Of the many quaint shops in San Francisco's Chinatown, Gao's Emporium was the most bizarre. There was a steady stream of customers who came late at night and left a short time later without buying anything. In the interval, the sound of an ominous gong tolled from the store. Inspector Miller knew something suspicious was going on. Was the store a front for an opium den? As he watched from the shadows, an insatiable curious and feeling of dread overwhelmed him. He checked all the police records carefully, over and over. There was not a single shred of evidence that Gao or any of his known associates were involved in any criminal activity, and this made further investigation difficult. Most police in a similar circumstance would have thrown up their hands in frustration and moved on to other cases. This was impossible for Miller for three reasons: his best friend had been found dead in Chinatown, there had been a wave of mysterious deaths, and he was the only cop in San Francisco who could speak Cantonese.
His parents had been missionaries in China, and that is where he grew up. The Boxer Rebellion made the country unsafe for any Christians, especially foreign ones, and so his family ran for their lives and bartered everything they had for passage on one of the last steamships that was permitted to leave. They landed in San Francisco and were forced to start over from scratch. Miller quickly found work as a freelance interpreter as his parents struggled to rebuild their ministry on friendlier shores. In the previous decade, hundreds of thousands of Chinese immigrants had come to strike in rich in America, and many of them chose to stay in San Francisco, the city were almost all the immigrant ships docked. Most of the immigrants were young men, and isolated in a foreign culture where the law was often indifferent to them at best, criminal gangs dispensed merciless, perverted form of justice.
It was in these harsh circumstances that Miller grew into manhood. Despite his language knowledge, it was very hard for him to find Chinese people willing to speak with him. Nonetheless, his reputation slowly spread, and on the advice of his father, he joined the San Francisco police to work as an interpreter. His career began as a lowly beat cop in Chinatown. Often, he was called to the quarantine jail on Angel Island, where almost all Chinese immigrants were held for 40 days before being allowed to move freely about the country. It was called an immigrant station, but everyone knew it was really a prison, if only a temporary one. It was meant as a precaution against the spread of disease, but for all the Chinese who passed through there, it made the tales of freedom in America seem like a cruel joke. Almost all the prisoners spent long stretches in solitary confinement which added to their agony. When their heard a strange voice speaking their language, they became naturally curious. It was in this way that Miller came to know many of the residents of Chinatown. Their help was invaluable because while Miller had mastered the spoken language, he could neither read nor write Chinese.
Back to the emporium for another night of discreet reconnaissance. How much longer could this go on? Surely someone else on the street would recognize him eventually, and his reputation would suffer. He needed a new approach, but what? Perhaps there was a clue among the poor souls trapped on Angel Island. Given his standing in the police force, he was more or less free to do as he pleased as long as he got results. He began chatting up the prisoners. It was a delicate matter. He got them to talk by smuggling in various sorts of contraband. Sometimes it was cigarettes or notes from friends and relatives. Sometimes it was food, which was prized highly as the prison rations were unpalatable to most of them. The Cantonese phrase that corresponds to "how are you?" literally means "have you eaten?" Slowly, a picture of Gao and his shop began to emerge.
It happened one dreary evening in a conversation with a man surnamed Zhou. He was wiry with intense, hungry eyes, and barely spoke above a whisper. Miller sensed that perhaps he had been a petty criminal of some sort and fled China to escape punishment. He needed to tread lightly in his questioning. He offered Zhou a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. They both lit up. Miller took a long drag to collect his thoughts before speaking.
"Make sure you hide that stuff good after I leave", he said softly as he exhaled.
"I know. I'm not dumb."
"Tell me, why would a Chinese person bang a gong in the middle of the night?"
There was an uneasy silence for a moment.
"I don't know for sure, but I've heard stories about stuff like that."
"What kind of stories?"
"Demons, human sacrifice...spooky, weird stuff like that."
"Is it for real or just a scam?"
"Some people think it's real and pay a lot for it. Me, I think it's a scam. I've seen enough street magic to know how easy it is to fool people."
"What sort of con artists would go in for a scam like that?"
"It wouldn't be thugs or street criminals. Probably an older guy with a shop or something."
That was about as strong a clue as could be. Miller bid Zhou farewell and headed for the streets of Chinatown once more. He stopped for a while to watch the sun set. It seemed like an omen.
Rather than stake out the emporium from a dark alley like usual, he casually leaned up against a wall just outside the entrance of the shop. He turned up his collar to hide his face and gambled that perhaps in the darkness, no one would see that he was not Chinese. To complete his disguise and pass the time, he sang Chinese folk songs. It wasn't long before he saw someone headed the shop.
The prospective customer was walking briskly like a man with a purpose, but he stopped for a few moments and cocked his head at Miller's singing.
"You'll never get money singing like that. There's hardly anybody around, and besides, your voice stinks", said the mystery man.
"Are you feeling lucky tonight?"
"Why wouldn't I be? Once I bang that gong, my troubles will be over."
"Oh? And how's that?"
"That gong is magic, I tell you. It only costs $20 bucks to bang it, and whatever you wish for will come true."
"Mind if come and watch?"
"I don't, but the owner might. He only lets people in one at a time. You have to make an appointment with Gao to borrow the shop key."
"Do me favor, please. When you're done, tell him I'm coming next, and bring me the key. Here's $1 for your trouble."
"Thanks, friend. Will do."
The next few minutes of waiting had Miller feeling tense. He no felt like or needed to sing. Sure enough, he saw the mystery man exit, which was his cue to enter. He was pleased to see that the inside of the emporium was quite dark, as it was lit with only a few dim candles. A voice called out to him.
"Hurry up now, please. We don't have all night."
"My bad, my night vision isn't so good these days."
"Oh, hold on, I'll get a lantern and come to you."
"No, no. That won't be necessary, just be patient, please."
"Alright, but if you knock anything over and break it, you're paying for it."
Miller breathed a sigh of relief; to have his cover blown at this stage in the game would have been tragic. He shuffled in the direction of the voice, presumably Gao's, and entered a small room. At the back, a slit opened in a door, and he was barely able to see two eyes peering out from it.
"Alright, good sir. Stick the money into the slot, wait a moment, then take the card."
Miller did as instructed. When took the card and glanced at it, he could see it was a tarot card.
"Very good. Now state your wish and bang the gong. You're the last one tonight, so leave the key on the table before you go. The card is yours to keep for good luck."
Miller said softly "I wish I knew who killed my friend." He banged the gong.
"Alright, off you go then."
"Just one more thing. Why are you handing out tarot cards?"
"It's none of your business. Now go, or I'll call the cops."
"I am a cop."
"That's not funny, mister. Now beat it."
"Come closer and you'll see."
Gao came out from behind the door and Miller stepped into the light. The look of shock on Gao's face was priceless.
"I don't believe it! How?"
"Never mind that. I know you're running a scam, but that part doesn't matter. What does matter is what you know about who's getting killed and why."
"I can give you names, but how can I trust you?"
"Cough up some names, and you'll get a nice reward. I'm sure criminals have been extorting you anyway. Be a fool, and you'll lose your lucrative business. So what's it gonna be?"
Gao hastily scribbled down some names and reluctantly handed it to Miller. Miller handed it back and took out his own pen and paper.
"Read it to me please so I can copy it. I can't read Chinese."
Gao stifled a laugh and slowly read out the names.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Gao. You'll get your reward."
It was slow going at first, but the list of names helped solve some crimes, but not the death of Miller's best friend. Sometime later, Miller spoke to the police chief about it.
"Forget it, Miller. It's Chinatown."
No comments:
Post a Comment