Finale, page 3
Uncle sipped water as he read, conscious of his craving for caffeine. He compensated by smoking more than usual. It wasn’t until he replaced the Daily News with Sing Tao — Sonny’s favourite newspaper — that Uncle suddenly remembered he hadn’t told his driver that he wouldn’t need him for the next few days. He called Sonny’s mobile phone, hoping to catch him before he left his apartment.
“Uncle, I was just leaving. Are you at Morning Blessings?” Sonny answered, slightly out of breath.
“Yes, I am, but there’s no reason for you to come here. Apologies, I should have called you last night, but I was preoccupied,” said Uncle, carefully choosing his words. “I have some personal business to take care of over the next few days and I won’t need you to drive me. So take some time off. I’ll call you when things are settled.”
“A few days . . . like two or three?” Sonny asked.
“Yes, that should be about right,” said Uncle, ignoring the curiosity in Sonny’s voice.
There was a long pause before Sonny continued. “Uncle, is everything okay? I don’t mean to pry, but this isn’t like you.”
“You may not mean to pry, but that is exactly what you are doing,” Uncle said. “I have some personal business to attend to. What else do you need to know?”
“Nothing.”
“Good, and I apologize again for not telling you until the last minute,” Uncle said, ending the conversation.
He poured hot water from a pot into his glass and returned to Sing Tao. It ran stories about some of the same subjects as the Daily News did, but they were written differently, and Uncle read them in full to kill some time. At nine o’clock, he left the restaurant with the racing form tucked under his arm, to walk to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital on Gascoigne Road.
The hospital was a cluster of buildings surrounding the original thirteen-storey structure. They were all well-signed, and Uncle had no difficulty finding R Block. He went through the main entrance and followed the signs to the cancer clinic. There was a lineup at the registration desk and Uncle joined it. It moved briskly, and after giving his information to the nurse at the desk he was directed to go to a small room to wait for Doctor Ma.
Uncle was surprised when two women entered the room. One was middle-aged and wore a nurse’s uniform; the other was younger, dressed in a white coat, and wore no makeup. With a fresh face and her hair pinned at the back, she reminded him of Ava.
“Mr. Chow, I am Doctor Ma,” the younger woman said.
“Thank you for fitting me in so quickly.”
“Doctor Parker’s phone call couldn’t have come at a better time for you.”
“So he said.”
She nodded. “Doctor Parker told me you haven’t gone through anything like this before.”
“That’s true.”
“And he outlined the recommended treatment cycle to you?”
“He did.”
“Then we can get started. This is Nurse Pan. When we go into the main room, she’ll be hooking you up to an IV. There will be slight discomfort, but nothing excessive,” she said. “Before you leave this room, you should remove your jacket and shirt, and put on a medical gown.”
“That’s fine,” Uncle said.
“I have scheduled a two-hour session for you this morning, followed by an hour’s break, and then two more hours of treatment. You will be sitting in a chair which is quite comfortable, and often the biggest problem our patients face is boredom.”
“I brought something to work on,” Uncle said, pointing to the racing form.
“Excellent, that is my father’s favourite type of reading as well,” Ma said with a smile. “Now, I know Doctor Parker explained to you some of the possible side effects of the treatment, but I always like to review them with the patient before we begin. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course.”
She nodded again. “Chemotherapy doesn’t affect everyone in the same way or at the same rate, so these are generalizations. The most immediate effects, and they could occur in a matter of hours, are diarrhea and nausea. Did you eat this morning?”
“No, and I drank only water.”
“That’s good,” she said. “In a few days, you could also start to feel a strong sense of fatigue. Don’t fight it. Take as much rest as you need. This could be accompanied by something we call ‘chemo brain’ — a general sluggishness of your thought processes, sort of like a mental fog. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but if you experience it, know that it will pass.”
“Okay.”
“Then, over a longer term, maybe two weeks from now, you could start to lose some hair, and you might experience weight loss simply because of the nausea and lack of appetite.”
“I don’t care about my hair,” Uncle said, rubbing the back of his buzz cut. “But I don’t have so much weight that I can afford to lose it.”
“Avoiding spicy food and drinking a lot of water will help.”
“What about beer?” Uncle asked with a smile.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Ma said without a return smile. “Now, do you have any questions?”
“Not at this moment.”
“Then let’s get started.”
( 4 )
At just after four o’clock, Uncle left R Block and headed towards a taxi stand. Any idea he’d had about walking home had been obliterated two hours before, when the knots in his stomach started to fray. He had thrown up and then dry-heaved for ten minutes. When he had settled into the chair again, his bowels had begun to rebel. He had twice barely made it to the bathroom, and now all he wanted to do was get to his apartment without any kind of incident.
As the taxi negotiated its way through Kowloon, Uncle clenched his teeth in anger at himself for not having taken the treatment and its aftermath seriously enough. Why had he thought he would be impervious to after-effects? Why hadn’t he understood what was entailed? Maybe I’ve been in denial, he thought. Well, if that’s so, this was a wake-up call.
When they reached the apartment, Uncle paid the driver, jumped out of the car, and raced upstairs. He managed to make it to the bathroom before his bowels emptied what little was left in them.
Lourdes came out of her room as Uncle emerged from the bathroom.
“Are you okay? You look ill,” she said.
“I ate something that didn’t agree with me,” he said. “I’m going to lie down, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”
He didn’t sleep, but he felt more stable lying down than he had on his feet. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there. He knew it was a few hours, because daylight turned into night. Beyond that he had no sense of time. The house phone rang twice, and he heard Lourdes answer. What she said and to whom was a mystery.
Finally, his stomach began to leave him in peace. As it did, his head cleared, and he became more aware of his surroundings. He lifted himself up and sat on the side of the bed without any negative effects. He stayed there for a few minutes, breathing deeply and trying to gather himself. He wobbled a little when he stood, but eventually steadied. He took a few tentative steps forward, and when that went well, he left the bedroom.
Lourdes came out of her room as soon as she heard him. “Is everything okay, sir?” she asked.
“Just fine.”
“Can I get you something to eat? I have stir-fried noodles with pork I made earlier.”
“No, I think I should let my stomach settle,” he said. “I heard the phone ringing. Who called?”
“A Doctor Parker, and Ava.”
“What did the doctor want?” Uncle asked, hoping that Parker understood his commitment to privacy extended to Lourdes.
“I don’t know. When I told him you were in bed, he just asked me to tell you to call him back when you were able. He said he’d be up late.”
“And Ava?”
“She wants you to call her back as well. It sounded important.”
“I’ll call them from downstairs. I could use some fresh air,” he said. He put on his jacket and picked up his mobile phone. He reached into his jacket pocket, confirmed he had Parker’s card with his phone numbers, and then left the apartment.
He walked carefully down the stairs and onto the street. It wasn’t as busy as it normally was at night, but when Uncle turned on his phone he saw why. It was already past eleven o’clock. He’d had no idea he was in bed that long. Despite the message Parker had left, Uncle was hesitant about calling him so late, but then again Parker might think it was rude if he didn’t. Uncle walked past the Nepalese restaurant, found a wall to lean against, and dialled Parker’s cell phone number.
“Mr. Chow, I was hoping you would call,” Parker answered. “I wanted to apologize for not seeing you at the hospital this afternoon. I had an emergency that required my attention.”
“I understand. No apologies are necessary.”
“And I’m also wondering how you’re feeling? Doctor Ma informed me that you reacted quite severely to the chemo. Unfortunately, we have no way of predicting how it will impact any one individual.”
“I am starting to feel human again, but I haven’t had anything to drink or eat. I’m almost afraid to,” said Uncle.
“You need to stay hydrated, so you should be drinking water. As for food, I would suggest plain white rice for now,” Parker said.
“I’ll give it a try.”
“One other thing I wanted to ask was whether or not you still feel up to a second session tomorrow,” said Parker. “We know the treatment is especially effective for attacking cancers when we schedule them close together like that, but it isn’t something you should feel compelled to do. We can always push it back a few days.”
“Part of me wants to put it off, but that would be avoiding the reality of my situation. So I will go with what’s most effective, and hope my reaction tomorrow isn’t so intense.”
“That’s not only a brave choice, but a wise one,” said Parker. “And I promise I’ll drop in and see you during the day tomorrow.”
Uncle ended the call feeling neither particularly brave nor wise; just someone who had been forced to choose the worse of two evils.
“Uncle, are you all right?” a voice said.
He turned and saw Anjay, the owner of the Nepalese restaurant.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just needed some air, although come to think of it I could also use some water. Could you bring me a bottle, please?”
“No beer tonight?” Anjay asked.
“I’m taking a break from beer.”
“I’ll be right back,” said Anjay.
Uncle suddenly felt tired again. He closed his eyes and pressed his head against the wall. However much sleep he’d had, it obviously wasn’t enough.
“Here’s your water,” Anjay said a moment later.
Uncle took it and handed him an HK ten-dollar bill. He saw Anjay was reluctant to take it but forced it into his hand. “We have our agreement that I pay for what I eat and drink. Let’s not start changing our relationship,” he said.
When Anjay left, Uncle unscrewed the bottle cap and sipped. When he didn’t feel any overt discomfort, he sipped again, and swirled the water around in his mouth before swallowing it. Feeling a little refreshed, he called Ava.
“Uncle?” she answered.
He realized he didn’t know when she had called, and because he was typically prompt at getting back to her, she might have worried about the time lag. “I’m sorry for not calling back sooner. I fell asleep, and Lourdes didn’t wake me as she should have.”
“Momentai, it was just that I had news I wanted to share.”
“You sound happy.”
“We have a job. In addition to Theresa Ng, we now have sixteen clients who’ve lost a combined thirty-two million Canadian dollars.”
“How did that happen so quickly?”
“It was all Theresa. She went into action the moment I told her our conditions. By mid-afternoon yesterday she had contacted everyone she knew who’d lost money, and she made arrangements for a meeting. I went there last night with a stack of our standard contracts and explained in detail how we operate. I thought some of them might be turned off, but they weren’t. I have seventeen signed contracts.”
“Good, good. It will be nice to be back at work again. I was beginning to wonder if you were ready to retire before me.”
“Never,” she said.
“So, when do we start?”
“Right away. I have things I need to do here tomorrow. And I have a Vietnamese licence plate number that I hope you can track for me.”
He took a pen from his jacket pocket and turned Parker’s card to the blank side. “Give it to me,” he said.
She read the number and then asked, “How are our contacts in Ho Chi Minh City?”
“Excellent.”
“So tracking the plate shouldn’t take too long?”
“One phone call, perhaps two, that’s all.”
“And if I need to go to Vietnam?”
“You will have all the help you need. We have some old colleagues there who are still active, and they have friends in both the police and the army.”
“Then, in addition to the licence plate, could you ask them to come up with whatever they can on a Lam Van Dinh? He’s at the centre of the scam. He was living in Canada but left when it became obvious the money was missing. He was spotted getting out of a car with those plates about a week ago in Ho Chi Minh, so there must be a record of him entering the country sometime in the past six months. He would have to put his local address on the customs form. It could be entirely bogus, of course, but you never know.”
“I will look after it.”
“Thanks.”
Uncle hesitated, then said slowly, “Ava, I was really worried that you might have had enough of our life. After Macau, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had decided to make a change.”
“Truthfully, I did think about it, and May Ling has raised the subject of starting a business together, but I’m not ready to give up what we have,” she replied.
Uncle felt the urge to say more, perhaps even gently encourage the idea of her joining forces with May Ling. Instead, he simply said, “I am glad you gave it some thought. Now, I will contact one of my colleagues in Vietnam, and I’ll call you back as soon as I have the information.”
The number for his Vietnamese contact was in the apartment, but Uncle didn’t leave the wall right away. He thought about the conversation with Ava. It had been awkward, mainly because he had handled it badly. Part of him wanted to confide in her, but he knew she was still recovering from the trauma of Macau, and he didn’t want to add to her emotional burden. Besides, he told himself, he had just started chemo, and until it was over he wouldn’t really know how things stood. His decision to keep things as private as possible was the right one, even where Ava was concerned.
He left the street and started to climb the stairs to his apartment. Ava was still on his mind, though, and he decided a discreet phone call to May Ling in the next few days might be appropriate.
The door to Lourdes’s room was closed, and the apartment was quiet when he entered. He took a small black notebook from a kitchen drawer, found the number for Phan in Ho Chi Minh, and then sat in his chair to make the call.
Phan was only one of several contacts Uncle had in Vietnam, but he was the most senior and had been a strong supporter of Uncle during his tenure as chairman of the triad societies. Uncle knew it was late to call, but he also knew Ho Chi Minh City was one hour behind Hong Kong, and hoped Phan was still up.
“Ah-lo,” a woman’s voice answered.
“Is my old friend Phan still awake? If he is, could you tell him that Uncle is calling from Hong Kong,” Uncle said in Mandarin, a language that he knew Phan — and many other Vietnamese — spoke.
“Wait, I will tell him,” she said.
A moment later, Uncle heard Phan’s distinctive gravelly voice say, “Is this really Uncle?”
“It is.”
“It has been a few years since we last spoke, so I’m sure this isn’t a social call. Has some calamity come over you?”
“Not at all, I was just lonely and wanted to hear a friendly voice,” Uncle said.
“Will you think I’m being rude if I don’t believe you?” Phan laughed.
“No, I will think you haven’t lost any of your sense.”
“Thank you. Now tell me what you want me to do for you.”
“I need two pieces of information. I have a licence plate number, and I’d like to know who owns the car it belongs to. Secondly, a man named Lam Van Dinh arrived in Vietnam sometime in the last six months. His flight would have originated in Canada, and there’s a good chance he was using a Canadian passport. I would like to know what he declared on his customs form as his local address,” said Uncle. “Are both of those requests doable?”
“Of course, give me the plate number,” Phan said.
Uncle took out Parker’s card and read the number aloud.
“How soon do you want the information?”
“How soon can you get it?” Uncle asked.
“It might take an hour or two, but not much longer.”
“I’ll stay up until I hear from you,” said Uncle. “And a very big thanks.”
“You know thanks aren’t necessary, but I do like the idea of you owing me a favour.”
Except I may not live long enough for you to collect it, Uncle thought before he realized it. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better than being able to repay you,” he said.
