Murder Lo Mein

by Vivien Chien

  I caught sight of my parents, and reminded the girls to keep their mouths shut about it in front of them. My sister and grandmother trailed behind my mom and dad.

  “Hey there, Goober!” My dad scooped me into a hug as I stood up to greet them. He was still in his suit from the house showing and I could smell the Aspen aftershave he used on the collar of his dress shirt. “Megan, I didn’t know you’d be here today,” he said, turning to greet my friend. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Nice to have you here with us.”

  “Of course. I couldn’t miss out on Peter taking home the trophy!” she replied.

  Nancy Huang, Peter’s mom, showed up next and squeezed in between my mother and grandmother. I noticed how happy she was as she talked with excitement to my mother. Her naturally beautiful, porcelain face had a certain glow of pride to it, and I was relieved to see her looking like herself again. After months of mourning over her secret lover—and Donna Feng’s husband—Thomas, she was finally returning to normal.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ian Sung was walking out onto center stage. The crowd began to quiet as others caught sight of him making his way to the middle. He held a cordless microphone in his hand, and my mind jumped back to the last time he’d had to make a speech in front of several people. To say it didn’t go well was an understatement, and I wondered how he would do this time around.

  When he was sure that most of the attention was on him, he held the microphone up to his face. The smile on his thin lips was crooked and often reminded me of a villain ready to announce their evil plans. “Patrons of Asia Village, welcome!”

  The crowd clapped and a couple whistles were heard around the bleachers.

  “Thank you for joining us today as we kick off the fifth annual Cleveland’s Best Noodles contest. My partner, Donna Feng—who unfortunately could not be here with us today—and I are thrilled to be hosting this event.”

  I was shocked to hear that Donna was not attending, and wondered what could have possibly kept her away. Since the tragic death of her husband, she acted mostly as a silent partner and advisor for her younger counterpart. And even though her involvement was minor since Ian had taken over, she was more often present than not.

  “… and without further ado, I’d like to introduce our amazing panel of judges,” Ian continued.

  One by one, the judges came out from behind the red curtain and stood in front of their seats while Ian introduced them. Norman Pan—a stout, older man who was beginning to bald—started the lineup and observed the crowd through his bifocal glasses with what seemed like contempt.

  Next to step out from behind the curtain was Stella Chung. The Cleveland underdog was a petite girl with a button nose, and big brown eyes. She regarded the crowd with a gentle smile and waved a quick hello as Ian gave a brief background on who she was. The short bio that he presented about her resulted in massive applause from the audience.

  Last to join the stage was Ray Jin. He wore a black shirt with an outline of a red dragon across the front and waved like Miss America as he stepped out from behind the curtain. A few people clapped, but he didn’t have a lot of friends in this part of town, and if I didn’t know any better, I could have sworn I heard someone boo him.

  After the crowd became silent once again, Ian spoke into the microphone. “There will be four rounds to the contest. This first round will involve the chefs preparing a simple lo mein dish. They will be graded on preparation, flavor, and presentation.

  “But before the chefs start working their magic, let me introduce you to them.” Ian extended an arm, beginning the introductions on his right. “Over here we have the House of Shen with Walter Shen as acting chef.”

  A mixture of cheers and boos went through the crowd as Walter Shen waved to the audience. Much like Ray, Walter did not have many friends on this side of town. That was partially due to the fact that the Shen family was in constant competition with Asia Village. And they were certainly never quiet about their dislike for our West Side plaza, claiming we took business away from the heart of the original Chinatown.

  “Next up is Stanley Gao from Wok and Roll. Stanley is owner and head chef of the up-and-coming Asian fusion bar and grill in the Flats. His specialty lies in his presentation and I’m excited to see what kind of art he cooks up for us today.”

  Stanley bowed his head graciously and held up a spatula, using it to wave at the crowd.

  Ian skipped over our table and went on to introduce Penny, her cook, and the Bamboo Lounge, citing their recent arrival at Asia Village and bragging about the innovative dynamic that they brought to the plaza. I heard my mother swearing in Taiwanese under her breath. If I had glanced over a second later, I would have missed the priceless image of my grandmother pinching my mother’s arm and scolding her for her choice of words.

  I liked having my grandmother around. It proved extremely entertaining at times.

  After that, Ian introduced Joel Liu from Liu’s Noodle Emporium. He was a short man with a thick build and a buzz cut. His stance was military and I half expected him to salute the crowd.

  Joel was last year’s first elimination and sorest loser to date. But with good reason. In true Norman Pan fashion, the harsh food critic had destroyed Joel’s contest entry, and even went so far as to submit a review of the contest and Joel’s restaurant in a scathing article in Cleveland magazine. It was so harsh that people had spread the article all over social media, furthering Joel’s embarrassment. The Plain Dealer and the Sun Post in turn picked up the story, not just of the article, but also of the backlash it had created. Liu’s Noodle Emporium had earned the reputation as the worst restaurant in Cleveland. And, because of it, Joel had lost a ton of business. It was a miracle that he was even open at this point.

  When news that he’d entered this year’s contest made its way around the city, the Plain Dealer had reached out to him for an exclusive. He’d told the reporter that this was his chance to prove himself worthy, and that by entering the contest again, especially with Norman Pan as judge, he would show that he does not back down easily. The article quoted him as saying that Norman “would not see the defeat of Liu’s Noodle Emporium in his lifetime.”

  Ian walked over to our workstation and caught my eye. “Ladies and gentlemen, I saved this restaurant for last because they hold a special place in my heart.” He winked at me as he said it, and I stifled an eye roll. “Allow me to introduce Peter Huang, head chef of Ho-Lee Noodle House, Asia Village’s very own prized noodle shop. This restaurant has been around for over thirty years and is the pride and joy of the Lee family.”

  My mother stood up with a bright smile on her face. “Ho-Lee Noodle House is number one!” she yelled into the crowd.

  My face turned bright red and I slouched on the bench wishing that the ability to disappear into thin air I so often daydreamed about would magically kick in.

  The crowd laughed and cheered, and I heard a few whistles from across the room. To my surprise, when I looked to see who it was, I saw a handsome man with reddish-brown hair, and a jawline I would recognize anywhere. It was Adam who was doing the whistling. He was sitting by himself near the top of the bleachers adjacent to us. When our eyes met, he acknowledged me with a nod and smile.

  Megan nudged me. “Guess your beau showed up after all.”

  Suddenly, I was paranoid about my appearance and ran a hand through my angled bob, checking for flyaways. I smoothed out the crinkles in my shirt and brushed away a few stray crumbs that had fallen from my spring roll.

  “You look fine,” Megan whispered.

  The audience clapped and I realized that Ian had signaled for the cooking to begin. He moved off the stage and the area was filled with the clattering of cooking utensils and chefs shuffling around at their workstations.

  I tried my best to focus on Peter. It was my job to assist him should he need help with anything during the course of his food preparation or cooking.

  However, my attention span is similar to that of a squir
rel. Before long, my eyes were drifting around the room, occasionally peeking at Adam who was intent on watching the contest. He seemed to be most interested in what Peter was doing and that brought a smile to my face.

  I observed the judges and noted their reactions as their focus moved from station to station. They were also instructed to get up and interact with the chefs as they cooked.

  I couldn’t help but take a glimpse at what the Shen family was up to. Walter Shen, Jackie’s father, worked diligently as his family observed him sauté noodles in a wok.

  My attention circled back to the judges’ table where a crew of servers had snuck in to set up stacks of dishes at each of the chairs. Freddie was seated on the left side of the judges’ table, and he watched Stanley from Wok and Roll with mild amusement as the chef dazzled the audience with his preparation show.

  “Lana,” Peter yelled over his shoulder. “I need you to grab sesame oil from the restaurant. I think I left it on the counter.”

  Freddie caught my stare and waved.

  “Lana!” Peter yelled, turning to face me.

  “Uh, yeah … I’m on it,” I said, springing up from my seat. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed that my foot was caught on the handle of a plastic bag. It was too late though. I was already on the ground, palms down, my nose a half inch away from the floor. I hurried to right myself, but I should have stayed down longer. By the time I stood up, I realized that Freddie Yuan wasn’t the only one staring at me.

  CHAPTER

  5

  After recovering from my fall, I rushed over to the restaurant to grab the things that Peter needed and hurried back. The rest of the first round proceeded without incident, and before long, the chefs were finished with their lo mein dishes.

  A server went around to each workstation with a different-colored plate—ours was red—and placed a small portion of noodles on each one to bring back to the judges who were now at their seats.

  My eyes followed the red plate back to Norman Pan who was staring down at the table, shaking his head. He looked up at the server and nodded when the plate was placed in front of him.

  Peter turned his back to the judges and looked at Kimmy, who gave him a thumbs-up.

  Norman took a small bite of noodle and chewed carefully, moving his head from side to side. He nodded in satisfaction and scribbled something down on a pad of paper next to his plate.

  “Peter,” I hissed. “Look! He likes it.” I nudged my head in Norman’s direction.

  Peter swung around to see what I was referring to. Even though his back was to me, I could tell he was smiling.

  After each of the dishes had been sampled by all of the judges, they stepped behind the curtain to deliberate with one another. The rest of us sat waiting in anticipation, to find out who would be eliminated from the first round.

  Around twenty minutes later, the judges filed back out and the room grew silent. Ian walked on to the stage area and leaned over the judges’ table. Norman handed him a slip of paper, and Ian nodded before turning around to face the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen…” Ian’s voice boomed into the microphone mimicking a game-show host. “While the judges had a hard time making their decision, the vote was unanimous! Peter Huang from Ho-Lee Noodle House wins this round! And it looks like the first chef to be eliminated is Joel Liu from Liu’s Noodle Emporium.”

  “What!” Joel screamed from behind his workstation. “This is impossible! This whole thing is rigged.” He threw his spatula across the stage toward the judges’ table and nearly hit Norman in the face. “Rigged!”

  Without hesitation, Ian whistled into the microphone and two uniformed security guards stepped out from behind the curtain and headed toward Joel. When he saw the guards approaching him, he let out an angry groan and stomped off, disappearing behind the set of bleachers closest to his workstation.

  Ian laughed nervously into the microphone. “We apologize for that, folks. But as you can see, the restaurants involved all take this contest seriously.”

  “You’re not kidding!” someone yelled.

  The audience erupted in laughter.

  Ian gestured for the group to quiet down. “Now be sure to join us tomorrow at noon for the next round where we will eliminate another contestant!”

  Everyone clapped, and Ian bowed his head before stepping off to the side. He started to make his way around the workstations, exchanging a few words with each of the chefs.

  When he made it to our station, he slapped Peter on the back. “Good job, Huang. Norman was impressed with your cooking more than anyone else’s. Keep it up and you’re going to win this thing.”

  “Really?” I stepped between the two men. “Over everyone else?”

  “Geez, Lana, don’t act so surprised,” Peter groaned.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that he always praises Walter Shen above everyone else. It’s different to hear him say otherwise.”

  “Excuse me!”

  We all jumped a little at the booming voice. Oh no! It was Norman. He must have heard us talking about him.

  I smiled graciously, pulling out the facial expression I reserved for our customers. “Mr. Pan, it’s so great to finally meet you.”

  He looked down his nose at me. “And you are?”

  “Lana Lee.” I extended my hand. “I’m the manager at Ho-Lee Noodle House.”

  Peter turned away from us, focusing his attention back on the workstation as if Norman wasn’t even there.

  Norman glanced down at my hand, and back up at me. “Isn’t that nice?” Turning his attention back to Ian, he thrust a small paper toward him. “Mr. Sung, what is the meaning of this?”

  Ian took the little paper and squinted. “I don’t understand…”

  “This was inside the fortune cookie at my place setting. I’d like to know why.”

  Ian inspected the tiny slip of paper. “I’m not sure … we didn’t ask for fortune cookies to be placed at the judges’ table.”

  “If this is someone’s idea of a joke…” Norman’s face reddened. “I will not be treated like a fool.” He glanced over at the judges’ table where Stella and Ray appeared to be having some type of debate.

  I inched closer to Ian, trying to read what the fortune said, but I couldn’t make out the words from over his shoulder.

  While I was trying to get a better look, someone pinched my side, and I jumped, pushing Ian forward. Ian gasped and glared at me over his shoulder. Norman shook his head at both of us.

  When I turned to see who had pinched me, I saw Adam standing behind me, his green eyes dancing with amusement from my surprise. He gave a cheesy grin. “Happy to see me?”

  “I am,” I replied, wrapping my arms around him. “You should have told me you were coming today. You could have sat with us.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. This was your family time. I didn’t want to intrude.”

  I could barely hear what Norman and Ian were talking about and I was dying to turn around and eavesdrop on their conversation. But I didn’t want Adam to think I wasn’t happy to see him.

  “You ready to head over to the Bamboo Lounge? It was nice of Penny to throw a kickoff party.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right over; I’m going to help Peter take some things back to the restaurant.”

  “Let me help out,” Adam offered. He kissed me on the forehead and turned to Peter, greeting him with congrats and a handshake.

  “Yes, absolutely, I’ll look into the matter,” I heard Ian say from behind me.

  “I should hope so.” Norman glared at me as I turned around, and then stormed off.

  “What the heck was that about?” I asked Ian.

  He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think it’s impossible for us to have an ordinary day in this place.” With exasperation, he handed me the slip of paper.

  It read: If you do not seek out allies and helpers, then you will be isolated and weak.

  I tilted my head as I read it over again. �
�This sounds vaguely familiar. What is it?”

  Ian stared across the stage at the judges’ table. Ray and Stella had disappeared and in their place was the cleanup crew clearing away the place settings. He sighed. “Sun Tzu … it’s from The Art of War.”

  * * *

  After the contest, the participants, judges, and our special guests migrated into the Bamboo Lounge. Penny had reserved the party room for us and we filed inside finding a long buffet table at the far end. The rest of the floor was cleared and small tables were placed along the edges of the room.

  Penny huddled with a group of servers at the door, giving instructions as they nodded and looked over their shoulders at their new customers. There were around twenty of us.

  Adam made a beeline for the buffet table. “Watching all that cooking made me hungry.”

  Megan and I followed behind him. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me that you were coming,” I said.

  He winked at me over his shoulder. “Thought it might be fun to surprise you.”

  Megan whispered in my ear. “See? I told you everything was fine.”

  I had to admit that it made me happy he’d put in the effort. It seemed the longer we knew each other, the more our time together shrank and distance between dates expanded. The struggle not to turn it into a “me” thing was becoming difficult.

  The table was filled with spring rolls, lettuce wraps, steamed pork buns, teriyaki skewers, and a number of other Chinese finger foods plus an entire section dedicated to desserts. My stomach rumbled as my eyes skimmed over the table.

  “Holy … I think I need one of everything,” Megan said, peeking over my shoulder. “She really went all out for this, didn’t she?”

  We piled our plates with food and picked a corner to congregate in. A server ambled over to take our drink orders, and after the excitement of the day, we agreed it would be cocktails all around.