This Is a Bust (15 page)

Yip came up out of nowhere and asked me, “You know how
to make birds sing the sweetest song?”

I looked at the loaded wire laundry cart he was dragging at
his side. It only had three wheels.

“How do you get birds to sing the sweetest song, Yip?”

“
You take a slice of dried chili pepper and stick it down the bird's throat,” he chuckled. “The bird will sing like an angel.”

“You did that to your birds?” I asked, picking up my
walking
pace.

Yip had memorized my footpost and he waited for me
along
the route like a puppy that wants to play all the time. A slow-walking puppy that talked too much and reminded me of all the disappointments I was having on the job.

His never-ending presence brought so many things to the
surface, I almost couldn't see straight. There was my visit to my mother's, getting dumped by Barbara, the dinner with Vandyne where he basically shrugged off on helping me get onto the detective track.

Of course I couldn't forget that
Yip himself had told his pal Lily
that she could do some matchmaking for me. I couldn't stand being around Yip anymore, but I did the Chinese thing by frowning at him a lot without telling him what was bothering me.

“You bet I fed my birds chili pepper!” said Yip, stepping
quicker to keep up with me. A grating sound came from the laundry cart as another wheel threatened to break off.

“Maybe you should get a new laundry cart,” I said.

“This one's good enough.”

I waved to the midget as we walked past the northern
boundary of the park. He nodded and popped something in his mouth.

“That's kind of mean, treating your birds like that,” I said.

“I never killed any of my birds. It's like a little kid eating hot
food for the first time. Some of them even started to like it.”

“I never had birds.”

“Maybe you should get one! Birds are the best pets. They
sound beautiful and they're nice decorations, too. You don't need to walk them, and they're so easy to feed.”

“Where are you going?” I suddenly asked Yip.

“To Bayard. That way.” He pointed down the street.

“Do you need a hand?”

“No, no, no! I'm fine!” He set the cart down and his eyes
went teary. “These are Wah's clothes. I'm going to donate them to charity. I can't have them in the apartment anymore.”

I looked at the laundry cart. Everything had been stuffed
in a dirty plastic garbage bag. If that was Wah's entire wardrobe, it couldn't have filled three dresser drawers. I had more clothes than her when I was a kid.

“Where are you going to donate them?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

I took a deep breath. “How about taking them down to the
church?” I asked.

“That's a good idea! Which one?”

“Any church,” I said.

He had a lost look on his face.

“I've never been to a church. I don't know which one to go
to,” he said, biting his lips.

I f
elt a little bad for being so sharp with him. I looked at
his little noodle arms. “How about the Lutheran church at the end of the park? I'm sure they have some sort of needy program.”

“The one with the tiny windows?”

“By the bend in the street.”

“I know that one! I walk by it every day!” He walked by it
every day because I walked by it every day.

“Okay, Yip, I have to keep walking here.”

“Okay, Officer Chow! I'll see you later!” He picked up the
handle to his laundry cart again.

“Yeah, see you later, Yip.” I watched the cart slip out of his
hands, smash against the curb and fall over. I turned and walked away before he could ask me for help.

If I didn't watch myself, I'd end up taking those clothes
down to the church myself. After that, I'd be carrying Yip up and down the stairs.

On February 7, the communist-biased newspaper boasted that Beijing had named Hua Kuo Feng to succeed Chou En Lai as acting premier. Judging from the photo, Hua had the official look down pat — strong nose bridge, thick eyebrows, and big forehead.

I spent the end of my 1600-0000 footpost walking past
closed storefronts and avoiding puddles.

I
got back home and landed on my couch. It was about 0100,
a time when all the good American shows were already over. I dragged out a few Japanese beers from the fridge and flipped over to the Chinese channels.

The Taiwan news program talked about how rising crime
in America was due to violent shows like “S.W.A.T.” and “Barretta.” They didn't know these shows were about fighting crime, and that the bad guys always got caught.

The communist channel was broadcasting a concert put
on by steelworkers' kids. Boys and girls dressed in scratchy gray suits hacked away with their bows. They were so stupidly serious in the close-ups that it looked funny. If they could have seen themselves, they would have fallen over laughing, but their eyes were fixed hard on the music sheets, as if the notes would change if they blinked.

The wide-angle shots were a hoot, too. Seeing that much
black hair bobbing in time made me think of industrious worker ants storing up food for the winter.

I guess that made me the lazy grasshopper.

I laughed hard at that and pulled my feet up on the couch
and stretched out.

There was a rude knock a
t my door. I shook my head and
stood up, surprised at how stiff I felt.

I pulled the door open and a man came tumbling on top of
me. It was Vandyne.

“What the hell's wrong with you!” he shouted at me. I stood
there in a stupor, not knowing what I had done. I felt like I'd been caught not cleaning my room.

“Were you leaning on my door?”

“I was trying to listen in! How many knocks does it take for
you to answer the door!” Vandyne shouted again.

“Cripes, what are you yelling about?” I asked. My mouth
had gone dry and my voice was breaking. “Here, I want to show you something funny on the television.” I tripped

over to the couch, but the television was tuned to a show 
in German.

All the Asian channels switched over to European
languages
at 0500. That meant that it must be morning. I'd fallen asleep and the night was over. It made me smile.

“What'
s so funny? All I see is some fool sitting on his couch
drinking all night. That's not funny. That's sad. You drink all this last night?” Vandyne thundered, kicking away an empty bottle.

“No,” I lied, “it's from this week.”

“You've got six, seven bottles sitting around. Nice life you
got yourself here.”

“You know that you're cramping my style?” I lay back down
on the couch and leaned my head back to a comfortable angle. “Why are you barging in here at this sensitive time in my life?”

“Sensitive! Your problem is that you're anything but
sensitive!” Vandyne was sputtering. “This couple came into the Five, saying you assaulted them during the Chinese New Year parade. They also said you used inappropriate language and your breath smelled of alcohol.”

I sat upright and cracked my neck bones.

“Fucking bullshit!” I said. “They were interfering with a
police officer in the line of duty!”

“They're schoolteachers from Connecticut. They were there
with their students. And they had a TV camera, Chow!”

“They touched me! You put your hands on someone, you
better be able to back that up. I don't care if they're teachers or Muhammad Ali!”

“We're not talking about a scrap. You took on two liberals!
They're going to the Civilian Complaint Review Board.”

The CCRB sounded impressive, but it actually had no teeth.
Maybe I'd get an order to do push-ups. I laughed at the thought of it.

“The CCRB! What a joke! That's not going to be a problem,
Vandyne.”

“You need help for your drinking,” Vandyne said, softening
up. “That's the honest truth, brother.” He didn't know what to do or say, and that made me feel like I'd let him down.

“Vandyne, everything's going to be all right, man. It's okay,”
I said.

“One thing a good relationship will do for you is give you a
source of strength. You need a good woman.”

“You know what the divorce rates are like?”

“You take care of each other, you don't have to worry about
it. Look at how my wonderful marriage works.”

“Then how come you don't have kids?”

Vandyne
made a face like he needed some dental floss. Then
he relaxed a little and changed the subject.

“Anyway, Chow, that invitation to come to our home for
dinner is still open. You should come soon. Rose hasn't seen you in a while, and you'll have another shot at making a good impression on her.”

“Later this month. I promise. Tell me what to bring.”

“Bring the good Robert Chow.”

The last time I had seen Rose was at the minority policemen's picnic in Central Park. I'd known that alcohol wouldn't be served, so I'd juiced up before going.

I remembered laughing with people and having a good
time. A few days later, they told me that I'd puked in a cooler.

A wave of exhaustion came over me and I thought about
getting into bed.

“I'll come over for dinner soon, but right now I'm just gonna
hit the sheets,” I told Vandyne. The television suddenly seemed to grow in volume. I pointed to the set and said, “Vandyne, can't you turn that thing down?”

—

I was coming around Doyers Street later that week when the barber Law called out to me. He was leaning against the open door of the barber shop, smoking.

“Robert,” he said, “when are you going to let me finish your
haircut? It's still lopsided. You look like a crazy person.”

“My
hair looks fine,” I said. “Everything's grown out.
Anyway, I've got my cap on.”

“I can
tell there's something wrong! It's bad publicity for my
shop!” Law stuck his cigarette into one side of his mouth and reached out with both his hands. “Look at this!” he said, pulling off my cap and brushing my hair. “Awful!”

Seriously, it had been looking all right to me. Barbara, too,
I
thought. But maybe it had been one more thing that had turned her off.

“I don't have time for this right now,” I told Law.

Law looked my cap over. “What's this?” He pointed at the
playing card stuck into the clear plastic pocket inside 
the crown.

I grabbed my hat back and stuck it back on top of my head.

“What was that, the eight of hearts?” asked Law.

“Yeah, the eight of hearts.”

“What's it doing there?”

“It's for good luck. A lot of cops have pictures of Jesus or
Mary stuck in there so they don't get shot. All I need is the eight of hearts.”

“With your hair like that, you already look like you don't
have a full deck up there, okay? Hey, come inside. Let me finish. Hey, free! I'll do it free!”

“Law, I don't have time right now.”

“If you didn't have that uniform, everyone would think
you were a delinquent!” he muttered, slipping inside the barbershop. He sucked on the cigarette like it was holding something back on him.

“I have a shield and a gun!” I said after him. “That's how
people know I'm good!”

After the shift was over I went back to Martha's to go see
Lonnie. The place was a madhouse in the morning, but in the early evening, it was nearly empty. An old couple sitting near the door shared a cup of coffee and a Taiwan newspaper. A small piece of wax paper with some crumbs on it sat on the table between them.

The punk kids
who usually slummed around the bakery weren't around. I
hadn't seen them since I'd shaken up their leader.

Lonnie was sweeping the floor. Dori was probably in the
bathroom, running an emery board over her fangs.

“Officer Chow,” Lonnie said with surprise, her face
reddening slightly.

“Hi Lonnie. I just came back here to ask you something,” I
said.

“Yes. What is it?” she asked.

“Well, you put something in my bag this morning, with
the hot dog buns and coffee.” I pulled out the crumpled flyer
from my back pocket. “I'm sorry, but the coffee spilled on it. There's some kind of church dance or something this Saturday?”

Lonnie was very red now. “Yes, my church is having a
spring dance. It's to celebrate the new year even though it's on Valentine's Day. It's not really a big thing. Not too many people go. It's not important.”

“Are you asking me to go?” I asked.

“I didn't know if you like dancing,” she said.

“Are you going?”

“I'm on the dance committee, so I have to be there. I'm in
charge, actually. It's to raise money for the youth programs.”