Tell Me Again

It's late Friday night, prime money-making hours that Tine is missing out on yet again, and the police station smells predictably of armpits and urine.

The uniform who had arrested him, Officer Pittayatorn, guides Tine down the hall to the booking desk, his grip firm but not rough. Tine has spent enough time here that he's practically become a mascot; the cops crack jokes about charging him rent and keep him away from the serious thugs in the holding cells since he's a pretty face.

"Got something for you, Sarge."

The desk sergeant glances up. "Jesus fucking Christ. Again?" He eyes the bruise blooming on Tine's cheek and gives Pittayatorn a hard look. "What the fuck happened to his face?"

Pittayatorn holds his hands up inhis defence. "Wasn't me. Fight with his john." He then jerks his head towards the foreign businessman who thought he'd enjoy some battery along with his blowjob and got a bloody nose for his trouble. Tine may be in the 'entertainment' business, but if someone hits him, he's damn well going to hit back.

Across the way, the john is kicking up a fuss. "I'll have you know I'm a close personal friend of the mayor. I shouldn't even be here! That little piece of trash tried to rob me. I was just defending myself!"

"Yeah?" says the cop booking him, decidedly unimpressed. "Is that why you had your dick hanging out of your pants?"

The businessman sputters indignantly, and Tine smiles. No explaining that away, and any moment now the guy will start to backpedal, say that it was all just a big misunderstanding. Tine will walk out of here without any charges on him. Just like every other time.

"Yeah, you've got it all figured out, don't you, kid?" The sergeant sighs at Tine. "Okay, put him in room four. Detective Guntithanon will want to talk to him."

"Talk," Pittayatorn snickers.

A hard look from the sergeant shuts him up, and he leads Tine down another hall, into a blank-walled room with a table and two folding chairs. He pushes Tine down onto one of the chairs, his hands still cuffed behind his back.

"He'll probably be a few minutes," Pittayatorn says, almost apologetically, and leaves Tine there.

Clearly, Pittayatorn knows what goes on behind closed doors in these 'interrogation' rooms whenever he's here. They all must know, all the cops in this precinct. The why of it, though, that's a mystery even to Tine. Somehow he got onto the detective's radar, and he's still in his radar, much to his dismay. In the last three months, he's been arrested more times than any ten hookers put together.

It's not good for business.

It takes Sarawat more than a few minutes to appear, and Tine is fighting off sleep by the time he finally saunters in. "Tine. Always a pleasure to see you." His grin dims when he sees Tine's bruised face. He closes the door, locks it, rounds the table, and touches Tine's cheek lightly with his fingers. "All right there, hun?"

"You should see the other guy." He aims for it to come out insolently, but the corner of his mouth lifts up without his permission. He wants to hate Sarawat, but just ends up despising himself for moments like these.

Sarawat smiles faintly as he settles onto the chair opposite Tine. "You mean the Australian who tripped and fell face-first into a brick wall and gave himself a bloody nose? That's the statement the arresting officer just took from him."

"There aren't going to be any charges," Tine says with a little smile of triumph.

"No charges. Have you thought any more about what we talked about last time?"

Last time is what they talk about every time. Tine stares back belligerently.

"This is no life for you, hun." Sarawat takes the be-reasonable-and-use-your-head tone, which is just too fucking ironic, since there's nothing remotely reasonable about this entire situation.