Bangkok Courier (The Courier Book 1)

Bangkok Courier

Every delivery has a price.

Caz Nowak works inside Bangkok’s shadow economy, moving sensitive packages through a courier network built on secrecy, speed, and trust. Alongside Meaw, his loyal partner with sharp instincts and a past of her own, he has learned how to survive just beneath the surface of the city.

But when a routine job catches the attention of a ruthless rival, Caz and Meaw are pulled into a conflict that quickly becomes more dangerous than either of them expected. As powerful enemies close in, a young girl named Tangmo becomes the center of a fight that will test their loyalty, their courage, and the life they thought they understood.

Set against the vibrant and dangerous backdrop of Thailand’s capital, Bangkok Courier is a gripping crime thriller about survival, sacrifice, redemption, and the unexpected bonds that can change everything.

Start reading Bangkok Courier today.

Excerpt from the book

Jean-Claude Bukowski walked quietly down the bustling streets of Yaowarat District that evening. He exuded sophistication, and a little bit of danger, in the notorious and shadowy underworld of Bangkok’s Chinatown, and strode with the confidence of someone who knew where he was going, knew his way around the confusing, crowded streets and strange shops, and knew who to visit when he needed something done.

He stood out in the crowd, an especially elegantly dressed man in his forties, just a touch of gray hair sticking out from under his black fedora. He used just a light touch of pomade to keep his hair firmly in place.

Unlike the American tourists from the Midwest wearing baggy shorts and “I Heart Bangkok” T-shirts, or the unwashed European backpackers who stayed in low-budget guesthouses on Khao San Road, he wore, as always, a tailored suit and a crisp white shirt with French cuffs. Gold cuff links were visible just at the tip of his sleeves, not quite covering an old scar on his right hand—barely noticeable—that he’d gotten during an incident some years ago in Ukraine. Despite the stifling tropical heat, he wore the suit well, always comfortable as he was. He looked as though he belonged and knew where he was going.

The smells of Chinatown were always a little overwhelming. The commingled scent of body odor from the crush of people, the thick black exhaust from the tuk-tuks, and the smell of fresh fish, jasmine, and hot oil from the sidewalk restaurateurs hung in the air.

Chinatown had a distinct sound to it as well; a rare and unusual combination of Thai, Chinese, and accented English could be heard in tourist traps and those unspoken, secret destinations hidden away on narrow side streets. He heard both Thai and Mandarin being spoken as he passed, and understood both well. A smattering of English, German, and even a little Russian was spoken by passersby as tourists from anywhere and everywhere blended into that worldly mix on what was possibly the most crowded street in all of Bangkok.

Jean-Claude knew those streets, the people, the vendors who hawked their wares on the main street, and the side streets and back alleys, and those special shops to which you had to have a connection to enter. Bangkok’s Chinatown was more than just for tourists; it was a center of activity—the sort of activity that tourists didn’t want to know about.

It was a center for people just like Jean-Claude who were there on a mission—the sort of cloak-and-dagger mission that those tourists read about in novels they picked up at the airport store and wondered if they were true. It was a place that really did have those smoky back rooms nobody knew about, where deals went down, illicit money changed hands, where guns would come out and fingers were occasionally broken, and men in suits and fedora hats like Jean-Claude held court over it all.