Well, after Emily and Tak-Wing left, the girl was waiting for me out back with a couple of British guys I recognized from the boxing circuit. One of them called me the N-word, the other called Tanaka the J-word. Dude just kept tapping my face and calling me names, it was impossible not to get mad. I knew he was goading me, but there’s only so much a man can take—I have my dignity. I had to punch him. You know me, I’m a little guy, but I’m not soft. Once I got hold of him, well, that was that, the rage took me, I punched and punched and punched. I got on his chest and banged his head against the pavement. I could see the other one was on Tanaka. That crazy girl just stood there on the pavement laughing her foolish head off. I gave as good as I got, but then a whole crew of them came out back to where we were. Well, you wouldn’t want to see me now, I got two serious shiners and a broken rib. Tanaka’s not going in to work anytime soon either. Emily’s spilling with upset, and so is Jane. I mean it’s really bad. To top it all off the hotel manager says we started it and now we’re banned from the Repulse Bay Hotel, can’t ever set foot in there again. And to add insult to injury, I heard they put a new all-white band in our place the very next day, playing all our tunes no less—not just the covers, but also our song “Moon and Stars over Sai Kung.” I mean really, cousin, what a total hit and run. What a bunch of greedy cowards. I’m beside myself with rage. I’m going to get even. But I sure as heck don’t want you out here in the thick if this. It’s not a good time, and Lord only knows what is going to happen next. You best go to the States. Prohibition’s just been lifted and there’s some serious dough to be made in spirits. You should go to Chicago and make your fortune.

Love from your cousin,

Izzy

CHAPTER 14Typhoon ShelterME AND TING-YAN

June 30, 1997

Seeing that the congee is almost gone, Great-Aunt Violet waves to the grumpy server. She contemplates a dish of running ground chicken with mountain herbs, but decides against it because of the H5N1 bird flu crisis. Instead, she orders a dish of flower conch boiled in spicy wine, specialty of the house. “You won’t find these anywhere else,” she says to Ophelia. “You should try them.”

Then she glances up at the clock. The pink-haired girl from the future gazes coolly down at them, unconcerned about the time passing over her turquoise face. It’s four o’clock.