Red Jade by Henry Chang Read Free Book Online Page B

only as Mona. Johnny had helped their Chinese artist draw a likeness of her, a pretty face pulled from the intimate memories he’d had of her. The artist had been forging copies of Rembrandt and Vermeer, and his rendering was far better than a mug shot. Johnny had revealed conversations he’d had with Mona, described her fashion sense, anything that might provide a clue.
    Protective custody.
    He didn’t understand how or why, until he’d met the two men in the interview cell. They had made all the arrangements somehow on the basis of some phone threats against him that had been called into the prison. So they’d had to move him, per regulations.
    Now Johnny had a small semblance of the creature comforts of Chinatown. He’d survived these four months in the cinder-block cell because the two men had arranged for him to get twice-weekly rations of lo mein and chow faahn , fried rice, packs of Marlboros and oolong tea bags, Chinese newspapers and magazines. Most of all, he found comfort in the transistor radio with the special chip embedded that brought broadcasts from Chung Wah Chinese Broadcasting into the prison.
    He knew when his care packages of supplies arrived by the smell of fried rice and egg rolls wafting over from the guards’ locker room. One of the black guards had given him a packet of extra batteries for the radio, and started calling him “Mister John.”
    They’d assigned him a half hour each day alone in the exercise yard. He practiced some tai chi exercises, smoked cigarettes, puzzled over where Mona might have gone. He hoped the frigid wind of the yard was somehow touching her also.
    After almost four months, Johnny realized that the Hip Chings weren’t going to muster up the million-dollar bail bond until they had a handle on the whereabouts of the mistress. Anything that came to mind, he’d let them know. Both men were always encouraging during their visits, insisting that the Hip Chings were determined that “justice be served.” With Johnny’s help, they’d certainly find her, and in turn, he would be set free.
    “It’s only a matter of time,” the Chinese tong man always said. The way he put things, it was always when he’d be released, when they’d find the woman, when they could help him relocate and start anew.
    Dangling hope like a three-section flail, an iron kung fu whip.
    He dreaded the feeling that his life was in the hands of these two men. Still, he needed them as much as they needed him, if not more.
    A marriage of necessity.
    The Caucasian lawyer’s part was to manipulate the law during his incarceration. The tong yen , Chinese man, managed the Chinese side of things, helping to sublease Johnny’s black Lincoln out to the funeral drivers so the car would continue to make money even as he sat in prison.
    They’d even paid his monthly rent on the apartment in Brooklyn’s Chinatown.
    They’d wrapped their control around him like a closed fist.
    His emotions came back around to anger. He was mad at himself for falling for Mona’s promises, her lies. His bravado, greed, and foolishness had brought him to this cinder-block cell, in this penal colony of hok gwai and loy sung .
    Dew! Fuck! he cursed silently as he remembered how he’d helped her buy a gun off the streets, even loaded it for her. He’d left his prints on the spare clip while she’d sucked him, and suckered him.
    Deadly thoughts pulsed inside his head, keeping him awake. Fatigue only brought back images of her glistening naked body against his, her pretty head twisting and bobbing over his groin, until finally black-out sleep swept over him and obliterated the bars of the prison cell.
    “Yo, Mister John! Meeting time!”
    The guard’s bark jerked Johnny into consciousness, brought him to sit up on his bunk, staring into the shiny white teeth grinning at him.
    “Yo. Fried rice tomorrow?” the guard said.
    Johnny nodded and smiled back, saying “ Tomollo , okay.” He stood, massaging the back of his neck