Near Port Selao
It’s strange to interview a man you know only as the Jackal. In person, he doesn’t really answer to any name. He is forever anonymous when you’re in his presence. And it’s not just in name. We sat in a small café different from our previous meeting place. Near the back, we had enough privacy to conduct an interview without busy eavesdropping.
Thirty minutes into the interview, a waiter asked if I needed a refill. I said yes and gestured to the Jackal to see if he wanted more. Before he could respond, the waiter gasped aloud, “Oh I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there.”
The Jackal kept such a low profile to the point that he was invisible even to the waiter. Was he hidden in a dark corner, hidden behind a potted plant? No and no. He sat with his back against the wall, but he’s a very still man. He has chameleon qualities, disappearing into the fabric of a room.
He has promised me one final interview. I asked what he planned after that, but his reply was as vague as his convictions have been sure; “Probably get drunk on some skiff in Bangkok”.