Subscriber Newsletter #03

Bangkok tales of caution: mafia-run clubs and befriending violent gangsters.

For this month’s newsletter edition, let us take a break from the misery of the present’s fear, uncertainty, and doubt. Instead, I shall regale you with two stories of misadventure in Bangkok many moons ago. Names have been changed to protect identities.

Woe betide anyone who missteps, misjudges, or miscalculates the inherent risks of the Bangkok night machine. The city never sleeps. It can be a place of ephemeral beauty. Noise, bright lights, chaos, bodies swaying to the beat, hardcore base from monster-sized speakers vibrating your organs as you lose yourself in the rave…

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Mafia Clubs

Most young arrivals in Bangkok are taken in by the bright lights. The party scene is something to go through, to get out of your system. The ageing foreigners that never get out of it, are the worn-out looking old men who can be seen propping up the bars of Sukhumvit at 9am on any given day.

After the mainstream clubs shut up shop at circa 2am, there are plentiful options for the party seeker. The year was 2014. I had only been back in the city two weeks after living in England.

My friend Craig had just broken up with his girlfriend and was acting the fool. He was being confrontational and aggressive towards bar staff, as I attempted to manage his emotions and babysit a wayward lost soul. He dragged me to a mafia-run club, which shall remain nameless. It was a notoriously sketchy venue. Upon entry, there was a sign that read “no weapons allowed”. A small one-manned cubie-hole beneath the sign revealed a metal pull—out basket, where patrons handed over their ‘tools’ for safekeeping. To my shock and amazement, Craig took out a knuckle duster from the back pocket of his jeans and placed it in the basket. We gleaned metal telescopic coshes, flick-knifes, and small firearms.

I felt in over my head but pressed on out of misguided solidarity for my solemn friend, who wanted to drink to forget.

We got talking to a group of girls which led to bigger rounds of drinks being ordered all round. The bartenders provided table service, with waiting staff attentively bringing the drinks over on trays. The waiter arrived with our beers, handing the bill to Craig, prompting him to pay up there and then in cash. Craig scrutinised the bill, before announcing that it was incorrect, as too many beers had been tagged on. When the waiter asked to see the bill, Craig drunkenly responded by taunting him, holding the handwritten scrap of paper just out of reach, then hiding it behind his back, laughing maniacally.

We watched the waiter storm off, furious at having ‘lost face’ owing to Craig’s poor behaviour and uncalled for rudeness. A few minutes later the waiter returned, angrily pointing at Craig, his face apoplectic with rage; he was accompanied by two huge burly bouncers. The bouncers promptly hooked their reach underneath Craig’s armpits, dragging him off backwards towards the fire exit. I was not manhandled. Still, I chose to follow Craig out of loyalty to my friend, being concerned for what might happen to him.