Private Dancer by Stephen Leather (.pdf

"Let me tell you about Thais, Pete," said Bruce, patting me on the back.
"Sometimes you think you're in trouble when you're really not. And sometimes when
you think everything is hunky dory, you're in so much shit they’ll need a submarine to
find you. Nothing is as it seems, grasshopper.”
BRUCE
I meant what I said about Thais. They're easy to rub up the wrong way, but if you
handle them right, they're genuinely nice people. Take taxi drivers, for instance. The
first time I came to Bangkok, I was always getting into arguments with them. They'd
either get lost or not want to take me or they'd refuse to use the meter. Now I can
speak a little Thai and I understand them a bit more. For one thing, Bangkok's huge,
with twice as many people as London, and for another, the road naming and
numbering system is crazy. Roads meander all over the place and at times the
numbering of houses seems almost random. It's not like England where the houses on
one side are consecutive odd numbers with the even numbers on the other side. In
Bangkok the numbers relate to the plot of land, so unless you know exactly where
you're going, it's dead easy to get lost. And maps aren't part of Thai culture, either.
Most people haven't a clue how to relate a map to their surroundings. You never see
Thais using them. Now I almost never get into confrontations with taxi drivers
because I know how to handle them.
Take last week for example. My car was in for a service so I was using taxis to get
around. I was on the outskirts of the city and it was close to rush hour and the first
four cabs I stopped just didn't want to go to Sukhumvit. I knew why: at rush hour it
can lock up solid. Anyway, I got into the fifth taxi that stopped and told him in
English where I wanted to go. Then I sat looking out of the window, ignoring his
protests. Okay, so eventually he starts driving. Half an hour later, the car judders to a
halt. He starts up again, we drive a few hundred feet, and we shudder and stop again.
"Car no good," he says.
I lean forward and watch as he starts the car again. The engine stalls. Why?
Because the bugger's slipping his foot off the clutch, that's why. I don't say anything,
because Thais hate criticism. Loss of face and all that. He gets out of the car,
muttering to himself, and lifts up the bonnet. Stands looking at the engine and shaking
his head. I tell you, this guy was the Robert De Niro of taxi drivers. Oscar material.
He fumbles with the battery leads, mutters again, then slams the bonnet shut. He
opens the passenger door for me. "Car no good," he says, sincerity dripping from
every pore. "I get new taxi for you. Sorry."
So I get out of the taxi and he walks to the back and starts trying to flag down
another cab. Now, I know full well what's going on here. He plans to get a taxi to
stop, then he'll tell the driver to keep me talking while he drives off. Then taxi driver
number two will refuse to take me, and he'll drive off as well, leaving me stranded. I
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