Incensed

by Ed Lin

  Big Eye clapped his hands.

  “Okay, wake up Whistle. He’s going to drive you two to Taipei.”

  Mei-ling left the room.

  “We’re going to Taipei?” I asked.

  Big Eye stood up and stretched. “Well, that’s where you live, Jing-nan.” He yawned. “Mei-ling is going to stay in Taipei in a condo I own on Xinyi Road in Da’an District. She got thrown out of private school again. There was a fight in the school courtyard and one of the asshole teachers blamed Mei-ling for it. It was a case of mistaken identity, but the headmaster didn’t want to hear it.”

  “Girls were fighting?” I asked.

  “Crazy shit, right?” he snorted. “Anyway the only real trouble Mei-ling has is her boyfriend, this no-good Indonesian fuck. The deal is, she’ll stop seeing him if I let her visit Taipei for a week, so there you have it.”

  “Why does she want to be in Taipei?”

  “Supposedly it’s more sophisticated than anything we have to offer here in our tiny hamlet of nearly three million people. Anyway, I want you to keep tabs on her.” Big Eye pointed at my nose. “If that piece-of-shit boyfriend—Chong is his name—shows up, you call me right away. Apart from that, if anything happens to her, I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”

  He smiled but he wasn’t kidding. I looked over at Gao to see if the high-ranking cop objected to Big Eye’s naked threat to my life. He shrugged.

  “Don’t screw up, Jing-nan,” said Gao.

  Chapter Four

  Whistle and Gao sat in the front of the SUV again while Mei-ling and I sat in the back. With my third ride in one night, my ass was taking on the shape of my seat. I almost never rode in cars. Mei-ling flipped open a compartment and pulled out a glass and a plugged crystal decanter that refracted the light from the rising sun. A jittery rainbow slid across her face. She poured herself a shot, both of her knees bouncing.

  “I don’t think you should be doing that,” Whistle said cautiously as she threw the shot back.

  Mei-ling coughed and smiled. “Too late now.” Turning to me, she asked, “Are you hungry? I am.”

  “I could eat,” I ventured, sure that this twitchy teen probably wasn’t going to let me sleep.

  “Whistle,” she yelled, “take us to La Corona!”

  “It’s a little out of the way,” said Whistle as he looked sheepishly at her in the rearview mirror. “In fact, I’d have to turn around to get there.”

  “Then stop driving the wrong way,” Mei-ling snapped.

  Whistle had wanted to get the food to go but Mei-ling insisted on staying to eat, otherwise we wouldn’t get free tortilla chips. A good decision, because the chips were better than the burritos, which were packed with mung-bean sprouts and came off as soggy spring rolls with refried beans.

  La Corona was hopping at eight in the morning. It’s one of those places that people support only because it’s open twenty-four hours a day. They brag that there isn’t a lock on the door without mentioning how their food is. I guess the point is that it doesn’t matter how the food is. Look at the people who came here. Hungover kids. Red-eyed and red-toothed truck drivers. No gourmets. Nobody’s taking pictures of their food and posting them online.

  The only difference between my breakfast burrito and Mei-ling’s grilled-pork wrap was that mine allegedly included a scrambled egg. I looked around the table. Mei-ling, Whistle, and even Gao were scarfing the food down. I wasn’t going to make it half way. I wasn’t a snob—it’s not like Unknown Pleasures had a Michelin star—but I couldn’t bring myself to choke down food made from inferior ingredients.

  I forked over the mess to make more room on my plate for salsa and chips. I drank some more coffee. Also not great.

  I was feeling lousy for coming down to see Big Eye but honestly I would have felt worse if I hadn’t. Not that Whistle and Gao would have entertained that option. If it weren’t for me, Big Eye would probably still be at that gambling table and Mei-ling would have spent a third night wondering where her father was.

  I looked at Mei-ling closely. She had an innocent, heart-shaped face but the same tight mouth and steely eyes as Big Eye. As I watched, she gathered up her dirty napkin and smeared it across her mouth.

  “I’ll be back,” she told her plate and headed to the restroom.

  “Say, Whistle,” I asked. “What sort of guy is Chong?”

  He took a swig of coffee before answering. “He’s in a bad situation. He’s after the wrong girl.”

  “You can say that again,” said Gao, breaking into a smile. “Those people should just stick to their own.”

  Whistle cut in. “The guy’s a petty criminal. He runs with this group of kids who came over from Indonesia. They shoplift and push old ladies down for their purses. Their own people are the victims, usually. You wonder why the parents don’t have better control of their kids.”

  “The parents are too busy drinking and gambling!” said Gao. “All day, that’s all they do!”

  I decided not to point out that my uncle drank and gambled for days on end.

  “But worst of all, Big Eye gave Chong and his buddies some work for good pay and they were completely ungrateful in the end,” said Gao.

  “Did Big Eye try to rip them off?” I asked.

  “He’s entitled to a cut,” said Whistle. “And he’s entitled to decide how much.”

  “They felt they got the short end of the stick, but without Big Eye, there wouldn’t be any stick,” said Gao.

  “How did Mei-ling meet Chong?” I asked.

  “In school,” said Gao.

  “In detention,” Whistle added. “This was back when Mei-ling was in public school.”

  “She seems to find trouble,” I said.

  “You have no idea,” said Whistle. Gao gave him a meaningful look over his slick plate.

  Mei-ling came back and sat down.

  “You two should go to the bathroom,” she said to Gao and Whistle. “It’s a long trip.” Amazingly, they got up and went.

  “You really shouldn’t talk to people like that,” I said.

  “So what? They work for us. They’re not our family.”

  “Do you talk to Chong the same way?” Her face went stiff. “After all, he’s not family, either.”

  “It’s none of your business, Jing-nan!”

  “It is. Your dad told me to keep an eye on you. Part of the deal if you get to visit Taipei is that you give this guy up.”

  She looked at me for the first time with sincerity. “I did already, so don’t worry about it,” she sniffed.

  “Is he going to come after you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t care about him, anyway. I was with him just to piss off Big Eye. He hates new immigrants as much as he hates gays and lesbians.”

  “But he has a lot of love for you, his only daughter.”

  “Hah!”

  Whistle and Gao came back and stood at the table.

  “Anything else, Mei-ling?” asked Whistle.

  “Let’s get going, already. Jing-nan was wondering what was taking you guys so long!” They both gave me dirty looks. I shook my head but they didn’t buy it.

  Mei-ling curled up and fell asleep right after we piled back into the car. I started to drift off, too, but her snoring prevented the door between wakefulness and dreamland from closing entirely.

  “Tired?” asked Gao.

  “Naw,” said Whistle.

  That was the end of the conversation. These guys did what they were told and they were efficient. I wondered what other jobs they did and what else they wouldn’t talk about.

  A couple hours later, I felt a warm patch of sun on my face. I opened my eyes and sat up. I could tell by the ugly construction barriers that formed the median that we were on Xinyi Road, a major artery of do
wntown Taipei that sliced through Da’an District. Xinyi connected Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall to the Taipei 101 skyscraper. We drove toward that gleaming spire that symbolized not only Taipei but the future of Taiwan itself. The past with its memories of colonization, defeat, dead dreams, and oppressive martial law rose up behind us, always close.

  The Memorial Hall grounds, which also include the National Opera House and the National Concert Hall in addition to ponds and gardens, covered almost as much area as fifty American football fields. My dad used to say that no fair and honest man would have conscientiously allowed something that big to be built in his honor.

  Traffic was bad on Xinyi. Whistle cursed as some madman in a van cut us off. I crouched to look out the windshield. The van ahead of us looked like it had been through the Chinese civil war, a driving patchwork of welded metal sheets. A sign in the rear window declared, in English, its opposition to the legalization of same-sex marriage: made by mommy and daddy.

  I looked over to Mei-ling. She was awake and glaring at the sign.

  “This is Taipei,” she said. “I thought people here were more open-minded in the city.”

  “What do you care, Mei-ling?” I said. “You’re not gay.”

  She crossed her arms. “Some people are.”

  “Let other people worry about it. You’ve got enough problems.”

  “Who are you to criticize what I say and think? You’re not that great!”

  I was about to tear into her when I heard Gao cough. I looked up and saw him gesture discreetly with his left hand. Let it go, it said.

  I’m not experienced in talking to young people, even though I once was one myself, but I do know you’re supposed to let babies get their way. Once they started crying, it was almost impossible to make them stop. All I could do was sigh and look away. I’ve noticed that Whistle and Gao were already well-versed in this tactic.

  Mei-ling took out her phone in a dramatic gesture and fiddled with it.

  “Turn on the Bluetooth, Whistle,” she ordered.

  Some awful sounds began to throb out of the SUV’s speaker system, synthesized dance music with layered vocals so devoid of character they could all belong to the same robot. The lyrics seemed to be about finding someone to kiss.

  I yawned. Music of this ilk was popular now and was destroying the finest young minds of East Asia. Mei-ling bounced to the beat.

  “What do you guys think?” she squealed.

  “It’s good,” offered Gao.

  “Yeah,” said Whistle. “Even better than the other one you played.” Mei-ling gave a measured smile and turned to me.

  “And what do you think, Jing-nan? I know you’re a big music fan.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Big Eye told me. He said you never stopped listening to Black Sabbath.”

  “Yeah, that was when I was young. My tastes changed as I matured. I’ve moved on from Sabbath and metal in general.”

  “Tell me what you think of this song!”

  “It’s not my kind of music at all.”

  “You don’t like girl singers, huh?”

  “It’s not that.” I shifted in my seat and turned to face her fully, so there would be no misunderstandings. “I really hate this genre. It’s nothing but a bag of bones. There’s no meat. The keyboards are so cheesy. Worst of all, the lyrics are completely vapid. Now that you’re in Taipei, you can stop listening to crap like this. I can give you some real music.”

  Mei-ling turned red and her pursed lips resembled the anus of a tied-up balloon.

  “You think this is crap, huh?”

  I can be well-humored about almost anything except someone questioning my informed taste in music. “Yeah. It sucks!”

  “If it sucks, then why did it win a song contest?”

  “Because shit like this is popular, that’s why.”

  “You think it’s ‘shit’ now, huh?”

  “It is shit, and if these two guys,” I pointed to Whistle and then Gao, “were honest, they’d say the same.”

  Mei-ling slapped her car seat and stopped the music. “It’s my song, Jing-nan. I did it all by myself on my computer. That’s me singing, too.”

  I immediately felt like a monster. It was my first day with a cousin I didn’t know I had and already I had shattered her dreams. I knew how it felt to be put down by older people but I never thought I would be one of those older people. I should say something constructive. Something moderately positive. Something you’d expect from your older cousin.

  I cleared my throat and ran a finger on the inside seam of my jeans. “That song’s not so bad for something you did all by yourself,” I said.

  Mei-ling searched my face for an artery to bite. “You said it was shit!”

  “I won’t lie to you, Mei-ling. I really do hate it. But if you’re serious about your music, you shouldn’t care what critics say. You should just pursue it and to hell with what other people say. If you think it’s great, then it is great.”

  She shifted. “You think so?”

  “Of course. Every successful artist has had to overcome adversity. If it were easy, then everybody would be a star. When you make it, you can throw all my words back in my face. You should probably do that now.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. No one had ever been honest with her about her music before.

  “Did you really win a contest?”

  She nodded. “It was online.”

  “What was the prize?”

  “They played my song in their podcast.”

  What a lousy prize, I thought, but I said, “That’s great.”

  Somewhat placated, she decided to busy herself with her tablet.

  I sat back and debated offering her my phone to listen to Joy Division. She wasn’t ready for something that intense yet. I would have to start her off gently, maybe with late New Order stuff. Our ride continued creeping east on Xinyi.

  “At the next light, make a right!” Mei-ling called out. “There’s a store that sells a microphone I want.”

  “It’s open now?” asked Whistle.

  “It opened at nine and it’s nine-thirty now.”

  “Well, then I guess it’s open, but we really shouldn’t take too long.”

  “It’s not going to take long at all,” she said. “I do need to borrow some money, though.”

  “How much?”

  “Five thousand NTs.” That had better be a decent microphone at more than 150 American bucks. Whistle passed his wallet back to her and she counted out the bills, folded them into her hands and gave the wallet back. After we made the turn, we went down two blocks to the entrance of a side alley.

  Alleys in Taipei are narrow roads that have a Japanese look to them. Supposedly the roads in Tokyo are confusing and narrow to confound any potential invaders. I think the Japanese colonizers brought that concept to Taipei, which they renamed Taihoku, when they redesigned and planned out the city. When the Japanese left after fifty years of rule in 1945, the Republic of China administration tried to remove everything overtly Japanese, but renamed the roads and alleys instead of carving out new ones.

  “Where?” Whistle asked as he drove along the curb.

  “This should be good,” Mei-ling said. She popped the door open.

  “Do you want Jing-nan to go with you?”

  She rolled her eyes and let her mouth fall open. “I don’t need my biggest critic as an escort.”

  “Mei-ling needs to do this herself,” I said. She slammed her door and smirked at me through the cloudy window. “This girl’s a handful.”

  Whistle reached back and slapped my leg hard.

  “Dammit!” I said.

  “What’s wrong with you, telling her her song sucks?” he said.

  “Someone had to tell her,” I said.

  “I’ve known her all h
er life,” Whistle said. “She’s practically my little girl, too.”

  “Then you should be honest with her.”

  “There are ways to be honest without making discouraging remarks!”

  “I know, I know, I went too far.”

  “Jing-nan,” said Gao, “Whistle’s sore because he has some money invested in Mei-ling.”

  “Money?” I said.

  Whistle sighed. “Big Eye wouldn’t pay for the online-song contest. So I spotted her the money.”

  “It was a lot,” Gao interjected.

  “A lot of these entrance-fee contests are a scam.”

  “I know,” said Whistle. “But, hey, she won.”

  “Everyone who pays the fee wins.”

  “He paid for a photo session, too,” said Gao.

  “What photos?”

  “The contest required headshots and full-body shots,” said Whistle. “We went to one of Taichung’s best studios.”

  “Some of those pictures . . .” started Gao.

  “Hey!” said Whistle.

  “Some of those pictures, what?” I asked.

  Gao sniffed. “Inappropriate.”

  “She’s a girl,” explained Whistle. “She has to look sexy.”

  “Whistle,” I said, “this contest is sounding sleazier by the minute.”

  “It doesn’t matter! She won!” said Whistle as Gao chuckled.

  We sat in resigned silence in the car until Mei-ling swung open the door and plopped back in her seat.

  “Do you know anything about microphones, Jing-nan?” she asked.

  “No,” I said, “but show it to me, anyway.”

  The box felt solid, but after scanning the specifications, I sounded the alarm.

  “Hey, this thing’s made in China!”

  “What’s wrong with that? You hate China?”

  “I hate the cheap crap they make.”

  “This is the highest-rated PC microphone,” she said before slyly adding, “in this price range.”

  “You need a better one?” asked Whistle.

  “No. This should be good enough.”