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Fadel hears the police car right outside Heart Burger, and wonders if Bison buying all those video games has enabled the police to track them like this. Mother did say video games were bad for a reason. Now because of Bison’s wish to play a medieval dating simulator despite having one (1) whole boyfriend tattoo artist who follows him like a lost puppy, their mission and their lives will now be compromised indefinitely.
He looks at Style who is engaged in an animated conversation with Bison, Style who is practically defenceless and cannot through a punch to save his life, Style who calls himself a ‘pacifist’ despite being the single most annoying person Fadel has ever had the displeasure of making eyes contact with, Style who violates people’s safe spaces for his own hedonistic desires and has the gall to smile about it. Style would make a good hostage especially since it is after closing hours.
Fadel taps the table he is wiping down in a rhythmic manner, alerting Bison who nods along to Style’s words while leaning towards his personal space, in a show of imitating interest, which allows him to reach for the pocket knife he keeps in his pocket of his apron all while Style does not notice.
The bell rings which finally shuts Style’s mouth. He turns towards the entrance and his mouth opens again.
“Hi Uncle!” Style greets the police officer, all smiles, like this was an expected scenario. “Isn’t it too late to order a burger? I mean it is almost 9, you should go back and rest.” Style leans his broom against the wall before putting his hands on his hips. “Aunty has been worried that you have been taking more hours.”
Fadel looks at the police officer and feels his hands squeeze the cloth tightly. This was the same man that unfortunately and with extremely bad timing had entered the sauna, interrupting Style. Was Style working with the police? Was the sauna all just a way to relay his location to them? Fadel will kill Style with his own hands, and by the end of it, Style would not be able to even beg for mercy.
“You both should stop talking to each other,” the police officer sounds tired, like anyone else who has to deal with Style’s existence on a daily basis, save for Bison who finds Style delightful for some reason and Kant who Fadel could care less about. “Giving me gray hairs before I turn fifty.”
“But Uncle, your hair is already grey.” Style gives him a cheeky smile. “What are you here for?”
The police officer stares Style down, ignoring the other two people in the room. “I’m here to take you to the station on the grounds of public indecency.”
Bison promptly starts choking on air and Fadel almost does the same. Was Style seeing someone else alongside Fadel? He should have been expecting this from someone like Style, someone who glides through life without care or thought, but it still hurts. Fadel is not sure what hurts more; Style betraying him or Style just using him for his body. Bison is still choking. Fadel should probably do something about that.
Style is the one who ends up doing something by giving Bison water. Bison downs the glass like a shot and then looks at the glass like he wishes it was one. He looks at the police officer, “Public indecency?” and then looks at Fadel. Fadel does not want to know what Bison is thinking.
The policeman shrugs, “Unofficial of course.”
“Because I did not actually break any laws, you can’t arrest me.” Style puts the jar he was holding on the table, not too gently, the sound the jar makes reflecting Style’s annoyance. He then pauses consideringly, “Is this about the sauna or the thing that happened over here today?” Style points at the table near the entrance of the restaurant.
Fadel was so relieved that Style was not seeing someone else despite Fadel’s desire to never see Style again, that he almost did not notice Bison choking and Style rushing over to give him the water jug. What broke Fadel out of his contemplation was the chilly feeling of the cold, analyzing gaze of the police officer. Fadel feels like a rhinoceros beetle whose chance of survival depends on the younger brother’s fascination with bugs. – “No bug should be that big.” “They are not bugs Fadel, they’re beetles.” “Like the band?” “Fadel!” –
“The sauna.” The police officer says before registering the other part of the sentence, “I do not even want to know what else you are talking about.”
“Sure.” Style gives a small pat to Bison’s shoulder, which is weakly returned, Bison is still drinking water. Style gives a flirty wave to Fadel which is ignored and skips out of Heart Burger, talking with the officer as he does so. “Let’s go then. But I was actually serious about aunty being upset about you taking more hours. Aren’t there more…”
Fadel listens until Style’s voice tapers into silence and Bison’s voice breaks it, having finally conquered the urge to cough with every breath.
“Fadel what was that about?”
Fadel raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” He knows what Bison wants to know and he knows that Bison knows that he knows what Bison wants to know. He won’t say it out aloud unless Bison specifies what he wants to know and Bison knows that.
Bison is not sure where to begin. “They arrested Style.”
Fadel shrugs as he continues wiping down the same table since Style arrived. “Better him than us.”
Bison furrows his brows in thought. Maybe he should just go for it? There is nothing to lose. “What was Style talking about?”
“To the police officer?” Fadel sounds nonchalant but he is still wiping the same table.
“Yeah,” Bison takes the cloth from Fadel’s grasp, and it takes the sound of Fadel’s hand wiping the table for him to stop his sorry excuse of cleaning and look at Bison’s face. “Style said that something happened at Heart Burger today. What was it?”
Fadel shuffles his feet in guilty thought. He was not sure how to phrase ‘I ripped Style’s shirt with kitchen scissors, tried to kick him out during peak hours in front of all the customers and gave him an apron to wear in recompense when he told he cannot walk out without a shirt’ but he tried anyway.
Bison does not know where to begin. Fadel could have given Style one of their extra waiter shirts. Fadel should not have done that to Style in front of people. What led to Fadel cutting off Style's shirt like that in the first place? He could have said any of the above statements but what actually came out was, “I did not expect you to be an exhibitionist.”
***
Style accepted the spicy pork skewers after he thanked uncle Gun and waited for him to sit down before eating. The metal Coat of Arms on uncle Gun’s police cap reflects off the street light above them, giving it the impression of gilded gold. The warm air of the night reflects the black and gold atmosphere of the beach they are sitting in front of. The inky darkness of the night sky and the yellow of the street light makes the skewers have a golden hue.
“So, what happened uncle?” Style asks between bites. He knows he is not in any real trouble. Unofficial Arrest is a term the local police use when they want to talk to Kant and Style in an official capacity about things that they have caught them doing, that while wrong, do not necessarily break the law. For every ten things they get away with, they are only caught once.
Officer Gun gets to the point. "The sauna is a public area and not a place for you to seduce boys." Style continues to eat as Officer Gun continues. He sounds more amused than actually upset. "Why would you do that?"
Style finishes chewing before he speaks for his mother had raised a well-mannered son. "Why would you interrupt me?" Style pouts, reminding Uncle Gun of a younger Style with the same huffy face. "I almost had him!"
Gun has actually been wondering about that. "Why are you so fascinated by him?"
"He has a stupid uniform and dumb social skills; I have to have him!" Style laughs and his smile becomes more contemplative, like his mother. “He interests me because of how contradictory he is.” Style fingers run along the length of the skewer stick and back again. “He puts up this wall, but he cares a lot. For the restaurant and his brother. He may not seem like it but he has gone through terrible loss. He looks like he needs someone who is willing to understand him and not just know him.”
“And you think you can be that person?” Uncle Gun’s tone was strict but not unkind.
Style’s drooped shoulders shrug. “I hope I can be.”
Gun stands up and looks at Style to do the same. “Let’s get something to drink.”
They walk along the beach, the cool salty wind tickling Style’s skin and nose as the fizziness of the lime soda bubbles down his throat and his steps are weighed down by the sand that gets into the crevices of his sandals.
Uncle Gun’s voice is quiet and wistful, remembering an earlier time, a time before his daughter and not much time before Style was born. “Your father talked about your mother that way.”
Style almost loses his paper straw to the sands. “You mean he harassed her all the time?”
Gun scoffs in amusement. “Is that what you are doing to that boy now?” Style looks away but does not answer. “Jay said that your mother made him want to know her better, to make her smile, to make sad and angry. He wanted to be the person she could always rely on. That was why her passing, may her soul rest in peace, was so hard on him.” He gives a gentle look to the boy walking beside him. “But you know that the best.”
Style takes the salt air in and breathes it out in a shaky exhale, tasting tears at the back of his throat. His father’s love for him is undeniable, always wanting the best for him. But before Style is Jay Sattawat’s son, he is a product of his parent’s love for each other, a consequence of mutual love and desire.
He remembers the days right after his mother’s death, where his father would not open the auto shop or even look in his general direction. It had been Style who opened the auto shop, learning to put into practice the skills he has seen for his entire life, while putting aside his personal interests and wishes for more important things. Kant helped him to build himself up and become someone who can not only take care of himself but also the people around him, should they need it. Somedays Style wonders if he would have ever made it without Kant. By the time Jay put himself together and decided to step up to his role, Style no longer needed him. His father accepted Style’s independence, upset that his baby grew quickly but no less proud of him for it.
Style nods quietly and Gun gives him a paternal pat on the back, before driving him back home and telling him to sleep.
***
It was late afternoon and Bison is somehow still working, despite his recent tendency to wander and do anything but take orders and guide paying customers to their seats. – “I said I was sorry Fadel, what more do you want?” “For you to actually work in your place of employment, or is that too hard for you?” – when he hears the bell ring and reflexively greets whoever walked in with the stand greeting, – “We do not have a ‘standard greeting’! Just welcome them in and guide them to their seats.” “But Fadel, what is the fun in that?” “This is work, it is not supposed to be fun.” “Spoken like a true capitalist, Fadel.” –, before it lodges itself in his throat.
Style looks harried and worried, with Babe’s bag slung over his shoulder and Babe looking worried but calm about it. “Hi.” Style says like it is a normal day with nothing bothering him. Babe gives a small smile and a wave which Bison returns.
Bison finds an empty spot, which is everywhere, because they have no customers at all, and tells Babe to sit wherever he wants before turning his attention to Style. “Are you okay?”
Style puts Babe’s bag on the seat opposite to Babe and shakes his head. “No. I had to pick Babe from school and rush over here.” He ruffles Babe’s head as he takes in deep breaths, indicative of the stress that he feels.
Kant is not here and Bison is worried about him. “Where is Kant? Is he alright?”
Style and Babe look at each other before replying to Bison. “He’ll be fine.” “Phi got arrested.”
“Why?” Was it because of the car thefts or something else? Will Bison ever see him again? “Actually, it does not matter because I’m going to get him out.” In the worst-case scenario, he just bludgeons everyone to death and sets the police station on fire. It will be like the 15th of March in Chaing Mai with 18 deaths due to asphyxiation and carbon monoxide poisoning and no known survivors. The cause of the fire has been linked to the ongoing reduction of the rainfall in the area.
“Don’t worry about Kant, they just put him in holding. It happens. Not all the time but often enough.” Style’s cheerful voice does not match the worried look in his eyes nor the nervous fiddling of his hands.
“Babe,” The said person directs his attention from the posters on the wall, Bison’s idea not Fadel’s, to Style who gives him a gentle smile and a final pat on his head. “I called Pim and she said that Pa will come to pick you up. I think by the time you get to the station everything will be resolved. Just order something to eat, okay?”
“I know P’Style. You don’t need to worry.” Style nods, and after a casual, “Take care Bison.” He leaves.
Bison feels like a shaken soda can, building up internal pressure and bubbling up without an outlet. “P’Bison,” Babe hands him a book. “I thought you might like to read it, but it is okay if you do not want to.” Bison looks at the title of the book and feels like a shaken-up soda can that just got kicked against the wall. “You seemed to like The Merchant of Venice so I got you a paperback. I annotated some pages; I hope that’s okay.”
Babe’s words were static to Bison’s ears as he takes the book from Babe and looks at it. The cover is innocuous; an image of the scales of justice, but Bison knows better. Oh, he does. Bassanio and Antonio, those queer bastards. Or queer-baiting bastards. Bison is not sure which is worse: cheating on your spouse with your best friend, or pretending to cheat on your spouse with your best friend. Both are just as bad if you ask Bison; there is no one worse than a liar.
(In the holding cell, Kant sneezes.)
Bison feels his hand being shaken, “-ison, are you okay? P’Bison do I need to call someone?” Babe sounds worried, he has been calling out to Bison for some time now.
“No, I’m alright.” Bison shakes it off and gives Babe a menu. “Will Kant be alright?”
“This has happened before.” Babe looks at the menu, thumbing its plastic case thoughtfully. “But it has not happened for some time. I think he will be fine.” The menu crinkles under his hands.
“Would you like to eat something?” Before he does anything else, Bison should take Babe’s mind from Kant’s situation. Babe nods. Bison softens. Fadel leaves the kitchen and enters the dining area. Everyone is silent.
Fadel eyes Bison’s empty hands. Hands that should be holding a notepad and pen to take down orders. Fadel should fire him, at least Style, for all his annoying habits, does work. – “I’m your brother Fadel, you can never fire me. I’ll unionize.” “You and who else? Do you even know what unionize means?” – “Is this a customer?”
“This is Kant’s younger brother Babe.” Bison sounds like Kant’s younger brother is some sort of national treasure.
“Will he be tipping?” Babe takes out his wallet and starts counting cash, while Bison gives Fadel an affronted look. Fadel was not expecting that. “I was just joking.” He gives a friendly smile in an attempt to soothe Babe’s nerves. “So, you are Kant’s brother? It is nice to meet you. My name is Fadel, I’m Bison’s older brother.”
Babe stands up to give a polite wai. “My name is Babe, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
Bison turns to Babe. “Do you want to see your brother? We can close up now and take you there,” At Babe’s guilty look Bison adds another statement. “I’m worried about Kant too.”
“What happened to Kant?” Huh, so Fadel actually knows his name. Bison was beginning to think that Fadel’s old age was gaining on him.
“He got arrested and that is why we are going to close up and see him.” Bison waits for Fadel to form the words in his mind before interrupting him. “And don’t say anything about customers. The only reason why we have them is because of Style anyway.”
Just as Fadel goes to say something, Babe’s stomach growls. Babe is quick to apologize, which is waved away by Fadel. “I’ll pack you a cheeseburger. You like it without vegetables?”
“No tomatoes, please.” Fadel nods.
***
The police station is empty when Style enters it, save for three other people including Kant. Style walks up to P’Book who is playing solitaire on his computer.
“Where is Kant?” P’Book does not seem to mind Style’s curtness.
“He is in holding. I’ll bring him here.” Style sits on one of the chairs and waits for P’Book to start the paperwork. Between P’Book, the abysmal network connectivity and the ancient printer, Style thinks he will be waiting for a while. P’Book smacks the printer, which causes it to self-destruct over P’Book’s uniform. Style winces in sympathy, those stains would be hard to get rid of. P’Book looks at Style in a plea.
Style rolls up his sleeves. “Where is the tool box?”
“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” For that remark Kant earns a smack on the back of his head. His face has a bright red mark and is slightly swollen, he has bruises and small cuts on his knuckles and he has a cut on his upper shoulder.
“You could have gotten badly hurt.” Style is taking a mile a minute as his eyes and hands register and double check Kant’s physical health. They are seated on the police chairs behind the desks and the Superintendent’s table has been temporarily repurposed for medical reasons. Uncle Gun would understand.
Kant feels the sting of the antiseptic before it hits but flinches anyway. Style rolls his eyes but his hands are gentler as he bandages the area.
Bison and Fadel reach just as Style bandages Kant up. For now, they do not enter the station and are content with observing from the door and windows. Bison looks at Kant, a little roughed up but mostly alright. Bison will give the other guy hell to pay.
“Why did you do this?” Style merely sounds curious, a stark difference from his concerned anger from earlier. Bison finds himself leaning forward to hear what Kant has to say.
Kant mumbles something but Bison could not hear it. Neither could Stye as Kant is asked to repeat himself. “I said,” Kant’s voice is calm but his body trembles, ever so slightly. “He asked me how much you would cost for a night.” Kant’s hand cuts off the circulation from Style's hand as he says this.
“And did you tell him I’m too expensive for him?” While the words were joking, Style’s tone was not.
Kant scoffs. “I told him to shut the fuck up, and when he did not, I punched him.” Kant’s hand is now gently squeezing away the unnatural redness on Style’s hand.
“Who was it?” Style asks as he puts away the first aid box, “Was it Nook?”
Kant shakes his head. “It was some foreigner.”
Style’s hands pause, “A tourist?” Kant nods in reply and Style’s hands continue to put away the box.
Bison decides that now would be a good time to make their presence known. With Fadel not voicing any complaints, Bison takes that as the go ahead and knocks on the door, bringing everyone’s attention to them. As soon as Kant’s eyes land on Bison, they visibly soften.
“You came.”
“Of course.” Bison goes to Kant, and fuzzes over him. “Are you badly hurt?”
Kant blushes. “It’s just a scratch. It is nothing much.”
“You protected your friend; of course it is not nothing.” Kant’s bashful smile is one of Bison’s favourites. He takes Kant’s hands in his and kisses them softly, not missing the confused look Style sends his way.
“Do you know how he knew about me?” Style looks confused and a little guilty for interrupting their romantic moment.
Kant scratches the back of his head with his good hand. “He said something about social media but I was not really listening.” He rubs his knuckles as he says so.
Fadel has a bad feeling about this.
Bison cocks his head. “Social media?” He pulls out his phone and starts browsing through all his social media. He starts doom scrolling until he has an idea and logs in through the Heart Burger’s official account. He finds the account tagged multiple times and checks the video it was tagged under. His blood runs cold.
Kant slams Fadel against the wall and Fadel does nothing to stop him. Why did he do that to Style? Style was cocky and did not listen, Fadel just wanted to humiliate him, to teach him a lesson. He did not want this to happen.
“How Fucking dare, you.” Kant trembles in anger. Fadel does not say anything, what can he even say? That Style was asking for it? How does that make him any different from those disgusting people he has killed over the years?
“Kant calm down,” Style holds Kant’s arm from punching Fadel. “I was asking for it anyway.” Kant’s arm slackens in shock and Bison is able to drag him away. “Right, Fadel?” Style gives him a wink, but Fadel cannot bring himself to look at Style in the eyes. The police officer observes but does not interfere.
“But that was not the only reason you started fighting him.” Bison holds Kant a firm but gentle grip. “There was something else he said.”
Kant nods. “He called Style a whore and I just.” He opens his right palm, closes it, opens it again. “I just snapped. I did not realize anything until P’Book arrested me and dragged me to holding.” P’Book nods.
Style feels numb, his body frozen up. “I can’t blame that guy.” He rubs his fingers along the hem of his crop top. A punch to the table snaps him out of his musings. P’Book gets up from his seat and calmly walks to the holding cell. Style looks at Bison. “You make sure they don’t fight, I’ll stop P’Book.” He rushes to stop P’Book from causing an international incident.
Kant thinks about freeing himself, but Bison’s hold belies his strength. He does not want to fight a losing battle. “Can I sit down?” Bison nods and holding his hand, sits him down on one of the chairs, not letting go of his hands. Fadel continues to stand.
“Will the officer be okay?” Bison looks at the direction of the holding cells and Kant cannot help his laughter.
“You need to be more concerned about the other guy. P’Book cares a lot about him. He took care of Style and Pim when their parents were busy. He is in a lot of Style’s baby pictures.” Kant nods his head to the Superintendent’s table. “Pim is uncle Gun’s daughter. Style is a year older to her.” He adds quietly.
Bison nods, and gently squeezes his hand. Kant squeezes back and they sit in silence.
***
Kant hates paperwork. Luckily Style is there to help him and everything went smooth sailing with no hiccups at all. – “Why do they want this? These guys already have my fingerprints!” “Just put the information down before I smack you.” – It did take four hours to get all the paperwork in order. Kant will have to go back on a later date to settle with that foreigner.
He looks at Style who seems unaffected but Kant knows better. Bison and Fadel are walking behind them, to give them privacy.
“Are you alright?” Kant knocks his shoulders with Style’s.
Style shrugs. “I mean this is better than the whole stalker thing that happened before.”
Kant sees Fadel flinch in his peripheral vision. Good. “That does not make it better.”
“I know.” Style sounds quiet. Unlike Kant, he has always been a pacifist, choosing the path of least violence, even when it hurts.
Kant looks around. He cannot find him. “Where is Babe?”
“I left him at Heart Burger,” Style turns to Bison. “Did Pim pick him up?”
Bison nods. “We wanted to see you so we started to close up and just as we finished closing up, Pim arrived to pick up Babe. We packed him a burger.”
Style nods. “Hey, do you still have it?” Fadel does not reply. “My shirt that you snipped.” Style mimes scissors cutting.
Fadel nods haltingly. He bought the cut shirt back with him and washed it. It was an impulsive decision, he is not sure if he would do it again. It is in the locker where the extra uniforms are kept.
“Can I have it back? I’m going to repair it. The cut you made even if it was long, it was cl-”
“Style.” Fadel interrupts him. “I’m sorry. About the video, I should have stopped the people from recording it and as the owner of Heart Burger I take responsibility for that.” Fadel thinks about what he is going to say next, deliberating if this is the right course of action. “I know someone, a friend who can erase all instances of the video from the web. I can ask him for a favour. Even if I was upset at you,” furious “That is no excuse for me to allow other people as well as myself to do things like that. I’m sorry Style.” Fadel gives a wai in apology.
Style looks at him consideringly. “Are you?” At Fadel’s shocked look he goes to explain. “What you did was not,” Style looks for the words, “Nice, I guess.” Style sighs. “But you’re not sorry for what you did, you are sorry for the consequences.” Fadel looks hurt now, like a puppy. “But I don’t blame you, after what I did in the support group, I think what you did was alright payback.”
No, it is not. Fadel wants to say, but is unable to find the words to. Despite Style’s stupid story he did not outright belittle or humiliate anyone, though his general demeanour implied as such. What Fadel did through both his actions and inactions, humiliated Style and placed him in a position of vulnerability.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Style looks hurt, like Fadel’s feelings are directly affecting him. “How about this? You talk to your friend, give me my shirt back and a free burger meal, and we can call it a deal.” He extends his hand with a gentle smile. “Are your terms alright with you Mr. Owner?”
Fadel nods and holds Style’s hand. It is soft and smooth, save for his callouses rough with years of experience and hard work. He must take good care of them. They shake on it. Fadel feels a little lighter.
“I’ll contact my friend immediately. Your shirt is in the diner,” Fadel takes out the keys for his Jeep. “I can go and get it for you now.”
“I’ll just be there tomorrow. You can just give it to me then.” Fadel nods.
Style points at Kant. “Do not tell anything about this to Pim. She will shank him.” Whether the ‘him’ in question was the foreigner or Fadel is left unsaid. Fadel is not sure which is more likely.
“Pim has Pa now, she won’t be that rash.” Style gives Kant an incredulous look.
“That is even worse.”
That piqued Bison’s curiosity. “Why is that?”
Style shakes Bison by the shoulders. “If Pim thinks about stabbing, Pa will commit murder. They are the other’s worst enablers.”
“You mean they are each other’s best enabler.”
“Semantics, Kant.” Style kicks a stray rock, hearing it stutter and stop just a bit further away. “I just don’t want another incident.”
“In the girls’ defence,” Kant raises his hands before Style can do anything. “That dog was rabid and you almost died. I’d say it was justified.”
Style sounds like he might cry. “But Boonterm did not deserve to die like that.” Fadel looks at Style. Boonterm, the dog he talked about in that stupid story was a real dog? Fadel wants to ask Style about Boonterm. He does not make an attempt to.
Kant holds Style in a half hug. “Maybe. Maybe not.” It was clear where Kant sided in this matter. They leave it at that.
Bison does not want to part ways by the time they reach the Jeep. Fadel does not want to do that either, he is just quiet about it.
“Do you need us to drop you off?” Bison offers.
Kant shakes his head. “Thanks for the offer though.”
“What are you planning to do now? Do you need to go to the station later?”
“That hearing thing will happen in a day or two. I’ll need to pay that bastard some money, that’s it. Babe has his parent-teacher meeting tomorrow so we’ll be going for that.”
Style stretches his hands and his fingers grab the sunlight for a brief moment before the sunset takes them away. “Babe’s report card will look amazing so we will have to go out and treat him for that.”
“Bring him to Heart Burger.” Fadel’s voice almost made Bison jump. “I’ll cook something good for him.”
“You heard him,” Style pokes Kant. “Now we will have to give Babe something else.”
Kant thinks about it. “He always wanted to have a sleepover at Knot’s house, we can arrange for that.” Style nods along. “And then we are having a Drunk Movie Night.”
“Yes.,” Style cheers as he slumps onto Kant, putting his body weight on the other. “It has been a while. We are watching Skyfall. The one with that extremely gay interrogation scene. Pure cinema.”
Kant gently pushes Style to take the keys from his pocket. The keys jingle together as he waves at Bison. Bison waves back as he watches the two walk towards a parked motorbike. He then turns his attention to Fadel, who had inserted the key into the ignition but did nothing else. His hands are on the steering wheel but his face is tilted to the ground, thinking.
Bison is upset at Fadel for doing that to Style without his explicit consent. Bison taught him better. But Fadel already looks guilty enough, so Bison will leave the lecture for now.
“Can you do me a favour, Bison?” Fadel’s voice is unsure and guilt-ridden.
“You don’t need to ask me for a favour Fadel.” Bison’s voice matches Fadel’s in softness.
“I have to.” The steering wheel shakes. “So, please?”
Bison nods and takes the work laptop from the bag in the back seat. He smiles at Fadel. “I’ll start on it right now.”
Fadel does not say anything as the jeep rumbles to life, he does not need to. Fadel buys him a cream soda as payment and for Bison that is enough.