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**Chapter 2: The Sultan's Gambit**
"Let's make the Sultan of Johor the prime minister," I suggested to Max. "Malaysia could use a good spring cleaning." Two weeks later, the Chinese descended in yellow shirts, clearing the four square kilometers of cemetery land. Construction began in earnest, with the USA symbolically supporting another twin tower — a gesture of solidarity.
I thought I would miss the cemetery, but truthfully, it never compared to the one in Surabaya. You just couldn't beat the rustic charm of that place and how the Indonesians conducted their affairs. Four months later, the cemetery had vanished from all maps. I had connections at Google and ensured it disappeared from the Way Back Machine too. We had changed history.
"When you're dead, you're dead," I said to the minister. "It was dead land anyway," Max added. It was the impetus Malaysia needed. Halliburton diversified and invested heavily in the city's metropolis. "But make sure there are plenty of lakes and parks," was my only condition. This is me against my fat. I'm carrying an extra 20 kilograms. Running. Walking. Never knowing when I might have to truly flee from something more dangerous than excess fat.
Max and I had done Malaysia a great favor. The city was overcrowded, and there was a shortage of land for development. We had freed up a large tract of prime real estate. What could have taken years of negotiations, we achieved in weeks. Never underestimate the power of prostitutes. They are catalysts for change. Positive change.
These were my thoughts during my six-kilometer walk. I had walked ten kilometers before. I was committed. If I and my fender parted ways, I would have to walk about 17 kilometers a day and run a few in between. I contemplated catching a night flight back to Kuching. The mighty rivers of Borneo awaited me. The cross-eyed waitress was still working at the Long House Cafe. Malaysian Chinese aren't picky. Young, rough Indonesian women serving them, they were more than content.
I looked forward to a long walk around my block. The tire guys missed me. Then I'd hit the pool and chat with my Dyak friend, the lifeguard, and Jimmy the Playboy Chinese. I had street credentials with the Sarawakians. Kuching was my city for many reasons. It felt safe. Pontianak was on the fringe, which I disliked. In Kuching, you could walk the city late at night without fear of being robbed. Both cities are on Borneo, but Kuching was the jewel in Borneo's crown. Kinabalu seemed like a chilled place too. The Indians were light-hearted in this part of the world. The Ibans and Dyaks added the DNA diversity that was missing in stagnant West Malaysia, mired in racism. I wanted to be inclusive. I wanted to experience the hospitality of the Ibans and Dyaks. They seemed to like white guys. And they had big breasts. Or so I was told. I had never seen them. "Well, now you will," said one of the waitresses, a local. She sat at my table and lit a cigarette. There's always something suspicious about a girl who smokes. You know it could lead to wild sex.
I had heard of Wat Angkor. "A pleasure for charlatans," said Max. They were just old buildings patched up with concrete. "And 80 percent of the buildings are fakes." I always wondered why the place looked like a Disney theme park. "Because Disney owns it," Max said, suggesting we go to a rave party on February 1st. "Why the first of February," I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. The cemetery DJ wanted another gig. He had proven himself many times over. Max and I installed fog machines. They were supplied with cocaine and ecstasy. Academics said that Asian nightclubs attracted customers with the promise of hot chicks and free angel dust. I was convinced that if people wanted to get high, they just needed to pop a pill. "Usually, that's the case," said the DJ named JG. "But it wouldn't hurt to try it."
The cream of the party-goers converged at the Siam Reap. "This is going to be a big one, guys." JG had some wicked tunes that would "make grown men cry." I believed that too. He told me the tracks were laid over industrial turntables. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" "They'll cry when I'm done with them," he said. The Book of Flood
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