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    A Burglar In Malay
    A Burglar In Malay
    A Burglar In Malay
    Ebook44 pages38 minutes

    A Burglar In Malay

    By Kurt Dysan

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    About this ebook

    When Jay tracks down Stacey in a small Malaysian resort town, he learns that she has the sapphire ring he came to find. She also has a sexy body and a willingness to use it to convince him to become an accessory to her plan to rob a merchant's house. The ring, sex and curiosity lure Jay into exploring the possibilities with the Malaysian whore as his only backup if things go wrong.

    ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

    It was desperately hot when the train finally arrived at the station. It was a fast stop, just long enough to let the handful of departing passengers get to the platform and get our luggage before it pulled away, making its rattling train noises. My tee shirt was soaked through and stuck to my skin. It probably hadn't been wise to wear black, but we do strange things for fashion.

    A hot and intermittent wind gave no relief from the heat even in the shade. It whipped lackadaisically at the tattered plastic roof of a pathetic little market that sat in the yellow dust between the train station and the road. Even from the station platform I could see that the market offered nothing I wanted or needed; it would be even hotter inside. The stalls at the periphery offered piles of pungent Durian and fly-blown fish. There might be more and nicer things inside, but I wanted to keep moving. Besides what did I really need? I had eaten some fried rice on the train. There would be restaurants later or at least a house willing to provide a meal. I had my computer, which I wouldn't use until I was certain of an electrical supply (the batteries were getting old) and a small bag with worn clothing. I kept my documents and money, except for a few dollars' worth of Malaysian ringgit in a pouch under my shirt where I hoped they would stay safe.

    Staying safe was a good thing when you could manage it.

    It seemed there were two ways to get up the mountain to the town I was headed for. The fast and comfortable way would be to hire a private car. The other was a rickety old bus that reminded me of a particularly bad year in grade school. But the bus was cheap and one was leaving soon so I got on board. Through the open window of the bus I bought a plastic bag of some kind of drink that turned out to be sugar cane juice. It was far too sweet to ever be my first choice in beverages, but it cut through the dust and I was glad for it.

    The ride up the mountain was excruciating. If the bus had ever had a suspension it had given up the ghost long ago. The road was mostly unpaved and at points seemed too narrow for the bus and this was a two way road. We often were passed by cars honking loudly as they hurtled down the mountain at speeds ranging from dangerously stupid to suicidal. Assuming some were the hire cars made me think the bus had been a good choice.

    When we finally arrived, I wanted to get a shower more than almost anything in the world. Sweat made my skin sticky. Finding the estate agent I had contacted was easy as the bus stopped almost squarely in front of it. I went in and found a thin young Western woman at the desk. The light caught her hair, showing reddish highlights.

    "Help you?" she asked, her words heavy with a thick Aussie accent.

    "I emailed about a cheap month-to-month rental."

    "Gotcha," she said. She opened a desk drawer and took out a ring of keys. "Ms. Jones didn't leave a message about it, but there is just the one. Let's go look at it."

    "I'm Stacey," she said as we walked to the rental. "I work mornings here but haven't done so long."

    "Glad to meet you Stacey. I am Jay Adams," I told her. And I was definitely glad to meet her. I had expected it would take some effort to locate her.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBoruma Publishing, LLC
    Release dateAug 18, 2018
    ISBN9780463517529
    Author

    Kurt Dysan

    Kurt Dysan gets to the existential heart of human motivation, probing the emotional triggers that drive people from the beaten path and exploring the consequences of actions many of us think about but never actually take. Kurt writes and travels the world, especially lurking about Asia, keeping a much lower profile than his characters. You won't find him on Facebook or Twitter.

    Read more from Kurt Dysan

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      Book preview

      A Burglar In Malay - Kurt Dysan

      A Burglar in Malay

      Kurt Dysan

      Copyright © 2012 Kurt Dysan

      All rights reserved

      This story takes place in a fictional town that is, quite naturally, based on the author's impression of a real place visited long, long ago. If the descriptions strike a chord, make you think of a place you know, please accept that this isn't quite that place. Similarly, the characters are entirely fictional. If they resemble you or someone you know that is purely a coincidence—a sad coincidence at that.

      Ipoh, Malaysia

      It was desperately hot when the train finally arrived at the station. It was a fast stop, just long enough to let the handful of departing passengers get to the platform and get our luggage before it pulled away, making its rattling train noises. My tee shirt was soaked through and stuck to my skin. It probably hadn't been wise to wear black, but we do strange things for fashion.

      A hot and intermittent wind gave no relief from the heat even in the shade. It whipped lackadaisically at the tattered plastic roof of a pathetic little market that sat in the yellow dust between the train station and the road. Even from the station platform I could see that the market offered nothing I wanted or needed; it would be even hotter inside. The stalls at the periphery offered piles of pungent Durian and fly-blown fish. There might be more and nicer things inside, but I wanted to keep moving. Besides what did I really need? I had eaten some fried rice on the train. There would be restaurants later or at least a house willing to provide a meal. I had my computer, which I wouldn't use until I was certain of an electrical supply (the batteries were getting old) and a small bag with worn clothing. I kept my documents and money, except for a few dollars' worth of Malaysian ringgit in a pouch under my shirt where I hoped they would stay safe.

      Staying safe was a good thing when you could manage it.

      It seemed there were two ways to get up the mountain to the town I was headed for. The fast and comfortable way would be to hire a private car. The other was a rickety old bus that reminded me of a particularly bad year in grade school. But the bus was cheap and one was leaving soon so I got on board. Through the open window of the bus I bought a plastic bag of some kind of drink that turned out to be sugar cane juice. It was far too sweet to ever be my first choice in beverages, but it cut through the dust and I was glad for it.

      The ride up the mountain was excruciating. If the bus had ever had a suspension it had given up the ghost long ago. The road was mostly unpaved and at points seemed too narrow for the bus and this was a two way road. We often were passed by cars honking loudly as they hurtled

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