Snakes Can't Run

by Ed Lin

  “How does the crystal work in it?”

  “Do you really want to know, Robert?” Paul asked.

  “Honestly, no,” I said. I turned to the midget and asked, “Do you sell crystals here?”

  “I don’t sell Age of Aquarius crap. Real radios use nine-volts.”

  “If you go to RadioShack,” said Paul, “they might have the crystal, but they’ll probably force you to buy the entire kit, too.”

  “This thing has a lot of nostalgic value for a friend of mine,” I said. Don had told me it was the first thing that he had ever bought for himself. “Paul, can you go get the crystal for me? I’ll cover for you here and pay for it.”

  “Why can’t you get it yourself?”

  “I don’t know what to ask for and I’ll probably fuck it up.”

  “Um, Robert?” said the midget. “We have kids in the store.”

  “I’m sorry, kids! I use bad language because I’m a bad person.” One little boy brushed his cheek with a finger at me to show that I should be ashamed of myself. I took out my wallet and gave a five-dollar bill to Paul. “Get back here as soon as you can,” I said.

  “I’ll try.”

  “What do I have to do here?”

  “I was about to sweep the sidewalk in front, but you can do that now, Robert.”

  I groaned. The toy store’s brush broom usually gave me blisters or splinters or both.

  “Here,” said the midget. “Put on this pair of work gloves. I don’t want you to mess your hands up again. I don’t have any Band-Aids left.”

  I went out and pushed the broom around, looking at scraps of paper that liked to gather on the roughest parts of the concrete. I was dimly aware that I was thinking about my father for some reason. Maybe because it was a manual-labor job, something he had thought that his son was above.

  I found a stubborn glob of gum and lost a few bristles to it. I’d have to take a box cutter to it later.

  Someone said, “Did you get a promotion or something?”

  I looked up and saw Ng regarding me with a smirk. “You talking to me, Brother Five?” I asked him as nonchalantly as someone leaning on a broom can be.

  “What a funny little name you keep calling me. How did you make it up?”

  “I heard that was the handle that you go by when you’re smuggling people.”

  “I heard they call you Officer Trespass.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since this morning when you tried to force your way into my offices. They’re not open to the public, especially when the contractors are at work.”

  “Your guys were playing music at a level that was unacceptable.”

  “Unacceptable to whom? Is it really so strange for men to be listening to music while they work?”

  “It’s weird for them to be playing lion dance music. They should be listening to Aerosmith or Lynyrd Skynyrd.”

  “I know what it is. You find it unusual when Chinese people enjoy their culture.”

  “I’ll bet that at the end of the day those guys go home and work on their calligraphy. Meanwhile in our wonderful Chinese community kids are shooting each other down like dogs in the street.”

  “I’m doing something about it,” Ng said, pointing a thumb at his chin. “I bring those kids together, teach them their own history, and give them something to be proud of. That’s more than the NYPD has ever done. You take their pictures like they’re in a zoo, and when you treat the youth like animals of course that’s how they’re going to act!”

  “Well, see, the kids only look up to you because you’re a part of the criminal underground. It’s cool to be bad. Kids used to love Al Capone, too.”

  “I’ll admit freely that our operations have an illegitimate past. But my family’s business will be completely clean by the end of this year. Maybe even in time for the two parades in October, if everything goes well.”

  “When you’re just another businessman in Chinatown, you might lose their respect.”

  “Maybe, but they’re going to be different, too. They’re going to be kids with a future.”

  I heard a light tap on the window. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the midget raise an eyebrow at me. I nodded my head just slightly and he nodded back.

  “The lion dances are the first thing,” Ng went on, ignoring the midget. “After that, when all the renovations are done, we’re going to have Chinese history classes so our kids know where they’ve been and they can feel a sense of purpose. Also English classes because, frankly, they need to know it better to have a real future here.”

  The Greater China Association for years had been running Mandarin-language classes that some kids were forced to go to and, at least when I went there, they were as agonizing as regular school. The Chinese teachers were far meaner than any of the white ones.

  The only thing we learned about Chinese history was that Communism was bad and that the KMT was going to launch an attack and reclaim the mainland. They cited how tiny Japan was able to beat gigantic Russia. Huge portraits of a grim Sun Yat-sen and a smug Chiang Kai-shek regarded us from the front of the room to show how serious the Greater China Association was about it. Of course, Together Chinese Kinship or any other group that openly supported the Communists was nonexistent at this point.

  That was all okay, because none of us had taken what we were “learning” too seriously. Nearly all of us had been born in the United States, and we knew English well enough to get decent jobs anywhere else in the country. We also knew it well enough to read extremely unflattering things about Chiang Kai-shek in the American media.

  These days, the kids who had just come over were screwed, because their English was terrible or nonexistent. The schools weren’t equipped to do anything with them except put them in overcrowded and understaffed English-as-asecond-language classes apparently designed to group resentful kids together and form them into gangs.

  They weren’t learning anything in school about America, much less reading, writing, and arithmetic. With both parents working dead-end jobs there wasn’t anybody at home to tell them about Chinese history, much less make dinner. It was no wonder these kids didn’t know what the hell was going on and didn’t care.

  “I’m also going to have guest speakers come in so they can see the breadth of this community that they belong to,” said Ng. “Maybe you’d like to come in and talk sometime. I’m sure they’d like to hear from your perspective as someone who rose up from humble Chinatown roots.”

  “Don’t forget Nam, though.”

  “I’m going to keep politics out of it, Robert. The KMT and Communists are already waging enough of their brainwashing war on our community. They both have their own systems of favoritism that have perverted modern Chinese culture. Our society needs to go back to the same system we had during the Tang dynasty, when the most qualified were elevated to the highest societal positions, not whoever had the most powerful friends and family.

  “That idiot Mr. Tin is the head of the Greater China Association because his old man was one of Chiang Kai-shek’s top supporters in Shanghai. That Mr. Song is the chairman of Together Chinese Kinship because his family sends money to the Communist secretary-general.

  “These men have both led privileged lives. I have, too. But the difference between them and me is that I’m empowering the community, not just myself.”

  I looked at him and saw that he believed every word. I felt a little bad for him that Eddie Ding was going to put him away. What he said made sense and what he was doing was actually good for Chinatown.

  The funny thing about it all was that if he had only held on to his family’s crooked business operations instead of trying to sell them, he would have been safe. Trying to come clean was a dangerous business.

  I sat at my desk picking at a tasteless rice bun. Eating it was like churning wet concrete until I drank enough coffee to break it up and, for some reason, swallow it.

  “Ran out of peanut butter?” asked English.

  “Yeah.”
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  “Anyway, how about you go to 11 Pell Street. Actually got a complaint of a gunshot, kids running, last night. Responding officers found nothing and even the complainer wasn’t sure which way the kids went. Complainer wouldn’t come down to look through the Polaroid books.”

  “So I go down, make a token appearance, and thank the complainer for making a minimal effort.”

  “Basically.”

  My phone rang. I took another swish of coffee before picking up the receiver.

  “Detective,” I said.

  “Robert?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Rose.”

  “How are you, Rose?”

  “I’m all right,” she said, although she sounded like she was treading water. “Robert, can you meet me for lunch today?”

  “I guess so.” I could tell that we were going to talk about Vandyne and that it wasn’t going to be good.

  We set up to meet at a Chock full o’Nuts at Broadway and Thirty-fifth. Their “heavenly” coffee was never as good as the Chinatown kind was, but it was different, and different was how I wanted my mouth to taste.

  Rose was already waiting for me outside and we went in together.

  “I hope you don’t mind coming here. I like that they hired Jackie Robinson all those years ago as an executive, so I want to patronize them when I can.”

  “Chinese people love coming here now that they’ve brought back the ‘no tipping’ policy. They might not hang on much longer, though. That Rheingold deal killed them.” A few years ago Chock full o’Nuts had bought the Brooklyn brewer to try to save it but ended up closing the plant anyway. I could have told them the product wasn’t worth salvaging.

  Beer.

  I shook my head and rubbed my hands. Rose and I took seats on two stools on the outside curve of the winding counter.

  An older black waitress in a hairnet came over.

  “You two together?” she asked. The waitress had freckles across her cheeks. Clear plastic eyeglasses sat at the end of her nose and she looked at us over them.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She cocked her head slightly. “You married?”

  “She is,” I said, smiling.

  The waitress smiled back. She had the wrong idea, but Rose and I didn’t bother to fix it.

  I had never really fallen in love with the nutbread-and-cream-cheese sandwiches, so instead I got a ham sandwich with pea soup. Rose just had the soup.

  I was stirring sugar into my coffee when Rose started with, “John hardly ever talks to me, anymore.”

  “He’s been busy. We’re both under a lot of pressure. Most of the squad is out dealing with the FALN bombing. We have to handle the rest.”

  “John never wants to talk. Never. Whatever I want to say, it’s always the wrong thing and the wrong time. He just shuts me down.”

  “Rose, you guys are in couples therapy for help. I’m sure you can work everything out.”

  “Now he says he doesn’t want to go anymore. He says he’s done talking to people who don’t get him.”

  “I get him, Rose.”

  “You’re his friend, I know, but he’s not getting what he needs by talking to another cop who’s a veteran.”

  “Don’t forget that I’m an alcoholic, too,” I added.

  “That doesn’t matter, Robert.”

  I decided not to tell her that Vandyne had gone to one of the vets’ rap sessions. Hearing about it for the first time from me could only make her feel worse.

  “I think the having-akid thing is getting him down,” I said.

  “I know, that’s why I don’t talk about it anymore. We don’t talk about a lot of things anymore. Just the other day when we went to see my sister, he said almost nothing—even at dinner.”

  “John told me about the visit. He said your sister’s husband was sort of a condescending jerk.”

  “Condescending? Harry is a first-class wimp. He never stands up for himself. My sister walks all over him. She even made him do the dishes while we were having coffee.”

  “Harry’s the doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s got all this fancy audio equipment that he shows off, too, right?”

  “Turning on your stereo for music during dinner means you’re showing it off?”

  “He did it by remote control, right?”

  “Actually, my sister turned it on. She was the one who wanted something playing to make dinner less awkward.”

  “I guess that’s reasonable.”

  Rose touched a finger to her forehead and rubbed a spot over her left eye.

  “Robert, I can’t start over again.” She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “I know so many people who are splitting up just when they were getting started.”

  “No, Rose, stop,” I said. “Don’t talk like this. Don’t even think like this.”

  Our waitress picked this moment to come over and refill our coffees. She looked closely into Rose’s eyes and then into mine.

  “Thank you,” I told the waitress. She nodded without a word and walked away.

  Rose twisted her napkin in her lap. “Robert, he doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

  Taking that as a cue, I turned to her and looked at her face full on. Rose kept her hair in a short perm around her face, a lopsided oval that was fuller at the bottom. Her nose was long and slightly pointy. It must have been kissed and nudged around a lot. Rose’s gray eyes were dull like a sheet of steel on a cold winter day.

  Her mouth was the tight curl in the center of a cinnamon roll.

  “Can I ask you something as a man?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “Am I still pretty? Maybe I’ve been losing my looks.” She was sobbing, one hand balanced on the counter, the other on my knee. “I don’t know.”

  Our waitress was in the back and said something urgently to a younger black waitress who looked at us and shook her head sadly.

  I rubbed Rose’s right arm with my left hand. “Of course you’re beautiful,” I said. “Vandyne tells me all the time how beautiful you are.”

  “Does he really?”

  “John thinks you’re absolutely wonderful.”

  She took a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her eyes with it. “He never tells me,” she said. He never told me, either, but Rose didn’t understand the guy code. Talking about how pretty your girl is or how much you love her could come off as just plain showing off. When in doubt, just talk about sports, the economy, or the war.

  “There has to be a way to help John open up more to me,” said Rose.

  “There’s a lot of stuff from Nam that all of us are still dealing with, and this job can be stressful as heck, too.”

  “I know, I know. I didn’t want to say it, but I think that John may have a problem with my sister and her husband because of the race thing. Maybe not.”

  “He said that?”

  “No, he didn’t. But I think I see some resentment. Maybe I’m just imagining it. After all, he obviously didn’t mention it to you and you’re his best friend.”

  “He didn’t even tell me that your sister was married to a white guy.”

  Rose turned to me suddenly. “Harry’s not white.”

  “He’s not?”

  “He’s Chinese! Chinese American!”

  “Oh,” I said. I was so surprised that Rose paid for the check before I could grab it.

  We hadn’t gotten far from the counter when our waitress called out, “Don’t worry. I didn’t see you two here. I won’t tell nobody!”

  “What do you know about getting into people’s business?” I asked the midget. We were at the front counter of the toy store, eating noodles I had gotten from one of the sidewalk carts.

  “Jesus,” he said, noodles dangling from his mouth. He slurped them up quickly. “Just stay out of it,” he said.

  “You don’t even know what it’s about,” I said.

  “Is it between a man and a woman and is that man Vandyne and the woman his wife?�
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  “Who told you?”

  “No one. You don’t really know that many people, Robert. Well, not that many people in relationships.”

  “Well, what do you think I should do? I had lunch yesterday with Rose and she was telling me—”

  “Stay out of it.”

  “I’m worried that—”

  “Stay out of it!”

  “She was telling me she was thinking of maybe getting divorced!”

  “Robert, maybe she just had to say it to get it out of her system. Maybe Rose just needed someone to talk to.”

  “That’s the problem. She says Vandyne doesn’t talk to her anymore.”

  “This is something they have to resolve on their own. If there aren’t disagreements, then relationships get boring. Anyway, don’t tell Vandyne unless he brings the matter up himself.”

  “It could be too late by then.”

  “If you say that you met his wife and knew about their problems, you’re not going to help. You’re just going to piss him off and he’ll talk even less to his wife. He’ll trust her less for sure.” The midget shoved another mouthful of noodles into his mouth.

  “But maybe I can help.”

  “You already helped by listening to Rose.”

  “Vandyne doesn’t need to know?”

  “Look, Robert. You and I are fairly close, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “How would you feel if I told you that Lonnie came to me and said you don’t pay enough attention to her?”

  “She said that! Why the hell did she tell you?”

  He stretched his greasy lips to the left in a wry smile.

  “Now you get it?” he asked. “Keep your goddamned mouth shut and keep your mind on your work! Find out who Brother Five is, already!”

  “How?”

  “Did you talk to everybody you possibly could?”

  “Definitely!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am absolutely one hundred percent certain.”

  “You can’t think of anybody else, right?”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot or something? Believe me, there’s nobody else left for me to see!”

  18

  I CAME DOWN THE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR AND SAW THAT PEEPSHOW was on guard outside the gangster kid’s room.