Lek had been on duty for several hours manning a traffic police road block on the super highway. The super highway stretched all of the way to Bangkok and the road blocks were placed at many locations along it’s length. Their position was ideal as they could not be seen by motorists until the last minute and they had the shade from the airport overpass to keep away the glare of the sun. Lek’s wallet was full as there had been no shortage of motorbike riders without helmets or Farangs to intimidate with threatened prosecution for alleged speeding offences. Still, his pistol holster was new and rubbed sorely against his hip.Gope, one of his friends in the traffic police, called out to him -
“Hey Lek – how much money have you made today?
“Not enough Gope!”
Gope knew that Lek led a high life with many debts, a wife and child to pay for every week and a fondness for gambling. Police officers were paid low salaries and had to pay for many items of their police apparel and equipment, including their motorbikes, themselves.
“What time are you going to eat?”
“Listen Gope… I have a few jobs to do, as well as eat, can you cover for me for a few hours?”
“Sure, but don’t make it too late. That new captain will be making his rounds at some time to collect – okay?”
“Sure Gope… just tell him that I had the ‘runs’. Too much rotten food from the Som Tam vendor next to the police station.”
Lek climbed on to his motorbike, kick-started it and headed off down the super highway. The hot saddle of his motorbike burned his upper thighs. It seems that he always forgot to cover it when not riding the bike.
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