Incensed

by Ed Lin

  Mr. Li looked back, held up a red flag and waved it. “I did bring them! They’re behind me, caught up with buying pineapple cakes.” I heard the Chinese people before I saw them. Mr. Li had brought at least thirty people. No, wait. Actually about fifty people. The group of retirees seemed to be multiplying as they advanced. Both Dwayne and Frankie came out from around the counter to observe. Dwayne let out a long whistle. No wonder the Communists overwhelmed the KMT in the Chinese Civil War—they had the ability to replicate spontaneously.

  Dwayne scrambled back to his station while Frankie shuffled away, lit a cigarette and pretended to ignore the tour guide.

  Mr. Li put his hand back on my shoulder. “So,” he said in a slow drawl, “I’m sure you appreciate me bringing all these people over.”

  “I sure do. Thank you very much. I think they’ll really like my food.”

  He tilted his head back and smiled. “I was thinking that there should be some compensation.”

  “I always give a discount to big groups,” I said. Mr. Li withdrew his hand and crossed his arms. I knew what he was driving at, but I wanted him to say first how much of a kickback he had in mind. It gave me more bargaining power.

  “I was thinking about my compensation. Sorry I didn’t make that clear. I’m thinking that for this group, and for future groups, you could contribute to my, uh, education.” He said “education” in a way that one would deliciously deliver a bad pun.

  The NT$1,000 bill featured a bunch of little kids in a classroom, their hands on a globe. One thousand NTs was about thirty US bucks. That wasn’t so bad, considering it was about fifty cents a head. I was a businessman, though. I had a deep-seated need to make a not-so-bad deal better.

  “Here’s what I had in mind, Mr. Li. I think I’ll just give you a ticket to see a ball game.” The face of the NT$500 bill presented a bunch of Little Leaguers in mid-jump after victory. We locked eyes briefly before he broke away.

  “Taibazi! How you mistreat your fellow countryman! We’re brothers, don’t you know?”

  I shook my head. “I’m an only child,” I said, “and an orphan.”

  “How you do me wrong!” He turned away and put an open hand behind his back, the crablike fingers running upside-down in the air. I shoved five NT$100 bills into his palm just as the advance guard of his Chinese tourists swarmed into Unknown Pleasures.

  “Very scary artwork!” said a woman shivering in a coat that was too thin. Chinese tourists underdressed because they thought Taiwan was always hot.

  “Black mountains, what does it mean?” asked a man, peering at my painted wall through glasses with iridescent grease marks.

  Even if I wanted to speak up and say that the jagged lines were radio waves from a pulsar on the cover of Joy Division’s first album, I would maybe get only a single word in.

  “It’s Taoist,” Mr. Li boomed. “It’s the theme of endless mountains in the dark that one can overcome!”

  “Oh, oh, oh,” said the Chinese masses. Mr. Li turned to me and gave me a conspiratorial grin that faded quickly. He leaned into me and said, “When Taiwan is finally reunited with the motherland, I’ll remember your little insult.”

  “That might be a while,” I said.

  “We’ll see, Jing-nan, we’ll see. You think you know it all, don’t you? You even tried to lie to me about that girl you were with. She’s not sixteen. She’s eighteen.”

  My hearing cut out in my left ear as blood rushed into my head. Ever get the feeling that you’re not going to like the answer to a question but you go ahead and ask it anyway? “Why do you think she’s eighteen?”

  Mr. Li beamed, proud that he had something over me. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

  I caught a movement over Mr. Li’s shoulder. It was Dwayne waving to Frankie and me. I knew Dwayne wanted help. The Chinese tourists yelled at each other joyously and pressed right up against the counter of Unknown Pleasures, fingers on the glass. Dwayne would have to withstand this assault by himself because I needed to hear more about my cousin before I could tend to my business.

  “Mr. Li, please tell me how you know?” I asked nicely.

  He played with the collar of his shirt. “I like you, Jing-nan. Let me give you some advice. Every man loves sex. It’s in our blood. But that doesn’t mean you need to be seen with the girls in public. Y’know what I mean?”

  “Where did you see the girl?” I asked numbly.

  “At the hotel I’m staying at—the Eastern Princess. I slipped some money to the overnight guy at the front desk for some entertainment for some of the men. He opened up a suite and two girls came in for a lez show.” Mr. Li popped a peanut candy into his mouth. He continued talking through his chewing. “We were told there would be no penetration right off the bat and that was fine. There are some really old guys in the group. They can’t process much beyond tits, anyway. Me, I remember everything about a girl, and I definitely remembered one girl’s face.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Not much. After the show, I gave her money and said thank you, of course.”

  “How do you know she’s eighteen?” I asked again. Don’t tell me that you had sex with her, because I’d have to stab you right now and repeatedly.

  He frowned. “Whenever you have things like that in a hotel, they’re always at least eighteen,” he said with both open palms thrust to me. “Just to make sure everything’s legal. Don’t you know that?”

  I straightened up. “That girl is my cousin Mei-ling,” I said. “She really is only sixteen.” I was floating outside of myself.

  Mr. Li cocked his head and whistled, sending peanut shards bouncing off my chest. Misogyny, judgment, and guilt all came together in his thoughts and words. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry for your family. It was a semi-decent show but I promise I won’t watch it again.”

  “Eastern Princess, huh?” I asked.

  “That’s right.”

  I began to walk away from Unknown Pleasures.

  “Hey, Jing-nan!” cried Dwayne. “You’re leaving on one of the busiest nights ever? One of the few times that we could actually use your help?”

  “I have to do something!” I yelled. Way to go, Jing-nan. Great explanation.

  “What!” yelled Dwayne.

  I heard Frankie bark in response. “C’mon, Dwayne, we can handle this together!”

  I raced up the escalator at the Jiantan MRT stop. I paced the platform, my heart and head pounding. What to do?

  Eastern Princess is a recently built hotel in the Xinyi District meant to cater to the sensibilities of Chinese tourists. It was in the shadow of Taipei 101 and a shuttle bus ran between the hotel and the direct entrance to the tower’s luxury shopping levels. Eastern Princess was also next to the National Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall so the Chinese could pay tribute to the father of their nation and pray (or as close as Chinese people can come to praying) that Taiwan would be returned to the fold soon to complete the revolution Sun had sparked.

  Silently observing both the Eastern Princess and Taipei 101 is the elegantly named Martial Law Era Political Victim Memorial Park. Set in a hillside to the south, and within shouting distance of the hotel, the “memorial park” is actually a graveyard of enemies, both perceived and real, of the Chiang Kai-shek regime. Frankie the Cat could have easily ended up in one of those cramped graves, marked with a brick-sized stone.

  Eastern Princess was supposedly built on former execution grounds. Superstitious Taiwanese never wanted to build anything on the land out of fear of ghosts, and so the land sat neglected until a developer came along and proposed to build the hotel to accommodate Chinese tourists. The permits were issued and the building went up in record time, constructed mostly by foreign laborers who were ignorant of the area’s ghoulish past.

  The train’s doors opened, springing me out of my thoughts. I could try to go to Eastern Princess myself and
find out who was in charge of procuring entertainment for guests. I chuckled bitterly. What were they going to tell me? Not only was I not staying there, they would know right away I wasn’t Chinese.

  At best I would get a brush-off. At worst, a double-teamed beating in the trash-compactor room.

  No wonder Mei-ling said she was in a place I couldn’t go! You had to be a Chinese tourist to get in! At this point, I needed to call it in to a man with connections.

  I remained on the platform as the train’s closing-doors chime rang out. I watched the train leave the station before dialing Big Eye.

  “Jing-nan,” he said in a flat voice. I could already feel his eyes boring into me.

  “Big Eye, I think I know where we can find Mei-ling.”

  It seemed an eternity before he spoke. “Where?”

  “The Eastern Princess hotel. Someone I know saw her there.”

  “She’s staying there?”

  Oh, shit. I had to choose my words carefully. “She was performing there.” That wasn’t a lie. “She had a show.”

  “Singing her crappy songs for Chinese people,” he murmured. “I hope they’re paying her well.”

  “If you send someone there the front desk can probably locate her.”

  “Eastern Princess, huh?” It was rare to hear indecision in Big Eye’s voice. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  His throat roared like a coffee roaster. “What do you mean ‘pretty sure’? Yes or no, are you sure?”

  “Okay! I’m sure!” Mr. Li, for the sake of my life please don’t make a liar out of me.

  “Hah,” said Big Eye. “Out of all the fucking places. That’s Black Sea turf. Wood Duck’s faction. He’s still sore about the money I took from him. I mean, won from him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll help you get your daughter back.”

  Big Eye gave a falling grunt. “He’s a bad guy.”

  “He’s a human being.”

  “No, he’s not. You don’t know him at all, Jing-nan. He’s the most ruthless bastard ever. One time the seat of his pants ripped and a top guy of his laughed. He threw that guy off a cliff.”

  I bit my lip. “Maybe if you give him his money back, he’ll help you.”

  I heard him slap his table hard enough to rattle his glass. “What! You never give the money back! That’s not an option! First of all, it’s an insult to suggest that someone is sore over money, even if they really are. Secondly, there’s no such thing as a refund in our culture. You know that! You run a business!”

  I couldn’t help but nod. My father taught me to think of the cash box as a black hole that a shiny penny’s glint couldn’t escape from. If the customer’s mad about their food, give him three of something else in exchange.

  “I called you as soon as I found out,” I lied. “Now I’m going to get out of your way and let you handle it.”

  I heard his fingers typing on a keyboard. “Hold on, Jing-nan. Where are you right now?”

  I began to walk to the down escalator. “I’m at work.”

  “No you’re not. You’re at a train station.”

  “I guess you could tell by the sound.”

  “You’re walking south.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “What?”

  “I’m following your location on my computer.” I heard him take a satisfied swig of something before he swallowed with a grunt. “I’m glad you bring your phone everywhere. I had Gao stick a chip inside.”

  “Spying on your own family. Real classy, Big Eye.”

  “Don’t give me this ‘classy’ shit. I won’t stop at anything to find my daughter. I only wish I’d chipped her phone before letting her go to Taipei!”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “No you’re not. You’re gonna goddamn listen to me. Go to the Eastern Princess. Take pictures of the people working in the lobby and send them to me so I can see which specific jerks in Wood Duck’s gang I’m dealing with. I’ll figure out something after that.” He sighed. “I know how hotel entertainment works. These naïve wannabes, of whom Mei-ling is one, sign on to contracts to perform for peanuts. It’s practically a pimp-prostitute relationship.”

  You said it, not me, Big Eye. When I thought of pimps, I couldn’t help but imagine drugs and guns.

  “Big Eye, am I going to get shot?” I asked seriously.

  “No one’s getting shot, unless Gao’s pulling the trigger. Anyway, someone tried to shoot you point-blank before and you came out of that just fine, right?”

  “That was pure luck,” I said.

  “Hah!” said Big Eye. “You’re a lucky guy! If I had your luck, I’d have so much money right now. Not that I don’t. I’d have more.”

  “All you want me to do is take pictures of people working there? I don’t have to leave the lobby or start asking where to find Mei-ling, right?”

  “That’s right. Just sit tight. Blend in. Read a paper. Eat a fucking cupcake. I don’t know. Just go now.”

  “Yes, Big Eye.”

  “That’s my boy!”

  I’ll admit that Big Eye’s sincere praise felt good. I boarded the eastbound MRT and swayed as the train took off. One way or another Big Eye was going to get his daughter back and I was going to have a front-row seat to the action.

  Not that there would be any action.

  “Big Eye, I’m not going to be in any danger, am I?”

  “You? In danger? You sound like you’re wishing for it!”

  “Because if I see a gun, I’m going to bolt out that door, you understand?”

  “This is what’s going to happen, Jing-nan. Money’s going to do the talking. After you send me the pictures, maybe Whistle will come in and sit with you. Someone will drive up with Mei-ling. Whistle will give the handler some cash and the three of you are gonna walk out of the Eastern Princess into my car.” To meet a fuming Big Eye.

  Well, at that point, maybe I would make my excuses and head home instead of getting in the car. I sure as hell did not want to be there when Mei-ling detailed her show to her dad, as I’m sure the disaffected young girl would. She would throw it in his face.

  Maybe I never should’ve called Big Eye, but Mei-ling was definitely in more trouble than I alone could handle. The girl needed help. Why else would she have dropped off a hint in her message to me? No, contacting Big Eye was definitely the right thing to do, if not the least-volatile option.

  My hands began to sweat. The actual “rescue” of Mei-ling would pale in comparison with the reunion with her dad. Gan! Big Eye was going to explode like a year-old dental abscess and his daughter would wield the drill with a heavy hand.

  •••

  I’ve only seen the Eastern Princess hotel in passing from the street. It was a shape-shifting trapezoid frozen between forms, and I hadn’t realized that the entrance was set so far from the sidewalk, maybe to discourage members of the Taiwan branch of Falun Gong from walking in and harassing the Chinese. Falun Gong, of course, was banned in China as a seditious group and a cult. Members gather at the base of Taipei 101 with posters of graphic displays of victims of torture by the Chinese state. Falun Gong followers dodge the cops and force their pamphlets into the pockets of Chinese tourists. They might as well be stuffing dynamite. If the tourists returned to China with Falun Gong material they were bound for big trouble.

  I walked up the curved drive to the entrance with my eyes on the hotel’s illuminated sign. You knew it was a fancy establishment because the sign didn’t have any Chinese characters and “Eastern Princess” was correctly spelled and capitalized.

  No matter how much I walked, the sign remained as far away as the moon. It took forever to get around the towering circular fountain, which looked like the spindle of a roulette wheel that divine beings would bet on. Eight fire lanterns on the perimeter lit up corresponding water spouts. After fifteen mi
nutes of walking, I found myself underneath a canopy of fragrant coniferous trees. After a turn, the path seemed to backtrack on itself before changing from asphalt to stone bricks. Finally, I was nearing the entrance.

  My heart sank. A doorman in a Buckingham Palace knockoff uniform stood at the revolving door, making sure that all visitors swiped their card keys to enter. You couldn’t simply walk up to the Eastern Princess and rent a room. This wasn’t a love hotel. Everything was prearranged, pre-booked, and pretentious. Why did we treat the Chinese people so good? Two generations ago, you would have been shot on this very ground for even being suspected of being sympathetic to Communists. Now we scrounged and spread our legs for their tips.

  I stayed out of the light and ducked behind a tall shrub. I’d have to call Big Eye and tell him I couldn’t pull this off. Sorry. I can’t help you get Mei-ling back.

  I looked at the phone in my hand. I couldn’t bring myself to cry uncle to my uncle. I twisted my mouth and crossed my arms. Just like a lull at the night market, when I thought we were going to end in the red, people would show up. Something would come up here. Something had to.

  A light went on, just to my left. Two lights, actually. Headlights.

  A tour bus with blacked-out windows rolled up to the entrance. The doorman got ready by swiping his own card and holding open the handicapped entrance.

  This was it! I could sneak in with the Chinese tourists. I just had to hope it wasn’t a solid demographic that I couldn’t blend into. Please don’t be all pensioners or only women.

  The first person who stepped off was an older woman. She was dressed in a pantsuit and stood her ground like an aunt of Peggy Lee. The woman barked at the doorman that she had a number of shopping bags that needed to be brought in. He nodded obsequiously and spoke into his handset. The reply was shards of static.

  Slowly the Chinese disembarked. It must have been a long trip. Everybody stepped off stiffly and looked disheveled. That first woman was an outlier.

  Luckily for me there was a broad representation of Chinese elites. Parents with teens. Toddlers asleep in the arms of grandparents. By the number of aboriginal necklaces the women were wearing, the group had probably returned from a shop-and-destroy trip to Hualien, which is full of tribal tourist traps. I say “destroy” because Chinese tourists are notorious for littering, petty vandalism, and raising the noise-pollution index. Communities tolerate them because of the money they rain down.