The Night at the Opium Den

My name is Derek Wirth. I am an engineer for a major software company. I am here in Bangkok on business. My company sent me to Thailand to give them an assessment of a software product from one of our major competitors, as we are considering entering a joint venture with them in the near future.

Upon arriving in Thailand, I was met at the airport by Rasha. During my stay in Bangkok, Rasha was to be my guide. His assignment was to show me around and be my interpreter. I told Rasha that I wanted to experience the nightlife in Bangkok and left it up to his discretion where our first outing should be. Little did I know that I would end up in an Opium den!  The den was situated in a narrow back alley near the waterfront.  Outside in the front, people were lying on the street, and several scantily clad women were slinking about in the darkness under the illuminated streetlamps looking for work. Near the front door, the place reeked of urine and spoiled garbage that hadn’t been taken away. Not a very fun or safe place to be at 2 a.m. 

Once inside, I was taken aback at how dark the room was and that the only light came from several lanterns of all shapes and sizes, haphazardly hung from the ceiling. The air was filled with smoke. Throughout the den were several jade-cut tables and brightly colored couches with red and purple linens billowing from the ceiling and hanging down on the walls.

As we stood there waiting to be seated, a rather portly older gentleman, whom I assumed was the owner, came up to us. Without uttering a word, he quickly motioned us to follow him and ushered us to a table on the far side of the den. I was intrigued when I looked down at the table and saw a large hookah in the middle of it.  We sat down.

As I continued to look around, I noticed the crowd consisted mostly of older men smoking their pipes. They all appeared to be strung out. The thick smoke that was in the air produced a strong, pungent odor and had a rather sweet honey-like fragrance to it. It was so thick; I could almost taste it.

Being the only white male in the den, I stood out like a sore thumb. I wouldn’t have been permitted to even enter the den if I hadn’t been accompanied by Rasha. As we were sitting there, a steady parade of shady-looking characters walked by and looked me up and down…it was as though I didn’t belong in the den, and they felt that I had no right be there.

A rather worn, hardened-looking woman with no teeth came to our table and asked us what our pleasure would be. Rasha interpreted for me, and we ordered some drinks. I hadn’t yet made up my mind if I was going to enjoy the hookah and smoke opium or not, however, the whole ambiance and atmosphere of the place captivated and excited me, as there was nothing like this back home in the States.

As I was sitting there, I was beginning to enjoy myself and take it all in…that was…. until a fight broke out!

At the back of the den, three men began screaming at each other. I had no idea what they were saying. I got up to go to the bathroom and walked the long way around, hoping to avoid them. The next thing I knew, gunshots rang out, and before I realized what was happening, one of the men grabbed me and put a knife up to my throat. Paralyzed with fear, I could feel the sharpness of the knife begin to pierce my skin.

More gunshots rang out, and people everywhere were dropping like flies…one by one to the ground. I looked up and saw that a trail of blood was leading across the floor all the way to the front door as one man grabbed another and, in an attempt, to pull him out the door.

The men dragged me along with two other men outside and threw us down into a pile of boxes and half-eaten garbage.

“You American?” one of them barked at me.  I was so shaken up; I could barely nod my head to say yes. I heard them talking to each other but couldn’t understand what they were saying…I began to think about my wife and how I would give anything to talk to her one last time. I wondered if I was ever going to see her again. A cloth sack was put over my head, my hands were tied, and I was shoved in the trunk of some sort of vehicle and transported to another location.

For the next several hours, I was beaten and interrogated. They wanted to know who I was, what I was doing in Bangkok, and how much money they would be paid for my release.

They had also abducted Rasha. Since I didn’t know the language, Rasha had to speak for me. He let our captors know that I was not a state official. That I was merely a businessman from the United States. Once they found out that I was a nobody and no money would be paid, they became even angrier, and the beatings got harder and more brutal. This time, they broke my jaw and dislocated my shoulder.

It wasn’t long before I lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself lying in the street next to a lamppost. I didn’t know how long I had been out, but a young couple saw me and called the police. An ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital. I found out later that they had thankfully let Rasha go since he was local.

“What the hell just happened to me?” I thought. I ended up spending two days in the hospital before I was released. I got in touch with my boss back in the States. He immediately arranged for a flight home for me, however, there was a delay as all flights to the States were full and they had to wait until a seat became available.

Lucky for me, the next day, my boss called and said that a flight had come through with an open seat. After hanging up with my boss, I immediately called my wife, Rochelle, to let her know that I would be flying home later that night. I hadn’t shared with her what had happened to me while on this trip. That was the kind of news that needed to be shared face to face. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of my hotel room. It was Rasha. He had come to apologize and say goodbye to me. I asked him in, and as we talked, we commiserated about my terrible experience in Thailand. “Bad things happen late at night,” Rasha said. “I should never have taken you to that den. I am so sorry.”

Since my flight didn’t take off until later that evening, Rasha wanted to treat me to an early last meal at one of his favorite little restaurants. We left the hotel together and headed to the restaurant. Once there, we were seated, I was perusing the menu, which happened to also be in English, and looked up for a moment across the table. I couldn’t believe my eyes…It looked as though the three guys who had beaten me were sitting only a few tables away. I got up to act like I was going to the bathroom so I could get a closer look and be sure. Yes! These were the same guys who took me hostage and left me on the street to rot!

I told Rasha that I would be right back. Rasha began to get out of his chair to accompany me, but I insisted that he remain at our table and order our food. Instead of recoiling in fear and leaving the restaurant, an insatiable urge for vengeance overtook me. My mind began to fill with rage over what had happened. I went berserk with anger. All I wanted to do was to get even and seek revenge!

After reasoning with myself, I realized that this was a matter for the police. I went back to the table and asked Rasha to take me to the nearest police station. On the way over, I shared with Rasha what I had seen…the same three men that had beaten me were now sitting in the restaurant laughing and having a good time…as though they didn’t have a care in the world.

Once we arrived at the police station, Rasha interpreted and explained to the clerk at the front desk what I was there for. We sat down on a hard, beat-up wooden bench and waited to be summoned. A stern-looking woman came out and escorted us to a small, dank, musty room that I assume was used for interrogations. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, A middle-aged detective walked in, cup of coffee in hand, and sat down across from me.  Fortunately for me, he was fluent in English and asked me what it was that brought me there. I began to share the horrific chain of events that happened to me over the last few days. After listening to my story, he took a sip of his coffee and then just stared at me for what seemed to be an uncomfortable amount of time. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally said there was nothing much the police could do to help. He advised me to go back home to the States and forget about what happened.

The detective’s parting words to me were, “It’s pretty much fair game in those opium dens. A lot of bad things happen there.  Have a good trip home.”

Hearing these detectives’ flippant words caused me to seethe with anger and emotion. How dare he be so cavalier after what I have gone through…I was nearly murdered, and he sits there like some schlub with his cup of coffee and couldn't care less!

“There’s no going back now,” I thought. 

I was so consumed with anger that I reached across the table and pulled the detective’s gun right out of its holster. I ran out of the room, down the steps, and out of the building. I kept running down the street with everything I had to keep going. There were sirens and police cars in hot pursuit…they were in hot pursuit of me! I finally reached the restaurant…my adrenaline was so high that it seemed to be boiling over. I didn’t realize how much I was panting from the eight-block run from the police station to the restaurant. Once inside, I saw that the three men were still there. Without hesitation, I walked up to their table and began to shoot. I killed the first one and severely injured the other two as they were attempting to flee.

I looked down, and the one who was dead just stared back at me with a cold, lifeless stare. The other two men were screaming and writhing in pain as blood began to ooze from their bodies. Before I could finish them off, the police busted through the front doors…I threw the gun down on the floor and attempted to escape out the back. Finally, I was outnumbered, and I could run no more. The police handcuffed me and shoved me into the back of their car…for some reason, I didn’t care. It was as if I weren’t even in my own body but was watching all of this unfold from the sidelines. Those men violated me, and now I had the satisfaction that one of them was dead and the other two were severely wounded and would probably die. I wanted them to suffer the way they made me suffer!

Sitting cramped in the back of the police car, I couldn’t help but think of the prophetic line… “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord…I shall repay”. Well…I felt that today in spades, I did God’s work by taking matters into my own hands.

Once back at the police station, I was booked and transferred to a maximum-security prison. I was put into a cell block that housed the most violent criminals, and this is where I sit today.

No one can possibly predict what’s going to happen in their life.

In my case, my anger and emotions got the best of me and ultimately led to my incarceration.

Would I do it all over again? Would I walk away from the beatings and broken bones? I now wish that I had exercised restraint instead of going into a fit of rage. Likely, I won’t see my wife again unless she comes to Thailand. Since I didn’t make that flight home, the one phone call I was allowed to make was made to her. I had to share the news with her about what happened to me. To say she is devastated and destroyed beyond repair would be the biggest understatement of the year. What I regret the most is that I hurt her and ruined our marriage. She didn’t deserve that.

All in all, it comes down to the fact that I did what had to be done, and with it came dire consequences.

The only consolation I have is knowing that I meted out justice in my own way. These guys won’t hurt anyone…ever again!