This Is a Bust (9 page)

I felt a hand pull my arm rudely, and I instinctively shot my
elbow back. It was Willie Gee.

“You don't return my calls,” he said through gritted teeth as
he rubbed his stomach where I had jabbed him.

“Because I don't work for you,” I said.

“I want to know why the police department sends two lo
fan officers to protect the protesters. They don't even send the Chinese officer. How are they supposed to know what to do?”

“Everyone who comes out of the academy knows what
to do. Including how to handle a protest. A legal protest. Something that's protected under free speech in this country.”

“It's not free speech — it's free lies,” hissed Willie.

“Say Willie, did you know this woman named Wah?”

“Sure, she died. I knew her. I even gave her a raise. I already
told that darkie.”

“You watch it, Willie.”

“What? What? She was old, she died! What did I do
wrong?”

I turned to go.

“Wait,” he said, reaching for me and then withdrawing his
hand suddenly. “Come up and talk to me in my office.”

“You got problems, you talk to these officers right here,” I
said. A tractor trailer on Canal trumpeted like an elephant out for revenge and I didn't hear what Willie shouted after me.

—

I found myself daydreaming at the Kiwanis Club dinner. The photos were already taken. Now it was time to stuff

my face and listen to the speeches and awards throughout the night.

“We h
ave to fight for the human and spiritual welfare of our
children,” said the president, holding up an open palm. “Not only here, but also in our homeland, which is now in the grip of the poison that's infecting much of Asia and Africa. Earlier tonight you saw our own brave hero Robert Chow on the stage here. You may not know that he personally fought for freedom in Vietnam. Please, let's now recognize him.”

A rou
nd of applause around the room brought me back slightly. I started clapping, too. Then he droned on and I slipped back into the mud.

Is this what I became a cop for? Back when I was working
in the toy store I thought I was lucky to have a job. I didn't hate it and I sure didn't have a better idea about what to do with myself. One day, I'd been in the subway, stuck between stations. Everyone had looked pissed off or sleepy except for three black transit cops standing around a pole. They were joking around and laughing.

Right away, it brought back my experience in Nam.
It
seemed they had the kind of close love under the gun that I hadn't realized I missed until that moment. Sure they were having a good time, but if there was trouble, you could tell they were ready to swing into action. I wanted to stand up, walk over, and put my arms around them. That's how close I felt to them.

—

In August of 1973, I had been back to the world for nearly two years – as long as my active service. My father and I were sitting on the roof, drinking. For some reason, whenever I look back at this scene, the sun is up and there's a glare in my eyes, although I know for sure that it was after midnight. I almost never saw my father by daylight.

“When are you going to think about going to college?” my
father asked me. “You're not going to stay at the toy store forever, right?”

“I haven't thought about it yet.”

“Maybe you should find one that's far away from here.
California, or maybe Texas. If I had the chance, I'd travel more, see more of this country. You just send me postcards from wherever you are. You can go anywhere with the GI bill, right? Don't let it go to waste.”

“Dad, I have to tell you something. I think I'm going to
skip
college.” I was on my fifth beer and feeling loose. I felt ready to say what I had to say. He wiped his mouth with his fingers, then rocked back and forth in anticipation.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I'm thinking about becoming a cop. I have a good shot at
getting into the police academy, and my military record will give me seniority once I'm out.”

“What!” he spat. He shot out his legs, kicking roof gravel
loose. “A policeman! You're a fucking stupid idiot! This isn't China! You're supposed to make money in this country!”

“You're right, this isn't China. It's America. Being a cop is a
good job.”

“I worked this terrible job for years for your benefit, and you
piss on me by deciding to become a policeman! You should be studying to be a lawyer or a doctor! A cop! Completely useless! You might as well become a garbage man or a teacher! At least nobody's going to shoot you!”

“I knew you wouldn't understand.”

“I understand! You're stupid! I just never realized how
stupid
you were! You understand English, you were born in this country, and still you want to throw your life away! What did I save my money for? I could have just flushed it down the toilet!”

“Or maybe you could have gambled some more, or gone
to more whorehouses,” I said. “Mom knows all about it, anyway!” While I was away, before I'd gotten back to the world, he had slipped back into his bachelor-days habits.

There was a twitch in the side of his scowl.

“I don't have to listen to you! You're never going to live as
hard a life as me! Now stop this stupid idea and apply to some good schools!”

“I already got into the academy, Dad.”

—

I was at the toy store when I got a call from my mother later that week. My father had fallen off the roof. They found out later his blood-alcohol level had been three times the level of being legally drunk.

It was a closed-casket ceremony. His face had hit a non-
functioning fire hydrant on the sidewalk. They drove him around in a hearse that had a bundle of lit joss sticks clamped in the passenger-side window.

They gave me the option to defer enrollment at the
academy
, but I said I wanted to go now.

—

After forever, the Kiwanis dinner was over. I stood under a tin awning on Mulberry Street. It was about 28 degrees outside, but the heat had been on full blast inside. My sweat was still leaking out and I could feel loose Tic Tacs melting in my damp pants pocket, making my thigh tingle.

I used to keep a small tube of toothpaste in my pocket to
squeeze into my mouth and cover up my breath. Then I had trouble finding the travel size, and when I did, it was almost the same price as the regular, so I said to hell with it. I wasn't going to pay the same price for something less. That was against the laws of economics and, therefore, against Chinese culture.

Now I keep some loose Tic Tacs in my right front pocket
with the keys. I don't like the sound of them rattling around in the little plastic box. When I'm running low, I lick my finger and run it around the inside of my pocket to pick up the pieces.

“The cold doesn't stop the mailman, why should you people
be any different?”

I looked down at the midget. He was smoking.

“Mailmen take breaks, too,” I said.

“Who has a more important job, a mailman or policeman?”

“In Chinatown? People love the postman. Could be
bringing a package from Hong Kong. Could be bringing a sweepstakes winner. When they see a policeman, he's only bringing trouble.”

“Everybody doesn't think that way.”

“You tell me who doesn't. I can tell just by the way they
look at me.”

“You get used to the way people look at you,” said the
midget. He tossed his cigarette into the street. “You can learn how to use it.”

—

I went into a drugstore on Henry Street off of Catherine. I
had been on my way back to my apartment, but I was out of toilet paper and using the cheap napkins I had piled up from over-rice joints was the stuff that nightmares are made of.

It was a small store, probably only 12 by 12. The floor was
half worn-out carpet and half tile where the carpet had been torn out. Most of the floor was covered up by dented wire shelves filled mostly with hammers, plungers, and other light hardware. The guy who ran the store never said much and sat slumped against the counter, seemingly oblivious to the transistor radio chittering from somewhere unseen under the counter.

I only went there to buy toilet paper because it was the
cheapest place in Chinatown for it. I picked up a four-pack of Charmin and brought it up front.

“I don't have any shopping bags left,” the slumping man
said.

“So that means I get a discount, right?” I said.

He frowned. It was the most expressive I'd ever seen him.

“You don't think my prices are cheap enough?”

“Hey, come on now, I was only kidding.” His face resumed
its stony look when I took my money out and paid him.

I walked out of the store with the toilet paper shoved under
my left arm. It didn't stick out much, but I managed to ram it into the chest of a woman walking towards me.

“I'm so sorry — Barbara.”

“Robert! Nice to see that you're taking care of yourself.”

“I certainly am.”

“Hey, where did you go after the Girl Scouts thing? How
could you walk out on me?”

“I guess I could ask you the same question, regarding a

certain dance.”

She pus
hed her lips up into her nose. It was an ugly thing
to
watch.

“That was 10 years ago,” she said. “More than 10 years ago!”

“You take a girl out, you think you have some sort of bond
with her. I'm not saying boyfriend-girlfriend thing, but, you know, something.”

“Oh, Robert, I was so much higher on life back then.”

I looked over her left shoulder.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I asked.

“Yeah. You can.”

We went over two blocks to Wilson's on Oliver Street, a
dark and quiet place. It was no place for a date, but if the cigarette fumes were fading from your clothes and hair, the bar was a great place to get a touchup. We slid into a booth and got two Michelobs on tap.

“Why the hell are you back in Chinatown?” I asked her.

“A lot of reasons.”

“Let's go through them.”

“For one, I work here now.”

“In Chinatown?”

“In New York. Midtown East.”

“What do you do?”

“I'm a low-level associate for the American Trade Council
for U.S.-China.”

“What the hell is that?”

“What we are, really, are consultants who specialize in
business and political connections between the U.S. and Taiwan.”

“I thought you said it was the council for China.”

“Yes, Taiwan as in the ‘Republic of China.' America doesn't
have official trade links with mainland China.”

“How is business?”

“Not good, and getting worse.”

“Why's that?”

“Basically the fact is that sooner or later, probably sooner,
the U.S. is going to switch allegiance and recognize the mainland instead of Taiwan.”

“If they are going to fucking recognize a communist
country, then why the hell did they send us over to Nam?”

“What
happened in Vietnam is a part of what is going to
lead to the decision on Taiwan. If we had been able to wipe out North Vietnam, then there's no way we'd even think of abandoning Taiwan. We'd probably be helping them launch an attack on the mainland.”

She looked calm, professional, and even a little bored.

My beer was already gone and I had nothing to cool down
the anger that was building in my chest.

“Must
be nice to just sit back on your cushy Harvard ass and
write about whatever pops into your head.”

“Robert. . . “

“I was there, Barbara! They sent us into hell and wanted to
forget us when we couldn't win!”

“I know how you feel.”

“You don't know how I fucking feel! You have no idea!”

“My husband served in Vietnam.”

“Drafted?”

“Enlisted. Finished one tour and then re-enlisted.”

“When did you get married?”

“Senior year.”

“That's early.”

“If it feels right, you do it. I'm the oldest of four. I get older
at a faster rate, too.”

“Do you feel like your husband cares about you?” It was a
hard question for me to ask.

“He doesn't care about anybody anymore.”

“Two tours of Vietnam will do that to you.”

“He's dead. He was killed in Khe Sanh.”

“I'm sorry, Barbara.”

“It was years ago. I thought I could just stay in Boston and
move on with my life. But in reality, I was falling apart. My parents were going back to Hong Kong, so I figured I'd move back into the apartment.”

“Is everything working out OK?”

“I used
to know everybody. Now I feel almost like a stranger here.
Everyone you knew back then, are they still around?
”

“They're all gone for the most part,” I said. “I'm pretty far
gone, too.”

“I knew you when you were a kid.”