This Is a Bust (33 page)

—

I woke up with a dull feeling in my head, as if a sack of marbles was pressing out from inside my skull against my forehead. I swung around, put my feet on the floor and my head in my hands.

All the alcohol in the apartment was gone, but I knew
that if I went downstairs to a bodega and got a beer, the feeling would go away. I could forget all about trying to quit drinking. The thought made me drool a little bit.

My door opened and the midget strolled in. I looked up at
him.

“Your bedroom smells funny,” he said. “When was the last
time you washed your sheets?”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“About 8:30 or so. I've been here for a while. Paul let me up. I
didn't want to bother you until you were awake. You know, my brother quit drinking so I know what needs to be done.”

“I don't need help.”

He sniffed the air again and wrinkled his nose.

“That smell's definitely not good,” he said.

“So what's the plan?” I asked him.

“Well, because you get unlimited sick days, you're going to
start calling in.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“How long could it take?”

“Are you taking bets or something? Just call in sick, already.”

I reached for the phone on my desk and picked up the
receiver. Standing up made me feel like Elmer Fudd after he shot himself in the head with his rifle. I talked on the phone and didn't have to fake anything with regards to sounding woozy. It was irritating having a voice directly in my ear. I hung up at what I thought was an appropriate point and rolled back into bed.

The midget disappeared for a second and came back with
a glass of water and what looked like two tiny dried flower blossoms.

“Drink this and take these,” he said.

“No way, man. I don't go for Chinese medicine. Probably
turn me into a diabetic.”

“These are Flintstones vitamins! You probably won't be able
to eat, so these should keep you alive.”

I sat up in bed and put my back to the wall. I chucked back
Dino and Fred and washed them down with half a glass of water.

“Are you hungry?” the midget asked.

“No.”

“Then maybe you should sleep.”

“I just woke up.”

“Want to read the paper?”

“No way.”

“Want to get up and watch TV?”

“I don't want to get up.”

“Want to play a game of chess?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Want to hear some music?”

“No.”

“Do you just want to talk a bit?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Whatever pops into your head.”

“Am I going to die?”

“Someday, yes.”

“Hey! Seriously, is this cold turkey thing going to kill me?”

“No. Your body is going to feel like shit, but it's because
you're struggling to live.”

“What can I do to make it easier right now?”

“You can drink water or some lemon-barley tea that I
brought over, eat Flintstones, and sleep.”

“What about when I have to piss?”

“You can g
o to the bathroom, or I can get you a bottle to piss
in.”

“I don't piss in plastic bottles.”

“You want a glass bottle?”

I closed my eyes and slid down off the wall until I was fully
flat on the bed.

“This is funny,” I said. “All this thinking and talking has
made me sleepy. But you knew this would happen, didn't you?”

“Get some sleep.”

I didn't hear the floor creak so I eased my left eye open.
There was nobody there. I guess the midget wanted the door open so he could hear if I started swallowing my tongue. I wasn't so sure it couldn't happen.

I l
et myself slip under into a world that was dark, dull, 
and
throbbing.

—

A slight draft coming in under the sheets made me shiver. I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying in bed with no cover or clothes on. I was sweating.

Then it dawned on me that I hadn't actually left Vietnam.
I'd been left alone in a GP while everyone else was on patrol. Because I'd overslept, they'd decorated it as a joke to look like my apartment.

“How the fuck did they know,” I laughed, amazed at how
good a job they'd done.

I could hear people walking around outside the tent, so I
hoisted my M-16 onto my shoulder and covered my body with the sheet up to my neck. I was glad I had cleaned the barrel the night before.

I closed my eyes and my fingers made sure the clip was
loaded properly. I set the rifle to rock and roll. I opened my eyes only halfway and stayed heavy-lidded. I didn't want Charlie to see the full light reflecting off of my eyes.

Someone was coming into the tent through a flap cleverly
disguised as my door.

I closed my mouth tight and breathed slowly through my
nose. I looked at the door and pointed the M-16 at it from under the sheet.

A tiny black head of hair slipped into the GP.

“Chieu Hoi!” I shouted.

The boy stepped in slowly, but in an authoritative way.

“Chieu Hoi!” I shouted again.

He got closer and I could see the holes in his shirt where I
had shot him. He sat at the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing, Robert?” he asked.

“I could shoot you again,” I said. “I'll fix you this time.”

“Why would you do that?” He smelled of cigarette smoke.

“I have a rifle under here. It's pointed right at you.”

“Is it loaded?”

“Yes, I checked.”

“Well, if you're going to shoot me, you should at least let me
see your weapon. It'll be easier for me to take.”

“This is some VC trick.”

“Just keep your eyes on me.”

I pulled back the sheet and put my rifle in my lap.

“See this? I'm not fucking around,” I said.

“So I see.”

“Don't com
e any closer. I swear to fucking God, I'll shoot 
you,
again.”

The boy faced me with his shoulders square to me.

“You have to shoot me. Pull the trigger.”

“I'll do it!”

“Then do it.”

“Don't think that because you're just a kid, I won't!”

“I have a gun, too, Robert.”

I saw that he wasn't fooling. There was something
gleaming in his closed hand. He had quick little hands.

“Shoot me,” the boy said.

“Shut up!”

“Shoot me, or I'm going to shoot you.”

I pulled the trigger. I involuntarily jumped with the kick of
the rifle. But there wasn't any rifle. I looked down. What I thought was the strap of the M-16 was my belt. My hands were empty.

“Illusions are funny, aren't they?” the midget asked. He
eased a cigarette into his mouth and flipped the lighter in his hand. “Actually, I'm going to smoke in the living room. You need fresh air in here.”

—

I was jerked awake by a sharp pain in my stomach. I turned on my side and pushed my hand into it. My arms and legs were cramping. I was hungry like I hadn't been since I was a kid. I rolled onto the floor and pulled myself upright on the dresser. One drawer wasn't closed all the way and my weight pushed it closed on the fingers of my right hand.

I howled out loud.

“Robert, are you OK?” shouted Paul from the living room.

My tongue felt like it was stuffed with dust, so I decided to
open the door before saying anything.

I nearly blacked out on the 15-foot trek to the doorknob. I
threw it open.

“I want chocolate,” I said to the midget and Paul as they
stared at me. “Something spicy, too!”

“Paul,” said the midget, “go get some chocolate bars and a
beef noodle soup to go.” He tried to hand the money to Paul, who was still staring at me. “C'mon, Paul!”

Paul snapped out of it, took the money, and left. The midget
looked up at my face and kept his eyes fixed on mine.

“Wash up, Robert,” he said.
“I think you had a bloody nose and it's dried on your face.
”

—

After I had eaten and drank about half a gallon of tea, I lay down on the couch. Lonnie had come over. The four of us watched TV and didn't say much.

The Taiwan channel was saying how ironic it was that
nobody Chinese would be competing at the summer Olympics in Montreal. China was still boycotting and Canada, which had begun recognizing China diplomatically (and unrecognizing Taiwan) six years ago, wanted the Taiwanese team to drop the “Republic of China” suffix to their official name.

“We are the true Republic of China,” the Taiwanese news
anchor said,
his head held stiff at a regal angle. “Over many centuries, there have been times when barbarians have overrun the mainland. But order will follow chaos and the country will come together again after this divisive period. It has always been so. It will always be so.”

I had never felt so conflicted in my life. I was feeling a swirl
of emotions. I was grateful to the midget and even to Paul, and something was really happening between me and Lonnie. But overriding all this was a general nausea and an incredible desire to tear myself away from everybody and get my hands on just half a fucking drink.

—

A couple days later, when my mind and body had reconnected, I stopped by the toy store on Mott. The sale signs were still in the window. The door was locked, but I could see Moy in the back pushing a broom. I pounded on the door. He shaded his eyes to look at me and waved me away. I pounded again, harder. He gave up, came over, and unlocked the door.

“What do you want?” he asked. He propped the door open
with a shoulder and stood in the way, in case I had wanted to come in.

“I heard about your dad. I wanted to know how he was
doing.”

“He's
going to be okay. I put him in a care facility in Queens.”
Dust bunnies quivered on Moy's sweatshirt.

“It was a stroke?”

“No. Turns out that it was only his back giving out.”

“It wasn't because of me, was it?”

“Not directly,” Moy said with a sigh. “He tried to lift some
boxes on his own in the storeroom. You know, when you threw him out of the post office, that really broke his heart. You were like a son to him.”

“I'm sorry about that.”

“Sorry or not, it doesn't change anything.”

“Can I visit your dad?”

“He put a curse on you. You should just stay away from
him.”

“What kind of curse?”

“The kind that wishes ill will in general.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. He got it done with a monk over the phone.”

“He must really hate me.”

“He threw aw
ay everything you ever gave him. Even his nail
clipper.”

“Moy, you're not going to keep the store open?”

“I'm leaving with my collection, but someone's bought the
store and the rest of the inventory.” He looked up at the sky. Maybe it was going to rain.

“Who's buying the store?”

“The midget.”

“He has that kind of money?”

“It's not that much. It's just a cheap store that sells cheap
stuff.”

“We had a lot of good times here. What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to move to Queens with Dori and open another
store there.”

“Where in Queens?”

“Somewhere.”

“You're not going to tell me?”

“No. I'm busy now.”

Moy stepped back, let the door close, and locked it. I thought
about that entire collection of G.I. Joe dolls Moy had, including the incredibly hard-to-find Land Adventurer: Fight For Survival box set.

I stood and watched Moy move to the back of the store, out
of the light. Then I left.

Outside Jade Palace, some stool-pigeon waiters were cleaning up scraps of paper and ripping up posters the protestors had left. Willie Gee was supervising the cleanup.

“I heard you settled with the fired waiters, Willie,” I said.

He turned and lee
red at me. “I gave them what they wanted, what this whole thing was
about. Money.”

“You could have let the whole thing go to court.”

Willie dismissed the thought with his hand. “I was right,
but it wouldn't have been cost-effective to allow them to continue to tarnish Jade Palace with their lies. It's always harder to be right than wrong.”

A waiter came out with a garden hose. Two others pushed
brooms on the sidewalk where the water sprayed.

“Have to get a
ll their germs away from my restaurant,” said
Willie, smiling. “Officer Chow, are you coming to our benefit dinner?”

“Who are you benefiting?”

“The Asian-American Patrolmen's Association. They're a
nationwide organization based in L.A.”

“They're having their benefit here?”

Willie gave a smug smile.

“Our reputation precedes us, all the way to the other coast,”
he said.