Coffer Jam

Bangkok, Wednesday, 31 May 1995

The young policeman stared at the stalled car blocking the midday traffic. He sighed, climbed down stiffly from his small bandstand in the middle of the junction and walked officiously towards the motionless Mercedes.

His black leather jackboots shimmered as they crunched the small stones on the hot tarmac. As he neared the car he stopped and squinted through his fake Ray-Bans. His body tensed and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. There was something odd about the stationary car… but what?

The tropical sun beat down on his white motorcycle helmet and the dust from the cars, buses and trucks attacked his eyes and throat. He remembered what his instructor had told him on the first day of his basic training. Bangkok could be a dangerous city. He had to be extremely careful. His right hand moved down slowly to his waist. He checked the revolver belted to his side. Gently he unbuckled the leather safety strap. He cursed quietly, longing for the blaring horns of the blocked cars to stop, and ached to be at home again with his family upcountry beside the cool rice paddies.

He moved forward cautiously, his eyes fixed on the motionless vehicle. Suddenly, he realised what was worrying him. The car wasn’t stalled… its engine was running, yet it wasn’t moving.

Sweat dribbled down the small of his back. He tightened his grip on the revolver, moved slowly to within five yards of the motionless car and stopped again.

The darkened windows were crazed as if hit by a sharp stone. The policeman went cold and shivered despite the stifling heat. He edged forward carefully and saw that the car’s rear windows were punctured with small neat holes. He turned sideways, shuffled up to the back window and pushed gently against it with the heel of his left hand. His right hand tensed around the secure, smooth, wooden handle of his revolver. The crazed glass bowed but did not break. He waited. Nothing except sun, dust and noise. He held his breath, then gingerly pushed harder. Nothing… harder still…

Suddenly the glass shattered and a blast of cold air hit the young policeman’s face as he stared wide-eyed inside the car. Crimson blood oozed over the new white leather upholstery. A fine-boned girl, a middle-aged Thai-Chinese man and his driver bled peacefully like ripped rag dolls.

The young policeman recoiled in horror and retched over the outside of the shiny Mercedes. Inside, a Chinese love song was still lilting from the car’s CD player…