Chapter 1

It was a cold night in early March and the sun had set two hours earlier. I was walking toward the parking lot where I had parked my car. As I passed an alley I heard taunting voices.

“So you like America?” one voice said.

“I love America,” came the reply in an accented woman’s alto voice.

“Then let’s hear you sing ... sing My Country ‘Tis of Thee.”

“My country ‘tis of thee...”

I approached the commotion and saw three skinhead youths menacing a petite Asian girl.

“Hey, guys,” I said, “Don’t you think you should pick on someone your own size?”

The erstwhile leader of the pack reached into his pocket and retrieved a switchblade. He pressed the trigger and it extended. He turned toward me. “Yeah -- great idea!”

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a chrome-plated object and pointed it toward the three.

“Oh, such a little gun,” one of the three taunted.

“Come on big man -- now you gotta shoot.”

I nodded toward the girl and she took to her heels. The three punks advanced on me.

“Come on, shoot...”

I backed from them until stopped by a wall. The leader was within spitting distance when red and blue flashing lights illuminated the alley.

The three skinheads scattered. “Hey watch it! He has a gun!” one of them hollered toward the policeman stepping from his squad. His partner approached me with his gun drawn.

“Drop it and keeps your hands up.”

I dropped the object. The first cop picked it up. “This is your ... gun?” he asked. I nodded. “Cover me,” he told his partner. “Arms out...” He patted me down. “Got any ID?”

I fetched my wallet from my pocket and pulled out my driver’s license. The cop sat in his squad and manipulated the computer. He returned to me, handed me my license. “Okay, pal ... have a better one...”

The two cops headed toward their squad, laughing.

I headed back down the street. The magnitude of what had just happened -- and what nearly had happened -- was beginning to sink in.

I passed a laundromat and heard a voice. “Hey, mister...”

I turned and saw the Asian girl the punks had menaced. I regarded her -- she had a pretty, oval face, waist-length black hair and dark brown eyes with the characteristic Asian shape. Her skin was dark yellow-brown. She was wearing a knee-length skirt and black tights.

“Hi,” I said. “You okay?”

“I ducked in here and called 911.”

“Good thing -- thanks.”

“No -- thank you.”

“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but after that I need a drink. Join me?”

She walked with me toward a corner bar. The bouncer stopped us on the way in. “ID please, miss...”

The girl opened her bag and handed him a card. He handed it back and nodded us in.

“You’re legal?” I asked. “I was sure we were busted.”

“I turned twenty-four last week,” she replied.

“Twenty-four? You don’t look a day over eighteen.”

She accompanied me to the bar and I placed my order. “Scotch, straight, no ice ... and water on the side.” I looked toward her.

“Coke,” she said.

“And, a Coke.”

The bartender set the glasses on the counter and I set down some bills. “Keep it,” I said. The barman touched his temple as a salute and we carried the glasses to a table.

The girl picked up her glass and I could see her hand tremble. “Got the shakes?” I asked. She nodded. “Me, too.” I sipped my Scotch.

“I was lucky,” she said, “that someone with a gun came along.”

“Do you mean this?” I reached into my pocket and placed on the table a small antique chrome-plated monkey wrench. Then I picked it up, holding the jaws in my palm and the handle extending outward. “In dim light it does look a bit like a Saturday-night special. That fact dawned on me when I brandished it to the clerk at the shop where I bought it. He nearly jumped out of his skin.” The girl picked it up and examined it. “It’s an antique,” I explained, “those sorts of wrenches aren’t used much these days -- they’ve been superseded by crescent wrenches. I collect antique tools. I happened to spot it in the shop today and bought it.”

She laughed. “You have balls,” she said.

“Or, no sense.” I regarded her. “I think I’ve seen you ... some-times at the Asian grocery on Wells.”

She nodded. “I work there Sundays.”

“I knew it.” She sipped her Coke. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Mae,” she replied. “Mae Phan.”

“I’m Lenny -- Len for short.”

We nursed our drinks in silence. Mae drained her Coke and set down her glass. “I’d better be going.”

“Me, too. Look -- my car is around the corner. Can I drop you off somewhere?”

“I’ll take the bus -- the stop’s just outside.”

“Okay, Mae -- see you around.”

The following Sunday I parked outside the Asian market on Wells. Once inside I filled my basket with rice and noodle bowls and packs of ramen. When I arrived at the checkout I discovered Mae running the register.

She began punching in prices without looking up. “Ten forty-seven,” she said.

I handed her two bills. “Hi, Mae.”

She looked up. “Len...” Then she reviewed my purchase. “This is what you’re buying?”

“Yes -- for lunches and the odd dinner when I’m feeling particularly lazy.”

“I hope you normally eat better than that...” She regarded me. “Do you like Thai food?” she asked

“I love it.”

“Are you busy tonight?”

“No -- I’m free tonight.”

“Why don’t you come to my place? I’ll make you a home-cooked Thai dinner -- my way of saying thanks for helping me the other night.”

I nodded. “That would be great. What time?”

“The store closes at five.”

“I’ll pick you up here.”

She gave me a little wave as I picked up my bag and headed for the door. I killed the rest of the afternoon running errands and at five parked again outside the Asian market.

“We’re closing,” the woman behind the register called to me as I walked in.

“I’m here for Mae,” I replied.

“Mae,” the woman shouted. “Someone for you.”

“Hi,” Mae said as she approached carrying a grocery bag. “Let me get my jacket.”

“I’ll take this,” I said and relieved her of the sack. I opened the passenger door for her and then put the bag in the trunk.

“You navigate,” I said.

“Do you know Maple Street?” I nodded. “Near fifty-third.”

“Okay, boss,” I said and put the car in gear.

I was headed toward an older, residential part of town. Mae sat quietly as we drove.

“You keep looking at me,” she finally said.

“You’re a pretty girl, Mae,” I replied, “easy on the eyes.” She turned her face from me. “Okay -- out of line. Personal foul on Lenny...”

She pointed to a green house. “There. That’s Mama’s place.”

“Mama?”

“It’s a boarding house,” she explained, “for Asian girls. You can’t get a room there without a personal recommendation. We call the lady who runs it Mama because she treats us all as if she were our mother.”

I parked on the street and popped the trunk. Mae picked up the groceries and we headed toward the house.

An older Thai woman greeted us. She scowled at Mae and said something to her in their native tongue. Mae responded; then Mama regarded me, her face softening. “Ah -- so you the guy with the phony gun. Mae tell me about her adventure...”

Mae led me upstairs to a front room. “Mama didn’t seem too pleased to see me,” I remarked.

“Mama was worried that I had taken to my mattress for some spending money. I had to explain you’re my guest as thanks for helping me.”

“She does look after you like a mother.”

Mae unlocked a door. “This is my room.”

I looked around -- it was a medium-sized bedroom with a daybed against one wall, a small desk with a laptop computer, a dorm-sized refrigerator and a table with a hotplate and a rice cooker.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mae said, “I’d like to slip into something more comfortable.”

“No problem...” I looked around the room and realized there no place for her privacy. “Do you want me to wait outside?”

“Just turn your back is fine.”

“I’ll keep an eye on traffic from right here,” I replied, standing by the window. “Tell me when the coast is clear.”

I stood with my hands behind my back, looking out on the street.

“Okay,” she said.

I turned and saw she had changed into a pair of running shorts and a tank top. I scanned her legs -- they were shapely with nicely formed calves, slim thighs and cute knees. Her skin was smooth, shiny and a gorgeous yellow-brown.

I looked up at her shoulders and arms -- they were slender but with noticeable muscle definition. Her tank had a scoop neck that showed a hint of cleavage. Her overall appearance was one of athleticism, but also soft femininity.

I forced my gaze to her eyes.

“It’ll take me a few minutes to prepare dinner,” she said. “Feel free to use the computer ... or watch TV.”

“How about if I watch you work?” I asked. “I won’t make you nervous, will I?”

“That’s fine.”

“Mae -- I love hearing you speak. You have the most charming accent -- it makes your voice musical. How long have you been in this country?”

“About twelve years,” she replied. “Maybe a bit longer -- it’s hard to remember.” She picked up a kettle. “Excuse me -- I have to get some water. The bathroom is down the hall...”

Mae returned and poured water into the rice-cooker. “We’ll get this started.”

I realized her room had no running water. “Mae -- how do you do your dishes?”

She pointed under the table. “In the tub.”

Then I watched as she busied herself cutting up meat and vegetables. She placed a wok on the hotplate and began cooking.

“You make this meal on a single-burner hot plate?” I asked.

“Yes. In parts of Thailand this would be made in the back yard over a charcoal fire.”

“What is it we’re having for dinner?” I asked.

“Gai pad met ma-muang himmaphan,” she replied.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I remarked.

“Chicken with cashews.” Mae scooped rice onto plates and some of the entree. “I added vegetables -- carrots and broccoli. Do you use chopsticks?”

“Sure.”

She handed me a pair of disposable sticks and gestured me toward her day bed. I set my plate on a low table and I snapped the chopsticks apart. Mae sat beside me.

“I was in a Chinese restaurant once,” I remarked. “There was this haughty woman at another table. When the waiter offered her bamboo chopsticks this lady made a big show of taking a pair out of her bag.

“‘Throwing them away is such a waste,’ she said with her nose in the air. ‘I always bring my own -- it’s much better for the environment.’

“The waiter examined her chopsticks. ‘Ah, very nice,’ he said, ‘Ivory.’”