Ghost Month (26 page)

“Thank you,” I said. He slipped away back to the street. To Nancy I said, “That guy was looking at your ass.”

“He was only looking. There was no touching.”

“Still.”

Nancy leaned against me and grabbed my hand.

“We’ll be safe here,” I said. “German wouldn’t give us away.”

“Singing together might be fun.”

“We don’t have to go in if you don’t really want to. We could go back to my place.”

“I do want to go in. I haven’t been to karaoke in more than a month.”

T
HE
B
EST
W
ESTERN LOBBY
was crowded with artificial cacti with right-angle elbows and microphones and drinks clamped in their prickly mitts.

Something light landed on my head. I pushed back the brim of the foam cowboy hat and stared into the cleavage of a hostess wearing a feathered headdress and a short leather skirt.

“I want a blue hat like his,” complained Nancy.

“Blue is for boys,” said the hostess, “pink is for girls. Time for you to check in with the sheriff now.” Her fringed sleeves shimmied as she swept her arms forward.

“I’m Sheriff Chang,” said a stocky man wearing a large hat that featured the word “Coyboy” embroidered in misspelled English. There was indeed an arrow through it. “What are you laughing about? When you come into my territory, you best be behaving yourselves!”

He didn’t seem to be acting very coy, which only made me chuckle some more. “I’m supposed to give this to you,” I said, handing him the slip from German’s little brother. Sheriff Chang lightened up immediately.

“You’re special guests!” he announced. “First round of drinks and first hour are on the house.” The sheriff moved in like he was going to hug me, but felt me up instead, including up the insides of my thighs. “No weapons allowed in the territory,” he offered, winking at Nancy.

KTVs are infamous for drunken fights, sometimes with knives and pipes. Even the toughest guys in the world feel vulnerable to criticism when they sing.

Sheriff Chang unlatched a box and opened the lid, revealing a pair of pistol microphones.

“Here you go, kids. Take the Shootout at the OK Corral Room, right through there.”

We walked down the corridor, which was decked out with rickety planks, fake torches and plush canaries in cages.

“You get it, Nancy?” I asked. “We’re supposed to be in a mine.”

“They did a good job!”

Surprisingly, the inside of the room wasn’t adorned at all. It looked just like any other twenty-year-old KTV. The videos were old as hell, too. The songbooks didn’t have anything from this century. Which was fine with the two of us. Once we’d flipped past the country and western songs, it was the best of the ’80s, including Joy Division, New Order, Echo & the Bunnymen and The Clash, who Nancy gushed over.

“They were so cool!” she said. “They had a real political message, too!”

“All these bands … are English,” I said. “Maybe that’s why this place is called ‘Best Western’! Everything’s from the West.”

“Does that bother you?” asked Nancy as she cued up “White Riot.”

“I just wish Taiwan had a band with that defiant vibe. Instead they all go for cuteness, like those girl groups and boy bands. They don’t even play real instruments. You know what I mean.”

“I do. You might like that band Boar Pour More. They never officially released anything, but they played a bunch of shows.”

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never heard their stuff.”

“They have a MySpace page.”

“I don’t use MySpace.”

Nancy stomped her foot. “It was my band.”

“I’ll check it out, Nancy. Were you the singer?”

“I was the drummer. Actually, we were really bad. Maybe you shouldn’t check it out.”

“But I—”

She cut me off by handing me a gun mic. “C’mon, you have to help me on the choruses!”

Once you’ve done “White Riot,” you have to do “London Calling,” “Rock the Casbah” and “Train in Vain.” The songs were all
KTV extended mixes, calculated to make you stay longer and pay more because you’re renting the room by the hour. Next thing you know, it’s three in the morning and you’re all lining up at the ATM in the KTV.

Three quick knocks came at our door and before we could say anything, in walked a woman wearing a rhinestone-studded bikini, cowboy boots and a big smile.

“Howdy, partners,” she said in English before continuing in Mandarin. “Can I get you something?”

“You mean drinks?” I asked.

“Or food or cigarettes?”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to smoke in the rooms,” said Nancy.

“We could all step outside and share a smoke.”

Was this lady a house prostitute or just pushy with the amenities?

“We’re fine for now,” said Nancy. “We’ll call if we need you.” The woman whipped out a phone camera from somewhere. “Smile! I want to put you two on our wall!” We obliged. “Adios!” the bikini lady said cheerfully. When she was gone and the door was closed, Nancy slapped my shoulder.

“Her boobs are fake, you know,” she said. “You don’t need to inspect them that closely!”

I showed Nancy the open palms of my hands. “She was bending over, pushing them into my face!”

“You could have moved away!”

“You’re jealous!”

“I’m angry!”

“Don’t be mad at me. You’re the only one I love.” I backpedaled immediately. “I mean, the only one I could love.”

She blinked and I saw her pupils darting around. “You have to sing ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ for me,” she said.

“If it will make you happy, I will.”

I was kidding around, being as melodramatic as I could, but halfway through the song I felt my stomach tighten, and it wasn’t because of the bruise. I looked into Nancy’s eyes and saw she was still that girl in high school with a crush on an upperclassman.

When I was done, I shut off my mic.

“I can’t fall in love with you, Nancy,” I said to the floor.

“I wouldn’t let you fall in love with me,” she said. “Not until you’re done with Julia.”

“Maybe I’ll never be done with Julia.”

“Maybe,” she said, turning to the songbook and studying the titles intently. “I’m a little thirsty now. Why don’t you pick up the phone and call your friend?”

“She’s your friend, too.”

I ordered two Kirins, and a man dressed as a cowpoke brought them in. “They sent him to even things out for us,” I told Nancy. “Feel better?”

She grumbled. Julia would have never grumbled at me. I liked how Nancy was honest about how she was feeling.

Nancy gave Joy Division’s “Transmission” a shot, singing it probably two octaves above Ian Curtis. It lent the song a feeling of innocence, and the lyrics about the societal alienation of the individual were recast as the narrative of a child asking why his parents never really loved him and now they were dead.

“You’re crying, Jing-nan,” said Nancy.

“That song makes me cry sometimes.”

I changed the energy in the room with the dancy “Bizarre Love Triangle” by New Order.

It was right that they’d decided to carry on. It was right that they chose to do what they loved.

After a while, I became irritated at the mix of the song. It must have gone on for fifteen minutes—most of it instrumental. I made Nancy jump up and down with me while we pretended to shoot our guns into the ceiling. I forgot all about our panicked flight from the love hotel earlier.

After what seemed like only a few more songs, we stumbled out of the room and handed back our gun mics. Sheriff Chang rang up our bill.

“That’s six thousand NT,” he declared.

“Hey, wait a second,” I said. “We were supposed to get a deal.”

“Yeah, the first hour was free and so were the beers. You were in our best room for two charged hours, and I’m rounding down,
too.” A hundred US dollars per hour. What a scam. I wondered how many times German would strongly encourage me to visit.

Nancy handed over her credit card.

“Now, little lady, I quoted you the cash price. I’m sorry, but I have to add another ten percent for credit.”

“That’s fine. Also, put in another two hundred NT for a tip for the waiter,” she said.

“I like your style,” said Sheriff Chang. He swiped her card and handed it back. To me, he said, “I like your friend. What’s her name?”

“You just saw her card, sheriff,” I said. “Her name’s Nancy.”

“No, I mean your other friend. The one with the car-crash bags.” He cupped his own breasts, which were, truthfully, impressive in their own right.

Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

“You mean the girl in the bikini?” asked Nancy. “She doesn’t work here?”

“I
wish
she did! She came in looking for you, Jing-nan!”

“I’ll tell her you like her,” I managed to say.

“She’s got a job here, if she ever wants one!”

Nancy signed her receipt and we walked out.

“I wonder what this all means,” she said.

“It’s bad,” I said. “Now that they’ve got a picture of you, you’re mixed up in this, too.”

We met up with German and his boys, who were still watching over our car. He thanked me loudly for visiting his KTV. Then he put his arm around me and walked me to a poorly lit section of the street.

“I have bad news, Jing-nan,” he said. “You’ve pissed off some pretty powerful people.”

“It’s Black Sea, isn’t it?”

“The only thing I know for sure is that the Americans are involved.” He turned and spit into the road. “You’re in some serious shit.”

“They already warned me.” I put my hands in my pockets.

“Then lay off, already. I don’t know what you did, but just stop doing it.”

“I did stop.”

He put his hand on my shoulder, not in a menacing sort of way, but like a little-league coach. “Stop even looking like you might do it again.”

“Who told you, German?”

“I heard through the grapevine. People saw you go into the Best Western. I don’t want you to bring any trouble there, you got me? It’s a legit business, and I’m keeping it clean.”

I cracked my back. “Trouble’s been following me.”

“Stop bringing it into the neighborhood, because then it becomes trouble for me and then I have to take care of it. Then it’s going to cost you. Understand?”

“I got it.”

“Here’s what I suggest. You and Nancy get in the car and go somewhere else tonight. Don’t ever bring that fucking car back here. You two want to come back to your place, take your shitty moped or the train.”

I looked over at the car. It looked like it had been Photoshopped into a picture of this worn-out block.

“The car’s pretty conspicuous, right? The Americans will know when we’re around because of it.”

“Fuck the Americans,” said German with a scowl. “I’m just noticing my boys like that car too much. I can’t watch over them twenty-four hours a day, and a car isn’t the biggest thing they’ve made disappear.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nancy lived in a luxury apartment complex in the Da’an District. We pulled up to one of the entrances and a skinny man in a red uniform stepped out immediately and opened Nancy’s door.

He chirped, “Good evening, Miss Han,” with his head down.

It must have been four in the morning, but he was as lively as if it were four in the afternoon.

“Hello, Yeh-jung,” said Nancy. She left the engine on and stepped out of the car. I didn’t think the man could see me under the low brim of his hat, but he nodded to me over the car roof as I exited.

Another man in a uniform with the same build as the first attendant spun the revolving door for us as we walked through.

“Good evening, Miss Han,” said the man.

“Hello, Chao-tang,” she said.

Chao-tang brought his head up and looked at me casually.

“Hello,” I said.

“Good evening, sir.” I thought I heard his heels click.

We walked the length of a giant salt-water aquarium to get to the elevators. A bright yellow fish shaped like an uncut starfruit kept pace with us before giving me the eye and darting away.

“This building looks really familiar for some reason, even though I’m sure I’ve never been here before,” I said.

“We were on the news a few times,” Nancy said with some weariness in her voice. “Whenever people want to protest, they come here to target the rich and politically powerful. The last group was that anti-nuke group who said that when the New Taipei City reactors leaked radiation we’d have to abandon our luxury apartments. One guy tried to grab my collar when I was walking out.”

“Seems like a small price to pay when you live like this. Do you realize how underdressed I am?”

“Don’t be silly. The men who actually live here dress like slobs, because they don’t care about trying to impress anybody. The women are different, though.”

I looked over the walls near the elevator doors. The only things I saw were smooth tiles and my confused face reflected in the mirrors.

“Where are the buttons?”

“It’s sensor-driven. We call the elevators by just standing here.”

On cue, the door in front of Nancy slid open as a chime suspiciously close to the default ring of an iPhone sounded. As I followed her into the car, another elevator opened up to my right. I turned around in time to see our doors close on a woman focusing an accusing glare on us.