Confessions of a Bangkok Private Eye: True Stories From the Case Files of Warren Olson

THE CASE OF THE LESBIAN LOVER

Greig Knight was one of the few real success stories among Thailand’s expat community. The Thais don’t make it easy for foreigners to succeed in business, but Greig had bucked the trend and made a decent-sized fortune building up a chain of American-style restaurants. You know the sort of thing: racks of ribs, barbecued chickens smeared in hickory sauce, burgers covered in cheese and bacon with French fries the size of a labourer’s fingers. Not that they were called French fries in Knight’s restaurants. Ever since 9/11 they were Freedom fries in all his establishments and there wasn’t a bottle of French wine on the menu. Knight had served in the military-he’d been one of the first soldiers into Kuwait-before deciding that he’d rather take his chances in the Land of Smiles. He landed at Don Muang without being able to speak a word of Thai and a cheque from the US Government in his back pocket. He found a decent hotel, decent beer, but couldn’t find a decent burger despite looking the length and breadth of the city. He figured the only way he was going to get the sort of food he wanted was to cook it himself, so he set up a small burger joint in a soi close to Patpong. He never looked back and now he owns a huge house in one of the more heavily fortified areas of town and flies himself to Hong Kong to watch his racehorses run.

He didn’t tell me who he was when he phoned. He just said that he needed a private detective and asked me to meet him at Starbucks in Soi Thonglor. He said he’d be reading a copy of the Asian Wall Street Journal but his choice of reading material wasn’t important because he was the only farang in the place. I recognised him immediately from photographs in the glossy magazines they leave around in my dentist’s. Usually he was holding court at the opening of one of his restaurants, or attending a function to honour some visiting American dignitary or other, standing with his arm around a leggy Thai beauty queen or a gay DJ raising a glass of champagne to the camera, grinning with a set of teeth so white that they had to have been capped. He was well over six foot tall, greying at the temples with flint-grey eyes that looked at me inquisitively as I walked over to his table. He unwound himself from his chair. He was thin with a runner’s build, and as I knew for a fact that he ate in one of his own restaurants every night, he must have had the metabolism of a humming bird.

‘Greig Knight,’ he said. He nodded at the muscular Thai man who was sitting in the armchair opposite his. ‘This is Gung. My driver.’

Gung stood up and waied me with a cold smile. He didn’t look like a driver. He looked more like a bodyguard and from the way he held himself I figured he was former military or police.

Knight wound himself back into his armchair and waved for me to take Gung’s place. Gung stood slightly to the left of Knight, his arms crossed. He didn’t look like the sort of man you’d want to meet in a dark alley.

‘As you’ve probably guessed, it’s a woman,’ said Knight.

‘It usually is.’ I said.

‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘Black.’

‘You don’t want a cappuccino or a latte?’

‘I’m a traditional sort of guy,’ I said.’

‘Cappuccino is for wimps?’

‘My thoughts exactly.’

Knight grinned and nodded at Gung. ‘Mr Olson will have the same as me,’ he said. ‘Same as we like our heavyweight boxers.’

Gung frowned.

‘Strong and black,’ said Knight, and he tapped the table in front of him with a large ring on his left hand.

I chuckled but Gung’s frown just deepened. He nodded and walked over to the counter.

‘He’s been with me for ten years,’ said Knight. ‘Just so you know, I trust him completely.’

‘Former army?’

Knight nodded. ‘Captain in the Thahan Phran.’

I raised an eyebrow. The Thahan Phran are Thailand’s paramilitary border guards. Hard bastards. You wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of one, dark alley or not.

He steepled his fingers under his chin and leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve got a live-in girlfriend. Ying.’ He smiled. ‘Beautiful girl. Sexy as hell.’

‘You’re a very lucky man,’ I said.

‘If I thought that, I wouldn’t be having this conversation,’ he said. He sighed. ‘I was in a Humvee, a few years back. Had a sergeant who thought he was Michael Schumacher. Took it as an insult to his manhood if he had to put his foot on the brake. We were heading into Kuwait City, full-pelt. I don’t know what it was, but I just had a feeling that something was wrong. I told the sergeant to stop. He moaned like hell but he pulled over. I went ahead on foot. Fifty feet in front of where we stopped was a landmine. A biggie.’

‘Wow.’

‘Wow is right. Humvees are damn big vehicles but the mine would have blown it to kingdom come. But if the hairs on the back of my neck hadn’t stood to attention, my army career would have come to an abrupt end there and then.’

‘And this Ying is making your hair stand to attention, is that it?’

Knight made a gun out of his right hand and faked shooting me in the face. ‘Got it in one. There’s nothing I can put my finger on, it’s just a feeling.’

He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a couple of photographs and handed them to me. I tried to look at them without drooling. She was beautiful all right. Shampoo commercial hair, toothpaste commercial teeth, moisturiser commercial skin, you get the picture. Drop dead lovely, but as Greig Knight was one of the richest farangs in Thailand, it was only to be expected. The only dogs he’d go near would be at the greyhound track in Macau.

‘I’ve written her Thai name, date of birth and ID card number on the back of one of the pictures,’ said Knight. ‘Look, I pay all her bills, I’ve bought her a BMW, a house for her parents in Surin, and I’ve given her a gold Amex card. She gets an allowance of 200,000 baht a month and I’ve lost count of the gold jewellery I’ve bought for her.’

I tried not to turn green with envy but he was giving her twice what I made in a good month. And I didn’t have a BMW. Or a gold Amex card. But then I didn’t have a body to die for and a face to kill for.

‘She’s as loving as she ever was,’ Knight continued. ‘The sex is great, there are no mysterious late-night phone calls, nothing I can put my finger on.’

‘Just a feeling?’

Knight nodded. ‘That’s right.’

I didn’t say anything to Knight but in my experience once a guy feels that his wife or girlfriend is up to no good, she probably is.

‘I’m flying to Hong Kong this weekend. I asked Ying to go with me but she said she was busy, she’s got a conference in Pattaya that she has to go to.’

‘A conference?’

‘She works for a pharmaceuticals company. Sales director. She doesn’t need to, I’ve told her that, but she wants her independence.’

I wanted to point out that she didn’t want her independence enough to turn down 200,000 baht a month or give him back the BMW, but I kept my mouth shut. Discretion being the better part of not pissing off the client and all that.

‘Anyway, I’m off to Hong Kong, she’ll be in Pattaya, so I want you to follow her. You can do that?’

I smiled confidently. ‘No problem. I’ll need her car registration number.’

‘It’s on the back of the photograph,’ said Knight. He pulled out a thick wallet and flicked his thumbnail across a stack of 1,000-baht bills, counted out thirty and handed them to me. ‘This is on account,’ he said. ‘But money’s no object, I just want to know the truth, one way or another.’

I pocketed the cash and nodded over at the bodyguard. ‘Is Gung going with you?’

‘No, he’s looking after my house.’ I’d seen Knight’s house in one of the glossy magazines. It was in an expensive area of Sukhumvit, a mix of old Thai teak and white minimalist chic, full of modern Asian art and ancient Buddha figures looted from Burma.

‘Get Gung to call me when she leaves the house, and if you can get any details of what hotel she’s staying at, so much the better.’

‘Whatever you need,’ said Knight. He scribbled on the back of an embossed business card and handed it to me. ‘My private number is on there. Gung’s too.’

I shook his hand and headed out. The money was burning a hole in my pocket, I had several bills that were past their sell-by date and I owed my maid last month’s salary.

By Friday afternoon I was all set. Knight was on a three o’clock Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong so he left his house at just before midday, sitting in the back of a. large Mercedes. I was in a rental car, an inconspicuous Honda Civic, down the road. He didn’t see me. As a rule, guys in the back of big Mercs didn’t notice men in small Japanese cars.

Further down the road were three motorcycle taxis that I’d booked for the day. Two thousand baht each. They sat under the shade of an advertising hoarding promoting a shampoo that blackened, thickened and strengthened, all in one. The Thais love black hair and white skin and spend a fortune on products that promise either. The motorcycle riders had short-cropped hair and skin the colour of burnt mahogany, blackened from years ferrying passengers around the city under the unforgiving sun. They were smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and kept looking over towards the Honda, waiting for my signal. I’d lent them mobile phones so that they could stay in touch once we were on the lovely Miss Ying’s trail.

Following someone is a difficult business at the best of times, but in Bangkok it can be a nightmare. For a start, there’s the congestion. At rush hour many of the city’s major intersections hit gridlock. And the traffic lights can sometimes take up to fifteen minutes to change. So you might sit in slow-moving traffic for an hour or so, only to see your quarry skip through a light just as it changes to red. Even if you can keep up with your quarry, following them as they change lanes means taking your life into your hands because Bangkok traffic is the most unforgiving in the world. All pretence of politeness goes out of the window when a Thai gets behind the wheel of a car. That’s where the motorcycle taxi drivers come in handy. There are tens of thousands of them around the city, whizzing through the traffic, delivering officer workers to their desks, hookers to the go-go bars and students to their classrooms. They used to wear coloured vests denoting the soi they worked in, but the Government changed the regulations and made them all wear orange vests which makes using them as chasers even easier.

Using bikes doesn’t solve all your problems though because the city is crisscrossed with expressways and motorcycles and aren’t allowed to use them. Still, if it was easy, everyone would be doing it, right?

At one o’clock Gung called my mobile to say that Ying was packing a bag and that she’d asked him to go down to the carpark to make sure that her car airconditioner was running. It must be nice to have money, I said to Gung. I was going to ask him if he warmed the toilet seat for her as well as cooling her car but the boys in the Thahan Phran aren’t renowned for their sense of humour.

I waved over at the three motorcycle riders and they climbed onto their bikes. They were all under 100cc-small bikes that could nip in and out of the traffic. When a farang buys a bike he usually goes for a big Harley or a 1000cc Yamaha and sits there with all that power throbbing between his legs feeling like he’s lord of the jungle. But as soon as the traffic locks up the big bikes are locked up too and the farang sits there sweating like a pig and breathing in diesel fumes as the Thais on their little bikes whiz by. Big isn’t always best. That’s what I tell the girls anyway.

The BMW rolled out of the underground carpark and I let a couple of cars go before following her. Two of the bikes roared past her and then slowed a hundred yards or so ahead of her. If she was going to Pattaya she’d probably use the expressway which meant that I’d be following her most of the way on my own with the bikes making their way along the regular road. But at least once she was on the expressway I’d be able to hang back because I’d know where she was going. The bikes could pick her up at the Pattaya end. Easy peasy.

The BMW took a left turn and that had me frowning because that meant she was heading away from the expressway. The bikes kept her in sight so I dropped back. I lost her ten minutes later but after a phone call to one of the motorcycle riders I was back on track. They saw her park outside a restaurant. One of Knight’s restaurants. I left the rental a short walk from the restaurant.

I told the motorcycle boys to hang around while I went inside. On the ground floor there was a large circular bar with half a dozen customers, mainly expats. There were ten circular dining tables but the lunch crowd had gone and it was too early for the evening session. There was no sign of the lovely Ying.

I sat at the bar and ordered a Jack Daniels and waited. One JD became two and two became three and there was still no sign of her. The men’s room was upstairs so I grinned at the barman and said that I had to take a leak and headed up. There was a pool table and another dozen tables, but the place was empty. There was a small locked door leading up to the top floor and a note in Thai and English that said ‘Staff Only’.

It was getting late, too late to make it to Pattaya in time for a sales conference. I made a call to the company where Ying worked and in my very best Thai explained that my girlfriend was attending a sales conference in Pattaya and that she’d forgotten her make-up bag and that I wanted to get it to her but I didn’t know where the conference was being held. The conference was at the Ambassador Jomtien, a very helpful young switchboard girl explained, but that the conference finished at five so there was no need to get the bag to my girlfriend because she’d be back in Bangkok later tonight. I thanked her. So, I’d caught her out in one lie, and in my experience lies are like cockroaches. If you find one, there’ll be hundreds of others behind the skirting board. At least in the sort of places that I stay in.

I went back downstairs and paid my bill, then took a walk outside. There were lights up on the top floor so I figured that was where Ying was holed up. Next door to the restaurant was a ten-storey office block. Sitting on a deckchair at the entrance was a dark-skinned security guard in a uniform several sizes too big for him. I wandered over and started chatting to him in Laos. He was a nice guy, his wife was back in Udon Thani taking care of their five kids and he sent back most of his wages each month. Down the road from the office block I’d seen a street vendor selling a variety of fried insects, much loved by the people of Isaan. I asked him how he liked his grasshoppers and then went and bought him a bag of well-salted insects. I shared them with him as we talked. They taste a lot better than they sound, really. A bit like pork scratchings, it’s the crunch and the salt you’re aware of rather than a definite taste. Fried maggots are okay, too. I’ve never really had a problem eating insects. There’s no difference between a grasshopper and a prawn, really. So we shared the goodies and then I gave him a 500-baht note and asked him if he’d take me up the building stairwell so that I could take a look into the windows of the top floor of the restaurant. I spunhim a story about my girlfriend being inside with another farang but he was only interested in the money and he was more than happy to let me go upstairs on my own.

I found a grimy window in the stairwell on the fifth floor which gave me a reasonable view of the restaurant. There were lights on in one of the offices and I could see half a dozen teenage girls sitting on a couple of sofas, laughing and playing with their mobile phones. They were all wearing the traditional Thai students’ uniform of white shirt and black skirt. I couldn’t see Ying at first but after about fifteen minutes I saw her walk into view and drop down onto one of the sofas. She opened her Chanel bag and took something out. The students started clapping and leaned forward in anticipation.

Ying folded a piece of silver foil into a small crucible and then she flicked a cigarette lighter and I knew exactly what I was seeing. Yah ba being smoked. Amphetamines, the drug of choice for everyone from students at the country’s top universities wanting to stay up studying all night to go-go dancers needing the chemical stimulus to ply their trade all night. It used to be called yah ma, or horse drug, because it gave you the strength and stamina of a horse. The cops started calling it yah ba, the literal translation being Crazy Drug. The spin didn’t work. By the look of things, Ying was supplying the stuff. I hadn’t seen any money change hands so it looked as if she was giving them the stuff free of charge. So in just a few hours I’d caught Knight’s live-in lover in an outright lie and found her giving drugs to students. It wasn’t looking good, not if Knight figured she was the love of his life.

I went back downstairs, thanked my new-found friend, and went over to brief the motorcycle riders. It looked as if we were in for a long night; if Ying and her friends were fired up on amphetamines it could well be that they might go on somewhere else.

I sat in the rental car, keeping the engine running and the airconditioning going, sipping from a bottle of water that I always take with me on surveillance operations. Ying didn’t appear until two o’clock in the morning. There was a teenage boy with her, one of the restaurant workers I figured, with a designer hair cut and baggy jeans. They went to her BMW and a few minutes later I was following them across the city towards Ratchada. There are lots of late-night eating places Ratchada-way so I figured she was taking her friend for a meal. I was wrong. They pulled in front of a dingy apartment block, a far cry from Knight’s palatial accommodation.

I watched them go in. The young guy had a keycard to open the main door so it was probably his place. I waited in the car until four o’clock in the morning by which time it was obvious that they weren’t going anywhere. Lies, drugs, and a toy boy. Young miss Ying was a piece of work, all right.

I asked one of the motorcycle riders to stay outside the block with instructions to phone me as soon as they reappeared. If Ying was like every other Thai girl I knew, that would probably be after midday.

As it turned out, it was after two when they reappeared. My guy phoned me while he was following them and I could barely hear him over the noise of the traffic but I met up with him outside a gold shop in Phaholyothin. Ying and her boy were inside, checking out gold necklaces. Ying was clearly being very generous with Greig Knight’s money.

‘Lucky lad,’ I said in Thai.

‘Huh?’ said the motorcycle taxi driver, frowning.

Thai isn’t the easiest language, being tonal and all, so I said it again. ‘Lucky lad.’

His frown deepened.

‘Pretty girl, buying him presents. Lucky, right?’

He laughed and lit a cigarette. Inside the gold shop, Ying was fastening a gold chain around her friend’s wrist.

‘Never had a girl buy me anything.’

The motorcycle rider squinted across at me. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

I sighed. He obviously didn’t understand what I was getting at. ‘A girl, buying gold for a guy. It’s not something you see every day.’

‘You know that’s a girl, right?’

‘Of course I know it’s a girl. That’s why I’m following her. I’m just saying, she’s buying gold for the guy.’

‘That’s not a guy,’ he said.

Now I was confused. ‘A girl?’

‘A tom.’

‘A tom?’

‘The girl you’re following is buying gold for a tom. The one with the short hair is a girl, Khun Warren.’

I stared at the couple in the shop. Ying kissed her friend on the cheek, then they hugged. I groaned. My guy was right. Ying’s toy boy was a toy girl. Maybe a bit on the masculine side, but still a girl. I’d been so fixated on the possibility of Ying having a boyfriend that I’d missed the obvious. Lesbianism is fairly common in Thailand, more so than in the West. The problem was, how did I come up with the proof that Greig Knight would obviously want? Same-sex hand-holding is the norm in Thailand, and it’s not unusual for girls to share a bed without any sex being involved. In fact, all I had to go on was the kiss and hug and the gold gift. That wouldn’t be enough for Knight, he’d want concrete proof. I was going to need a photograph of the two girls in action to convince Knight that Ying had a lover. And I only had two more nights before my client returned from Hong Kong.

First I had to find out which number the girlfriend’s apartment was, and that was a job for a Thai. There were few farangs in that part of the city and I stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. I told one of the motorcycle taxi drivers, Daeng, to lose his orange vest and pick up a carrier bag of food from a supermarket. All he had to do was to stick close to the girls when they left the gold shop and follow them inside the building. If challenged, all he had to do was to claim that he was making a delivery, but I doubted that it would come to that. By the look of it, the building didn’t even have a security guard.

I told Daeng to phone me on my mobile when he had the room number, then I drove back to the office to the get the equipment I needed. Nothing spectacular, just a mini video camera hooked up to a transmitter, one of a dozen designs they sell in Pantip Plaza, and a digital camera with a telephoto lens. I picked up a meatball sandwich from my local Subway, a foot-long because I was going to be up late and wasn’t sure when I’d get the chance to eat again. I’d just finished the sandwich when my mobile rang. The girls were back in the room. Number 506. I told Daeng to call me if they left the apartment, then I showered and changed. I packed up the equipment in my gym bag, then drove over. It was just after seven when I got there.

Daeng was standing on the pavement and I told him to get into the car with me. We waited with the aircon running and an hour or so later the two girls walked out of the block arm in arm and over to where Ying had parked the BMW. I took a few photographs and waved at the motorcycle guys to follow them.

When they were out of sight Daeng and I walked over to the apartment block. An old lady with snow white hair and skin the colour of polished oak was fumbling with her key card and Daeng helped her, then we slipped inside after her. Room 506 was on the fifth floor and we took the stairs. Daeng stood watch while I went to work on the locks. The door to the apartment had a metal grill across it with a large padlock that took me all of five minutes to pick. The door had an even simpler lock in the handle and I was soon inside the room. Daeng went back downstairs, ready to phone my mobile if the girls came unexpectedly.

The room was about four paces wide and seven paces long with a small bathroom at the far end and a window that had been curtained off. There was a double bed covered with a sheet with a teddy bear pattern and matching pillows and in one corner there was a rice cooker and a sack of Thai rice. On the walls were posters of Thai pop stars and a framed picture of the king of Thailand above the door.

There was a brand new television set and next to it a stereo CD player. Probably gifts from Ying. I used the screwdriver to pry the grill off the left speaker and fitted the camera so that it had a good view of the bed. The battery was good for forty-eight hours and would transmit pictures up to 200 metres. That was fine because I’d be parked across the road. I wouldn’t have sound but that wasn’t a problem either.

I gave the room a quick once-over on the off chance that there might have been something incriminating, but other than a few snapshots of the girls hugging and kissing, there was nothing to set the pulse racing.

I went back outside and told Daeng to call me when the girls got back, then phoned one of the other motorcycle taxi drivers for an update on her progress. Ying was clearly a creature of habit; she was back at the restaurant where I’d followed her to the first night. I drove over to the restaurant and parked in front of the office building I’d visited the previous night. Another bag of extra-salty grasshoppers and a crisp 500-baht note and I was back in the fifth-floor stairwell clicking away as Ying and her student friends smoked amphetamines and drank Thai whiskey. I did get quite a nice shot of Ying kissing her girlfriend full on the lips which I reckon was clearly more than platonic.

Ying and her girlfriend got back to the apartment at three o’clock in the morning. I paid off Daeng and his buddies and gave them each a 1,000-baht bonus. They were worth every baht because I couldn’t have done the job without them.

I sat in the rental car and tuned the receiver to the transmitter in the apartment. I watched the small screen of the video camera, waiting to hit the record button. I didn’t have long to wait. The girls went into the bathroom together and emerged a few minutes later wrapped in towels. The towels soon got tossed aside and Ying and her girlfriend hit the bed, kissing and stroking and generally giving me a hard on the size of a baseball bat. I didn’t know where to look. Actually, that’s a lie. I couldn’t take my eyes off the small screen. Ying was a stunner, I’d known that as soon as I saw the photographs that Knight had given me. But the baggy jeans and T-shirt had hidden the girlfriend’s figure and as she rolled on the bed with Ying I could see that her body was every bit as curvaceous and supple as her partner’s. It would be a tough choice to have to say which one I’d have preferred to have a session with, though from the way the two girls were going at it I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be in with half a chance with either of them. The tape ran out and they were still going strong though every so often they’d take a break from the sexual Olympics and smoke yah ba or drink some more whiskey. I kept on watching long after the tape had stopped. I didn’t have anything better to do, frankly.

I phoned Greig Knight on Monday afternoon and told him I had the evidence he wanted. I went to see him in his office and gave him a file with my report and the photographs I’d taken of Ying and her student friends. And I gave him a copy of the video.

He had a television and video player already set up and he gave the video cassette to Gung to slot into the player. I didn’t want to sit and watch the video with Knight. I’d seen it several times already while drinking a few JDs and Coke back in my apartment. ‘I’ll be on my mobile if you need me,’ I said, getting up.

Knight waved at me to stay where I was. ‘I might need you to do more work,’ he said.

I looked pained. The tape was as conclusive as you could get. Ying on her back. Ying on top. An especially seductive 69 that made me hard just thinking about it. It wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to watch in company, and I was damn sure that Knight wouldn’t want me there either, not once the lovely Ying had dropped her towel on the bed. But Knight ignored my discomfort and stabbed at the remote control.

I looked across at Gung. He had moved to stand at the door, his face impassive, his arms folded.

I sat back in my chair and tried not to look at the screen, just grateful that there was no sound on the tape. Going by Ying’s facial contortions, I reckon she had at least two very vocal orgasms during the session.

Knight watched the tape for about twenty minutes before switching off the tape. He looked at me without a trace of embarrassment. ‘That’s it?’ he said.

I could feel my cheeks burning. ‘That’s it,’ I repeated.

‘There’s no guy?’

‘Not that I can see.’

‘Just the girl.’

‘She was the only one I saw her with. In an intimate setting.’ I thought that was a nice touch. Intimate setting. It made it seem a bit less sordid.

Knight nodded slowly. ‘It could have been worse, I suppose,’ he said.

‘If it had been a guy?’

‘I’m not exactly the faithful kind,’ said Knight. ‘I love Ying, but I’ve been out in Asia too long to ever want to confine myself to one woman. Even in Hong Kong…’ He left the sentence unfinished, but I knew what he meant. What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. And while he didn’t want the lovely Ying doing the dirty with another guy, having her in bed with another girl every now and again wasn’t the end of the earth. Plus, if ever he decided the time had come to part company, the tape would make the split a hell of a lot easier.

‘The drugs are a bit of a worry,’ I said. If she ever got picked up by the cops while he was with her and they found yah ba, he’d be looking at prison time too.

‘I know about the yah ba,’ he said. ‘Never in the house and never in the car. She promised.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ I said. I wasn’t sure that I’d take the word of a girl who clearly had only a passing relationship with the truth, but Greig Knight was the client and the client is always right. Except, of course, when he’s wrong.

Knight took out his bulging wallet and took out a handful of 1,000-baht bills. He gave them to me with a rueful smile and then used the remote to rewind the tape.

Gung showed me out, his face still impassive. But as he closed the door, he winked at me.

A few months later I was in my dentist’s waiting room and I picked up one of the glossy magazines. There was a photoshoot of the opening of Greig Knight’s latest restaurant. At the top of the page was a picture of the man himself, grinning like a man possessed, one arm around the shoulders of the lovely Ying, the other around the waist of Ying’s girlfriend. I stopped watching the video after that. The fun had gone out of it.