Changes -- A Randall Lee Mystery Page 20

  "…Really something, eh?" Tony yelled.

  I nodded, finished my drink, and thought, ‘…and she’s going home with me, buddy.’

  "Not much for dancing, yourself, though?" He said.

  With my empty glass in hand, I remembered my rule about beverages and speaking.

  And yet my mouth opened anyway.

  "You can’t possibly think you can take on everybody, Tony," I said.

  He went with one of my lines. "What?"

  I fondled my empty glass longingly and said, "Feds are involved now. I know all about the Tigers’ big ole killin’ spree. You’re the new boss. You telling me you didn’t order it?"

  "…What? No!" He said. He stared at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Why didn’t anyone ever just break down and confess to me? Why couldn’t it, just for once, be simple and easy?

  "C’mon, Tony. I’m not a cop. Just be straight with me. Your dad, your fiancée, and your unborn kid all get whacked by – probably - some rival gang. It’s a natural reaction to want revenge. It’s even natural to lash out at any possible enemy… but it’s not smart. Somebody’s already got a serious beef with your family. No point in making it worse."

  "I don’t even know what you’re talking about," he said. Just then, my lovely returned. She slid into the booth next to me, her skin shone from the light and the sweat. She looked ecstatic.

  Daniel came back too. He looked… like Daniel.

  "How’s it goin’, party poopers?" Tracy said between sips of her drink.

  "Fine," Tony said. Even with the pounding beat in our ears, it was easy to perceive that his fine did not mean fine. Tracy looked from him to me; she chewed on her straw.

  Tony was staring at me. His eyes were cold and hard.

  Something I said?

  Daniel leaned over to Tony and said something close to his ear.

  Tony shook his head very slightly.

  Tracy picked up her water glass and fumbled it, soaking the front of her already revealing dress. Without averting his gaze from me, Tony Lau took his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to Tracy.

  "Thanks," she shouted.

  He nodded but still stared at me. I chanced a glance at Daniel, just to make sure he wasn’t getting ready to spin-kick me to oblivion. The Brazilian sat with his head bowed. He might have been studying the table top or his hands; it was hard to tell with his dark sunglasses.

  "All I want is the truth, Tony," I said.

  "Are you sure?" Tracy said. It surprised me. It felt like everybody knew something I didn’t. I didn’t particularly care for that feeling.

  Apparently I wasn’t the only one. Tony Lau had turned his focus to Tracy too.

  "How long have you two been hiding?" She said to him.

  "Hiding?" Tony said. Daniel raised his head; it was pointed roughly in Tracy’s direction, so I assumed she had his attention as well. Tracy nodded and regarded him calmly.

  Daniel said, "Seven years."

  Tony spun toward him and glared. Daniel bowed his head again. I struggled, in vain, to comprehend the exchange. Tracy glanced at me and smiled slyly.

  "Who exactly is hiding from what, please?" I said.

  Tony and Daniel were silent. Neither of them looked at me.

  Over the music, Tracy shouted, "If you don’t tell I will, guys. He only wants to help. Really."

  Tony didn’t look happy. His mouth was a scrunched up sneer, his skin flushed a dark crimson. Tracy watched him for a minute and abruptly turned to me. As she opened her mouth to speak, Tony said, "Fine."

  Tracy winked at me and leaned back in the booth, crossing her arms with satisfaction.

  "Doctor Lee," Tony said and stopped, searching for words, "my father was a great man. You may not believe it, but he truly was. Throughout my life, his primary concern was my happiness, my safety. Life in a Triad in Hong Kong is not easy. Not safe. He brought the family to America so that I would not have to live the kind of life he’d had. He brought Mei Ling to the states for me… to protect me."

  He stopped and stared at the table. Better the table than me, I thought. I waited, knowing he’d speak when he was ready. The music still battered my central nervous system, but in that moment, the club felt very quiet, very still.

  "He understood, right from the first. I was so afraid, but he just… he took me in his arms, y’know, and he said that - no matter what - I was his son. I wanted to just tell the world, I was so happy then… but he told me how dangerous that could be. For me, for him… for the family. Some things are still seen as weakness. The Chinese are an old fashioned people."

  There was a tightness to Lau that I’d never noticed until now, as it loosened and unwound the muscles around his eyes and jaw. Whatever he was confessing to, it was a profound unburdening to him.

  "I told you the truth about Mei Ling. As children, we were best of friends. My father hired the astrologer who compared our signs. He was convinced that we would be a perfect couple. Years later, even though he knew, he paid a great deal of money to bring her here."

  He slumped in the booth, his eyes cast now at the floor.

  "There had been rumors, however careful we’d been. My father paid her… to help alleviate the shame. Mei Ling did not care. She was still my friend. Perhaps she even loved me a little."

  "You didn’t love her," I said. The three of them looked up at me; I felt very dense, but I didn’t know why. There was a fuzzy sort of sensation in the back of my brain, as if the connections really wanted to click but just couldn’t reach. Tracy gave me a sympathetic smile and patted my hand. Imitating Daniel’s accent, she said, "You ‘ave a jealous ‘eart, yes?"

  "Apparently, yes."

  "Yet you let me dance with Daniel," she bit her lip and lowered her chin a little.

  "So?"

  "Would you let me dance with one of the guys down on the dance floor?"

  "Well, I don’t really have anything to say about it. You can dance with anybody you want to dance with, but I wouldn’t like it."

  "Because you’d be jealous," she said.

  "Damn right," I said.

  "But you’re not very jealous of Tony or Daniel?"

  "No, not really," I said.

  "Why not?"

  I shrugged. The techno was starting to really give me a headache.

  "Might it be because they don’t look at me the way some of the other guys do?" She said.

  I shrugged again.

  She leaned in close and said something. I knew I couldn’t have heard it right.

  "What?" I said.

  She got in very close and yelled. This time there was no mistaking it.

  "They’re gay, dear," she’d said.

  78

  "Oh, just because they don’t ogle you, they’re gay?" I said. "Aren’t you being a bit full of yourself?"

  She smirked and said, "Randall, I’ve caught our waitress staring at my tits tonight, okay? I’ve gotten glances from just about everybody here. Same with the last time we all went out. It may sound like I think I’m all that, but that’s not it… a girl just learns to feel when people are staring. Usually, if I show a millimeter of cleavage, I’m dealing with looks all night. Besides, that’s not what cinched it for me. Body language, conversation, hell, even Daniel’s Capoeira name…"

  "Still," I said, "That doesn’t mean they’re gay, for god’s sake…"

  I glanced at Daniel. He didn’t seem to be paying attention. "Tell her, would you?" I said.

  "What would you have me say, doctor?" Daniel said.

  I looked at Tony Lau. He still stared at the floor. I looked at Daniel. I saw myself reflected in his glasses.

  "Oh," I said.

  Well, shit. Some fucking detective I am.

  79

  We went back to the hotel. Over coffee, I heard the whole story. Tony had been hiding, really, his whole life. He’d been a sickly child, but Jimmy Lau had gone to insane lengths to show the rest of the family - and the Eight Tigers - that his son was strong. The older T
ony got, the more important it became. To be a future leader of the Eight Tigers, he had to be tough. He had to be a ‘real’ man. Jimmy Lau had even threatened to throw several of his ‘brothers’ out of the gang for suggesting that Tony might not be up to snuff.

  When Lau arranged for his son’s engagement, many of the rumors ceased. With Lau’s acceptance and involvement in his son’s art career, the whole point became more or less moot.

  Jimmy Lau had protocols in place for choosing a suitable heir to the Eight Tigers. Unfortunately, now that he was dead, none of the other ‘brothers’ wanted to follow them. Each had their own claim of seniority; each had supposedly received Lau’s blessing.

  For Tony, the whole affair had been painful. The kid just wanted to live his own life.

  Chances were good that he would never truly be able to.

  80

  After Tony and Daniel left, Tracy and I sat in the living room area of the suite. She’d pulled those long, magnificent legs of hers up under herself in the chair and sat sipping cocoa.

  I cracked the top of a bottle of Glenfiddich, poured two fingers worth (if those fingers belonged to The Thing from Fantastic Four), and sat across from her on the couch.

  For a long while, we were silent.

  Pain still lingered in the room, and it was hard to ignore. I couldn’t imagine what it had to be like to be Tony Lau, on so many different levels. To lose your fiancée, your child, and your father in the space of a month; to live a life being groomed for something you couldn’t care less about; to be unable to love, truly love, freely.

  I looked at the goddess across from me – with the dot of marshmallow fluff on the tip of her nose from a particularly ambitious gulp of cocoa – and imagined a life in which I had to measure my glances, conceal my touches, and keep my mouth shut.

  I couldn’t do it.

  Nobody should have to.

  "… I love you," I said. The words surprised me, but they hit Tracy as if I’d fired a gun at her.

  "What?" She said.

  "You heard me."

  "Say it again," she said, her eyes shining.

  I said it again and felt some of the ache in my heart dissipate. Setting my drink on the coffee table, I got up, went to her, and knelt in front of her. She slid her legs out, unfolding them, and wrapped them around my waist. Her hands slid through my hair and intertwined on the back of my neck. Our lips met, and I felt droplets hit my face. When I looked up at her, the shine of her eyes had brimmed over, painting crystalline lines down her cheeks.

  She sniffled and shrugged, laughing a little. "Nobody’s ever said that to me before," she said. "It’s a little disarming."

  "Tell me about it," I said.

  She wiped at her eyes and leaned back, breathing slowly and deeply several times before saying, "I’ve… never really said that to anybody either."

  "It’s okay," I said. "You should only ever say it if you really mean it."

  She was staring down at our hands which had somehow come together. Her eyes rose to meet mine and she said, "…and you really mean it?"

  I nodded and kissed the marshmallow from the tip of her nose.

  81

  In our moonlit bedroom, with the sounds of the sleeping city beneath us, we laid in each other’s arms, skin against skin. I listened to the sounds of the wind against the building, the occasional passing car, and the steady tide of her breath.

  As I was drifting off, Tracy said, "Randall?"

  "Hrmf?"

  "…I love you too."

  I smiled, kissed her hair, and fell promptly asleep.

  I didn’t dream.

  I didn’t need to.

  82

  After breakfast and a water conserving shower, I kissed Tracy goodbye. She was off to visit her parents, and I was heading for a morning of punishment. Master Cheng answered the door in his pajamas – yellow footies with small Howdy Doody heads dancing in random patterns.

  "Am I early, Master?" I said.

  He blinked at me several times and said, "No, why?"

  Before I could answer he turned and disappeared into the house. He’d left the door open, a sure sign I was invited in. I closed the door behind me and went through the antiquated kitchen and down the basement steps. Cheng promptly slumped into his easy chair.

  The open concrete floor was filled with his students. They practiced their various sets without any semblance of order, sometimes crashing together in the cramped space. Master Cheng said something, and for the first time I noticed the older man sitting in the other easy chair. As the students labored, the two older men appeared to be playing Xiangqi – Chinese Chess.

  I looked around, seeking some small open space in which to warm up.

  Cheng immediately said, "Lazy American asshole, get to work…stop wasting my time."

  I wasn’t sure how I was wasting his time, since he’d barely noticed me since I’d arrived, but I wedged myself into a small alcove by a metal shelving unit covered with moldy issues of National Geographic and Playboy and began to practice the Silk Reeling exercises.

  When I was finished, several of Cheng’s students approached, bowing slightly, and asked to push hands. I did, feeling beady eyes on my back from the direction of Cheng’s chair.

  "Ay, Frankenstein! What, you eat too much French fry? Too much Big Mac? Why so lumbering? Why so heavy? Be light, be a crane!"

  And, to my partner, "Jiong Lu, do not hang off the American… he is not a meat hook."

  As I practiced more, circulating among different students and occasionally stopping for small breaks, I felt eyes on me more and more frequently. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cheng’s guest rise and approach the class. Cheng was not far behind.

  The man was almost a foot shorter than me. His hair was severe and short, plastered to his head like a helmet. His eyes were a pale grey. He wore the same long, wispy beard I was used to seeing in kung fu movies.

  The guest went to one of Cheng’s top students and assumed a deep pushing hands stance. The boy mirrored him. Moments after touching forearms, however, the boy was launched from his feet and into several of the other students. When the boy stood again, he held his arm gingerly.

  The guest paid no attention, but went to the next student. He yielded to the student’s first push, flowing around the kid like liquid, and delivered two knifehand strikes to the kid’s hip, knocking him into a shelf of old newspapers.

  Without a word, he moved on to the next student – Jiong Lu, the kid I’d been practicing with. I pushed the kid back and said, "My turn."

  Cheng stepped in and said, "Ay, American asshole-head have no manners. Pardon, sir, pardon."

  The guest just stared at me.

  I stared right on back.

  He sank into a deep stance as easily as if he were sitting on a chair. With his thighs parallel to the ground, he raised an arm as an invitation. I dropped down to his level and mirrored his stance. As I raised my arm, he made a slight shaking movement with his waist; I turned and yielded, barely avoiding the same fa-jin strike that had almost broken the other student’s arm.

  I moved in, stepping behind his right heel with my left foot, and pressed into his floating ribs with my forearm. Without moving, he absorbed the strike and then seemed to puff out like a blowfish. I kept my footing, and my position, only because I had not yet committed weight to my left foot.

  I withdrew, seeking a more strategic positioning, when, with a violent shake, his arms flew like steel whips at my head and torso.

  In the millisecond given, I had no Tai Chi defense; I simply raised my arms and tried to keep my head down. The strikes numbed my arms and sent shockwaves of agony through my skull. I was barely aware of his arms looping around, driving my defenses down, and looping up to strike – with the knuckles of his index fingers – my exposed temples.

  Before he struck his target, I saw something slide in, catch his arms, and push him back.

  Something hard and gnarled jabbed an acupuncture point in the side of my neck an
d moved down to stab at points in my chest.

  In seconds, the feeling returned to my arms and the spider webs in my head cleared.

  I saw Cheng, his bony fingers still poking me, warding off his guest with a broomstick.

  "Cannot have you killing my students, Ang," Cheng said mildly, "Bad for business."

  The guest – Ang – showed no emotion. He turned, as if to leave, and whipped his shoulder back into the tip of Cheng’s broomstick. The stick cracked and shattered, but Cheng held his position.

  Ang mounted the stairs and disappeared.

  I held my chest and struggled through a few breaths before managing to say, "Who the hell was that?"

  "Ang Su Chan. Very famous practitioner from Hong Kong. In town on business. I am surprised you have not heard of him. I invited him as guest instructor… To bruise students is good, to break them is not so good. Plus he is an asshole."

  I swallowed with some difficulty and said, "I think he was trying to kill me."

  Cheng turned, scratched his belly through his Howdy Doody pajamas, and said, "Of course he was, numb nuts, he is the man you’ve been looking for."

  83

  "What?" The old man said.

  Apparently, I’d been staring. "…What do you mean?" I said.

  "Your killer…it’s him. I find out he’s in town, I invite him, see his technique…" he said, shrugging. "Now I know for certain,"

  Spitting a curse, I bolted for the stairs, fumbling for my cell phone as I ran. I jammed Knox’s speed dial number with my thumb and wove through the house, knocking over stacks of newspapers and crashing through piles of aluminum can-filled plastic bags. Knox answered just as my foot tangled in a strand of orange twine leftover from bundling newspapers and sent me sprawling across the floor.