A FREE short story – For over 18s please.
By Colin Devonshire
“You look happy today?” said Busabong.
“Yeah,” answered Mark, “I always look forward to Thai religious days, tomorrow is the start of Buddhist Lent, which means I’ll be happy for the long weekend.”
“Why? You’re not Buddhist, or are you thinking of becoming a monk?” she asked, giggling.
“No, that will never happen, I’m not religious at all.”
“Then why will you enjoy this weekend more than others? Not because you can’t buy alcohol I’m sure?”
Mark’s colleague was sniggering behind her slim hands. She knew Mark drank too much, not because she had been out with him, nor had anybody from the office. He stank of booze Monday mornings and often on other workdays. Daily, Busabong dressed immaculately, her job was phone marketing.
“Why do you always look so smart, not that customers ever see you?” asked Mark, changing the subject.
“If you look smart, feel smart, you will sell smart. That’s what they told us at training,” she answered. She was Thai, Thai’s are rarely rude, that’s why she never mentioned or even hinted at his dress, she tried not to allow him to see her looking at his denim shorts and filthy t-shirt.
“How come I head the sales table?”
“It helps that you speak English like a native, not like an Asian,” she said, holding her breath.
“I’m only joking, keep cool.”
“Why have you not made any friends in the office?” she asked.
“I like to keep my friendships outside work. Don’t worry, I have loads of pals here in Bangkok.”
Mark ticked another sale on the chart. He knew they were watching him; he smiled before he turned, all heads were hastily ducked behind computer screens.
“Goodnight all,” he waved as he skipped to the doorway.
“Taxi,” he called, ordering a ride the short distance to his condo.
His shirt was flung into the washing basket, shorts soon followed as he grabbed his Gillette, a steady and careful shave, preceded his step into the steaming shower. Clouds of talc soon joined the steam. ‘Straight To Heaven’ aftershave was dabbed behind his ears.
“Bloody expensive stuff, don’t waste it,” he said to his steamy reflection in the cloudy mirror.
Flicking between hangers, suit or blazer, he decided on a tieless shirt and business trousers. His handmade brogues were gleaming, no rain in the city, no filth on the leather, unless he made them dirty in some other way.
A taxi pulled up as he exited his condo foyer, “Pat Pong please, no rush.”
He was dropped at the Sukhumvit end of the red-district road.
“Ideal,” he whispered to himself, “no need to be hasty, take your time old boy.”
Three years earlier, he had walked across the same road from his hotel. A naïve tourist alone because his travel mate had been struck down with food poisoning, or was it overdoing the alcohol intake? Whatever, Mark had decided not to waste an evening of their precious two-week holiday. He looked different in those days, with long hair, bearded and broke. His mum had paid for the holiday to get ‘him from under her feet’.
Tonight was going to be very different. He wanted savage revenge.
Three years earlier, the novice girl hunter had met one of Pat Pong’s unbelievably beautiful ‘lady boys’. When this gorgeous night worker stroked him, whispered sweet something in his ear, leading him astray. ‘She’ led him to a ‘short time’ hotel.
All his planning was moving in Mark’s expected direction. Both tops flung to the floor, little silver package unveiled a sheath of gossamer rubber. They both fought to slide it onto Mark.
Mark gently slid his hands under the mini-skirt.
“What is that?” He screamed.
“I thought that’s what you were looking for?”
Mark punched ‘her’ on the nose, the plastic improvement to the bridge snapped, followed by an ear-piercing squeal which equalled Mark’s wail of agony as a bony foot parted his legs leaving him rolling in agony. Within seconds, Mark was set upon by a gang of ‘lady boys’, all high on ‘meth’, they punched, kicked, then took turns to rape him. Worse was to follow.
Three-year-old memories had not faded, every face, every tattoo and every scar even every scent, throbbed at his temples. He had scouted the bars since his arrival; he had visited the famous haunts, spotted some of the gang that changed his life.
Tonight was the get-even night. He had learned enough Thai to get his point across, loud and clear.
Earlier, he had checked into a modest three-star hotel under a false name and paid cash for two nights. He had picked a hotel that didn’t worry if you brought ‘a guest’ to your room.
He breezed into a pulse-quickening thump of booster speakers which vibrated the walls of the ground floor club. His target was directly ahead, arms draped over a clueless tourist, a man who thought he had met the ‘girl’ of his dreams. She left him open-mouthed with lipstick dappled ear lobes, she had spotted the well-dressed Mark’s one-thousand Baht note being flapped at a pretty female topless server.
“Tilak ja,” Pippi breathed at him, “what can I get you?”
“Tilak ja? What does that mean?” asked Mark.
“It means, darling, politely. I can be very impolite if you prefer. Let’s get out of here, keep that money for me. It will be well worth it.”
“I only wanted a drink. My friends told me about these places, I wanted to see for myself.”
“Let me give you something far better than watered-down booze,” Pippi winked and slid her hand along his thigh, moving up and across as Mark grabbed her wrist.
“Not here, we can go to my hotel?”
“What hotel?” she asked, knowing would not be allowed in most.
Mark feigned forgetting the name of the place, he described the building and its address.
“Oh, I know it, it’s a very friendly, lovely place. Let’s go,” she said.
Nodding at the night manager, who didn’t lift his head from his paper, his key was handed to Mark. As any well-dressed, polite man, Mark opened the door for his ‘guest’. As she got inside, she was clubbed from behind with the handily placed hammer.
She was tied and gagged. Mark left by the fire escape at the back. He slipped a sheet of plastic in the locking mechanism ready for his return.
Hours later, he was happy with his hunt, four of the five people who attacked him were now in his room. Sluggish and drowsy as they came around dripping blood.
“Where is Lilly,” he asked. “Do not scream,” he said, as he flashed the blade under each chin.
They looked at each other, shaking heads.
“Where? I won’t ask again.”
Mark held his knife to the nearest eyeball. “Where is she?”
“She is dead, she died in jail.”
Mark looked at his prisoners, they all nodded slowly.
“Lucky for her,” said Mark.
Three of the four were gagged and blindfolded. The fourth quaked as Mark produced a dark brown bottle and unscrewed the top. He covered his mouth and nose as he filled a syringe. The girl gaped as he squirted the liquid in her mouth.
The previous weekend Mark had visited a silk fair, not that he particularly enjoyed the feel of the material against his skin, he wanted a liquid used in the dyeing process.
Sulphuric acid melted his captive’s tongue, she tried to spit the throbbing mucosa of her muscular organ, her whole body trembled. Fear almost popped her eyes, the pain left her gagging, struggling for breath.
“Steady on girl, we’ve only just started,” said Mark, as he ripped open her blouse.
“Let’s see what we can do with silicone breasts.”
The clear fluid worked its way through skin and plastic implants.
Each captive suffered, grunting and groaning in their helpless agony.
“Now ladies, before I start the final stage of this little operation. I want you to know what you did to me. I can no longer make love and I pee in a bag. Are you happy?”
He squirted acid onto each face. They were blind, mute, and unrecognisable.
Mark was late for work the next day, saying he had a busy weekend. When he turned up dressed in shorts and a scruffy t-shirt, he broke all sales records.
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