Village Police Sergeant Ookum was contemplating his next case on a hammock strung between two wooden posts. Phosy prodded him awake. Sergeant Ookum focused, smiled, and said, “Hey, man. What’s up?”

Phosy helped him out of his attitude and his hammock with a sound kick. The sergeant seemed more irked than censured.

“You remember me?” Phosy asked.

“Sure,” said Ookum. “You’re the guy who trained us in Vientiane.”

“That’s correct. But since then I’ve become the chief inspector of police.”

“Wow, man. Congratulations.”

Phosy shook his head, went to the only desk in the kiosk, and opened the top drawer. A small arsenal of joints was lined up in two ranks.

“Are you high?” Phosy asked.

“Only high with the honor of representing the Royal National Police Force in the execution of its duty,” said Ookum, and decorated the sentiment with a jaunty salute.

“You do know there’s been nothing royal since ’75?” said Jiep. Phosy was pleased that the young officer had the confidence to speak up.

“Oh, yeah. Right. It slips my mind sometimes.”

“I need you down off your cloud for a while to answer some questions,” said Phosy.

“I’m totally off it, General. Ask away.”

“Captain Sihot.”

“Lovely man.”

“Where is he?”

“He went back to Vientiane the day after he arrived.”

“You saw him leave?”

“Not with my eyes, you know? But he said he’d be leaving then and I had no reason to doubt him. He seemed honest.”

“Did you accompany him on his investigation?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did he tell you why he was here?”

“Yeah, that I know for sure. He wanted a guide.”

“Did you find him one?”

“You’re damned right I did, General. Ouan down at the old resort. Public service is my creed. No job too difficult.”

Vang Vieng was something of a ghost village. Close to midday there was nobody on the dirt tracks. Dogs scratched in the shade of huge water jars. The taxi passed a deserted construction site with a sign in front that read Happy Guest House to be built here. The owner was obviously gambling that one day there might be a rush of foreign tourists discovering this Eden. Phosy hoped, with little confidence, that his Lao brothers and sisters might keep their mouths shut, forget tourism and profits, and leave the pretty views to the locals. As Civilai used to say, tourism had a way of deleting all the wonders that attracted it in the first place.

“And what did you learn from our encounter with the local police person?” Phosy asked Jiep as they drove through the village.

“He was high, sir, on duty.”

“He certainly was, boy. And why didn’t he know anything about the case?”

“Because Captain Sihot wasn’t confident enough to share the details with a stoner?”

“You’re quite right again,” Phosy said with a nod. “Which is why he asked for a guide. Someone hopefully more reliable.”

“And you’ll fire the sergeant?”

“Not at all. Police boxes all over the country are run by Sergeant Ookums and worse. Eventually, we’ll replace them, but there are good points. The sergeant was at his post, he was in some version of his uniform, and there was a bicycle parked outside.”