Second Love

by Gould, Judith

  The few fishermen still plying the river's waters in their long, narrow boats at this hour did not see them. For they were all gathered in the dining room on the boat's lower deck, seated around a table in rattan chairs, sipping tea from delicate cups. Their bodyguards, stationed outside on the deck surrounding the dining room, ignored the setting sun as it turned a bloody red.

  'Ayeeeeyah! The fornicating whore is a more competent adversary than we had anticipated,' Honorable Tiger was saying. 'She has given that round-eyed foreign devil Connery the fifty-million-dollar interest payment.'

  'Her strength has indeed surprised us,' Honorable Snake affirmed.

  'Bad joss for us,' Honorable Dragon said, and the others nodded their heads and clucked their tongues.

  'What is even worse,' Honorable Horse said excitedly, 'is that the eater of turtle shit has put FLASH on the market.'

  'Fang-pi!' Honorable Tiger spat out. 'FLASH is highly esteemed. The gods of fortune may rain dollars on the mealy-mouthed whore.'

  'Forgive me for asking, Illustrious Elders,' the ever-worried Honorable Rooster asked with agitation in his voice, 'but what are we to do if this barbarian pays off the loan in August, heya?'

  The old lung tao, Kuo Fong, stroked his wispy beard, his dried-apple face a study in thoughtfulness as he listened. The Chiuchow took a sip of tea, then set down the lotus-shaped cup on the shiny wood table before speaking. He cleared his throat, and all heads turned to him, giving him their full attention. As Honorable Ox was the eldest, he was deemed the wisest.

  'The interest payment is like the early spring flower,' the old lung tao said. 'Summer is nearly upon us, and the flowering is over. We must now turn our attention to the next season.'

  Heads nodded in assent around the table.

  'In your superior wisdom,' Honorable Rooster asked worriedly, 'what must we do, Honorable Ox?'

  The old lung tao sipped his tea fastidiously. Finally, he spoke: 'The gods have seen fit to take her husband, is this not so, heya7.'

  All heads nodded in assent again.

  'In the coming season,' Honorable Ox continued, 'Buddha may neglect this barbarian woman as he neglected her husband.'

  Honorable Dragon could barely conceal a smile. 'Honorable Ox,' he said, 'can you suggest a path we should take so as to accommodate Buddha?'

  'We had the kwai lo, Jimmy Vilinsky, buried like stinking manure,' Honorable Snake chortled.

  'Perhaps it is time,' the old lung tao conceded, 'to be of further assistance to the gods. Now that the round eye has put FLASH on the market, time is of the essence, heya?'

  'Ayeeyah!' Honorable Tiger, as host, poured more tea for his guests. 'It is time then to contact your wife's fifth cousin twice removed, heya?'

  'Precisely,' the old lung tao replied. 'We must hurry now, and the one sure way to prevent the foreign whore's success is to treat her and her dog turd company as a snake.'

  'As a snake, Honorable Ox?' Honorable Horse asked.

  The old lung tao stroked his wispy goatee. 'Like the lowly snake,' he said, 'we chop off its head and dispatch it to its devils, then the body belongs to us to do with as we please.'

  'Ayeeyah! Illustrious Elder, you are most wise,' Honorable Snake said.

  'If we chop of the snake's head, then Pan Pacific will own the whore- strumpet's company,' Honorable Ox said. The old lung tao paused dramatically and looked around the table with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. 'And we are Pan Pacific.'

  Honorable Rooster, ever cautious, clucked his tongue. 'We must make certain this turd-eating snake is dealt with at a great distance from us,' he said worriedly.

  'You are ever wise, Esteemed Rooster,' the old lung tao said. 'We must use my wife's fifth cousin twice removed to contact this Carmine.'

  'The Sicilian, heya?' Honorable Dragon asked.

  'The Sicilian,' Honorable Ox answered, nodding his head in agreement. 'The time is nigh, Illustrious Elders.' Then he paused again and glanced around the table, stroking his goatee once more. 'Let us cast our votes. Those in favor of eliminating the devil-born whore, use the chop depicting the bird. Those opposed, use the fish.'

  As they usually did, each of six men opened his small teak box, picked up the chop he wished to use, and marked his choice on a square of rice paper. The folded squares were then dropped into the bowl in the center of the table.

  'Honorable Tiger,' said the old lung tao, 'as our esteemed host, would you honor us by counting?'

  The Laotian general who protected the rich upland poppy fields nodded, then picked up the bowl, emptied it on the table, and opened each piece of paper.

  When he was finished, he looked up and glanced around the table, his eyes shining with evil malevolence. 'There are six birds,' he said, his voice expressing his satisfaction.

  'It is decided,' the old lung tao said. 'Sonny Fong shall contact the Sicilian to send the pallid pink toad whore to her devils.' He searched the eyes of his fellow conspirators. 'Are there any further comments?'

  There were none.

  'Excellent. We shall depart as always. Honorable Tiger, your hospitality has been very gracious indeed,' he said.

  'Thank you, Esteemed Ox,' Honorable Tiger said.

  'Will you please remain until the rest of us have departed, then make certain that all evidence of our meeting is destroyed?'

  'It will be my honor, Esteemed Elder,' Honorable Tiger answered. The old lung tao rose to his feet, and then the others followed suit. They bowed graciously to one another and each said: 'May the gods of fortune attend you.'

  Their meeting was adjourned.

  One half hour after Honorable Tiger had left the Jayavarman, the beautiful wooden riverboat inexplicably exploded into a sea of worthless rubble.

  The cause was never determined, and an investigation was never made, due to the traditional payoff.

  'It is good joss,' the villagers nearby were heard to say. 'The gods never intended that this boat transport tourists on the mighty Mekong.'

  BOOK THREE

  SUDDENLY

  THAT SUMMER

  60

  Three in the afternoon, the streets baking outside, the below-street- level dining rooms at Mama Rosa's as cool as catacombs and as quiet, the last of the lunch crowd gone.

  Sonny Fong, in full-throttle Armani, L.A. style—lightweight sports jacket and cuffed trousers with a black T-shirt and pricey shades— glanced around, hands in his pockets. The red-jacketed waiters and white-shirted busboys ignored him, too busy changing the table linens and setting up for dinner.

  He acknowledged the arthritic, rheumy-eyed waiter who'd intercepted him on his first visit. Said, 'How you doing?'

  Getting a dead fish stare in return.

  Sonny, unfazed, shot his cuffs, smoothed his lapels, and strutted past, headed to the kitchen in back. The gruesome, tortured saints on the walls didn't get so much as a glance, all of them old hat by now.

  Outside the swinging door to the kitchen, he paused to steel himself against the heat. Then pushed his way through.

  It was worse than a blast furnace, but the women working at the stainless steel counters, jabbering rapid-fire Italian while kneading, chopping, slicing, and dicing, didn't seem to mind.

  One of them looked up and noticed him.

  'Hey, giovinettas!' she called out to the others. 'Look-a at what the cat dragged in-a! This-a must be Mama's lucky day!'

  All ten of the women glanced over, the two good-looking ones shy and embarrassed, the rest—either scrawny old chickens or hefty mature oxen—cutting Felliniesque poses, doing parodies of streetwalkers. A couple of them called out to Sonny in Italian.

  Whatever it was they said, it set the others off, got them screeching hilariously. Even the two shy ones turned away, trying to hide their smiles.

  Sonny, being cool about it, slipped off his shades and pocketed them. Took time to look around before seeing Mama Rosa.

  She was at the far end, behind a long table between two giant sinks, busy at her big marble work surface
.

  He went over to her and placed his hands flat on the table.

  Mama Rosa raised her head slowly, her black eyes cold.

  'The hell were you?' he demanded quietly.

  She had a big knife in her hand and pointed it at him, saying: 'Don't curse in the presence of the Lord.' She used the flashing blade of the knife to indicate the crucifix on the white-tiled wall, a dried frond from Palm Sunday stuck behind it. 'It ain't respectful,' she added.

  He said, 'I'm sorry. I'll try to watch my language. Okay?'

  She gave him a long, hard stare. 'Okay,' she said grudgingly.

  He watched as she resumed working, reminded of the women in Chinatown, the way she'd reach into a bucket of cold water and fish out handfuls of whole squid, slapping them down—smack, smack, smack—in perfectly aligned rows. Holding each saclike body with one hand, and with a single slice of the knife amputating the tentacles, all in the exact same spot, a hair's breath below the big protruding eyes. Chop—chop—chop—chop—chop. As skilled as any Asian cook he'd ever seen.

  Sonny said: 'For the past three weeks, I've been coming here every single day. Morning, noon, and night. And what do you think I found?'

  She glanced at him, the knife flying. 'What did you expect to find?' Chop—chop—chop—chop—chop.

  'Well, I certainly didn't anticipate this place being closed, if that's what you mean.'

  She reversed the knife, using the flat side of the blade to scrape the tentacles to the left, the squid bodies to the right, then fished a few more handfuls out of the bucket, and slapped them down in neat rows.

  'How do you think I felt, having to tell my superiors I couldn't get hold of Carmine?' Sonny continued softly. 'When they wanted to know why, guess what I had to tell them?'

  She shot him a needlelike look. 'You should of said, because his mama's ristorante is closed.'

  'Well, that's what I said, yeah. It didn't exactly make me popular, you know?'

  'That ain't my problem.'

  She attacked the squid bodies like a one-woman assembly line. Prick, squeeze, pop, pop, toss. Prick, squeeze, pop, pop, toss. Not a single eye missing the trash can. The ink she collected in the bowl slowly increased.

  Sonny was tired of waiting, and wished she'd hurry up. He wanted to get business over and done with. A hot kitchen on a hot day was hardly his idea of fun.

  His air-conditioned Lexus beckoned.

  That was the trouble with using a go-between. If I could deal with Carmine directly, he thought, my life would sure be a lot easier.

  'Anyway,' Mama Rosa was saying, 'we couldn't have stayed open.' She motioned around the kitchen with her knife, the tip of the blade wet with purple ink.

  'See?' she said. 'Everything's been renovated.'

  Now that she'd pointed it out, Sonny saw she was right. The entire kitchen had been redone; everything was indeed shiny and brand new.

  'See? All new everything. Ranges, grill, ovens . . . sinks, refrigerators, freezers. The works. It must have cost, I don't know.' She shrugged. 'Maybe two hundred thousand dollars? I'm not sure exactly.'

  Sonny thought: I wonder how much of this fell off a truck? Or which restaurant supply dealer was burglarized?

  She smiled. 'I had Carmine oversee it. He's real good at those kinds of things. Nobody dares pull a fast one over on him!'

  Carmine! Sonny stared her. He couldn't believe it! All the times he'd dropped by, Carmine had been right here, overseeing the renovation!

  Sonny said, 'Jesus Christ, you shitting me! Right?'

  Mama Rosa slammed down her knife and swiftly crossed herself, the Old World way, using her thumb to sketch a little cross on her forehead, another on her lips, and a third on her breast.

  Sonny spread out his arms and turned a circle. 'I don't fucking believe this!' he exclaimed. 'You telling me Carmine was here?'

  'What did I say about watching your mouth?' Mama Rosa's voice cut sharper than the knife she picked up again and waved threateningly.

  He took a step backward, wishing she'd stop pointing it at him.

  She glanced up at the crucifix on the wall. 'I told you. I won't stand for bestemmia! And I won't say it again!'

  'Okay. Okay!' He held up both hands placating. 'I'm sorry. I got a little carried away. It won't happen again.'

  Mama Rosa glared at him but lowered the knife. 'It better not,' she warned quietly.

  'It's just that'—he shook his head in frustration—'all these weeks I've been coming around, I could have dealt with Carmine directly!'

  'Unh-unh.' Mama Rosa wagged a finger back and forth. 'You know better than that. My Carmine, he don't deal directly with anybody. Not if it were the president. Not even if it were the . . . well, the pope, maybe.'

  'It sure would have sped things up, though,' Sonny mused. 'As it is, my people were starting to wonder.'

  'Oh, yeah? About what?'

  'You know . . . they said things like, 'Maybe this Carmine's not reliable. Maybe the Sicilian's not everything he's jacked up to be.' '

  Her beady little eyes, black and shiny as oil-cured olives, clicked in his direction.

  'You better not let Carmine hear you,' she advised. 'For that matter, you'd better not talk about him like that around me, either.'

  Having finished emptying the squid sacs, she laid down the knife and pushed the bowl of ink aside.

  'With calamari, you never wash the tentacles and the sacs together,' Mama Rosa said. 'If you mix them, the sacs turn purple. That's because the tentacles have ink in—'

  She was about to pop another squid mouth, but suddenly paused and frowned.

  'Ink. Ink! That reminds me—'

  She slapped a pudgy red hand against her forehead—'Madonna! How could I forget!'

  Sonny Fong said, 'What?'

  'The note I'm supposed to give you! From Carmine. He mentioned you might drop by.'

  'Yeah, and why's that?'

  'Probably because he noticed you coming around all the time.'

  She quickly wiped her hands on a wet rag and dug around inside the front pockets of her apron, which she wore folded over, the top half hanging over the bottom. She came up empty, except for a wad of used Kleenex, which she stuffed back inside.

  'Now where did I put it?' she muttered, pursing her lips and looking around. 'He just gave it to me this morning.'

  Sonny was ready to throttle her. Why she couldn't have mentioned this right off the bat was beyond him. He wondered if she wasn't maybe losing it.

  Carmine better find himself someone more reliable, he thought. And soon.

  Those were his thoughts, but what he said was, 'I hope you find it. We have an urgent job for him. One that can't wait. Otherwise, we'll have to hire someone else.'

  She didn't reply, her eyes searching the stainless steel shelves and counters. Nothing there. She burrowed her hands under the apron, checking the pockets of her blue floral housecoat.

  More shredded Kleenex.

  'Humph!' She put her hands on her hips. Licked her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. Turned a slow circle in place.

  'Lemme see, now . . . I just got back from the fish market . . . Tony unloaded the truck, brought the seafood in on a dolly from the alley in back . . . I helped put it away . . .'

  She nodded to herself, seeing it unroll like a mental film strip.

  'Then Tony brought the trash cans in, yeah . . . and right after that was when Carmine—of course! Stupido!'

  She smacked her forehead once more.

  'I must of thrown it out by mistake! Wait a moment.'

  She got on her knees, leaned over the trash can, and hitched her short sleeve higher up her right shoulder, exposing pale arms the consistency of cottage cheese, and armpits with damply matted grayish black hair. Without a second thought, she plunged her arm all the way down into the can, burrowing through layers of squid eyes and squid mouths, shrimp shells, wilted lettuce, coffee grounds, what have you. Huffing and puffing as she groped around.

  Sonny, watching with
distaste, wondered what Carmine would think if he saw her now.

  He thought: You'd have to pay me a million bucks to eat in this restaurant. And even then I'd probably pass it up.

  'Found it!' she announced at last.

  There was a slurpy sucking sound as she pulled her arm out of the trash, a wadded-up ball of damp, fishy-smelling paper in her hand. Grabbing the edge of the trash can with both hands, she pushed herself heavily to her feet.

  Breathing hard, but beaming triumphantly, she said, 'See? What I tell you?'

  She put the wadded-up paper on the counter and smoothed it, revealing a sealed envelope. She held it out to Sonny.

  Jesus! he thought.

  He didn't know which looked more disgusting—the envelope or her fleshy bare arm, slick with moisture and flecked with bits of tomato peel, coffee grounds, swordfish skin, pomegranate seeds, mint leaves, and carrot shavings.

  He decided her arm won the gross-out contest hands down.

  'Well?' she said. 'Take it!'

  He plucked the envelope gingerly from her hand, holding it delicately between two fingers.

  'I'll read this later,' Sonny said, not wanting to touch it more than necessary, thinking of his expensive threads.

  'No. Carmine said you're to memorize what it says, and then I'm to burn it. That way, it don't fall into the wrong hands.'

  He sighed. Holding the envelope at arm's length, he tore it open.

  Inside, a folded sheet of computer printout listed the routing instructions and account number of a bank in Luxembourg. There was also a separate blank sheet of paper.

  As he committed the name of the bank and the numbers to memory, Mama Rosa lumbered over to one of the deep stainless steel sinks. She used the spray attachment to douse her arm, squirted it liberally with detergent, lathered herself, and then rinsed the soap off. She dried herself on a kitchen towel.

  'You got it memorized?' she wanted to know.

  Sonny nodded.

  'Good.' She took the papers out of his hand, then tried to hand him the blank sheet back. 'You need to write your instructions down.'

  'Just give me a minute.'

  She waited while he went to the sink and washed his hands. He flicked the excess water off them, then reached into his breast pocket and took out a sealed envelope.