by Ed Lin
“That’s exactly my point! Communism leads to theft and other crime!”
We were stuck at a light near Grand Street. A group of dishwashers and other kitchen staff in grubby uniforms were squatting on the sidewalk and smoking. It seemed like a short break from a long night.
“Look at our people,” said Mr. Tin. He shook his head and breathed in noisily through his teeth. “Living these broken-up lives on the broken-up sidewalk. The Chinese people have a noble and illustrious history, but here we’re just the lowliest of the lowly. Our ancestors endured war after war in the hope that we would someday have a united and strong country. All we have to show for it are these guys, a Communist mainland, and a democratic and free China on just one pissant island.”
He seemed genuinely sad.
“Our ancestors also didn’t expect their children’s children to work twelve to fourteen hours a day and get paid below minimum wage,” I said.
“Our ancestors aren’t responsible for everything,” he suddenly snapped. “They did what they could, but one always controls one’s destiny to a certain degree. If these workers don’t like their jobs, they could quit and get better jobs. No, they should quit and get better jobs!”
“The problem is that the restaurant owners get together and fix the wages. They also blacklist the ‘troublemakers’—you know, the guys who try to organize unions.”
“They should blacklist them! Do you know what unions would do to Chinatown!”
“Make people happy?”
“Nobody would be happy! The wages would be raised! Then the menu prices would have to be raised! Then the customers wouldn’t come anymore! Then the restaurant closes! A lose-lose situation for everybody!”
“Couldn’t the wages be increased without hurting the restaurant?”
“When you let the unions in, the sky’s the limit! Every year, they want a percentage increase higher than the inflation rate. So what does that mean? Customers are subject to inflation, too! If you give wage increases higher than the inflation rate, tourists end up paying more percentage-wise when the check comes. The white people aren’t stupid. When the prices go too high, they’ll find somewhere else to eat. Look at how the Japanese are destroying our unionized car industry! Unions and communism are a one-two punch to the face of humanity.”
He had thrown me off-track by talking about inflation. I didn’t know much about economics, and Paul wasn’t here for me to pick his brain.
“Mr. Tin, let’s just talk about what we’re here for. Let’s talk about illegals working here and who’s bringing them over.”
He sighed and pulled out a silver case from his vest pocket. He picked out a cigarette and slipped the case back. He powered the window down a crack and lit up from a Bicentennial Zippo. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, smoke coming out his nose.
“I don’t care.”
“From my standpoint, those illegal immigrants are heroes. We should welcome them as survivors from unfair systems. The Fukienese illegals are escaping from the misery of communism. The Hong Kong illegals are fleeing the tyranny of colonialism. They should be allowed to come here and work as much as they want.”
“I think a lot of them are working much more than they want and more than they ever thought they would.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” said Mr. Tin, missing my point completely. “They can make more money here than they ever dreamed! They climb the ladder! America always rewards hard work!”
“So you would knowingly hire illegal Fukienese?”
“Sure I would! Not only that, I would hire as many as I could! There’s more than enough work available! That’s the best thing about Chinatown. There’s work if you want it. Not like the rest of America, which is headed to almost double-digit unemployment! That’s what unions have done to this country! Chinese people could do it the right way!”
I had a vision of coast-to-coast sweatshops and over-rice restaurants with outposts of the Greater China Association in every town. I saw people soaked in sweat even during their brief sleeping hours.
“You know what?” Mr. Tin asked. “I would go get the ethnic Chinese from Vietnam and bring them here! Get all of them jobs here!”
“The same way that your association helps smuggle in Fukienese?”
“Oh, I see! You’re trying to trap me by my own words, huh?”
“Anyone ever call you Brother Five, Mr. Tin?”
“Of course not! What’s the meaning of this?”
“The Fukienese don’t have the money or the ships to bring people over. So it figures that the more established, um, capitalist Chinese do.”
“Even though I’m sure our members do have necessary materials and desire to be snakeheads, they do not have the political capital. How are we going to be able to land ships in China? Do you know how much scrutiny a Taiwanese ship gets in Hong Kong? On top of all that, do you think a decent person would feel safe being at sea with a shipload of Communists? They could mutiny and kill the crew! My only view of it is that once they are already here, once the illegals have a foot on dry land, then we should help them and give them jobs.”
“That’s against the law.”
“Listen, Robert. A lot of people employ illegals without even knowing. Most of them have paperwork that looks legitimate! How are they supposed to know? You were born here. That’s easy to see. Now if you looked at a legal immigrant next to an illegal, how can you tell the difference? They look the same. They both don’t know English too well.”
“I guess you can tell which is which by the way one guy will work for half of what the other guy will.”
“It’s competition! You have to allow people to pick and choose how much they are willing to work for and, overall, what they want to do with their lives!”
“Mr. Tin, if only you had given the same freedom to Don, he might be all right now.”
“I had everything set up for him!” he exploded. “I had the right school, the right girl, and the right job!”
“You wouldn’t let him choose anything for himself! You keep talking about how great freedom is, but you never let your son have his!”
“Robert, don’t be offended, but you must realize that Don was meant for a higher rung in society than you and everybody you know. There are more restrictions at higher levels of society and, yes, there is conversely a lower level of personal freedoms. That is the price one pays for being a leader!
“Don could be an important businessman right this very second! Don made the biggest mistake in his life by signing up for the army!”
“It might have been a mistake. But if you don’t let people make mistakes, you don’t allow them to learn to live their lives.”
“Where did your father come from?” he asked.
“Why does it matter?”
“I’m curious.”
“He was from a small Toisanese-speaking town in Canton—Toisan.”
“There are only small towns in Canton, because it’s one of the country’s poorest provinces!”
“Guangzhou is a city.”
“Ha! You call that a city? Do you know where I’m from? My family’s from Shanghai. We were the top class of the elite! Even the white people had to defer to us! Look at you, Robert. You don’t even know Mandarin.”
“I know enough.”
“How come you don’t speak Toisanese? Didn’t your father speak Toisanese to you?”
“My parents figured that since we were in America I should only know Cantonese. With all the Hong Kong people coming in, it seemed like the way to go.”
“I know Toisanese, also, Robert. In fact, it’s a requirement for the leader of the Greater China Association to know the dialect in order to fully embrace the people of traditional Chinatown. The people who were here before all the Cantonese speakers streamed in from Hong Kong.
“Your girlfriend, Robert. She’s a Hong Kong girl, right?”
“She’s an American girl.”
“Ha, you’re joking with me. Y
es, she is a very pretty girl! Better watch her closely!”
“Mr. Tin, I thought you had a taste for white women.”
He sucked in the smile on his face. “I told you that you’re playing a dangerous game, Robert, and you’re not even waiting for your turn.”
I looked out the window. We were looping back to my neighborhood. I noticed that Tin’s driver had something under his shirt that stuck up the fabric at the shoulders like owl tufts.
“Is this car bulletproof?” I asked.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Your driver’s wearing a bulletproof vest.”
“He’s armed, too.” Mr. Tin lit up another cigarette. “That Song guy isn’t the only one who gets death threats!”
“Before I forget, let me give this to you.” I emptied my pockets of Don’s radio set and gave the parts to Mr. Tin. “I got a new crystal for it, but I was too scared to give it back to Don. I thought he could hurt himself with it. But it was nice of you to try to give it back to him.”
Mr. Tin nodded and fell silent.
When I came back to the apartment, Paul surprised me by saying, “I was worried about you!”
“But Mom, I’m a big boy now,” I said, taking off my shoes.
“Seriously, Robert. Don’t get into a car with any of the association guys—KMT or Communist! It’s bad news!”
“I can protect myself, Paul. I’m a big boy with a big gun.” I patted the revolver on my back to reassure myself.
“Look, Robert. You know those associations hire gangs on a freelance basis to guard gambling halls and prostitution houses.”
“Of course I know! You think you know more about it than me?”
“Well, what happens if the gang is unhappy about the amount it was paid? Do you want to be sitting in the car when there’s a hail of bullets? Even if there isn’t gunfire, do you want to be a passenger in a car that’s photographed as it idles outside a massage parlor?”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job! I was interviewing someone regarding my case!” I sulked off to the fridge. A year ago I would have been popping open a beer. Now I pulled out a can of Yoo-Hoo. “Want one?” I asked Paul as I propped the door open.
He shook his head. “Weren’t you the one who warned me about getting too close to associations when I was working at the gambling joint?” he asked.
“That’s different, Paul, and you know it. You’re just a kid that they would take advantage of. They wouldn’t try to mess with me.”
“How do you think Internal Affairs would feel about you associating with them?”
“I’ve got nothing to hide. I’m not scared of anything.” I took a good swig of Yoo-Hoo and swallowed it. “Also, you just keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks, say you don’t know where I was at.”
“That’s exactly what I did.”
“What do you mean, what you did?”
“That’s what I did when the guy from Internal Affairs called.”
“When did this happen?”
“I went by the guidelines you drew up, Robert. I answered the phone seventeen minutes after the hour. Here’s his number.” He handed me a piece of paper.
“What did he say?”
“He said he wanted to talk to you and that he was from Internal Affairs.”
I examined the phone number. Manhattan. What did I expect to glean from that?
“Why the fuck are they calling me?” I asked the scrawled phone number.
“I don’t know,” Paul answered. “Are you going to call him back?”
“Of course I will.” I leaned against the wall. “How did he sound? Angry, happy?”
“Sounded casual. Like he had something on you.”
What was it all about? I hadn’t taken any gifts or money. I hadn’t even gotten any free meals.
I came around and pounded the counter.
“Dammit!” I yelled. “If this is about getting free meals and taking those red envelopes at the grand openings I used to go to—”
“You took money, Robert? How could you?”
“It was bad luck not to take the money!”
“Looks like it’s brought you some bad luck.”
“Of course that fucking rat was all casual! Taking money in envelopes sounds bad, but that’s completely outside of the cultural context! Those Internal Affairs assholes get promotions based on busting cops for bullshit like this!”
“You didn’t spend the money, did you?”
“I did. A fool and his money are soon parted, right?”
“Does the fool go to jail after?”
“I’m not going to jail, Paul. Worse comes to worst, I’m going to get roped into Internal Affairs. That’s how they build up the department. They figure it takes a crook to catch a crook.”
“You’re a crook?”
“No! Shit, I’m going to call this guy and tell him that giving token amounts of money is a part of Chinese culture and trying to nail me on it is racist!”
I marched over to the phone and spun the dial, making angry flicks with my index finger. Waiting for the dial to reset with each number only made me madder. My jaw tightened and my left hand squeezed the handset hard.
But when I heard the phone ringing, my hands shook in fear. I tried to swallow, but no moisture was there. I contemplated life in the hated rat squad.
After four rings a man lazily asked, “Hello?”
My anger came back full force. “Eddie, you son of a bitch! You had me shitting my pants!”
23
I WAS AMAZED AT EDDIE’S ABILITY TO CRACK HIMSELF UP.
“Oh, man, if you could have only heard your voice!” he said, breaking into another long laugh. “It was genuine anger and relief, with a hint of amusement.”
We were sitting in a back booth in Junior’s, the Brooklyn diner at the east end of the Manhattan Bridge, which ran over the East River. The west end of the bridge was Canal Street in Chinatown.
“I guarantee you, there was no amusement,” I said. “Don’t joke about Internal Affairs, man! I don’t know how it is in San Francisco, but here that department is staffed by backstabbers and snitches.”
“We don’t have any crooked cops out there, so I don’t know what it’s like.”
We were both halfway through beef-brisket sandwiches.
“Make sure you save room for cheesecake,” I said.
“I don’t like cheesecake.”
“It’s good here.”
“I should say that dairy doesn’t like me.”
“Along with everyone else.”
“Only bad guys don’t like me.”
“Yeah, speaking of which, how is it going with Ng?”
Eddie took a bite from his sandwich and talked with his mouth full. “Going good. Trusting dumbfuck is negotiating an offer with me. Got a lot of stuff on him.”
“Jesus, Eddie, you eat like a dog! It’s gross watching you.”
“I’ve been out in New York City too long! I can’t wait to get done and get back to being human again. Go down to SoCal for the beach. To hell with this place.”
I coughed into my hand and took a drink of water. I didn’t think I had much pride in my city, but at the same time I didn’t like to hear people put it down.
“You know,” I told Eddie, “you have to at least appreciate the lifestyle just a little bit. Think about it. You don’t need a car, so you don’t need to worry about parking or traffic jams or paying insurance every month.”
“But then you walk around in the dingy streets like a freaking maggot crawling through trash at the bottom of a garbage bin. Chinatown’s even worse. I hate walking around there, hate eating there. Shit, I just hate being there.”
“They don’t have street cleaning there because the streets are too narrow for the sanitation trucks with the brushes to get through.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the people, man. They just disgust me.”
“You’re talking about the restaurant guy who wouldn’t file a complaint?
”
“Yeah, I mean, that’s a part of it, but it’s mostly people who are just resigned to go day to day with their crummy jobs. I actually empathize more with the gang kids and even guys like Ng who are trying to make something out of themselves. These other people live life on their knees, waiting tables, washing dishes, working at bakery counters. . . .”
“Hey! You’re making fun of people who live honest and productive lives! Are you really a cop?”
“Jesus, calm down, man! Yes, I know I’m a cop. I’m busting that Ng guy, right? I’m just not making the same mistake that you are, Robert.”
“What mistake am I making?”
“You know, you think you’re one of them.”
“Oh, you’re not Chinese, now?”
“You and I were both born here. They are immigrants from China, Hong Kong, or Taiwan. We are different from them.”
“You mean you think you’re better than them.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I do think I’m better, but you know what? They think I’m better than them, too. They might make fun of us behind our backs, but is there one of them who wouldn’t trade places with either of us?”
I ate without saying anything.
“I guess I hit a soft spot with you, Robert,” Eddie said. “You were born in Chinatown, so you have warm and fuzzy memories associated with it.”
“No I don’t. I spent my childhood thinking I was stuck here, so I joined a gang and fought other kids and did petty crimes. I wasn’t sure what to do with my life, and when the draft came I welcomed it. I thought it was a way to serve my country and that it was a career for me.”
“You really bought into the bullshit, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“That whole patriotic thing was crap. Thinking that you’re serving your country or the cause of freedom is an illusion.” Then Eddie leaned in on me. “So is thinking that people in Chinatown are your people. Robert, you’re going to transfer out at some point, so just save the ones that you can. Get Lonnie out of there. Get Paul out, too.”
“They know how to take care of themselves.”
“Can they dodge a stray bullet? Or can you rush there in time to catch it with your teeth?”