Cambodian Book of the Dead by Tom Vater Page A

dive spots all the time. There are hundreds of wrecks down there. And every year, more and more tourists come here. The first real beach resort only just opened. That’s Tep’s of course.”
    â€œAnd what else does Tep do?” Maier asked, his eyes recovering behind a pair of mirror shades.
    Pete shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Yeah, I agree, mate, that didn’t look too cool last night. It was well ugly. But luckily, this kind of thing doesn’t happen too often. Almost never.” The Englishman must have noticed a shadow of doubt cross Maier’s face. “It was virtually self-defence.”
    Maier smiled. “Virtually.”
    Carissa laughed throatily. “The boy shot the bald guy in the back, Pete. Only in Cambodia is this called self-defence, and only if you know the right people and have sacks full of cash.”
    â€œYou were always very principled, babe. You know exactly how things stand and fall here. In a small dump like Kep everyone knows and respects the boss. Otherwise you can’t run a business or do anything. In Cambodia, you need good connections and a strong will to live.”
    Carissa, resigned boredom painted across her face, shrugged lazily.
    â€œAlways the same excuses. And you screw the taxi girls because you are really humane employers who believe in equal opportunities and don’t want to see them exploited by Gap in the garment factories.”
    Pete stopped concentrating on his beans for a moment and winked at Maier. “Some get bitter as they get older. Others realise what they’ve missed. Life’s a short and meaningless trip crammed with suffering and emptiness. I knew that when I was five years old. You don’t need the Buddha to realise that. I think it’s best to fish for as much money and pussy as possible. Come on, babe, Carissa, you’re not so different.”
    The journalist rolled her eyes in silence and lit a crinkled joint she had fished out of her handbag. How quickly you get used to the small rituals of friends, Maier thought.
    â€œDoes Tep have enough connections upstairs in the government to suppress the incident in the Heart completely?”
    â€œYeah, he does. He’s got a few old mates in government. The bald playboy in the Armani suit went mad on drugs and shot himself. There are witnesses who swear he took a bunch of pills before he pulled his gun, put it to his chest and pulled the trigger. Over and over, apparently. That ketamine is strong.”
    â€œThen I don’t have a real story. Just a suicide on drugs won’t do,” Carissa complained.
    The Englishman grinned at her.
    â€œNo you don’t, unless you want a shed load of trouble.”
    â€œSo what else does your influential friend do?”
    â€œTep’s a businessman. He knows he can’t be too greedy. He needs us foreigners as much as we need him. And unfortunately the country also needs can-do guys like Tep. Together we create employment opportunities. And not just for taxi girls, as Carissa likes to think.”
    â€œThis doesn’t really answer my question.”
    â€œYou’re a pretty curious type, Maier. Normally the Krauts are a bit more reticent.”
    Maier let the remark pass, almost.
    â€œBefore I invest anything here, I want to know how much disappears in the quicksand. And that didn’t look too good last night. I have read good things about Kep, but I have also heard good things about Koh Samui in Thailand.”
    Pete relaxed, pushed his plate away, lit an Ara and laughed drily. “Maier. Don’t be so German, so pessimistic. Come down to the coast and meet my partner, Rolf. He’s just as much a true human being as you two, and still, he’s happy. And anyway, people shoot each other on Samui all the time. Every month, people go AWOL and are found later, half-eaten and drifting in the Gulf. I know, cause most of them are countrymen of mine. That’s how it is in these