Cambodia Noir Read Online Free

Digital’s all right for flash and bang, but you want the real thing, you need film. For some reason I loaded color this morning, which is pointless for the paper, but I’m not regretting it.
    Here’s the captain, haggard and red-lit by dawn, looking down at the charred pavement, glinting gold with spent casings. Behind him, smoke from the burning car obscures the sky. He’s got a face like one of Rodin’s burghers: satisfaction barely registering in his eyes, in the set of his mouth. But there’s disgust, as well, with what he’s had to do and what it cost him.
    Here’s the ambulance man, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he wraps gauze around a cop who took shrapnel in the side. He’s smiling, making a joke, but you can see the hollowness in his eyes.
    Here are the uniforms, pushing down the stairs with those great bricks of heroin on their shoulders: faces blank, eyes glazed and terrified. Actors who’ve forgotten their lines. They don’t even know what the play is anymore.
    Been a while since I did anything this good.
    Shame no one will buy them.
    Behind me, I hear something like a gorilla try to tear the door off its hinges. Then there’s Gus, shoving himself into the tiny room, breathing in my ear as he stares at the luscious brown bundles.
    â€œKhieu says that’s ninety ki’s prime Burmese heroin,” he whispers. “Pulled it out of the fuckin’ walls. That’s millions by the time it hits Sydney or Hong Kong. Someone fucked up big.”
    There’s no space to turn around, but I can feel him looking: he thinks I’m up to something. It was drug shit this morning, so he’s been waiting, wondering what story I’ll tell. He doesn’t actually care what I do, he just gets his kicks giving me a hard time. You make your own fun in Phnom Penh.
    â€œThis isn’t a fuckup,” I say. “You don’t catch the head of the army’s drug business in a house with half the country’s product just ’cause someone was careless. Those cops didn’t know what they were gonna find, but someone did.”
    â€œYou think Hok Lundy’s trying to push out the competition?”
    I mull it over. The cops mostly deal internal, small-time stuff, but the head of the police has his own outfit. One of the few who can: his daughter’s married to the prime minister’s son. Over time, Hok Lundy’s built himself up into a major player. He’s strong in Phnom Penh—maybe he thinks he’s got strong enough to tell the generals to get off his turf.
    â€œCould be,” I say.
    â€œHe’s a brave guy.”
    â€œBrave has a short shelf life.”
    â€œHe could take it quite far, though.”
    If he tries a coup, we’ll have blood in the gutters by nightfall.
    We’re both quiet a minute. Finally, Gus: “These are good shots.”
    â€œFuck off. You’re gonna use the shit I gave Ray, the guy shooting over the car.”
    He doesn’t bother denying it. “It sells papers. These are better.” Unspoken accusation in his voice: Why don’t you get out of the sticks, Will, go do something real? Go to Iraq like everyone else—
    â€œFuck you,” I say too loud. “And your war. I’m fine here.” Now I do turn around, forcing him back against the door. “You really gave a shit, you’d gimme a little time out of this fuckin’ city.”
    For a second I think he looks surprised. “What do you want to do out in the provinces?” Suspicious bastard.
    â€œTake pictures I can fuckin’ sell. It’s Phnom Penh no one cares about, fuckin’ politics. They’ll buy KR. They’ll buy landscapes . Shit, I can take pictures of kids with big, hungry eyes and hawk ’em to Oxfam for brochures, but this—”
    â€œSo it’s money.” He’s done being surprised. “I thought you went to Vientiane for money. A week