by Zen Cho
Ah Ma is so old, said the ghost with hauteur. You think I don’t know when to talk and when to don’t talk?
After a moment she added, Your uncle really give you all face. Letting you live in his house, eat his food . . . Your father is the older brother some more. When people help you, you shouldn’t cause issues for them.
That’s what I’m saying. Jess hesitated. So you promise you won’t come?
If you go alone and that bastard sends his samseng to beat you, then how? I won’t say anything. You won’t even know I’m there.
By way of a commitment to noninterference, that was probably the most she was going to get from Ah Ma. It was true there might be benefits to having her there—Jess had no wish to face Ng Chee Hin’s gangsters alone, supposing any did show up. Most importantly, it wasn’t like Jess could stop her. Ah Ma was in her head, and she’d stay there till Jess found a way to resolve this mess.
“Great,” said Jess. “It’s a deal.”
* * *
• • •
JESS WASN’T PLANNING to spend a long time at the café. She figured she’d look around, talk to the staff, see what she could find out about the Ng family.
The café was one of a row of traditional shophouses, with shuttered first-floor windows and attractive ornamental plaster molding on the facade. There were some hip, uncomfortable-looking metal chairs and tables set out on the covered five-foot way that ran along the front of the shophouses.
Jess went through rust-colored double doors, decorated with intricate carvings, into a surprisingly large interior space. The floor was of polished cement, the walls painted in pastel hues and distressed in a highly intentional way. She walked through a bustling bakery, an adjoining restaurant and a kids’ playroom before emerging into a tree-lined courtyard. There was a pool with white and orange koi swimming lazily in the water. People sat at small tables under the trees, smoking and chatting.
At the other end of the courtyard was another building. Through open doors she could see what looked like a bar, crowded with people.
“What the hell,” said Jess aloud. “There’s more of this?”
“It used to be two shophouses, back to back,” said a voice behind her.
Jess turned. The voice belonged to a guy around her age of indeterminate race, in a gray shirt and dark jeans. He gave off an air of being suave and trustworthy and cool, like someone who would know how to fix your MacBook if you’d spilled coffee on it.
There was something vaguely familiar about him. Jess was trying to work out what it was when he saw her face and did a double take.
“Oh my God, it’s you,” he said. “I thought I’d never see you again!”
The mirrored shades and cap had obscured his face and hair before, but the accent—a thick frosting of American on a base of Penangite—was unmistakable.
“AirAsia,” said Jess. It was the young guy from the ceremony at the garden temple, the one who’d intervened when Ah Ku rushed her while he was possessed by Kuan Kong.
“What?” said AirAsia.
Jess gestured at her head. “Your cap.”
“Oh right,” he said. “I was going hard on the Tony Fernandes look. This is wild. I was wondering what happened to you! What brings you here?” He paused. “Wait, are you here for the event?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Jess. “Um, which event are you talking about?”
“The singles’ night.” For some reason, AirAsia was blushing. He pointed at the bar across the courtyard. “It’s through there. It’s getting pretty crowded, though. We’re buying the place next door, so next year we’ll have more space.”
“‘We’?” said Jess.
AirAsia smiled. It was a peculiarly attractive smile—conscious of its own charm, but not offensively so.
“I own this place,” he said. “Call me Sherng.”
It was then that Jess realized where she had seen his face before. It hadn’t been at the temple.
“Ng Wei Sherng?” she said, adding, “I saw the piece about you in The Star.”
But she saw there was no need to explain herself. Ng Wei Sherng was used to being recognized.
“That’s me,” he said. “What’s your name?”
* * *
• • •
“CRAZY, MAN, WHAT happened that night,” said Sherng. “Do you know what happened to the medium? Is he OK?”
They were sitting at a round metal table in the courtyard, with an abandoned cigarette stub still smoking in the ashtray. It wasn’t precisely cool yet, but enough of the day’s heat had faded that being outside was pleasant.
Jess looked down at her iced tea. “On the house,” Sherng had said when she tried to pay. He was leaning forward slightly in his chair, looking like he meant to be there for a while. Either he was hitting on her—which, if you believed Sharanya, was always happening to Jess—or else he had some nefarious motive for talking to her.
Perhaps he knew who she was—the niece of the temple caretaker who was blocking his father’s development, the woman who’d chased away Ng Chee Hin’s men. But how could he have found that out? It wasn’t like they’d exchanged names before.
Sherng hadn’t acted like he was on the gangsters’ side when they’d showed up at the temple. She hadn’t really been paying attention to him that night; there had been too much going on. But he’d stood up to Chief Thug, hadn’t he? He’d spoken up in support of Ah Ku.
It wasn’t like that had prevented Chief Thug from beating the shit out of Ah Ku. And hadn’t Sherng said his father had asked him to go to the temple? “I’m not very religious,” he’d said.
Maybe it was all some elaborate setup. Maybe Ng Wei Sherng had known about Jess even before she’d turned up at the temple and that was why he had been there. It was all a trap, designed to catch Ah Ma . . .
But there was no way Sherng could know about Ah Ma. Nobody had known Jess was going to the temple that day, not even Jess. It had been a spontaneous trip, instigated by Ah Ma. Ah Ku had clearly had no idea she was coming. She’d even surprised Kuan Kong, and if anything or anybody was capable of knowing things they shouldn’t, it would have been the intelligence possessing Ah Ku.
The thought calmed Jess down.
She studied Sherng. He looked genuinely curious. Everything about him seemed genuine. He projected an authenticity that fit better with their surroundings—the intelligence and sympathy with which the shophouse had been converted—than it did with the idea of his being the son of the fifth richest man in Malaysia.
If it was a facade, he was a good actor. But wouldn’t you be a good actor if your dad was a gang boss? Having family ties to organized crime seemed like it would give you a lot of practice in deception.
She glanced around the courtyard, but there was no sign of Ah Ma. She should have come up with some kind of signal for if she wanted Ah Ma’s advice. At that moment being told what to do seemed attractive.
But then again, she knew what Ah Ma would say. She’d say Ng Wei Sherng was the son of a no-good bastard and Jess couldn’t trust him.
“I think the medium’s OK,” said Jess. “Someone took him to the doctor. You left, right?”
Sherng looked away. “Yeah, when that guy punched the medium. I went to call for help.”
“Oh yeah?” Jess stared at Sherng’s averted face. He was embarrassed, but there was more to it than that. He was hiding something.
“That’s strange,” said Jess. Her voice was overly bright. “Nobody came.”
Sherng looked uncomfortable. “You got out OK, right? I wanted to stay, but my parents would have freaked out. I was supposed to go to a function with them that night. Didn’t want them getting suspicious.”
“Yeah?” said Jess, her eyes still fixed on him. “I thought you said your dad asked you to go to the temple.”
Sherng went red. “Oh God, I did say that. I di
dn’t want you to think I believed in all that crap. I didn’t realize you knew the medium.”
Jess stiffened and took a slug of iced tea to hide it.
There were at least two alternatives. Either Sherng was in on everything his dad was up to—he knew about Jess’s connection to the temple, he’d witnessed or heard about what Ah Ma–in–Jess had done to his dad’s thugs, and this was all part of some intricate plot to lure her to her doom.
Or he wasn’t acting. He was a normal guy who hadn’t known that his dad was sending in gangsters to clear the squatters off his land.
Jess looked around. She was in a public place, surrounded by people who—she realized—were discreetly watching them. Of course, Sherng was a minor celebrity. Pictures of them were probably being shared on social media at that very moment. She was as safe as she was ever likely to be in the presence of the son of Penang’s biggest gang boss.
“And I didn’t realize you were the son of Dato’ Ng Chee Hin.” The name was like a magic word; it drew Sherng’s eyes irresistibly back to hers. Jess said deliberately, “The company that’s developing the temple land. He owns it, doesn’t he?”
She watched Sherng’s face change. His expression, so open and sincere a moment ago, shut like a door.
“I see,” he said. He drew back into his chair, crossing his arms. “You’re accusing my father of sending those guys to the temple, is it? That’s why you came here?”
Before Jess could answer, Sherng added, “Which publication are you with? The Edge? Tell your boss he needs to get over his grudge. He’s been trying to get dirt on my father for years. It’s never going to happen.”
“You think I’m a journalist?” Jess laughed, though it was slightly painful contemplating the alternate reality in which she was an investigative reporter hunting down a lead, rather than a mooch plagued by the ghost of her dead grandmother.
“Not a great one, if you can’t come up with a better cover story,” said Sherng. “We have plenty of events on. You couldn’t have chosen another? Who’s going to believe you’d need to go to a singles’ night to find a guy?”
“You’d be surprised,” said Jess, thinking of the various relatives who were constantly trying to set her up with young men they knew. “Can we get back to what your dad’s gangsters were doing at the temple?”
She spoke louder than she’d intended to. People’s heads turned toward them, some staring openly now. Sherng smiled at them nervously.
“That’s great,” he said to Jess. “Really great delivery. You’re going to kill it at the audition.”
Whatever Sherng was, or knew, he wasn’t a good liar. Nobody would have believed Jess was rehearsing lines for an audition. But the people at the other tables took the real point, which was that Sherng didn’t want their attention.
Sherng lowered his voice while his customers pretended to look away. “Look, if you want to talk about this, we can talk. But not here.”
Even if he wasn’t acting, that didn’t mean Jess could trust him.
“I’m comfortable here. Where people can see us,” she said pointedly.
Sherng stared. “You—what, you think I’m dangerous or something?” He sounded hurt. “I’m not going to do anything. You know, you’re the one who came to my café. I don’t have to talk to you.”
Jess said, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She could almost hear Ah Ma imploding from sheer rage. Bulldozing everyone she met might work for Ah Ma, but she was dead; she had nothing to lose. If Jess was going to stay alive, she had to do things her way. Which included, sometimes, saying things she didn’t mean.
“I want to talk,” she said. She lowered her voice. “But given who your dad is, I think it’s fair for me to want to do it in public.”
“I just want to go outside,” said Sherng, adding over his shoulder, “Miss, if you take one more photo of me, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the café.”
He pushed back his chair, standing up. “Come on. I need a cigarette.”
ELEVEN
On the five-foot way outside the café, Sherng tapped a cigarette out of a packet and offered it to Jess.
She shook her head. “I don’t smoke.”
She wondered why Sherng hadn’t kicked her out. He’d had a point when he said he didn’t have to talk to her. Surely it wasn’t merely that he wanted to rehabilitate himself in the eyes of a pretty girl? Jess wasn’t that hot.
“I shouldn’t smoke either,” said Sherng, but he did, puffing morosely on his cigarette. “My ex hated it.”
Jess had been wondering if he was going to mention the heiress. She had been judging him over his silence on the subject, but her estimation of him underwent a rapid readjustment. The next moment she felt annoyed with herself for caring.
“So tell me,” she said. “What happened that night at the temple? You didn’t call the police.”
“No.” Sherng hesitated. “I’m only talking to you if you agree to treat this conversation as off the record.”
“I’m not actually a journalist,” said Jess.
Sherng glanced sidelong at her. “Why are you so interested, then? Who are you?” A thought struck him. “Is your name even Jess?”
“Yeah,” said Jess, though on some views that was a lie. Jessamyn wasn’t technically her real name. Mom had chosen it when they moved to America, to make things easier at school. Jess’s passport and birth certificate proclaimed her to be Teoh Sze Min.
She’d always had a conflicted relationship with her name, all the more so when she’d come reluctantly to the conclusion that she wasn’t straight. It felt way too pat that the name she called herself in her head should be invisible in her official records.
“I went to talk to a medium at a temple and he ended up getting beaten up by thugs,” said Jess. She folded her arms. “Call me an interested bystander.”
Nothing in Sherng’s face suggested he knew she’d glossed over the precise nature of her relationship with the medium in question. He said:
“If you must know, I called my dad. Not because I thought he sent those guys,” he added quickly. “But if anyone could find out who sent them, it’d be him. I knew he’d be able to help, better than the police.”
“Because he’s got his own guys?” said Jess.
Sherng glared at her. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about my dad, but you can’t trust what people say, OK? People love talking shit about my dad. Being successful means you make enemies. But I can tell you he wouldn’t do something like that.”
His Malaysian accent got stronger when he was upset. De-escalate, thought Jess. She didn’t want him so mad he stopped talking.
“I know he’s your dad,” she said carefully. “But we don’t always know what our parents are capable of.”
“I’m not saying he wouldn’t do it because he’s nice,” said Sherng. “He’s a businessman. He’s tough—but he’s fair. Most importantly, he’s not stupid. Why would he need some strongmen to clear the site for him? His company owns the land.”
“There’s a court case, isn’t there?”
Sherng dismissed this with an impatient puff of smoke. “The case isn’t going to go against him. The law’s on his side. There’s no reason for my dad to do something so risky when all he needs to do is wait it out.”
This sounded plausible. But it was just what Ng Chee Hin would say, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he’d want to own up to employing thugs. “Is that what he told you?”
“It’s common sense.” Sherng sighed. “I’ve been telling him all along he’s mishandling this issue. It doesn’t look good to be the Goliath in a David and Goliath situation. Now there are gangsters getting involved? Threatening little old aunties and uncles praying at the temple? I told Pa, whoever did this, he’s going to screw it up for everybody.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
�
�You think it’s somebody he knows?” said Jess.
“It has to be somebody involved with the development, right?” Sherng seemed to have forgotten she wasn’t on his side. He sounded like he was thinking out loud. “It’s a big deal. Sejahtera’s only one of the partners. There’s a lot of money riding on it, enough to make people reckless.”
“What makes you so sure it’s not your dad?” said Jess, genuinely curious.
“Trust me, my dad already has a lot of money,” said Sherng. “He’s in the next phase now. He wants to give back to society. If you open a newspaper, you’ll see he’s always helping people out, donating to charity. That’s why I told him, he needs to crack down on the troublemaker.”
“What did he say?”
Sherng rolled his shoulders irritably. “I mean, he’s an Asian dad. Do you try giving advice to your parents? What do they say?”
Jess thought about this. “They mostly ignore me. I take your point.”
“Yeah.” Sherng took a gloomy draw of his cigarette. “It wasn’t a successful conversation. Pa was mad at me anyway, for going to the temple. He’s been trying to keep me away from it.”
“Really? Why?”
“Look at this place!” Sherng gestured at the café. “Does it look like it belongs to somebody who likes destroying heritage sites? I want them to leave the temple alone. I told my dad they could build around it. But he thinks it wouldn’t work with the plans. They want a modern development. Some people don’t want to live next door to the gods.”
“So what were you doing there?” said Jess. “Taking the chance to look around before it’s gone?”
“I was scoping it out. I have this idea for the site,” said Sherng. “I thought I should see the place before I pitched it to my dad, in case it wasn’t right for what I had in mind. But it’s perfect. You saw! That temple is cool, right?”
Jess had been too apprehensive when she’d visited the garden temple to admire it. She remembered it now—the bodhi tree and the way the garden had seemed to cohere around it; the wandering paths, smothered with weeds; the small gods in their crumbling shrines.