Chapter 8

With this year's rice harvest finished for the most part, I was transferred back into the warehouse in late November. It goes without saying that this was a most welcome development. This time around, I was assigned to the very same building where Wendy worked. This gave further credence to Sandra's earlier prediction: that Mr. Choi and the powers that be were aiming to do anything within their means to ensure that Wendy and me were in close proximity at all times.

Their ploy was working, although at this point, our closeness was quite voluntary. We took the "shuttle," such as it was, to work together each morning. With both of us working in the same location, it was now possible for us to share our ten-minute lunch break, either at her work station or mine. By now, Wendy had a number of friends in the building; invariably, they were women of a similar age to hers. Often, one or more of them would join us for lunch.

Occasionally, some of those friends would drop by our place for a short visit during off hours. I noticed that without exception, they were reluctant to stay for very long. One day, I asked Wendy about this. I wondered if my presence intimidated them. Wendy assured me, however, that was far from the case.

"They are afraid of the triad," she explained. "They don't want to get caught." It was yet another sobering reminder of the near-total control that nefarious organization continued to exert over our lives, as well as those around us.

Interestingly enough, that didn't appear to apply to Sandra, at least not to quite the same extent. She was becoming a frequent guest at our place. Wendy, I was learning, admired Sandra greatly. She viewed her as a role model, an embodiment of everything she aspired to in life.

On more than one occasion, I questioned the wisdom of Sandra's regular visits, although I too had grown quite fond of her. She'd long since discarded the shawl, no longer deeming it necessary to visit us incognito. "Are you sure you aren't letting your guard down too much?" I asked her one evening during the last week of December, as the three of us sat down after enjoying one of Wendy's stupendous meals. Somebody, somewhere, had taught that young lady to cook, and quite well. I was reaping the benefits of that on a daily basis.

"No one has even bothered to question me," Sandra pointed out. "If we get to the point where they begin to push back, I'll back off. Until then, it's my job to check up on you."

"Okay, Mother Hen," I laughed. I enjoyed teasing Sandra; she unfailingly took it in good humor. "Remember, you're on the outside here, and I don't think the triad takes kindly to interlopers. I think I can speak for Wendy here ... neither of us want for you to run into trouble on our account."

As usual, she dismissed any concerns of this nature. We got into a more general discussion about the triad itself. "I find it incredible how many people in this area are under their spell," I stated flatly. "I mean, look at the Hongs downstairs. Someone whispered a few threats in their ears, and now, they won't say anything to us except 'hello' and 'how are you.' Isn't the Chinese government on a mission to wipe out criminal organizations such as this? How can a situation like this exist? Some of the higher-ups have to be aware of what's going on."

"That's a very good point," came Sandra's reply. "Remember what I said before about how the triad's ambition will lead to their undoing. Mark my words, sooner or later, it will happen. Someone will step on the wrong set of toes, and their little empire will come tumbling down."

We mulled that over for a few seconds, before Sandra threw out an intriguing – but crazy – idea.

"I think the two of you deserve a day off for good behavior," she said with a sly grin.

I just laughed. "And I suppose you know of a way to arrange that?"

Wendy, who'd done an admirable job of following along with this rather detailed English conversation, threw her two cents in. "They will never let us," she declared.

Sandra smiled affectionately at Wendy, implicitly letting her know that she was impressed with her progress. "You have more power with them than you realize. This might be a good time to push the envelope a little. First of all, recall that your first wedding anniversary is coming up."

At that, I just laughed and rolled my eyes. Wendy hadn't grasped the full meaning of that remark, but Sandra quickly translated. Wendy's response was to bat her eyelashes at me and purr with a sultry smile, "How will we celebrate, my dear husband?" This caused both Wendy and Sandra to erupt in hysterical laughter.

"You're blushing, Roger," gasped Sandra as they began to settle down.

"Topic switch, please," I said through clenched teeth. "You really think Choi would let us have a celebratory dinner in a restaurant, or something like that? He'd probably laugh us right out of that office of his if we dared bring it up. Or worse."

"There's one other thing you could mention," smiled Sandra. "Do you know how long it has been since Wendy saw her mother?"

"How long?" I queried, turning toward Wendy.

"I have not seen my mother since before I went to America," replied Wendy in a soft voice. "That was ... four years ago."

My jaw nearly hit the floor. "That's just cruel," was the only comment I could muster.

Wendy proceeded to elaborate. "In America ... they let me have cell phone. I can call her anytime I like. Now ... they took away my phone. I can't call her. I can't see her."

"I've relayed a few messages back and forth between Wendy and her mum," said Sandra. "Other than that ... all lines of communication have been blocked."

"That's inhuman," I muttered bitterly. "I'm not the only one cut off from loved ones." I turned and regarded Sandra. "So, what's your suggestion here?"

"The two of you need to go to Mr. Choi, and put in your request. Tell him you would like to take a Saturday off from work. Remind him that your first anniversary is coming up. Tell him you want to celebrate somehow, and also say you want to visit Wendy's mum. Remind him that she wasn't there when her daughter got married. You can't tell him that she hasn't seen her in years – remember, I was posing as her earlier – but I think you have a good chance of success anyhow."

"Somehow, I don't think a guilt trip will work on that cold-hearted asshole," I noted wryly.

"It won't," allowed Sandra, "but you're playing into his fervent desire for the two of you to remain together. Tell him that a friend will drive you there. I'll be that friend; we can take my car. If he wants one of his thugs to accompany us, to ensure we're not trying anything funny, it's okay. The thug will be pretty bored when the three of us ignore him. We'll visit Wendy's mum in the morning, and maybe have lunch there. After that, maybe we can drive into Chengdu, and Wendy can show you around town."

Wendy was beaming with excitement at the possibility, and the little girl in her came spilling out. "Let's ask him!" she gushed. "That would be so much fun!"

"You've got this all figured out, Sandra," I chuckled, a bit more skeptical than my sidekick of the plan's viability. "I have to admit, though, I really like the idea. The challenge will be in selling this plan to Choi."

"Just ask him, Roger," offered Sandra gently. "Trust me on this ... you have nothing to lose."

The following day at work, Wendy and I put in a mutual request with the building supervisor to meet with Choi. Actually, Wendy made the request, speaking in Mandarin. The supervisor grumbled in response, leading me to wonder whether the request would even be passed on. However, at the end of the workday, we both received messages summoning us to Choi's office the next morning.

Bright and early the following day, we stepped off the elevator at the sixth floor, and made our way down to the wooden door at the end of the hall. "Let's do it just as we planned," I grinned at Wendy. A first-class acting job was in the works.

Choi waved us in, an impatient frown on his face. We sat down together on the loveseat. Wendy snuggled up next to me, her hand resting solicitously on the upper part of my thigh in wifely fashion. I put my arm around her shoulder, even going so far as to gently tease her hair between my fingers on occasion.

Mr. Choi, a decidedly unromantic fellow, appeared unaffected by all this. "To what do I owe an unsolicited visit from you two lovebirds?" he asked irritably.

"Well, Mr. Choi," I began, clearing my throat for effect. "You know that our first wedding anniversary is coming up. We've both been on our best behavior lately, have we not?"

"Except for that one Internet transgression, yes, I have to admit you've conducted yourselves reasonably well. Please get to your point, Mr. Benson. I'm a very busy man."

I then laid out our plan, describing the details of our proposed visit to Wendy's mother, as well as the side trip to Chengdu. I let him know that a friend would provide transportation, and that we would not object if he deemed it necessary to have a chaperone accompany us.

When I finished, Choi regarded us each in turn, his shifty eyes flitting back and forth. He appeared for a second to be on the verge of busting out in laughter, and then at once grew deathly serious. "And why should I grant an outrageous request such as this?" he said in a tone that was more dismissive than I liked.

"Because of the immense amount of good karma that will come your way," I said with a cheesy smile, "if you help us celebrate the anniversary of the wonderful event that you so generously set up for us."

At that, Choi did erupt in derisive laughter. Then, inexplicably, he reversed course. "That's rich, Mr. Benson. Very rich. But you know what? Just to show that I'm a reasonable man, I'll choose to grant your request. Go ahead, have your little holiday."

Wendy couldn't contain herself; she let out a little squeal of delight. Choi's response was to hold up his index finger threateningly. "Rest assured that you will be accompanied by one of my underlings," he stated firmly. "No one at your place of work is to know about this. And if this little excursion turns out to be anything more than advertised..." He let the threat hang, again running his hand across the handle of the damn knife that now seemed permanently affixed to his desk. Something was becoming glaringly obvious here. Choi unquestionably had life-or-death control over us. But Sandra was right; when it came to smaller matters such as this, for some bizarre reason, we had him by the balls.

"Thank you so much for your generosity," I said flippantly. Then, I turned to Wendy. "Shall we get back to work, love?" She smiled and nodded, and we left the office hand in hand, continuing our little act that should have netted us an Academy Award.

The gentleman who'd provided our transportation had chosen to wait for us down in the lobby. As we got into the elevator, Wendy voiced what was on her mind.

"You were..." she began, before pausing to come up with the right word. "... fantastic. Thank you, thank you so much. I'm so happy." She then proceeded to let her head fall against my chest, and began to shed tears of joy.

I moved to deflect the adoration. "Sandra deserves most of the credit. This was her idea," I pointed out. Whether or not that was true, I'd just induced Wendy to cry tears of happiness. For the first time since I'd been rudely taken away from my comfy life in Florida, I momentarily felt like a million bucks.

Wendy and I soon realized we had a rather embarrassing problem: neither one of us had clothes that were suitable for an outing like this. We had plans to dine in a nice restaurant in Chengdu, and maybe hit a nightclub afterward. Sweatshop workers living in relative poverty have little need for stylish attire; our clothing was uniformly well-used and functional. We addressed this matter the following weekend, with the trip a week away. Sandra paid us a rare Sunday afternoon visit, and we discussed the attire problem, as well as the issue of financing the excursion. Sandra generously offered to purchase clothes for us and fund the trip, but both Wendy and I nixed that idea.

"We're paying you back," I insisted. "I'll admit that we need some cash up front, but we're considering it a loan."

With that settled, the two women headed off on a ladies-only shopping trip. They were tight-lipped about the destination, laughing at my curiosity. Wendy, of course, was not fitted with a tracking device, which made a shopping excursion such as this less of a risk for her.

I was left alone in our place while they were out doing girl things. It was hard to believe, but I simply couldn't recall a time when I'd been in this dwelling by myself, without Wendy. But they weren't gone long; soon, they burst back through the door with a flurry of conspiratorial smiles and giggles. Wendy was carrying a couple of bags, which originated from a store quite obviously more upscale than one might have found in the immediate area.

I grinned and made a move to seize one of the bags. "Let's see what you got," I blurted out.

Wendy gave a mock look of disapproval and slapped my hand. "You have to wait," she admonished me with a wry expression.

Soon, her purchases were put away, and it was my turn to head for the apparel store. I insisted on visiting one of the stores down the street, which had a reasonable selection of men's attire. Wendy was equally insistent on accompanying me; she wouldn't take no for an answer. Sandra was quite content to stay behind in our place.

Before long, I had acquired a presentable shirt and pair of pants, along with a decent pair of casual loafers. Naturally, Wendy wanted to have the final say in what I purchased. This produced a pang of equal parts sadness and guilt as I recalled innumerable shopping trips with Erin of a similar nature.

Then, there was this realization: the last time I'd worn clothes like this – simple upscale casual attire – I'd been back in Florida.

It was around nine a.m. the following Saturday. I was all dressed and ready to get a move on. Sandra had arrived about two hours earlier; she was helping Wendy get ready. I was growing impatient, but I had to keep it to myself. The fourth member of our traveling party, a certain Mr. Kwong, was sitting bolt upright on the sofa. His posture was rigid, his facial expression dour, and his demeanor no-nonsense and anti-social. He was, of course, Choi's appointed chaperone.

I cast a frustrated look at the closed bedroom door. "Women," I muttered, half directed at Mr. Kwong. He made no acknowledgment of my remark, even though I knew he could speak English. It's just as well, I thought. Wendy, Sandra, and I had already decided that we would not acknowledge Mr. Kwong's presence, unless absolutely necessary. Our focus today would be a simple one: merely to enjoy ourselves.

At last, the door opened, and out stepped a smiling Sandra. She was followed by a nicely dolled-up Wendy, sporting a fashionable white top and jeans, along with a light application of facial makeup. Her hair was nicely styled, and I suspected that was what had taken her so long to get ready. Perhaps "dolled up" is an exaggeration here, but it was a marked departure from the loose-fitting clothing and makeup-free appearance I'd grown accustomed to ever since we'd arrived in China.

"You look very nice, love," I said to Wendy. We knew that Mr. Kwong would certainly report back to Choi; hence, we had to resume our little act.

Sandra produced her smart phone, aiming to take some pictures before we left. As soon as Mr. Kwong caught sight of the phone, he leaped to his feet and tried to seize it. Man, was that dude ever one hell of a rude guest. Sandra angrily told him to buzz off in Mandarin, before voluntarily handing over the device and allowing Mr. Kwong to inspect it. "It's in airplane mode," she explained to me. "There's no risk of it setting off that alarm that's been planted inside you. But he won't take my word for it."

Mr. Kwong finally relented and gave the phone back to its rightful owner. He returned to his place on the sofa, once again appearing aloof and disinterested. Sandra, Wendy, and I posed for a few pictures, and soon, we were on the road. Sandra was behind the wheel. Mr. Kwong, without even asking, claimed the other front seat, leaving Wendy and me in the back. Wendy, of course, scooted over close to me during the trip, maintaining our little charade. We had to be very careful about what we talked about, but nonetheless, a good time was had by three out of the four passengers in the vehicle during the ride out to the place where Wendy's mother lived. God, it was great to finally escape – even temporarily – from the small geographical area where I'd been confined for over a year now! I knew Wendy felt the same way.