The Foreigner by Francie Lin

Author:Francie Lin [Lin, Francie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-10-14T05:38:31+00:00

"HE WAS holding that book upside down," I said to Little P.

"What book?"

"The book he took off your desk. The thesaurus. He was reading it upside down."

The xifan eatery was still warm and crowded. Little P had gotten a bottle of Taiwan beer from the refrigerator and drank it wearily, leaving his porridge almost untouched. I had no appetite either; my nose was bleeding, and my temples rang. The cop’s shot had narrowly missed my shoulder, and I could still hear the singing of the bullet, feel the raw place in my throat where a shriek of terror had torn out.

"Officer Hu," said Little P. "He likes to think he speaks and reads English. He also likes to touch my things. Intimidating, he thinks."

"For my money, there’s nothing like a good old-fashioned gun for intimidation."

Little P took another swig of beer and said nothing.

"You owe me," I said, sopping up blood with a handful of tissues. "You owe me an explanation at least."

"Simple," said Little P. "Hu wants his protection money."

"Protection money for what?"

"For protection," said Little P impatiently.

"I mean, from whom?"

"Everybody," he said. "From our competitors, from the local toughs. From the police too."

"What would the police do to you?"

"Shut us down," he said.

"On what grounds? Fire code?"

"There’s no fire code." This was true. The building across from the Palace had no windows, only little bread box–size holes for air-conditioning units in the summer.

"Well, then."

He put down his beer. "Emerson, do you have any fucking idea what the Palace does?"

I flushed. "Why… KTV," I said, faltering. "Karaoke and snacks and beer."

He snorted. "If we were counting on the karaoke for cash, we’d be screwed ten times over by now."

"Drugs," I said. My heart seemed to push up through a funnel. "A front for the international drug cartel."

"Don’t be an asshole," he said, irritated. "Do we look sophisticated enough for that?"

I thought of the clerk sleeping at the reception desk and concurred.

"Well, what then? Gambling? Theft?" I threw out all the vices I could think of.

"Maybe it’s just as well." He lit a cigarette; he was in a reflective mood. Knowledge and ignorance; my heart seemed poised evenly between the desire to know and the desire to remain oblivious, just a little longer.

"The cash," I said. "That satisfied Hu, no?"

"For now."

"How about the check I wrote you earlier? Did that help?"

"Would’ve."

"You already spent it?"

He examined the end of his fag.

"For God’s sake, Little P."

He flicked ash at me. "If you want your money back, just take it out of the motel account."

"I’m not asking for my money back." I shook my head, frustrated. "Even if I did pay myself from the motel, so what? So then you would owe the Remada. What’s the difference?"

"What’s the difference?" His face flushed, the first display of emotion I’d seen all night, and he lunged across the table in a sudden rage.

"The difference is the Remada is mine," he hissed. He had my collar, and I could see the line of scarring that the stitches would leave in his forehead.

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