The call came in about ½ an hour before 5.00pm from Kay. This evening. “The cash is in-” he said.
“What?” I said. I had worked up an active dislike for Kay. Kay: not his real name. Such consensual silence.
The setting sun shone harsh and saffron through the window, and the light made me frown. The heat on my skin was at odds with the air-conditioning, and the office was as quiet as ever.
“What was in?” I ask again, waiting for him to speak up.
“I mean- Em is down for a job down at the plaza, and I thought maybe he should meet you,” he said. His deep voice sounded tinny over the phone lines, the miniscule pauses between his words gave an impression of breathlessness.
“Oh. You mean to talk about that other job,” I said, pausing for a moment. My lips went dry and I turned my back to the searing light.
“Yes, yes, that other job, I’ll get him to call you?” he said, a little faster. Another meeting with one of them; I wondered if I could endure yet another meeting. I felt like a bachelor being courted for marriage, I felt like the buttons on my collar were on too tight, that my tie was pulled too close.
“Oh, sure, sure. Get him to call him or something,” I said, trying to sound ignorant. He rang off with inconsequentialities.
The context of our previous meeting hung at the back of my head like a shadow.
I seemed to hear a sibilant voice emerging from the back of my head; an image of a greyed-out face in shadows retreating from the dark behind it, a scarred, hoary thing vaguely human: ‘You must face him someday. Today is as good as any day,’ I seemed to hear.
It grew hotter than before. The light washed across my back and tuned the colours of my cubicle an orange-red tinge reminiscent of the multi-patched projection of a stained glass window. I sat down heavily on my swivel chair, trying to work up yet another sentence for my limp report.
The minutes passed like the slow steady drips from an almost-shut faucet. I rehearsed what to say in my mind, while absently clicking through some dumb online game; miss, miss, hit! Miss, miss, hit! The low hum of the air-conditioning suddenly went silent after a dull thump; it was 5.00 pm already. Where was Em–?
“There’s someone out here to meet you,” the voice intoned over the intercom. I grabbed my keys and wallet, and made my way to the front in short, sharp strides navigating past the labyrinth of cubicles.
He stood in blue, staring out the window of our waiting area, his hair in black, egg-white peaks.
“Good evening,” he said, shaking my hand.
“It’s good to see you again,” I said, smiling and watching him. I wanted him out of the office, and I wanted to be out of the office, but alone.
“Let’s go for tea?” I suggested, leading the way past the doors and into the lift. We were alone in the lift-car as it jerked and began its descent.
“What’s the new project outside there,” he said, motioning with his head.
“Which one?” I asked, and Em gestured with his hands. “Oh, outside is it? That’s the new immigration. By this time next year it should be complete. Wah, want to go around the contract site like driving around the whole town,” I said, chuckling and speaking too fast.
“Aiyoh, then that petrol station’s going to suffer man, no more cars,” he laughed.
“Ya, ya, no more money for the owner,” I said, not thinking.
“Ya,” he pulled a grimace, patting his right pocket, “No more money,” he said, laughing again.
My eyes shifted to his pocket, recalling the dull, raspy sound of an envelope being patted. A crisp sound indicated that said envelope wasn’t empty.
We walk about a meter apart and I struggled to keep both of us talking. Talking was good, and being in control of the conversation meant he couldn’t broach the subject. We sat inside a nameless kopitiam, preferring the privacy of incandescent lamps.
We said nothing over tea. Oh, we spoke of course, but we said nothing. Partway through, he stood up and disappeared to the back of the noisy, oily kopitiam while I fidgeted with my third cigarette for the past 20 minutes. I wondered why, but then decided that I shouldn’t be thinking of why’s. I snuffed out my cigarette and sipped on my coffee, drawing out another stick and lighting up.
He returned and we paid and left. We walked back to my office and he gestured with his arm. His hand held a wad of RM 50 notes. A thick wad, I barely saw it, my eyes counted them long after I pushed his hand away and said, “No”. It must have been close to RM 1,000 or more. Or more, I thought to myself. Or more.
“Take lah,” he said, frowning, urging.
“Now, look-” I began.
“Nevermind lah, take lah,” he said.
“I spoke to Kay about this the last time, didn’t he tell you?”
“I know, but nevermind lah-” he said.
“No, I cannot and I will not. I told him-” I said as he drew away, “No wait,” I stopped him.
“I don’t want this. I just want you to do a good job. I know you do a good job, you got a good name, why the fuck are you spoiling your own good name?” I said, staring at him. He didn’t look at me.
“I don’t care what you did with others but if I ever catch you trying to do the same, I will tell my directors, and they will tell other directors, and you will regret this,” I said.
“And if anyone, anyone approaches you to ask for money in my company, you tell me and he’s out in 24 hours,” I said and by this time he was patting me on my back already. His arms slid across my shoulders as we resumed our walk.
“I understand lah, but you know lah do business, some people don’t want money, some people aiyah, when I’m down again, I take you all out for lunch lah, big table lah, don’t worry,” he said in a tone I found condescending. I was getting desperate to make my point and he wasn’t listening.
“No more, don’t do this anymore with anyone of us,” I said, and he nodded. He didn’t listen, and he wasn’t listening as I introduced him to my boss, he wasn’t listening when he shook hands and left.
I stood in the lift lobby with the fluorescent glare of exposed tubes overhead, a whitewash of drab, sanitized light. Too white, almost surgically incisive. I turned and headed back into the office and walked calmly to my boss’s room.
“I need to speak to you,” I said.
The sun wasn’t so glaring by the time we sat by our tea and coffee, MJ and I. “What did you say to him? Who was down this time? Who did you meet?” he said, while sipping on his hot tea.
“Em, I had tea with Em,” I said.
“Not Kay? How come?”
“Em was down for a job. He was in town. He suggested tea,” I said, absently.
“And?”
“I told him no, of course,” I said, irritated.
“What you mean ‘no’? What did he do?” he said, his tea paused halfway between table and lips.
“Money,” I said. The expression on his face told me he understood immediately what had happened.
“And you said no. You said no, right? Did you call up Kay?” he asked, frowning this time, his voice had become heated.
“No, not yet. Why should I call him? He knows my position,” I said, looking away.
“So why did Em offer you? It’s obvious whatever you told Kay didn’t make an impression on him, right?” he said.
“I don’t see why I should call Kay,” I said, dragging on my cigarette.
“I mean, up to you,” he said, looking away, his lips pursed and his eyes distant. He drew up the sleeves of his green, cotton shirt and muttered under his breath.
“I mean, if you feel you don’t want to call him or need to, then I won’t either. I mean, why else would he think you could be offered again? I mean, obviously you didn’t tell him off? Telling off, meaning shouting at him and putting him in his place. But he obviously didn’t believe you. I don’t know why I should believe you either,” he muttered.
Aloud, he said, “Did you take the money?”
I stared at him, feeling the pressure at the back of my head again, and I gripped my glass of coffee. Hard.
“You know some people got balls and some people are all talk only, when it comes to the crunch, some people can do it, some people can’t do it, you know,” he said. It was his way. If Morgan couldn’t guilt you into doing something, he’d insult your manhood. It was beginning to work till I started thinking past his fucked up words. I knew him. I had worked with him and am still working with him. I had a great, great deal of respect for him.
And I almost felt like losing it just then, just to take a swipe at him, just to toss my dollar on the table and say, “Fuck you,” and leave.
He saw what effect his words were having on me, and I felt he knew he had gone too far. That’s how it is with both of us; we know each other.
“Think how it reflects on us,” he said, after he had calmed down. “I wish you could see how much I’m boiling inside. All that we’ve been working for and two bastards like that can destroy it for all of us,” he said.
“And now that you’ve not taken any money, what do you think Em will do?” he said.
“He’ll pocket it. He’ll tell Kay that I took it,” I said, staring at a looming touristy bus that had just pulled up beside the kopitiam.
“And the next time he tries to buy any one of us, he’ll mention your name,” Morgan said. “If you don’t do anything, you’ll see what happens. I’ve seen it happen,” he said.
“I know, ok? I know. You’re fucking belabouring the point. I get it already, ok?” I said, softly.
Tourists were getting off the bus, heading up to an old, hotel with a dubious reputation. The noise of diesel engines running on less-than-perfect fuel and the clumps of smoke belching out of the rear: health hazards.
“Four fucking donuts,” he said, laughing. He motioned a scrunched up plastic bag, and I could barely make out the dunkin’ donuts insignia hidden in folds.
“For lunch?” I said.
“Not for lunch, you know what I had for lunch,” he said.
“Ah, yes,” I said.
He’s a friend, a colleague and very butch. But I love him like a brother. And I felt maneuvered, that the day wasn’t over, that I had one more thing to do. I revved up the engine, and turned on the radio. I slowly unwound my handsfree kit and absently turned down the volume on my radio. The air-conditioning was too cold, and I shifted the air-conditioning down, turning into the highway.
I turned my radio off.
“Kay?” I said, my earpiece fastened. I maneuvered my car past several slower ones and joined the queue forming in front of me.
“Yes, sir!” he said, and he sounded cheerful over the phone.
“Didn’t I make myself clear the last time?” I said.
“I know, I know, Em went overboard lah,” he said, and I knew he’d been briefed already.
“No, didn’t I make myself clear, Kay?” I said again, heatedly.
“I know, I’m sorry, I told Em to keep off your back-”
“No, no, no. You don’t understand me. You pull that stunt on me and I fucking told you no more, don’t you ever do that shit again-”
“Yes, yes, I know-”
“If you try that shit with any one of us, I will report you to my directors. What fuck are you thinking?! Of all the people to pick on and bribe, you pick me, ha? My fucking friends work in the industry. They pay you for your work. What if I tell them? Do you think you will be working in Malaysia anymore?” I shouted. There was silence on the other side. I felt pushed, goaded, restless to just be done with everything.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, muted.
“Do you know something, Kay? If you don’t get a big job ever from us, it’ll be because of this?”
Apologies again, and I didn’t care, I just wanted to get off the phone.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear, crystal clear,” he said.
“Crystal,” I said.
Crystal clear. I feel so drained. I came back, hoping for dinner and it tasted like wet cardboard. I waited for my father to turn up, but he was sleeping upstairs. Was I pushed to confront? I don’t know – I think I was… or was I? Was I really? I have told off clients for offering me bribes before, but I have never had to tell off, really tell off, a specialist. Someone I respected, what’s more. Older, more experienced, of a different level. Of a different level. I hate this job.
I’m past caring.
