5th
The Evil Creatures Southeast Asian Tour Diary, Part 1
By D. Sykes
Strange Missives…Mysteries of Phnom Penh…A Suitcase Full of Drugs and Money
Our plane touched down in Phnom Penh in the midst of a torrential rainstorm—it was coming down sideways, in great icy dollops the size of cocktail onions. Cassidy Anderson, Warsame Awale, and I, weak from the nineteen hour flight and reeking of scotch from the duty-free store in the airport, stumbled out of the tiny hired plane, a renovated military job leftover from Air America’s last gasp in ‘75. It had been reserved for us by a mysterious investor, intent for some reason on booking us a tour through the jungles and bright cities of Southeast Asia. He had refused to communicate with us through any method other than telegram until the day a private investigator named Phineas Kimball arrived at our practice space, bearing a tape-recorded message and a check for fifteen thousand dollars.
The message informed us that we were to leave by chartered plane immediately. We would be met as soon as we arrived by a local promoter called Trinh.
As we unloaded our gear—we had had no time to pack other necessities like drugs and clothing—he sidled up alongside us, eyes masked by gold-rimmed aviators despite the very late hour. He must’ve been over three hundred pounds despite his 5’4” frame, and his round, scarred face was topped by a greasy Elvis cut. He spoke no English, but he was somehow capable of communicating with us via text message, a disturbing and rare habit that would cost me something like thirty dollars in additional phone bill fees over the next few days.
He brought us to a seedy motel on the edge of town, with a tiny lobby bar full of diminutive prostitutes, traveling businessmen, and giant tropical flowers. Over fishbowl margaritas his furious thumbs described our near future— we would be driven by bus the next day, at precisely noon, to meet our local drummer and keyboardist for a brief rehearsal. Afterwards we would play the first gig of a three-night stint at Cambodia’s largest amphitheater, the Jade Dragon.
“all yr xpenses will b taken care of,” he texted.
“u will not want for nothing.”
Before he left he took a small alligator-skin suitcase and opened it before us. Inside was six thousand dollars worth of Cambodian riel, a map of our tour route through Thailand, Laos, and Burma, and a large glass jar full of blue-and-pink capsules. They appeared to be local pharmaceutical methamphetamines. He stared at us with an odd mixture of distaste and respect for a brief moment, and disappeared into the lonely night.
We drew straws to decide who would get the one hooker who didn’t look like she’d slit our throats or give us some weird and new strain of syphilis. Warsame won, and I spent a sleepless night in my roach-infested room, scraping the juice out of some poppies I found growing in the parking lot under the blazing fluorescent lights.
