Timothy Hallinan - The Queen of Patpong

"Ahh, our patients have arrived," Dr. Ratt says in what he imagines to be a soothing tone but has always sounded to Rafferty like the voice of an amateur who's somehow gotten on the radio. "Who needs to be looked at first?"

"Sorry to disappoint everyone," Rafferty says, "but this is nothing." He raises the bandaged elbow. "I'm fine."

"Oh, well. That won't last long, the way you live. Who's our little friend here?"

"My name is Pim," Pim says, looking dazzled. Dr. Ratt and Nui are dressed like a cross between medical personnel and slumming angels, he in a white tunic that looks like something Nehru might have worn if Nehru had been a doctor, with a stethoscope gleaming around his neck for effect, and Nui in the latest of a long line of hand-tailored all-silk nurse's outfits. The two of them have made a fortune by defeating Bangkok's fearsome traffic, putting multiple teams of doctors and nurses in cars twenty-four hours a day on the assumption that often enough, when a call comes in, there will be a team nearby. A lot of the profit has gone into clothes. Faced with their soigne urban elegance, Pim folds her arms around her middle to cover some of her bare brown skin and appears even more uncomfortable than before.

"Mmmm," Dr. Ratt says, giving her a closer look. "Dislocated, is it?"

"It is," Rafferty says.

"When I need a layman's opinion." Dr. Ratt says, without glancing up, "you probably won't be the layman I ask."

"When everyone hates you," Rafferty says, "drink beer." He goes into the kitchen and pulls the refrigerator door open.

"Well, now," Dr. Ratt says, with a "come here" glance at Nui. Between them they maneuver Pim onto one of the stools at the counter and then swivel the stool so she's got her back to the kitchen and is facing into the living room. She sits there, hunched over protectively, looking from one of them to the other, as though she's trying to decide which of them will bite her first.

"This is going to hurt," Dr. Ratt says, taking her left wrist. "Only for a second, though, and then it'll be fine."

"But-" Pim says, just as Dr. Ratt brings the arm up, twists it slightly, and pushes, and it pops into the socket, accompanied by a squeal from Pim that goes through Rafferty's ears like a smoking wire.

"There," Dr. Ratt says. Pim is bent double, holding her shoulder. "Better?"

"Yes," she says, "but it hurts."

"Well, I lied about that. It'll be sore until tomorrow. But it doesn't hurt like before, does it?"

"Oh, no."

"He did this to her?" Rose asks. It is an accusation.

"John," Rafferty says. "The other one. John Bohnert. He's not as dangerous as he thinks he is."

"Don't you fool yourself," Rose says.

"He told me something interesting."

"Hard to believe," Rose says. Dr. Ratt, Nui, and Pim are watching the two of them, unwilling to interrupt.

"What?" says a new voice, and Rafferty looks around the kitchen door to see Miaow. "What was that noise?" Miaow gives Pim a glance that takes in the garish makeup and the cheap clothes, then dismisses her. "And who's this?"

"Her name is Pim," Rose says, all ice. "Not 'this.' "

"You're grumpy," Miaow says, turning back toward her room. "And he's got bandages on and he's drinking beer. Call me when dinner's ready."

"Hello," Pim says, but Miaow keeps walking.

"You were just spoken to," Rose says to Miaow's back.

"Well," Dr. Ratt says, "if no one else is hurt, we should probably be going."

"Yeah, hello," Miaow mumbles, without slowing.

"You turn around right now," Rose says. "Who are you to be so rude?"

"It's all right," Pim says.

Miaow stops, wheels around, and impales Rose with a glare. "Why are you so mean?"

"That's it," Nui says, grabbing her husband's arm. To Rafferty she says, "Call us if this gets medical." She hauls Dr. Ratt toward the door.

"I haven't paid you," Rafferty says.

"For that? Forget it." Nui is already opening the door, but the doctor puts a hand on the jamb to keep from being towed out of the room. "If you get a chance," he says, "mention us in one of those magazines you write for." He nods to Pim. "Nice to meet you, young lady."

Pim gives a high wai of respect to the door, which is already swinging shut behind him. She calls out, "Thank you," but the closing of the door cuts the phrase in half. To Rafferty she says, eyes shining, "He's a real doctor."

"He is," Rafferty says. "And he's got manners, too."

"Oh, blah, blah, blah," Miaow says. "Why doesn't everybody just yell at me?"

"Miaow," Rafferty says, "I know it's hard, at your age, to believe that there's anything that's not about you, but it's true."

"Oh?" Miaow says, and her chin juts out in challenge. "So you're yelling at me because of what? Because of Rose? Or maybe her?" She flips a thumb at Pim. "Or the guys in the restaurant? Or whoever hurt your stupid arm? Like, what, it's an accident that I'm the one you're yelling at? If someone else was standing here, would you be yelling at them instead of me? Fine. I won't stand here anymore. One of you can stand here and let him yell at you." She turns and stalks down the hall, and a moment later the door to her room slams.

Rose stands, looking after her as though she'd vanished through a wall. She seems distant enough to be reconsidering her entire life. Rafferty drains his beer and thinks about getting another. Then Rose says to Pim, "We're not usually like this."

Pim glances at Rafferty, looking for help, but he's staring into the refrigerator. She says, "Oh." She makes fluttering gestures with her fingers, but no words come.

"This is not a good job," Rose says, her voice flat. "What you've come to Bangkok to do. It's not good for you."

"My parents," Pim says. "And there are five kids." She puts a brown hand flat on her bare knee, fingers spread wide, and stares down at it. She swivels on the stool, and her hot pants glitter. "Everybody needs money," she finally says.

"I know," Rose says. Then she says, "Poke. Get me a beer."

"Gee," Rafferty says. "You're speaking to me." He pulls a Singha out of the refrigerator and says to Pim, "Want one?"

She shakes her head. "I don't drink."

"See?" Rose says over the hiss and fizz as Rafferty pops the cap. "You're a good girl. I know it feels like there's nothing else you can do, but you're wrong. You have no idea how wrong you are. You think you'll do it for a while, a few years, and then it'll all be over, but you're wrong. It's never really over. I haven't danced in more than five years, I'm married, I have a husband and a daughter, and it still comes up and kicks me in the teeth."

"You danced?" Pim says. She blows out a deep breath of admiration. "You must have made big money. I'll bet you got all-nights, maybe even weeks. I'm not beautiful like you. I usually have to wait until they're drunk before one of them picks me, and then it's a short-time. Nobody ever wants me to stay all night." She rubs her palms over her thighs as though she's cold. "I hate going home after, at three or four in the morning with money in my pocket, dressed like this. It frightens me."

"It should all frighten you," Rose says, taking the beer from Rafferty. "You see how disrespectful my daughter just was? That's because she's ashamed of me. My daughter. She could barely look at you because of what you do. And she was a street kid just a few years ago, so it's not like she shits silk. Is that what you want? Someday, after you fuck a thousand drunk men, and defend yourself against the ones who hate women, and avoid getting AIDS, and save your money, and maybe even buy a little house, if you're not like all the other girls who spend the money as fast as it comes and lose it at cards and give it to boyfriends who beat them up. If all that happens, if you live through it and take care of everybody and keep a little money somehow, then your daughter is disgusted with you."