coming in 2015 from Rogue Phoenix Press
A Muddy Red River by D.A. Cairns
Two brothers, so unlike and so
disconnected, live separate lives until fate forces them to face one another
and resolve their differences...
Shane Archer is solid, dependable and reliable while his younger brother, Rob, is reckless, selfish and unpredictable. Never close during their formative years, and now further divided by distance in adulthood, they live disconnected lives until the corkscrew of life brings them in line for a collision course. They love, they laugh, they lose and with broken hearts and messed up lives they find strength in the women they love and in their family. Could each be the agent of salvation for the other, or will they be torn apart forever? A Muddy Red River traces the course of the lives of broken people who discover power to overcome adversity.
Shane Archer is solid, dependable and reliable while his younger brother, Rob, is reckless, selfish and unpredictable. Never close during their formative years, and now further divided by distance in adulthood, they live disconnected lives until the corkscrew of life brings them in line for a collision course. They love, they laugh, they lose and with broken hearts and messed up lives they find strength in the women they love and in their family. Could each be the agent of salvation for the other, or will they be torn apart forever? A Muddy Red River traces the course of the lives of broken people who discover power to overcome adversity.
A Muddy Red River
D.A.Cairns
Chapter One
The stage was dark except for a voyeuristic single spotlight which shone on a nubile dancer. Dressed in nought but satin hot pants and a pink bikini top, she mouthed the words to Blurred Lines, as she writhed awkwardly around the microphone stand. Australian holiday maker and hedonist, Rob Archer took a seat at a small table, next to the wall to the left of the stage, and gratefully accepted a glass of beer without looking at the waitress. The dancer began to sway gently: apparently abandoning sexy for a vague semblance of cute. Rob compelled his mouth closed, and disengaged his eyes in order to survey the room. The temptation to remain riveted to the lame yet somehow sensual performance of the dancer was mercifully curtailed by the end of the song. He joined the polite applause which mumbled half hearted appreciation.
To the right of the stage was a circular bar with a small dais in the centre of it, slightly elevated above the level of the bar top. Another two girls were dancing there, similarly dressed in the sleazy attire of good time girls. There were no hot pants for these two though: sparkling G-strings and stilettos adorned their lower halves. An assortment of desperates, mostly foreigners, watched enthusiastically; clapping and cheering whenever either of the girls bent over or thrusted her pelvis. Some simply sat and leered as they nursed drinks and lustful thoughts. These girls seemed more comfortable with the attention: smiling frequently and blowing kisses all over the enchanted men.
Hostesses, or perhaps girlfriends, who could say, decorated the arms and laps of some of the spectators. Rob noticed two groups: one evidently enjoying themselves, the other patently not. He guessed that the former were hostesses and the latter, girlfriends. The hostesses maintained intimate and frequent contact with their men. They laughed and smiled, occasionally leaning close to whisper in their partner’s ears or to stain their cheeks with lipstick. The girlfriends, on the other hand, wore vacant, disinterested looks, wishing they could disappear inside the smoke haze, and escape this appalling personal insult.
Rob pulled a cigarette from the packet of Klong Thips which lay on the table but before he could light it, a flame appeared, accompanied by a sweet voice.
“You like something else, sir?”
The smoke from the full strength Thai tobacco seared his throat as he inhaled it, to ignite the slow burn of the coffin nail. He opened his eyes to find a pair of almond orbs solicitously violating him. He accepted the intrusion.
“Whiskey please.”
“Just whiskey?”
Rob returned her smile, then nodded.
“Mee Kong, okay?”
He nodded again. The waitress winked before walking away, and his eyes followed her shapely backside through the dimness as she headed for the bar. Lipstick was one of the quieter bars in the Nana red light district of Bangkok. Rob had been introduced to the erotic wonders of this part of town by an acquaintance with whom he had shared a few drinks and joints in a number of other sex bars which populated Soi One and Soi Two on Thailand’s world famous Patpong Road. Nana, he said, was way better. Lipstick had a reputation for offering friendly staff, reasonable prices, and a wide selection of beautiful ladies, minus the so called Lady-Boys. So far Rob had found it thus, and he snuggled into the ambience as the music oozed from every hidden corner of the brooding premises.
The waitress returned, leaning across him, feathering his shoulder with her breasts. “Your drink, sir.”
She lingered, as he sipped the whiskey and savoured its bite. Her fingers caressed the back of his head, playfully tousling his hair. “Anything else, sir?”
Rob smiled as desire swelled, and he surrendered willingly, inviting her to sit with him.
“Just drinks sir. You want friend? I send friend for you.”
What a tease! He wrestled his anger into submission and dismissed the waitress, with a wave of his hand. She smiled, evidently unoffended, and glided away.
Rob liked being called sir, and he loved the attention. The zing of lust which the waitress’s delicate touch had elicited was stunning. Perhaps the atmosphere was pregnant with raunchiness and ribaldry. Perhaps he was desperate and lonely. Whatever the reason for his reaction, Rob felt cheated and frustrated by the waitress. Though he knew the game well, and happily participated whenever given the chance, it could still be incredibly annoying.
He took some more whiskey and appreciated its strength whilst knowing that subsequent servings would be watered down. The main stage was deserted now, the peephole spotlight swallowed by darkness. Rob turned his attention to the crowd at the bar which dwindled as the dancing girls finished their routines and stepped down into the arms of the two men who had stuffed their respective bikini tops with the most five hundred Baht notes. He had no idea how they kept track of their earnings when their bodies were engaged in such bawdy acrobatics. Another impressive trick of their trade.
One Klong Thip chased another in pursuit of a succession of whiskeys as Rob sat and watched the next performance and then another. He pressed the side of his watch and raised it closer to eye level, struggling to read the time, then called a waitress over.
“I’d like a friend please.”
“No poplem, sir. You like table friend, short time or long time?”
“What’s a table friend?”
The waitress laughed and playfully slapped his arm. “First time you come, huh?”
Inebriation thankfully overrode irritation and embarrassment. “Yeah, first time here.”
She moved suddenly, snatching a chair and placing it beside Rob’s. With her backside perched on the edge of the chair, she pushed her face close to his. Much to his chagrin, Rob flinched which made the waitress laugh again. Such a cute titter. “I no bite you, silly man.”
“Of course not,” said Rob as he closed the distance between them once more. “You surprised me, that’s all. I thought you weren’t going to sit with me.”
Her finger was on his lips before he could utter another syllable. “You want to hear about table friend or you want blah, blah, blah?” Her free hand mimicked a sock puppet.
Rob listened attentively.
“Table friend come sit with you. Talk to you, get your drink, hold your hand and give you head job. Pay first okay, then I send friend. One thousand Baht. So cheap, huh?”
Rob’s erection was reaching for his wallet until an image of a woman’s head bobbing and banging against the underside of the table as she fellated him, caused him to cringe. That was not how he liked to do business.
“How much without the...” he felt awkward saying the word so he gestured instead, and cleared his throat.
“No charge. Just nidnoy extra for drink.” Rob was curious as to what exactly she meant by a little bit extra.
She held up two fingers in response to his question.
“Two baht?”
She laughed again, but this time it grated. “Two times.”
“Double? Forget it. No thank you.”
“Okay,” she said calmly, dressing him with her subtle disappointment. “You drink yourself, lonely boy. Bye bye.”
Rob reeled in the revelation of the table friend concept. Everywhere else he had been operated under the same rules. Only the prices varied. He knew all about short time and long time, and about bar fines. He knew that every man who walked in, accompanied or not was offered a friend. If there were enough friends to go around, he might be offered a selection. The chosen companion would come and sit with him, make small talk, listen to his problems, massage his ego, get his drinks, and maybe even dance with him a little before leading him upstairs to one of the candle lit box sized rooms for some intimate relaxation.
Fear of venereal disease, or the possibility of being robbed at gunpoint while naked had nearly always prevented Rob from going upstairs. He’d heard a story about a guy in a massage parlour in Sydney who found himself facing the barrel of a sawn off shotgun with nothing but a shrivelling penis, and an abnormal heart rate. If the planets aligned, however, and the girl had the perfect blend of all things sugar and spice, if she smelled nice and her hair was soft. If she smiled often without forcing it, and spoke in liquid whispers, then Rob could have been facing the executioners chair and he wouldn’t have given a damn. On those rare occasions he had succumbed to the feminine charms of a sex bar hostess, it had cost him nothing but a couple of thousand baht, and it had been worth every last satang.
Still, Rob grew restless, each thought laced with regret. If he didn’t want some action, then what the hell was he doing here? Some blokes crapped on about curiosity but that disingenuous line of defence would not have stood up in any barroom banter, let alone in a court of law. Certainly, no mortified wife or girlfriend would have accepted the excuse of inquisitiveness. Rob had neither of those anyway. He was here on a vacation of open ended duration with the sole intention of seeking and finding pleasure.
The salacious activity inside Lipstick flowed around Rob as though he were a resolute island of morality. He began to wonder if some of his fellow patrons were watching him, wondering why he sat alone, conjecturing about his plans, his intent, his character. Rob mocked himself when the stench of narcissism filled his nostrils. Nobody cared about him. Nobody even knew he was here, apart from the cheeky waitress, who would no doubt forget him as soon as he exited her territory. He was, in truth, a lonely boy.
“Hey, Lonely Boy.”
Rob turned to face the persistent young woman who had returned accompanied by another young lady. The latter was bereft of the sexy confidence of the waitress, and Rob suddenly felt sorry for her, and himself ill at ease at the sight of her obvious discomfort. He pulled the adjacent chair out from underneath the table, and motioned for her to sit, which she did, albeit stiffly.
“New girl for you. Feuk yap yap, no suck.”
“You want to practice talking? How much?” The insistence of Thai people who worked in hospitality, blending their broken English with Thai did not assist comprehension.
‘Just talk. Only half price. I don’t like see Lonely Boy. Kow jai na?”
“Yes, I understand.” The words thank you did not immediately follow, and by the time Rob had decided that the waitress’s gesture of good will was definitely worth some gratitude, but she had gone, and it was just Rob and the frightened girl: his table friend.
Awkward situations gained a new cynosure as Rob studied the girl and felt ashamed for doing so. Clearly, he had been duped again, and the waitress had deceived him with brilliant subterfuge. He was not going to get any value from this table friend, even at half price. These thoughts slapped his conscience, and so, unable to conceive of a way to break the deadlock, he determined to leave. He stared at the side of her head as she stared at the table. Rob lit another Klong Thip, still wavering, wanting to rescue both himself and the girl. He glanced beyond her to the stage where the spotlight had resumed its prying glare of an even less adept performer than the previous one. The bar stage was occupied with two more pole dancers, or perhaps there were the same two. Rob looked back at the girl who remained motionless. What the hell was she doing here?
“My name’s Rob. What’s yours?”
His words shattered the spell of her discomfiture. She looked up and for a fleeting moment their eyes met, before she averted her gaze.
“My name is Jam.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you?”
She turned her head, eyes lowered, and spoke in a moderately louder voice. “My name is Jam.”
“Sweet,” said Rob.
Jam said nothing more.
“You know we eat Jam in Australia?” Still nothing. “How is your English Jam?”
“Okay. I can understand you. I have troubling speaking.”
“It sounds pretty good to me.”
Rob stubbed out his Klong Thip and finished his whiskey.
“Would you like another one?” she asked.
“What in God’s name are you doing here, Jam? Surely you don’t want to be here. I mean couldn’t you do something else? Don’t you want to do something else?”
Jam smiled an infuriatingly enigmatic Thai smile. “I’ll get you another drink.”
He watched her walk away, and his mind changed gears. He no longer wanted Jam as his table friend. That was simply not going to be good enough. Not now that he had broken the ice and he sensed a miraculous and unforeseen alignment of the planets occurring high above the blanket of Bangkok’s perennial smog. There was something different about this young woman, something special.
A fleeting thought of his older brother back in Australia crossed Rob’s mind as he waited for Jam to return. He imagined his disapproval of his life and pursuit of pleasure for a moment before swatting it away as he had done so many times before.
D.A.Cairns
Chapter One
The stage was dark except for a voyeuristic single spotlight which shone on a nubile dancer. Dressed in nought but satin hot pants and a pink bikini top, she mouthed the words to Blurred Lines, as she writhed awkwardly around the microphone stand. Australian holiday maker and hedonist, Rob Archer took a seat at a small table, next to the wall to the left of the stage, and gratefully accepted a glass of beer without looking at the waitress. The dancer began to sway gently: apparently abandoning sexy for a vague semblance of cute. Rob compelled his mouth closed, and disengaged his eyes in order to survey the room. The temptation to remain riveted to the lame yet somehow sensual performance of the dancer was mercifully curtailed by the end of the song. He joined the polite applause which mumbled half hearted appreciation.
To the right of the stage was a circular bar with a small dais in the centre of it, slightly elevated above the level of the bar top. Another two girls were dancing there, similarly dressed in the sleazy attire of good time girls. There were no hot pants for these two though: sparkling G-strings and stilettos adorned their lower halves. An assortment of desperates, mostly foreigners, watched enthusiastically; clapping and cheering whenever either of the girls bent over or thrusted her pelvis. Some simply sat and leered as they nursed drinks and lustful thoughts. These girls seemed more comfortable with the attention: smiling frequently and blowing kisses all over the enchanted men.
Hostesses, or perhaps girlfriends, who could say, decorated the arms and laps of some of the spectators. Rob noticed two groups: one evidently enjoying themselves, the other patently not. He guessed that the former were hostesses and the latter, girlfriends. The hostesses maintained intimate and frequent contact with their men. They laughed and smiled, occasionally leaning close to whisper in their partner’s ears or to stain their cheeks with lipstick. The girlfriends, on the other hand, wore vacant, disinterested looks, wishing they could disappear inside the smoke haze, and escape this appalling personal insult.
Rob pulled a cigarette from the packet of Klong Thips which lay on the table but before he could light it, a flame appeared, accompanied by a sweet voice.
“You like something else, sir?”
The smoke from the full strength Thai tobacco seared his throat as he inhaled it, to ignite the slow burn of the coffin nail. He opened his eyes to find a pair of almond orbs solicitously violating him. He accepted the intrusion.
“Whiskey please.”
“Just whiskey?”
Rob returned her smile, then nodded.
“Mee Kong, okay?”
He nodded again. The waitress winked before walking away, and his eyes followed her shapely backside through the dimness as she headed for the bar. Lipstick was one of the quieter bars in the Nana red light district of Bangkok. Rob had been introduced to the erotic wonders of this part of town by an acquaintance with whom he had shared a few drinks and joints in a number of other sex bars which populated Soi One and Soi Two on Thailand’s world famous Patpong Road. Nana, he said, was way better. Lipstick had a reputation for offering friendly staff, reasonable prices, and a wide selection of beautiful ladies, minus the so called Lady-Boys. So far Rob had found it thus, and he snuggled into the ambience as the music oozed from every hidden corner of the brooding premises.
The waitress returned, leaning across him, feathering his shoulder with her breasts. “Your drink, sir.”
She lingered, as he sipped the whiskey and savoured its bite. Her fingers caressed the back of his head, playfully tousling his hair. “Anything else, sir?”
Rob smiled as desire swelled, and he surrendered willingly, inviting her to sit with him.
“Just drinks sir. You want friend? I send friend for you.”
What a tease! He wrestled his anger into submission and dismissed the waitress, with a wave of his hand. She smiled, evidently unoffended, and glided away.
Rob liked being called sir, and he loved the attention. The zing of lust which the waitress’s delicate touch had elicited was stunning. Perhaps the atmosphere was pregnant with raunchiness and ribaldry. Perhaps he was desperate and lonely. Whatever the reason for his reaction, Rob felt cheated and frustrated by the waitress. Though he knew the game well, and happily participated whenever given the chance, it could still be incredibly annoying.
He took some more whiskey and appreciated its strength whilst knowing that subsequent servings would be watered down. The main stage was deserted now, the peephole spotlight swallowed by darkness. Rob turned his attention to the crowd at the bar which dwindled as the dancing girls finished their routines and stepped down into the arms of the two men who had stuffed their respective bikini tops with the most five hundred Baht notes. He had no idea how they kept track of their earnings when their bodies were engaged in such bawdy acrobatics. Another impressive trick of their trade.
One Klong Thip chased another in pursuit of a succession of whiskeys as Rob sat and watched the next performance and then another. He pressed the side of his watch and raised it closer to eye level, struggling to read the time, then called a waitress over.
“I’d like a friend please.”
“No poplem, sir. You like table friend, short time or long time?”
“What’s a table friend?”
The waitress laughed and playfully slapped his arm. “First time you come, huh?”
Inebriation thankfully overrode irritation and embarrassment. “Yeah, first time here.”
She moved suddenly, snatching a chair and placing it beside Rob’s. With her backside perched on the edge of the chair, she pushed her face close to his. Much to his chagrin, Rob flinched which made the waitress laugh again. Such a cute titter. “I no bite you, silly man.”
“Of course not,” said Rob as he closed the distance between them once more. “You surprised me, that’s all. I thought you weren’t going to sit with me.”
Her finger was on his lips before he could utter another syllable. “You want to hear about table friend or you want blah, blah, blah?” Her free hand mimicked a sock puppet.
Rob listened attentively.
“Table friend come sit with you. Talk to you, get your drink, hold your hand and give you head job. Pay first okay, then I send friend. One thousand Baht. So cheap, huh?”
Rob’s erection was reaching for his wallet until an image of a woman’s head bobbing and banging against the underside of the table as she fellated him, caused him to cringe. That was not how he liked to do business.
“How much without the...” he felt awkward saying the word so he gestured instead, and cleared his throat.
“No charge. Just nidnoy extra for drink.” Rob was curious as to what exactly she meant by a little bit extra.
She held up two fingers in response to his question.
“Two baht?”
She laughed again, but this time it grated. “Two times.”
“Double? Forget it. No thank you.”
“Okay,” she said calmly, dressing him with her subtle disappointment. “You drink yourself, lonely boy. Bye bye.”
Rob reeled in the revelation of the table friend concept. Everywhere else he had been operated under the same rules. Only the prices varied. He knew all about short time and long time, and about bar fines. He knew that every man who walked in, accompanied or not was offered a friend. If there were enough friends to go around, he might be offered a selection. The chosen companion would come and sit with him, make small talk, listen to his problems, massage his ego, get his drinks, and maybe even dance with him a little before leading him upstairs to one of the candle lit box sized rooms for some intimate relaxation.
Fear of venereal disease, or the possibility of being robbed at gunpoint while naked had nearly always prevented Rob from going upstairs. He’d heard a story about a guy in a massage parlour in Sydney who found himself facing the barrel of a sawn off shotgun with nothing but a shrivelling penis, and an abnormal heart rate. If the planets aligned, however, and the girl had the perfect blend of all things sugar and spice, if she smelled nice and her hair was soft. If she smiled often without forcing it, and spoke in liquid whispers, then Rob could have been facing the executioners chair and he wouldn’t have given a damn. On those rare occasions he had succumbed to the feminine charms of a sex bar hostess, it had cost him nothing but a couple of thousand baht, and it had been worth every last satang.
Still, Rob grew restless, each thought laced with regret. If he didn’t want some action, then what the hell was he doing here? Some blokes crapped on about curiosity but that disingenuous line of defence would not have stood up in any barroom banter, let alone in a court of law. Certainly, no mortified wife or girlfriend would have accepted the excuse of inquisitiveness. Rob had neither of those anyway. He was here on a vacation of open ended duration with the sole intention of seeking and finding pleasure.
The salacious activity inside Lipstick flowed around Rob as though he were a resolute island of morality. He began to wonder if some of his fellow patrons were watching him, wondering why he sat alone, conjecturing about his plans, his intent, his character. Rob mocked himself when the stench of narcissism filled his nostrils. Nobody cared about him. Nobody even knew he was here, apart from the cheeky waitress, who would no doubt forget him as soon as he exited her territory. He was, in truth, a lonely boy.
“Hey, Lonely Boy.”
Rob turned to face the persistent young woman who had returned accompanied by another young lady. The latter was bereft of the sexy confidence of the waitress, and Rob suddenly felt sorry for her, and himself ill at ease at the sight of her obvious discomfort. He pulled the adjacent chair out from underneath the table, and motioned for her to sit, which she did, albeit stiffly.
“New girl for you. Feuk yap yap, no suck.”
“You want to practice talking? How much?” The insistence of Thai people who worked in hospitality, blending their broken English with Thai did not assist comprehension.
‘Just talk. Only half price. I don’t like see Lonely Boy. Kow jai na?”
“Yes, I understand.” The words thank you did not immediately follow, and by the time Rob had decided that the waitress’s gesture of good will was definitely worth some gratitude, but she had gone, and it was just Rob and the frightened girl: his table friend.
Awkward situations gained a new cynosure as Rob studied the girl and felt ashamed for doing so. Clearly, he had been duped again, and the waitress had deceived him with brilliant subterfuge. He was not going to get any value from this table friend, even at half price. These thoughts slapped his conscience, and so, unable to conceive of a way to break the deadlock, he determined to leave. He stared at the side of her head as she stared at the table. Rob lit another Klong Thip, still wavering, wanting to rescue both himself and the girl. He glanced beyond her to the stage where the spotlight had resumed its prying glare of an even less adept performer than the previous one. The bar stage was occupied with two more pole dancers, or perhaps there were the same two. Rob looked back at the girl who remained motionless. What the hell was she doing here?
“My name’s Rob. What’s yours?”
His words shattered the spell of her discomfiture. She looked up and for a fleeting moment their eyes met, before she averted her gaze.
“My name is Jam.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you?”
She turned her head, eyes lowered, and spoke in a moderately louder voice. “My name is Jam.”
“Sweet,” said Rob.
Jam said nothing more.
“You know we eat Jam in Australia?” Still nothing. “How is your English Jam?”
“Okay. I can understand you. I have troubling speaking.”
“It sounds pretty good to me.”
Rob stubbed out his Klong Thip and finished his whiskey.
“Would you like another one?” she asked.
“What in God’s name are you doing here, Jam? Surely you don’t want to be here. I mean couldn’t you do something else? Don’t you want to do something else?”
Jam smiled an infuriatingly enigmatic Thai smile. “I’ll get you another drink.”
He watched her walk away, and his mind changed gears. He no longer wanted Jam as his table friend. That was simply not going to be good enough. Not now that he had broken the ice and he sensed a miraculous and unforeseen alignment of the planets occurring high above the blanket of Bangkok’s perennial smog. There was something different about this young woman, something special.
A fleeting thought of his older brother back in Australia crossed Rob’s mind as he waited for Jam to return. He imagined his disapproval of his life and pursuit of pleasure for a moment before swatting it away as he had done so many times before.
