Mandarin Mannequins of Chinatown. Patricia Laurel

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      “Good, you’re here early,” Solo greeted his friend. “I see a line of people waiting for a table.”

      He sat down, reached for the chopsticks and didn’t waste time picking the delicious treats from the little woven baskets.

      One of the waitresses with the clean up cart positioned herself not too far away, ready to clear their table for the next diners. Whenever Solo or Yi Fan looked her way, she made motions for them to eat faster.

      “That wahine older than we are,” Solo said.

      Yi Fan deftly snared a fried shrimp with his chopsticks. “Are there people with more years than us?”

      Eventually, the two friends finished their meal and walked to Yi Fan’s shop, climbed the stairs to the simple living quarters to drink tea and talk story. Yi Fan had emigrated from Mainland China. He had originally intended to settle in San Francisco where he had relatives.

      His point of entry was Honolulu. When he walked down the gangplank at Aloha Tower and saw the beautiful city, its shining harbor, crisp, blue skies and green mountains of Nuuanu Pali in the background, Yi Fan knew he had found his new home. He never made it to California.

      Very little is known of Yi Fan. Long time residents of Chinatown only knew him as the herbalist/acupuncturist who healed the ailing. In the early days he wrote letters for the illiterate to send to their families in China, giving news of their loved ones in the new country. He was a respected member of the tight-knit community, but he kept his distance from the prying and curious. He was dubbed the mysterious man with healing powers.

      He only confided in his old friend Solo.

      “My friend, a time will come when you may have to take over for me,” Yi Fan said. “To you I will pass on all that I have learned. You have a good heart and I know you will put all that knowledge to good use.”

      Solo regarded his friend with concern. “You know something. This is the first time since I’ve known you that this subject has come up. We are both advancing in years and I would not be the right choice to take over for you. You need someone young for the job.”

      “I’ve read the tea leaves in my cup,” Yi Fan said, sighing. “ It’s been the same for months now. The leaves are whispering of something or someone who will wreak havoc here.

      “The whispers have become louder. I have to prepare for the inevitable. There is no one I else I can trust. You will last longer, and I know you will find an apprentice.”

      Solo tried to compose his thoughts. “Do you remember that policeman who patrolled Chinatown with just a whip to fight crime and undesirable elements?”

      “Yes,” Yi Fan replied. “That was a long time ago. He was the hero of Chinatown. Didn’t Hollywood make a movie about him? What was his name?”

      “I don’t remember his real name, but I remember what the criminals said when they saw him coming with his whip. ‘Run! Here comes Chuck the Cop!’ The name stuck.”

      The two men laughed, but the talk turned serious once more.

      “I saw the spirit of Chuck the Cop beside your shop a few weeks ago,” Solo said. “He stood in front of that empty store. He looked inside and turned his attention to your shop. He did this several times. I asked what he was up to.

      “He told me that it won’t be long now and the empty shop will be occupied by an evil being who will shatter the peace of the community.

      “I asked him how he knew this. He said he got the information from one of his sources and he would not reveal anymore. I said to him, ‘Chuck, you’re dead. How can you still have sources?’

      “Of course, he did not like my reminding him he was no longer among the living. He went on and on about how the people still needed his protection from criminal elements. Finally, he said his source was an old Chinese soothsayer from the spirit world. That was all he would tell me.”

      “Ah,” Yi Fan said. “It’s all connected. The tea leaves signifying impending doom and Chuck the Cop’s warning. Do you think it has to do with our little friend Samantha? Isn’t she supposed to arrive in a few days?”

      Solo rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t think so. The keiki’s problem is very different this time. Her mother called. She and her husband are having serious problems and it is affecting Samantha. They are sending their daughter to the Philippines with her aunt and cousin.”

      “Samantha will need a good dose of your famous love and care, my friend.” Yi Fan said. “You will know what to do.”

      Solo got up to leave, and his friend accompanied him down to the street.

      The spirit of Chuck the Cop was standing outside the empty shop, arms crossed, his whip at the ready, as if waiting for trouble. He looked at Solo, turned around and walked through the door.

      Solo stared at the shop. It looked harmless enough with its empty window. What more information did the spirit have and why did he not reveal it?

      Yi Fan interrupted his thoughts. “The vibrations from that place are just a rumble for now, but I think it will get louder soon enough. There is nothing we can do but wait.”

      Solo looked at Yi Fan, pained at the thought of losing his constant friend and companion. He would do all he could to prevent that from happening. All he wished for these days was that when his time came, he would go peacefully in his sleep. He wanted the same for Yi Fan.

      “Don’t worry, we will face whatever comes. There is still a lot of fight left in our old bones, my friend,” Solo said, patting Yi Fan on the back. “You get to work with those herbs of yours and create a mixture of something powerful to protect yourself. I will see you in a couple of days. There’s a new place that opened. I hear it serves really ono saimin.”

      “All right, my friend. It would be nice to go somewhere for a change where you don’t have to hurry to eat. It’s not good for the digestive system.”

      The friends said goodbye. Solo took the bus back to Kailua, and Yi Fan went inside his shop to prepare his herbs.

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