One day, a couple of years ago, one of my assistants left work at her usual time of 5:30 PM. At 9:30 that evening, she called me on the phone, crying:
“Doug, please help me, I need your help!”
I was surprised, because she gave no indication when she left that there was anything wrong.
“I have to pay Mafia man 30,000 baht (about US$1000 at the time).”
“Why?” I asked.
“A year ago, I borrow money, buy motocy’. Now I mus’ pay back.”
“Why didn’t you sell the motorcycle?”
“Cannot, Doug, have acciden’. Motocy’ no good.”
“What happened?”
“My friend and me, we were riding on road in mountain near my home. Big truck come roun’ corner, almost kill us. My frien’, she have two broken leg. Me, I am OK. But motocy’ no good. Truck run over it. Cannot sell.”
“OK, so why are you asking me for money? What about your family?”
“They have no money. If you not pay, mafia man he kill me and my family.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“No! Cannot! Mafia man pay police! Police no good!”
“OK, so how do I do this?”
“I give you number my accoun’, you can send money at ATM.”
So she did that, and I walked the 15 minute walk to the nearest ATM, and transferred 30,000 baht from my account to hers. By this time, it was almost 10:00 PM.
Next morning she came to work looking tired and depressed. She had a black eye. It was obvious he had hit her, but I asked anyway.
“He hit me because I was late to pay.”
“Did he do anything else?”
“No, Doug, only hit.”
“OK, I still think we should go to the police. I will go with you.”
She got very animated then, “No, Doug, police no good in Thailand. You not understan’. Mafia man pay police. If I go to police, he kill my family.”
Now, before I had come to Thailand, a friend who was formerly an RCMP officer and a Vietnam vet told me that if I ever needed help, to go to a bar called the Texas Lone Staar Saloon (with 2 As in Star). He said that is the bar where the Vietnam vets hang out.
So I did some research and easily located it, as it is in Washington Square on Sukhumvit, just behind the Mambo Cabaret which features spectacular ladyboy shows. Next day, I made my way there, and went into the bar. I was expecting to see half a dozen or more guys looking like Rambo with bulging muscles and all-black uniforms.
But there was just a bunch of old men, with pot bellies and no hair. The Vietnam war was a long time ago, so all these guys were older than me, and I’m no spring chicken.
Anyway, I started talking to one vet, and told him I was working on a computer project and one of my assistants had been punched in the face by a Thai Mafia guy because she was late paying back a loan. I told him that I felt like paying the guy a visit and teaching him a lesson.
Before I could go any further, the guy, looking horrified, said, “No! Don’t do that! Don’t have anything to do with the Thai Mafia! Run like hell and get as far away as you can! Those guys are bad news!”
So much for retribution.
A week later, she did it again. She left work every day without saying anything other than the usual “goodbye, see you tomorrow.”
But at 9:30 PM one night, a week after the first incident, she called again, crying, “Doug, please help me!”
I said, “What now?”
She said, “Mafia man want interest now. “
“How much is that?”
“12,000 baht (about US$300).”
That works out to 40% interest.
So I made the trek to the ATM and transferred the money.
Next morning she came to work at the usual time, but no new black eye.
“Did he hit you?” I asked.
“No, Doug, his son whip me with telephone cord.”
She bent down and pulled the collar of her shirt back and I could see a red welt across her back, just below the neck.
I asked her why she had not told me in the office about this problem.
No answer. She just hung her head.
But, of course, I knew the answer to that. Loss of face.
I was walking in Sukhumvit Soi 4, sightseeing with my friend. I saw two men with a baby elephant. One of the men was selling sugarcane and cucumber to tourists and Thai people so they could feed his elephant. In Thailand, it is considered good luck to touch an elephant or to have an elephant touch you.
