a great place to hang out, meet nice people—like you guys.’ Shrimp smiled his most pleasant grin. It worked on Coach—he smiled back enthusiastically whilst trying to keep his top lip down to hide his lack of teeth. El Supremo didn’t look like he knew how to smile. He also looked like he had once failed to notice a particularly nasty right hook coming at him; it had all but collapsed his eye socket and meant that he had to turn his head just slightly to the right to get Shrimp in focus.

‘No more questions. You have finished your drink. Time to go.’ El Supremo took a step closer towards Shrimp.

Shrimp looked at his half-drunk Coke and shrugged. He looked over at Lamon who was smudging the glasses with a cloth rather than cleaning them.

‘It isn’t Diet you know. You’ve given me regular.’

‘Finish?’ Coach asked.

‘Sure. No lemon, no ice, regular Coke—not much of a first impression. And the girl’s outfit? Yuk!’ Shrimp hopped off the stool.

He walked back along the beach and into the police station. A couple of roughed-up-looking Thai lads were sitting in the corner, staring at the floor. The officer behind the desk looked up at Shrimp, puzzled.

‘I want to report an assault.’

The policeman looked past Shrimp and grinned. Shrimp turned to see two heavily-armed policemen were waiting for him to finish.

47

Magda held Alfie’s hand tight as she listened to the sound of his breathing. She leant forward and kissed the back of his hand as she whispered his name. His eyelids twitched. She knew he was struggling to come back to her. A minute later he managed to lift his long blond lashes and smile as he squeezed her hand.

Magda gasped with relief. ‘I thought I’d lost you, Alfie.’

‘No. I am still here.’ He smiled sleepily. ‘How long have I been out?’

‘Twenty-four hours. You had to have a blood transfusion and an operation. You were in a bad way. You nearly lost a kidney.’

‘Only nearly?’ he grinned. ‘They could have made an effort.’ He tried to laugh but grimaced instead as the pain registered.

‘It’s not funny, Alfie. You were lucky you were wearing your old leather jacket.’

Alfie looked cross. ‘Did they wreck it? Fucking bastards. I’ve had that jacket since I was a boy. It’s my lucky jacket. I pulled you when I was wearing it.’

She smiled. ‘It saved your life, Alfie. That’s what I call really lucky.’

He lifted her hand to kiss it. ‘I am sorry to make you worry. I’ll be home later today.’

‘Alfie, don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to have to stay in at least a couple of days.’

‘Tell them I’ll sign myself out. Listen to me, Magda. This takes the whole thing to another level now. Something is happening here, to us, to Jake. I want you to look at what that bitch Katrien is doing.’ He stopped talking and looked at her face. ‘What is it?’

Magda reached into her bag beside the bed and pulled out a newspaper. ‘I got the paper this morning on the way here.’ She unfolded it and looked at the front page. ‘It’s about Schiphol airport and the planned extensions. I was looking at the photo to see if my friend Lena was amongst the protesters yesterday—she usually is—but then I looked at the picture closely and I saw this…’

She showed Alfie the photo. In between two protesters with placards he saw someone he recognised, on her way into Departures. It was Katrien.

‘Fucking hell! The sneaky little bitch. Right, I am getting up,’ he said, sitting up too fast and wincing with the pain in his back and side. He leant back on the pillow and closed his eyes for a few seconds to allow the pain to ease. ‘Contact the paper and ask them what time this photo was taken, contact the editor and ask…Ouch!’ Alfie grimaced as the pain in his side increased.

‘It’s okay, Alfie. I rang the airport already. The only flight leaving for Asia during the following six hours was going to Kuala Lumpur and I checked on the internet. They are still running flights to Thailand from there. It must be something to do with Jake, Alfie. It has to be.’

48