by Charles Yu
“I wanted better for you,” he says.
“Dad,” you start, but you don’t know what to say.
“Don’t say anything? There is nothing left to say.”
“Mom said something earlier. Are you—Ba, are you okay?”
He looks down. He’s not okay.
Turner breaks the silence.
TURNER
What’s going on here? The real story.
What does he mean? Your dad—his actual struggles. It’s all you have left. Can you trust him not to take it away from you? There appears to be more to Turner and Green than you once thought. But it’s too risky. You’ve worked too hard to show them something they might not understand. You need to keep it together. You can’t get fired now. You make your face into a mask—dead in the eyes. Not a person. Not a real one anyway. A type. Generic. It’s a form of protection. Keep yourself inside this costume, this role. You lay it on a little thicker with the accent, break up your grammar a bit more.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
I was just explain to him Older Brother is missing. To answer all of your questioning so can be helpful to detectives in the case.
Turner sees that you’re back on script, gets back into character himself.
TURNER
Is he going to help?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
He say he will help as much as he can.
(then)
You know, he used to be someone. A teacher. Kung fu.
Turner appraises Old Asian Man.
TURNER
So this is him, huh? The master?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Yes. He was my teacher. Taught everyone in Chinatown. When he was young man, he was incredible. He could show you some things.
TURNER
Show me some things?
(laughs)
Okay.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
You have muscles, yes, but here, inside, you are soft. I can see it. You move slow, like a turtle.
TURNER
I’ll show you how I move, you little—
Green pulls Turner aside, out of earshot. Or so they think.
GREEN
Take it easy.
TURNER
Why? He started all of this.
GREEN
Yeah, maybe he did. But we need him, if we’re going to get anywhere in Chinatown. Just—be nice to the Asian Guy, okay?
There we go. The two words: Asian Guy. Even now, as Special Guest Star, even here, in your own neighborhood. Two words that define you, flatten you, trap you and keep you here. Who you are. All you are. Your most salient feature, overshadowing any other feature about you, making irrelevant any other characteristic. Both necessary and sufficient for a complete definition of your identity: Asian. Guy.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
You know, I can hear everything you’re saying. That’s what I am, huh? Asian Guy.
Green looks sheepish.
GREEN
I didn’t mean—
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Sure you didn’t.
TURNER
There are worse things to be called.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Yeah?
TURNER
Yeah.
(then)
Anyway, weren’t you the one who took the role? You want to know the truth? You did this to yourself.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
I’m choosing this?
TURNER
No. But you’re going along with it. Look where we are. Look what you made yourself into. Working your way up the system doesn’t mean you beat the system. It strengthens it. It’s what the system depends on.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
You’re part of the system. Your face is on the poster. Your name is in the title.
TURNER
I am? It says Miles Turner? No, it doesn’t.
It says: BLACK.
(then)
I’m not a person. I’m a category. Giving me the lead doesn’t make me any more of a person. If anything, less. It locks me in. Do you know where I started? Do you know what it took? You can’t come in here, five minutes ago, talking about how hard you have it. If you don’t like it here, go back to China.
With both hands, you push Turner in the chest. He stumbles back, but catches himself. Wow. His pecs are like concrete. Round, smooth, pec-shaped slabs of concrete.
Turner gets up in your face. He’s got four inches and forty pounds on you, all of it muscle.
But your kung fu is solid, and getting better every day, and for a second, you wonder, what would Older Brother do? You wonder: could you take him?
He clenches his jaw, puts up his fists, like he wants to box. You get into a solid fighting stance. Your left foot tingles, ready for action. It’s in the eyes, you remember your training. And for a half-second, you see in Turner’s eyes the smallest flicker of doubt.
GREEN
All right break it up.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
That’s right. Listen to your partner, Miles.
TURNER
You really like that, don’t you? When Green sticks up for you. Feels good to have WHITE on your side, don’t it? Have her approval.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
You calling me a model minority?
TURNER
You said it, I didn’t. Don’t you see? This is how it works. We’re fighting with each other. I don’t want to be doing this any more than you do. And Green gets to be the bigger person. Why do you care what she thinks anyway? You heard what you are to her: Asian Guy.
GREEN
Feel better? More manly? Hope you got it all out of your system so we can get back to work.
Green turns to Old Asian Man, watching this. Unsure of how to deal with him. He’s not a threat, not a rival, not a subordinate or superior. Definitely not a potential love interest, no no, come on, he’s an Old Asian Man—now you know, that’s how she thinks of him. And you. And all of you. She stoops down a couple of inches, talks to him.
GREEN (CONT’D)
Hello sir. Thank you for your help.
Talks to him a little louder than normal, more than a little, half-shouting almost, as if he’s hard of hearing, while also doing the thing. You know the thing that people do sometimes with Old Asian People. The sort of half-assed sign language except it’s not sign language at all, just a made-up pantomime, as if Old Asians won’t otherwise be able to understand anything you’re saying. As if it takes all of this effort just to get through to this other consciousness. As if he’s an alien.
TURNER
(to Old Asian Man)
Older Brother. When did you last see him?
Old Asian Man looks at you. As if to ask you: Is this what you want? For me to answer? You nod. He hesitates briefly, then answers.
OLD ASIAN MAN
Long time. Been a long time.
GREEN
Weeks?
OLD ASIAN MAN
Longer. Six month, maybe.
(then)
We have argument.
TURNER
About what?
OLD ASIAN MAN
What else. Money.
GREEN
As in, he wanted to borrow money?
OLD ASIAN MAN
(shaking his head)
Not borrow. Give. He want to give me money. But I don’t want it.
Green and Turner look at each other. Then at you.
&
nbsp; GREEN
Older Brother shows up, trying to give away money.
TURNER
Laundering?
GREEN
Possibly. In any case, sounds like he had a sudden windfall.
TURNER
We follow the money—
GREEN
We find our guy.
They’re looking at each other now, their faces having somehow gotten pretty close in the course of this last exchange. Are they going to kiss? That would be weird. But it seems like they’re going to kiss. They should just kiss. But then again, they shouldn’t, because if they ever did, that would be that, no one would care anymore. The whole point is that they never do. They get their faces all close and they smolder and they gaze but they never kiss. Turner finally breaks eye contact and looks at you.
TURNER
(to you)
So where is it? Where’s the money in Chinatown?
GREEN
This is important. If you know something, you have to tell us.
Are you doing the right thing? Something about this feels wrong.
But this is Black and White. They let you have a part. You can’t stop now.
You look at your dad. He shifts his eyes away, and you know in that moment that he is disappointed. But he won’t ever say it. You’ll never talk about it again. He’s gone, slipped back into Old Asian Man. He’s not going to make the choice for you. It’s your role to play.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Okay.
TURNER
Okay?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
I take you there. I will take you inside Chinatown.
INT. CHINATOWN GAMBLING DEN
Fatty Choy is working the door. You slap hands, do a one-arm guy hug.
“Congrats, man,” he says under his breath. Turner gives him the once-over, gets up in his personal space.
TURNER
(gruff)
We need to see your boss.
Fatty Choy’s face transforms. One moment he’s your boy from the SRO, the next moment he’s disappeared, turned into a Lowlife Oriental.
LOWLIFE ORIENTAL
Sorry. Private club. No outsider allowed in here.
TURNER
I got a private club for you. It’s downtown at the precinct. I’ll book a room and give you a lift—
LOWLIFE ORIENTAL
This is a place of business—
GREEN
Wrong. This is an illegal gambling operation.
LOWLIFE ORIENTAL
I don’t know anything about no gambling. I’m just security guard. You can’t arrest me for me just doing my job.
TURNER
How about I arrest you for an aggravated assault last week? As well as public intoxication and a couple counts of resisting arrest? How’s that sound, Choy? Yeah, we know who you are.
Turner looks smug as Fatty Choy steps aside. As you brush past, he mumbles something under his breath.
“Willis,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“Hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too.”
You make your way through the room hazy with cigarette smoke, the light click-clack of poker chips being stacked, shuffled, tossed around. Sultry Asian Women in high-slit dresses serve beers and whiskeys to Sleazy Asian Guys in white T-shirts and slacks. Everyone, men and women, young and old, looking sketchy, looking like they’ll cut you for cheating or cut you for winning or just cut you if you look at them wrong. Or at least that’s what they look like to an outsider. But you know these fools, grew up with most of them, playing Nintendo or sneaking sips of wine cooler from the fridge in the back of the grocery store on Ninth. Average GPA in this room is probably north of three point seven, and now look at them, pretending to be tough, doing a good job at it, as they do. They’re all A students, striving immigrants, still hoping for their shot.
Above it all is the owner of this place, watching the tables from his second-floor office, one eye on the patrons, the other one on his employees.
Turner looks at Green, motions toward the stairs. Green plays it cool, sliding her hand just slightly toward the piece in her waistband as you climb the steps. Turner motions for you to enter first, the two of them falling in behind you.
INT. GAMBLING DEN—BOSS’S OFFICE—CONTINUOUS
As you reach the top of the stairs, the door opens. The Bad Guy of the Week steps out. It’s Young Fong. His eyes still red and puffy, his dad not gone even three days and already here’s Fong, back to work.
“Hey,” you whisper, trying to think of the right thing to say. A kind word. But he plays it straight. Professional. At the moment he’s not Fong. He is Chinatown Mini Boss. Medium fish in a small pond. The guy before the guy. Intermediate obstacle. An act two villain who gets you into act three. It’s a good gig, even if Fong is starting to get typecast. Something about how gentle he is, they love to play off of that, love how his mild features, his slender build and slightly pasty complexion, make him the opposite of Turner, the opposite of masculine, make this Asian phenotype slightly and inherently creepy to the Western eye.
MINI BOSS
Detectives.
(affected, enunciated)
To what do I owe the pressure?
Turner straight-arms his way into the office.
TURNER
Cut the shit. This isn’t a social call.
MINI BOSS
Oh. That’s too bad. Chinatown has much to offer for the adventurous traveler.
(to Turner)
Those who want to sample its exotic flavors.
Fong looks down into the casino at the dozens of Sultry Asian Women, as if to say, go ahead, choose one. Turner coughs, uncomfortable, adjusts himself. Fong gets up and pours himself two generous fingers of expensive Scotch.
MINI BOSS
I’m sure we can find something to your liking.
(looks at Green)
Whatever your type may be. We will accommodate you.
Fong presses a button on the underside of his desk, and a moment later a woman steps into the office. Not just a woman. You don’t—you don’t know what to. Uh. Say. Or do. With your arms. Or face. You’re frozen, a schoolboy with a crush. You’re an idiot. Wow.
She looks at you, and you look at her, and she looks at you and you can’t figure out why she’s looking at you, until you realize you’re staring at her. What—is she? You can’t figure it out.
“Do I know you?” you whisper, but either she doesn’t hear or she ignores the question.
TURNER
Enough bullshit. We’re looking for someone.
MINI BOSS
You have a warrant? Probable cause?
GREEN
We have him.
She points to you. A beat. Silence. Everyone’s looking at you.
MINI BOSS
Oh yeah? And who the hell is he?
GREEN
He’s working with us. Impossible Crimes Unit.
Turner looks at Green like, what? She looks at you. You try really hard not to blush, but your legs get weak and the skin on the back of your neck gets tingly.
GREEN
(to you)
It’s you, man. Your move.
You clear your throat, trying to sound like you know what you’re doing.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Older Brother is missing.
Your voice cracks a little. Turner giggles.
MINI BOSS
I heard.
GREEN
We learned that he had a
fight with his father. He’d recently come into some money. Sounds like he was looking for a safe place to park it.
MINI BOSS
And you think I had something to do with it?
TURNER
(nods toward the casino)
Seems like a pretty good option.
MINI BOSS
Yeah. You’re right. It does. Except if you knew anything about Older Brother, you’d know how stupid that is.
(looks at you)
Why didn’t you tell them how stupid that is?
You do your best poker face, but you are bad at poker. Green reads it on your face.
GREEN
What does he mean?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Older Brother didn’t care about money. At all.
MINI BOSS
Anyone who knows him would understand that. He had a plan, but it had nothing to do with money.
Turner’s ears perk up.
TURNER
What kind of plan? You better talk or—
MINI BOSS
Or what? Why should I tell you anything?
GREEN
There are enough federal and state crimes being committed in this building to put you away for a very long time.
(then)
Unless, of course, you know something that could help us. Something that might make us inclined to go easy.
MINI BOSS
I want immunity.
TURNER
No can do. Not with what we have on you.
MINI BOSS
I’m not negotiating.
TURNER
Neither am I.
Turner clenches his jaw. You’re not sure if you want to punch his face or caress it.
GREEN
We’ll put in a good word with the DA’s office. Get you the best deal they can manage.
TURNER
You might be able to get out to see your children graduate from college.
MINI BOSS
