99 Ways to Die

by Ed Lin

  “I have already given the police all the exhaustive details of my captors, but I’m going to give you the most relevant ones.” Tong-tong took a swig of water, unfolded a piece of paper and adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “There are at least three of them. One is in his mid-thirties, average height with a deep voice. You’d recognize it because he was the man in the video with the gun. He killed my friend Associate Vice President Peng Wan-chang, who had been by my side over the last thirty years. I have spent more time with him than any of my kids. If we were gay, I couldn’t have loved him more.

  “The police kept Peng’s identity secret to protect his family, but we weren’t able save his life. I’ll be personally visiting his relatives and passing on my condolences.

  “Anyway, the second suspect is in his twenties, average height. He was the driver of the van that was used to transport us. I don’t know what his voice sounds like.

  “The third suspect is also in his twenties, average height, but on the fat side. He is the one who set up the camera and Internet streaming. He has a high-pitched voice, as if he was a girl.

  “One thing you should know about these men, actually, is that they all spoke Mandarin a little funny. Like they were native speakers of Thai or Indonesian. Is Indonesian a language? What language do they speak there?” He threw his hands up to show he didn’t much care what the answer was. “Well, whatever it is, it isn’t Mandarin. That I can tell you.”

  Tong-tong stepped away from the podium, muttered something and then returned with sheets of paper.

  “I made these myself,” he declared as he held up sketches of the three men. I didn’t know if they were accurate, but they were surprisingly good for a businessman. Maybe he learned how to draw people by making self-portraits. In fact, the three suspects, as rendered, all seemed to resemble Tong-tong, particularly in the nostril end of the nose and in the eyebrows.

  “My art is downloadable on my Facebook page,” said Tong-tong as he set down the sketches. “Print them out and tape them everywhere. While I’m driving around Taipei, if I see you holding them up in the street, I’ll give you a hundred-NT note! Any business I come across that has them in the window, I’ll give a five-hundred-NT note to whoever’s behind the counter!

  “I’m ready to pay, Taiwan! Now let’s make these criminals pay with their lives!” He stepped back and rubbed his cufflinks before approaching the microphone again. “Any questions?”

  A reporter from Taiwan’s least-scrupulous newspaper, The Daily Pineapple, raised her hand. “Yes, sweetheart, you have a question?”

  She was in her early twenties and seemed inappropriately happy. “Tong-tong, I’m glad you’re safe.”

  He saluted her. “Thank you! You are lovely, aren’t you?”

  “You’re welcome. I just want to make sure I understand you. You want the suspects—”

  “Criminals! They are not ‘suspects’ because they are definitely guilty!”

  “All right, the criminals, you want people to go out and physically assault them?”

  “Of course! I want people to do what I would if I saw them. Don’t worry about any harm you cause—I will cover any legal fees you incur! Did any of them show Associate Vice President Peng Wan-chang one iota of mercy? No! Do they deserve any leniency themselves? No!” Tong-tong then pointed to a grey-haired man I recognized from the conservative right-wing-leaning TV China, a cable station based in Taiwan, despite its name.

  “Tong-tong, do you think it was a good idea for you to sketch the suspects?”

  “It was a great idea! I’m the only one who knows exactly what they look like!”

  “You’re not a very good artist, though. The three men all look the same.”

  “No, they don’t!”

  “And they even look like you a little bit.”

  “Sit down and shut up. I’m not talking to you anymore. Maybe it’s time for you to leave.”

  “I’m going to have to point out the shortcomings on my show tonight.”

  “So what? Your ratings are lousy because no one watches anymore. Your show is weak. I’m done with you.” Tong-tong flicked his wrists. “I’m going to take one more question. Yes, you, sweetheart.” He made a groping motion in the direction of a wide-eyed and underdressed young woman, a species native to cable channels desperate for viewers. She blinked and brushed her hair back over her ears.

  “Tong-tong, what would you say to the kidnappers if they’re listening right now?”

  He smiled, tilted his head and looked straight into the camera. “You put me in a dog cage, you bastards. You humiliated me in front of the whole country.” He leaned forward. “Now the dog is out and I’m coming for your balls.”

  Gasps arose from the assembled journalists. Realizing that he had delivered a hell of an exit line he couldn’t possibly top, Tong-tong stomped off in triumph.

  The highest-ranking policeman present, a hapless hippo in plain clothes, rushed to the microphone. “Of course, Tong-tong is very excited right now and he’s exaggerating a little bit. We urge the public at large not to take the law into their own hands. Do not confront people you think match the descriptions. Call the police immediately and you will still definitely get your reward.”

  By early afternoon, bands of retirees were walking the streets, clutching broken-off broom handles. At dusk, schoolboys sported baseball bats bungee-cabled to their backpacks for immediate access. At pedestrian crossings, traffic cops fondled their radios and nodded approvingly at both groups. “Be careful,” they offered to the few female bounty hunters.

  The suspect sketches were everywhere. The sound of them fluttering was like an invasive avian species. On my way to the night market, I saw that our nation’s most industrious parents had already laminated them to the vests of their toddlers.

  Stalls at the night market were wallpapered with the sketches as if they were talismans to ward off evil. Some poor kids who were forced to work at their family-owned stalls entertained themselves by wearing masks of the sketches, tearing eyeholes in the appropriate places.

  I arrived at Unknown Pleasures in time to catch Dwayne putting up the final touches to the stall—he had covered all available vertical space with the damned things.

  “Have you lost your goddamned mind?” I asked him gently. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He stood up and hid a roll of packing tape behind his back. “What does it look like? I’m making sure that we continue to conform to community standards.” He lifted his chin. “Those standards change from time to time.”

  “We don’t have to mummify the place. One of each sketch would’ve been fine.”

  Dwayne raised an eyebrow at me. “Do I have to remind you, Jing-nan, that Tong-tong is our landlord?”

  “Landlord, not overlord,” I said. I turned to Frankie, always the most reasonable person among us. “Three is enough, isn’t it?” I asked.

  Frankie wiped his hands with a ragged blue towel. “Peggy is your friend. Tong-tong is her father. She’ll probably be here somewhat frequently, now that she’s no longer sequestered. She’ll see these flyers as a sign of support.” He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and paused before lighting it. “It’s all right to look stupid for the sake of a friend.”

  “She’s free to roam around again?” I asked. “I missed that.”

  “Of course you did,” said Frankie. “Say, why don’t you invite her and her father to come by? That’ll drive up business because he’s a bigger celebrity now than he ever was.”

  My money muscle, located on the right side of the back of my neck, began to twitch. It gets a workout when I assume my Johnny personality. When it’s sore, I know it’s been a good night for the register.

  “That would be a good idea, wouldn’t it?” I said to myself out loud.

  I texted Peggy to congratulate her on her new freedom and asked if she and her dad wanted to make an a
ppearance at my stand at nine-ish tomorrow night. It would be good publicity for both of us. She said sure. I quickly wrote up announcements on social media to say that the Lees would be at Unknown Pleasures at eight. I could use the hour in advance to process all the anticipated food sales. No vegan special could compete with the star power of Taiwan’s most famous crime victim.

  I didn’t tell her that it was probably Frankie’s tip that led to Tong-tong’s rescue. Honestly, if she were on the fence about her dad coming, I might have pulled it out.

  Nancy asked me to meet her at her apartment at the end of the night. That meant she was either angry or busy. Turns out she was both.

  “So, it’s true,” she spat. “You’re doing a publicity stunt with Tong-tong.”

  I wobbled on one foot as I took off my shoes. What had I walked into? Maybe I should put my shoes back on and retreat right now. “It’s not really a stunt, it’s more like an event. What’s wrong with it? You know I’m friends with Peggy, and I hope you agree that it’s a good thing her father’s been found.”

  Nancy admonished me by wagging her phone at my heart. “Do you know what happened tonight?”

  “What happened? Did they catch the kidnappers?”

  “No, Jing-nan. It hasn’t been picked up by the mainstream media, but the Southeast Asian student group on campus is sending this around.” She thrust her phone at me.

  I took Nancy’s phone. It was opened to a group email about Southeast Asian people who had been targeted and beaten. The formatting was a little broken up because a few recipients added subsequent stories of more incidents. One claimed that three Vietnamese men had gone to a police station in Taoyuan to report they were assaulted and were given a second round of beatings by some officers at the precinct. Another told of an Indonesian woman who had been pushed to the ground and had her hijab torn off by a group of five teens.

  I scrolled casually through the rest. In all, there seemed to be about a dozen victims. I couldn’t recognize my modern and tolerant country in the incidents. It was like reading about past human-rights abuses during the martial-law era. These things couldn’t possibly happen here anymore, could they?

  “Tong-tong is to blame for all this!” declared Nancy. “He put all those racist goons in the street!”

  “Could some of these things be made up?” I asked tentatively. “I mean, stupid guys are always going around and getting in trouble, right? It doesn’t mean it was a racist thing.”

  I quickly discovered that I was in trouble.

  “Unarmed men were beaten by people with sticks,” said Nancy as she snatched her phone back. “And people were yelling at them to get out of Taiwan!”

  “I hope these are just isolated incidents,” I said. “I’m sure Tong-tong disavows them all.”

  Things only got worse and were bad enough that by morning, cable news channels had to cover stories about Southeast Asian men and women being targeted in the streets. The number of victims was up to fifty.

  The Dynasty Network had phone-video footage of a beating shot by a bystander. One man had another in a chokehold while a third man was swinging a broken-off broom handle into the choked man’s stomach. With each swing he yelled, “Get out, monkey!”

  All three faces were blurred out.

  The network tried unsuccessfully to get in touch with the victim. The stone-faced female anchor stated that although they couldn’t show viewers the victim, the man didn’t resemble any of the three sketches. She added that police had already arrested two suspects connected with the assault, and that they were unemployed construction workers.

  After a commercial break, a young male correspondent did manage to track down Tong-tong’s cell-phone number. The station put up a still shot of Peggy’s father announcing some building project, captured in mid-speech with his lips pursed, as if ready for a kiss. The reporter, a teen heartthrob in a sports jacket, stood in sharp contrast next to the still of the unattractive Tong-tong, as he called Tong-tong live on the air.

  There was a click, a scraping sound, and then a, “Hello?” It was Tong-tong and he seemed wary.

  “Good morning, Tong-tong!” The reporter beamed, his eyes shining. “This is Alan Qiao of The Dynasty Network. You’re live on television right now.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “You own twenty-five percent of our company and we had someone dig through our internal paperwork to find your information.”

  “Oh, I guess I still own a part of you. It’s slipped my mind because you haven’t grown much in value.”

  “We are all so glad that you’re safe.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “We wanted to know if you’re aware that some, very few, of your supporters have allegedly been assaulting immigrants. I say ‘allegedly’ because no official police reports have been filed.”

  Tong-tong scoffed. “You know why there’s no police reports?”

  “Why?”

  “Because those people are all here illegally. They should expect to be beaten, if not deported.”

  Qiao’s pupils dilated. High-definition television didn’t miss anything.

  Tong-tong carried on. “I’m grateful for all the people out there trying to hunt down these scum of the earth. The cops are doing what they can, and frankly, Alan, the media should be doing their part in finding these guys. Get out there on the streets and put your cameras to work. Y’know what I’m saying?”

  “Tong-tong, don’t you feel responsible for these acts of violence?”

  “I’m not responsible, Alan. Remember, I’m the victim in all this! I was locked in a dog cage for three days and saw Associate Vice President Peng Wan-chang, one of my top guys, murdered right in front of my face. I. Am. The. Victim.”

  The victim was doing a hell of a job acting like a petulant child. I squirmed in my seat. I had made a mistake by inviting him to come to my place of business. Maybe I should text Peggy and call the whole thing off.

  “I should mention something,” said Tong-tong, as if reading my mind. “I’m doing an event tonight. I’m going to say a few words of gratitude to my supporters and offer more encouragement to people taking up the mantle of enforcing the law. It’s going to be at the Shilin Night Market inside of a very excellent food stand run by a friend of my daughter. What’s the name of the place, sweetheart? ‘No Pleasure’? Sounds dirty. Oh, ‘Unknown Pleasures.’ Still sounds dirty. It’s run by the guy that gangster tried to shoot, but he defended himself with a cooking pot. Just like how we all need to defend ourselves against this wave of lawlessness in Taiwan that was brought by illegal immigrants. What we have going on is a lot worse than China, believe me.”

  “I was thinking,” the anchor interjected, “that maybe you want to apologize to the immigrant community, the great majority of whom are—”

  “Apologize? You want me to apologize? Do I have to state the obvious again, Alan? I’m the victim! They should apologize to me and my family for not keeping their own people in line.”

  “That might sound a little racist,” suggested the anchor.

  Scuffling sounds indicated that Tong-tong was switching his phone to the other ear and stronger hand. “Alan, if you want to call me racist, think about this. How many Southeast Asians do you have on your network? I’d say zero. You know how many of those people I employ? Hundreds, through my construction subsidiaries and in my hotels. I have everybody of every species working for me. I discriminate against nobody.”

  “What do you have to say to the woman who had her hijab pulled off?”

  “I say that’s a terrible thing and that I’m sorry she had to experience it. At the same time, though, why is she wearing a hijab in Taiwan? I mean, we don’t have a problem with that, but when you think of Taiwan, you don’t think about women wearing hijabs is all I’m saying. When they have the big Islamic holidays, have you seen Taipei Main Station, Alan? Ha
ve you?”

  The reporter turned his head slightly and raised his perfectly trimmed right eyebrow. “I’m honestly not sure what you’re talking about, Tong-tong.”

  “Well look at the pictures online, Alan! All the Muslims are gathered there, squatting in their hijabs and maybe some are waiting for buses or trains, but it looks like a marketplace in the Middle East!

  “We either have a country or we don’t. If you’re going to come here, even if you come here illegally, you have to love our people, our way of life, our customs. You have to love Taiwan.” Tong-tong cupped the phone but some intense whispering still came through his end before he spoke into the phone again. “Listen, Alan, I have to run now, but everybody come out to Unknown Pleasures tonight and we’re going to have a great time.”

  As the phone clicked, the reporter put on a furious smile and handed off to another reporter, who was standing by to do a live report on a dancing troupe of people older than seventy.

  I think I exhaled for the first time since the interview started.

  “I never knew what a fucking asshole he was,” I said. Nancy slapped the back of my right hand. “Gan!” I yelped. She pointed her finger at my nose, menacing me.

  “You need to cancel that appearance of that racist jerk tonight. I will lose all respect for you if you let him onto your property.” She muted the television and tore open the latest issue of her trusty biomedical journal.

  These actions were meant to convey to me that hers were the final words on the subject. I just needed to point out how she was technically wrong.

  “Nancy, he owns the land the night market is on, so, really, Unknown Pleasures is on his property, not mine.”

  “Excellent point,” she said not looking at me. “You’ve really changed my mind about Tong-tong.”

  “I’m not trying to change your mind.”