The Grace Hotel is an air-conditioned tower with a bar in the basement that never closes. It’s famous for this. The bar’s walls and ceiling are blue and yellow tile and the light is soft but fluorescent. The floor is not sticky and the bartenders are jaded Thais wearing hotel badges. It is impossible to tell when the sun rises because there are no windows. All very obvious. There is also a bowling alley.

“I hate this place,” says Harrison.

Then why are we here? Mike wonders, as they step out of the way of a tiny Thai girl and Brit in an orange, tie-dyed shirt. The girl trips as she passes and Mike sees a small, brown breast pop out of her dress. As Harrison leads him to the bar Mike notices a group of prostitutes in one corner who are taller and whiter than almost everybody else in the room. Mike thinks they look Russian, although he knows no Russians. A couple of them have red hair, he notices.

“Not for your story,” says Harrison, as he orders beers, “but interesting.”

Mike decides the prettiest girl in the place is a tall Thai, who does little talking but lots of hair mussing. She wears jeans and a white blouse cut in a deep V. She has three drinks from three different men in front of her and is sipping from each of them. Unlucky that she has ended up at the Grace this late, Harrison explains. She has to make up time.

Mike goes to the bathroom and when he returns Harrison is talking to a girl whose back is to him. She is small, wearing a silver, almost metallic dress that stops just above her knees. From the back she looks the way the girls Mike grew up with did when they were twelve or thirteen and trying to look older. Her hips are so narrow. But when she turns, he is startled by the heavy makeup and the way she stares at him. Mike thinks she is probably his age.

Harrison calls her Tweety.

“Always flitting in and out of trouble,” Harrison says, smiling at her.

Mike extends his hand and Tweety takes it in both of hers and leans forward and kisses him on the cheek, saying something to Harrison in Thai. He says something back to her and Mike is surprised to hear the sharp language come so easily out of Harrison’s wide mouth.

“Harrison,” Tweety says in a high voice, “you have very handsome friend.”

Harrison grunts and sips his beer. “Mike is doing a story on pills,” he says.

“A reporter?” Tweety says. “But you look so young.”

“I’m barely doing it.” Mike can see the bags under her eyes.

Harrison explains that Tweety is a very good translator. Tweety nods at the praise. “Maybe I could translate for you,” she says and puts her hand on Mike’s arm.