Murah sat in a room of the Malaysia Hotel overlooking the pool. Several Thai bargirls swam with their farang boyfriends, while a stunning transvestite held court underneath the palm trees. The Yugoslav would have loved to be out there, except he was trapped in this Bangkok hotel with a whining Swiss junkie. The last two days had been hell and it had taken all his restraint to keep from beating the addict to a pulp, if only to shut him up. Thankfully he had scored some heroin from a tuk-tuk driver and the narcotic had silenced the junkie.
Rubbing his face, Murah regarded the telephone.
Kurt should have called yesterday and the phone silence assured him that something went very wrong in Switzerland, meaning the young Swiss boy passed out in the bed was dead weight.
Murah had a decision to make. The banker in Geneva had obviously fucked up the money wire, so his son's life was forfeit, but the Yugoslav could see no advantage to be gained from murdering someone so pathetic.
Another option was to put the junkie on a plane to Switzerland. His parents would institutionalize him for several months and he would be released to their care. Once free the boy on the bed would fall back on his old ways and probably OD within a few months.
Murah's best choice was to leave the airplane ticket on the bed and leave. The Yugoslavian was certain that the boy would cash in the airfare and buy heroin with the money. Many people had checked out of the Malaysia in a body bag. He was washing his hands of the entire affair.
"Ta qifsha nanen ne pidh kari." Murah packed his bag and left the room without a single backward glance. Something had gone terribly wrong in Hamburg. It was probably better that he stay away from Europe for several months and there were worst places in the world to kill your time than Thailand, but he wasn't going to any of them soon.
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