Chapter Four

The blade moved swiftly, much quicker than his reflexes, slashing out at his arm from behind. Its steel tip sliced through the cotton shirt at the shoulder, drawing blood as it grazed his upper arm. Mike spun, alarmed and disorientated, but still in one piece. The glancing graze was meant to capture his attention. It worked. Mike was now wholly focused on his attacker. The fresh trail of warm blood ran unnoticed down his arm, soaking into his T-shirt as it did so. Despite the darkness he could see the intensity of the eyes within a rounded youthful face. Whoever it was appeared highly pumped up. It wasn’t adrenaline alone. His whole body shook, the tilted knife wavering in his hand. Mike recalled the problem Thailand’s capital had with Yaba, an Asian blend of amphetamine. This realisation added further unpredictability. Drugged Asian teenagers tended to leave you alone, too stoned or intent on a good time. This assailant was dangerously crossing that threshold. Stunned into inactivity, Mike could only wait, playing the part of a passive audience watching for the next move. He needed an instruction, a trigger to uproot his feet from the spot. His answer came within a split second. A broken wooden crate smashed into the assailant’s side. The force and relative weight of the solid wood caused the man’s knees to buckle, sending him sprawling on the tarmac. Splinters fell around his falling body.

“Run!”

The urgent tone came from the same direction as the thrown wooden crate. No other prompting was necessary. Mike sprang in an instant and took off towards the welcoming light where the main street beckoned. Without even slowing, Mike bolted out into the chaos of human traffic and cars. A Honda step-thru clipped his leg as he charged blindly to the other side. It knocked him off balance, his hands flailing in the air. His numbed mass hit the ground, jolting his senses back into real time. His brain started piecing the event together. Somebody else had been back there! There was some other person back in the alley, an unknown guardian who had helped save his ass. As the thought registered into his consciousness, an arm grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled. His initial panic quickly subsided when he heard the voice, the same that had commanded him to run.

“Come. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Mike swallowed the bile rising from the base of his throat and ran after the figure, dodging the tide of people on the pavement. The attempted mugging had sent a surge through his body and he was able to move fast. His legs took on rubber flexibility as he surged forwards. He reasoned that anyone with the power and guts to stop a street robbery had earned the right to be listened to and followed.

From the short distance behind, Mike could see that he was close on the heels of a lanky westerner with straggly blond hair. The upper torso formed a perfect V, ample power for the canvas backpack he carried, slung on one strap over the shoulder. Getting the age right was tricky, given the circumstances, but mid to late twenties probably wouldn’t be too far wrong. Two blocks later the runner slowed to a trot then stopped. Mike pulled up alongside, breathless from both shock and the nocturnal sprint.

“Big thanks are in order,” he said. “I was screwed back there!”

“No worries,” the lanky runner replied. “I could see you were going to get walloped back there. Street crime is growing and it’s fucking me off. Used to be such a safe haven until a year or two ago - now you need to watch your back just like anywhere else. We “faring” used to be the last on the tick list, left well alone. That’s all changing now. Lucky I could see the guy waltzing up behind you and was able to grab a piece of wood and clunk the bruiser. Did you check his face? Probably not yet out of his teens. I’m Rusty, by the way.”

Mike was now able to pick up the Australian accent, perhaps weakened from time abroad, but was stumped by the name. The sun-bleached surfing mop of hair was far from ginger or red.

“You’re certainly not rusty at waving that plank of wood around!”

“No mate, rusty at many other things though. Come on, I think we’re safe here but it’s best to keep moving. Should get that arm of yours looked at. Looks like you’re lucky; it’s more of a slash. Is your room close by?”

“Should we not report to the tourist police first?”

“Why?” Rusty replied, his tone bordering on incredulous. “What the stuff are they going to do? This guy’s long gone. Sure, you can waste a bit of time filling in forms for the stats, but I can’t see them busting a gut on this one. Besides, did you get a real good look at the guy? Unless you get a surefire ID they’re going to bury it. Sure, they’re here to help us dimwit backpackers, give us a safety in their presence and that, but without an ID you’re nowhere.”

“Seems you know a fair bit.”

“Comes from teaching English out here for several years. You get to know the city and its ways. Had stuff of mine stolen and they did sweet FA about it. Even heard of some Canadian guy mugged and thrown in the open sewer just up north of here. Ended up in hospital with exploding bowels for a week. The police didn’t even bother to get a statement about what the poor bastard saw! Their biggest issue was in keeping it out of the papers.”

With little space for argument, Mike led Rusty back the short distance to his budget guesthouse. The busy scurry around the bars and stalls no longer held the same magic to him as earlier. The short burst of adrenaline had now left his body, leaving him feeling heavy and tired. Muscle tension from the brief sprint and the extended bar visit with Kae made his legs sore at the calves. Thankfully, his chosen hostel was close enough to make it a very short walk. Its location close to the river gave the place a far more relaxed feel than the nocturnal Koa San Road. Inside the communal door, varnished wooden steps led sharply up to a dark corridor, which connected with the neighbouring building, recently acquired by the guesthouse to extend its premises. Mike had stayed here before and chose it again because of its old and timeless character, coupled with the quiet aura a honeycombed building could contain within its stone walls. He was looking forward to tapping into some of that peace and quiet for the remainder of the night, once he had wrapped a loose bandage around his arm and promised to buy Rusty more beer than he could possibly drink the following night. Digging his key out to fit it into the tin padlock securing his door, he failed to notice the hinge on the latch rattling slightly, nor the two screws loosened in their sunken mounts.

“What in the hell - this is too much!”

The opened door to Mike’s dimly lit riverside room illuminated a scene of violent chaos. His favoured canvas backpack was pulled open and all of his belongings emptied over the bed. Piles of clothes looked to have been pilfered through, notebooks discarded and thrown to the floor, his Apple ipad thrown to one side next to his travel guide and paperbacks, all ripped and upended. His belongings were now a jumbled mess, seemingly violated by probing strangers intent on rifling through everything. He felt strangely sickened at the thought of this and depressed about how such a thing could happen. This was only one day into his quest and he was a double victim to crimes that he had never been on the receiving end of before. If bad luck travelled in groups of three, he might as well prepare for the seventeen-hour flight home.

Seeing his look and the state of the room, Rusty placed a reassuring hand on Mike’s shoulder, careful not to aggravate the cut.

“Come on mate, let’s take a look. Do you reckon they got away with anything?”

“My passport and money’s on me,” Mike replied. “The bastards would have got sod all. They should have taken the ipad; it’s about the only thing worth taking away. Bloody genuine Apple as well!”

“They were probably just after cash - Yaba junkies, I reckon. They know that by hitting ad-hoc rooms in this district, they’re going to get lucky. Some backpackers jump off a plane greener than the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. In their haste to immerse themselves in the city lights, they leave stuff all over the place, thinking a padlock will shut out the rest of the world. An out-of-work junkie is going to get pretty desperate, you know. Maybe it’s time you got out of here and find a nice place out of the city to chill and enjoy the scenery.”

Mike couldn’t help but agree. It was turning out to be a torrid start and he was keen to move on and feel like he was doing something, even if his search skills were likely to prove ineffectual. At least he could put the word out - maybe get lucky. Rusty, on the other hand, looked like he could prove quite useful in the bounty-hunting nature of his task. With the Pembertons several thousand miles away, they could hardly raise the proverbial finger at him for taking on some extra help. Over the next twenty minutes he put Rusty in the picture and spent little time having to do any convincing; a two-man team would now be searching for Louise.

“I’m pissed off with the teaching game anyway,” had been Rusty’s instant response.