Chu handles the social challenge by switching between personalities, one for the trannies, the other for Goldman and Sakagorn. I don’t think either of them were expecting the katoeys, but the Professor is a rep with enough spending power to buy an infinity of patience, assuming his anonymous client is the PRC; or, to be precise, one of its ministries. Sakagorn gives him the full wai that he normally only reserves for very HiSo locals; even Goldman is able to control himself enough to demonstrate a degree of charm. He bows to the Prof at the same time as taking one of his hands in both of his, as if making some kind of betrothal, then welcomes him in Mandarin. Chu accepts the homage without reciprocating. On the other hand, he responds to jokes, prods, and caresses by the katoeys like a teen on a first date. It is like watching a light go on and off, depending on whether he is addressing the katoeys or the two high-powered salesmen. The party pauses, though, when more headlights precede another visitor. The vehicle is a police van. As soon as it comes to a halt, the rear door slides open.
Krom is in her black tailored boiler suit. I’m not sure if it represents the latest in tomwear, or a signal that she is on some kind of special duty. The emergence of two Chinese with a high-tech video camera does nothing to dispel the ambiguity. Her van has stopped about fifty yards away from what must be the arena and sits in darkness once the driver has switched the lights off. Chu, the katoeys, Goldman, and Sakagorn fall silent and strain their eyes in Krom’s direction. Chu blinks at the two Chinese cameramen. I am not sure if it is the same two who were at the Heaven’s Gate Tower, nor if they are the same as the team at the river that day. Do we have a total of six, four, or two video specialists in the plot? Three ministries, or two or one? Chu, his face flat as a mahjong tile, watches the team silently carry their camera and tripod across the waste ground and focus it. There can be no doubt, now, where the fight will take place. Goldman’s van, Rungkom’s four-by-four, and Sakagorn’s Rolls mark three points on the circumference of a circle. Krom and I have seen each other, but she didn’t wave and neither did I. Right now I have no idea what side she’s on. These are fast-moving times. Two days ago we were close, now we are alienated. I’m already feeling strange enough when the door to the police van slides open again and a woman emerges. I recognize the striped red-and-gold leggings, the white Spanish leather belt, the pearl blouse, and the long earrings, because I paid for them. Chanya doesn’t acknowledge me either. When Krom and I finally make eye contact, hers are cold as ice. No time or opportunity to make a scene, though. Something heavier than a troubled heart is at issue this night.
Now Goldman has switched his attention from Chu to the cameramen. It seems he was waiting for something that hasn’t happened, so he strides over to them. He speaks to them in Mandarin; one nods, the other shakes his head. Both of them return to the police van to bring back a second camera and tripod that they plant at the opposite end of the arena to the first one. Now the team is split between the two machines, one man each. Goldman wants a professional two-camera video, not a functional evidence-gathering exercise. Once the cameras are in place the show can go on. He nods at Sakagorn, his sidekick. The Senior Counsel nods back.
“Okay,” the giant says in English, facing one of the cameras. “These are the rules. Rounds will last one minute. To compensate for unfair advantage, my Asset will not respond aggressively in any way during the first round. That means he will conduct a purely defensive fight for that round. He will not punch or kick. During all subsequent rounds, he will have right of reply with fists only, while Khun Rungkom can use fists, feet, shins, head-what the hell he likes. Breaks last thirty seconds. Okay?”
The question seems directed at me. I deflect it by looking at Rungkom, who nods. Goldman doesn’t ask the Asset if he’s happy to be a punch ball for sixty seconds at the mercy of a world-champion kickboxer. The Asset rouses himself, though, and begins a few warm-up exercises that include stretching his arms laterally and making small circles with his hands while he runs gently on the spot. I try to decipher the body language between these two men. There isn’t any. My impression is of a marriage on the rocks.
Sakagorn takes a whistle and a stopwatch out of a pocket of his dinner jacket while Goldman guides the two fighters to the circle of open ground between the three vehicles. Sakagorn is about to blow his whistle, but someone yells stop, first in Thai, then in English. It is Krom, holding her smart phone. She strides over to Goldman and looks up at him. “Someone else is expected.”
Goldman stares down at her. “Listen, lady, if that’s what you are, this is my party, okay? No one else is expected.”
“It’s classified, that’s why it’s last-minute. I received a message.” She holds up her phone. So far she has spoken in Thai. Now she adds in English, “You will wait.”
Goldman looks as if he is about to explode, then calms down. Perhaps he has guessed who the mysterious guest may be. He shrugs. “Whoever it is gets five minutes, no more. We don’t need unnecessary exposure.”
A minute later the lights of another vehicle appear from the road, then bounce around as the car hits the uneven ground. I seem to recognize the old battered red Mitsubishi. It stops near the imaginary circle of the boxing ring, the lights die, and Sergeant Ruamsantiah emerges from the driver’s side, Colonel Vikorn from the other. I might have guessed. Both of those Isaan boys are fanatical Muay Thai fans and were passionate about Rungkom in his day. The Sergeant earned himself a lot of street cred at the station by claiming he was a personal friend of the famous fighter. Both men are dressed in the same outfits they have worn to boxing tournaments since they were kids: worn T-shirts and jeans. The Colonel also sports a cloth cap. He scans the scene, absorbing its essence in a blink, while the Sergeant walks over to Rungkom and wais him with deep humility. I cannot make out the words, but by the gestures and the expression of extreme concern on the Sergeant’s face, it is not difficult to guess. Rungkom responds also with a wai and a gracious smile. He is expressing compassion for Sergeant Ruamsantiah, who is reduced almost to tears. Don’t worry, the fighter seems to be saying, this is my choice, my karma, thank you for your kind concern.
The Sergeant leaves him, shaking his head. Meanwhile the Colonel has summoned Krom and spoken to her. Whatever he said seems to have impressed her. She walks back to Goldman. “The Colonel bets ten million baht on Khun Rungkom.”
“This isn’t-” Goldman stops himself in midsentence. Perhaps he has remembered how important Vikorn’s agency is to his project. He starts again. “We’re not taking bets. We’re not set up for it.”
“In that case, if Khun Rungkom loses, the ten million will go to his family.” She has spoken loudly enough for the fighter to hear. Rungkom walks over to Vikorn, gives him the high wai, and thanks him. He returns to his corner. Goldman nods at Sakagorn again, who blows his whistle.
Now the fight has officially begun. In Muay Thai, however, there are protocols to be observed. Rungkom first kneels and wais to make homage to the master who taught him to box and the spirits who have helped him so far in his career. Now he nods at Sakagorn, who has returned to his Rolls-Royce and wound all the windows down. The unmistakable notes of a Thai oboe, called a pi chawa, emerge from the limo’s first-class sound system and Rungkom begins his warrior’s dance, which lasts only a few minutes. The Asset continues his mild limbering-up exercises.