No Come Back

By stephen terry

mitch leads a cushy life in thailand with tigger, his cat, but maybe it’s just too quiet. so when a long-lost mate dies in mysterious circumstances on nearby koh samui, mitch decides a bit of 'playing detective' could be just the ticket to spice up his days.
but when more bodies start to pile up and his new girlfriend goes missing, mitch wonders if he's bitten off rather more than he can chew...

• Language: English
• Publisher: stephen terry
• Release date: Jul 12, 2012

Book preview

No Come Back

By Stephen Terry

Copyright ©2012 Stephen Terry

Smashwords edition

The right of Stephen Terry to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Acknowledgements

Nigel Ryding at My Destination Koh Samui for permitting the use of one of their images for the book cover, and to Vanessa Wester for her diligent assistance in producing the final design.

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You can see more of my work at

www.stephenterry.weebly.com

No Come Back

Chapter 1

Jimmy Mack wasn’t coming back. Not for anyone or anything. So he told me at Green Mango, when I stopped off for my afternoon session.

‘In the UK, I’m X-rated,’ he said. ‘Expat, ex wife, ex one-eyed business partner, and in exactly forty-two minutes, I’m off to Koh Samui with Martha.’

His new Thai girlfriend.

He nudged her. Martha frowned — she was more engrossed in painting her toenails a vivid blue. The three of us were sitting in the otherwise empty, bamboo restaurant at a glass-topped table drinking to Jimmy’s future, while Kor, the Mamasan owner, hovered in the background.

I slugged a bottle of Chang Export, thinking that Jimmy — although like me, he’d turned fifty — could have picked a better looking bird. Face like lumpy gravy. Okay, she wore silky off the shoulder tops and designer cut-off denims that showed off her butt and tanned legs, but — from what I could see — the positives ended there. A scorpion tattoo on her bare shoulder — maybe that was enough for Jimmy.

I shrugged, put on my shades, and glanced outside. Our motorbikes parked under a mango tree, chickens pecking around, and coconut palms lining the beach road — no hustle, no bustle — unspoiled. I took off my shades and wiped a bead of sweat from my eyes. ‘Your life, Jimmy. But the beaches are too touristy for me. And dangerous ... potholes in the road ... bloody traffic accidents ... muggings ... it’s not safe anymore.’

Jimmy laughed. A throaty laugh. He lit another Marlboro and blew a cloud of smoke at me. ‘Now I’m with Martha, I don’t think I’ll be painting the town much.’

So the attraction was her butt and tanned legs — maybe also her high heels. I’d known Jimmy on and off over the years. Roommates at college; we’d shared birds, booze and the same probation officer. Wild excesses, but great times. Strange how we met up again in Southern Thailand — in Khanom. I moved here two years ago with no excess baggage — still had none, and I liked it that way. He landed in Bangkok a couple of months ago, hooked up with Martha — she had friends here, so she said — then on their way to Koh Samui, the largest and the noisiest Thai island by some miles. Great for fishing he’d said.

‘Mitch, you want another beer, darling?’

I glanced at Kor, who placed a fresh ashtray and a plate of salted peanuts on the table. Take care was written all over her pixie face. Ours was a love-hate patronage. She loved my money — I’d inherited a castle in Northumberland; rented out for weddings, banquets and a porn-movie studio — I hated parting with it. Call me sticky-shit, but I’d been fleeced once too often by Thai girlfriends, and I reckoned that Jimmy was heading the same way with Martha.

I scooped up a handful of nuts and smiled my best croc smile. ‘Sure, sweetheart, and one more for Jimmy.’

Jimmy reached over and grabbed my arm. Made music. ‘My round.’

Rumour had it Jimmy was loaded. According to Kor — who seemed to know more about these things than me — Jimmy had sold up his business, paid off his ex, and still had a few million stashed in an offshore account.

He nodded at Kor; fished out some cash from his jeans, and waved his arms around as though he owned the place. ‘Drinks on me.’

One for the Road round — two large Chang Export beers and two shots of black Sambuca for Jimmy and me, a bottle of Spy Red for Martha, and a large glass of white wine for Kor.

Cheers.

Then he and Martha waved goodbye, hopped on their Fat Bob Harley, and rode off into the sunset to catch the last ferry that day to Koh Samui.

***

It was Boston Ben — Kor’s on-off boyfriend, owner of a music bar on Koh Samui — who broke the news two months later on a flying visit to Khanom. He was wearing his trademark; a faded Red Sox jersey and his weather-beaten cap. Tall, quiet-spoken — the antithesis of a brash American — his relationship with Kor was a saga with many mini-dramas that I