by Ed Lin
I rode down to the lobby and looked for a side or back door. I didn’t want to be caught with the box Mr. Huang had given me. I found a workshop room that led to a back exit. I had to tiptoe past the maintenance man, who was asleep on a cot.
WHEN I WAS ON the sidewalk, I turned on my phone to see if there was an update from Nancy.
Ming-kuo had sent two emails only an hour apart and a followup voicemail that seemed to have been left in one breath.
“Hey, Jing-nan, I don’t know if you saw my emails, but I wanted to see if you were free for a meal sometime during the week or weekend. I don’t know what days are better for you. Every day is pretty much the same for me. I work at night like you do and I just want to be with old friends to break it up a little. I know you’re busy, so if you can’t get back to me, I’ll try to catch you again. Talk to you soon!”
Even as I held the phone in my hand, it rang. Give it a fucking rest, Ming-kuo! There was no way in hell I was going to take this call.
I started banging out an email response: Sorry I’ve been missing your calls, Ming-kuo. I seem to have caught a little bit of a cold, and it’s really hard for me to actually speak. I’ll drop you a line when I’m feeling better. See you soon!
I shuddered as I read over the email. Talk about a stock kiss-off message. If he had any social awareness, he’d never try to call me again.
Wait. Did I really want to send him this message? Was it really so horrible for me to hang out with him? Here he was, trying to reach out to me as a colleague with a common history. Or as a boogeyman from my past who was relentlessly pursuing me.
The truth was, he and I both lacked real friendships.
Then again, who in Taipei had time for friends? Who didn’t have an interminable workday? Who ever got enough sleep?
Not me, not Nancy, not Peggy and probably not Cookie Monster.
I sent the email and didn’t think too much about it after.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I met Nancy in the lobby of her apartment building two hours later. She had already changed into her latest indie outfit—cut-off stovepipe denims and a new T-shirt that sported a graphic of Ian Curtis’s left eye blown up to cover her entire chest.
I saw one of the doormen cringe as her cheap wooden sandals clacked against the tiled areas of the floor.
“What’s in the box?” she asked as we waited for the elevator.
“Let’s talk when we get into your apartment,” I said. I must have looked scared, because she didn’t say anything else.
When we were in her place, I waited until the door was closed, locked and chained behind us before talking.
“Nancy, when I saw Mr. Huang, he turned up the TV volume and said he wasn’t supposed to have this box.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know, exactly, but it’s Julia’s stuff. I haven’t opened it yet.”
“Why did he turn up the TV volume?”
“Julia was working for …” I thought about how cautious Mr. Huang had been and also spelled out “C-I-A” on my palm. Nancy gasped. “People are monitoring them.”
“That means they’re monitoring you, too,” she said. “And also me.”
I patted her arm. “You’ve got doormen downstairs to protect you.”
“We’re not really going to be safe until we know what’s in there.” She tapped the box, which was wound shut with duct tape, forming crosses on the top and bottom panels.
“Can you get me something to cut this with?”
“What if there’s a head in there?” she asked.
“Look at the shape, Nancy. Only SpongeBob SquarePants’s head could fit in here.”
Nancy went to the kitchen and brought back a steak knife.
“Everything seemed to go smoothly with Mrs. Huang, right?” I asked as I hacked away at the tape.
“It was so easy to make her come with me. I told her I had a message for her from Julia and that she had to come to the temple to hear it. She couldn’t put her shoes on fast enough. Mr. Huang looked pretty skeptical, but he didn’t dare say a word to stop her. The only thing that held us up was the elevator.”
“That elevator sucks,” I said. She nodded. The duct tape was strong as hell and as fibrous as an unripe mango. “I saw you guys get in the cab.”
Nancy sat down and grabbed hold of herself. “Mrs. Huang covered her face and cried in her hands the entire time. I felt really guilty, like I was tricking a little kid.” Nancy wrinkled her nose. “Also, I realized that it was pretty racist for me to be wearing a Paiwan outfit. I wanted to tell her it was all just a trick to get her away from the apartment.”
I managed to cut through one of the duct-tape bands on the top. “You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”
“No, of course not. I was resolute about carrying out the mission. Anyway, when we entered Guandu Temple, something weird happened.” She rubbed her hands and arms as if spreading lotion.
I put the knife down. “What happened?” I asked. “Did Mrs. Huang start freaking out?”
“Not yet,” Nancy said. She was now rubbing her knees. “I felt something walk right through me. From my back to my front. It felt like a cool breeze, only it went through my body, not just over my skin. It was definitely a spirit.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.” I put a hand on her back. “You were just nervous.”
She sat down and turned away. “It was definitely something. It is Ghost Month, right?”
I went back to the box. “Nancy, Santa Claus isn’t real, either. It’s just stuff for a holiday.” I severed the other end of the tape band. Now I just had to slit the tape along the flap edge.
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Jing-nan. Honestly. But it was really something. Anyway, Mrs. Huang was walking in front of me and all of a sudden she froze, as if that thing had just walked through her, too. She began to shake, and then she screamed that Julia was there.”
I put the knife down again. “Are you serious, Nancy?”
She nodded hard. “Mrs. Huang knocked over a table of incense burners—on purpose, I think,” Nancy continued. “Then she started pushing people, saying that the Americans killed her daughter.”
“That must have really freaked out all the worshippers,” I said. Temples were noisy with cell-phone ringtones and yelled prayers for help, but nobody touched anybody else. “What did Mrs. Huang do when you told her your fake story?”
“I never got to tell her, because they took Mrs. Huang away.”
“Who took her away?”
“Policemen. There were signs up that undercover cops were around because people have been breaking into the money boxes. I thought the signs were just for show. She was acting so crazy, it took two men to grab her and carry her away.”
I almost wished I could have seen it. The only time I had seen Mrs. Huang flip out was when someone stole some fruit from her stand. The thief wasn’t a big guy, but he probably weighed twice as much as her. She followed him as he tried to scamper away, but the market was too crowded for him to bolt. Mrs. Huang screamed and slapped him repeatedly until he dropped everything he had stolen that night from all the stands.
How could such a plucky person also have a vulnerable side?
Poor Mrs. Huang. I felt a little bad that we had tricked her, but I had no idea that she would be so susceptible to a plan that hinged on a costume. Then I thought about how mean Mrs. Huang had been to me the last time, and I felt less bad.
“I hope they didn’t do anything to her,” I said, renewing my fight against the box.
“I didn’t stick around,” said Nancy. “I just took the MRT home after that.”
I had just cut the last bit of tape holding the box shut, but I hesitated before opening it. I crossed my arms and sat back.
Nancy came over and put an arm around my waist. “Jing-nan,” she said. “Open the box! I’m dying to see what’s inside!”
I pulled all four flaps open and something fluttered inside. The box was packed with pape
rs, some in binders and some held with clips. Julia’s work for the CIA.
I flipped through some of it. Everything was in English. Essays on the political future of China, Taiwan and the US. A study of potential outcomes if Taiwan were to declare independence. None were good. Most tantalizing of all was a thesis project about military intelligence on both sides of the Taiwan Strait. The abstract noted that China would recruit more Taiwanese officers as spies not only to check the island’s military efforts, but to stymie America’s Asia strategy, as well. Taiwan was one of the biggest US allies in the Pacific, along with South Korea and Japan, and realistically it was the only base the US could attack China from.
Under that was a report on the head of a Taiwanese chip company who was selling technology to the Chinese government. Nancy snatched it away, and I was about to protest when I saw what was underneath it.
At the very bottom of the box, folded in half and tucked into a flap, was Julia’s diploma from NYU. I thought she hadn’t graduated. How puzzling. I touched the signatures. They seemed real.
The diploma hadn’t been handled with care. It was wrinkled from water damage.
I touched the paper with wonder before I understood. Not graduating was only part of the cover story. Being a betel-nut beauty was another.
I showed Nancy the diploma.
“Look. Julia did finish college.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Nancy. She was still reading the chip report.
“Nancy, why are you so interested in that?”
She put the papers aside. “Julia is the one who helped put Ah-ding in jail. Look, she recorded him talking about selling technology to the Chinese in addition to fixing bids on Taipei city-government contracts for laptops.”
I picked up the papers and flipped through them. “Looks like she planted a bug in his car! Did Ah-ding chew betel nut?”
“He did,” said Nancy, her voice dead. “He went to Hsinchu City a lot, too, of course. Ah-ding had a few plants out there.”
“He must have stopped at Julia’s betel-nut stand at some point, and that must have been when she bugged his car.”
Nancy stared into my eyes. “What was she doing in his car?!”
“Nancy, she probably didn’t have to get into his car to bug it! She probably dropped something when she handed him the bag of chews.”
She sighed and looked visibly relieved. “Do you know how weird it would be if Julia and Ah-ding had slept together?”
“Please,” I said. “I don’t want to imagine that.”
On my way to work, I had a hard time visualizing anything but Julia with a tag team of repulsive older men with reddened teeth.
DWAYNE WAS IN A bad mood when I finally showed up just a little later than usual at Unknown Pleasures.
“You didn’t call, you didn’t text,” he grumbled. “I was thinking maybe you were hopelessly tied up … between that girl’s legs.”
“I can get out of any hold,” I said as I hastily washed my hands. “I get a lot of practice here.”
“Yeah, but I don’t grab you the same way she grabs you. Right?”
“Gentlemen,” admonished Frankie with as much disgust as possible. We swung into position and got to work.
It was a busy night, but not exceptionally so. When I was coming back from the common bathroom, I saw two teenaged boys break away from my moped, trying to stifle laughter. All right, maybe it was the oldest, worst-looking vehicle in the night market, but I’m stubborn, and the flagrant mockery made me even more determined to keep riding it.
Kuilan came over to chat and brought over a bowl of noodles with one of her new fried-chicken fillets on the side. I thought they were okay. She was touting and shouting about her new organic chicken, but they didn’t taste any better than Kentucky Fried Chicken. In fact, the current specimen in the glassine bag in my hand was too heavily seasoned with chili powder. Eating it was like licking the sun.
“Jing-nan, did you hear?” said Kuilan. “There’s a rumor that the big move is back on!”
I crossed my legs.
“Are you sure, Kuilan?”
“It’s those lousy developers trying to push us out again. They make all of us mainlanders look bad! I’ve seen them walking through the market with their money buddies from China, checking the sightlines and drawing up the blueprints in their minds.” She gestured all around before thumping her fist on her chest. “They don’t even see us or our stands.”
I took another bite of Kuilan’s fiery cutlet and wiped away tears as I chewed.
“Nothing’s been announced, though, right?” I struggled to ask. I picked up the bowl of noodles and eagerly drank the pickled soup.
“You know how it works, Jing-nan.” Kuilan propped up a foot on the side of my front grill and counted off points on her fingers, taut with patches of healed skin. “They’re going to finalize the deals first behind closed doors. Then they announce that they are examining the idea and want to involve the community. The land’s probably already been sold and the construction bids already accepted.” She closed her hand and shook her scarred fist at me. I drank some more soup to clear my mouth, but it only spread the spicy heat around. “Kuilan,” I said, “we can sue them and tie everything up in court. There are a lot of ways to fight this thing if we want to.”
Listen to me. Acting all tough even though I had an out with Peggy Lee’s company, if I wanted it. I was the new Mr. Huang.
Noticing my watering eyes, Kuilan gasped, “You really do care, Jing-nan! Your parents would have been so proud of you!” She rubbed my arm and went back to her stand.
We sold a broad range of grilled and fried meats, but we didn’t sell fried-chicken fillets, and I felt self-conscious about having it on my breath. I swished my mouth a few times with Coke to get rid of the taste. When I wasn’t looking, Dwayne grabbed my bottle and chugged it.
“Gan ni niang!” I yelled and slapped his back.
“Watch your mouth!” Frankie said, uncharacteristically loud. “There are kids here.”
“Then they’re out too late.”
A big anime convention was underway, and a platoon of Japanese attendees made their way to the night market from the Taipei International Convention Center. They were easy pickings for the stands that had barkers fluent in Japanese. That wasn’t the case for Unknown Pleasures, but a lot of Japanese came over because they were Joy Division fans. I always made sure to give them a little extra, and they struggled through English to talk about their favorite songs.
One dude, who was dressed up as a character from the world of Final Fantasy, tucked his plastic sword under his left armpit as he showed me pictures of his Joy Division vinyl collection on his phone. He had two copies of their first record, the four-song An Ideal for Living EP, and close-up pictures of the matrix numbers scratched in the inner grooves to prove they were genuine.
I couldn’t help but shake my head at the Hitler Youth drummer on the cover and the inside sleeve picture of the Nazi soldier pointing a gun at a Jewish boy. Joy Division had taken their name from a fictionalized account of brothels at concentration camps that operated for the pleasure of Nazi officers.
What a bunch of stupid punks, flaunting Nazi imagery only to offend people. Isn’t it embarrassing to be confronted with the dumb ideas you had in your youth?
I resolved right then to retire my T-shirt of the Hitler Youth drummer. I couldn’t justify wearing it anymore, even if it was the cover of a Joy Division record.
AT THE END OF the night, I counted up the money and was surprised by the amount of cash. We had done better than I thought. I paid out Dwayne and Frankie and said good night.
As I was going over to my moped, Ah-tien, Kuilan’s son, caught up with me.
“Hey, Jing-nan?” He tried smiling but looked extremely apprehensive and couldn’t stop rubbing the back of his neck.
“Hi, Ah-tien.” I had my helmet in my hands.
“Why don’t we hang out a little bit tonight?”
“I kinda just
want to go home now.”
He gave a fake laugh, which required an incredible amount of effort on his part. “If you stay here a little longer,” he said through gritted teeth, “we can sit at one of the late stalls together. I know a good place for congealed pig blood in hot pots.”
“Some other time, I promise,” I said.
Suddenly angry, Ah-tien spat out, “Then go ahead! See if I care!” He stomped off.
Wow, that was really weird, I thought to myself. Maybe he’d always felt bad that we weren’t friends and was trying to bridge that gap. I should have met him halfway.
Honestly, though, I’d never liked him or his negative energy, and I was all right with the way things stood now. We didn’t need to be buddies.
JUST OVER THE FIRST bridge, my back wheel started to make a lot of noise. Before I could pull over, my bike fishtailed. I managed to jump off before it leapt out from under me, the rear wheel popping off its axle. I tried to land on my feet but only succeeded in tumbling into a forward roll.
Miraculously, my only injury was a scratched-up right palm. I made a fist to make sure none of the bones were broken. My phone was okay, too.
I looked over the wreck. I was too shocked from my tumble to feel anger or disappointment and had only pragmatic thoughts. I resolved to move all the parts over to the shoulder and walk home.
I suddenly noticed a small circle of white light that seemed to fall upon me. It opened up and bathed my entire body. My arms and legs disappeared in the thick milk. Then I couldn’t see anymore.
Oh my God. I had died in that accident. Now I was a ghost. I teetered on my feet. I could feel the ground begin to rumble. Was my soul about to be judged?
From out of nowhere, a large pickup truck, painted black as night, pulled up to me and turned off its high beams. A man got out of the passenger side of the cab.
“When are you going to realize that I’m on your side, Jing-nan?” said the Taiwanese-American. “You didn’t call me, and you never answered any of my emails.”
