Behind the Bamboo Curtain. Another true story in this series.
Our soi is a tight squeeze — just a single narrow track — so we couldn’t get the car out once the police parked their vehicle outside our neighbour’s house.
And you never ask armed cops, anywhere on earth, to move their car. They park where they please. “You just don’t move a cop’s car.”`
A crowd was already gathering outside the house. Neighbours nattered nearby, nosy for news.
Ratchanee told me one of the brothers inside was dead.
The night before had been heavy with drinking, and the men’s mother had heard shouting downstairs but thought nothing of it.
In the morning, she found her son lying in a pool of blood.
Now, the police were investigating a murder — and their hunt would start for two Burmese men.
There’s Partying Every Night in Our Soi
The brothers drank regularly with a crowd of friends from neighbouring sois, all Thai nationals. Not my crowd, but they kept things friendly enough.
I’d never seen any Burmese — legal or illegal — in the area, and neither had anyone else.
The police didn’t linger, and the family got to work, cleaning the house and tidying the garden straight away.
Monks come swiftly after a death in Thailand to begin the funeral rites. Best to have everything spotless before they arrive. Best to clear the clutter.
Chairs were set up in the garden, ready for visitors who’d soon come to pay respects. A small fire flickered in a corner, burning away the cleared garden debris.
We might learn more in the days ahead. But more likely, we won’t.
Daily life in Thailand is never dull. Nothing shocks me anymore.
Please leave a reply. My readers would love to see your comments.