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"Ho-Li Fook On Goombah Island"


9/20/2011

I.

Sheng Mo-Yuan paused on the corner of Baxter Street in lower Manhattan as he tried to follow what two women were arguing about. His Cantonese was getting better. Sheng was hardly fluent and Uncle Pao said his accent sounded like a dog choking on a chicken bone, but at least he could carry on a conversation with only a few questionable moments.

On that dry and comfortable Autumn afternoon, Sheng stood a few feet away, trying not to be obviously watching the debate. At thirty, standing five feet five and weighing one hundred and fifty, he was obviously in great athletic trim. The tailored brown busines suit with its tan dress shirt and narrow black tie fit perfectly. He took pains with grooming and enjoyed looking his best. To most Americans, Sheng did look Asian but his high cheekbones and eagle-beaked nose hinted at his true origin in the realm of Chujir.

Standing on the stoop of an ancient brick building which had a cardboard sign FURNISHED ROOMS TO RENT tacked on its front door was a stout middle-aged Chinese woman who had an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. >"You have had five 'second chances,'"< she scolded. >"Out you go!"<

Pleading with her was an unreasonably pretty young woman also of Southern Chinese ancestry, no more than twenty, with long glossy black hair, untidy bangs and a face which needed no make-up to break hearts. Her charms seemed to be of no use at the moment, though. >"Please, pleassse, Mrs Zhang, my mother will be sending me money when she gets off work..."<

>"That song does not sound sweeter because you have sung it before. Begone, Miss Fook. Show me how you look walking away."<

The girl had a sob in her voice that would make a statue sympathize. >"At least let me get my things. All I have is what I'm wearing"<

>"You agreed your belongings were your security deposit. I'm going in."<

>"No, no, I promise my mother will go to Western Union at five..."<

The landlady held out her hand, palm up. >"Put two hundred dollars here right now."<

Sheng suprised himself. As a KDF member, he had an expense account and a platinum Visa card for business related matters but he usually carried a good amount of cash for bribing stoolies, bartenders and security guards. Reaching into the pocket sewn in his waistband on the right, he covertly pulled out a thick packet of bills and counted off two hundred, in two fifties and five twenties. Then he stepped forward and waved the money so the landlady could see it.

>"Sorry I'm late,"< he announced, >"But I hope this clears everything up."<

The young woman twisted her head around and managed a confused smile. But the landlady was less impressed. >"Who are you? Why is this your business?"<

>"Our families know each other,"< Sheng lied. His detective agency, CHUAN LO-TSING ("Hard-Working Fist") had polished his skill at making up impromptu lies. >"Are you going to turn down good hard cash?"<

Far from hesitating, the woman snatched the money quick as a mousetrap snapping shut. >"Well, it seems you are spared another week, Miss Fook. Very well."< She gave Sheng a scornful appraisal and went inside, ripping down the piece of cardboard that advertised rooms.

Seen at close range, Miss Fook was flawless. Her smile revealed perfect shining-white teeth, her peach-toned skin was smooth and soft, and her eyes had the brightness and clarity of youth. The inner eyelid fold was not very marked. >"Thank you so much, but I am sure we don't know each other?"<

"I hope you speak English," Sheng ventured.

"Oh, of course, I'm in my first year at NYU. So, you're not from the old country?"

"No. And I wasn't brought up speaking Mandarin OR Cantonese. Hello. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan."

She held out a tiny hand, which Sheng shook and felt as if he had touched a live wire. "My name is Fook Ho-Li. I know, I know, my parents had no idea how it would sound to Americans. Ho-Li Fook, honestly. I use the first name 'Sue' most of the time with white people but you can call me Holy."

Realizing he was still holding her hand, Sheng released it and cleared his throat. "Nice to meet you, Holy. Maybe we can get coffee or something to eat nearby."

"I'd like that." She gave him a brain-stunning smile as if gifting it, then glanced down at her baggy sweatshirt and jeans with one knee out. "Just let me run upstairs and change. You're dressed so nice, I want to be appropriate and I have a little black dress I never get to put on. Be right back."

The girl went inside and Sheng put one foot on the lowest step of the stoop. He glanced at his Rolex Perpetual and saw it was two-thirty. He couldn't believe the timing. Not only did he have no KDF duties but since his Fist For Hire office didn't open until midnight, his schedule was open for a change. Where should he take this girl Holy? He hoped she liked Italian food, there was a little bistrol on Canal Street that served shells stuffed with fresh mushrooms....

Twenty minutes later, he finally gave in and rang the round white doorbell. A minute later, the door creaked open an inch to reveal rheumy blue eyes behind thick glasses. "Yeah?"

"Um, excuse me, I was waiting for Miss Fook?"

"WHO?"

"Miss Fook. Maybe you know her as Sue, she's a cute little Chinese girl. I expected her to be ready by now."

"Nah. You got your signals crossed, son. Ain't no Chinese gals here, cute or homely. This place caters to retired folks like me, mostly Jews to be honest. Maybe you got the address wrong."

Sheng's chest felt cold and heavy. "Oh. Could I speak to the landlady?"

The old man sounded unbelievably exasperated. "Landlady? Landlady? Norman Filmont owns this building." With that he slammed the door and the sound of a lock clicked.

Sheng turned and started walking north. All the color had gone out of the day. Everything looked grimy and worthless. Detectives were supposed to be shrewd and cynical and not trust anyone, some detective he was.

( the rest of the story )