by Ed Lin
“That’s how I feel, too,” said Willie, trying to wrinkle his face into something that resembled concern. “I’m worried about the well-being of those hunger strikers. I want to invite them inside to have a good hot meal. No hard feelings. Can you tell them that? If they end this silliness right now, they can come inside for a full banquet. Free! We’re all Chinese here. Chinese people don’t let other Chinese people starve.”
“Willie, the State Attorney is filing charges against your restaurant. A freebie meal for the protesters isn’t going to change that.”
“Officer Robert, can you please tell me what the fuss is all about? We don’t force anyone to work here. If some of the waitstaff and busboys don’t like it, there are hundreds of other restaurants they can go to. If they don’t like the wages we pay, let them find better jobs somewhere else. We don’t pay minimum wage, because the tips make up the difference. That’s perfectly legal, you know that.”
“If you’re abiding by the law, you’ve got nothing to worry about. The truth will come out in court. But right now, I have some people to see and you’re in my way.” I side-stepped him and went on.
“Let me tell you something, officer,” said Willie as he grabbed for my elbow and missed. He tried to follow me. The sidewalk was so choked with tourists it would be nearly impossible for him to stay on my tail.
“Willie, get back to your office and stop bothering me,”
I said over my shoulder. I doubled back and headed to the restaurant, hoping he’d follow me and I could ditch him there.
“That lawsuit is without merit and when the charges are dropped, I’m going to stand up. . .” Willie was cut off by a group of Germans, but he managed to make up lost ground by walking in the street and coming around a parked Firebird. “I’m going to stand up at the next community board meeting and demand to know why our police force stood by while our business was harassed.”
“You don’t like the job I’m doing, go file a complaint against me.”
“You got a lot of nerve. I was a part of the group that lobbied to get a Chinese policeman on the force years ago. You owe your job to me.”
“I’ve got news for you, Willie. You’re not getting a cut of my tips.” I was amazed at his ability to stay within talking distance of me. Must’ve been a talent developed from walking through a crowded dining area.
“I don’t take money from anyone. I only provide for other people. God is on my side.”
I didn’t say anything. I walked straight, looking for an oncoming a baby stroller that I could wedge between me and Willie. As we got closer to the restaurant, I noticed a minor ruckus going on at the entrance.
Three protesters were trying to pull customers away from Jade Palace’s doors. The hired muscleman stood before them, his two fists at his hips. His bulging muscles pulled his suit so tight it looked shiny.
“Can I hit ’em? Can I hit ’em?” he asked when he saw me.
I held up my hand and walked up to the protestors.
“Lay off, all right?” I said to the protestors. “You can’t touch anyone who wants to go in. Respect their rights like you want respect for your right to free speech.” I freed the diners and they scurried up the steps into the restaurant.
“This officer is here to arrest you for disturbing the peace,” said Willie, who walked up and stood in front of me, one index finger raised as if he could pick someone for me to cuff.
“I’m here to enforce the law,” I said. “Now get out of the picket area or I’ll help you get out,” I said to Willie.
Less than a dozen protesters were left, including the two hunger strikers. The protest had lost momentum after the State Attorney’s charges against the restaurant had been announced; most people figured that the court would sort things out. The remaining protestors wanted to hurt Jade Palace’s revenue for as long as possible.
The big man came down the steps and stood on the sidewalk, his arms crossed.
“Hey stupid, get out of there!” Willie yelled at him. “You want to scare off all the customers? Get back inside!” He shrugged and trudged back up. Willie turned to me and said, “Remember, officer, I tried to be nice.”
“And you failed,” I said.
—
Lonnie had some books to read and papers to write so I stopped by the Hong Kong supermarket for some beer and Japanese rice crackers.
“Rangers are playing tonight, huh?” the girl at the counter said to me.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, handing her a ten. She held the bill up to the light and rubbed her fingers hard against the paper to see if it felt greasy. “Can’t trust a cop?” I asked her.
“I don’t trust anyone who drinks like you,” she said.
I thought about that on the way home. It actually hurt.
Back at the apartment, Paul was cooking something.
“I didn’t know you could turn on more than one burner at a time,” I said.
“This was probably the cleanest stovetop I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m a clean person.”
“With a filthy bathroom.”
“It doesn’t look that bad.” I popped open a beer.
“I’ve been cleaning it at least an hour every day! It’s slow progress, too.”
“No wonder it’s been smelling like chemicals.”
“You ought to smell what it’s like when you’re on your knees, scrubbing.”
“You’d have a really hard time paying half the rent, Paul.”
“OK, OK,” he said. He took out some dry spaghetti and broke it in half before putting it into the boiling water. He was also browning some meat. “Do you want some spaghetti?”
“No, thanks. I’m not that hungry.”
“You’re just going to drink beer and eat rice crackers?”
“Who are you? Mr. Four Food Groups?”
“You’re probably an alcoholic, Robert.” He turned to look at me. “You don’t even have milk or orange juice in your refrigerator.”
“Paul, you’re only an alcoholic if you have more than 21 drinks a week. I usually have less than 20 and I’m bigger than the average person.”
“If you’re trying to count drinks to figure out what you can get away with, you have a problem. You even drink in the morning. That’s not normal.”
“I have the hardest job in the world, okay? You don’t even know what it’s like to work for a living.”
“You want me to get a job. Fine, I can get a job. But let’s not change the subject. I learned about alcoholism in school last year. If you’re an alcoholic, there’s no such thing as a drink at the end of the day, or a casual drink. You have to stop drinking entirely.”
“Maybe I should stop eating everything, too. Everything causes cancer, you know.”
“They showed us this film about an alcoholic, and you’re like the guy in it. He hid bottles in the pockets of coats in the closet and under the sink. He even thought about drinking his wife’s shampoo because it had some beer in it. He counted his drinks, too, but he didn’t count the ones he hid.”
“Of course they don’t count,” I said. “They’re like bonus drinks. You get extra points for finding them.”
“I found them and I didn’t get any extra points.”
“Stay the fuck out of my stuff!” I yelled.
Paul turned back to the stove.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I said.
“That’s okay,” said Paul. “I have to live with it. It’s better than home.” After a while, he got his dinner together and sat as far away from me as possible on the couch.
“Don’t forget,” he said, “I need money if you want me to buy more groceries and cleaning supplies.”
“Hey, Paul, I want to see those receipts.”
“You don’t trust me? You can just add up what’s in the refrigerator.”
“I’m bad at math. You might be sneaking Baby Ruths on the side.”
“What about the charge for my labor? It’s not easy lugging shopping bags back from the st
ore. I cook for you sometimes, too.”
“You know how much it would cost for you to live alone?”
“The midget told me that where he lives in Queens it’s really cheap.”
“Don’t talk about the midget. He’s smarter than both of us.”
“I’m pretty smart,” said Paul. “I’m the school valedictorian, so far.”
“You still have two years to go.”
“What were you?”
“I was in the top median.”
“You were a C student. Don’t forget that everything’s a lot harder now than it was when you were in high school.”
“What do you mean? We never had science films. It’s easier to learn now. It’s not as hard as it used to be.”
“You talk like an old man. I can’t believe my sister’s in love with you.”
I sat up and stretched out my back.
“She talks about me, huh?”
“All the time.”
“What does she like about me?”
“She says you’re hard-working and you always look tired in the morning.”
“What else does she say about me?”
Paul twirled his fork and stuffed his mouth. He shook his head the entire time he chewed. When he was done, he said, “Women always love guys who need a lot of fixing.”
“I’m in pretty good shape.”
“What are you going to do with my sister?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to marry her?”
Beer almost went up my nose.
“It doesn’t make sense to rush into anything now,” I said.
“I’ve been good about disappearing when you need the apartment some nights.”
“Sure you have.”
“You’ve been sleeping with Lonnie.”
“Yeah, I have. We’re both adults.”
“She’s not 21 yet.”
“She’s over the age of consent.”
“Hey. You went to hookers in Vietnam didn’t you?” Paul asked.
“I did.”
“What were they like?”
“Young. Skinny.”
“Younger than my sister?”
I didn’t say anything.
“C’mon, tell me!”
“I don’t want to fucking talk about this, Paul. You want to talk about girls, let’s talk about movie actresses.”
“Like who?”
“Like, I don’t know, like that woman in the Bruce Lee movies, Nora Miao.”
“She’s ugly,” he said, bringing his dishes to the sink.
“Have some of these rice crackers,” I told him.
“No thanks. I’m going out.”
“Don’t stay out too late.” When he was gone, I thought, Where the hell is he going? It’s close to 2200. I snapped
on the TV and the Rangers were down three-zip in the second period.
That called for a drink.
Later, the Rangers came back and tied it up in the third. That called for another drink.
Then the goal posts got loose and held up play. That called for another drink. I got up to go to the bathroom and accidentally kicked a can under the couch. I’d have to take care of that later. I leaned against the wall for support and rubbed my head.
—
When I opened my eyes, I was back on the couch again. It was morning and time to hit the shower. I struggled up and got through the bedroom.
“I’m surprised you got up,” said Paul. He was propped up
in my bed, reading a book. “I was gonna wake you up in a few minutes.”
“You slept on my bed?”
“You wouldn’t get up off the couch. You kept saying something about a can under the couch.”
“I have to get moving, Paul. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“It’s Flag Day.”
“Flag Day?” But I didn’t have time to argue. I showered and dressed quickly. Luckily there was still one beer in the fridge. I drank it on the first landing and left the can where someone had kicked out a baluster.
—
English Sanchez came by my desk.
“I’m sure you heard about Vandyne’s promotion,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m real happy for him,” I said.
“I wanted to tell you that unlike you, he’s not a head case.”
“I’m a head case?”
“The problem is, you got to thinking that you deserve special privileges because you’re a minority. Some of us around here don’t care about color because we have serious work to do. And let’s face it — you can’t handle serious work. You might get hurt.”
“I don’t want anything special. I just want to be treated like everyone else,” I said. “This is the main precinct of Chinatown, and you got no Chinese detectives.”
“Your language skills would be an asset to the squad. But that’s where the positives end. Don’t think it’s your race holding you back. The fact is that I made it and so did Vandyne. If anything you have the stereotype in your favor. Charlie Chan and his Chan Clan were pretty good oriental detectives.”
“Don’t give me that stereotypical crap!”
“See, you’re too confrontational to work on a team. Anyway, there are no more open slots.”
“When does one open?”
“It opens when it opens,” said English brushing imaginary crumbs from his shirt. “Now about the murder case, the old Chinese woman, it’s not a murder anymore. You can go pal around with that old Yippie, or whatever his name is.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t have time to explain. Ask Vandyne about it. He solved it.”
—
I met Vandyne at a tea house before his shift began. His mouth was full of hot tea, so I asked, “Was it ruled suicide?” He made a painful face as he swallowed hard.
“Not even that. The poison in Wah’s blood was traced to cans of preserved bamboo shoots from Hong Kong.”
“When did they find this out?”
“I picked up a few food items from Yip’s refrigerator. The opened can was still wrapped with cellophane. There was lead in it. I might have saved Yip’s life by taking it away.”
“Lead! I can’t believe that.”
“I can. You see those cans of food in Chinatown? They don’t have expiration dates on them. Hell, they don’t even list ingredients or provide cooking directions. Who knows when and where they were made?”
“Don’t even start with that. That’s racist, you know?” I said, with a nagging feeling that those cans were probably tainted as hell.
“No, it’s looking out for my health. That’s what it is.”
“That comes from the same people who think they have cut-up cat in the dumplings. Or rat sauce in the lo mein.”
“It’s based on fact. Are there lower standards of living in Asia? Yes. Is food from those countries — even in cans — less healthy to eat? Yes.”
“Are most Americans overweight? Yes. Are most Americans leading unhealthy lives? Yes. Americans don’t eat healthier than Asians, they just eat more. Let’s stick to the facts.”
“Okay. There was lead in the can of bamboo shoots. Wah ate them. She died. Those are the facts.”
“That’s what really happened?”
“It is,” said Vandyne. “Got a congratulation from English for it.”
“That man suffers from a case of anti-Asian hate. He’s still sore about losing the Vietnam War.”
“English isn’t about hate at all. He’s an appeaser. He’s a schmoozer. Someday, he’s going to be the C.O. of the Five.”
“That’ll be a sad, sad day.”
“You know that day is coming,” said Vandyne.
—
Yip was waiting for me on the sidewalk outside of the Five.
“Hello, officer, I was wondering if you were free now?” he asked.
“Yip, how’s the leg?”
“No more cane anymore, much better.”
“Well, I was going to stop by th
e supermarket. I’m running out of food.” And beer.
“Let me take you out. It’s my pleasure. I’m so happy to
have my old friend back. The black man told me everything’s okay again. You have to eat anyway and you can shop another night, too.” His old hand gently dangled on my shoulder. “I’m so glad you did something about my case.”
“I didn’t do anything, Yip,” I said. I didn’t necessarily want to hang out with Yip again, now that I could. The old man took his hand off me and walked just ahead.
“I know you can’t officially say you helped me, but I
appreciate it all the same. Say, would you mind if we went to a little store first? I want to check in at this coin and stamp store.”
“Coins and stamps? I didn’t know you were a collector, Yip.”
“I’m not really a collector, it’s just a hobby for me. There used to be so many stores selling Chinese coins and American coins, but now there’s just one left. Run by a Korean man. His Chinese is very good.”
The store was about 10 feet wide and was little more than a single display case with a glass counter and an outside steel gate to roll down and lock.
The Korean nodded his head and said nothing when he saw Yip. Tarnished faces on the silver coins on the top shelf of the display case stared at the fluorescent light on the left side. A bin of post-marked stamps sat at the bottom of the case like a collection of colorful, dead butterflies.
The Korean was also selling regular bank notes that had a lot of eights in the serial numbers. Chinese believe that eight is a lucky number because it sounds like “luck” in Chinese. Chinese believe in a lot of stupid things, which is why the Korean could sell the “lucky” bills for twice their face value.
“Did your father get you interested in hobbies when you were young?” Yip asked.
“He showed me a racing form once and let me pick some horses.”
“I think it’s important to have a hobby. It makes you a more-rounded person. If you pursue an interest, it helps you to keep some perspective in life.” Then to the Korean Yip asked, “Do you have that book?”
The Korean nodded and pulled out three thin cardboard sleeves. He put a staple through them. Then he took out some tweezers, picked some stamps from the display case, and stuffed them into a glassine envelope. He handed everything over to Yip. “Two dollars,” he said in Cantonese.