Bangkok 8 (Sonchai Jitpleecheep Series #1)

Bangkok 8 (Sonchai Jitpleecheep Series #1)

4.2 38
by John Burdett

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A thriller with attitude to spare, Bangkok 8 is a sexy, razor-edged, often darkly hilarious novel set in one of the world’s most exotic cities.

Witnessed by a throng of gaping spectators, a charismatic Marine sergeant is murdered under a Bangkok bridge inside a bolted-shut Mercedes Benz. Among the witnesses are the only two cops in the city not on…  See more details below


A thriller with attitude to spare, Bangkok 8 is a sexy, razor-edged, often darkly hilarious novel set in one of the world’s most exotic cities.

Witnessed by a throng of gaping spectators, a charismatic Marine sergeant is murdered under a Bangkok bridge inside a bolted-shut Mercedes Benz. Among the witnesses are the only two cops in the city not on the take, but within moments one is murdered and his partner, Sonchai Jitpleecheep—a devout Buddhist and the son of a Thai bar girl and a long-gone Vietnam War G.I.—is hell-bent on wreaking revenge. On a vigilante mission to capture his partner’s murderer, Sonchai is begrudgingly paired with a beautiful FBI agent named Jones and captures her heart in the process. In a city fueled by illicit drugs and infinite corruption, prostitution and priceless art, Sonchai’s quest for vengeance takes him into a world much more sinister than he could have ever imagined.

From the Trade Paperback edition.

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Editorial Reviews
The Barnes & Noble Review
This street-smart thriller set in the mean streets of Bangkok features Detective Sonchai Jitpleecheep, son of a former Thai bar girl and a long-gone American G.I. An aspiring Buddhist monk with a druggie past he doesn't disavow, Jitpleecheep loves examining human nature and metaphysics, but he is truly enlightened when it comes to the internationally notorious, seamy, and seedy sides of Bangkok. Author John Burdett opens the proceedings in spectacular fashion with the stunningly horrific murder of an American marine. When Jitpleecheep's partner and soul brother is killed -- by a doped cobra -- minutes into the investigation, the mellow detective's mission to solve the crime becomes both personal and spiritual. He vows to avenge his partner's death by killing the people responsible. Populated with Thai prostitutes, European and American sex tourists, the FBI, drug dealers both large and small, and more crooked cops than a Jerry Bruckheimer movie, Bangkok 8 is as addictive as speed and as thrilling as sex. You'll be hooked until the bitter, explosive end. Andrew Ayala

Product Details

Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date:
Sonchai Jitpleecheep Series , #1
Sold by:
Random House
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494 KB

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The African American marine in the gray Mercedes will soon die of bites from Naja siamensis, but we don’t know that yet, Pichai and I (the future is impenetrable, says the Buddha). We are one car behind him at the toll for the expressway from the airport to the city and this is the closest we’ve been for more than three hours. I watch and admire as a huge black hand with a heavy gold signet ring on the index finger extends from the window, a hundred-baht note clipped stylishly between the pinkie and what our fortune tellers call the finger of the sun. The masked woman in the booth takes the note, hands him the change and nods in recognition at something he says to her, probably in very bad Thai. I tell Pichai that only a certain kind of American farang attempts conversation with toll booth operators. Pichai grunts and slides down in his seat for a nap. Survey after survey has shown sleep to be my people’s favorite hobby.

“He’s picked someone up, a girl,” I mutter casually, as if this were not a shocking piece of news and clear proof of our incompetence. Pichai opens one eye, then the other, raises himself and stretches his neck just as the Mercedes hatchback races away like a thoroughbred.

“A whore?”

“Green and orange streaks in her hair. Afro style. Black top with straps. Very dark.”

“I bet you know who designed the black top?”

“It’s a fake Armani. At least, Armani was the first to come out with the black semi–tank top with bootlace straps, there have been plenty of imitators since.”

Pichai shakes his head. “You really know your threads. He must have picked her up at the airport, when we lost him for that half hour.”

I say nothing as Pichai, my soul brother and partner in indolence, returns to his slumbers. Perhaps he is not sleeping, perhaps he is meditating. He is one of those who have had enough of the world. His disgust has driven him to ordain and he has named me as the one who, along with his mother, will shave his head and eyebrows, which honor will permit us to fly to one of the Buddha heavens by clinging to his saffron robes at the moment of death. You see how entrenched is cronyism in our ancient culture.

In truth there is something mesmeric about the black marine’s head-and-shoulder set which has consumed all my attention. At the beginning of the surveillance I watched him get out of his car at a gas station: he is a perfectly formed giant and this perfection has fascinated me for three hours, as if he were some kind of black Buddha, the Perfect Man, of whom the rest of us are merely scale models with ugly flaws. Now that I have finally noticed her, his whore looks erotically fragile beside him, as if he might crush her inadvertently like a grape against the palate, to her eternal and ecstatic gratitude (you see why I am not suitable for monkhood).

By the time I have inched up to the toll booth in our dying Toyota, he has flown to who knows what celestial bed of pleasure in his late-model Garuda.

I say to my beloved Pichai, “We’ve lost him,” but Pichai also has flown, leaving only his uninhabited corpse, which snores in the seat beside me.

Naja siamensis is the most magnificent of our spitting cobras and might be our national mascot, for its qualities of beauty, charm, stealth and lethal bite. Naja, by the way, is from the Sanskrit, and a reference to the great Naja spirit of the earth who protected our Lord Buddha during a dreadful storm in the forest where he meditated. 2

The elevated expressway is the only road in the city where a Mercedes E series can outrun a Toyota Echo, and I drive without hope or haste (which comes from the devil; slowness comes from Buddha), just for form, feeling out of place amongst the elite vehicles whose owners can afford the toll: Mercs and BMWs, Japanese four-by-fours, plus a lot of taxis with farangs in the back. We fly above the brothel-hotels of the Nana district before I take a slip road into the primeval jam below.

Nobody jams like us. On Sukhumvit at the junction with Soi 4 the traffic is solid in four directions. There is a sentry box here for the traffic cops who are supposed to deal with the problem, but how do two underpaid cops move a million cars packed like mangoes for export? The cops are asleep behind their glass and the drivers have given up honking their horns. It is too hot and humid to honk. I spy our guns and holsters in a tangle at Pichai’s feet, along with the radio and the portable siren to clamp on the roof when we finally go into action. I nudge Pichai.

“Better call him, tell him we lost the mark.”

Pichai already has the monkish capacity to hear and understand whilst asleep. He groans, passes a hand through the condemned jet-black locks which I have always envied and bends double to retrieve the Korean short-wave radio. An exchange of static and the unsurprising intelligence that Police Colonel Vikorn, chief of District 8, cannot be located.

“Call him on his mobile.”

Pichai fishes his own mobile out of a pocket and presses the autodial button. He speaks to our Colonel in terms too respectful for modern English to carry (somewhere between “sire” and “my lord”), listens for a moment, then slips the Nokia back in his pocket. “He’s going to ask Traffic to cooperate. If the black farang shows up, Traffic will call us on the radio.” I turn up the air-conditioning and wind the seat back. I try to practice the insight meditation I learned long ago in my teens and have practiced intermittently ever since. The trick is to catch the aggregates as they speed through the mind without grasping them. Every thought is a hook, and if we can only avoid those hooks we might achieve nirvana in one or two lifetimes, instead of this endless torture of incarnation after incarnation. I am interrupted by more static from the radio (I register static, static, static before emerging from the meditation). Black farang in gray Mercedes reported stopped at Dao Phrya, on the slip road under the bridge. Pichai calls the Colonel, who authorizes the siren.

I wait while Pichai slips out of the car, clamps the siren to the roof, where it flashes and wails to no effect on the gridlock, and walks over to the sentry box, where the traffic cops are dozing. At the same time he is strapping on his holster and gun and reaching in his pocket for his police ID. A more advanced soul than I, he gives no sign of the disgust he feels at being trapped in this pollution called life on earth. He would not wish to poison anyone else’s mind. Nevertheless, he smacks his hand somewhat violently against the glass of the sentry box and yells at them to wake the fuck up. Smiles and a gentlemanly discussion before the boys in donkey brown (the uniform can appear bottle green in some lights) emerge to take charge. They come up to me in the car and there is the usual double-take when they see what I am. The Vietnam War left plenty of half-castes in Krung Thep, but few of us turned into cops.

There are several inches of slack within which every car can shunt, and our colleagues show considerable skill and cunning in making a space. In no time at all I am able to drive up onto the sidewalk, where the siren terrorizes the pedestrians. Pichai grins. I am skilled at very dangerous driving from the days when we used to take drugs and steal cars together, a golden age which came to an end when Pichai murdered our yaa baa dealer and we had to seek refuge in the Three Jewels of the Buddha, the dharma and the sangha. There will be time in this chronicle to explain yaa baa.

While I practice close encounters with cooked-food stalls, sex traders and oncoming traffic, wheel spins, split-second lurches and even one hand-brake spin, I try to remember what Dao Phrya Bridge is famous for. Why have I heard of it at all?

We are very happy. Sabai means feeling good and sanuk means having fun. We are both as we race toward the bridge in demonic haste, with Pichai chanting in Pali, the ancient language of the Gautama Buddha, for protection from accidents. He asks also of the Buddhist saints that we do not accidentally kill anyone who does not deserve it, a touchy point with Pichai.

Krung Thep means City of Angels, but we are happy to call it Bangkok if it helps to separate a farang from his money.

From the Hardcover edition.

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What People are saying about this

Carl Hiaasen
Bangkok 8 is one of the most startling and provocative mysteries that I've read in years. The characters are marvelously unique, the setting is intoxicating and the plot unwinds in dark illusory strands, reminiscent of Gorky Park. Once I started, I didn't want to put it down.
Jeffery Deaver
A stunning thriller! Bangkok 8 is suspense at its best: a masterfully written tale set in a world that's perfectly evoked and populated with compelling, flesh-and-blood characters.
James Ellroy
The wildest ride in modern crime novel exoticum. A novel so steeped in milieu that it feels as if you’ve blasted to mars in the grip of a demon who won’t let you go. Read this book, savor the language–it’s the last–and the most compelling word in thrillers.

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Bangkok 8 (Sonchai Jitpleecheep Series #1) 4.2 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 38 reviews.
Camboron More than 1 year ago
From the first page I knew I would enjoy this book. John Burdett does a great job writing a novel using the comparison made by Sonchai of Western logic compared with Eastern intuition. I loved the structure of Sonchai's mind, constantly detecting not only with classic pluck, research and interviews, but the communication with past lives, lost loved ones, and the teachings of Buddha. So personal was the narrative, and involving people from Sonchai's work and personal life, past and present, that it could have easily been a traditional novel instead of a mystery. This is writing that helps you instantly know things about characters---barring the mystery's revelations, of course. I loved the insight into the Western mind, in many aspects, but, especially, sexuality and corruption. This novel truly demonstrates how alien a culture can seem and how judgmental one can be when encountering it. This novel was also very funny. You never know when impending doom becomes an uncontrollable guffaw. Also, seeing as how Sonchai's name really IS unique to the ears of Westerners, the old joke of his name frequently getting mispronounced does not get old. In contrast to the humor, is the underlying sense of tragedy, and I don't mean an American perception of what tragedy or poverty entails for a Thai, but the characters' own perception of their unhappiness. The novel can be cerebral at time, diverging into monologues, but they are always riveting. And, unlike John Twelve Hawks' trilogy, the exposition needed to explain Sonchai's, and through him, any Thai's worldview, never seemed to break the mood, break character, or take us out of this captivating narrative. I don't know why I'm not giving this 5 stars. Maybe if there was a 4 ½.
pnfuab More than 1 year ago
What's not to like? A unique plot, set in Thailand; fast paced; very likable, sympathetic main character; a look into the Asian sex industry; unexpected resolution and identity of murderer; a worthwhile excursion into another culture. I've already bought the next two sequels.
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Nothing to write home about. Doubt i'll read more by this author.
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112646 More than 1 year ago
Once I started this book Icouldn't put it down! I would like to know if there are more from this author available on Nook.
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GailMarlow More than 1 year ago
Having read one of Burdett's novels about his detective who is trying very hard to be a good Buddhist, I was expecting to be entertained by this book. It turned out to be too "steamy" for me. People who feel that sex is not a spectator sport should avoid this story.
Emmalini More than 1 year ago
I loved Bangkok 8 just as I loved the other three Sonchai Jitpleecheep books. They're all riveting. Sonchai's character is very well developed and you feel as though you know him. You get a feel for his constant struggle between being a devout Buddhist and being a detective with the Royal Thai Police, most of whom (all maybe?)are portrayed as being "on the take". If you're interested, you'll also learn something about Buddhism in this and the other Sonchai books.
SheilaDeeth More than 1 year ago
East meets West, everyday violence meets a touch of the paranormal (or at least the obscure), and good solid detective work is underscored with Buddhism, drugs and alcohol to create a fascinating feast in John Burdett's Bangkok 8. My husband really enjoyed this novel and recommended I should read it-a good recommendation, since I enjoyed it. My husband likes things logical, and the mystery at the heart of this novel is very logically resolved, though neither of us managed to guess the complete resolution before it was revealed. We both like introductions to different cultures, and, while I doubt if Thailand is a as corrupt as its fictional portrayal, the twists and turns of different values and morals are truly fascinating. This novel's not one for the squeamish or for readers who prefer their good guys good and their bad guys bad, but it's a surreal voyage through sensual experience, mystical musings, good clean detective work and complex moral ambiguity, resulting in a really good read. I'm hoping my husband will buy and read the rest of the series soon so I can enjoy them too. Disclosure: My husband bought, read, enjoyed and recommended this.
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Tigerpaw70 More than 1 year ago
Book 1 in Detective Sonchai Jitpleecheep series This is a police story that stands above many mysteries I have read lately. Although at first glace it seems to rehash the basics found in other books, it was a pleasant surprise to find otherwise. The story revolves around a police detective investigating a murder that claimed his partner's life and which the main suspect is a well-connected US businessman. Bangkok is the location; it is described as an exotic city where sex is sold on the street and where the police are seen more as businessman making money from crimes committed in their district and providing protection to keep order and peace. The story opens with Sonchai and his partner Pichai on the trail of Bill Bradley an American marine stationed at the US embassy. They eventually found him trapped in his car with deadly snakes. In trying to get to him Pichai is bitten and dies. Partnerless and still in shock, Sonchai learns more about Bradley's shady dealings from an FBI legal attaché. It is soon evident Washington wants things hushed, not a problem for Sonchai...Different country, different rules ...when the guilty party is found; he will be eliminated... problem solved... Sonchai is joined by FBI Kimberley Jones and the name of Sylvester Warren, a huge player in the jade market and a powerful man in Washington soon becomes the center of their investigation. The investigators soon realise they are on their own, Washington and the Thai police have cut them adrift.... What the detectives will face on the streets of Bangkok will be surprising to the reader......very interesting... The clash in culture, police procedures and political influence adds many twists and turns to this mystery setting it apart from the usual humdrum police story. Through the eyes of Sonchai we see a whole different world, one with an unfamiliar social structure and religious beliefs, a place that has a prolific sex industry and an underground active in drugs and jade trading. Gender reassignment surgery is practiced and cheaply performed; bribery and protection favours are an accepted way of life for everyone. The diversified characters are cleverly developed with a good sense of humour that flows smoothly and brilliantly. This novel has its bizarre and macabre moments but is as interesting as it is captivating.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I wasn't sure what to expect when I picked this one up, but I was very quickly hooked. What brilliant writing! And you get a mini-lesson in Buddhism to boot. I'm recommending this book to everyone I can think of...
Anonymous More than 1 year ago