ack in Thailand, we’d been allowed to follow the convoy of
B police cars and trucks into the city of Surat Thani.
Jimmy rode his bike, while I sat with Mark Dobson in his rented Toyota. I think he wanted to chat without Jimmy listening but I learned nothing much I didn’t already know.
Jimmy was ex US army, je told me He’d been around a bit and they’d first met in Vietnam. By then, Jimmy had a loose sort of arrangement with the US Embassy.
“This time he’d had a tip off about a black guy from North London -me - flying into Phuket and not staying around the fleshpots but heading south to where the separatist groups hung out as if he had an appointment.
Luckily for me I’d turned out to be a rare sort, more interested in finding peace and tranquillity and toucans hanging out in trees, than causing mayhem with a Kalashnikov. “He’s useful but totally unemployable,” had been Mark’s opinion on Jimmy.
When we arrived at the police station, Cass glanced at me as if he was being taken to the gallows. All I could do was give him a long-distance high five as he was led away.
Jimmy, Mark, and I were then invited to give our views on the matter across a table from a row of police officers with even more badges.
I did my best. I explained how I’d known Cass at school, and that he was the most un-Moslem Moslem I’d ever met. It didn’t seem to make much difference. There were no smiles.
It really was going to be up to Cass to give his side of the story.
He didn’t appear again that night, so Jimmy, Mark, and I checked in at a two-star down the road. The next morning, we were back, and by then, Mark had images of Cass’s new, replacement passport which he showed the police.
We then sat around again until Cass reappeared around midday. He’d showered, shaved, combed his hair and had been given an army-style camouflage tee shirt and flip-flops.
He didn’t exactly resemble a muscle-bound beach-ready hunk but he smiled weakly at us when he was brought in.
“My new British passport is being couriered to the High Commission in Phuket,” he said as if that was the answer that would remove all suspicions,
Mark nodded at the police. “True. And I intend to head up to Bangkok, talk to the British embassy and stick around for a day or so until we can sort everything out,” he said. “Stuff is still coming in from my partner in London about what happened.”
I didn’t know what he meant by ‘stuff’ because I didn’t know what was going on back home. My job, finding Cass, was sort of done, but before he was led away again left we managed a few words.
“Thanks, Kurty,” he said. “Be seeing you. How’s everything in Park Road?”
“I live in London now,” I said. “Do you really want to return to Park Road and bump into Khan again? Don’t you know somewhere better?”
“I dunno,” Cass replied. “I think I might come back here. I need some peace and quiet for a while.”
“That’s what I came for,” I told him. “I got side-tracked.”
Finally, Cass shook Jimmy’s hand and said, “Thanks.”
“You bet,” Jimmy replied. “No problem. Everything will work out. Try and put some weight on.”
Mark said “Cheerio” and left for Bangkok and Jimmy and I returned to the car park to find his bike. Naturally, though, he needed another fix, so I waited while he rolled another, lit it and sucked on it a few times. Then he tossed the remains, mounted the bike, and patted the seat behind him, which was my cue to do likewise. What now, I thought.
I’d already noticed he was wearing a different tee shirt today, a black one printed with 304 West Virginia across the chest.
During the overnight stay in the hotel, he’d also showered and washed his hair. He still wore the ridiculous yellow trousers, but his hair looked different. It moved more freely in the breeze rather than hanging like strands of greasy rope. I was tempted to say how nice he looked today just to annoy him but resisted it.
I mounted the bike behind him, and he turned his head. “You keep saying you want to see a toucan, Kurt,” he said.
“Definitely,” I said.
He shook his head, and his hair wafted like in an advert for women’s shampoo. “I hate to destroy your enthusiasm, Kurt,”
he said, “but there aren’t any toucans in Thailand.”
I looked at him as if he was stupid. “There are. I saw a picture in a tourist brochure.”
He turned again. “Kurt, believe me. There are no toucans in Thailand. There are hornbills.”
“Hornbills?”
“Hornbills.”
“The brochure said toucans.”
“Then they got it wrong. There are no toucans in Thailand.”
“I see,” I said somewhat deflated. “Might we see a hornbill?”