suit, though not so deftly. The jellyfish was rubbery, had no discernible flavor, and somehow intrigued the palate. While they chewed on the jellyfish rings, Toy Boy took wonton wrappers, put a dollop of ground shrimp, pork, and scallion in the center of each, folded them over, crimped them, and dropped them in the wok where the oil was already bubbling.
When they were golden brown, Toy Boy took the wontons from the oil, put them on a rack attached to the wok to drain, and poured two sauces into the hollows of a divided dish. He set the dish on the table. “Hot sauce,” he said, pointing to one side, “sweet and sour sauce,” he said, pointing to the other side. Then he gave each of them a plate with three golden wontons. To boiling stock, he added beaten egg white, allowing it to just float on the surface. Over the egg white dollops he sprinkled finely minced ham and scallions. He seasoned the soup with salt and pepper and put it before them. “Floating Blossoms Soup,” he said.
As they enjoyed the wontons and soup, Toy Boy busied himself at his wok.
He prepared a dish of small beef slices in a sauce over fried cellophane noodles garnished with scallions. Toy Boy set up a bamboo steamer over a second burner. Then he rolled ground pork balls in rice and dried onion flakes. He set them on a plate in the steamer. Then he arranged chicken slices and ham slices in the center of a serving dish, and surrounded the mound with parboiled broccoli. He mixed a clear sauce in the wok, and poured it over the dish. On another serving dish, he arranged cold cooked asparagus, dressed it with chili and sesame oil, and garnished it with toasted sesame seeds. Again, using his wok, he stir fried shrimp marinated in oil infused with gingerroot, first lining the wok with chili paste and sesame oil, and, when the shrimp were pink, he added green peas and chopped scallions. He stirred these together for another minute, and dished them up on a bed of steamed rice. As each dish was completed, he put it on an electric warming tray built into the cart. When all was ready, he turned to serve them.
“Ants on the Hill,” Toy Boy said, as he served the beef dish to them. “Baroque Pearls,” he said, and set the steamed pork balls before them. “Dragon and Phoenix in the Forest,” he called the dish of ham, chicken, and broccoli. “Asparagus Salad,” he said, indicating the salad. “Stir-Fried Szechwan Shrimp on steamed rice,” he named the last dish. “Eat, enjoy. Your dessert shall be litchi ice cream. Ring when you are ready for it,” he showed Mae Ling the button to push, “and I will bring it for you and clear away the dishes.”
“A truly intriguing menu,” Malcolm said. “You have chosen with skill.”
“I am glad you think so,” Mae Ling said. They busily plied their chopsticks, sharing the food with murmurs of appreciation for its delicate balance of flavors.
When they had completed their meal and rung Toy Boy for the litchi ice cream and a fresh pot of green tea, Malcolm said, “I’ve been looking through my brother’s notes on the statues. It seems they are Kuanyins, Buddhist saints of some sort. Why they are so valuable to certain un-named officials in the Chinese Government is something Quig did not know. He only understood they were willing to pay well for their recovery.” Mae Ling held up her hand. She coughed, and pointed vehemently to a spot near the door. Malcolm stared at her in consternation, until realized Mae Ling was pointing to a tape recorder.
“Oh, Malcolm, sweetie, don’t talk about those dull old statues now.” Mae Ling pressed the pause button on the recorder.
“Someone wants to know what we say,” Mae Ling said. We shall give them something to think about, in a little bit. First, though, I need to recall Toy Boy.” She rang the buzzer. When a young man knocked discreetly, Mae Ling said, through the closed door, “Send Toy Boy in here at once, no matter what else he is doing.”
“Yes, Madam,” the young man said and withdrew.
Toy Boy’s Redemption
Soon, Toy Boy knocked timidly on the door. Mae Ling opened it, and let him in.
“You left something when you went,” she said. Toy Boy looked at the table. There were no dishes to clear away. “Not dishes,” Mae Ling said sternly. “This.” She pointed to the tape recorder.
“I’m so sorry,” Toy Boy said. He cast his eyes at the ground.
“Why? Why have you betrayed the trust my father places in you?”
He raised his eyes. Suffering filled their black pupils. “For the green card, Madam. The INS is pursuing me. She said she could help.”
“She who?”
“We call her the Empress with Talons in the kitchens. She is a very fearsome lady. She comes here often.”
“Do you know her name?”
“Not for sure. Once I heard a man call her ‘Vanna’.”
Malcolm groaned. “Vanna again! Damn!”
“Perhaps we can spike her guns. When were you to give her the tape?”
“Tonight,” Toy Boy said, “after White Lotus and the Lesser Dragon had completed their activities.”
“You will take this Empress with Talons a tape. The Lesser Dragon and I shall make it for her. If you wish to redeem yourself, bring me three clay pots from the kitchen. Bring me the size you use for individual potted chicken. The cost of these clay pots, you understand, will come out of your wages. Do this, and I will recommend to my father that he keep you on staff.”
Toy Boy looked gratefully at Mae Ling. “Thank you, Madam.”
“Go now, and be quick about returning with the pots.”
Toy Boy left in haste.
“We will put on a bit of a show for this Vanna,” Mae Ling said. “I will urge a sexual liaison. You will urge we examine the statues. We will then break the clay pots, claiming we are breaking the statues to get at whatever is in them. There will be nothing, of course, as we shall say to our dismay for the tape recorder. Do you agree?”
Malcolm considered. “Yes,” he said at last, “do you think we’ll fool her?”
“We can but hope.”
When Toy Boy returned Mae took the clay pots and dismissed him. She smiled conspiratorially at Malcolm.
“Shall we begin?” she said. Malcolm nodded. Mae Ling released the Pause button on the tape recorder.
“Oh Malcolm, such a dinner puts me in a romantic mood. And you are such a handsome gentleman.” Mae Ling batted her eyelashes at Malcolm. “Don’t rush into business. We can take a little time to get well acquainted, can’t we?”
“Madam, I am old enough to be your father.”
“I so adore a mature man.” Mae Ling made a kissing noise on her hand. Malcolm blenched.
“Ms. Ling, please. Control yourself. I’m here only to do business.”
“Oh, don’t be so cold to me. I’m a lonely lady, and I’m not unpleasing to look at.”
“You are a most attractive woman, Ms. Ling. And quite clean, I’m sure. I am not moved, however, from business by a woman’s attractions. Please, let us discover the secret of these statues.”
“They’ve waited three quarters of a century. They can wait three quarters of an hour.”
“Madam, they could wait three quarters of a millennium, and I still would not wish to become intimate with you in the fashion you are suggesting.”
Mae Ling made weeping noises. “Am I so undesirable, then?” she quavered.
“Not at all, Ms. Ling. I’m no experienced judge in such matters, but I think you’d please many men. I am not one of them, but it is no flaw in you. I don’t do women, you see.”
“Oh, Mr. Drye. I am so embarrassed. I mistook your orientation.”
“No harm done. I can, and do, do business with any reasonable person.”
“To business, then, Mr. Drye.” Mae Ling grinned, and closed her thumb and middle finger in a ring to specify excellence.
“What is the value of these statues?” Malcolm asked.
“I doubt it is their artistry. They are peasant work from the late Qing Dynasty, perhaps even the beginning of this century. Personal idols scraped from the clay for a peasant’s hut, there are hundred
s littering China.”
“Do they contain something?”
“Perhaps. Dissidents often used such things to carry messages. We might find a bit of history, perhaps a note from Sun Yat Sen. That would be worth money. We’d have to break them to find out.”
“Break them?”
“Yes. They are worthless as they are.”
“Break one, then.”
Mae Ling pounded a clay chicken pot with a serving ladle, until it cracked into pieces. “Nothing here,” she said. “What do we do now?”
“Break the others, I suppose.” Malcolm pounded another clay pot with the serving ladle. “This one’s empty, too.”
Mae Ling took up the ladle again. “This one, too,” she said, and scooped the pieces onto the floor. They clattered and shattered further.
“We have destroyed a possible fortune,” Malcolm said.
“Or three worthless bits of clay,” Mae Ling said. She buzzed for Lee. When he came, she ordered him to send in Toy Boy to clean up the mess. When Toy Boy came, she paused the tape recorder again.
“Clean up this room, and then take the tape and the recorder. Deliver them as you promised to the Empress with Talons.”
“Yes, Madam,” Toy Boy said. He stepped into the hall to get a broom from the nearest closet. Mae Ling released the Pause Button on the tape recorder, and then she and Malcolm noisily left the room, blaming each other for destroying the valuable statues. Toy Boy was waiting outside. He went in, shut off the tape recorder, and put the tape in his pocket.
Later that night Toy Boy
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