It was a short and sweet eulogy. The cremation fired up. Five minutes later, the empty coffin incinerated.
Julie flew into Bangkok from Perth yesterday where Stan’s demons started to haunt him. She’s being very discreet and catty and playing ‘her shit doesn’t stink’. But I can assure you, it reeks. I’m well aware of her politicking. She’s got in for me big time. She’s spreading rumours around that I was responsible for her boyfriend’s death. The worse part of this, they are believing her.
In times of grief, people cling onto anything to get them through it. Julie is acting the martyr. She’s only 21 and she has so much to learn. I’ve been around the block a few more times than her. She has no idea who she is dealing with. She’ll find out soon. I really can’t be bothered with these childish games but she needs to learn a lesson.
If she was really interested to know how Stan died, and if in fact he did, she’d do well to start asking questions at the guest house we stayed at. She’s too scared to know the truth. Truth be known, she wanted him dead. It’s just that plain and simple.
Max, a Thai tattooist and good friend of Stan, came around to see me last night to tell me that Julia tried to put a hit on me. He said he’d do a free hit on her if she didn’t drop the idea quickly.
I told him thanks but it wasn’t necessary. I just laughed it off. I wasn’t surprised one bit.
I always asked Stan what did he see in this woman. I warned him that she was Dr. Death. Every boyfriend she’s ever had, they died horrible deaths. Car accident’s killed most of them and one was hacked to death by a junkie coming down off a week on speed. Stan was always worried he’d be next.
But he always said that he wouldn’t be next. Stan likes challenges. And defying death was his specialty. But I warned him. She has strong powers. She doesn’t even know she’s a practitioner of the dark arts, but five dead boyfriends already, and she intends for you to be number six, I told Stan.
( I got a message out of the blue from this guy called Vanya Vetto. He said Julie gave him my number and he was currently in Bali.
I responded to him, ‘Do you know who I am?’
I knew he had been talking to Julie. He was spying for her. That much was obvious. But I had also heard of him from Stan. He was obviously one of his friends, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
He approached me with awe and wonder. I could see he was disbelieving about Stan’s death. We all were, and now Julie was making a circus of the occasion. She went through all of Stan’s contacts and told them the bad news. She delt with her grief by having others give her pity. She fed and thrived off it. But I wasn’t prepared to go there.
Soon I learned to trust Vanya. He said he only got my contact by lying to Julie, saying he’d spy on me for her. He was feeding her kinds of shit too. But my gut feeling said that he’s ok. In between sorting out police reports, death cirtificates, and contacting Stan’s family, I’d still find to chat with my new Australian friend. He seemed to know what was going on. Obviously he had been in contact with Stan. He wasn’t just a fair weather friend. We had so much to catch up on. He didn’t want to go to the funeral. I advised him against it. I said there were too many egos for any constructive moarning to go on.
Vanya was on his last few days of his visa. He had to get out of Bali before he was destroyed. I could feel the dark forces swarming around him. He trusted my judgement. I made sure he got out of that Bali household. They were just using him. If he didn’t leave Bali this time, he’d never leave alive. The dark forces were that strong. He was taking Tramadol. I knew he needed to vent. I made sure he made it the hotel in the next town. I’d make sure he purchased a ticket out of the country in a day or two. I knew I wouldn’t have to worry much now that he was out of the sphere of darkness. Ubud was never good for him.
But things were moving fast here. I had to wade through Thai benarocracy. And I had to contact the French Embassy. Stan, look at the trouble you have caused me. I could have been using my time better sunbathing on some tropical beach. That was our plan, if he could only just hold off dying. We were suppose to take a bus to Southern Thailand in the morning. Stan wanted to sleep early. He induced it with a hit of smack. That was fine. But then he’d get bored of nodding off and smoke a combination of coke and speed. He’d be wired again, and then want another hit of smack. He loved the states equally but his poor heart couldn’t take the constant beating.
‘You’ll be next’ she’d always joke to Stan. She said it enough times that he started believing it.
Stan’s mother is being very morbid and looking very colonial French with her black sun hat and designer black dress. We kiss each other on the cheek, and she thanks me for taking care of arrangements on my end. I can feel that dagger in my back. She’s been listening to Julie and also believes somehow I was responsible for killing her son.
It’s a case of shooting the messenger, again. Stan never prepared me for this fall out. I’d have thought twice about trying to save his life, otherwise.
The empty coffin, if felt like it. Many people were whispering that no one saw Stan in the coffin. They are asking if he did another Houdini. Even Stan’s father, Chase, didn’t see his dead son. The family said no one but inner circles, that meant Stan’s mum, could see the dead body. It’s one of way covering up another great Stan heist. Has he escaped death again?
Chase is still in his clothes he wore clubbing last night and smells like pussy galore. Luckily he likes black. Stan’s mother Rose brought her step sister Cloe along. She’s a real hotly and in her mid thirties. She’s a cougar of the highest order and a natural blonde.
She’s wearing a tight fitting pink dress that tightly hugs the contours of her voluptuous body. Her massive headlights are blinding the monks who are preparing for the ceremony.
Chase and I go behind the crematorium, with the pretext of checking out the garland flowers etc. He pulls out a pipe, and we smoke some gear. To take the edge off and stop us from grinding our teeth, we smoke some Laos buds.
He’s still laughing how stupid his son is. “The fucker never invited me to Bangkok. He was trying to keep all the fun away from Daddy.”
My Thai assistant, young, shapely, and hauntingly attractive, informs me that everything is ready.
Wan says after the ceremony, we will all make our way to the Dusit Thani Hotel for a small private gathering on the 13 floor.
Chase is gawking at her tight gray hugging dress. She’s hiding mountains of flesh with an athlete’s bra. Then the bitch walked up to me. “Excuse me Wan, I’ll be back in five minutes.”
I took Julia to the side. Her makeup was dripping in the tropical heat, and her sluttish lipstick screamed of “I want to suck cock.”
“No I don’t have the fucking necklace,” I said to her.” Did you fly all the way from Perth just to ask me that. And no you can’t see the body. It’s sealed up in the coffin and we are about to send off your boyfriend.”
She got the message and fucked off. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” I hissed at her.
Some good came out of Stan’s death. I didn’t understand him at the time, but now I know fully what he journey meant. His mother wasn’t bought with my sentimentality. I was hamming it up to the max.
Ashes collected, we make our way to the Dusit Thani.
The monks lining up at the gate all had their tongues hanging out as Cloe did a little Barbie sashay, making sure her luscious headlights were bobbing around like a damsel in distress. Her long nipples looked for escape under her light pink outfit. She didn’t need to wear a bra.
The monks had been blessed today.
The ashes would be dumped in the Chao Phraya River tomorrow. Once that was done, with photographic evidence and a death certificate, the insurance payout for Stan’s death would come in very soon.
For now we have a wake to attend. Chase and I agree it’s time to party like there’s no tomorrow.
Rose was at the bar with her sister drinking Moet. Her grief mask was replaced with mirth. She said that Cloe was a step sister. “She’s just like the daughter I’ve never had,” she told me. I said I had a ‘son’ fixation, and I winked at her. “Fuck your daughter is hot and I want to explore her fun bags,” I thought.
Rose knew I was like a bitch on heat and that I knew Cloe was a high class whore who was entertaining her on her Bangkok leg of her journey.
She had really tried hard to reform her son. “He just wouldn’t listen,” she said, without a trace of grief. It was replaced with reality of what had happened in the last few weeks. “I sent him to rehab to one of the best clinics in Paris. He was cured, or pretended to be and then went running off to Australia.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that that her son is one drug fiend who now has been inducted in the Hell’s Hall of Fame. “I’m sure he’s drinking absinth with Oscar Wilde now,” I said.
Chase is buzzing around, handing out cards with his email and Thai number on it and a little note, “I think I’m falling for you.” He’s determined to pull one of the staff who look like they have just come off a photo shoot for the Ugly American, think frilly white shirts and black aprons with to die for honey brown bodies underneath.
He might be in his early sixties, but Viagra has been a good friend and he’s one walking hardon.
He’s also taking selfies next to the Thai sex kittens on his son’s iPhone and posting them on Stan’s Memorial page on Facebook that Julia setup.
He just refuses to grow up.
Cloe offers me a seat next to her mother-in-law and hands me a champagne. My eyes roam down to her cleavage.
She’ changed into a satin blouse and her nipples are fighting to escape the light flimsy dress. She flicks her cigarette in the ashtray and brushes her boobs with her arm, and they jiggle, and her nipples bend to her soft and deliberate caress.
Julia walks up to us. She’s being bullish. “What did you do with Stan’s necklace that I bought for him?” Chase is in earshot and can sense the drama about to unfold. “I have it my little Mon Chéri,” he says. “It’s perfectly safe. I also have his iPhone. As his father, I’m sure he’d want me to have it.” Julia is surprisingly subdued.
“That’s ok sweetie,” she says. I’ve never seen her soften like this before. It’s as if she is under the spell of an older Stan. Chase takes her to the dance floor just as OneNight In Bangkok starts to play.
I’m not going to let déjà vu get in the way of a good song.
The situation under control, Cloe invites me to the dance floor. I gesture to Wan, the assistant to join us, as the DJ puts on some hard core rave music.
I might be in my early 50s but I know how to party.
The party is humping into overdrive as more bottles of Moet Chandon are being popped open.
Julia is getting a bit too close to Chase, but what the fuck do I care. He knows nothing about banking, and he’s always following his cock.
I have the death certificate now, and I’ll make the claim on Stan’s two life insurance policies tomorrow.
Julia has changed into slutty clothes. Her D cups are drawing lots of attention from the girls. She’s even surprised me the dirty slut. She’s definitely competition for Cloe, though once white trash always white trash.
A wake without Coyote dancers isn’t a wake. At least I had the decency to hire them after the cremation and not during it. I hired ten of the Kingdom’s best on Wan’s recommendation. She said one of dancers was a good friend of hers. “”Have you met Am,” she says, without losing a trace of her wedding planner tone despite looking like the Whore Diva of Grungthep. Wan is wearing a black lacey bra and transparent underwear. She’s really sending off my Stan in the most befitting way. I really appreciate that.
I said my eyes haven’t left Am’s pendulous boobs, I tell her. She is swinging her long silky hair wildly in circles, which is generating momentum for her luscious orbs that would knock out anyone in close proximity to her. She is also wearing a black bra and black nickers, in the theme of the wake.
Wan and Am look like they have just walked out of a Mango porn movie set. I’m just waiting for the Japanese business men down at Thaniya Plaza to gate crash our party.
Stan is paying for this wake. He has more cash floating around and I have access to all of it. He wasn’t doing regular trips to France and Bangkok empty handed, if you know what I mean.
Max, Stan’s tattooist friend is really going to miss him. Maybe Stan’s expiry date was long overdue. Number one rule for a courier, don’t use the gear you are moving. I wouldn’t be surprised that Max had given him a bonus of very potent powder.
Stan wasn’t the only one to die that night in Bunglumpoo in Bangkok. About ten other junkies who bought from the same dealer ended their dreams with the white lotuses in a puddle of their own vomit.
Wan breaks me out of my deep thought. Stan is still alive, she says, as she places a lead projectile between my eyes.
I’m looking down at myself. Stan joins the party. He’s outwitted me. Our plan of his fake death has back fired. He bends down and licks the blood trickling out with my brains.
Wan and Am are all over him now, doing their lesbian thing, boobs against boobs. This is a macabre dance in the truest sense. My death will be explained away as a suicide. And to think, all I wanted was the best for my son.
“C’est la vie,” says my son, as he prepares a line of coke for Wan and Am. Max who is standing behind him wishes me a safe passage into the afterlife. I should have known never to trust that Thai snake. He had that Thai grin I’ll never forget. The Lord Giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
I wanted to warn Stan, “You’ll be next,” as I breathed my last breath. Then bang bang, two shots between his eyes. “ˈAmateurs,” spat out Julia, as she blasted two more bullets in his skull for good measure. Chase, Stan’s father, consecrated his son’s death with a big gob. “Good riddance, at last,” he said, with a ridiculous French accent.
C’est la vie. That’s life.
Fake bullets and fake blood. It looks really impressive. Come on, Max would never do that to me. He needed to get Julia out of the picture.
Now I really will get my wicked ways with Am and Wan.
Stan , are you fucking kidding me!!!
We had planned to meet in Delhi today and hit Goa for some serious body and soul vibes. Now he’s telling me he’s stuck in the boondocks of Northern Thailand. He says he is immobile, and in pain.
I say I’m on the next plane and will see him at latest tomorrow morning. I plan to get there a lot earlier. Pai is a popular destination for tourists like Stan. He’s my adopted son. I have known him for three years now, and he reminds me of my two kids are who the same age.
He’s high as a kite on cheap high grade smack. I know when he’s high, because he’s very talkative and making dreams and promises and sending ridiculous pictures of himself.
Pai, in Mae Hong Son province is a popular destination for narco- tourists like Stan.
I have know him for three years now and he fills the void in my life.I like to think I have adopted him, but he’s always saying it’s the other way round.
Stan has become my new soulmate. I’m his mother, and he’s my son. It’s an in house joke and most people don’t see the real dynamics between us. Stan has many mother figures. But with me we are just great friends.
My life has taken a serious curve since I first met him Bangkok. It was in Khao San road. Our journey began at those crossroads at a dingy bar in back soi of Bunglumpoo, amongst scuttling rats and a heady mix of techno and junk tourists.
Stan is now 35, at the prime of his life while I’m in my early fifties . I just adore free spirited people like Stan. I am a yoga master and consider myself a shaman. And Stan is my student. He’s also my Jedi Master. My two children in France think I’m crazy and I love me to death. They are finding their own way now
I tell Stan I’ll be in Pai by late afternoon. I should have been in Goa tomorrow. Stan says we’ll return back to India within a week. “I have it all sorted, mummy,” he says. I never doubt him. He has a fresh credit card from Australia, “never been used mom, and with $10 000 credit, just for you.”
He says he just needs to sort a problem. I’m curious to know what his problem is.
He’s worth every moment of any hustle I receive from his possessive girlfriend.
I know he’s having girlfriend problems and is being hard on himself. The young floozy from Australia is gnawing out his nuts big time. He’s always crying wolf to her. “I can’t hang on for long. I’m about to OD.” He’s always sending these emotional blackmail messages to Julia. “I’m about to overdose, lovely knowing you princess.”
The basis of their relationship is built on lies and threats. They are a sick couple. But Stan has his agenda. Julia is 12 years his junior and she’s his key to success to a new life in Australia.
When Stan contacts me, it’s just get your ass into gear, and drop what you are doing, and meet me. It usually means he is bored and wants new adventures. It’s only when I don’t hear from him that I worry.
He says he can’t go back to France for another ten years. He’s pulled so many bank scams he’ll be escorted to jail when he returns. I think he’s slightly exaggerating his situation. But with Stan, it’s sometimes hard to know what is real and a figment of his imagination. He has multiple personalities. One day he’s Mr. Smack, the other he’s Mrs. Coke.
I’ll tell him I’ll be on the next flight to Thailand. He’s so fragile. If I don’t’ see him soon he might just drift off to the spirit world that fascinate him. He’s had enough near death experiences that I think he’s addicted to what glimpses he had on the other side.
I tell him over the phone to hang on, “Mummy is coming.” I can hear him on the other end of the phone cooking up another hit. I bet the noodle is dirty and blunt. He only thinks about the dance with the noodle, his precious. At least when I’m around he knows the needle will be sterilized and I’ll monitor his hits.
Now he’s sending me pictures. One is of him shooting up. Another is of his goofy smile. I know he’s going to be fine. He hasn’t given up hope. I get a text message from Julia too. “Stan is up to his old tricks. He’s suicidal. Please keep an eye on him.”
I tell her I’m flying to Thailand to save him. She isn’t sure what’s worse. Stan being alone or with me. She forwarded the picture oh him shooting up. I’m always one step ahead of her. Stan loves to make her panic. He gets off on it. Julia has lived a sheltered life. He likes to play up his worldliness.
I know his game very well. Seeing his angelic selfies just softens my heart to him even more. He’s one evil son of a bitch and I love him to death. It’s always the angelic ones you gotta watch.
Sometimes a mum can only do so much.
Julia said I was responsible for killing him.
They are all calling me Dr. Death now.
I admit, I use to send him packages from Thailand, mostly downers. He knew where to buy his uppers. Perth wasn’t a good place for him. The streets are washed up with speed freaks. Those that make it out alive are brain dead.
He had romantic visions of returning to Thailand and then making his way to India and then the Nicobate islands.
‘Brown gold,’ he’d tell me, ‘cheap and accessible, you can smoke it all day under the palm trees.’
He dreamed of returning to his youth where all the uppers and downers could be relegated to one simple high.
He could get high graded smack from Northern Thailand. That was too dangerous for him. He couldn’t be sure of the dosage and overdosing was always a risk.
He had lived a remarkable life and I planned that he would continue living it.
Overworked and in a unhappy relationship and career, Stan got restless. Once he had achieved his goal of citizenship in Australia, he just got bored. The open road was calling him. He needed another challenge. He wanted to face death, head on.
I’m getting behind or ahead of my story.
I know where to find him. He’s holed up in a guest house in Northern Thailand. Pai is where he scores high grade smack.
‘And the rest mum.’
He’d go up to a hill tribe that straddles the Golden Triangle.
I knew he would be on the floor with a pillow under his head, passed out. His kit would be lying on the floor and his left hand would be holding on for it’s dear life to a condom full of white powder.
There’d be pink pills nearby, his uppers which he’d smoke off silver foil he’d pull off from the packets of local cigarettes.
‘It’s like they knew we were going to smoke speed off it,’ Stan would say.
They have since stopped packaging Klong Thip cigarettes without silver foil.
I knew that Jasmine, the Philippine lady boy. She had been keeping me updated when I was in India. Stan had wired her some money for a flight up to Chiang Mai. He really didn’t like being high alone. He had been staying in Jasmine’s apartment since he flew out of Perth. He didn’t have quite as much cash as he bragged about. He was in financial ruins. He was suppose to be earning 100 K a year in a backery. Only I knew he was pumping all his money into Julia’s cunt. They both lived in a nice apartment in Subiaco. He was working long hours. He’d be awake at 2.30 in the morning and start his shift at 4 am. My Stan hated early mornings. He told me he’d take a hit of speed that would get him through the day.
Julia was happy with the new found wealth. She was a waitress at an exclusive restaurant in Peppermint Grove. She had airs of high society but was trailer trash. Anyone could see that. Her attempt at French was embarrassing. Who was she trying to kid. Stan was only with her for his permanent residency. He never loved her. He loved his travel lifestyle and needed a base. He chose Australia. He always had his sights on Asia and India.
But his demons were resurfacing. He loved his drugs and his friends. Sharing travel stories and helping out his friends, that was Stan. He liked things simple. He played the material game almost till the end. He pulled a slip on almost everyone. Stan played the game so well. But he needed a plan. He lived a double life. He kept them quite separate. Julia was just a means to an end.
But somehow I can’t stop thinking that she got the better half of him. She drew him her world. He yearned for an escape. He wasn’t thinking straight. He needed an escape route and fast.
I’m piecing together the last year years of his life.
I first met him back in 2013. It was in Koa San in Bangkok. Stan belonged on this street. He was in charge of his own destiny. This was the Stan that we loved, carefree and still in love with the world. What could possibly go wrong? How did he fall so low? Why did he self destruct? I have an idea. He was a complicated person. To understand Stan was to understand his relationship with his mother. He always looked for a mother figure in his life.
I was just another one of his surrogate mother’s. He was a man’s man, almost six foot five, handsome in a French way, he charmed the pants off women. He was kind, sensitive, and a great story teller. He had lived life times in his own life. He sold Vespers in Saigon, leather jackets in Paris and drugs on the street of Koa San. He was also a dive instructor. He was a qualified baker. He could make every French pastry. What ever he put his mind too, he could achieve it.
Jasmine found Stan off his tree.
I wasn’t surprised but I was. I only came to see him in the hope of sucking his cock.
Jasmine is very upfront like that. She’s been whoring on Sukkunvit for the last few years. She considers herself a high class hooker but tells everyone she’s a house made. She’s always doing visa runs. When her visa is up, she’ll fly down to Penang and whore it up on there and save some money for her next month in Bangkok. Stan admires her for her street senses. She’s a real survivor.
Stan likes to play up to her. He’s such a cock tease. I use to call him the man whore. He’d wow them with his French charm. Jasmine wasn’t immune to his charm. He’d win her heart so he could get something out of her. She’d get a blow job out of it. In exchange, Stan would have somewhere to doss for a while. Her apartment was on Sukkinvit soi five. Within walking distance of his suppliers, Stan would have access to whores and drugs on tap.
These were the last few months of his life I’m talking about. It will all make sense soon. It’s Stan’s countdown. Every day was precious with him. I could see the sands quickly running through his hour glass. My mission was to save him for his destiny.
He’s been shooting up in Jasmine’s apartment. She’s not happy about it. She has no idea about Stan’s dark side. He’s the worldy traveller, none of us knew the junky side of Stan.
‘It’s my spiritual quest,’ he tell me. I was sold on the idea. He was the Shaman of my dreams. He played upon that too. I knew he was conning me. Yet in the back of my mind, I knew he was journeying on this earth for a short time to teach us something. It wasn’t until he was gone that I knew the greater meaning of Stan.
Jasmine had no idea she had invited a junky into her life. Nothing exceeds like excess. Stan was just having some down time. But to other’s it looked like he was this drug fien.
‘He’d sleep walk and piss all over my apartment,’ said Jasmine. He was off his head, I’d tell her. You just need to be patient, I’d write. We’ll have him out soon. I’m on my way. Tell Stan to check into New World Guesthouse, the room is paid for.
Everyone knew us at New World Guesthouse. It was a junkie’s refuse. No questions were asked, I.D didn’t matter if management knew you were a big spender. It was just a few blocks away from Koa San and it was Stan’s base. He spent many years here scamming. Passports and drugs was his main business. Teaching English didn’t provide enough income for his lifestyle. I’m not kidding. He lived the life over here. A big part of him was secured in the Bunglumpoo area. No one knew his business. He had all his back stories. He was that charming criminal who’d steal your passport after fucking you senseless all night. But he never stole from friends. He drew the line. Friends were sacrosanct for Stan. I’m getting at ahead of myself. This is all speculation so far.
At least I can say I was there for him until the end. He overdoes in a room we were sharing on Koa San. That’s when the story gets messy. I’m trying to face up to it. He’d never want to be a vegetable. I had the doctors pull the life support. There, I said it. That’s why they call me Doctor Death. There’s some truth in it. But Stan needed to be released from this earth. His Karma had run out. He had tempted death too often. He had come back from the other side so many times. This time the bullet fired. He was well aware of the rules of Russian Roullette. This time he couldn’t wake up from a groggy daze. The pain was severed, completely. He wasn’t coming back in a hurry. I believe he didn’t want to die. But I believe he was dancing too close to the white powder.
The story isn’t so simple. It wasn’t an attempt at O.D. Drugs were an affirmation of life.
Who was Stan? That’s the question we should be asking. Very few people knew him. He’s still an enigma for those he met. I sometimes think Stan didn’t know who he was half the time. He lived in his own little fantasy world where only magic was permitted.
I write these words almost eighteen months’ after his death. He died on his 33rd birthday, following in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.
Jasmine just got spooked out when she met Stan at the bungalow in Pie.
She was expecting a romantic holiday with a man she adored, instead she was playing mummy. ‘Not a role I was into. His cock wouldn’t even get hard when I sucked it. Where’s the excitement in sucking a limp dick that stays limp?’
I think Jasmine had enough of him. She was only there for him with the promise of money. She was a month behind on her rent and Stan said if she came to meet him, he’d pay for it.
I know he’s having girlfriend problems and is being hard on himself.The young floozy from Australia is gnawing out his nuts big time.The basis of their relationship is built on lies and threats. They are a sick couple. We had planned to meet in Delhi today and hit Goa for some serious body and soul vibes. Now he’s telling me he’s now stuck in the boondocks of Northern Thailand. He says he is immobile, and in pain. I say I’m on the next plane and will see him at latest tomorrow morning. I plan to get there a lot earlier. Pai, in Mae Hong Son province is a popular destination for narco- tourists. He’s high as a kite on cheap high grade smack.I know when he’s high, because he’s very talkative and making dreams, promises, and sending ridiculous pictures of himself.I’m curious to know what his problem is. I can only guess. He's hinted at it, but he's very embarrassed to talk about it. He says he'll reimburse me for my flight.Stan’s out to the world when I arrive. Not much has changed. I see blood on the floor. It’s not from shooting up. Oh, my son has the piles again.He once showed me the veins dangling from his ass. “Mum, now you know why I shoot up. I’m in extreme pain.”“How are your piles treating you?" I ask. His addiction wasn’t just for fun. He had medical reasons for it. When I'm around, I'm always making sure he gets lots of vegetables in his diet.“Fiber son, fiber,” I say as I slap him gently on the face, and whisper to him to wake up. He comes around. “Agnes,” he says. “Want a fix?” He’s so generous my son; he’d give away his last shirt to his friends. He’s clean for so long then he gets the piles. He starts on tramadol then he hits the harder stuff when the pain doesn’t go. He hates doctors. He prefers to self medicate. He's lying on his back with his bum elevated by two pillows. "Not bad, if I keep my ass elevated. I've lost so much blood I can't even find a solid vein."“You can both fuck off,” she says, without even saying a hello or shaking my hand.“No drugs in my house.” That's her final word. He was very week but far from defeated. I immediately give him a blood transfusion. I know his blood type. I had bought a few liters in Chiang Mai. That with vitamins, electrolytes, and fresh juice to rehydrate him, I know he'll come good. A few months prior to meeting him in Thailand, I flew to Perth to visit him. He picked me up at the airport. It was a crisp winter day. “Hello little princess,” he said, as I jumped into his beaten-up BMW. He was so happy to see someone familiar. He’s been living like an alien in Australia for far too long. This was the first time I had met his girlfriend. Julia is a dominating and manipulating little bitch who will never give Stan a moment’s rest.
‘I’ll pay you another fifty bucks so I can cum in your eyes.’
He’s on a roll. A white whore he picked up down at crack alley is now taking a hit of the pipe.
It’s been nearly two weeks now and he hasn’t slept. ‘The same age as Jesus Christ,.’ he’d say.
Stan is almost 33. It’s his benchmark.He’s going to die.No one had any idea he was a religious man.
I had no idea he was a religious man. On the surface, Stan was a well-balanced man.Something inside him said that being successful wasn’t enough.
No one would ever have thought he was going to self destruct. Something inside him was ticking.
It was a bomb. We have known each other for three years. Stan fills the void in my life.
He has enriched my life and comes from the same part as France like me.
Not many people get the in house joke that he's my adopted son.
His girlfriend Julia from Australian thinks I’m just creepy.
She says I'm a freaky version of Angelina Jolie who likes adopting grown-up kids.
What would that bitch know? She's intent on seeing Stan overdose.
I am a yoga master and consider myself a shaman. We often joke that he is my Jedi Master.
He loves star trekking across the universe on mind-altering drugs.
He was fighting with his own biology. He just didn’t want to die an old man, said his most trusted guardian angel.
Stan ignores Julia's wishes and hands me a crack pipe. My jet lag is long behind me. I’m very positive and wonder how to deal with the turd in front of me.Her nostrils flared. She puffed out her big boobs. She flicked her blonde hair over her head, part vanity, and part making a point. Her boobs were a double D cup. She had recently got them done in Thailand. "And who paid for those big tits," I added, and I squeezed them to make my point. They were soft and her nipples were perky. “He is so fragile and needs all the assurance he can that he’s a decent and kind human being,” I tell Julia, as I take another hit from the crack pipe. “If you keep on calling him a junky every day how do you ever expect him to respect you?” Julia can’t hide her hatred of me. I can see through her exterior that is crumbling from too much makeup and mascara. So much for Australian hospitality. She’s even younger than my daughter and I think manners are what she missed out in her privileged schooling. “ Didn’t he just buy you a new car?” I said. She really needed to be put in her place. “And now you want to throw him out of the house.” I was letting it rip. "He's been working 100 hours a week and this is how you reward him. He’s not had a day off since he met you two years ago.” “Yes, but I paid for his visa," she said, on the defense. " So mind your own business you burnt out French cougar. You come into my life to fuck my boyfriend who is half your age. Now you are smoking crack in my apartment." She slammed the door shut. At last, we had our privacy.“Let’s get the party started,” said Chase, as his son’s last heartbeat stopped on a hospital bed. I was here in Perth to reassure Stan that everything was on schedule. I had been taking care of his banking in Paris. He had transferred funds from Australia from credit card and bank loans he was getting under stolen I.D. Stan wiggles his ass around, making sure he's not aggravating his piles. He hands me a fresh credit card from his wallet. "It's good for $10 000 Australian dollars," he says, adding the other ones are in the mail, sent to a Bangkok address. I inject him a heavy dose of antibiotics before we set off to Bangkok. He needs some civilization. He now has a spring in his step, and his piles are under control. Money is the root of all evil, and Stan wanted to test that out.My birthday is in a few days. He wants to celebrate with some Bolivian powder.Bangkok has a magnetic force that attracts and repels. The hours are flying, the day becomes night. We are invincible as we both do a karaoke version of One Night in Bangkok. 'I can feel the Devil walking next to me.'It's a chilling line. “I hate hospitals," he said. "Do you know where I can scored some premium hash?” We picked up whisky on the way home and some mixers.We had a funeral to arrange. Chase and I go behind the crematorium, with the pretext of checking out the garland flowers etc. He pulls out a pipe, and we smoke some gear. To take the edge off and stop us from grinding our teeth, we smoke some Laos buds. My son was Jesus Christ brought to us to save our souls. He never preached. He only instructed with action. It’s my duty to write the gospel of his life. It was a short and sweet eulogy. The cremation fired up. Five minutes later, the empty coffin incinerated.Julie flew in yesterday. She’s being very discreet and catty. She’s got in for me big time. She’s spreading rumors around that I was responsible for his death. Max, a Thai tattooist and good friend of Stan, came around to see me last night to tell me that Julia tried to put a hit on me. He said he’d do a free hit on her if she didn’t drop the idea quickly. Stan’s mother is being very morbid and looking very colonial French with her black sun hat and designer black dress. We kiss each other on the cheek, and she thanks me for taking care of arrangements on my end.Chase is still in his clothes he wore clubbing last night and smells like pussy galore. Luckily he likes black. Stan’s mother Rose brought her step sister Cloe along. She’s a real hotly and in her mid-thirties. She’s a cougar of the highest order and a natural blonde. She’s wearing a tight-fitting pink dress that tightly hugs the contours of her voluptuous body. Her massive headlights are blinding the monks who are preparing for the ceremony.The monks lining up at the gate all had their tongues hanging out as Cloe did a little Barbie sashay, making sure her luscious headlights were bobbing around like a damsel in distress. Her long nipples looked for escape under her light pink outfit. She didn't need to wear a bra. He's still laughing how stupid his son is. "The fucker never invited me to Bangkok. He was trying to keep all the fun away from Daddy.”My Thai assistant, young, shapely, and hauntingly attractive, informs me that everything is ready. Wan says after the ceremony, we will all make our way to the Dusit Thani Hotel for a small private gathering on the 13th floor. Chase is gawking at her tight gray hugging dress. She's hiding mountains of flesh with an athlete's bra. Then the bitch walked up to me. “Excuse me, Wan, I’ll be back in five minutes.” I took Julia to the side. Her makeup was dripping in the tropical heat, and her sluttish lipstick screamed of “I want to suck cock.” “No I don’t have the fucking necklace,” I said to her.” Did you fly all the way from Perth just to ask me that. And no you can’t see the body. It’s sealed up in the coffin and we are about to send off your boyfriend.”
She got the message and fucked off. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” I hissed at her.
Some good came out of Stan’s death. I didn’t understand him at the time, but now I know fully what he journey meant. His mother wasn’t bought with my sentimentality. I was hamming it up to the max.
Ashes collected, we make our way to the Dusit Thani. The monks had been blessed today.
Chase is buzzing around, handing out cards with his email and Thai number on it and a little note, “I think I’m falling for you.” He's determined to pull one of the staff who look like they have just come off a photo shoot for the <em>Ugly American, </em>think frilly white shirts and black aprons with to die for honey brown bodies underneath.
The ashes would be dumped in the Chao Phraya River tomorrow. Once that was done, with photographic evidence and a death certificate, the insurance payout for Stan's death would come in very soon.
For now we have a wake to attend. Chase and I agree it's time to party like there's no tomorrow.
Rose was at the bar with her sister drinking Moet. Her grief mask was replaced with mirth. She said that Cloe was a step sister. “She’s just like the daughter I’ve never had,” she told me. I said I had a ‘son’ fixation, and I winked at her. “Fuck your daughter is hot and I want to explore her fun bags,” I thought.
Rose knew I was like a bitch on heat and that I knew Cloe was a high class whore who was entertaining her on her Bangkok leg of her journey.
She had really tried hard to reform her son. “He just wouldn’t listen,” she said, without a trace of grief. It was replaced with reality of what had happened in the last few weeks. “I sent him to rehab to one of the best clinics in Paris. He was cured, or pretended to be and then went running off to Australia."
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that that her son is one drug fiend who now has been inducted in the Hell’s Hall of Fame. “I’m sure he’s drinking absinth with Oscar Wilde now,” I said.
He might be in his early sixties, but Viagra has been a good friend and he's one walking hardon.
Julia is getting a bit too close to Chase, but what the fuck do I care. He knows nothing about banking, and he’s always following his cock.
He's also taking selfies next to the Thai sex kittens on his son’s iPhone and posting them on Stan's Memorial page on Facebook that Julia setup.
He just refuses to grow up.
Cloe offers me a seat next to her mother-in-law and hands me a champagne. My eyes roam down to her cleavage.
She’ changed into a satin blouse and her nipples are fighting to escape the light flimsy dress. She flicks her cigarette in the ashtray and brushes her boobs with her arm, and they jiggle, and her nipples bend to her soft and deliberate caress.
Julia walks up to us. She's being bullish. "What did you do with Stan's necklace that I bought for him?" Chase is in earshot and can sense the drama about to unfold. "I have it my little <em>Mon</em> Chéri," he says. "It's perfectly safe. I also have his iPhone. As his father, I'm sure he'd want me to have it." Julia is surprisingly subdued.
"That's ok sweetie," she says. I've never seen her soften like this before. It's as if she is under the spell of an older Stan. Chase takes her to the dance floor just as One Night In Bangkok starts to play.
I'm not going to let déjà vu get in the way of a good song.
The situation under control, Cloe invites me to the dance floor. I gesture to Wan, the assistant to join us, as the DJ puts on some hard core rave music.
I might be in my early 50s but I<em> know</em> how to party.
The party is humping into overdrive as more bottles of Moet Chandon are being popped open.
Stan is paying for this wake. He has more cash floating around and I have access to all of it. He wasn't doing regular trips to France and Bangkok empty handed, if you know what I mean.
I have the death certificate now, and I’ll make the claim on Stan's two life insurance policies tomorrow.
Julia has changed into slutty clothes. Her D cups are drawing lots of attention from the girls. She’s even surprised me the dirty slut. She’s definitely competition for Cloe, though once white trash always white trash.
A wake without Coyote dancers isn’t a wake. At least I had the decency to hire them after the cremation and not during it. I hired ten of the Kingdom’s best on Wan’s recommendation. She said one of dancers was a good friend of hers. “"Have you met Am," she says, without losing a trace of her wedding planner tone despite looking like the Whore Diva of Grungthep.
My eyes haven't left Am's pendulous boobs, I tell her. She is swinging her long silky hair in circles, which is generating momentum for her luscious orbs that would knock out anyone in close proximity to her. She is also wearing a black bra and black nickers, in the theme of the wake.
And Wan is wearing a black lacey bra and transparent underwear. She's really sending off my Stan in the most befitting way.
Chase is hovering around, and moves away from Julia to film Wan and Am doing a raunchy dance. Wan and Am could have walked out of a Manga comic. I'm just waiting for the Japanese business men down at Thania Plaza to gate crash our party.
Maybe none of this happened, maybe some of it did, but what matters is that Stan is dead.
Max, Stan's tattooist friend is really going to miss him. Maybe Stan's expiry date was long overdue. Number one rule for a courier, don't use the gear you are moving. I wouldn't be surprised that Max had given him a bonus of very potent powder.
Stan wasn't the only one to die that night in Bunglumpoo in Bangkok. About ten other junkies who bought from the same dealer ended their dreams with the white lotuses in a puddle of their own vomit.
Wan breaks me out of my deep thought. Stan is still alive, she says, as she places a lead projectile between my eyes.
I'm looking down at myself. Stan joins the party. He's outwitted me. Our plan for his fake death has backfired. He bends down and licks the blood trickling out with my brain.
Wan and Am are all over him now, doing their lesbian thing, boobs against boobs. This is a macabre dance in the truest sense. My death will be explained away as a suicide. And to think, all I wanted was the best for my son.
"C'est la vie," says my son, as he prepares a line of coke for Wan and Am. Max who is standing behind him wishes me safe passage into the afterlife. I should have known never to trust that Thai snake. He had that Thai grin I'll never forget. <em>The Lord Giveth and the Lord taketh away.</em>
I wanted to warn Stan, "You'll be next,<em>” as</em> I breathed my last breath. Then bang bang, two shots between his eyes. "ˈAmateurs," spat out Julia, as she blasted two more bullets in his skull for good measure.
C'est la vie.
That's life.
