Dodgy slum ventures

‘Can you buy a drink for Ball? He’s pacing up and down like a wild thing,’ said his mother.

She called me at work.

‘I have run up a tab at a shop close to here...B300-400 on beers for him,’ she said.

‘When I call, you don’t answer. Today you dropped in, but stayed just a second,’ she complained.

Mum sounds desperate. She is running out of money, having to borrow just to buy the family food.

‘If you agree to pay, I will put two beers on the tab and you can give me the money when you visit next,’ she said.

I dropped in earlier in the day, but after seeing the foul look which Ball’s girlfriend Jay gave me, quickly left for home again.

Mum is in trouble financially as a result of a business venture she has entered.

It might just be a temporary thing, but it could also be a sign of bad news to
come.

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Mum has bought a second-hand pick-up truck for B170,000, and is now involved in a venture selling cut-price petrol.

She bought it by exchanging her gold for cash at a pawnshop.

Earlier, she had contemplated borrowing the money from a finance company, and asked me to help raise the money she needed for a deposit.

I said no, so she went ahead and traded in her gold.

I did not know Mum had so much money hanging around her neck. I knew she owned a Volvo, parked up somewhere for want of a battery.

That should have alerted me to the fact the woman has money, even if she chooses to spend little of it on her own home, which is a tip.

I failed to pick up the signs. She is asset-rich, but cash poor.

I should have listened to carer R, all those months ago, when he said: 'Don't worry about Ball. His mother has money...she just chooses not to give her kids any of it.'

I think now of the times she has asked me for help buying this or that small household item, and feel annoyed.

The cash she needs to keep her family going from day to day wasn’t there, but that might be because she lost it in gambling, or had lent it to someone. Who knows? Meanwhile, she lives in a freehold home, and owned gold worth at least B170,000.

'I traded in amost everything to raise money for the truck, as I don't want to be in debt,' she said.

If I gave her money, it was for useful things such as paying for a phone top-up when Ball started a new job; or helping buy new work clothes for him.

None of the jobs last, because Ball does not like being told what to do. He took up a job recently at an insurance firm, but lasted just two days there.

He walked out after getting into an argument with an insurance salesman – a mere desk jockey, little more elevated in social status than Ball himself.

Since then he has been unemployed.

I find it hard to get excited now when he tells me he has found a new job, because I suspect he does not really want it.

I doubt I will help pay for his work clothes again, unless I should succumb to some new bout of pity towards him or his mother, and part with money even when I know I shouldn’t.

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Ball's girlfriend Jay is unhappy about my frequent visits to their home, Ball tells me.

She has asked about the gay thing, and why I am hanging around.

However, Ball has assured Jay that I am just lonely and in need of a friend.

'In fact, the farang hopes that you and I will have kids one day,' he told her.

After hearing that, Jay was reassured about my intentions, he said.

Ball and I met outside his home for a quiet beer in a basketball court on the outskirts of the slum.

Earlier, we joined a drinking circle at his place, comprising his mother and her friends.

Ball did not enjoy their company, as he prefers to sit alone, or with me.

The atmosphere improved when mum's guests left, as it was just his family, me, and the kids at play.

But Ball wanted another quiet one so I met him outside on the basketball court - the first time we have taken a drink together outside his place since carer R, owner of the ya dong stand where we first met, left for the provinces months ago.

‘You have been good to me, buying me drinks even when I don't have the money,' Ball told me.

I wanted to hear something about how I was a supportive friend, too, but it didn't come. Maybe that would be expecting too much.

Half an hour later, Jay turned up. She scolded him for sneaking out.

Ball persuaded Jay to join us on the bench seat. They started cuddling, which made me feel out of place, so I left them to it.

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Mum bought the truck by exchanging her gold for cash at a pawn shop. Now she wants to take the ownership papers to a finance company which she hopes will lend her money to get herself back into her gambling circle.

At the moment, she can't play to her heart's desire, because her capital is tied up in the pick-up.

A few days ago, she sounded me out about a loan. Once again, I shall say no.

A sneaky tattooed worm of a man started turning up at her place about the time she decided to buy the truck. His name is Kung.

Kung hires the truck from Mum every day to pursue a petrol venture in which she is his silent partner.

He buys cheap petrol from truck drivers, who call him when they have something to sell.

In Mum's truck, he travels to meet them, takes delivery of the petrol, and the next day sells it to petrol stations. The difference in price is his profit.

He employs youngest son Beer to lift the petrol into the back of the truck.

After truckies call, Kung borrows the money he needs from Mum to pay them. I have seen her pull huge wads of cash from her purse, which she hands over to Kung.

He goes to see them the same night, and the exchange takes place.

He pays Mum B500 a day for use of the truck, and wages for Mr B. Ownership of the pickup truck is in Mum's name.

Sound dodgy? I suspect the truck drivers are slyly selling their boss's petrol on the side and pocketing the proceeds. We will see.