offered an uninvited opinion saying, “Your father is a good man. You shame him.”
An underling was directed to escort me back to my cell. As we left, I attempted to casually scoop up my bag, but was beaten to it by the captain, who stood smiling while holding the object of my desire. Sometimes a Thai smile pissed me off. I smiled back and returned to my cell.
When I tasted my food, I found it to be good, but I still didn’t know what the hell it was. I sipped my drink and I knew what that was … Mehkong with Sprite and lemon on ice. It reminded me of sitting at the noodle shop around the corner from the Teen Club years ago. That night as I nodded off to sleep, I could hear the soft sibilant voices of the girls in the women’s cell across the way.
When I awoke, it was The Kings birthday: December 5, 1985. Two young, low-ranking police officers carried me to the hospital that morning. I had not taken any dope and was feeling a little sick by this time, but I could not go to the hospital stoned. As we arrived, there was a King’s birthday celebration going on in the parking lot. A band was playing Thai country music as the two cops led me handcuffed into the emergency entrance, past the edge of the crowd of revelers who mostly looked at me with disdain. I tried to smile and avoid eye contact.
Inside the triage section, a nurse did vitals while a doctor talked to the cops. Then, speaking to me in perfect English, he confirmed his diagnosis.
“You have heroin withdrawal,” he announced.
“Oh really?” I thought. “Clever observation.”
He continued with some counsel. “The only thing I can give you is an injection of a muscle relaxant to make you more comfortable for now. You are still going to be very sick for a few days,” he concluded. The nurse was already preparing to give me the injection.
I asked the doctor about methadone, and he said he would give me a prescription, but that he was sure they would not let me have it in jail. I would have to get it daily from a hospital across town. I took the prescription anyway.
On the way back to the jail, I suggested that we should stop and eat at an air-conditioned restaurant I spied next door to a pharmacy. The two cops escorting me thought that was a capital idea, since I was buying. I added it was also lucky that we had a pharmacy next door where I could fill my prescription. Once inside, I presented the script to the young girl, even though I knew that she did not have methadone and ordered a dozen Codipront (codeine pills) that required no prescription. She handed over my purchase, and I gulped half of them down before we walked back to the restaurant. The food there was most excellent, especially with beer.
The next morning brought a visitor, the para-consul from the American Embassy. He informed me that he was there to check on how I was being treated and to verify my relative well-being. I assured him that I was being treated well enough, but that I was a little dope-sick. He said that he would ask if I could be taken to the hospital. I told him it was already a done deal.
He gave me a small compilation of papers that briefly explained what I might be able to expect now that I was in the Thai prison system. It was almost like a collection of FAQs. I mentioned that the captain said that I might be able to get bail for about US$8,000 in case my dad was interested, but that I could not get my hands on quite that much cash from jail.
Two days later, the Embassy delivered 250,000 baht, which my family in Arkansas had sent for my bail. The captain later carried me to my court hearing, without handcuffs. He also brought along my briefcase and my leather bag stuffed with my money. During the ride, I used my eye drops and, of course, my heroin-loaded nose spray. Stopping en route to buy some new clothes for me, we arrived at Sanam Luang Courthouse with me feeling renewed and fresh in my new threads.
Once inside the courthouse, the captain accepted the 200,000
An underling was directed to escort me back to my cell. As we left, I attempted to casually scoop up my bag, but was beaten to it by the captain, who stood smiling while holding the object of my desire. Sometimes a Thai smile pissed me off. I smiled back and returned to my cell.
When I tasted my food, I found it to be good, but I still didn’t know what the hell it was. I sipped my drink and I knew what that was … Mehkong with Sprite and lemon on ice. It reminded me of sitting at the noodle shop around the corner from the Teen Club years ago. That night as I nodded off to sleep, I could hear the soft sibilant voices of the girls in the women’s cell across the way.
When I awoke, it was The Kings birthday: December 5, 1985. Two young, low-ranking police officers carried me to the hospital that morning. I had not taken any dope and was feeling a little sick by this time, but I could not go to the hospital stoned. As we arrived, there was a King’s birthday celebration going on in the parking lot. A band was playing Thai country music as the two cops led me handcuffed into the emergency entrance, past the edge of the crowd of revelers who mostly looked at me with disdain. I tried to smile and avoid eye contact.
Inside the triage section, a nurse did vitals while a doctor talked to the cops. Then, speaking to me in perfect English, he confirmed his diagnosis.
“You have heroin withdrawal,” he announced.
“Oh really?” I thought. “Clever observation.”
He continued with some counsel. “The only thing I can give you is an injection of a muscle relaxant to make you more comfortable for now. You are still going to be very sick for a few days,” he concluded. The nurse was already preparing to give me the injection.
I asked the doctor about methadone, and he said he would give me a prescription, but that he was sure they would not let me have it in jail. I would have to get it daily from a hospital across town. I took the prescription anyway.
On the way back to the jail, I suggested that we should stop and eat at an air-conditioned restaurant I spied next door to a pharmacy. The two cops escorting me thought that was a capital idea, since I was buying. I added it was also lucky that we had a pharmacy next door where I could fill my prescription. Once inside, I presented the script to the young girl, even though I knew that she did not have methadone and ordered a dozen Codipront (codeine pills) that required no prescription. She handed over my purchase, and I gulped half of them down before we walked back to the restaurant. The food there was most excellent, especially with beer.
The next morning brought a visitor, the para-consul from the American Embassy. He informed me that he was there to check on how I was being treated and to verify my relative well-being. I assured him that I was being treated well enough, but that I was a little dope-sick. He said that he would ask if I could be taken to the hospital. I told him it was already a done deal.
He gave me a small compilation of papers that briefly explained what I might be able to expect now that I was in the Thai prison system. It was almost like a collection of FAQs. I mentioned that the captain said that I might be able to get bail for about US$8,000 in case my dad was interested, but that I could not get my hands on quite that much cash from jail.
Two days later, the Embassy delivered 250,000 baht, which my family in Arkansas had sent for my bail. The captain later carried me to my court hearing, without handcuffs. He also brought along my briefcase and my leather bag stuffed with my money. During the ride, I used my eye drops and, of course, my heroin-loaded nose spray. Stopping en route to buy some new clothes for me, we arrived at Sanam Luang Courthouse with me feeling renewed and fresh in my new threads.
Once inside the courthouse, the captain accepted the 200,000
Similar Books
