A taste of Dragan Tupaic.

A taste of Dragan Tupaic.
Prologue to Love Crime Johnny
Coming soon to Amazon. amazon.com/author/dragantupaic

I am not a writer. I am a storyteller. My stories are tales of what I have seen and heard; they are memories of all the emotions that ran through my body and images instilled in my brain for one purpose: revenge. Throughout my life, I have been noting the best and the worst in the form of daily memoirs. Now, I hold in my hands the pinnacle of my writing, the culmination of those memoirs, my life’s work under the name Love, Crime, Johnny. The only thing left now is to find its reader. As for me, there’s no more reading I need to do in my life; everything that has ever been written, I already know it. I have learnt all life’s lessons. 

I’m trying to gather up the courage to go the police. I am in Bangkok, on my way out of the hotel. I find myself in a famous, crowded street full of bargirls, bars, Sukhumvit, number four.  The tuk-tuk driver, or what we would at home call auto rickshaw, is already waving his hand at me: “Taxi! Taxi! Come with me! I will take you wherever you want.” I refuse. Another driver approaches me, and I inquire about the price. “200 Baht,” he retorts. Again, I refuse. A third driver is already asking me where I want to go. “To the police. 100 Baht,” I respond. He gives me a short look, and agrees. 

In Thailand, just like in this story, tourists are the only innocent ones. This is because the tourist is the only one not looking to rip you off. Everyone else is. The taxi driver is rushing through the streets, ignoring pedestrian crosses and red lights, and very quickly we reach the police station. Generally, the police are feared around the world. Not in Thailand; in Thailand, everything is laid back, everything has a relaxing air. The approach of the police is different, too; they do not automatically assume everyone who approaches them is a criminal. I make my way through the police station, reach the desk, and explain that I wish to speak with a supervisor. In Thailand, this is not weird. After all, negotiations are negotiations. The supervisor comes to me shortly. There are two of them, like always. The subordinate one follows as child follows his father. 

We shake hands, and I take out my novel, Love Crime Johnny. Half of the pages are missing, and I explain that I wish to report a robbery, that someone has stolen half of my novel. The two break out in laughter. They do not ask any questions; there is no questioning of where this happened, who stole my novel and why, when did they steal or when will they steal it… just laughter. I realize the policemen are not the kind of people who would read novels. When I think about it, I realize that there are very few people in Thailand who would. There is no time; all of the population is focused on one thing: cash. Or, as the locals would put it: No money, no honey.

#novel   #crimenovel