Savoir-vivre, or whatever you call it (джен)

A phone call that his son is being held at the 28th precinct throws Tony’s savoir-vivre out of balance. Because his son should not be in New York, much less at a police station. “Isn’t his mother listed as his primary guardian?”
“She’s also listed as living in Maryland. Are you going to collect your son or not?” There is an edge to the police woman’s voice, particularly over the words ‘your son’. And Tony realizes, awkwardly, self-consciously, that he probably couldn’t sound any more like a deadbeat dad.
The reality of the situation is: he hasn’t seen Peter in almost a month now, since their latest horribly ugly falling-out. And practically bailing him out of jail was not part of any of the one thousand bonding and rekindling scenarios he has run in his head since then.