
We finally find out why Izzy risked life and limb at the jungle drug den. He’s in need of a man long on subterfuge but short on scruples. A man like Supermao.
“We should find a bar and become regulars.” Declared my companion, the aptly named Deliliah, as we hopped off our wheezing Fanta orange motor-bike just as a dust storm started gathering across the Mekong. Despite the exposed nature of the riverfront bar, which allowed the dust pellets swirling in from Thailand to start bruising our…