Incensed by Ed Lin Page B

brazier, meant for burning ghost bank notes. He was unconcerned that he missed. The priest bowed deeply to Tu Di Gong, then turned to confer with Big Eye and accepted an envelope with both hands.
    I snatched up the crumpled fortune and flattened it in my hand. It was covered with the crazed strokes of fake characters. I knew it. This whole charade was a scam, from the lighting of incense at the beginning right through the written prophecy at the end. The drawers were filled with bullshit scribbles and the priest “read” them while saying whatever the hell he wanted to.
    On our way out of the temple I showed the paper scrap to Big Eye. “I hope you didn’t give the priest too much money. All the fortunes are nonsense.”
    â€œIt’s written in a spiritual language, Jing-nan,” he said. “Only priests can decipher it.” I could only shake my head. Well, his faith in Tu Di Gong had been working for him this far. Why should I care?
    We walked down the temple’s steps. I noticed that Gao turned and did the briefest bow, one that said, “If you really exist, please don’t hurt me.”
    As our SUV wound down the mountain, I said to Big Eye, “How much do you trust that priest?” Big Eye drummed his fingers on his flask.
    â€œI trust him with my life,” he said. “He’s one of us. He wouldn’t bullshit me.”
    One of us. That meant benshengren , the long-time Taiwanese. Yams, as we sometimes call ourselves, since the island is in the shape of a yam.
    Those winnings against Wood Duck must have been especially sweet. An upstart yam pulled one over on a powerful mainlander, or waishengren . The division between benshengren and waishengren was evident at all strata of society, even at the illicit seam.
    Back on the highway, traffic slowed to a standstill. Big Eye tapped Whistle’s headrest.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” he asked. Whistle snorted and hunched his shoulders to get closer to the windshield.
    â€œPolice barricade ahead.”
    Oh shit, I thought. If they searched this car, who knew what they’d find. Whistle checked his hair. Gao bent over as if tying a shoelace. Big Eye stuck out his jaw and stretched his lips. We slowed to a stop and then crawled forward to our doom.
    I considered throwing open the door and bolting. Yeah, that wouldn’t be suspicious. If I remained in the car and these guys were busted, I could be arrested and charged as a hooligan for just being with them. I’ve been in a lot of compromising situations but I couldn’t go to jail. I couldn’t.
    â€œLook at you,” said Big Eye as he grabbed my left shoulder. “You’ve gone all pale, Jing-nan. You look scared, like you’re hiding something.” He patted my hand. “You would have never made it with me.”
    â€œMy shoe prints are back at the gambling site,” I gasped. “They’ve got me.”
    Big Eye’s lips ripped apart into a toothy smile. “You’re talking crazy, little nephew!”
    â€œAre we going to be okay?”
    â€œOnly if you fucking relax. Ma de! Want some candy to take your mind off things? You still like candy, right?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    He shrugged and popped something into his mouth. In a few seconds it was apparent that it was a honey-loquat cough drop, one of those medicine-candy hybrids that has questionable merits as either. The smell was unmistakable and inescapable: menthol and Coca-Cola.
    Soon enough two men wearing orange vests with National Police Agency patches on the short sleeves of their khaki uniforms stood on either side of the SUV. Whistle powered down his window. The cop swept a light across our eyes.
    â€œOfficer,” said Whistle, “what seems to be the problem?”
    â€œWho said we had a problem?” the cop spat.
    Gao reached into his jacket and the cop’s flashlight followed his hand.
    â€œHey, you! What do you think