Missing In Rangoon

The Black Cat’s boots clopped on the wooden floor-boards. She disappeared behind the impressive teak counter. An old cash register sat on top, its vintage keys ringed with faded gold. She sat on a stool. He imagined her grandfather had sat on the same stool in his day.

“You’ve talked to Rob,” she said, thumbing a cigarette out of a pack.

“You shouldn’t have given him the acid.”

Sitting motionlessly, she lit the cigarette. She studied him while exhaling smoke from her nostrils.

“Why would you think I’d do that? Because I’m in the entertainment business?”

“Because he asked you to,” he said. “And you thought it might do him good. A trip is a cheap ticket away from reality.”

“So they say.”

“When I left him, he still hadn’t escaped.”

“Rob gets depressed a lot.”

Calvino let it go and made a point of looking at the books displayed on a table below the window. There was a strange collection of titles—Legal Ethics, Elder Law 3rd Ed., Immigration Law 4th Ed., Regulated Industries 4th Ed. Several biographies. And a series called “For Everyone” with volumes on Einstein, Chekhov and Tagore.

“No Henry Miller? No George Orwell?”

“They’re on order,” she said.

“Something’s bothering me,” he said. “Your brother was in prison. You couldn’t get together four grand plus to spring him, but you bought your grandfather’s old bookstore. I must be missing something. Bar girls pull this stunt in Bangkok. ‘Brother in trouble. Give me money.’ But she’s got a house, a condo and a Honda Accord she’s not telling you about.”

“No money changed hands for the building,” said Mya.

“Someone gave you this building?”

“Someone gave it back.”

She saw him pull a doubtful face.

“It’s like this. After 1988 my family backed the wrong side. The wrong side is always the one that loses. Our side lost. So my mother put the title of the building in my aunt’s name.”

“Your aunt backed the winning side,” said Calvino.

The Black Cat nodded.

“It’s taken a while for your aunt to give it back,” said Calvino.

“One condition was for my brother to get out of prison. My aunt said that would be a sign, meaning the time would be right to return our property. My mother agreed that, without the auspicious sign, transferring back the deed could spell disaster. Winners never want to be losers. They don’t want to deal with losers. Or think about them. She waited until we could show we were also winners. We all waited. My brother is out of prison and my aunt returned the deed.”

“You’re not going back to Bangkok,” said Calvino. “You’ve told Rob.”

She nodded. “I told him.”

“No more Monkey Nose? No more 50th Street Bar? You plan to pull on your boots, sit on your grandfather’s stool and sell books?”

“I told Rob he can go back to Bangkok. No one is going to hurt him.”

“Has Somchai Rungsukal put that in writing?”

“Rob told you about Somchai? Why am I not surprised?”

She removed the braid holding her ponytail in place, letting hair fall down over her shoulders.

“It was Somchai’s men who jumped Rob in Chinatown. Did you set him up?”