Mandarin Yellow (Socrates Cheng mysteries)

by Steven M. Roth

  “Oh, Honorable Director,” Fong said, “I did not realize you were here. I am so sorry.” Fong bowed her head and maintained her submissive posture.

  “I know you do not approve of personal telephone calls at work, but this conversation could not be avoided. It will not happen again, Honorable Director, I assure you.”

  Fong raised her head, but avoided making eye contact with Hua. She immediately excused herself and began walking toward the gallery’s entrance door, saying, as she resolutely fled, that she had a lunch appointment to keep.

  Fong hurried away before Director Hua could tell her to cancel the appointment or before the director could engage her in a lecture intended to advise her just how unworthy an employee she was.

  SOCRATES WAS IN the stockroom rearranging supplies and killing time when he heard the entrance door’s overhead bell. He put down the carton of empty pen boxes he was shelving and headed out front.

  “Hello, Socrates.”

  Socrates stopped walking, put his hands into his trouser pockets, and said, “Hello, Todd. What brings you here?”

  “I came to apologize. I hope you don’t mind I didn’t call first. I figured you might tell me to go to Hell and end the call before I could say anything.”

  You got that right, Socrates thought, but he didn’t say it. He watched Todd with wary eyes.

  “I know I should’ve done this sooner,” Todd said, “but . . . well, I needed to let some time pass. Anyway, I’m here now. How’ve you been?”

  “I didn’t deserve what you all did to me,” Socrates said. “We were all supposed to be friends, not just law partners.”

  Todd glanced briefly at his feet, then looked up and nodded. “You’re right. I was a shit, I know that. We all were.” He paused and wagged his head. “We’d like to make it up to you.” He smiled feebly and raised both eyebrows.

  Socrates could feel his anger bubbling up again. He had worked long and hard to paste over his hurt feelings and resentment, and now, with no more than his sudden appearance at the store, Todd had ripped away Socrates’ protective scab.

  “Don’t bother,” Socrates said. “I don’t need you to make up anything for me. I’m doing fine without you and your partners.”

  Todd took a deep breath. “You were right to vote against the merger. It was a colossal mistake, just like you said it would be. Turns out we were no different than high-paid employees working at the beck and call of the New York attorneys, sometimes even their secretaries and first year law associates. So much for being partners in the combined firm.”

  Socrates slowly breathed in and savored the redolence of this sweet admission. He strained not to smile.

  “We’re pulling out,” Todd said, “the four of us. We’re taking six associates, some paralegals, a few secretaries, and setting up our own firm in a few weeks.”

  “Why tell me?” Socrates said. “I assume you’re not here to watch me gloat.”

  “We’d like you to join us, work with us again as our partner, and get back into law practice, not do this.” He canted his head toward the display case.

  Socrates rubbed his chin and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve got a new life now.” He swept his arm to corral his store. “Law practice is a closed chapter for me. I intend it to stay that way.”

  “That’s what we thought you’d say,” Todd said, “but I had to ask.” Todd reached into his suit jacket pocket and fished out a business card. “If you change your mind, call me. That’s the contact information for the new firm.”

  Socrates took the card and pocketed it. He never glanced at it.

  AS SOON AS Todd left, Socrates tried Jade’s cell phone again. She still didn’t answer. He didn’t know which annoyed him more, that Jade almost never kept her cell phone turned on or that she almost never picked-up her voice mail messages.

  He decided to call his friend, Brandon Hill, and talk over Bing-fa’s demand with him. Socrates trusted Brandon’s judgment and his pragmatic approach to issues. Socrates punched Brandon’s speed dial number into his cell phone.

  They agreed to meet as soon as Socrates could walk from Georgetown to Dupont Circle.

  AS HE WALKED along M Street, heading from Georgetown to Starbucks on 19th, Socrates thought about his long-enduring friendship with Brandon.

  They had met at Penn State, had roomed together for four years, and in that time forged a close friendship. Yet when they first met, had either of them been asked, Socrates and Brandon would have admitted there could not have been two college roommates who, having been randomly thrown together by the university’s housing assignment computer, would have been less likely to become friends than Socrates, the Greek/Chinese American from a Levittown, Long Island blue collar background, and W. Brandon Trowbridge Hill, IV, the white-shoe, Anglo-Saxon Protestant from Mainline Philadelphia, with his heritage deeply steeped in colonial America and his vast wealth rooted in generations of old money.

  To the casual eye, Socrates and Brandon were polar opposites in every discernible aspect, yet they gradually became the Yin and Yang of college roommates, each seemingly different from the other, but each also seamlessly complementing the other.

  Brandon had straight blond hair, fair skin, large blue eyes, thin lips, and a flawless, chiseled straight nose. Socrates sported curly pitch-black hair, slitted dark eyes, jaundice-like skin, full lips, and a broad, slightly hooked nose. All they had in common physically was their height. Both Brandon and Socrates stood 5’10” tall. Yet, as it turned out, both Socrates and Brandon were comfortable in their respective skins.

  Brandon was already seated at Starbucks when Socrates arrived.

  “Good day, Brother Hill,” Socrates said, as he walked across the outdoor patio to Brandon’s table.

  Brandon smiled and nodded. “You look uncommonly serious today, my friend, even for you. Had an argument with what’s-her-name? Or was it something else equally trivial?”

  Socrates let Brandon’s dig pass. He had more important things on his mind right now than Brandon’s and Jade’s long-standing antipathy for one another.

  “I need to make a decision,” Socrates said, “and I’d like your input.”

  “Sit, then,” Brandon said, gesturing toward an empty chair. “The doctor is in.”

  Socrates described the visits from Bing-fa. Then he recited all the reasons why he thought he should not help Jade’s father, focusing more on his reluctance to temporarily close down his store than on his inexperience as a private investigator. When he finished, he hadn’t mentioned even one reason why he should help Bing-fa.

  When Brandon responded by saying, “Okay, with all those reasons not to help him, don’t help him,” Socrates immediately switched gears. Now he recited his short list of reasons why he thought he should help Bing-fa, emphasizing the most important to him — his desire to ingratiate himself with Jade’s father and have Bing-fa accept him as Jade’s lover even though he was not full-blooded Chinese.

  When he finished, and Brandon said nothing, Socrates said, “So, what do you think?”

  Brandon lifted his cup of tea, sipped it, then looked at Socrates. “What did Jade say when you asked her?”

  Socrates blushed. “I haven’t asked her yet. I wanted to get my own thinking straight before I raised it with her. That’s why I’m here.”

  Brandon nodded. “You need to consider this in its proper context,” he said. “How much do you care about Jade?”

  “I love her. You know that. Why even ask?”

  “That’s my point,” Brandon said. “Jade’s the correct context. Talk to her. Otherwise you’ll be saying she’s not that important to you even if that’s not what you mean. Then help her father if she wants you to or, if she doesn’t want you to, don’t help him. Take your cue from Jade and act accordingly.”

  Socrates looked away as he considered another obstacle he’d have to overcome. “It’s not that simple. I’m not licensed as a PI.”

  “Christ, Socrates, so what? Who will ever know
? Unlicensed people probably investigate things all the time. There must be some loophole in the licensing law you can use.” He paused and shook his head. “You were a lawyer, figure it out.”

  Brandon paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. Then he said, “If you can’t find a loophole, what’s the worst can happen if you’re caught? Probably a slap on the wrist, is all.”

  “What about my store? I can’t just close it up. It’s finally beginning to pay for itself.”

  Brandon shook his head and frowned as if he was growing impatient with Socrates’ excuses. “I’ll watch it for you. I can fake pen talk enough to keep from driving away customers. Besides, everything you have for sale is tagged with prices, so how hard can it be to be a sales clerk?”

  Socrates groaned, bringing a big smile to Brandon’s face.

  “I don’t know anything about investigating crimes,” Socrates said. “This is serious, not one of our college games. A felony was committed, a burglary.”

  Brandon shook his head again. “Stop making excuses and looking for reasons not to do it, Socrates. Just use your common sense and try to remember what you learned from all those Law & Order reruns we watched. Most important, don’t get in the cops’ way.” He paused, and when Socrates didn’t say anything, Brandon said, “What it all comes down to is, you have to decide how important your relationship with Jade is. That’s really all we’re talking about here.”

  AS SOCRATES WALKED back to his store after leaving Brandon, he used his cell phone again to call Jade. He not only wanted to talk to her about her father’s insistence that Socrates help him, but he was anxious to tell her about Bing-fa’s cryptic remark as he left Socrates’ store. Once again, he didn’t get her.

  Socrates passed the balance of the afternoon at his store paying bills, re-shelving inventory and supplies, and waiting on three customers, one of whom bought a pricey Pelikan pen, cir. 1942, as an anniversary gift for her husband, and the other who purchased an expensive nineteenth century desktop crystal inkwell. The third customer, an elderly man, did not purchase anything, but he asked Socrates many questions about fountain pens and their collectability. Socrates enjoyed answering the man’s questions and showing him examples of collectible pens, as much as he had enjoyed the two sales he made.

  At 5:00 p.m., Socrates closed his store and walked home.

  As he approached his building, Socrates paused on the sidewalk and thought briefly about his lack of plans for the evening. He decided to continue walking and go to Jade’s condominium at 3400 Connecticut Avenue, just north of the National Zoo. He hoped she’d be home by the time he arrived there. If she wasn’t, he’d use his key and wait inside for her.

  Fifteen minutes later, Socrates took his key ring from his packet and knocked on Jade’s door to make sure she wasn’t home before he let himself in.

  Jade opened the door almost immediately as if she’d been waiting for him. She glared at Socrates and said, “How dare you meet with my father without checking with me first. Who do you think you are going behind my back?”

  SOCRATES RECOILED IN response to Jade’s hostility, and reflexively stepped back. He felt as if he’d been slapped. He managed a nervous smile, followed immediately by a frown. He hesitated, then moved in again toward the doorway and leaned in to kiss Jade’s cheek. She pulled away.

  “Wait a minute,” Socrates said, his anger rising. “What’s going on here? I haven’t done anything to justify this.”

  “I asked you something, Socrates.” Jade stretched her arms out horizontally and gripped the door frames on each side of the threshold, blocking Socrates’ access.

  “Why didn’t you check with me before you met with my father? You know what’s going on with him and me.”

  Socrates sighed and shook his head. He tried to view Jade’s unexpected response in perspective. She was, after all, living with the continued stress of having been banished from her family by her father.

  Socrates softened his voice. “I’ll tell you why, Jade,” he said, “but before I do, you need to let me come in, then we’ll talk? Not out here.”

  Jade hesitated, then stepped aside, and then followed Socrates into the living room.

  “Not here,” she said. She walked through the living room to the kitchen, and lowered herself onto a chair at the breakfast table. Socrates took the chair across from her.

  Jade wiped her eyes with a tissue. “You know my father and I don’t speak because of you. What did you think you were doing meeting with him without talking to me first?”

  “Look, Jade,” Socrates said, his hurt feelings and tamped-down anger bubbling up again and blending so they now were indistinguishable to him, “let’s get one thing straight. It wasn’t what you think. Start by accepting that much.” He worked at keeping his tone soft, and waited until she nodded.

  “I know everything with your family and us is hard on you, but you need to give me the benefit of the doubt and trust me, not assume the worst.” He reached over and stroked her cheek with his finger. “I didn’t go behind your back. I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t even initiate anything with your father. He came to me. I had no idea he was going to show up at my store.”

  Socrates watched Jade’s eyes mist over. He took her hand. “You know me better than that, Jade. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, especially not anything involving your family.”

  He watched as Jade’s overt emotions ineluctably changed as she gradually let go of her anger and slipped into a state of bewilderment. Her face softened and her natural color replaced its previous flush. Her posture loosened and her normally narrowed eyes widened as she waited for Socrates’ explanation. She offered him a weak smile.

  “First off,” Socrates said, “I called you several times to tell you, but I couldn’t get hold of you.” He opened his cell phone to the Dialed menu and reached out to hand the cell to Jade so she could see the listing of his dialed, but unconnected, call attempts. She didn’t take the cell from him to look at.

  “I know you wouldn’t set up the meeting with my father,” Jade said, “but once he was there, why’d you meet with him? You should have refused. You should have known I’d be upset.”

  “It wasn’t that simple, Jade. I had no choice, it just happened. He showed up at my store and we spoke. What was I supposed to do, throw him and your brothers out?” He paused to take a deep breath, then said, “That’s why I’m here, to tell you about it . . . . By the way, how’d you find out?”

  “Youngest Brother left me a voice mail, but it was vague. He said he finally saw my barbarian when he went with our father and brothers to a meeting at your store. Then he hung up.” She sighed. “What’s going on, Socrates?”

  Before he could respond, Jade said, “Did my father threaten you, tell you to stay away from me or something?” She didn’t wait for Socrates’ answer. “He had no right to do that or . . . .” She sniffed twice and let her voice trail off.

  Jade picked up a napkin from the plastic holder on the table and methodically tore the paper into long, narrow strips. Then she balled up the strips, dropped the ball onto the table, and reached for another napkin.

  “He shouldn’t have bothered you. You haven’t done anything to him.” Jade finished shredding the second napkin, and reached for another. This time Socrates took her hand and held it in his. She was making him nervous.

  Socrates held up his other hand, signaling Jade to stop. Then he walked her through his meetings with her father, but did not say anything about Bing-fa’s implied threats.

  When Socrates finished, Jade said, “Did he know who you were when he came to see you, that you were my Socrates, not some other one?”

  Socrates couldn’t help smiling. Some other Socrates? he thought. Not likely. We’re in Washington, not Athens.

  “He knew,” Socrates said. “He even suggested I talk to you before I make a decision. Probably because you told him I’m a pen collector. Right?” When Jade didn’t say anything, Socrates said, “You did tell him when you
two were still talking, didn’t you?”

  Jade shook her head. “Of course not. I would have told you if I’d done that.” She paused as if considering another thought, then said, “I’m surprised he didn’t ask one of my brothers or one of his Triad flunkies to help him, instead of you. They’d do anything he asked just to please him.”

  Jade looked into Socrates’ eyes. “What are you going to do?” she asked. Her question was delivered in a pitch nearly an octave higher than normal.

  “That depends on you. If you want me to help your father, I will. If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “My only concern is I might make things worse with him if I screw up or if I don’t recover the Mandarin Yellow and other stolen items.”

  Jade looked away, then turned back. “I think I know how this might have happened,” she said. “Sometimes my stepmother calls me when my father’s out. I’ve told her about you, including about your pen business. I’m sure she told my father. Otherwise, how would he know?”

  Socrates shrugged, but said nothing. He didn’t really care how Bing-fa knew.

  “He probably came to you for other reasons, too,” Jade said.

  This should be interesting, Socrates thought.

  “Maybe it’s because you look Chinese,” she said. “Your physical appearance won’t raise awkward questions if people associate you with him.”

  “I am Chinese,” Socrates said. “Half.” He felt his barely suppressed anger well up at this all too familiar slight.

  “You also read Mandarin,” Jade said, “at least you used to. That indicates to him you’re highly educated, something he values.”

  Socrates tried to decrease the tension he was beginning to feel again.

  “Don’t ever tell my mother you think I look Chinese,” he said. “You’ll break her heart. She thinks I look Greek, but with defective eyes and jaundiced skin.”

  Jade didn’t even crack a tiny smile. She raised her eyebrows in what Socrates took to be her silent rebuke for his levity. She had completely missed the point of his attempt — that he, too, was nervous.