A Long Ride

by Henry Roi

  I knuckled Ace on the shoulder. “Blondie built this.”

  “Yeah?” He leaned over and inspected the materials closely. “Hmm. Simple fiberglass and Lexan job. Elegant. The money sign is a nice touch.” He stood and I grabbed us some beers.

  “Uh-uh.” Hong grabbed my wrist. “My friend, we have special drink. Here.” He leaned into the vehicle and grabbed a bottle of red wine, turned it and studied the label. “Ah! This the one.”

  “What is it?” Ace said.

  Hong was silent for a moment, then scowled at him. “I don't know. I can't read English.”

  I peered at the bottle. “It's French.”

  He turned his scowl on me, squinting ferociously. Waved a hand wildly. “You want drink, or no? This the one.”

  “I want drink,” I said.

  Ace was still inspecting my girl's work. “Why a cooler?” he asked Hong.

  He showed his disturbing gummy smile. “Some people like speaker in box.” He grabbed a cork screw and opened the wine, grunting. Thwump! The strong scent of quality Merlot attacked my nose. Hong sniffed the cork. “I like booze in box.”

  The alcohol mercenary handed me the wine and leaned back into his booze box, grabbing several Gatorade bottles from a section with beverages for mixing drinks. Soda, water, juice. He handed each of us a 32 oz. jug and took the wine back. We cracked the tops and poured them out on the ground.

  “Are you idiots having a peeing contest?” Blondie said from behind us.

  I turned and pretended to zip up my pants. “Nope.”

  She looked at the flood on the pavement, eyebrows raised. “That's a shitload of pee. Hey Hong.” She smiled at him.

  “Uh,” Ace said.

  “Blondie! My friend.” Hong cried happily, waving his bottle at her. “Join us.” He hit my arm and accused me, “Why you not bring your lady for drink?”

  I held up a finger. “First, let me clarify something: she's no lady.” Now Blondie hit me in the arm. “And she wasn't invited because she's going to nag me for drinking tonight.”

  “She's going to nag me for drinking tonight,” she mimicked. Ace and Hong laughed for some reason. My hand twitched, wanting to twist her nipple. She put a hand on her hip, tight jacket creaking around her shoulders. “You guys do whatever you like. But,” she pointed at me, “if you expose these kids to anything…”

  “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” Geez. Always kids with her lately. Kids kids kids. She finds a way to bring them up every day now.

  With one last meaningful look for me, she spun on a toe and strutted back to the party. Hong and I watched her, booze momentarily forgotten. Ace tried hard not to look.

  With our jugs full of vintage Merlot, I held mine up for a toast. “To the Autumn Festival! Come on grape Gatorade. Make the women look hotter and the children more tolerable.”

  “Do!” cheers, Hong barked.

  “Cheers,” Ace said. We touched jugs and drank, then Ace said, “Grape Gatorade. Hah.”

  We made our way back to the crowd, sipping happily, and stopped at a procession of people picking over a table of food. Community volunteers stood on the other side, serving soft drinks and rice cakes, a tasty selection of candied and dried fruit, and what looked like tofu something-or-other. “Eh. Vegan food.” I shuddered.

  Hong nodded brisk agreement. “Men should eat animal.” He flexed his bicep, then grabbed mine. “No animal, no man.”

  “You hear that, Ace?” I said.

  “I eat meat,” he said defensively, looking down at his lanky body. He looked at me with smug, squinted, secret knowledge. He tapped his temple. “It's just that my brain requires much more than the rest of me.”

  “Hmm,” I replied. He was attempting to joke but was likely telling it right. Dude is scary smart, my subconscious agreed.

  Hong looked at him askance. He pointed to a cake on the table to our right. “I bring that. Wife make it. Very good, you try?”

  “Who the hell would marry you?” I asked. Hung gave me a raspy chuckle, moving his lips and tongue in a way to let us know how he scored a wife. His epicanthic eyes rounded, shining with spirit. I shook my head, set my jug on the table. I selected a small slice of the cake with a napkin, took a bite. “It's good,” I said, forcing myself to swallow. The speed had taken my appetite and saliva. This cake didn't bring it back.

  Ace looked at me, at the cake. “Hmm.”

  “Mung bean cake,” Hong told us. “Traditional. Like Christmas fruit cake.”

  I traded the cake for my bottle and drank deeply. Mung bean cake??? I looked around, sensing the crowd hush for a presentation. Next to the pavilion a small stage had been erected. On the platform six young girls in silk dresses were formed up in a line, small wooden handled fans held up next to their cheeks, waiting for music to start. An older woman in a faded gray robe, presumably the girls' instructor, pushed play on a boom box and grinned matronly pride as a stringed oriental song began to jam.

  The little girls smiled cutely, red, gray and blue silk glimmering in the lights. They moved in sync, holding fans high, then low, fluttering them up next to their cheeks again. They turned in a circle, wood and paper flapping, executing simple movements that would be boring to watch if the dancers weren't so adorable. Whoa whoa whoa! Adorable??? I'm glad you didn't say that out loud, my subconscious laughed. You scored a gay-and-lame twofer with that one, pal.

  Cheers and clapping erupted from several men as Blondie and Shocker stepped up on the stage, fans in hand, and joined the dance. I noticed several highly reserved ladies shooting evil looks at them and the leering men. A smile I felt would become indefinite assaulted my facial muscles. The tiny girls giggled as Shocker messed up, turning the wrong way. She laughed at herself, shrugged her muscled shoulders.

  The dance went on for another few minutes, ending with the song. Applause followed the performance, the kids on stage ecstatic, Blondie and Shocker high-fiving them. They all walked off the platform and the audience turned their attention back to the food tables or whatever group they had been socializing with.

  My bottle dripped empty over my extended tongue. I capped it, planning to refill it shortly. The Merlot was spectacular, a perfect counter to the amphetamines still juicing my system. A comfortable warmth had taken over my limbs, expelling the pain still trying to emanate from under the compression legging covering my lower left leg. The wine was thick on my breath, saturating. The aftertaste made me feel like dancing. I turned to Ace. “It's time.”

  “For what?” he replied.

  “To dance. Come on, let's find Big Guns. We need three people.”

  “How do you know we need three?”

  Ace wasn't completely down with my plan, but he followed me anyway, studying something on the screen of a tablet he had taken from his pocket. We found the Asian goon standing with his crew near the parking area. The Royal Family, a subset of the Dragon Family, were mostly seasoned gangsters that owned businesses and young traffickers hoping to follow in their footsteps. This particular clique, Big Guns' lieutenants and personal security, consisted of older members. Mature, well dressed men that were past the juvenile, pants sagging stage of their gang careers. I recognized a few of them, nodding What's up as we approached. I bumped into their leader's back a little too hard and growled, “Watch where you're going, little yellow man.”

  Big Guns spun around ready for confrontation, hand at his waist, the other balled up. His mouth turned down with silver irritation. “One of these days I'll shoot you for that.”

  I pointed at my face and showed all my teeth. My canines felt like daggers. “You see I'm worried.”

  “Ace,” he said to the geek, bumping fists, ignoring my efforts to look terrified. “How long have you guys been here?”

  “A couple hours,” Ace said. He held up his Gatorade bottle. “Though the time has been flying.” He took a drink.

  Big Guns shook his head and smiled. His short muscular arms bulged in his black and silver shirt, jet hair styled with a part on the side, s
hining with class. He looked at me. “Hong?” I shrugged, No idea what you mean, mon. He said, “Anh Long will sacrifice him to Buddha if he finds out.”

  “I thought we were supposed to smoke one then dragon dance,” I complained, wanting to do something with this buzz before it wore off.

  He looked around at his crew, appearing to search their waists. His scan stopped on a child's head peeking between the legs of two burly gangsters. “Tho! Lai day,” come here, Big Guns said sternly.

  Tho's tiny, sharp cheeks rounded, smile showing several adult teeth growing in. He squirmed through the men and stopped in front of his Anh Hai, looking much better dressed than when I last saw him in his cock fighting clothes. His jeans and Saints jersey set him apart from the other kids present, who wore dressier attire. I liked that. I had a feeling this dude would throw a serious tantrum if someone tried to make him wear such nice clothing. The swag he affected in front of the Royal Family was impressive. He was a different kid than the humble servant that tended Anh Long's rooster. “What?” he said roughly, covering a high pitch.

  Big Guns looked the boy over, shaking his head, as if reminded of someone. “Were you planning on dancing tonight? You should be practicing with Dong and Tran.”

  Tho folded his arms. “I'm just a stupid tail. The dragon dance is stupid.” He dropped his head. Scrubbed a sneaker over the pavement.

  Chrome exasperation flashed between Big Guns' lips. I gave him a raised brow, Give me a shot at it? He grunted, Why not? and I waved a hand in front of the kid's face. “Hey little man.” He looked at me, not in the least shy, a cocky, intelligent little motherfucker. “So you think dragon dancing is lame, huh?”

  “It's stupid. It's not even fun.” He folded his arms tight and frowned emphatically.

  I leaned down and said in a confidential tone, “Have you ever heard of the Godzilla dance?”

  Tho's mouth parted slightly, eyes huge with wonder. “Godzilla is a kind of like a dragon,” he said.

  I nodded seriously. “Except Godzilla knows how to have more fun. He doesn't just fly around and look friendly, expecting everyone to feel fortuitous – he smashes stuff and sets things on fire!”

  “Really? Whoa!” Tho exclaimed. “Can we do that? Where does Godzilla come from?”

  “You know the guys that made PlayStation?”

  “Sony.”

  “Yeah, those guys. So you know he's cool.”

  Big Guns gave me an odd look. Where are you going with this?

  I held a finger up to him and said to Tho, “Are you qualified to play Godzilla?”

  The boy started thinking hard, desperately wanting to claim he was worthy. His eyes widened suddenly and he blurted, “One time I played Mario Kart as Yoshi. Yoshi is kind of like Godzilla.”

  I clapped my hands once, sharply. “You're in!” He showed everyone his snaggle-tooth grin, skinny arms gesturing excitedly.

  Big Guns snorted at me. He looked at Tho. “Em Chai, you have to ask permission to dance the dragon. Didn't you already tell Miss Nguyen you didn't want to do it? You know how she is about people that can't make up their mind.”

  Tho's cocky smile vanished. He turned to look at a group of older women in robes, eyes resentful. I followed his eyes to the lady that had instructed the girls' fan dance earlier, surmising she was Miss Nguyen. She looked intimidating. I could see why Tho quit with the swag.

  Pep talk, my subconscious suggested.

  I squatted down in front of Tho, eye-to-eye. “Look kid. If you want to be Godzilla, you can't be afraid of old ladies.”

  He glanced at Miss Nguyen, then whispered to me, “But she's crazy.”

  Snickers from the Royal Family made Tho scowl. I just barely kept the smile from my face. I told the boy, “You can out-think crazy,” I tapped a finger on his forehead, “with this.” He gave me a quizzical look. The wine and amphetamines decided I needed to give this young prospect a lesson on working people. I took a breath and explained the ABCs of Approach. “Forget about how crazy she is. You just have to know how to approach her.”

  “How?” He stuck his hands out, palms up.

  “Whenever you want something big from someone, you have to get them to agree to something small first.” I paused for him to consider that. He nodded. I continued, “For example, if you wanted your uncle Big Guns to buy you a new video game, talk to him about something that interests him first.”

  “Like guns,” Tho said immediately. “I'm gonna be Royal Fam' too.” He put a hand on his chest and nodded importantly. Everyone chuckled.

  “Like guns,” I agreed, then noticed Blondie and Shocker were standing behind me, their perfume alerting. I glanced at them and saw Ace and Bobby, as well as an immense black lady who must be Mrs. Big Swoll, standing next to them. Two young girls in eyelet dresses, her daughters, stood a few feet behind her, watching the adults. I pretended the women weren't looking at me as if catching me doing something wrong. “Water guns. Exactly. If you know Uncle Big Guns likes Super Soakers, you can say you like them so he'll agree with you. You could talk about his car. Tell him you like his Honda better than that Toyota.” I pointed at a white Supra. “His attitude will become agreeable.”

  “Then I ask him for a new game?”

  “Yep.”

  He looked thoughtful. Looked up at Big Guns. “I'm gonna make you buy me the new Halo!”

  Big Guns snorted doubtfully. His crew snickered again.

  I told Tho, “And you're a kid. So use that too.”

  “How?” Palms up.

  I wiggled my fingers in front of his face. “Touch. Touching someone, if done right, strengthens relationships, and is a marker of closeness we recognize instinctively. Squeeze a shoulder, rub a forearm, and you trigger a process.”

  “Huh?”

  “Here's how it works: When you stimulate pressure receptors in the skin, you lower stress hormones.” At this point I realized I had completely lost the kid. He was back to scowling at the Royal Family for laughing at him. I also realized I was too high to stop myself. “At the same time, warm touch stimulates the release of oxytocin, which enhances a sense of trust and attachment.”

  “Oxy…” he stumbled.

  “Tocin. Uh.”

  “The cuddle hormone,” Ace provided. “You can experience it in many situations. Like at a barber shop. A barber touches your scalp and neck and it feels good. A good hug from someone who loves you will do it every time.”

  I grinned at him, Thanks. Tho's eyes widened. He understood the power of cuddling, apparently. He told me, “That must be how Trinh got a new car!”

  The RF burst out laughing. So did the girls, after Blondie told them Trinh was Big Guns' girlfriend. The Viet leader shot her a promising stare. He shook a finger at Tho and spouted off rapid Vietnamese that made the boy take off running, smile plastered to his face.

  “So, you're teaching kids the psychology of influence now?” Blondie asked, linking her long wicked arm through mine as I stood. “I guess I should expect more of that when we have kids.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” I replied in perfect innocence. “I'm just trying to dance. Need to test drive this new leg.” When we have kids??? She gave me her Yeah Right smirk.

  “You must be Razor,” Bobby's girl said, voice strong, tone hinting that I better not deny my identity. Her dark brown face was without makeup, pretty as a plus-size model, eye lashes and short black hair artificial but complimentary. She put a hand on her hip. Looked me over from feet to head. “You don't look like no hero.”

  I glanced at Big Swoll and gestured, What the hell, man? He wore a secret smile, proud of his wife's ability to make me uncomfortable. The giant looked resplendent in a colorful button-up, purples and blues that contrasted with the bright floral print on his wife's dress. She was nearly as tall as he was, at least six-three, two forty, well-proportioned in spite of the weight six daughters had given her.

  I glanced at Blondie's hips and flat stomach, back to her. Nope. Uh-uh. Laughter ma
de me look toward the food tables. Their four other daughters were running around playing tag with the Vietnamese kids, wired on Kool-Aid and candy.

  “I'm Pearl,” Big Swollette said, thrusting a strong hand at me. I shook it, still pondering her hero remark.

  “He's pleased to meet you,” Blondie said, taking over, shaking her head at me.

  The women started gabbing about something or other. I waved at Ace. My eyes told him, Perfect. Let's make our escape. The geek followed me through the RF members and then through the crowd under the pavilion. We approached the group of robed women surrounding Tho, stopping just in earshot, pretending we were checking out decorations lining the pavilion's roof. They weren't speaking in English.

  Ace said, “Can you understand what they're saying?”

  The Dexedrine driving my cognitive functions allows me to comprehend ANYTHING. I listened for a moment. “Shortround just commented on a skirt. No, a dress.” We watched the kid. He had all the ladies smiling, pulling at their robes and making pleased sounds. “Robes. They are agreeing about the color being nice.”

  “Tho learns fast,” Ace said.

  Shortround carried on for several sentences, saying something about dancing in a robe. He bent his legs and arms, springing them in all directions as he danced around. The women cackled laughter. The rascal spun around and stopped in front of Miss Nguyen, grabbing her shoulder. He gently squeezed it while telling her she made him feel like dancing again, he was sorry about changing his mind, and could he use the dragon to dance with two my trang, white boys?