I am here because my new step-brother named Zhang came here and his grandfather came here and my father needed someplace to get rid of me. I know because he told me so. I remember exactly when I knew he would get rid of me because it was the day before Maman’s birthday. Here is how it happened…
I had waited until after dinner to remind him. “Maman’s birthday is tomorrow.”
My father said nothing. He did not look up from the big book he was reading.
My heart was pounding because I was scared of what he might do. Still, I made myself say it again.
“Maman’s birthday.”
SILENCE
I knew what that meant because Maman had told me. His silence was a way of punishing us. But I could not, WOULD not, be quiet this time. It was too important.
“I said, Maman’s.”
He took the big, heavy book and slapped it against the side of my head. I fell down. My ear hurt. It buzzed like bees inside my head. He stood up and he looked like a giant staring down at me. I tried to stop crying but couldn’t.
Then my father leaned over me. And when he talked his voice had the strange, quivering sound it makes when he goes into what Maman calls his quiet rage. And I remember every word he said and I will always remember every word.
He said, “She is deceased. She killed herself six months ago. She was weak and cowardly, as you are. She ruined my life and she ruined you. She is dead and gone and she has no birthday. Never say ‘Maman’ or her name in this house ever again. I only wish she had taken you with her because every time I look at you I see her.”
I tried to run away but he hit me with the book again and I fell down again. This time it was worse. I knocked over his Go board. That made him madder than ever. And I remember and I will always remember every word he said then, too.
He said, “Tomorrow her rooms will be emptied. Every last thing of hers will be taken away or burned. I want nothing here to remind me of her. That will be how I celebrate her birthday, by wiping away every vestige of her memory. Now, I have found another suitable woman to marry from a respected Chinese family. You will meet her soon. And you will not mention your mother. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Not ever again.”
I ran to my room and I heard him shout at my nanny, “Leave him!” when she must have tried to follow me. I was glad she did not come so I could cry alone into my pillow. But I did not cry as long as I thought I would. Father was going to empty out Maman’s rooms in the morning. He would have the servants do it, and even if they noticed some things missing, they would not tell on me. Our servants were much, much nicer to me than Father. And they knew what I had seen the day Maman died.
One reason my favorite game is Go is because I once beat my father at it. He could not believe I beat him. He would not speak to me for a week after. The next time we played I lost on purpose, and after that we never played again. I decided it was because of what he calls “strategy.” That is one of his favorite words, and now I would use strategy to play another game he did not know we were playing. There are ten golden rules to playing Go and there were three rules I could use against him now:
A move must respond to the opponent’s. (I would sneak into Maman’s room.)
The greedy do not get success. (I would only steal a few of Maman’s things but they would all be special.)
Be unhurried to enter opponent’s territory. (I would start once everyone was asleep.)
I was worried I would fall asleep and not wake up in time, but that did not happen. I was too excited making my plan to sleep a wink and 1, 2, 3—I beat Father, I beat him, I beat him again!
The jungle behind our house was still dark with shadows but the sun was coming up and so I was careful to go slowly along the path where Maman and I would walk. There could be snakes on the path and I did not want to step on one of them. The birds were starting to sing and I knew from their songs that all was safe around me. No scary creatures were moving through the bush and so I kept following the trail that twisted and turned all the way down to the water. I sat on the big, smooth rock above the river where Maman and I would always go swimming. I had brought my treasures with me and from my pack took out a candle and a tin of biscuits, Maman’s favorites. Then I took out the little box of matches from my pack to light the candle, just as the sun tickled the tops of the trees with its long, yellow fingers, as Maman would say. I struck the match and lit the candle. It was Maman’s favorite and smelled like jasmine. And then I reached inside my pack again and took out the carved wooden box. It smelled like sandalwood. I opened the box. Inside were as many of her favorite things as I could fit. But the most important thing I had stolen was her small, bound copy of The Jungle Book that she had read and read to me while we would eat her favorite chocolate biscuits from the tin.
Everything was here but her. There was a place inside me that hurt worse than anything had ever hurt before. I thought she would always be here. Maybe she was and I just couldn’t see her. So I called to her, “Maman!”
She did not answer. So I stood up on the rock and reached for the sun’s yellow fingers and remembered how her fingers would stroke my hair. I called for her again, louder, so she could hear me calling, “MAMAN!”
When she did not answer I curled up on the rock with her biscuits and the candle and all her little things I had stolen and I cried for her to come hold me. And when she did not, I tried to find her in The Jungle Book because she had told me secrets of life were hidden in there for boys like Mowgli to find.
And when I opened the book a secret fell out. It was a white handkerchief with small letters stitched on the corner, and a red print in the middle as if she had kissed it for me. And where it fell out there was a picture of Bagheera the panther, and the last story I remembered her reading. I read it alone now. But I felt a breeze and could hear her voice in the wind that touched my sore ear.
On the trail that thou must tread
To the threshold of our dread,
Where the Flower blossoms red;
Through the nights when thou shalt lie
Prisoned from our Mother-sky,
Hearing us, thy loves, go by;
In the dawns when thou shalt wake
To the toil thou canst not break,
Heartsick for the Jungle’s sake;
Wood and Water, Wind air Tree,
Wisdom, Strength, and Courtesy,
Jungle-Favour go with thee!
And that is why I am here.
Can we play Go now?
Chapter 7
JD folded the handkerchief that hinted of Kate’s perfume—a time-in-a-bottle scent of jasmine tinged with sandalwood. He knew Gregg and Izzy were suspicious of his motives, of whether he was telling the truth or not. Couldn’t blame them on that. And it was entirely possible that, despite his reassurances, they could all end up dead.
Including Kate if he didn’t get his head in this game. And it was a game. It was always a game for the players involved and this game had gone in directions he had never seen coming. The fact he no longer wanted to play held about as much water as a shot glass.
He would be on a boat again tomorrow, only this time with the two men who did not trust him but he trusted completely, which put them in rare company. Phillip and Zhang were on his short list too, but even Phillip had slightly slipped in the ranks. JD couldn’t deny it had more to do with Kate than anything else.
He looked around his little island abode, a short boat ride away from Nha Trang. Kate was the only one he had brought here. She had admired his beloved Go board, now short a white stone, and he touched the centuries old gift from the abbot as if it held some divining power to guide him to her whereabouts. But no, all he had left of her was the handkerchief, a few toiletries, a silk robe. He put them all away as carefully as he had his mother’s treasures, and thought of the best way to execute his plans for tomorrow, then the day after, and the day after that.
Bang, bang, bang. Boom, boom, boom. If only it would all go according to plan they would b
e gold.
He knew better. The game of Go had taught him much about the art of war, and as Sun Tzu had said in his treatise by the same name, Success in warfare is gained by carefully accommodating ourselves to the enemy’s purpose. The Pale Man’s purpose was clearly to win while entertaining himself in the process. The question was, how to carefully appear to accommodate his demands while out-strategizing him without getting caught?
The answer had yet to present itself beyond a few potential counter-moves. The lines that had been drawn and players involved could all easily change without warning. The best he could do right here, right now, would be to get a decent night’s sleep, since there would be precious little of it come sunrise.
As if he could sleep. He may as well head back into Nha Trang, check out a lead from a trusted source. It wasn’t much, but it was something: a club where the NCOs liked to hang out, get drunk, find some action. His informant said word had it there was a guy on the inside who had some kind of leverage on the gravy train that ran from Nam to Little Italy and fed the stateside junkies from there—many of them returning hooked from where the white stuff originated. Connecting the dots was a lot like anticipating where to place Go stones, and this was as good a place as any to start.
Strange name, this new guy. If there really was such a guy, since rumors were rife, pay dirt less likely than a rat scoring a round of triple crème brie.
Mouse headed for his favorite table at his favorite club, The Drunken Dragon. He went there early on Friday nights to get the two for one—unless he was on a pickup. He never sloughed off his responsibilities, no fuckin’ way. His work ethic was solid. Just like his cousin Tony, the closest thing he had to a brother, who should be here any minute.
Before anyone else beat him to it, Mouse claimed the corner spot on the right where he could get his back to the wall like an old-time cowboy gunslinger and, as the night wound up, watch the action. This club had a reputation for hard guys, a lot like those he hung with back home. The kind who would agitate and get each other going until they were ready to rumble. Difference was, the old-timey NCO running the club here would come out with a bat and a couple of no-nonsense muscle heads and they would steer the cowboys outside. Then you could watch them bloody each other up.
“Hey, douche bag, stop chewin’ your lip and save it for dinner.”
“Yo, Tony!” Mouse got up and would have greeted his cousin with several kisses but that wasn’t cool in gook-land, so he punched his shoulder instead.
“You order our usual yet?” Tony asked.
“Just got here.”
“Good, ’cause tonight we celebrate and order the best.”
“Oh yeah? How come?”
“How come is ’cause Uncle Louie is pleased, real pleased, with the job you’ve been doing. He wants you to take over for me now that I’m close, seein’ as how you keep everything running like clockwork.” Tony gave him a wink. “That’s what he said. ‘Mouse keeps it all running like clockwork. Tick-tock-tick.’ You watch the table. I’ll get the drinks.”
As Tony elbowed his way to the bar, Mouse couldn’t help but grin. Uncle Louie was partial to Tony, and that was okay since they were actual blood related on Tony’s father’s side, while Mouse barely squeaked in as a pity case on his mother’s. He’d always worked extra hard to be accepted, and he hated being pitied almost more than anything, but now here he was, coming into his own, and making Uncle Louie proud. And not just because he had special talents when it came to teaching lessons. You better believe he kept this operation running like Big Fuckin’ Ben. From the time they got notification the mules were coming down from Laos—tick—and picked a firebase in the mountains where they could land the plane or planes, depending how much product—tock—he was ALWAYS there to make sure it got loaded up and flown down to Cam Rahn Bay or Ton San Shut and then prepared for jet transport back to The World—tick.
But what had really put him over the top, one of the best evers, was his very own big idea of stashing the product into coffins, delivered right to New Jersey. And hadn’t he been the one to suggest they have him transferred from Saigon to the transport battalion in Nha Trang to expand the distribution sites for the #4 top grade and make their export business less vulnerable?
Tock and Done.
The fat cat contractors were making huge dough on the war, so why not the family? Connections counted, especially old Corsican connections, and Mouse knew that just like he would for Tony’s whole family, he would do anything for Uncle Louie. Which he pretty much had. Uncle Louie had been the one to arrange for his draft notice, sending him right to US Army transport school. Sure, he hated all the army bullshit, but hey, the money he was promised was over the moon; and just like Uncle Louie said it would happen, Mouse made it through Army Transport School—a corporal even—was sent directly to RVN, and Tony showed up with “special orders” at the transfer barracks. Just like that, he moved Mouse and his duffel to a quiet little place with cool fans, a room of his own, and laid everything out so Mouse could be his second-in-command.
And now he was about to leapfrog his way to the top o’ the heap!
Tony landed a tall Bloody Mary with all the fixings in front of Mouse, along with a beer chaser.
“Salute,” Tony hailed him. “To my cousin Mike Gallini. The Mouse is The Man.”
“You honor me.” Mouse could feel himself getting a little choked up.
They kicked the first round back pretty good and were on the second, laughing about good times, both old and more recent. “Oh, oh, remember that night when you first got here and I surprised you with them hookers—”
“Prettiest hookers I’d ever seen,” Mouse assured him. “First gook poon I ever had, too.” Just thinking of all that poon made him want some more. He couldn’t get it for free back home, at least not with anyone he’d want to do it with, but here even good looking guys like Tony paid for it.
Mouse started scanning the room, only for Tony to turn all business.
“Listen, I have two years in here. It’s hell; it’s a war. But it’s a helluva payday if you don’t get greedy, or get stupid and get hooked on the stuff. You’ve done everything right so far, Mouse. That’s why Uncle Louie’s making you the next in line for my job. So no funny stuff once I leave, okay? Play it straight and you go home rich. You go home respected. Fuck around and, you know, the Corsica side of the family…” Tony visibly shuddered. “No loose ends here. Keep it totally tight. There’s plenty of money to pay off transport, air, and security. You follow the orders that get handed down from ‘The Man’ and Uncle Louie will be happy. And as we all know…” Tony raised his hands like a conductor.
“When Uncle Louie ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” Mouse nibbled at his lower lip. He might have flunked out of high school without some encouragement sent to a certain teacher, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t ambitious. Maybe he could make Uncle Louie even prouder. Step up to the plate, make an impression on The Man issuing the orders from the top of the food chain here. When he hazarded the suggestion, Tony shook his head like some spastic.
“No. No, no, no. You will never meet The Man and you don’t want to meet The Man. You don’t want to know who it is. You don’t even want to get curious. Remember Cousin Vinnie?”
“Yeah. When he came back home, right after you left to take his place, his voice was funny. Like a girl.”
“That’s ’cause he got curious. He wanted to meet The Man. Instead he met this gang of freaks and they all had these snakes tattooed on their faces—”
“C’mon, Tony, you’re messin’ with me. You think I’m dumb as I look? Nah, don’t answer that—”
“Listen, you little shit.” Tony grabbed a fist of Mouse’s shirt and yanked him within an inch of his face. “They cut off his balls and sent him home.” Tony’s hot whisper went up Mouse’s nostrils and lodged in his lungs. “A little lesson on curiosity that Uncle Louie didn’t get too worked up about since Vinnie fucked up. You ain’t gonna fuck up like that, capi
sce? Now, I’m arranging a meeting with the new major passing us our orders, and then we need another meeting with the head of RVN transport. But most important, you’re making a little demonstration to keep the guys reporting to you in line. Then after everybody knows I’m passing the torch to you, I go home. Once I’m there, promise me, no funny business.”
Mouse swallowed the beer chaser still in his throat. Ever since he was six and Tony was ten, Tony had tried to watch out for his kid cousin with the little mousy face and a fucked up jaw, but he couldn’t always be around when Mouse needed protecting.
This felt a lot like that. Mouse palmed the Zippo in his pocket for reassurance.
“Sure, Tony, sure.” Mouse wasn’t sure if the noise around them had gotten louder or if the memories were trying to turn on the KRZY radio station in his head. Raising his voice, he promised, “No funny business.”
“And no curiosity, okay? Because curiosity could kill the mouse. Or worse.”
Tony let go of his shirt and tossed back the last of his drink before landing the glass on the table. He got up. Threw down some bills.
“That’s for some poon to get you relaxed for your new job. It might be gook poon, but at least it’s poon.” Then he reached into his own pants pocket and flipped a few Trojans into Mouse’s lap. “Just in case. You don’t want to pick up any souvenirs—especially since I hear Uncle Louie has a niece on the wife’s side he wants to set you up with when you get back.”
Tony made kissy lips. And he was gone.
Mouse let out the breath that still smelled of Tony’s vodka-and-beer-laced warning. He took just a moment, trying to decide if he should stay or leave, depending on whether the noise was coming from inside or outside of his head.
There was a guy standing in front of a jukebox in the corner and the next thing Mouse heard was “WAR, what is it good for?” and he figured it was good for a lot. Maybe even his sanity since KRZY never played Edwin Starr and he hadn’t had to listen to Janis screech since right after he fragged the greedy major at the firebase last December. Merry Christmas.
UNKNOWABLE (Murder on the Mekong, Book 2) Page 7