The Snakeheads

by Mary Moylum

  He tried to disarm her with a friendly smile but Grace could see it wasn’t working.

  “Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes?”

  The face hesitated. The door began to close. Quickly, Grace introduced herself, woman to woman, and Ramona looked at her, weakening. “I’ve much work to do. I give you maybe five, ten minutes only.”

  “My friend only wants five minutes of your time.”

  Ramona stepped back from the doorway and allowed them inside.

  Nick looked at Grace with an expression that said, “How the hell did you manage that?”

  Grace smiled and followed Ramona into her house. The hallway was covered in clear vinyl plastic, but Ramona asked them to remove their shoes. The living room furniture was also covered in vinyl. The end table and a fringed floor lamp were still adorned with the store price stickers.

  Ramona pointed to a sofa covered in a moss-green polyester fringed throw. At that moment, a man wearing an undershirt and stained denims came down the stairs.

  “Who are these people?” he yelled and pointed.

  Nick stood up and they introduced themselves again.

  “This is Orlando,” explained Ramona, “he’s my brother.”

  Orlando turned to his sister, a torrent of Portuguese burst from his lips. Grace had picked up enough of the language in Brazil to know that he was chastising Ramona for allowing government officials to enter their home. The gist of what he said was, you couldn’t trust government officials. They started off investigating other people and ended up investigating you. They would have the damnedest time getting her and Nick out of their house.

  Ramona smiled nervously as her brother heaped verbal abuse upon her.

  “We won’t stay long,” Grace suddenly pleaded, in Portuguese.

  Orlando directed his attention at Grace. Once he understood that he couldn’t exclude them by speaking his mother tongue to his sister, he switched to English, but he was still furious.

  “Ramona is too friendly. She talks to everybody. I keep telling her that we’re not back home in the Azores where we could walk down the street barefoot and say hello to everybody,” said Orlando, chopping the air with his workman hands. “But what does she know? All she knows in life is bathroom and kitchen cleaners.” He spat out the word kitchen cleaners as if it was synonymous with anthrax and Ebola.

  Grace and Nick exchanged glances, but Ramona didn’t seem offended. She excused herself from the conversation, disappearing into the kitchen.

  Orlando huffed and puffed a few more times, then said grudgingly, “What can I do for you?”

  While Nick was explaining, Ramona reappeared with cold drinks and a plate of cookies for four.

  Orlando turned on her in another torrent of abuse, this time in English. “In the name of the Virgin Mary, Ramona, these people are not our guests! We want them out of our house as soon as possible. Holy Mother of Mary! When will you learn!”

  Ramona glanced at the Virgin Mary on the wall and quickly crossed herself.

  Nick deftly produced the police sketch of Li Mann Vu.

  “Is this your tenant, Mr. Li?”

  “Yes, but face much older,” said Ramona holding the picture in her hands.

  “How did you come to rent your house to Mr. Li?”

  Orlando spoke up. “We had an ad in the Montreal Gazette two years ago. He said he would take it for two thousand a month. Give us cash for one year in advance. You’d be stupid to turn down such an offer.”

  “You didn’t check references?” asked Nick.

  Orlando shot Nick a look implying that government officials were indeed stupid creatures.

  “What is there to check? Post-dated checks can bounce. Cash is king, and he paid in advance.” His tone was contemptuous.

  “Did you drop in regularly?”

  “Why?” asked Orlando. “He did his own repairs and paid for it himself. He never called us. Only once to say that he was renewing the lease for a second year. Then he came by the house and gave us another year’s rent in cash.”

  “Yes, we only see him twice. He was perfect tenant. Neighbours no complain about loud parties or women. He said to me when he signed the lease for the second year that he travelled much in his job,” said Ramona.

  “He was our best tenant,” confirmed Orlando. “Why you asking? To deport him?”

  “The Immigration Department has a few questions to put to him. Did you know he was housing illegal immigrants in your house?”

  “No, we didn’t know and if we did, we wouldn’t care,” snapped Orlando, making a show of looking at his watch.

  “What is he guilty of? He was a good tenant,” said Ramona.

  “We suspect that he’s a ringleader in smuggling illegal immigrants into this country.”

  Orlando interrupted Nick’s explanation. “That is government talk. Yesterday, more government people took up my time by wanting to see the house. The house is empty. The government has driven out my best tenant. Will you reimburse me? No, I didn’t think so. You people in government have lost touch with society all around. You should be lucky the illegals are here to pick up garbage, wash dishes in restaurants, pick fruit on the farms. These people work for peanuts and you people benefit. I’m sorry we can’t answer anymore questions. You go now.”

  Grace broke into the conversation. “You’ve got a big house here. The two of you must’ve worked like dogs and penny-pinched yourself silly to afford two houses.”

  “Two houses? We own seven houses,” spat Orlando, beating the air with his muscular arms. “Since separatist politics began, we’ve been buying up good houses cheap. Anglophones have been leaving the province. If Quebec separates, then we lose our shirts. We gamble and pray that Quebec can’t afford separation.”

  Ramona further explained that she and her brother owned and lived in this house while their other siblings lived and owned other homes. She also owned her own cleaning company, and her father and brothers worked in construction.

  “You’ve done well since emigrating. Your family is an immigrant success story,” said Grace.

  “There’d be more success story like us if Immigration didn’t keep deporting hard working people.” Orlando shot Nick a dirty look.

  You couldn’t win. Grace got up and moved toward the door.

  Nick graciously ignored the last remark. “I appreciate your time.”

  Sitting behind the steering wheel, Nick commented, “What a pair of characters. We were lucky not to meet the entire family.”

  “Come on, Nick. It wasn’t that bad. Sure, they could’ve used an interior decorator. But I kinda liked Ramona.”

  The day was a scorcher. The air fanned out around them like heat from a pizza oven. Nick had the air conditioner going at full blast as they drove around downtown Montreal, looking for a parking spot and a place to eat.

  “I know I shouldn’t ask,” said Grace, “but who is this tenant Li Mann?”

  He gave her a quick look. Then, careful in what he revealed, he said, “I’ll tell you what I can. I believe he pulled the trigger on Walter. Naturally, I want his head. Given the blank visas, birth certificates, and other documents we found at his house, I have reason to believe he’s the mastermind behind some of the smuggling of illegals into this country.”

  “So you have two reasons why you’re out to get him.”

  He didn’t want to reveal any more. Instead, he turned the tables. “I’ve got a question for you, Grace. I was told that you’re a member of the Asia Business Council. In fact, you use to sit on the board. Tell me about it.”

  “You could say it’s a community association for Asian business leaders. Many of these businessmen have a hefty net worth. They tend to use the council as a lobby group, to go after government contracts. Just like any other lobby group. Some of them would like North America to take human rights off the table when discussing trade. Personally, I disagree with that. Why do you ask?”

  “A name came up on our system. I have to run a check on hi
m.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Wa Sing. You know him?”

  There was the tiniest of pauses before Grace said, “I know of him. Through my mother. They belong to the same benevolent association.”

  Nick wondered if her momentary hesitation meant anything. But why should it? She hadn’t refused to answer, which she could have done if she wanted to. They both knew they couldn’t tell each other everything about their work.

  Days later, the full extent and meaning of what she said and didn’t say would become clear to him. But for now, as he listened to the lovely sound of her voice describing her childhood in Vancouver, he was distracted from all suspicious thoughts.

  Back at the hotel, they were a man and a woman secluded in the privacy of a room on the twenty-ninth floor. On the radio, some kind of marvellous Brazilian-African music played. The beat of the drums was like a drug. The singer’s voice was like a spiritual cantata. He was lost to her as his hands touched the exquisite smoothness of her neck, the curve at the base of her throat, the perfection of her breasts. He loved her. Nothing else in the world mattered.

  He entered her like a sweet dream. Lips, hands and bodies intertwined. He had never known sex like that. And if she left, he probably never would again.

  chapter nineteen

  After Nick dropped her home, she walked through the door to a fat cat who cursed her absence as he rubbed his flurry flanks against her legs. Eating dry food for two days straight was not to his liking. The first thing she did was to open a can of turkey dinner for her fat boy before releasing him onto the deck. At the sight of his feathered friends, his atavistic instincts were raring to go. Then she picked up her voicemail. Five calls. One from her mother wanting to complain about her children, no doubt. Grace sighed, no matter how hard you tried to accommodate your parents, it was never enough. Ellen called twice, wanting to do lunch on Tuesday. And two other callers who hadn’t left messages.

  Just as she was about to unpack, the phone rang. The call display on her bedroom phone said it was her mother. She didn’t have the energy to return all the calls but she knew better than to ignore calls from her parents.

  “Grace, your father and I have been trying to reach you.”

  “I know, Mom. I’ve been very busy with work.”

  She knew what was coming. Why be the first to bring it up?

  “Yes, your father and I read about you in one of the Chinese dailies.”

  “You mean, you read about me and the Sun case, and you told Dad. We both know Dad can’t read Cantonese.”

  Her mother ignored the correction.

  “I had drinks with Wa Sing yesterday while he was waiting for a connecting flight to Taipei.”

  “I thought he said he was going to Singapore? Not Taiwan.”

  “Grace, don’t change the subject.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t know this Sun person, but it seems he’s a philanthropist in the community. Whatever his sins are, I agree with Wa Sing that you can’t judge him as harshly as the rest of the country.”

  “Mom, please! You know I can’t go into the merits of the case with people outside the Commission. Not even with my own family.”

  Long pause.

  “Grace, I think it’s best if you don’t hear this case. As an elder in the Chinese community, I don’t want to have to keep defending your actions. It isn’t right to deport someone back to a place that could kill him. Particularly China. It may be just a job for you, but for other people, it’s their life. If you order him deported, it could cause a lot of trouble for you. As your mother, I’m suggesting that it’s not wise to judge your own. You understand, darling?”

  Silence. No matter how old you are and how much distance you’ve put between yourself and your parents, they can still reduce you to a state of adolescent rebellion.

  “Yes, mom, I understand. Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as that. I can’t turn the case down without incurring disciplinary action from the judicial committee. I have tried and have been warned.”

  “Then, Grace, you must choose who you want as your enemy. Better to choose the anger of your boss, who’s only one man, than the wrath of a community.”

  “Mom, I hear you. I’ll take that under consideration.”

  “Grace, don’t give me that judge talk. Remember, I’m still your mother.”

  She held her annoyance in check and diverted the conversation. “How’s everybody doing? Can I talk to Dad?”

  “He’s out. He’s helping the Buddhists raise money for another temple. And volunteering at the hospital twice a week.”

  “I thought he was volunteering already in the Buddhist community?”

  “He’s doing that as well. Your father likes to keep busy. We’re retired, so why not give back to the community?”

  You sure drummed that into me as a kid, Grace thought. I must have been the only teenager who volunteered for four summers in a row as a candy-striper at the Vancouver General when all my other friends got paid summer jobs.

  Instead she said, “Dad must be the only Jew who’s also a Buddhist.”

  “No, apparently there are others like him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, your father says there’s a small Jewish Buddhist community somewhere in Nova Scotia. He wants to take the train out to the east coast next summer.”

  Long pause.

  “If I’m not doing anything next summer, maybe I’ll tag along.”

  “That would be nice. But, Grace, you should start thinking about finding a companion of your own. You’re not getting any younger. Call Auntie Ming. In fact, she came for dinner last night and asked about you. I’ll tell her to call you.”

  “Auntie Ming” was no blood relation. The two women had met volunteering at the Resettlement Program for Newcomers. They had discovered that they shared the same ancestral village in China. Since Auntie Ming was childless and twice widowed in China, Kim had brought her into the family fold. When Grace was a teenager, Auntie Ming had joined them for supper every Sunday evening. A few years later, her dad had read them a newspaper story about a Jewish marriage broker who was making a killing running a matchmaking business. The story inspired Auntie Ming to do the same thing.

  “Mom, I don’t need Auntie Ming’s marriage broker services. We’re not living in the old country. And I’m old enough to find someone for myself.”

  “I know you are. But Auntie Ming has a dentist she’s trying to match up.”

  “Too bad and no thanks.”

  “He’s second generation like yourself. Handsome and with money.”

  Mom, I like the man I’m sleeping with just fine, she wanted to say. She would tell her mother about Nick later, when they were further into their relationship. Right now, she couldn’t handle the pressure of daily phone calls from her mother wanting a status report of every date and encounter.

  “He’s also a half-and-half.”

  “A half of what?”

  “He’s half Chinese and half Irish. Come to think of it, I see his mother regularly in Chinatown. Next time, I’ll show her a picture of you.”

  “Mom, please! I’d appreciate if you didn’t pass my photo around to every desperate mother and grandmother in Chinatown.”

  “Okay, we’ll do this in person. Come down for Thanksgiving.”

  “Fine, but I don’t want to be matched up. Hear that, mom? I gotta go now. I’ve got another call holding,” she lied.

  “You buy your ticket and we’ll pick you up at the airport so you won’t have to spend money on a cab.”

  Right after the Sun Sui case. Home for the holidays. Terrific!

  Before the sun went down, she clipped a bouquet of blue rhododendrons from her front garden and stuck them in a vase of water for her dining room. Then she did two loads of laundry and cleaned her kitchen.

  The rented sedan stopped a few hundred feet short of the house with the wraparound porch. Li Mann climbed out and stretched his legs. He had trailed the immigration off
icer from Toronto to Montreal, and then to Ottawa. Finding the girlfriend judge so easily was a bonus. His orders were to kill them both. The problem was the opportunity. He had had the opportunity in Montreal, inside the Notre Dame cathedral. Just as he was about to release the safety catch, a busload of tourists from Yonkers, New York had entered the church.

  Now that he was standing across the street from her house, he noticed that she was already under surveillance. Interesting. He strolled down the street, past the white van, glancing at the two men inside. He had thought it would be easier to kill the judge first. Now there was a complication. But an interesting complication. Li Mann cracked his knuckles as he strolled around the block. By the time he got back to his car, he knew what he was going to do.

  Back in Toronto, Nick reverted to hunter mode. He rented a car at the airport and drove straight to the office. The building was empty except for a lone security guard watching the Sunday football game on a portable television.

  He was doing everything he could to oppose Sun’s claim for refugee status. Sun’s asylum hearing was a mere week away. Worse case scenario, if Sun won his claim, Nick would have one last kick at the can to have him prosecuted in criminal court, but given the backlog in the courts, it could be a hell of a long wait. Personally, he hoped it would not come to that. Deportation was much easier on the taxpayers’ wallets. And he’d given way too much time on one case already when the stack of files kept growing on his filing cabinet.

  He pulled out the Sun file and began to peck away. You would think after spending a weekend with the presiding judge he’d have an inkling of where the case was headed. But no. She could compartmentalize her life to the point of utter discretion. The perfect judge. That certainly didn’t help his case any. What he needed was a coherent strategy that he or one of his officers could sell to her to help her deny Sun refugee status. But then again, with a well-paid lackey like Verster, Sun already had a foot in the door.

  Nick spread the entire file folder across his desk. Good thing Judge Egan had consented to the confiscation of Sun’s passport. He picked it up and studied it. Couldn’t get him on a forged document. It was an authentic Hong Kong passport. The seal and stamp over the photo were real. The date of issue was 1992. He then flipped through the middle and back pages, where the entry and exit stamps and visas were found. There were many. Reaching for a pad, he made a list of countries, broken down by time period.