Chapter 2:
"La— Lao-ban, t— two orders of roast duck on egg noodle and a p— pair of wings on the d— double!"
Pausing in mid chop, the owner slash chef of the small roadside ramen shop raised his sweaty head to acknowledge the order from his waiter with a nod. He finished slicing up the roast pork, swipes the flat side of the blade underneath before he swept the chopped pieces up and onto a chipped plate. Hands still greasy from handling the meat, he picks up the plate and tosses it next to the large bowl of wonton soup atop the two-by-four makeshift countertop. The hot liquid sloshes precariously with the violent shake, nearly spilling over the lip.
Lao-ban then yells out suddenly, "Ah Gao, roast pork and wonton soup, table two!"
Gao, never missing a beat, drops the two cold glass of open Tsingtao beer down on table three before he rounds back and grabs the order for table two for delivery.
"Ah Gao, table four!"
The waiter heard his boss shout a heads up in warning for more customers and Gao nods automatically that he got it covered. Yet, when he turn and finally look at the newcomers, his body froze on the spot. Fear lit his eyes before he gulps down the huge lump forming in his throat. Hands shivering, he raises his left hand to grab the pen that perched on his ear while his right hand searches behind his back pocket to grab the pad of paper he used to take orders. In spite of his reluctance to approach the table though, Gao forces his feet to shuffle across the short distance and stands a good distance away from the newcomers, with good reason too.
Sitting on the worn square cards table serving as a diner table was four well-built, gruff looking men in their thirties. All four wore loose fitting dark colored jackets zipped part way and grey cargo pants tucked neatly in steel toe boots. Three of those men, wore continuous scowls on their faces and kept scanning the area whilst the third, the smallest and leanest of the group seem amused by their behavior. He seemed friendly on first glance but Gao wasn't fooled by that calm facade on what some would deem a handsome face.
He had heard rumors about these newcomers, despite knowing these four and a few others had been seen around the area for several weeks now. They were outsiders who just waltz into the neighborhood one day and decided to set up residence. The group somehow got a hold of old Chang's pig farm at the outskirts of town and had cordoned off the property with barbed fences. No one knew what happened to old Chang. No one dared to ask. No one went to the authorities either. Why bother the neighborhood gossipers declared. Every one in the area knew the local forces were still working on 'the massacre at Shap Sze Heung.'
Nosy Mrs. Hui from the salon speculated that old man Chang was paid off real good and is probably living the good life now in Thailand. Equally as nosy Mr. Ma from the convenient store down the street suggested something much more sinister. Just the other day, the store owner confided to Gao in a conspiratorial whisper when he came in to buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. He told Gao that the outsiders probably did away with old man Chang and fed his remains to the pigs. Those damn beasts will eat anything the store owner groused. Mr. Ma was adamant about this since he spoke with his old friend just a few days before the newcomers took over the farm. He told Gao that Chang spoke of delivering a litter of piglets that day. The old man was happy, Mr. Ma swore to Buddha, he knew there was no way Chang would give up and sell the damn farm.
Gao didn't refute Mr. Ma's claim then nor does he felt incline to now. He'd only spoke to Chang on several occasions. The man had always order the same dish every time, beef balls on rice noodles with a cold glass of Shochu. The man was friendly and always had a good story to tell of his younger years. Chang also spoke with pride about his son who works in Shanghai that was too busy to visit his old man. Odd how Mr. Ma and the rest of the neighborhood watch had concocted such wild speculations but never once mentioned the possibility that perhaps pig farmer Chang may have sold the farm to be with his son.
But despite how farfetched some of the gossip may seem, Gao suddenly felt that perhaps Mr. Ma may have the right idea after all. There seem to be a ring of truth in the store owner's words, although, much of the believability factor in this gossip depends entirely on having met the newcomers. Thus having them sitting before him for the first time with their intimidating auras left Gao with no doubt that old man Chang may have really met his demise with the very animals he declares to love.
Gao took another gulp and surreptitiously clear his throat and ask, "wh— what would y— y— you l— l — like ta—ta— to or—order?"
Those three men with the scowl gave him a once over, annoyance clearly written on their faces. Gao recognizes those looks, he'd received them plenty, but it couldn't be helped. The more nervous he gets the worse his stuttering becomes. People always loose their patience with him in waiting for him to finish a sentence. Mrs. Hui told him once to get speech therapy in the city but Gao only shook his head and told her some fancy doctor can't help him and that was that. Now though, he just might reconsider setting an appointment with one of them fancy docs if it meant he won't be beaten up by these folks for something he had to deal with all his life.
One of the men with a deep scar on his left brow ridge sniffs in disgust before he gave the orders for all his comrades.
"One… duck…. Fried fish… three… beers… octopus…."
Sweat began to dot on Gao's temple. This wasn't good. The scar man's Fujian accent was very thick. He could only catch a few recognizable words here and there that sounded like Cantonese. The customer had finished ordering and yet Gao only wrote down a few squiggles. Scar man had already turned back to his buddies and began to speak in Fujian dialect. Yet, Gao the waiter remains rooted on the spot. He couldn't leave, the order was incomplete. As much as he would like to leave their presence, it couldn't be help he had to retake the order.
Gao cleared his throat, trying to catch their attention. He was ignored, whether on purpose or not, the waiter couldn't wait, he had to get the order right and get back to the other customers. So with much bravery, Gao raised a shaking hand and tap scar man on the shoulder. It was a light tap but the man was quick to react. Before the waiter knew it, pain burst forth from his jaw and he flew back to hit the customer at table two who let out a shrill scream in reaction.
Hot soup spilled everywhere. Gao reacted immediately and began to apologize to the young lady.
"So— so— sorry! M— my mis--- ahhhhh!"
Caught in midsentence, Gao didn't get to complete his stutter before he was grabbed by the front of his green t-shirt and met scar man face to face. The man's foul breath blew against his nose and Gao couldn't help but make a face. Scar man growled in added fury and pulled back a fist to aim at the waiter's nose.
Gao made a quick prayer to Buddha and closed his eyes, preparing for the hit. It would hurt like hell, he knew all too well by the pain in his jaw. Yet, the fist never connected. Hush silence surrounded him and felt the tension in the air magnified. Gao tentatively cracked an eye open and found scar man sweating profusely, fear clearly shown in the man's eyes. Puzzled by the turn of events, his eyes widen further when he noticed the large sharp blade dripping with grease pressed against scar man's neck. His gaze lingered stupidly for a moment before it followed the attached hand holding it and surprise lit his eyes.
Lao-ban was fast. How he get that there was beyond Gao's comprehension. He wanted to ask but knew now was not the time. The look on Lao-ban's eyes meant business and the situation hadn't diffused yet. Gao knew when to keep his stuttering mouth shut.
"Let him go," Lao-ban bit out.
Gao was amazed by the sheer force of those simple words. He never knew his boss was capable of such feats but it suddenly dawn on him that Lao-ban must have been in these kinds of situations before. It was surreal yet thrilled him of this discovery. A new found respect grew within his chest for him to be working with such a man. Gao really can't wait to ask the boss later.
Scar man swore heavily as his fist tightens on Gao's shirt, seemingly unrelenting on his pursuit, the man has yet to drop his throwing fist. His eyes searched sideways, wildly contemplating whether to take Lao-ban on. That would have been foolish Gao thought. He knew for a certainty how fast Lao-ban's blade can fly. Scar man would be dead in seconds.
It would seem his compatriots knew that too. The nicer looking one of the four, step forward and gently grab scar man's taut fist. The big lug fought it at first but deflated immediately upon the smaller one's admonishing tone in saying just his name, "brother Sing."
Scar man snarled as he dropped both fists. Lao-ban immediately steps away and stood beside Gao. Still pissed, scar man gave Gao a quelling look before he shove at the waiter in disgust and sat back down at their table.
Lao-ban gave Gao a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he headed back to the kitchen, his eyes would occasionally glance towards table four in distrust.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief Gao shook his head from the lingering disorientation of the hit and gingerly reaches a hand to touch his lip. He hissed in pain at the touch.
"Let me see."
Tender fingers covered in a white handkerchief probe his cut lip without permission. Gao raised wary eyes at the man who stopped his gruff friend from hitting him earlier. Although he was grateful to some degree, the waiter wasn't going to make nice just yet. He eyed the small newcomer with mistrust at the friendly gesture.
The other merely smiled as he tended to Gao's lip and said, "Please forgive my big brother for his rash act. He's a bit hard of hearing from the war and doesn't like people he doesn't know touch him."
The waiter's lips curled in disbelief. This action caused the smaller man in front of him to smile. His face seemed to brighten, smoothing away the serious lines and dare Gao to think, making the man look younger and handsome too.
Gao shook his head of that foolish notion. The hit to his jaw must have made him addle pated.
"There all better now."
The man declared good-naturedly as he dust and smooth out Gao's t-shirt with liberal pats on his shoulder and pectorals. The waiter step back from the familiarity of the man's touches and folded his arms across his chest for protection even though it was a bit late for that.
Scar man's little brother merely smirked in amusement before he dug for his wallet, pull out a wad of cash and reach out to tuck it in Gao's pant pockets. The man's fingers lingered longer than was decent.
Gao threw a hand down and smack the other's away. He felt offended somehow. The waiter didn't waste time and reached into his pocket. He was about to pull the wad of cash out when the other stopped him. Those tender fingers that touch his lips earlier were surprisingly strong on his wrist.
"Don't. That should cover any medical bills you have and any spoiled food for the other patrons. Whatever's left, keep it."
Gao stared at the man for a while before he relented and push the wad of cash back into his pocket.
The man seems satisfied with his decision, released Gao's wrist and gave the waiter a reassuring nod before he said casually, "So are you up to retaking our order?"
Surprise must have been the operative word for the day. Gao hadn't expected after all that excitement, the fellow and his buddies would want to stay and eat still.
"Y— y— you staying?"
A hardy laugh from the man was his answer.
As the sun completed it's rotation in the sky, the small roadside ramen shop served their last customer of the day. Gao the waiter cleared off all the tables and chairs except for two before he folded them away in the shed. He then helped Lao-ban wash all the remaining dishes and put them into storage. Next they pushed the propane laden cart into the shed together. While Lao-ban went to open two Tsingtao beer bottles, Gao hauled the full trash cans and dumped them into the bin at the end of the road. He came back and wash is hands from the makeshift basin beside shed before he joined Lao-ban for an after work drink.
He sat down and gladly took the beer from Lao-ban's hand. The cool liquid flowed down his throat and sooth away some of the weariness.
Silence befell upon them in companionable solitude. Gao's good humor for the day having been exhausted, he finished his beer and stood up. While in the motion of folding his chair with one hand, Lao-ban ventured a question.
"So are you going to call that Mun Long fellow?"
Gao paused his actions, having to recall with whom the man meant when he raise assessing eyes at the other. He knew Lao-ban was itching to tease him with that one after scar man's little brother came up to him right before his group left and tuck a white cloth stained with red into his pant pockets. Then without another word, the man even had the audacity to brush the bangs out of Gao's eyes before he ran off to follow his buddies. Of course when he pulled the cloth out and opened it, it was the same handkerchief the other had used earlier with his dried blood caked on it along with a name and number.
With a sharp clank, the waiter folded the chair with more force than needed and took his time putting the seat away. Lao-ban followed closely behind him to stack his chair away too. He then grab Gao's empty bottle from his hand and threw it in the recyclable bucket inside the shed.
By the time Lao-ban had finish locking up the shed, Gao turn to leave thinking perhaps the man had forgotten about his questions. Unfortunately for him, no such luck.
"Gao… you may think us small town folks are bothered by such things, but I know you're from the city and things are different there…"
The waiter merely nodded his head in acknowledge of his boss' unspoken words. He didn't want the conversation to continue but the old man wouldn't relent.
"You should call him."
Gao debated for a while before he turn his head to the side and spoke confidently over his shoulder, "Only when the job is done."