Khmer Police, Traffic Offences, Boxing and Beer

Khmer Police, Traffic Offences, Boxing and Beer

It is a fairly normal Sunday evening at home, normal but for one small, highly unusual, difference.

I am roaming the corridors of the flat in a mood that can only be described as ‘seriously and dangerously peevish’

It has been two days since my motorbike was stolen and I have spent most of the last 48 hours dealing with corrupt police officials, greasing palms and hinting at further payments if the bike is returned.

Not having had much joy with the forces of law and order [ha, ha] I decide to undertake my own investigation.

I quiz my neighbours, the motodops opposite, the security guards at the hotel next door, still, no joy.

So, carrying on from this I spend most of the weekend visiting dozens and dozens of bike shops, leaving them descriptions of the bike and my business card, dropping hints about reward money.

All in all, a major pain in the arse and not the way I wanted to be spending my weekend, especially in 40C plus heat.

Coupled with this, Heng is starting to add to my bad mood, she is complaining that it is my fault the bike was stolen, it is almost as if she thinks I arranged for the bike to be stolen just so that I could tell her she would have to wait for the new oven until I get a new bike.

So having had enough ‘Khmer Culture’ for the week, I tell her that I am going out for the night and that she should not expect me home anytime soon.

An hour later I am sitting in my third bar, contemplating taking the borrowed moto I was riding home and getting a motodop for the rest of the night, so I can carry on drinking, yes that is a good idea.

Leaving the bar I hang a left towards Norodom Boulevard, oops, it is a one-way street, but I am only going one block and am halfway down it before I realise, mmm should be okay…

Just as I reach the end, half a dozen Khmer police officers jump out from behind a tree and surround me – damn, busted.

As I am shuffled off to the side of the road the first police officer starts the usual dance for cash;

‘It is one-way, why you not see sign [he means the one small, unlit, no entry sign half hidden behind a tree…] you drive no good, how much you earn each month?’

So I in turn reply with the usual verbal dance steps, he then carries on to the next phase – ‘where you from, how long you stay in Cambodia, where you work, et cetera’

After about five minutes we had just gotten to the ‘can you buy me a packet of cigarettes’ part of the conversation, the part at which one usually ends up handing over 2,000r and heading off on ones way.

When suddenly, one of the other officers comes over – things were obviously not progressing fast enough for him.

With him standing about 8 inches away from me he shouts [and spits a little] directly into my face

Cop2 ‘Why you cause trouble? Why you cause trouble?’

DC ‘what?!?

Cop2 ‘you drive wrong, you not see sign, that is RECKLESS ENDANGERMENT’

DC - making a show of wiping my face with a tissue and then discarding it at his feet – I say ‘I talk to him [Cop1] you can go.’

Cop2 ‘you do wrong, now we impound your bike, you not see again, we take it from you’

DC ‘ah, no I do not think so, anyway, the bike belongs to the Minister of Fish, it is not mine, it belongs to [name minister] ’

Cop2 ‘I not believe you, you lie, why you ride his bike, why you have his bike? You lie, YOU LIE !’

At this point he is again only inches away from my nose, I am sprayed in spittle and a cloud of his bad breath. I also notice that his eyes are somewhat glassy and unfocused, oh dear.

DC ‘he lent me his bike because the police here are too FUCKING LAZY to find my bike that was stolen last week, all you police want is money from people, you are all corrupt’

Okay, maybe I was venting spleen and displacing some of my frustration at recent events towards him, but damn it, I have my limits. Of course, had I been thinking straight, I would have realised that any Khmer comfortable enough to have used the phrase ‘reckless endangerment’ spoke good enough English to follow my above rant.

Cop2 ‘[screams something I could not follow in Khmer]

DC ‘WHAT did you say ?

This was the point where things really went beyond everyone’s control. At this point both of Cop2’s arms piston out and his palms slap full force into my chest.

DC ‘you f*$< ing cv^’

Cop2 then repeats the move, attempting to shove me over the back of the bike, so I stand up.

Cop2 then grabs the back collar of my shirt and tries to drag me of the bike sideways, again, screaming in Khmer too fast for me to follow.

As I am half off the bike, with one foot now on the pavement I swing my other leg over the bike, as my momentum increases, a red mist fills my vision, Cop2 has just smacked me in the ear.
Two seconds later, the red vale lifts from my vision and I realise that there is a throbbing pain between my second and third knuckles on my right hand. As my vision comes back into focus, I see Cop2 laying in the pavement, flat on his back, with blood streaming from his freshly broken nose.

Time stood still, I stared at him for what felt like an hour, but in reality must have been only 4 or 5 seconds.
My only thoughts at this time were; ‘that will teach you, you prick’ and ‘oh my god, I am going to die on this street corner, right here, right now’

The next thing that I knew, another Khmer police officer was besides me, pushing me towards my bike saying ‘go, go, go, go, go.’ Swiftly mounting my bike I see the gold braids on this guys shoulder, he is the boss of this little gang of highway robbers, he obviously wants nothing more than for this to all disappear quickly.

Swiftly riding two blocks up, one right, one left, two right and pulling to a stop outside a bar I quickly dismount and rush inside to the safety with numbers and witnesses - not too mention a cold beer or three.

I quickly reported in with several friends, making sure that several people knew what had happened and where, just in case anything further came of it all

So far, all has been well.