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"Answer me!"
William glanced at the nearby coffee shop, where three or four people sat outside, enjoying the momentary absence of rain. They'd heard Chang's raised voice and glanced toward the boy and his father. Chang noticed them and released his son, nodding with his head for the boy to follow.
"Don't you know that the Ghost is looking for us? He wants to kill us!"
"I wanted to go outside. It's like a prison here! That fucking little room, with my brother."
Chang grabbed his son's arm again. "Don't use that language with me. You can't disobey me like this."
"It's a shitty little place. I want a room of my own," the boy replied, pulling away.
"Later. We all have to make sacrifices."
"It was your choice to come here. You can make the sacrifices."
"Don't speak to me that way!" Chang said. "I'm your father."
"I want a room. I want some privacy."
"You should be grateful we have someplace to stay at all. None of us have rooms of our own. Your grandfather sleeps with your mother and me."
The boy said nothing.
He'd learned many things about his son today. That he was insolent, that he was a car thief, that the iron cables of obligation to family that had so absolutely guided Sam Chang's life meant little to the boy. Chang wondered superstitiously if he had made a mistake in giving the boy his Western name when he started school, calling him after the American computer genius Gates. Perhaps this had somehow caused the boy to veer onto a path of rebellion.
As they approached the apartment Chang asked, "Who were they?"
"Who?" the boy answered evasively.
"Those men you were with."
"Nobody."
"What did they sell you? Was it drugs?"
Irritated silence was the response.
They were at the front door to the apartment. William started to walk past his father but Chang stopped him. He reached into the boy's pocket. William's arms rose hostilely and for a shocked moment Chang thought his son would shove him away or even hit him. But after an interminable moment he lowered his hands.
Chang pulled out the bag and looked inside, stunned at the sight of the small silver pistol.
"What are you doing with this?" he whispered viciously. "So you can rob people?"
Silence.
"Tell me, son." His strong calligrapher's hand closed firmly on the boy's arm. "Tell me!"
"I got it so I can protect us!" the boy shouted.
"I will protect us. And not with this."
"You?" William laughed with a sneer. "You wrote your articles about Taiwan and democracy and made our life miserable. You decided to come here and the fucking snakehead tries to kill us all. You call that taking care of us?"
"What did you pay for this with?" He held up the bag containing the pistol. "Where did you get the money? You have no job."
The boy ignored the question. "The Ghost killed the others. What if he tries to kill us? What will we do?"
"We'll hide from him until the police find him."
