Here at WoWasis, we keep a pretty sharp eye on ways to meet one’s end in Southeast Asia. One of our favorite true stories was told by private eye Warren Olson, whose book Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True stories from the case files of Warren Olson is a must read (more info at the end of the story). What makes this story gripping and scary is that Olson was far from naïve. He’d seen it all… or so he thought. But this same story could have happened to anyone getting involved, to even a remote extent, in a relationship with a dicey individual, or her dodgy family. He calls this story The Case of the Missing Motor, and it’s right from the book. It’s 12 pages long, and well worth the read:

Dave was one of my best friends in Thailand. I wouldn’t exactly stop a bullet for him, but I’d trust him with my wallet and maybe even my girlfriend. He’s from the UK, one of those northern towns where it always seems to be raining, and he made a living as a freelance journalist. He was in his early thirties when I first met him. I was managing a big hotel in Surin and he wandered in with a young bargirl. I kept in touch with him over the years and when I moved to Bangkok he became a regular drinking partner whenever he passed through the city. He was younger and better looking than me so he was a good guy to use on my bargirl investigations. A bargirl who was supposedly not working might turn me down but might well a take a couple of thousand baht to be bedded by the young Adonis.

During one of his frequent stopovers he met Nong, a twenty-two-year-old student at one of the local universities. She quickly became his regular girlfriend, and we’d often go out to Thai nightclubs as a threesome. Nong had an older sister, Sen, who had landed herself a wealthy Japanese guy a few years earlier. She had prised a four-million baht dowry from him which enabled her to buy a nice house in the suburbs, a new car to drive around in, and enough spare cash to be able to send money to make life a little easier for her parents back in Sara Buri. Sen didn’t approve of Dave. I got the feeling she thought that her little sister could do better. The Japanese businessman had gone back to his wife in Tokyo, and Sen had been trying to encourage Nong to land herself a wealthy benefactor. Dave earned enough to get by, but he was never going to get rich working as a freelance journalist. Sen would have been much happier if Nong had landed a rich Japanese, or a rich American, or a rich German. In fact, so far as Sen was concerned, nationality wasn’t important but money most definitely was. Their parents were good, middle-class Thais, who owned a small banana plantation in Sara Buri, a town in the centre of Thailand. Once she reached eighteen, the parents had sent Nong down to live with Sen and get a decent education.

After Nong and Dave had been going out for a couple of months, Sen put her foot down and sent her younger sister back to Sara Buri. Dave wasn’t too bothered. He was travelling all around the region, and with his good looks he had more than his fair share of female admirers. But before long Nong was back in Bangkok and she soon met up with Dave again. Sen started to realise that she wasn’t getting anywhere by trying to keep Nong and Dave apart. She even began to drive her younger sister out to the airport to meet Dave whenever he flew into the country.

Dave used to join me at my favourite stamping ground on the corner of Sukhumvit Soi 13 for a few cold beers. It was during one of these evening drinking sessions that Dave told me that Nong had been asking him to buy her a car. I was surprised because Nong had been really good about not asking Dave for money. In fact the only time he’d mentioned giving her money was when she’d asked him for 5,000 baht for collagen injections to puff up her lips, which was sort of for his benefit, I guess. A car was a big investment, and Dave was having second thoughts. I sensed the hand of Sen and felt sure that she was putting Nong up to it.

Dave said that he was happy enough to spend money on Nong, but he’d rather set her up in a business. Nong had said that a decent secondhand car would cost about 100,000 baht. In fact, Sen was offering to sell Nong her own car. Sen was planning to upgrade to a newer model and rather than trading it in she wanted to sell it to Nong. Dave reckoned that he could rent her a nice shop in Marboon Krong and stock it. He decided to have a long talk with Nong and suggest that she let him set her up in business so that she would be more independent. A business would be an asset that would hopefully grow in value, but a car would be worth less every year.

At the time, Dave was sleeping on the couch in my living room. He was only in Thailand a few days each month so there was no point in him renting a place of his own. If he wanted to sleep with Nong he’d book into a hotel. Not that I was a prude, it’s just that the sofa wasn’t big enough for two and I wasn’t prepared to give him my bed for sex. Anyway, Nong came around to my place to talk things through with Dave. She said that she’d talked it through with Sen, and decided that buying the car was the best option. Nong would learn to drive then she’d be able to drive herself to university, and she and Dave could use it for sight-seeing when ever he was in town. The car was a five-year-old Honda Civic and Dave had already asked around a few dealers and been told that the going rate was between 150,000 baht and 180,000 baht, so it seemed that Sen was giving them a good deal.

Dave figured that if the worst came to the worst he’d be able to get his money back, plus maybe a small profit, so he let Nong talk him into it. They went to the bank together and Dave withdrew the money from his account and gave it to her. He didn’t ask for my advice so I didn’t say anything, but I couldn’t help but think that he was being a bit rash. I’ve come across countless horror stories where gullible farangs have bought cars, houses, land and even businesses from the relatives of their Thai girlfriends or wives, only to have it all end in tears. Not that Dave was gullible, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t married to Nong and he only saw her for a few days each month. And why did a student need a car? I didn’t even own one, if I needed wheels I hired a car. Anyway, he didn’t ask for my opinion, so I didn’t give it.

Everything went fine for a while. Nong learned to drive, and she would pick Dave up at the airport whenever he arrived in Thailand. The flat I rented came with its own parking space so when Dave was in town he left it there, and when he was away, Nong used it.

After a few months Dave was sent to the UK on an assignment. While he was away, I went out on the town at one of our old stamping grounds, the RCA, which was where young upper-class wealthy Thais would hang out of an evening. I knew most of the Thai doormen, and on my way into one of the bigger discos one of the doormen pulled me to one side and said that he wanted a word with me. He told me that he’d seen Nong in the disco with several young Thai guys. I wasn’t surprised. Nong liked to go out and have a good time, and with Dave away and her driving around in a decent car, Thai boys would be around her like flies around shit. I phoned Dave and told him the bad news. He was philosophical. He said he’d noticed that she was becoming a bit evasive of late and that she’d started switching her phone off late at night. Dave felt that the love affair had just about run its course and was planning to call it quits anyway.

The following week he stopped off in Bangkok en route to Hong Kong. He booked into a hotel so that he could spend some time alone with Nong. Actually, I figured he just wanted a few last shags before calling time on the affair. Anyway, once the sex was out of the way, he got down to some straight talking with the lovely Nong. He told her that he knew about her nocturnal activities at the RCA. She just shrugged and she was there with friends. He knew she was lying, and got the impression that she didn’t care whether he knew or not. What really ticked Dave off was the fact that she had been pretty much the perfect girlfriend right up until he’d paid 100,000 baht for the car.

Dave told her that it was best they just go their separate ways. Nong shrugged. Dave said he’d arrange to sell he car and he’d split the money with her, fifty-fifty. Nong shrugged, then left.

Dave called her the next day, but Nong didn’t answer the phone. He phoned the sister’s house, but no one answered. That really annoyed him. He had to go to Hong Kong so he left a spare set of keys for the Honda with me and asked if I’d take care of the car until he got back. I had a couple of jobs lined up where a car would be useful, so I took a motorcycle out to Sen’s house. There was no one at home but the car was in the driveway so I drove it back to the city. I decided not to park it in my space just in case Nong started to get possessive over the car, so instead I left it in the car park of a nearby hotel.

I was watching TV a few hours later when the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole before opening the door. It was Nong. I told her the Dave wasn’t staying with me but she kept ringing the bell. I opened the door to give her a piece of my mind but as soon as I did three heavy set Thais in cheap suits charged into the room, followed by Nong’s older sister. I made a run for the kitchen, thinking that I was about to get a kicking. My plan was to grab a bread knife and start flailing it around, but one of the men pulled out a badge and started screaming that he was a policeman. I calmed down a bit and looked at the badge. It looked real enough.

Sen began screaming that I was the farang who’d stolen her car, and it all fell into place. Nong didn’t say anything, she just stared at the floor. One of the detectives grabbed my left arm. I started talking to the senior office in Thai and asked him if I could talk to him one on one, that I was sure there had been a mistake and that we could easily sort it out. The officer agreed and his two men ushered Sen and Nong out into the corridor.

I offered him a drink and we both sat down with tumblers of Johnnie Walker Black Label and Coke. The detective explained that Sen had returned home to find the Honda Civic had gone and that a neighbour told her that a farang had driven it away. Sen had gone straight around to her local police station and they had asked the police in my area to make enquiries.

I hit the roof. I told him that it wasn’t Sen’s car any more, that my friend Dave had paid 100,000 baht for it. I explained that Dave had given me the key and that Dave was planning to sell the car when he got back and give half the money to Nong. I was just an innocent party, and I resented the fact that Sen was laying the blame at my door.

The detective shrugged, finished his whisky, and then went outside to speak to Nong. He came back after a few minutes and said that there seemed to be a difference of opinion over who actually owned the car, and that the police would have to sort it out. He seemed like an okay guy so I asked him if we could both go to the police station where the complaint had been lodged and explain the situation to them. I’d feel happier if he was with me. For all I knew, Sen might well be tight with the cops there.

The detective agreed and he drove me in his pick-up truck while Sen and Nong followed in a police car. We reached the station just before midnight and we were all ushered into the duty captain’s office. The captain was overweight with short, close-cropped grey hair and a jagged scar across his left cheek as if someone had stabbed him with a broken bottle years ago. He grinned when he saw me and I saw the flash of a gold tooth at the back of his mouth. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes as he tried to work out how much money he could extort from me.

As soon as Sen walked into his office she started mouthing off again, that I’d stolen her car and lied to her sister, that I’d told Nong’s boyfriend that she was sleeping around, that I was a liar and a thief and that I should be sent to prison.

I turned to my new-found detective friend for support but as soon as he started to speak the captain jabbed a finger at him and told him that he was out of his jurisdiction and that he might as well go straight back to Bangkok. My detective hurried out, clearly embarrassed. Sen launched into another verbal attack, pacing around the room as she accused me of stealing her car, lying to her sister, having bad body odour, and everything else she could think of. When she finally ran out of steam, the captain picked up a toothpick and began jiggling it between his front teeth as he waved at me to speak.

I spoke slowly and clearly, in my very best Thai, with lots of smiles and nods. My fate was totally in the captain’s hands. If he decided there was no case to answer, I’d be tucked up in my bed within hours. If he decided I was guilty or didn’t like the look of me I’d be in a prison cell for up to a year waiting for my case to come to court. I explained that the car belonged to my friend Dave, that he had paid 100,000 baht for the car, and that I had the keys. I took them from my pocket and waved them over the captain’s desk. If Sen wanted to give back the 100,000 baht, she could have the car.

The captain grimaced, tossed the chewed toothpick into an ashtray, and told us both to make written statements. That took the best part of two hours. Then we were back in the captain’s office. He read through the statements while Sen sat in the corner, glaring daggers at me. Eventually the captain tossed the statements into a metal tray on his desk.

‘You must tell us where the car is, then we can decide how much money you owe,’ he said.

Sen let out a sharp yelp of triumph, but the captain silenced her with a cold stare.

I offered to go and fetch the car but the captain said no, under the law he couldn’t let me go until the car was returned. I knew that I had no choice other than to give him the keys and tell him where I’d left the car. I said that the apartment car park was full so I’d left it at the nearby hotel. Two uniformed cops took me upstairs and I was placed in a small waiting room while the captain sent one of his men to fetch the Honda. It was three o’clock in the morning. Two hours later the captain came upstairs. The older sister had taken possession of the car, he said.

I hit the roof and shouted that it wasn’t her car, that she’d been paid a 100,000 baht for it.

The captain said that the car’s papers were in order and showed Sen as the owner. And that for the moment, I was to remain in police custody. With that, he turned and left. A uniformed officer gripped my arm and took me to a holding cell. There were twenty men in there. No bunks, no pillows, no blankets, just a bare concrete floor, a foul-smelling bucket to piss in and a tap with a short length of hosepipe attached for washing. Several of the men already there were curled up on the floor, trying to sleep. The overhead fluorescent lights were on. Rats were scurrying around the edges of the cell, and there were cockroaches all over the walls.

A couple of Thai men with tattoos came over and asked what I’d done. I told them about the car. They were in on drugs charges. One had been caught with several kilos of amphetamine tablets in his truck and would almost certainly get the death penalty. I squatted against a wall and cursed the day I’d offered to help Dave out.

At eight o’clock in the morning there was a change of shift and two uniformed officers arrived with a small plastic bowl of rice for each of us, a bowl of hot, rancid soup and a bottle of water. I asked one of the guards if I could talk to the duty captain but I was told that he’d gone home.

‘Who else can I talk to about my case?’ I asked, scratching one of the dozen or so mosquito bites I’d acquired during the night.

‘Only him,’ said the guard.

‘When is he back?’

‘Ten o’clock tonight.’

I cursed. I’d have to stay in the hellhole for at least another fourteen hours. I asked if I could phone the New Zealand Embassy but was told that I wasn’t allowed to make any phone calls. I drank from the bottle of water and gave the bowl of soup to one of the scrawnier-looking prisoners. It was going to be a long day.

There was nothing to do but talk to the other guys in the holding cell, so during the course of the day I got to hear most of their stories. One young guy who was in for attempted rape kept telling everyone that his father was rich and that he was paying 50,000 baht and that he would be released that afternoon. He was, too. Others were shackled and taken away to be sentenced. Most were there on drugs charges. I felt really sorry for one guy. Gung his name was. He couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. He was almost in tears. He’d been in the holding cell for almost a week and reckoned he was going to go to prison for at least three months. He had no money so he hadn’t even been able to phone his mother to tell her where he was. He gave me a scrap of paper with his mother’s name on it and begged me to phone her when I got out. He said I was his only hope.

I had a few hundred baht on me so I was able to buy a can of Coke and a packet of crisps. I tried to sleep but it was almost impossible on the hard concrete floor, even using my trainers as a makeshift pillow. One time I opened my eyes to see Gung scoffing the last of my crisps. I screamed at him and he burst into tears, telling me that he was starving. I ripped up the piece of paper he’d given me. I was damned if I was going to call his mother after I’d caught him stealing from me.

I waited until five minutes after ten before asking one of the guards if the captain was in yet. He frowned and said it was the captain’s weekend off and that he wouldn’t be back until Monday. I almost passed out. Monday? I had to spend another forty-eight hours in the holding cell for no other reason than that the captain was away playing golf or snooker or shagging his minor wife.

My T-shirt and jeans were already caked in dirt and sweat and I itched all over. I couldn’t bear the thought of two more nights. I wanted to shout and scream but I knew that there was nothing I could do to change the situation. I forced myself to stay calm. Jai yen yen, as the Thais are so fond of saying. Cool heart.

As it happened, the duty captain put in an appearance the following night. Manacles were slapped on my wrists and I was taken down to his office. He seemed to be in a good mood and he listened patiently as I said that it was the older sister who should be behind bars, that I was an innocent third party, that I wanted to speak to my embassy and to my lawyer. When I finished speaking, he cracked his knuckles, picked up a toothpick and flicked it with his thumbnail as he outlined the case against me. The case he would be presenting the judge. The car wasn’t mine. The paperwork for the car was in the older sister’s name. She had not given me permission to take away the vehicle. And the money that I was claiming was payment for the car was in fact a dowry that Dave had paid as an engagement gift.

That stopped me in my tracks. What?

The captain said that Dave had been sleeping with Nong’s younger sister and the 100,000 baht was to compensate for the time she wasn’t studying, for her university fees, for her food and her keep. As an act of good faith, the older sister had lent Dave her car.

I started to appreciate just how much trouble I was in. And that maybe, just maybe, Sen had been telling the truth. It could well have been the case that Nong had been too embarrassed to tell Dave that the family was demanding a dowry, and that she’d spun him a line about the money being a payment for the car. And even if it wasn’t the truth, in my experience Thai courts tend to take the word of Thai nationals over the word of a foreigner. Plus it would be two against one, their word against mine. And as things stood, I had stolen the car.

The captain smiled at me sympathetically. ‘I know you are not a thief, Khun Warren,’ he said, He shrugged. ‘The problem is, I have already done the paperwork. I would be very difficult to make any changes at this late stage …’

He looked at me expectantly. I knew exactly what was happening. He was giving me the chance to buy myself out of the hole I was in. ‘I don’t have any money on me,’ I said.

‘But you have an ATM card,’ he said.

I did a few quick calculations in my head. I figured I probably had about 40,000 baht in the account. I told him that I was a teacher and that I had hardly any money, but that I could probably get him 30,000 baht.

‘Fifty thousand,’ he said.

I told him that all I had left in my account was 40,000 baht, and that he could have it all. I pulled out my wallet and took out my ATM card. ‘If you take me to the nearest machine, I’ll withdraw all the money.’

He held out his hand for the card. ‘You have to stay here while you are charged,’ he said. ‘Give me the pin number and I will see what I can do.’

I wrote the pin number down on a piece of paper with my manacled hands and the captain told one of his men to take me back to the holding cell.

I was dog-tired and I sat down with my back against the wall, my knees drawn up against my chest. I closed my eyes but stayed awake, hoping and praying that my name would be called and that I would be let out. The call never came. I dozed, and when I woke up I was sprawled on the floor and it was daylight. Breakfast had been served while I was asleep and someone had eaten my rice and soup. When a guard appeared I was told that the captain had gone home and wouldn’t be back until the evening. Now I was really worried. The captain had taken my card and probably emptied the account, but I had no way of knowing whether or not he would honour the agreement. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. I’ve had guns pointed at me, I’ve had guys pull knives on me, I’ve had bargirls threaten to cut off my private parts and feed them to ducks, but none of that compared with the terror of knowing that I was facing months if not years in a Thai prison. People die in Thai prisons. Lots of people. They get sick, they get knifed, they get raped, they commit suicide. And if they survive their incarceration, they’re never the same. My three days in the holding cell had been just a taste of what lay ahead of me if the captain didn’t keep his end of the bargain.

I kept looking at my watch and prayed that the captain would come back. He did. And at eleven o’clock I was taken to his office. The manacles were removed and a bottle of Thai whisky appeared from his desk and he poured two glasses. We toasted each other. Then he waved a typed report in front of me. ‘I have made a small alteration,’ he said. ‘A small but important alteration. It now says that you borrowed the car from the older sister. Borrowed and not stole.’ He picked up another typed form and slid it across the desk towards me. ‘This is a release form. You will sign it. It says that you have been well and fairly treated here, it says that we have not asked you for any money. And it says that you will not bother Khun Nong any more.’ He handed me a ballpoint pen. ‘If you give me any problem in the future, I will cross out “borrow” and write in “steal”. Do you understand?’

I nodded. Yeah, I understood. I had paid him a 40,000-baht bribe and was now signing a piece of paper that said I hadn’t bribed him. I signed. The papers were taken away to be counter-signed, photocopied, stamped and filed. I was even given a copy of both papers, and the captain slipped me an envelope containing my ATM card then the captain told that I was free to go.

I stumbled down the stairs in a daze. It was just after midnight. I felt like the guy in Midnight Express, staggering out of prison, not believing that I was actually free. I kept thinking that at any minute the cops would come running after me to slap the manacles on me again. I was hungry, I was thirsty, and I stank to high heaven. I needed a bath, I needed a steak and I needed my bed. And a woman would be nice. But first of all I needed a taxi, because I wanted to put as much distance between myself and the police station as possible.

I saw a blue and red cab with its light on and I flagged it down, jumped into the back and barked out my address before he could complain about the smell. Thailand was never the same for me after that weekend. It had been sullied. Spoilt. And I had seen for myself how easy it was for things to go horribly wrong in the Land of Smiles.

Buy Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye now at the WoWasis eStore.